Juniper's 2020 Countdown Thread
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- Joined
- Oct 1, 2019
- Messages
- 70
- Reaction score
- 49
Dec. 01: Waiting for the Snow
Long before the sun was up, I was awake, debating between toasting under the covers and leaping up to greet the day. From my bed, I could reach the old-school daily tear-off desk calendar my dad had given me (complete with cheesy inspirational quotes, of course). I pulled it down and tore off the number 30, shredded it up and threw it in the air like confetti over the newly-revealed 31.
I'd been waiting for this day all year, and I was finally old enough to go out with my friends without my parents tagging along. Now that it was finally here, I spent all day waiting for the night to come.
Just as was getting dark, unable to wait any longer, I slipped on a lacy Victorian-style gown and started accessorizing. I'd carefully considered every detail: the silver-buckled boots, the , the feathery fascinator and matching mask. And of course, the cape. It was thick wool with a rich velvety lining, black and purple and equal parts stylish and warm. That was always a trick, being both at the same time.
Once I was thoroughly outfitted, and convinced my parents that I had my phone, it was charged, and I would remain within walking distance of their house, I bolted out the door to meet up with my friends.
They all looked amazing, a mass of color in the spotlight of a street lamp. As we walked down the street together, I kept catching myself glancing up at the sky. It hadn't snowed since spring, which was unusual, and somehow the night felt incomplete without it. The more I thought about it, the more it ate at me, and all the laughter and excitement just blurred together into a mix of impatience and eagerness. The snow was coming, I could sense it.
I realized that my favorite part of my favorite holiday wasn't the dressing up, or the sweets, or even the getting to stay up late. It was the snow. It had always snowed, every year I could remember, or at least there had been snow on the ground. And so, after we all went back to our own homes, I decided to wait for it.
I sat on the front porch and pulled my cape tight around me, willing the air to cool down.
I watched wispy clouds blow over the moon.
I crunched the crackly leaves with the toes of my boots.
My dad came out around one in the morning. "Hey, squirt. You waiting for the Great Pumpkin or something?"
"No, I'm waiting for the snow."
He eyed the nearly-clear sky. "I think you might have better chances with the Great Pumpkin."
As he offered me his hand, I begrudgingly accepted that the altostratus clouds had blown me by. Oh, well. Maybe next Halloween.
Long before the sun was up, I was awake, debating between toasting under the covers and leaping up to greet the day. From my bed, I could reach the old-school daily tear-off desk calendar my dad had given me (complete with cheesy inspirational quotes, of course). I pulled it down and tore off the number 30, shredded it up and threw it in the air like confetti over the newly-revealed 31.
I'd been waiting for this day all year, and I was finally old enough to go out with my friends without my parents tagging along. Now that it was finally here, I spent all day waiting for the night to come.
Just as was getting dark, unable to wait any longer, I slipped on a lacy Victorian-style gown and started accessorizing. I'd carefully considered every detail: the silver-buckled boots, the , the feathery fascinator and matching mask. And of course, the cape. It was thick wool with a rich velvety lining, black and purple and equal parts stylish and warm. That was always a trick, being both at the same time.
Once I was thoroughly outfitted, and convinced my parents that I had my phone, it was charged, and I would remain within walking distance of their house, I bolted out the door to meet up with my friends.
They all looked amazing, a mass of color in the spotlight of a street lamp. As we walked down the street together, I kept catching myself glancing up at the sky. It hadn't snowed since spring, which was unusual, and somehow the night felt incomplete without it. The more I thought about it, the more it ate at me, and all the laughter and excitement just blurred together into a mix of impatience and eagerness. The snow was coming, I could sense it.
I realized that my favorite part of my favorite holiday wasn't the dressing up, or the sweets, or even the getting to stay up late. It was the snow. It had always snowed, every year I could remember, or at least there had been snow on the ground. And so, after we all went back to our own homes, I decided to wait for it.
I sat on the front porch and pulled my cape tight around me, willing the air to cool down.
I watched wispy clouds blow over the moon.
I crunched the crackly leaves with the toes of my boots.
My dad came out around one in the morning. "Hey, squirt. You waiting for the Great Pumpkin or something?"
"No, I'm waiting for the snow."
He eyed the nearly-clear sky. "I think you might have better chances with the Great Pumpkin."
As he offered me his hand, I begrudgingly accepted that the altostratus clouds had blown me by. Oh, well. Maybe next Halloween.
- Joined
- Oct 1, 2019
- Messages
- 70
- Reaction score
- 49
*My deepest apologies to the Southern Hemisphere. The character's sentiments are not mine.*
Dec. 02: The Howling Wind
The howling wind forces me in from the garden. If it had rained in the past month, it wouldn't be so bad, but the ground is loose and stale, the perfect ingredient for a dust storm. The only good thing about the wind is that it cools my sweaty body slightly.
Once inside, I splash water on my head. Free from the swirling dust, captive to the stifling heat. And it's December. Damn southern hemisphere. I imagine a wind like this in Chicago, this time of year.
I'm standing at the Blue Line station, dressed five layers thick, and the wind still cuts through it all. Icicles begin forming on my nose hairs. Across the street, a row of skeletal trees writhes, threatening to shake off strings of lights.
A woman in a torn coat mutters drunken snatches of "O Holy Night." A disheartened environmentalist tosses his pamphlets in the trash. The howling wind coaxes us together under the heat lamps, close enough to smell the alcohol and the body odor.
It's funny, the things that make you homesick.
Dec. 02: The Howling Wind
The howling wind forces me in from the garden. If it had rained in the past month, it wouldn't be so bad, but the ground is loose and stale, the perfect ingredient for a dust storm. The only good thing about the wind is that it cools my sweaty body slightly.
Once inside, I splash water on my head. Free from the swirling dust, captive to the stifling heat. And it's December. Damn southern hemisphere. I imagine a wind like this in Chicago, this time of year.
I'm standing at the Blue Line station, dressed five layers thick, and the wind still cuts through it all. Icicles begin forming on my nose hairs. Across the street, a row of skeletal trees writhes, threatening to shake off strings of lights.
A woman in a torn coat mutters drunken snatches of "O Holy Night." A disheartened environmentalist tosses his pamphlets in the trash. The howling wind coaxes us together under the heat lamps, close enough to smell the alcohol and the body odor.
It's funny, the things that make you homesick.
- Joined
- Oct 1, 2019
- Messages
- 70
- Reaction score
- 49
Dec. 03: The First Snow
She remembered what her mother used to say about the butterflies in February. The thousands of butterflies that hid unseen in the grasses and then headed skyward in an intricate dance. "Like snowflakes falling up."
She didn't think the snowflakes looked like butterflies. Their movements weren't nearly as intricate; sometimes the wind blew them, but mostly they just fell down, never crossing paths, slaves to gravity.
They weren't butterflies, but they were still beautiful the way they fell. The ones that landed on the shoveled pavement melted instantly. The luckier ones, aiming for the grass or the railing, landed on piles of snow, and if she looked closely, she could see the flakes balancing against each other. And then there were the windows, the lacy patterns of ice or snow or whatever it was clinging to them.
She stared and stared, shivering under her warm layers, not minding as other students jostled her on their way into the building. It was so cold, she wanted to go in, but she kept telling herself, just one more minute, I just want to watch it a little longer.
The crowd thinned, and someone noticed her.
"Hey. What're you staring at?"
She blinked at the speaker, not sure whether to state the obvious.
"What, you've never seen snow before?"
They knew where she was from, but somehow, she was still embarrassed.
She was embarrassed because of the tone of his voice, the way the other kids laughed.
So she waited until they went inside the warm classroom block to whisper, "No, I haven't."
She remembered what her mother used to say about the butterflies in February. The thousands of butterflies that hid unseen in the grasses and then headed skyward in an intricate dance. "Like snowflakes falling up."
She didn't think the snowflakes looked like butterflies. Their movements weren't nearly as intricate; sometimes the wind blew them, but mostly they just fell down, never crossing paths, slaves to gravity.
They weren't butterflies, but they were still beautiful the way they fell. The ones that landed on the shoveled pavement melted instantly. The luckier ones, aiming for the grass or the railing, landed on piles of snow, and if she looked closely, she could see the flakes balancing against each other. And then there were the windows, the lacy patterns of ice or snow or whatever it was clinging to them.
She stared and stared, shivering under her warm layers, not minding as other students jostled her on their way into the building. It was so cold, she wanted to go in, but she kept telling herself, just one more minute, I just want to watch it a little longer.
The crowd thinned, and someone noticed her.
"Hey. What're you staring at?"
She blinked at the speaker, not sure whether to state the obvious.
"What, you've never seen snow before?"
They knew where she was from, but somehow, she was still embarrassed.
She was embarrassed because of the tone of his voice, the way the other kids laughed.
So she waited until they went inside the warm classroom block to whisper, "No, I haven't."
- Joined
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- Reaction score
- 49
Dec 04: One Lost Boot
Daddy said I could ride in the stroller because I was good at the parade, and he thought I was tired. I think he hopes I'll fall asleep, but I'm not sleepy at all. Daddy always wants me to sleep. Naptime. Bedtime. Daddy-hasn't-had-his-coffee-yet time. Sleep, sleep, sleep. I don't like sleeping. I like my new boots. They're sooooo soft and fluffy on the inside, and they're too big, and I like to stomp stomp stomp and kick kick kick and
Oh, my boot fell off.
#
It's not all it's cracked up to be, the whole Christmas mouse thing. Yeah, I know, we're adorable, right? You apes put us all over your cards and ornaments, and you make little chocolates shaped like us, and you think we're just so precious until one of us tries to rescue a tiny nibble from your Christmas feast, and then out come the traps, the poison, all of it. Let me tell you, we're not adorable when our necks snap.
Homes are way too dangerous. Offices too. The streets are cold, but if you're savvy, you can find cozy spots to curl up. And you learn the good places to get food. Like here, after the crowd's cleared from the parade. Trash everywhere. Humans are so filthy. This is my Christmas feast.
Aaah, now here's something soft and snowy white, but not snowy cold. Oh, soooo soft. And sheltered. And... is it? Is it really unoccupied? Thank you, Christmas parade. I think I just found my new home.
#
I love my kid. I love my kid, I love my kid, I love my kid, HOW do you lose a boot and not say anything until we get to the car? Seriously. I brought you to the parade. I let you sit in the stroller you're too big for. I let you stay up late. Yeah I know, I got myself into this. I bought those new boots a size too big because I want them to last through next winter. Can you blame me? They weren't cheap, so I wanted to get as much mileage out of them as possible. They're good boots. Waterproof on the outside, and soft on the inside. Sooo soft. I wish they made them in my size.
Yes! There it is!
#
AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!
OOOOOOWWWW!!!!!
EEEEEEEEKKKKK!!!!!!
This did not end well for any of us.
Daddy said I could ride in the stroller because I was good at the parade, and he thought I was tired. I think he hopes I'll fall asleep, but I'm not sleepy at all. Daddy always wants me to sleep. Naptime. Bedtime. Daddy-hasn't-had-his-coffee-yet time. Sleep, sleep, sleep. I don't like sleeping. I like my new boots. They're sooooo soft and fluffy on the inside, and they're too big, and I like to stomp stomp stomp and kick kick kick and
Oh, my boot fell off.
#
It's not all it's cracked up to be, the whole Christmas mouse thing. Yeah, I know, we're adorable, right? You apes put us all over your cards and ornaments, and you make little chocolates shaped like us, and you think we're just so precious until one of us tries to rescue a tiny nibble from your Christmas feast, and then out come the traps, the poison, all of it. Let me tell you, we're not adorable when our necks snap.
Homes are way too dangerous. Offices too. The streets are cold, but if you're savvy, you can find cozy spots to curl up. And you learn the good places to get food. Like here, after the crowd's cleared from the parade. Trash everywhere. Humans are so filthy. This is my Christmas feast.
Aaah, now here's something soft and snowy white, but not snowy cold. Oh, soooo soft. And sheltered. And... is it? Is it really unoccupied? Thank you, Christmas parade. I think I just found my new home.
#
I love my kid. I love my kid, I love my kid, I love my kid, HOW do you lose a boot and not say anything until we get to the car? Seriously. I brought you to the parade. I let you sit in the stroller you're too big for. I let you stay up late. Yeah I know, I got myself into this. I bought those new boots a size too big because I want them to last through next winter. Can you blame me? They weren't cheap, so I wanted to get as much mileage out of them as possible. They're good boots. Waterproof on the outside, and soft on the inside. Sooo soft. I wish they made them in my size.
Yes! There it is!
#
AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!
OOOOOOWWWW!!!!!
EEEEEEEEKKKKK!!!!!!
This did not end well for any of us.
- Joined
- Oct 1, 2019
- Messages
- 70
- Reaction score
- 49
Dec. 05: When your socks are warm
Dec. 05: When your socks are warm
My favorite time is when
It's cold outside
And also laundry day
At the same time.
I like to wait
By the dryer
So I won't miss
The critical moment.
My favorite time is when
Your fuzzy socks are warm
On top of the laundry basket
And I leap in before you can stop me.
I like to curl up on your socks
Looking so adorable
That you will never
Fold your laundry.
Dec. 05: When your socks are warm
My favorite time is when
It's cold outside
And also laundry day
At the same time.
I like to wait
By the dryer
So I won't miss
The critical moment.
My favorite time is when
Your fuzzy socks are warm
On top of the laundry basket
And I leap in before you can stop me.
I like to curl up on your socks
Looking so adorable
That you will never
Fold your laundry.
- Joined
- Oct 1, 2019
- Messages
- 70
- Reaction score
- 49
Dec. 06: Ice crystals creeping across the windows
The boy had been silent for ten solid minutes. He stood, motionless except for his eyes, and watched the ice crystals creeping across the window. He tried to recall the last winter he'd spent on Earth. He remembered waking up to find spikey patterns of ice on the windows. But he was pretty sure they weren't like this.
"Mum?"
"Yes, Dear? You're awfully quiet over there."
"The ice is... moving."
"Oh, that happens, Dear. When ice forms quickly, it looks like it's moving, like it's growing. Beautiful, isn't it?"
It was beautiful. That didn't mean he liked it. Snakes were beautiful. The supernova that destroyed his old home had been beautiful, as he watched it from the shuttle viewscreen.
He looked back at the window, to see if his mother could be right, if it could simply be a normal ice formation. But it was gone. No, there it was, at the top left corner, curled into a spiral. He was sure now: The ice was alive. He felt a draft and lifted his hand to find the spot where the seal wasn't tight... and then he froze.
Two inches from his open palm, a tiny white spear split the window frame, growing longer every moment.
It was coming inside.
The boy had been silent for ten solid minutes. He stood, motionless except for his eyes, and watched the ice crystals creeping across the window. He tried to recall the last winter he'd spent on Earth. He remembered waking up to find spikey patterns of ice on the windows. But he was pretty sure they weren't like this.
"Mum?"
"Yes, Dear? You're awfully quiet over there."
"The ice is... moving."
"Oh, that happens, Dear. When ice forms quickly, it looks like it's moving, like it's growing. Beautiful, isn't it?"
It was beautiful. That didn't mean he liked it. Snakes were beautiful. The supernova that destroyed his old home had been beautiful, as he watched it from the shuttle viewscreen.
He looked back at the window, to see if his mother could be right, if it could simply be a normal ice formation. But it was gone. No, there it was, at the top left corner, curled into a spiral. He was sure now: The ice was alive. He felt a draft and lifted his hand to find the spot where the seal wasn't tight... and then he froze.
Two inches from his open palm, a tiny white spear split the window frame, growing longer every moment.
It was coming inside.
- Joined
- Oct 1, 2019
- Messages
- 70
- Reaction score
- 49
Dec. 07: My evil reindeer army
The year Will and I played our best Christmas light prank ever was also the year we got caught. We'd been doing it since we were ten, switching out strings of lights for different colors, changing the positions of yard ornaments, but that year we went big. We forewent the usual suspect backyards, working our magic instead on the community center. They always put up this painfully obnoxious herd of reindeer pulling a sleigh. We pulled out all the blue bulbs that were supposed to be the reindeer's eyes (do real reindeer have blue eyes? We think not...) and replaced them with red ones. It was brilliant.
Will got smacked on the bottom with a paddle and grounded for the rest of the month. My parents believe in restorative justice, so they rewarded me by volunteering me for elf duty at the community center's upcoming Holiday Hooplah. The center even provided me with stretch pants, elf hat, and curly-toed shoes. The same ones they used every year, to keep up a consistent illusion for the kiddoes. Very sanitary. The worst part was, I had to ham it up. I knew my parents would be getting full reports on me, especially from Mr. Riley, the event director. And if I didn't impress him, I could get stuck working the New Year's carnival.
So I mustered all the charm and sweetness I'd been holding back for the past sixteen years and used my mom's blush to make my cheeks all rosy, as a diversion in case my true nature showed through. I dutifully showed up early to the Hooplah and even sucked up to Mr. Riley.
"Hey, sir. How's the light display?"
"Covered in white tarps, disguised as a snow mountain. We couldn't get the lights replaced in time. I don't think we want eyeless reindeer."
That seemed like a good time to examine the bells on my shoes.
"I'm... really sorry about that."
"Hey, no hard feelings. We've seen a lot worse in terms of vandalism. Yours was actually artistic. Creepy, but in a good way, you know?"
I was beginning to wonder if Mr. Riley was actually less upset than my parents. This could be an easy sell.
"Anyway, you are more than making up for it. Kathy just called in sick, so we are desperate for an attendant at the petting zoo."
"Oh. My mom said I'm supposed to take tickets."
"We're all covered for that. Business is slower than we expected. But without someone in the petting zoo, we'd have to close it, and some folks come just for that. This is your chance to be a hero."
Let me tell you, I was a hero alright. I scooped poop. I fluffed hay. I valiantly protected rabid two-year-olds from the possessed goat. I valiantly protected terrified snow bunnies (no, really, that's what they called them) from rabid two-year-olds.
When I only had an hour left in my shift, a kid showed up who looked about as sulky as I felt. He came right up to me and announced, as if I didn't know it already, "This is dumb."
"Yeah, tell me about it."
"So why are you here?"
This kid could ruin it for me if I wasn't careful, but I wasn't scared. I'd had years of practice lying, and I knew that the best lie was one that stuck very close to the truth.
"I'm being punished."
"Aren't you supposed to be an elf?"
"Look, kid, elfdom isn't all fun and games. Santa's way stricter with us than with the kids. But I have a secret... an enormous, mind-blowing secret, and it almost got out. Fortunately, all anyone knows is that I didn't show up for carol practice three weeks in a row."
He rolled his eyes. "Let me guess, you were training to be a dentist."
"Nope," I replied smugly, and started brushing the donkey. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him debating whether to take the bait. At least he wasn't bored anymore.
"So what were you doing?" he finally asked, trying too hard to make it casual.
I glanced around, then leaned down conspiratorially. "I was training my Evil Reindeer Army."
His eyes widened. "Cool!"
Half an hour left in my shift. I'd survived the smartass kid. I breathed an audible sigh of relief. And then I saw Mr. Riley headed my way, and I swear, his cheeks were as red as mine.
"I need to talk to you."
He signaled to a cheery-looking blonde, who took up my post at the petting zoo while Mr. Riley pulled me aside.
"Did you say something to a kid about an evil reindeer army?"
"...Possibly?"
"We need to do something. Fast. I've had at least twenty kids coming up to me asking if I know where they can find the evil reindeer army. Now, I know it's not the typical holiday fare, but we've gotta play to our audience here. If these kids want evil reindeer, we've gotta give 'em evil reindeer. If we charge for admission to the evil reindeer cave, we could probably make enough to fund the rehab dance program."
I grinned.
"You still have those red light bulbs?"
The year Will and I played our best Christmas light prank ever was also the year we got caught. We'd been doing it since we were ten, switching out strings of lights for different colors, changing the positions of yard ornaments, but that year we went big. We forewent the usual suspect backyards, working our magic instead on the community center. They always put up this painfully obnoxious herd of reindeer pulling a sleigh. We pulled out all the blue bulbs that were supposed to be the reindeer's eyes (do real reindeer have blue eyes? We think not...) and replaced them with red ones. It was brilliant.
Will got smacked on the bottom with a paddle and grounded for the rest of the month. My parents believe in restorative justice, so they rewarded me by volunteering me for elf duty at the community center's upcoming Holiday Hooplah. The center even provided me with stretch pants, elf hat, and curly-toed shoes. The same ones they used every year, to keep up a consistent illusion for the kiddoes. Very sanitary. The worst part was, I had to ham it up. I knew my parents would be getting full reports on me, especially from Mr. Riley, the event director. And if I didn't impress him, I could get stuck working the New Year's carnival.
So I mustered all the charm and sweetness I'd been holding back for the past sixteen years and used my mom's blush to make my cheeks all rosy, as a diversion in case my true nature showed through. I dutifully showed up early to the Hooplah and even sucked up to Mr. Riley.
"Hey, sir. How's the light display?"
"Covered in white tarps, disguised as a snow mountain. We couldn't get the lights replaced in time. I don't think we want eyeless reindeer."
That seemed like a good time to examine the bells on my shoes.
"I'm... really sorry about that."
"Hey, no hard feelings. We've seen a lot worse in terms of vandalism. Yours was actually artistic. Creepy, but in a good way, you know?"
I was beginning to wonder if Mr. Riley was actually less upset than my parents. This could be an easy sell.
"Anyway, you are more than making up for it. Kathy just called in sick, so we are desperate for an attendant at the petting zoo."
"Oh. My mom said I'm supposed to take tickets."
"We're all covered for that. Business is slower than we expected. But without someone in the petting zoo, we'd have to close it, and some folks come just for that. This is your chance to be a hero."
Let me tell you, I was a hero alright. I scooped poop. I fluffed hay. I valiantly protected rabid two-year-olds from the possessed goat. I valiantly protected terrified snow bunnies (no, really, that's what they called them) from rabid two-year-olds.
When I only had an hour left in my shift, a kid showed up who looked about as sulky as I felt. He came right up to me and announced, as if I didn't know it already, "This is dumb."
"Yeah, tell me about it."
"So why are you here?"
This kid could ruin it for me if I wasn't careful, but I wasn't scared. I'd had years of practice lying, and I knew that the best lie was one that stuck very close to the truth.
"I'm being punished."
"Aren't you supposed to be an elf?"
"Look, kid, elfdom isn't all fun and games. Santa's way stricter with us than with the kids. But I have a secret... an enormous, mind-blowing secret, and it almost got out. Fortunately, all anyone knows is that I didn't show up for carol practice three weeks in a row."
He rolled his eyes. "Let me guess, you were training to be a dentist."
"Nope," I replied smugly, and started brushing the donkey. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him debating whether to take the bait. At least he wasn't bored anymore.
"So what were you doing?" he finally asked, trying too hard to make it casual.
I glanced around, then leaned down conspiratorially. "I was training my Evil Reindeer Army."
His eyes widened. "Cool!"
Half an hour left in my shift. I'd survived the smartass kid. I breathed an audible sigh of relief. And then I saw Mr. Riley headed my way, and I swear, his cheeks were as red as mine.
"I need to talk to you."
He signaled to a cheery-looking blonde, who took up my post at the petting zoo while Mr. Riley pulled me aside.
"Did you say something to a kid about an evil reindeer army?"
"...Possibly?"
"We need to do something. Fast. I've had at least twenty kids coming up to me asking if I know where they can find the evil reindeer army. Now, I know it's not the typical holiday fare, but we've gotta play to our audience here. If these kids want evil reindeer, we've gotta give 'em evil reindeer. If we charge for admission to the evil reindeer cave, we could probably make enough to fund the rehab dance program."
I grinned.
"You still have those red light bulbs?"
- Joined
- Oct 1, 2019
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- Reaction score
- 49
Dec. 08: Clear Blue Sky
You do what you have to do to survive, but sometimes, you wonder if it was really worth it. The young ones don't wonder. They never knew anything else. To the new generation, the things we considered essential are myths. Trees. Sunlight. Seasons. The color blue. We salvaged some pictures, but they're as surreal as dragons, and none of the colors show up right in the lava light. Everything has an oragne tinge to it. After being underground for fifty years, above-earth is staring to seem like a myth to me too.
Sometimes, I remember. Sometimes, I feel the wake of a passing transport and remember wind. Sometimes, I bite my lip and run my tongue over the blood, just to remember there are flavors. Sometimes, I dream I'm lying with my back on the grass, and all I see above me is clear blue sky. When I wake up, I pray with all my heart not to forget.
You do what you have to do to survive, but sometimes, you wonder if it was really worth it. The young ones don't wonder. They never knew anything else. To the new generation, the things we considered essential are myths. Trees. Sunlight. Seasons. The color blue. We salvaged some pictures, but they're as surreal as dragons, and none of the colors show up right in the lava light. Everything has an oragne tinge to it. After being underground for fifty years, above-earth is staring to seem like a myth to me too.
Sometimes, I remember. Sometimes, I feel the wake of a passing transport and remember wind. Sometimes, I bite my lip and run my tongue over the blood, just to remember there are flavors. Sometimes, I dream I'm lying with my back on the grass, and all I see above me is clear blue sky. When I wake up, I pray with all my heart not to forget.
- Joined
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Dec. 09: Holiday Songs Gone Horribly Wrong
I missed my nephew Damon's Christmas concert. I love my nephew Damon. I love supporting his various interests. I do not love Christmas carols, especially the ones kids tend to sing, and I definitely do not love the idea of sitting for an hour as a bunch of off-key kids, most of whom I've never met, harmonically recount how they thought their moms were having an affair with Santa, and everyone's supposed to think it's cute, not traumatizing.
My sister is kind enough to send me a CD of the concert after the fact. I am kind enough to resolve myself to listening all the way through.
She gave me a CD because she knows about my car: No USB hookup, just a radio that's stuck on the oldies station, and a single CD slot that's been holding on for dear life since 2003.
On Monday morning, armed with coffee for my twenty-minute commute, I slide the CD in. I am pleasantly surprised by the quality of the first song. They have some strong singers, and they've chosen a Christmas-around-the-world theme, so it's a medley of carols in a bunch of different languages. I'm actually a little bit sorry I missed it. It goes on and on, though, and it's feeling awfully repetitive. I glance at the display and see that it's only been playing for 43 seconds. Oh, it must be set to "repeat one."
At a stoplight, I fidget with the settings. I can't get it off repeat. I try my best universal technology fix: turning it off and then back on. Only it won't turn off. It appears my old stereo is finally giving up the ghost, but not without one last hurrah. After work, I continue troubleshooting: coaxing it with kind words, pushing all the buttons in random order, giving it a good whack. Nada.
On my drive home, the direness of the situation sets in. I can't pause, rewind, or fast forward; the only escape I have is the constant carols on the oldies station. My week is packed with lots of places to drive and no time to perform maintenance.
By Thursday, I can sing along to the Danish parts.
Friday, I take the bus to work.
I spend my Saturday morning attacking my car stereo with a screwdriver. Just as I've finished the delicate operation (and managed to rescue the offending CD unscathed), my sister texts:
Did you listen to Damon's CD yet?
At first, I'm not going to answer, but I know she'll follow up, so I carefully craft an honest response:
All I can say is... Wow. I swear I'll never miss another concert.
I missed my nephew Damon's Christmas concert. I love my nephew Damon. I love supporting his various interests. I do not love Christmas carols, especially the ones kids tend to sing, and I definitely do not love the idea of sitting for an hour as a bunch of off-key kids, most of whom I've never met, harmonically recount how they thought their moms were having an affair with Santa, and everyone's supposed to think it's cute, not traumatizing.
My sister is kind enough to send me a CD of the concert after the fact. I am kind enough to resolve myself to listening all the way through.
She gave me a CD because she knows about my car: No USB hookup, just a radio that's stuck on the oldies station, and a single CD slot that's been holding on for dear life since 2003.
On Monday morning, armed with coffee for my twenty-minute commute, I slide the CD in. I am pleasantly surprised by the quality of the first song. They have some strong singers, and they've chosen a Christmas-around-the-world theme, so it's a medley of carols in a bunch of different languages. I'm actually a little bit sorry I missed it. It goes on and on, though, and it's feeling awfully repetitive. I glance at the display and see that it's only been playing for 43 seconds. Oh, it must be set to "repeat one."
At a stoplight, I fidget with the settings. I can't get it off repeat. I try my best universal technology fix: turning it off and then back on. Only it won't turn off. It appears my old stereo is finally giving up the ghost, but not without one last hurrah. After work, I continue troubleshooting: coaxing it with kind words, pushing all the buttons in random order, giving it a good whack. Nada.
On my drive home, the direness of the situation sets in. I can't pause, rewind, or fast forward; the only escape I have is the constant carols on the oldies station. My week is packed with lots of places to drive and no time to perform maintenance.
By Thursday, I can sing along to the Danish parts.
Friday, I take the bus to work.
I spend my Saturday morning attacking my car stereo with a screwdriver. Just as I've finished the delicate operation (and managed to rescue the offending CD unscathed), my sister texts:
Did you listen to Damon's CD yet?
At first, I'm not going to answer, but I know she'll follow up, so I carefully craft an honest response:
All I can say is... Wow. I swear I'll never miss another concert.
- Joined
- Oct 1, 2019
- Messages
- 70
- Reaction score
- 49
Dec. 10: What was in the punch
I got sick on the day of the big party. Daddy says I'll get sick if I stay up too late and eat too much sugar, but I got sick before the party even happened. Too sick to even eat any sugar. Daddy gave me a cup of pink medicine to drink. I know all about pink medicine because I had it before. It's yucky. I don't want to drink it. I want to dump it down the sink, but Daddy would see me. Daddy said the yucky pink medicine will make me feel better, but he also said eating sugar makes you sick, and I am sick without any sugar, so maybe Daddy doesn't know everything about being sick, or maybe he's just too busy to remember what he knows.
Daddy is very busy getting ready for the party. He's looking for things in the fridge, and I'm sitting at the table. It's going to be a wonderful party with lots of grown-ups in nice clothes and lots of yummy things to eat and drink. There is already a big bowl of punch in the middle of the table. It's red. Ms. Leslie told me red and pink are the same color, only red is darker. If you mix a little pink with a lot of red, it will just get a teensy, tinsy bit lighter. No one will ever notice.
I got sick on the day of the big party. Daddy says I'll get sick if I stay up too late and eat too much sugar, but I got sick before the party even happened. Too sick to even eat any sugar. Daddy gave me a cup of pink medicine to drink. I know all about pink medicine because I had it before. It's yucky. I don't want to drink it. I want to dump it down the sink, but Daddy would see me. Daddy said the yucky pink medicine will make me feel better, but he also said eating sugar makes you sick, and I am sick without any sugar, so maybe Daddy doesn't know everything about being sick, or maybe he's just too busy to remember what he knows.
Daddy is very busy getting ready for the party. He's looking for things in the fridge, and I'm sitting at the table. It's going to be a wonderful party with lots of grown-ups in nice clothes and lots of yummy things to eat and drink. There is already a big bowl of punch in the middle of the table. It's red. Ms. Leslie told me red and pink are the same color, only red is darker. If you mix a little pink with a lot of red, it will just get a teensy, tinsy bit lighter. No one will ever notice.
- Joined
- Oct 1, 2019
- Messages
- 70
- Reaction score
- 49
Dec 11: Cookie Crumbs
She's gone. The house is quiet. I clear our plates from the table and then stop just short of wiping up the cookie crumbs. I know it's silly, but they're a tangible reminder that she's actually been in my house. I make myself a cup of tea and sit with the cookie crumbs until Eliot comes downstairs and ruins it all.
"So."
"So?" I don't even bother looking at him.
"You brought another girl home."
"Brilliant observation. Tell me something I don't know."
"Wow, you're snippy. You must like her a lot." He opens the fridge, finds the orange juice bottle with his name scrawled on it, and chugs. How are we related?
"Yeah, genius. That's why I invited her over, which was clearly a bad move. She met you, so she'll probably never come over again."
He wipes his mouth with his sleeve and gives me the Bossy Big Brother stare. "Have you had the conversation?"
I play it cool. "We've had many conversations. Jasmine is quite adept at conversing."
"Come on, Emmy--"
"Don't call me that in front of her."
"The DTR conversation. Or the 'hey, I prefer girls, how about you?' conversation."
"We met at a drag fashion show."
"That's a start, I guess."
He turns his back to me, taking a rag from the sink, and starts wiping the clean counters. I almost think I preferred the direct interrogation. "You wanna say anything else?"
He turns to me, comes over to the table. My heart is beating fast, but I'll only make it worse if I tell him I'm preserving the sacred cookie crumbs. So I try to focus on his words instead. "I'm just tired of watching you get your heart broken by girls who think you're just friends and then freak when they find out you like them."
That's all I can handle. I put my hand on his, stopping it mid-swipe, and look directly in his eyes. "It's my heart, OK? I don't know what she knows or how she feels, and I don't care. I'll take the risk. I'll take every second I can get with Jasmine Flores because she's worth it."
Eliot looks defeated, pathetic. I almost wish I'd kept my mouth shut. "I just wonder if you've ever thought about what you're worth."
He puts the rag away and retreats back upstairs.
I wonder if any of the cookie crumbs made it. I look, but tears make everything so blurry. I run my hand along the wood, searching for any fragment of my happy, carefree memories that Eliot didn't brush away.
- - - Updated - - -
Here's to the words we left unsaid,
Biting our tongues so hard they bled.
Sometimes you need to follow your heart,
Sometimes you need to use your head.
So here's to the fights we didn't start,
The wounds that healed too soon to smart.
Sometimes it's better never than late,
Fighting fair is a delicate art.
Here's to the times we told it straight,
Refusing to string our words with bait.
Sometimes winning isn't the goal,
Sometimes we're stuck in a stalemate.
Here's to the pride we swallowed whole,
I'll gulp it down as I raise my cup.
Sometimes love means baring your soul,
Sometimes love means shutting up.
She's gone. The house is quiet. I clear our plates from the table and then stop just short of wiping up the cookie crumbs. I know it's silly, but they're a tangible reminder that she's actually been in my house. I make myself a cup of tea and sit with the cookie crumbs until Eliot comes downstairs and ruins it all.
"So."
"So?" I don't even bother looking at him.
"You brought another girl home."
"Brilliant observation. Tell me something I don't know."
"Wow, you're snippy. You must like her a lot." He opens the fridge, finds the orange juice bottle with his name scrawled on it, and chugs. How are we related?
"Yeah, genius. That's why I invited her over, which was clearly a bad move. She met you, so she'll probably never come over again."
He wipes his mouth with his sleeve and gives me the Bossy Big Brother stare. "Have you had the conversation?"
I play it cool. "We've had many conversations. Jasmine is quite adept at conversing."
"Come on, Emmy--"
"Don't call me that in front of her."
"The DTR conversation. Or the 'hey, I prefer girls, how about you?' conversation."
"We met at a drag fashion show."
"That's a start, I guess."
He turns his back to me, taking a rag from the sink, and starts wiping the clean counters. I almost think I preferred the direct interrogation. "You wanna say anything else?"
He turns to me, comes over to the table. My heart is beating fast, but I'll only make it worse if I tell him I'm preserving the sacred cookie crumbs. So I try to focus on his words instead. "I'm just tired of watching you get your heart broken by girls who think you're just friends and then freak when they find out you like them."
That's all I can handle. I put my hand on his, stopping it mid-swipe, and look directly in his eyes. "It's my heart, OK? I don't know what she knows or how she feels, and I don't care. I'll take the risk. I'll take every second I can get with Jasmine Flores because she's worth it."
Eliot looks defeated, pathetic. I almost wish I'd kept my mouth shut. "I just wonder if you've ever thought about what you're worth."
He puts the rag away and retreats back upstairs.
I wonder if any of the cookie crumbs made it. I look, but tears make everything so blurry. I run my hand along the wood, searching for any fragment of my happy, carefree memories that Eliot didn't brush away.
- - - Updated - - -
Here's to the words we left unsaid,
Biting our tongues so hard they bled.
Sometimes you need to follow your heart,
Sometimes you need to use your head.
So here's to the fights we didn't start,
The wounds that healed too soon to smart.
Sometimes it's better never than late,
Fighting fair is a delicate art.
Here's to the times we told it straight,
Refusing to string our words with bait.
Sometimes winning isn't the goal,
Sometimes we're stuck in a stalemate.
Here's to the pride we swallowed whole,
I'll gulp it down as I raise my cup.
Sometimes love means baring your soul,
Sometimes love means shutting up.