One day out of the blue, I came to know of you
Were we two?
When I first helped you tie your shoes?
No, we were four,
When you first opened a door (for me).
Holding hands,
Love was our demand
Playing in bands,
Our last kick at the can.
Do you remember all those awkward times?
Did you ever think you would hear wedding bells chime?
Let my love be the mime (of yours).
I’m not as bitter as a lime (anymore).
Remember prom?
When I so happened to be standing next to this guy
And so happened to be wearing the same colour dress as his tie
I always glanced up at you
To see if you would notice me too
Why had you gone back on your promise?
Because babe, then, I was practically prom-less.
Loving you hurts me too much
And oh, even though I wanted to hate you, I couldn’t do as such
A touch of requited love, that’s all I ask, is that too much?
My love, experience is a teacher
Almost like a preacher.
I cannot love thee,
Who doesn’t love me
And in this sea,
Of the lonely,
Maybe this was meant to be,
You without me.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Average Joes (and Janes).
Why can’t the world be colour-blind?
(Just like you and I)
Because only then, can we set our differences aside
And not lie,
Because we ain’t wise
Even though we’d like to think so
Because we’re just average Joes (and Janes)
And why can’t the world be an endless sea?
With loads and loads of possibilities
And maybe then, we won’t feel this absurdity
Because we will be free, free, free
From this injustice! Freedom eternally
Oh why can’t we see (free, free, free)?
Even though we’d like to think so
Because we’re just average Joes (and Janes).
And oh why can’t we hear that black bird sing?
“Let freedom ring, let freedom ring”
Were the old words of Martin Luther King (Jr.)
Oh why can’t we hear them sing?
Because only then would we be right and not wrong (or left)
Because only then, can we set our differences aside
And not lie,
Because we ain’t wise
Even though we’d like to think so
Because we’re just average Joes (and Janes).
(Just like you and I)
Because only then, can we set our differences aside
And not lie,
Because we ain’t wise
Even though we’d like to think so
Because we’re just average Joes (and Janes)
And why can’t the world be an endless sea?
With loads and loads of possibilities
And maybe then, we won’t feel this absurdity
Because we will be free, free, free
From this injustice! Freedom eternally
Oh why can’t we see (free, free, free)?
Even though we’d like to think so
Because we’re just average Joes (and Janes).
And oh why can’t we hear that black bird sing?
“Let freedom ring, let freedom ring”
Were the old words of Martin Luther King (Jr.)
Oh why can’t we hear them sing?
Because only then would we be right and not wrong (or left)
Because only then, can we set our differences aside
And not lie,
Because we ain’t wise
Even though we’d like to think so
Because we’re just average Joes (and Janes).
Monday, March 29, 2010
Rain.
The rain hits my skin,
Like teardrops from the sky.
No, not from my eyes.
From the sky.
Perhaps God is crying.
Like I am on the inside.
The rain, it hits the ground
Puddles lie around.
Everywhere.
Splish, splash
Splash, splish
The rain runs through my hair
From a showerhead out of nowhere
No more "rain, rain, go away"
Today rain, I want you to stay.
I like it when you fall so heavily upon my rooftop
A plitter, platter, plotter.
A steady heartbeat of the world and me.
Cars go by,
Whoosh, whoosh.
Rain, I can hear your song.
The melodies and harmonies of your sound.
I like it. I like it a lot.
Maybe if I stare hard enough,
I can read the notes of your music
Falling slowly from the sky,
Right into my life.
A crescendo here, a diminuendo there.
A treble clef, a base clef.
The time signature just right.
Rain, rain.
Please don't go away.
Today rain, I want you to stay.
Like teardrops from the sky.
No, not from my eyes.
From the sky.
Perhaps God is crying.
Like I am on the inside.
The rain, it hits the ground
Puddles lie around.
Everywhere.
Splish, splash
Splash, splish
The rain runs through my hair
From a showerhead out of nowhere
No more "rain, rain, go away"
Today rain, I want you to stay.
I like it when you fall so heavily upon my rooftop
A plitter, platter, plotter.
A steady heartbeat of the world and me.
Cars go by,
Whoosh, whoosh.
Rain, I can hear your song.
The melodies and harmonies of your sound.
I like it. I like it a lot.
Maybe if I stare hard enough,
I can read the notes of your music
Falling slowly from the sky,
Right into my life.
A crescendo here, a diminuendo there.
A treble clef, a base clef.
The time signature just right.
Rain, rain.
Please don't go away.
Today rain, I want you to stay.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
The Sixteen or Twenty Ounce Mug.
SCENE: Upstage centre is a very long rectangular table with a blue cloth covering it. On it lays several items including a few books, a lamp, four mugs, a television set, and a lawn mower to the side of the table. On the far left side of the table, a small tin can sits in front of JOHN, a boy in his mid-teens. Spotlight on JOHN. He is wearing a white t-shirt with a pair of worn out denim jeans. He appears to be bored; he picks at his teeth with his fingers. Then enters RACHEL from right, a woman in her seventies, who walks by slowly. She is wearing a pink dress with white gloves and her Sunday Church hat. She holds a small purse with both hands daintily. RACHEL passes the table just as the teenager straightens up. He slouches again after she had passed. RACHEL exits left. A few moments later, RACHEL enters again from left. She approaches the table and JOHN stands up and greets her.
JOHN: (attempting to be friendly and forcing a smile) Morning miss.
(RACHEL is busy picking things up and checking them out. She swiftly glances towards JOHN.)
RACHEL: (still concentrating on the items on the table) Oh, hello.
JOHN: Well, there are some fine things here on this table. Many of them hardly ever used.
RACHEL: I see.
JOHN: Well, I’ll just be sitting here if you need any help….
RACHEL: (quickly, as though she is brushing him off) Oh alright.
(JOHN walks back to his seat while RACHEL continues to browse around. She looks at every object in great detail. She comes to a stop at a part of the table where the mugs are displayed. She holds each mug up and analyzes it from top to bottom. She scrutinizes it in every way. She finally puts one down and after picking up another, she walks towards JOHN)
RACHEL: (walking over towards John) What is wrong with this one?
JOHN: (confused) Heh?
RACHEL: (annoyed) I said, “What is wrong with this one?” And mind your manners boy, say “Excuse me? Or pardon me?” not just “Heh?”
JOHN: (rolling his eyes) Okay….
RACHEL: (snaps at JOHN) Well? What is it? Is it cracked somewhere that I can’t see? Did it break and you glued it back together? What is it? Come out it with it.
JOHN: (taken by such surprised that he stutters) Well no! It’s, it’s perfectly fine.
RACHEL: You say that with some uncertainty.
JOHN: Well I (mutters to himself) scared the shit outta me you ugly old –
RACHEL: (walking back over to where the other mugs are) What did you say?
JOHN: (muttering) Nothing.
RACHEL: Well then, what’s wrong with all of these other mugs? I know there’s something wrong with them. Why else would you be practically throwing them out?!
JOHN: (awkwardly and rude) For God’s sake, there’s nothing wrong with them!
RACHEL: (questioning tone) Then how come you’re selling them then? If there’s (mockingly) nothing wrong with them?
JOHN: (angered) BECAUSE we’re trying to get rid of all this junk that we don’t want anymore to make room for things that we ACTUALLY do want!
RACHEL: (loudly) AH HA! I KNEW IT! Junk! This is what it is! You said it yourself! There must be something wrong with all of these things! Now what is it? You’re not telling me because you’re trying to scam a poor old lady out of her money aren’t you?! Well you know, I’m not that old! I’m barely even seventy! Don’t you go lying to me! I’ll have you know I know your mother very well!
JOHN: (alarmed) Now you listen to me ma’am –
RACHEL: No you listen to me and answer all my questions! Haven’t you learned anything in school about business? The customer is always right! Listen to the customer! And I am the customer, so listen to me! (pause, JOHN is silent. RACHEL calms down) So they’re not used? They look pretty dirty to me. I mean look at all these dots!
JOHN: (sighing) Ma’am, that’s part of the picture on the mug.
RACHEL: Well that certainly is a weird picture…. (she looks at it for a while more and then picks up another mug and checks it all over) Well now, this is definitely dirty! Look at this!
(RACHEL hands the mug over to JOHN who takes it.)
JOHN: (annoyed) No. They’re all brand new. We just left them upstairs in a box in the attic for a while. Never even used ‘em.
RACHEL: You didn’t even so much as glance towards it! How would you know that it’s not dirty! You’re a liar! A lying thief! My God! (screaming) HELP! HELP! I’M BEING ROBBED BY THIS BOY! HELP! HE IS TRYING TO STEAL MY MONEY!
JOHN: (nervously and anxiously) SHH! SHH! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! YOU BUY IT OR LEAVE IT! Actually I WOULD PREFER it if you’d just go away!
RACHEL: Go away? Why? What have I done to you?
JOHN: You just accused me of being a liar and a thief! And then yelled for help!
RACHEL: I did no such thing.
JOHN: Yes you did! What the hell is wrong with you?!
RACHEL: That is no way to talk to the elderly! Who do you think you are? My father?! And I did no such thing! Are you accusing me of lying? My, the very thought!
JOHN: Oh God… (walking back to his seat while muttering under his breath) Just what I needed, another one of those people….
(JOHN sits down and picks up his book.)
RACHEL: (still standing in the same spot, raises her voice) Hey! I’m not done with you! Where are you going? Do you have this in a different colour? Blue?
(RACHEL waves the mug around to show JOHN.)
JON: No.
RACHEL: Red?
JOHN: (doesn’t glance up from his book) No.
RACHEL: Green?
JOHN: (agitated) Look Lady, this is a GARAGE sale. (he stands up and slams his book down on the table) We only have ONE of each. So take it or LEAVE IT! Stop fucking asking me questions!
RACHEL: (snaps at him) Don’t use that language around me! You don’t have to be all riled up!
JOHN: (mumbling) You’re starting to get on my nerves you -
RACHEL: Do you have different sizes? Is this 16 ounces or 20 ounces? I need to go by Starbuck sizes. You know, 16 ounces is a grandé and of course 20 ounces is the venti.
JOHN: No.
RACHEL: No what? Speak in complete sentences young man.
JOHN: No. WE. DO. NOT. HAVE. DIFFERENT. SIZES.
RACHEL: Well… do you have different patterns? This pattern on this mug with this colour looks absolutely awful! I mean whoever made these anyways? I wonder what they were thinking at the time they were making it!
JOHN: I don’t know. (to himself) Why won’t she go away? Man, this old hag, she -
(JOHN goes to sit back down in his chair again and glares up at RACHEL.)
RACHEL: (interrupts John) What did you say?
JOHN: Nothing.
RACHEL: Did you say this comes with a gift bag? What does it look like?
JOHN: No it does not come with a gift bag!
RACHEL: Well then, what does it come with?
JOHN: What does what come with?
RACHEL: The mug.
JOHN: Why would I give you a gift for buying something at a garage sale?
RACHEL: Well you just said you were going to.
JOHN: No I didn’t.
RACHEL: Don’t argue with the customer. The customer is always right?
Haven’t you heard before?
JOHN: (goes back to reading book) Yes, I have, from you, a couple of minutes ago.
RACHEL: I said so?
JOHN: Yes. Yes you did.
RACHEL: Well then, I am right, you know.
JOHN: Uh huh….
RACHEL: So what was I saying again?
JOHN: You were saying how you were always right.
RACHEL: No before that.
JOHN: You were saying how the customer is always right.
RACHEL: Before that.
JOHN: The mug.
RACHEL: No no, after that.
JOHN: (sighing) The gift bag?
RACHEL: Ah yes, so why don’t I get a gift bag?
JOHN: Because I don’t got any to give to you and trust me lady, I would give it to you if I had one, just so you would go away and stop bothering me!
RACHEL: Again, with the derogatory language! What is it with young ones these days? In my day, if we ever talked like that, we’d get a beating!
JOHN: (spitefully) Well, we’re not in your day. We’re in my day.
RACHEL: Does this come in different colours?
(RACHEL holds up the mug.)
JOHN: (exasperated, he puts down the book and walks towards RACHEL) I told you no!
RACHEL: Doe –
JOHN: And NO! It doesn’t come in different patterns either!
RACHEL: But didn’t you say that it did? I distinctively remembered you telling me that it did come in different colours.
JOHN: I didn’t say that.
RACHEL: Yes you did.
JOHN: Please don’t start with this again. I’m actually begging you.
RACHEL: Start with what?
JOHN: Asking all those questions.
RACHEL: Well I am a paying customer! I deserve the right to ask questions.
JOHN: Uh huh…. Whatever you say. So are you going to buy something or not? We don’t have anything else but whatever’s here.
RACHEL: So does that mean you don’t have –
JOHN: NO! NO! WE DON’T HAVE THIS GODDAMN MUG IN DIFFERENT COLOURS! AND THAT MEANS NO, WE DON’T HAVE THIS IN BLUE, PINK, BLACK, GREEN, YELLOW, RED, ORANGE, OR WHATEVER OTHER FUCKEN COLOURS THERE ARE. WE DON’T HAVE THIS GODDAMN MUG IN DIFFERENT PATTERNS! NOT LEOPARD, NOT STRIPES, NOT POLKA-DOTS. WE ONLY HAVE WHATEVER’S HERE, SO I’M GOING TO SAY THIS ONCE MORE! BUY IT OR LEAVE. PLEASE! I CAN’T GODDAMN TAKE YOUR WHINY ANNOYING VOICE ANYMORE. YOU’RE SO ANNOYING. CAN’T YOU SEE THAT IT’S A GARAGE SALE AND NOTHING MORE? WE’RE NOT A WHOLE FUCKEN WALMART! WE’RE NOT A DOLLARAMA. IF YOU WANT DIFFERENT STYLES, THERE ARE TONS OF PLACES YOU CAN GO TO. JUST PLEASE DO ME A FAVOUR AND LEAVE ALREADY!
(JOHN let’s out a sigh.)
RACHEL: MY WORD! FINE I’LL LEAVE RIGHT NOW!
RACHEL: (holding her head up high) Hmph.
(RACHEL takes her little purse and slowly exits right. JOHN breathes another sigh of relief and goes back to sit back down in his chair.)
JOHN: Oh what a day. First the stupid boy from down the street and now this old hag.
(JOHN picks up his book again and begins to read. Moments later, RACHEL enters from the right and walks straight towards JOHN.)
JOHN: What do you want now?
RACHEL: I’ve decided to buy the mug even though you were awfully rude to me. My granddaughter Clara would love this mug. It’s her birthday today and how would it look if her very own grandmother did not get her one thing! I hope you know, I’m simply buying this for her and not because I want to give you a sale.
JOHN: Fine whatever.
RACHEL: (points to the mug in front of her) I want this one. How much will it be?
JOHN: Forty-nine cents.
(RACHEL opens her purse and takes out a handful of change.)
RACHEL: I have a lot of pennies to get rid of… (chuckles nervously) forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine. Ah yes, here we are, fifty cents. Keep the extra penny as a token of thanks for all of your hard work.
(JOHN takes the change and puts it in the tin can. He takes the extra penny and throws it off to the side.)
RACHEL: (devastatingly) You wasted my penny! That was not a very nice thing to do!
JOHN: You gave it to me and once it was in my hand, I could do anything I wanted with it! Now go away! LEAVE ME ALONE!
(RACHEL gasps at JOHN’S comment and scurries off stage left with her mug. JOHN beams at this, picks up his book, and begins to read it again. Lights fade out to black.)
JOHN: (attempting to be friendly and forcing a smile) Morning miss.
(RACHEL is busy picking things up and checking them out. She swiftly glances towards JOHN.)
RACHEL: (still concentrating on the items on the table) Oh, hello.
JOHN: Well, there are some fine things here on this table. Many of them hardly ever used.
RACHEL: I see.
JOHN: Well, I’ll just be sitting here if you need any help….
RACHEL: (quickly, as though she is brushing him off) Oh alright.
(JOHN walks back to his seat while RACHEL continues to browse around. She looks at every object in great detail. She comes to a stop at a part of the table where the mugs are displayed. She holds each mug up and analyzes it from top to bottom. She scrutinizes it in every way. She finally puts one down and after picking up another, she walks towards JOHN)
RACHEL: (walking over towards John) What is wrong with this one?
JOHN: (confused) Heh?
RACHEL: (annoyed) I said, “What is wrong with this one?” And mind your manners boy, say “Excuse me? Or pardon me?” not just “Heh?”
JOHN: (rolling his eyes) Okay….
RACHEL: (snaps at JOHN) Well? What is it? Is it cracked somewhere that I can’t see? Did it break and you glued it back together? What is it? Come out it with it.
JOHN: (taken by such surprised that he stutters) Well no! It’s, it’s perfectly fine.
RACHEL: You say that with some uncertainty.
JOHN: Well I (mutters to himself) scared the shit outta me you ugly old –
RACHEL: (walking back over to where the other mugs are) What did you say?
JOHN: (muttering) Nothing.
RACHEL: Well then, what’s wrong with all of these other mugs? I know there’s something wrong with them. Why else would you be practically throwing them out?!
JOHN: (awkwardly and rude) For God’s sake, there’s nothing wrong with them!
RACHEL: (questioning tone) Then how come you’re selling them then? If there’s (mockingly) nothing wrong with them?
JOHN: (angered) BECAUSE we’re trying to get rid of all this junk that we don’t want anymore to make room for things that we ACTUALLY do want!
RACHEL: (loudly) AH HA! I KNEW IT! Junk! This is what it is! You said it yourself! There must be something wrong with all of these things! Now what is it? You’re not telling me because you’re trying to scam a poor old lady out of her money aren’t you?! Well you know, I’m not that old! I’m barely even seventy! Don’t you go lying to me! I’ll have you know I know your mother very well!
JOHN: (alarmed) Now you listen to me ma’am –
RACHEL: No you listen to me and answer all my questions! Haven’t you learned anything in school about business? The customer is always right! Listen to the customer! And I am the customer, so listen to me! (pause, JOHN is silent. RACHEL calms down) So they’re not used? They look pretty dirty to me. I mean look at all these dots!
JOHN: (sighing) Ma’am, that’s part of the picture on the mug.
RACHEL: Well that certainly is a weird picture…. (she looks at it for a while more and then picks up another mug and checks it all over) Well now, this is definitely dirty! Look at this!
(RACHEL hands the mug over to JOHN who takes it.)
JOHN: (annoyed) No. They’re all brand new. We just left them upstairs in a box in the attic for a while. Never even used ‘em.
RACHEL: You didn’t even so much as glance towards it! How would you know that it’s not dirty! You’re a liar! A lying thief! My God! (screaming) HELP! HELP! I’M BEING ROBBED BY THIS BOY! HELP! HE IS TRYING TO STEAL MY MONEY!
JOHN: (nervously and anxiously) SHH! SHH! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! YOU BUY IT OR LEAVE IT! Actually I WOULD PREFER it if you’d just go away!
RACHEL: Go away? Why? What have I done to you?
JOHN: You just accused me of being a liar and a thief! And then yelled for help!
RACHEL: I did no such thing.
JOHN: Yes you did! What the hell is wrong with you?!
RACHEL: That is no way to talk to the elderly! Who do you think you are? My father?! And I did no such thing! Are you accusing me of lying? My, the very thought!
JOHN: Oh God… (walking back to his seat while muttering under his breath) Just what I needed, another one of those people….
(JOHN sits down and picks up his book.)
RACHEL: (still standing in the same spot, raises her voice) Hey! I’m not done with you! Where are you going? Do you have this in a different colour? Blue?
(RACHEL waves the mug around to show JOHN.)
JON: No.
RACHEL: Red?
JOHN: (doesn’t glance up from his book) No.
RACHEL: Green?
JOHN: (agitated) Look Lady, this is a GARAGE sale. (he stands up and slams his book down on the table) We only have ONE of each. So take it or LEAVE IT! Stop fucking asking me questions!
RACHEL: (snaps at him) Don’t use that language around me! You don’t have to be all riled up!
JOHN: (mumbling) You’re starting to get on my nerves you -
RACHEL: Do you have different sizes? Is this 16 ounces or 20 ounces? I need to go by Starbuck sizes. You know, 16 ounces is a grandé and of course 20 ounces is the venti.
JOHN: No.
RACHEL: No what? Speak in complete sentences young man.
JOHN: No. WE. DO. NOT. HAVE. DIFFERENT. SIZES.
RACHEL: Well… do you have different patterns? This pattern on this mug with this colour looks absolutely awful! I mean whoever made these anyways? I wonder what they were thinking at the time they were making it!
JOHN: I don’t know. (to himself) Why won’t she go away? Man, this old hag, she -
(JOHN goes to sit back down in his chair again and glares up at RACHEL.)
RACHEL: (interrupts John) What did you say?
JOHN: Nothing.
RACHEL: Did you say this comes with a gift bag? What does it look like?
JOHN: No it does not come with a gift bag!
RACHEL: Well then, what does it come with?
JOHN: What does what come with?
RACHEL: The mug.
JOHN: Why would I give you a gift for buying something at a garage sale?
RACHEL: Well you just said you were going to.
JOHN: No I didn’t.
RACHEL: Don’t argue with the customer. The customer is always right?
Haven’t you heard before?
JOHN: (goes back to reading book) Yes, I have, from you, a couple of minutes ago.
RACHEL: I said so?
JOHN: Yes. Yes you did.
RACHEL: Well then, I am right, you know.
JOHN: Uh huh….
RACHEL: So what was I saying again?
JOHN: You were saying how you were always right.
RACHEL: No before that.
JOHN: You were saying how the customer is always right.
RACHEL: Before that.
JOHN: The mug.
RACHEL: No no, after that.
JOHN: (sighing) The gift bag?
RACHEL: Ah yes, so why don’t I get a gift bag?
JOHN: Because I don’t got any to give to you and trust me lady, I would give it to you if I had one, just so you would go away and stop bothering me!
RACHEL: Again, with the derogatory language! What is it with young ones these days? In my day, if we ever talked like that, we’d get a beating!
JOHN: (spitefully) Well, we’re not in your day. We’re in my day.
RACHEL: Does this come in different colours?
(RACHEL holds up the mug.)
JOHN: (exasperated, he puts down the book and walks towards RACHEL) I told you no!
RACHEL: Doe –
JOHN: And NO! It doesn’t come in different patterns either!
RACHEL: But didn’t you say that it did? I distinctively remembered you telling me that it did come in different colours.
JOHN: I didn’t say that.
RACHEL: Yes you did.
JOHN: Please don’t start with this again. I’m actually begging you.
RACHEL: Start with what?
JOHN: Asking all those questions.
RACHEL: Well I am a paying customer! I deserve the right to ask questions.
JOHN: Uh huh…. Whatever you say. So are you going to buy something or not? We don’t have anything else but whatever’s here.
RACHEL: So does that mean you don’t have –
JOHN: NO! NO! WE DON’T HAVE THIS GODDAMN MUG IN DIFFERENT COLOURS! AND THAT MEANS NO, WE DON’T HAVE THIS IN BLUE, PINK, BLACK, GREEN, YELLOW, RED, ORANGE, OR WHATEVER OTHER FUCKEN COLOURS THERE ARE. WE DON’T HAVE THIS GODDAMN MUG IN DIFFERENT PATTERNS! NOT LEOPARD, NOT STRIPES, NOT POLKA-DOTS. WE ONLY HAVE WHATEVER’S HERE, SO I’M GOING TO SAY THIS ONCE MORE! BUY IT OR LEAVE. PLEASE! I CAN’T GODDAMN TAKE YOUR WHINY ANNOYING VOICE ANYMORE. YOU’RE SO ANNOYING. CAN’T YOU SEE THAT IT’S A GARAGE SALE AND NOTHING MORE? WE’RE NOT A WHOLE FUCKEN WALMART! WE’RE NOT A DOLLARAMA. IF YOU WANT DIFFERENT STYLES, THERE ARE TONS OF PLACES YOU CAN GO TO. JUST PLEASE DO ME A FAVOUR AND LEAVE ALREADY!
(JOHN let’s out a sigh.)
RACHEL: MY WORD! FINE I’LL LEAVE RIGHT NOW!
RACHEL: (holding her head up high) Hmph.
(RACHEL takes her little purse and slowly exits right. JOHN breathes another sigh of relief and goes back to sit back down in his chair.)
JOHN: Oh what a day. First the stupid boy from down the street and now this old hag.
(JOHN picks up his book again and begins to read. Moments later, RACHEL enters from the right and walks straight towards JOHN.)
JOHN: What do you want now?
RACHEL: I’ve decided to buy the mug even though you were awfully rude to me. My granddaughter Clara would love this mug. It’s her birthday today and how would it look if her very own grandmother did not get her one thing! I hope you know, I’m simply buying this for her and not because I want to give you a sale.
JOHN: Fine whatever.
RACHEL: (points to the mug in front of her) I want this one. How much will it be?
JOHN: Forty-nine cents.
(RACHEL opens her purse and takes out a handful of change.)
RACHEL: I have a lot of pennies to get rid of… (chuckles nervously) forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine. Ah yes, here we are, fifty cents. Keep the extra penny as a token of thanks for all of your hard work.
(JOHN takes the change and puts it in the tin can. He takes the extra penny and throws it off to the side.)
RACHEL: (devastatingly) You wasted my penny! That was not a very nice thing to do!
JOHN: You gave it to me and once it was in my hand, I could do anything I wanted with it! Now go away! LEAVE ME ALONE!
(RACHEL gasps at JOHN’S comment and scurries off stage left with her mug. JOHN beams at this, picks up his book, and begins to read it again. Lights fade out to black.)
Tom McCallister
Ok. So I’m dead. Now I’m not saying this figuratively, I’m actually literally dead. You know it’s not as bad as you think it is. You can always go anywhere and do anything you want without people seeing you. The first time that I realized that I was dead was when I saw him cremating my body. At first, I really couldn’t make sense of anything; I even remember thinking, “wait, how am I here if I’m supposed to be there?!” That’s when it all clicked in my head. For a couple of days, I followed him around just to see what he would do after committing the crime. I thought he had a conscience but I guess not. Everyday I would sit in his rocking chair and rock back and forth observing him. It’s strange how he never notices that the chair is rocking with no live person in it. Oh, I do recall him thinking about it once, he just assumed that it was the draft coming in from outside. The good thing about being a ghost is that you always know what a person is thinking and that sure comes in handy if you’re trying to record every last detail about them down in your diary. I realize that you may be very confused right now so I’ll start from the very beginning, at the time that I was still alive.
It all started the day I moved to Forks, Washington D.C five years ago. I can recall that I was in a very bad mood that day; I mean who wouldn’t be? I left all my friends behind and I basically had to start my life over again. The first day I arrived in Forks was also the first day that I started school here. I was quite lonely that day until I met him, Tom McCallister. Everything seemed just too perfect about him. His hair was golden, his eyes, ferociously blue, his smile, as bright as can be, and finally his face, spotless. I thought he was a gift from God, literally. So just imagine how happy I was when I found out that he would be my tour guide around the school for the rest of the week. On top of that, we even had four classes together, all of which he sat an arm’s length away from me. By the end of the first week, Tom had asked me out and we were already going steady.
At first, he was very sweet. He would leave little cards or messages in my locker, send flowers to my house, and constantly remind me of how much he loved me. But then, the hitting started. Whenever I wasn’t at his house on time afterschool, he would push me against the wall and hit me bad. Once I tried to fight back but instead I landed a bruise right under my lip. My mom had asked me what happened when I got home. Of course I didn’t tell her what really happened. I took the obvious way out, I lied. Pretty soon after that, he started watching me wherever I went, started tracking my every move, never letting me wear anything but sweats and long sleeve sweaters. “To keep the other boys from wondering” he would say whenever I asked him. Always, after hitting me, he would hug me close and tell me that he was just trying to teach me a lesson. Sometimes, I’d tell him if he really loved me, he would stop hitting me. But that just made him angry again. There was never anything that I could do, I mean what could I have done? It was me against him. I think you’re smart enough to know who the obvious winner is. So I gave up resisting him. Whatever he wanted me to do, I did it. He even wanted me to move out of my parents’ house and move in with him. My parents thought he was a very nice guy, clean, rich, polite, the best of the best, so they let me go. But little did they know that they were sending their little Julie bee into a trap, where there’s only one way in but no way out. After moving in with him, it all became too much. I went from a straight A student to nothing and even lost contact with my parents and friends. Eventually, he made me drop out so I would have dinner on the table by time he got home from fooling around with other people.
Time went by very slowly those days when I was left alone until dinner time. Usually I would sit in the rocking chair in the corner of the house and write in my diary until I was balling my eyes out. Most days, I was too busy with the list of chores he left me. Finally one day, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had been contemplating this idea for weeks, suicide. It all made sense to me and just seemed too easy. Swallowing a few pills to end my life seemed utterly appealing. So I did it. I walked over to the medicine cabinet and pulled out a bottle of a no name brand of pills. I then made sure that I was very comfortable and finally ingested the whole bottle. As I lay on the bed and waited for the pills to take their effect, I thought about my parents and Tom. I wished that I could see my parents one last time… I wished that I could see Tom’s reactions when he found out that I was dead… I wished that…. The next thing I saw when I woke up was him cremating my body. He had put my remains in a jar and set it at the foot of my rocking chair. As I sit in my favourite corner of the house on this rocking chair, retelling you my story, I’m reminded of all the memories I had in this place, most of which were bad. But as I look around, I feel a sense of longing. I don’t believe I’ll ever leave this house or even this corner. So if you enter a strange old house anytime soon and see a rocking chair rocking back and forth by what appears to be by itself, you know it’s me. Maybe you’ll even hear the scribbling of my pen as I write down what I see. But for now, I think I’ll go back to watching him, while humming my favourite tune, recording everyone of his moves. I believe very much now that you would like to lock this chapter of your life away and open a new chapter. I give you permission to do so.
Cheers,
Julie Stuart
(written in 2008/2009)
It all started the day I moved to Forks, Washington D.C five years ago. I can recall that I was in a very bad mood that day; I mean who wouldn’t be? I left all my friends behind and I basically had to start my life over again. The first day I arrived in Forks was also the first day that I started school here. I was quite lonely that day until I met him, Tom McCallister. Everything seemed just too perfect about him. His hair was golden, his eyes, ferociously blue, his smile, as bright as can be, and finally his face, spotless. I thought he was a gift from God, literally. So just imagine how happy I was when I found out that he would be my tour guide around the school for the rest of the week. On top of that, we even had four classes together, all of which he sat an arm’s length away from me. By the end of the first week, Tom had asked me out and we were already going steady.
At first, he was very sweet. He would leave little cards or messages in my locker, send flowers to my house, and constantly remind me of how much he loved me. But then, the hitting started. Whenever I wasn’t at his house on time afterschool, he would push me against the wall and hit me bad. Once I tried to fight back but instead I landed a bruise right under my lip. My mom had asked me what happened when I got home. Of course I didn’t tell her what really happened. I took the obvious way out, I lied. Pretty soon after that, he started watching me wherever I went, started tracking my every move, never letting me wear anything but sweats and long sleeve sweaters. “To keep the other boys from wondering” he would say whenever I asked him. Always, after hitting me, he would hug me close and tell me that he was just trying to teach me a lesson. Sometimes, I’d tell him if he really loved me, he would stop hitting me. But that just made him angry again. There was never anything that I could do, I mean what could I have done? It was me against him. I think you’re smart enough to know who the obvious winner is. So I gave up resisting him. Whatever he wanted me to do, I did it. He even wanted me to move out of my parents’ house and move in with him. My parents thought he was a very nice guy, clean, rich, polite, the best of the best, so they let me go. But little did they know that they were sending their little Julie bee into a trap, where there’s only one way in but no way out. After moving in with him, it all became too much. I went from a straight A student to nothing and even lost contact with my parents and friends. Eventually, he made me drop out so I would have dinner on the table by time he got home from fooling around with other people.
Time went by very slowly those days when I was left alone until dinner time. Usually I would sit in the rocking chair in the corner of the house and write in my diary until I was balling my eyes out. Most days, I was too busy with the list of chores he left me. Finally one day, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had been contemplating this idea for weeks, suicide. It all made sense to me and just seemed too easy. Swallowing a few pills to end my life seemed utterly appealing. So I did it. I walked over to the medicine cabinet and pulled out a bottle of a no name brand of pills. I then made sure that I was very comfortable and finally ingested the whole bottle. As I lay on the bed and waited for the pills to take their effect, I thought about my parents and Tom. I wished that I could see my parents one last time… I wished that I could see Tom’s reactions when he found out that I was dead… I wished that…. The next thing I saw when I woke up was him cremating my body. He had put my remains in a jar and set it at the foot of my rocking chair. As I sit in my favourite corner of the house on this rocking chair, retelling you my story, I’m reminded of all the memories I had in this place, most of which were bad. But as I look around, I feel a sense of longing. I don’t believe I’ll ever leave this house or even this corner. So if you enter a strange old house anytime soon and see a rocking chair rocking back and forth by what appears to be by itself, you know it’s me. Maybe you’ll even hear the scribbling of my pen as I write down what I see. But for now, I think I’ll go back to watching him, while humming my favourite tune, recording everyone of his moves. I believe very much now that you would like to lock this chapter of your life away and open a new chapter. I give you permission to do so.
Cheers,
Julie Stuart
(written in 2008/2009)
The Last Picture in the World.
Life is still.
Nothing can be heard.
The memory of you stands on
Nothing.
Everything has disappeared.
Blue skies turn to emptiness.
Scattered pebbles, lifelessly on
Me and you.
You and me.
It falls short of dark, dark,
apocalyptic times.
The leaves are falling
Florescent colours are no more.
Do you see the empty skeletons
of trees?
The lingering sights of the wind?
Pine cones in the hearts of
Me and you.
(written Thursday, February 25th, 2010)
Nothing can be heard.
The memory of you stands on
Nothing.
Everything has disappeared.
Blue skies turn to emptiness.
Scattered pebbles, lifelessly on
Me and you.
You and me.
It falls short of dark, dark,
apocalyptic times.
The leaves are falling
Florescent colours are no more.
Do you see the empty skeletons
of trees?
The lingering sights of the wind?
Pine cones in the hearts of
Me and you.
(written Thursday, February 25th, 2010)
Ten-Seventeen and a Piece of Hard Candy.
I only got $10.17 and a piece of hard candy by the end of the day. Minus the bus fare and that’s only $8.32 and a piece of candy. So this evening, and a chilly one it was, we went to this subway station – not even sure what the name of it was. I took out my guitar as she made sure my case stayed wide open – there had to be a big enough space for passersby to throw some coins in, maybe even bills if I’m lucky; no money means no food. Phoebe, well I call her Pheebs, laid out a sheet on the ground and as we tried to get comfortable on the shoeprint stained floor, a TTC streetcar stopped right infront of us. Quickly, I got my act together and drew in a deep breath. The words flowed out of my mouth as quickly as they entered my brain; a melody escaped from somewhere deep inside of me, so rich it was that I wanted to cry. I didn’t have to think anymore; all of my worries and problems drifted away. But soon, it hit me that I was probably singing too softly against the monstrous roar of the subway trains; I guess that would explain why there was nothing in the case yet.
Pheebs said that she needed to leave; for once, her mother was expecting her home for dinner. I said okay and that was that. You could say that I felt kinda nervous alone but the more I sang, the more I began to relax. That was when I started noticing things. Some people were walking by so quickly, I knew right away that they must have had a destination in mind. It was easier to tell the tourists apart from the regular people who live in this city. Tourists had maps and would always carry either a confused or excited expression, while the regulars would just have a blank expression. They knew they couldn’t go anywhere, they knew they were stuck here, unlike the tourists. I only got $10.17 and a piece of hard candy by the end of the day. But I guess that’s not so bad for a rookie like me. Maybe Pheebs and I will go again tomorrow.
(written October 14th, 2009)
Pheebs said that she needed to leave; for once, her mother was expecting her home for dinner. I said okay and that was that. You could say that I felt kinda nervous alone but the more I sang, the more I began to relax. That was when I started noticing things. Some people were walking by so quickly, I knew right away that they must have had a destination in mind. It was easier to tell the tourists apart from the regular people who live in this city. Tourists had maps and would always carry either a confused or excited expression, while the regulars would just have a blank expression. They knew they couldn’t go anywhere, they knew they were stuck here, unlike the tourists. I only got $10.17 and a piece of hard candy by the end of the day. But I guess that’s not so bad for a rookie like me. Maybe Pheebs and I will go again tomorrow.
(written October 14th, 2009)
Sprinkler Attack.
“Goddamn it Harry, your sprinkler is spittin’ out water over to my garden again,” said an agitated Lauren.
“Well deal with it, looks like that dumpster ya call a garden is brownin’ anyways. It needs my healin’ water,” shouted a satisfied Harry.
“You’re an inconsiderate bastard.”
“I can’t hear a damn thing you’re sayin’ ya ol’ ninny. Come over to my side of the fence.”
“Why would I want to go over to that hell hole ya call ‘heaven on earth’? I SAID YOU’RE AN INCONSIDERATE BASTARD! Go clean all that crap outta your ear.”
“Well you’re not exactly an angel either Lauranne. Like that fat orange cat of yours; he keeps tramplin’ all over my garden, like he owns it or somethin’. Someday, I’ll get a dog an’ he’ll scare the shit outta your cat.”
“Oh I’d like to see the day ya get a pet. Oh my, ya make me laugh Harry. You’re always complainin’ about one thing or another. I wouldn’t be surprised if ya started complainin’ about your new dog the minute ya get him!"
“Just shut up Lauren. Shut the hell up!”
“If ya don’t turn off that God damn sprinkler right now, I sware to God, I’m gonna call the police. Did ya hear me Harry? I’M GONNA CALL THE POLICE!”
“Go ahead ya ol’ grandma. I’m not scared of them youngsters in those fancy uniforms. I dare ya to call ‘em! Go on, call ‘em!”
“…Hello? Hello? 911? Is this the police station? Yeess, well I’m in dire need of help! Old man Harry – “
“Lauranne! I turned off the Sprinkler!”
(written September 23rd, 2009)
“Well deal with it, looks like that dumpster ya call a garden is brownin’ anyways. It needs my healin’ water,” shouted a satisfied Harry.
“You’re an inconsiderate bastard.”
“I can’t hear a damn thing you’re sayin’ ya ol’ ninny. Come over to my side of the fence.”
“Why would I want to go over to that hell hole ya call ‘heaven on earth’? I SAID YOU’RE AN INCONSIDERATE BASTARD! Go clean all that crap outta your ear.”
“Well you’re not exactly an angel either Lauranne. Like that fat orange cat of yours; he keeps tramplin’ all over my garden, like he owns it or somethin’. Someday, I’ll get a dog an’ he’ll scare the shit outta your cat.”
“Oh I’d like to see the day ya get a pet. Oh my, ya make me laugh Harry. You’re always complainin’ about one thing or another. I wouldn’t be surprised if ya started complainin’ about your new dog the minute ya get him!"
“Just shut up Lauren. Shut the hell up!”
“If ya don’t turn off that God damn sprinkler right now, I sware to God, I’m gonna call the police. Did ya hear me Harry? I’M GONNA CALL THE POLICE!”
“Go ahead ya ol’ grandma. I’m not scared of them youngsters in those fancy uniforms. I dare ya to call ‘em! Go on, call ‘em!”
“…Hello? Hello? 911? Is this the police station? Yeess, well I’m in dire need of help! Old man Harry – “
“Lauranne! I turned off the Sprinkler!”
(written September 23rd, 2009)
Ronald and Spike.
Ron and Spike were best friends. They were like peanut butter and jelly; like two peas in a pod. Earlier that day, Ron had gotten the idea of digging for buried treasure from watching that day’s episode of Dinosaur and Friends. If it hadn’t been for his older brother John, who had kicked him out of the room, he would still have been at home watching his favourite show. But they settled just fine on the idea of going to Hillcrest Park. It was a beautiful July afternoon, with the sun high up in the sky. Ron had a back-pack slung over his shoulder, equipped with two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, a mini shovel and bucket to dig up the sand, and a leash for Spike. On the way out of his house, Ron’s mother had given him specific instructions: to be home in time for snack time and to make sure not to remove Spike’s leash or he’ll try to bite someone again. He politely told his mom no, that Spike would never bite anybody and that the reason why he bit the other boy last time was because that boy had tried to hit Spike with his school books. His mother looked concerned but she said okay. Ron pulled out the leash from his bag and attached it to Spike’s collar. Slowly, they strolled along the sidewalk. Ron called out to everyone he knew and said hello. But as he walked by old man Jenkins’ house, he quickened his pace and began to jog. Ron was afraid of old man Jenkins. Every time Ron and Spike came around, he would yell at them. But not even the word yell could exactly describe it; it was more like a scream. A little while back, Spike had run all over old man Jenkins’ tulips and they had not been forgiven since.
When they arrived at the park, Ron ignored the advice that his mother had given him and took Spike off his leash.
“Spike! Spike! Come back!” Ron yelled as his dog ran off.
Within minutes, Spike came back and together they raced to the sandbox.
“Okay Spike, we’re going to dig for buried treasure ‘kay? Just like they did in Dinosaur and Friends. We’re going to pretend that we’re on a secret adventure! Anything you find, you give it to me to put in this bucket okay boy? Bark boy, bark!”
Spike barked.
“Good boy,” Ron said.
Together, they dug and dug. But after ten minutes, Ron got tired of finding nothing but branches. But at least Spike seemed to enjoy finding the branches, thought Ron. He decided to take a break and took out the sandwiches out of his bag. He had packed two, one for him and one for Spike, but Spike didn’t seem the least bit interested in eating the sandwich so Ron ate his alone. After having finished his sandwich, Ron decided that it would probably be better if they dug somewhere else. Who ever heard of lost treasure buried in a sandbox anyways? He thought. He decided that it was probably best if they dug somewhere underneath a tree. Afterall, that was where the characters on Dinosaur and Friends found their treasure.
So off they went to find the biggest tree in the park. They settled on a weeping willow for it did seem like it was the biggest out of the whole lot of them. They circled around the tree, trying to find the best spot to start digging.
“Spike boy, use your nose to sniff out the treasure. Common, you can do it!”
Spike circled around the tree and finally came to a stop at one particular spot in front of it. He wagged his tail playfully so Ron assumed that that was where they should start. So he put his bag and bucket down and began to dig with his shovel. It was harder to dig the dirt up than the sand but they managed to do it and after about ten minutes, Ron’s shovel hit something.
“I found something Spike, I found something!” Ron said excitedly. “We’re going to be rich! Rich I tell you!”
He reached down into the hole and pulled out a small box. He pulled as hard as he could until the box finally gave way and fell into his lap. He was bursting with excitement and joy.
“Oh no Spike. There’s a lock on it,” said Ron disappointed. “We have to go home right now and get mom to open it. Common boy, let’s go!”
Hurriedly, he gathered up his things and began running back towards his house. Spike ran so fast a head of him that Ron could hardly keep up.
As soon as they got back to the house, Ron dropped all of his things on the floor and called out for his mom.
“Mom! MOOOOOMM! I found treasure at the park! I really found treasure! We’re going to be rich! MOOOOOMM!”
“What are you screaming about now you little brat?” sneered Ron’s older brother, John.
“N.Y.O.B.! None of your bee’s wax!”
“What ya got there?”
“Treasure! Me and Spike are going to be the world’s richest six-year-old and dog! And you’re not going to get any money. HAHA!” said Ron triumphantly.
“Hey, that’s not fair! Give that to me! Give it!”
“No! NO! MOM! MOOOOOMM!”
“What’s going on here boys?” said the boy’s mother. “Oh, what do you have there Ron?”
“Look mom! I found it at the park. Can you open it mom? Can you? Can you? It’s buried treasure, isn’t it? I know it is,” said Ron impatiently. “Open it mom, open it!”
“Okay darling, hold your horses. Let me just go get your father’s toolbox. There must be a hammer in there somewhere….”
Ron and John’s mother went down to the basement and got out the hammer. Five minutes later, she was back in the kitchen hammering off the little lock on the wooden box. When they finally got the lock off, they carefully and slowly opened the lid. Ron reached in and felt around inside. When he pulled his hand out, only a photo came out. It was a photo of a boy and a dog. On the back of the photo, some words were written in very precise penmanship: Jake, age 6, and Miles. Disappointed, Ron handed it to his mother.
“Oh, it’s just a crummy old picture!” said Ron angered.
“Oh honey. I can’t believe this,” said their mother with a surprised tone. “Why this is a photo of your dad when he was a six with his dog Miles. I guess his parents must have taken this picture of him, put it in this time capsule, and helped him bury it. It’s amazing how you were the one that found it!”
“Dad? Is this what he looks like? He had a dog too mommy? Really? Kinda like Spike?”
“Maybe. When your father was still alive, he told me wonderful stories about Miles. He told me that Miles was a very good dog, the best that any boy could ever ask for.”
“Wow, Miles must have been a really good dog.”
“You betcha darling.”
“But, I thought there was treasure. I really wanted to find buried treasure!” whined Ron.
“Oh but Ronald honey, you did find buried treasure! Buried treasure doesn’t have to mean gold or money. Buried treasure can mean anything you want it to be.”
“Oh whatever,” said John as he rolled his eyes and walked away.
“How?” Ron was intrigued.
“Buried treasure can be anything as long as it means something special to someone out there in the world, and sweetie, this sure would have meant a whole lot to your dad.”
“Really? Wow… I didn’t think of it like that. Then maybe… can you take a picture of me and Spike and put it in that box like a time capsule? And maybe we can bury it in the exact same spot that dad did? Oh could we mom?”
“Oh, I think that’s a wonderful idea sweetie.”
And with that, Ron’s mother took a picture of Ronald and Spike. Ron gleaming with his two front teeth missing from his wide mouth and Spike looking like he was just about to bark. They got the picture developed and stuck it into the wooden box. They found a lock for it and brought it back to where Ron and Spike had originally found it. Ron put it back in the hole and covered it up with the dirt that they had dug up before.
“Maybe your future son will find it just like how you did,” exclaimed Ron’s mother.
“Maybe,” said Ron. “Maybe right Spike?”
Spike barked in agreement.
(written on December 3rd, 2009)
When they arrived at the park, Ron ignored the advice that his mother had given him and took Spike off his leash.
“Spike! Spike! Come back!” Ron yelled as his dog ran off.
Within minutes, Spike came back and together they raced to the sandbox.
“Okay Spike, we’re going to dig for buried treasure ‘kay? Just like they did in Dinosaur and Friends. We’re going to pretend that we’re on a secret adventure! Anything you find, you give it to me to put in this bucket okay boy? Bark boy, bark!”
Spike barked.
“Good boy,” Ron said.
Together, they dug and dug. But after ten minutes, Ron got tired of finding nothing but branches. But at least Spike seemed to enjoy finding the branches, thought Ron. He decided to take a break and took out the sandwiches out of his bag. He had packed two, one for him and one for Spike, but Spike didn’t seem the least bit interested in eating the sandwich so Ron ate his alone. After having finished his sandwich, Ron decided that it would probably be better if they dug somewhere else. Who ever heard of lost treasure buried in a sandbox anyways? He thought. He decided that it was probably best if they dug somewhere underneath a tree. Afterall, that was where the characters on Dinosaur and Friends found their treasure.
So off they went to find the biggest tree in the park. They settled on a weeping willow for it did seem like it was the biggest out of the whole lot of them. They circled around the tree, trying to find the best spot to start digging.
“Spike boy, use your nose to sniff out the treasure. Common, you can do it!”
Spike circled around the tree and finally came to a stop at one particular spot in front of it. He wagged his tail playfully so Ron assumed that that was where they should start. So he put his bag and bucket down and began to dig with his shovel. It was harder to dig the dirt up than the sand but they managed to do it and after about ten minutes, Ron’s shovel hit something.
“I found something Spike, I found something!” Ron said excitedly. “We’re going to be rich! Rich I tell you!”
He reached down into the hole and pulled out a small box. He pulled as hard as he could until the box finally gave way and fell into his lap. He was bursting with excitement and joy.
“Oh no Spike. There’s a lock on it,” said Ron disappointed. “We have to go home right now and get mom to open it. Common boy, let’s go!”
Hurriedly, he gathered up his things and began running back towards his house. Spike ran so fast a head of him that Ron could hardly keep up.
As soon as they got back to the house, Ron dropped all of his things on the floor and called out for his mom.
“Mom! MOOOOOMM! I found treasure at the park! I really found treasure! We’re going to be rich! MOOOOOMM!”
“What are you screaming about now you little brat?” sneered Ron’s older brother, John.
“N.Y.O.B.! None of your bee’s wax!”
“What ya got there?”
“Treasure! Me and Spike are going to be the world’s richest six-year-old and dog! And you’re not going to get any money. HAHA!” said Ron triumphantly.
“Hey, that’s not fair! Give that to me! Give it!”
“No! NO! MOM! MOOOOOMM!”
“What’s going on here boys?” said the boy’s mother. “Oh, what do you have there Ron?”
“Look mom! I found it at the park. Can you open it mom? Can you? Can you? It’s buried treasure, isn’t it? I know it is,” said Ron impatiently. “Open it mom, open it!”
“Okay darling, hold your horses. Let me just go get your father’s toolbox. There must be a hammer in there somewhere….”
Ron and John’s mother went down to the basement and got out the hammer. Five minutes later, she was back in the kitchen hammering off the little lock on the wooden box. When they finally got the lock off, they carefully and slowly opened the lid. Ron reached in and felt around inside. When he pulled his hand out, only a photo came out. It was a photo of a boy and a dog. On the back of the photo, some words were written in very precise penmanship: Jake, age 6, and Miles. Disappointed, Ron handed it to his mother.
“Oh, it’s just a crummy old picture!” said Ron angered.
“Oh honey. I can’t believe this,” said their mother with a surprised tone. “Why this is a photo of your dad when he was a six with his dog Miles. I guess his parents must have taken this picture of him, put it in this time capsule, and helped him bury it. It’s amazing how you were the one that found it!”
“Dad? Is this what he looks like? He had a dog too mommy? Really? Kinda like Spike?”
“Maybe. When your father was still alive, he told me wonderful stories about Miles. He told me that Miles was a very good dog, the best that any boy could ever ask for.”
“Wow, Miles must have been a really good dog.”
“You betcha darling.”
“But, I thought there was treasure. I really wanted to find buried treasure!” whined Ron.
“Oh but Ronald honey, you did find buried treasure! Buried treasure doesn’t have to mean gold or money. Buried treasure can mean anything you want it to be.”
“Oh whatever,” said John as he rolled his eyes and walked away.
“How?” Ron was intrigued.
“Buried treasure can be anything as long as it means something special to someone out there in the world, and sweetie, this sure would have meant a whole lot to your dad.”
“Really? Wow… I didn’t think of it like that. Then maybe… can you take a picture of me and Spike and put it in that box like a time capsule? And maybe we can bury it in the exact same spot that dad did? Oh could we mom?”
“Oh, I think that’s a wonderful idea sweetie.”
And with that, Ron’s mother took a picture of Ronald and Spike. Ron gleaming with his two front teeth missing from his wide mouth and Spike looking like he was just about to bark. They got the picture developed and stuck it into the wooden box. They found a lock for it and brought it back to where Ron and Spike had originally found it. Ron put it back in the hole and covered it up with the dirt that they had dug up before.
“Maybe your future son will find it just like how you did,” exclaimed Ron’s mother.
“Maybe,” said Ron. “Maybe right Spike?”
Spike barked in agreement.
(written on December 3rd, 2009)
Not an HMV but a BMV.
I walked along Bloor Street with no exact destination in mind. I was thinking of how to pass the time when a sign caught my eye; BMV it read. I walked through the giant glass doors for the first time. Hundreds and hundreds of books lined the shelves; it seemed to me that there could be thousands. A guy who I recognized as a regular shopper at Fiesta Farms was stacking books back on the shelf. He was tall, decent looking, and you could tell right of the bat that he enjoyed his job very much by the way he was humming to himself. As I strolled along through each aisle, words on little tags on each shelf jumped out at me: Canadian Literature, Non-fiction, Fantasy, Self-Help, Reference, those were the only ones I could remember.
Brightly lit downstairs but not so much upstairs, I wondered to myself whether it was done so on purpose to create a certain atmosphere. Carpeting hugged the floors as if they knew I was coming and wanted to prevent the clack-clack noise of my cowboy boots. People scurried in and out. No sounds could be heard except for the sound of the constant annoying flipping of the book that the man next to me was holding. Carts of used and new movies were alphabetised according to title. My attention shifted to the sign at the back of the store. “Sell your used books here” it read. I made a mental note of that and walked out of the store.
(written on October 20th, 2009)
Brightly lit downstairs but not so much upstairs, I wondered to myself whether it was done so on purpose to create a certain atmosphere. Carpeting hugged the floors as if they knew I was coming and wanted to prevent the clack-clack noise of my cowboy boots. People scurried in and out. No sounds could be heard except for the sound of the constant annoying flipping of the book that the man next to me was holding. Carts of used and new movies were alphabetised according to title. My attention shifted to the sign at the back of the store. “Sell your used books here” it read. I made a mental note of that and walked out of the store.
(written on October 20th, 2009)
Yesterday.
I got into the driver’s seat and started the engine – put the gear in drive and quickly I began to speed away. As soon as the splash of sunlight hits my face, I let out a sigh of relief and let all of the windows down. Driving with the wind in my face and sunlight drowning out the darkness, nothing can be better than this, I told myself. I was away from her and the topic of divorce. As I approached the curve of the highway, I began to speed up…80 …90…and then 110 km/h; my mind had already wandered off to other things. I thought of what had become of me for the last 20 years. What happened to the fun old Paul Davis? What happened to the Paul that loved to paint and write music? Now that Paul is gone; in his place is a man who only knows of himself.
I swerved back to reality just as the song “Yesterday” by the famous Beatles came on to the radio. Paul McCartney’s voice rang out, as if he was in a small room all by himself, his voice echoing through my mind.
Suddenly, I’m not half the man I used to be, there’s a shadow hanging over me, oh yesterday came suddenly…
As snippets of this song jumped out to me, I found myself thinking about the marriage that I have with Claire. Claire, my Claire. Claire with the beautiful laughter; Claire with the ebullient personality. How did our wondrous relationship come to this?
Why she had to go I don’t know, she wouldn’t say. I said something wrong now I long for yesterday…
I stopped the car in the middle of an unknown bridge, got out, and leaned over the railings. The beautiful vibrant colours all intertwine with one another as they slowly turn to grey. The sight of the sunset captivates me and slowly, as I watched the colours fade to grey, I let myself go. I guess yesterday will never come after all.
(written on September 16th, 2009)
I swerved back to reality just as the song “Yesterday” by the famous Beatles came on to the radio. Paul McCartney’s voice rang out, as if he was in a small room all by himself, his voice echoing through my mind.
Suddenly, I’m not half the man I used to be, there’s a shadow hanging over me, oh yesterday came suddenly…
As snippets of this song jumped out to me, I found myself thinking about the marriage that I have with Claire. Claire, my Claire. Claire with the beautiful laughter; Claire with the ebullient personality. How did our wondrous relationship come to this?
Why she had to go I don’t know, she wouldn’t say. I said something wrong now I long for yesterday…
I stopped the car in the middle of an unknown bridge, got out, and leaned over the railings. The beautiful vibrant colours all intertwine with one another as they slowly turn to grey. The sight of the sunset captivates me and slowly, as I watched the colours fade to grey, I let myself go. I guess yesterday will never come after all.
(written on September 16th, 2009)
Story, Yes. Presentation, No.
People might hate me if I said it was bad. People might love me if I said it was bad. But really, I’m not so sure if it was actually bad… or good for that matter. It was okay.
David and Jesse Gilmore came to Harbord Collegiate on Friday, January 29th, 2010. The auditorium was packed with students and teachers anxiously waiting to hear the story of this man and his son. The lights dimmed and everyone’s voices were hushed. “Hello?” David said into the soundless microphone. After a few seconds of tapping it, he spoke into the mic about their “Film Club” and how it all began. They watched three films a week from all kinds of genres. Each film had a purpose, a meaning, something valuable to teach Jesse. And from watching three films a week, Jesse, a high school drop-out turned out okay. During the presentation, they played video clips of some of the movies they had watched for the film club. The likes of actors Marlon Brando, Clint Eastwood, and George Clooney were featured on the white screen. Directors Quentin Tarantino and Steven Spielberg were highlighted too. A Q&A session was held afterwards. I especially liked Ms. West’s question, “Why weren’t there any female actors featured in any of those clips?” They didn’t answer the question the way I wanted them to.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that the content was bad or anything like that. In fact, I find their story fascinating; I even went to the library to check out David’s book. I just found that the way they presented the whole thing was somewhat of a drag. Ordinary, nothing special. If you were walking by and didn’t know what was going on, you would have thought that it was just another assembly. This is a man who is a famous Canadian author who tours the world telling his and his son’s story. You would think that they would have put on a more engaging presentation. The story was there, but the presentation was not. Too bad, it would have been great.
(written on February 11th, 2010)
David and Jesse Gilmore came to Harbord Collegiate on Friday, January 29th, 2010. The auditorium was packed with students and teachers anxiously waiting to hear the story of this man and his son. The lights dimmed and everyone’s voices were hushed. “Hello?” David said into the soundless microphone. After a few seconds of tapping it, he spoke into the mic about their “Film Club” and how it all began. They watched three films a week from all kinds of genres. Each film had a purpose, a meaning, something valuable to teach Jesse. And from watching three films a week, Jesse, a high school drop-out turned out okay. During the presentation, they played video clips of some of the movies they had watched for the film club. The likes of actors Marlon Brando, Clint Eastwood, and George Clooney were featured on the white screen. Directors Quentin Tarantino and Steven Spielberg were highlighted too. A Q&A session was held afterwards. I especially liked Ms. West’s question, “Why weren’t there any female actors featured in any of those clips?” They didn’t answer the question the way I wanted them to.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that the content was bad or anything like that. In fact, I find their story fascinating; I even went to the library to check out David’s book. I just found that the way they presented the whole thing was somewhat of a drag. Ordinary, nothing special. If you were walking by and didn’t know what was going on, you would have thought that it was just another assembly. This is a man who is a famous Canadian author who tours the world telling his and his son’s story. You would think that they would have put on a more engaging presentation. The story was there, but the presentation was not. Too bad, it would have been great.
(written on February 11th, 2010)
Gravity.
Something keeps pulling
Me back
A tik tik tok
Somewhere deep in my mind.
It’s easy to belong
And nothing else
But something keeps pulling
Is this gravity?
9.8 meters per second squared?
It’s dark,
No stars have brighten
No moon in the sky.
I run and run,
Find it, I say,
Find it.
But all it ever was,
An endless circle
Running and hiding,
Hiding and running
I don’t know which is which anymore.
Gravity pulls on me
Leave me be, set me
Free.
Oh good, just a nightmare
I’ll see you later,
I say.
Me back
A tik tik tok
Somewhere deep in my mind.
It’s easy to belong
And nothing else
But something keeps pulling
Is this gravity?
9.8 meters per second squared?
It’s dark,
No stars have brighten
No moon in the sky.
I run and run,
Find it, I say,
Find it.
But all it ever was,
An endless circle
Running and hiding,
Hiding and running
I don’t know which is which anymore.
Gravity pulls on me
Leave me be, set me
Free.
Oh good, just a nightmare
I’ll see you later,
I say.
SanTa
You seemed like him,
Just holly and jolly.
But you’re not.
I wish you were though.
I hate it everytime
You come round.
Milk and cookies were never laid out
No delight, out of sight
Every other Sunday it used to be,
Like a present tossed under the tree.
That didn’t amount to anything
Just a figment
Of my imagination.
I hung the stockings out with care
Holding up high, in my eyes
All I wanted was a glimpse of you
But instead, all I ever got was coal
But SanTa, I’ve been a good girl
Tears well up,
I remember you holding my hand.
But it’s faint,
The memory slipping away
Likes worries on a Christmas Day.
Just like you are,
SanTa, SanTa.
I don’t see you anymore.
Maybe it’s better this way.
I’m a big girl now,
Too old to believe in SanTa.
Just holly and jolly.
But you’re not.
I wish you were though.
I hate it everytime
You come round.
Milk and cookies were never laid out
No delight, out of sight
Every other Sunday it used to be,
Like a present tossed under the tree.
That didn’t amount to anything
Just a figment
Of my imagination.
I hung the stockings out with care
Holding up high, in my eyes
All I wanted was a glimpse of you
But instead, all I ever got was coal
But SanTa, I’ve been a good girl
Tears well up,
I remember you holding my hand.
But it’s faint,
The memory slipping away
Likes worries on a Christmas Day.
Just like you are,
SanTa, SanTa.
I don’t see you anymore.
Maybe it’s better this way.
I’m a big girl now,
Too old to believe in SanTa.
get?
Peace, war.
Rich, poverty.
get?
Freedom, slavery.
the left is the right one.
get?
Fair, unfair.
WHAT does it all mean?
Equal rights they say,
Equilibrium.
I want to be
an Equal.
Lateral.
3 equal sides, lines
meet at 3 points, joints.
not quite.
get?
a Just society? just A society?
I cannot right everything.
the list is too long,
I don’t have enough papers.
Get?
Rich, poverty.
get?
Freedom, slavery.
the left is the right one.
get?
Fair, unfair.
WHAT does it all mean?
Equal rights they say,
Equilibrium.
I want to be
an Equal.
Lateral.
3 equal sides, lines
meet at 3 points, joints.
not quite.
get?
a Just society? just A society?
I cannot right everything.
the list is too long,
I don’t have enough papers.
Get?
I won't deny.
I won’t deny that I’m crazy.
I won’t deny that I have obsessions.
I won’t deny that I lie on my bed for hours at a time,
Starring out into space.
I won’t deny that I’ve been in love.
I won’t deny that I’m not even sure what love really is.
I won’t deny that I’m losing my words.
I won’t deny that the world will stay the same,
Even if I had gone away.
Blue will be blue,
Green will be green, and not red.
I wish it would be though.
I won’t deny that I am stuck,
I won’t deny that sometimes,
I do the opposite of what my heart tells me to do.
I won’t deny that I pretend like I belong.
I don’t, and I can’t.
I won’t deny that I play all the wrong notes.
I won’t deny that I hate crying,
Weak I am not, and shall not
Be.
I won’t deny that I am lost.
I won’t deny that I want to be the boss.
I won’t deny that I’ve never climbed a tree.
I won’t deny that I don’t want to lose being me.
I won’t deny that I have obsessions.
I won’t deny that I lie on my bed for hours at a time,
Starring out into space.
I won’t deny that I’ve been in love.
I won’t deny that I’m not even sure what love really is.
I won’t deny that I’m losing my words.
I won’t deny that the world will stay the same,
Even if I had gone away.
Blue will be blue,
Green will be green, and not red.
I wish it would be though.
I won’t deny that I am stuck,
I won’t deny that sometimes,
I do the opposite of what my heart tells me to do.
I won’t deny that I pretend like I belong.
I don’t, and I can’t.
I won’t deny that I play all the wrong notes.
I won’t deny that I hate crying,
Weak I am not, and shall not
Be.
I won’t deny that I am lost.
I won’t deny that I want to be the boss.
I won’t deny that I’ve never climbed a tree.
I won’t deny that I don’t want to lose being me.
Life goes on
Writing songs all day,
Paper strewn everywhere
Nails bitten down to the core
Ouch, paper cut, ouch.
I get the job done
Beyond done fits it better,
Perfectionist.
Not really, who is?
SAC President has its benefits
No many, I must say
Awards and honorariums reap
Their benefits on my wall.
Guests like to point and stare at the French one
Music is thrown everywhere
Notes, strings, paper, and pen.
The bed is messy.
The bookshelf is messier.
The person is messiest.
Life goes on
At least, I hope it does.
Paper strewn everywhere
Nails bitten down to the core
Ouch, paper cut, ouch.
I get the job done
Beyond done fits it better,
Perfectionist.
Not really, who is?
SAC President has its benefits
No many, I must say
Awards and honorariums reap
Their benefits on my wall.
Guests like to point and stare at the French one
Music is thrown everywhere
Notes, strings, paper, and pen.
The bed is messy.
The bookshelf is messier.
The person is messiest.
Life goes on
At least, I hope it does.
"What the?"
I laid on my bed for quite a while. I had a lot of work to do, but I thought “What the fuck?” I needed that time on my bed. I starred up at the ceiling. Glared at the walls. I looked out my window. Then it hit me. I remembered everything, the crazy crazy day I had had. Everything was coming out of nowhere. Memories from the past, images of the future…? The crazy lady that was yelling at me for surpassing her on the sidewalk, “what the fuck?” The dog that I had to shoo away from pissing on my bike. The dumbass mailman that gave me the neighbours’ mail instead of mine. And because of that, I had to go knock on the Robinsons’ door and asked for my mail. God they’re annoying with their “Hey Al! How are you doing today?! Well, won’t you join us for some pie! Have a mighty fine day, ya hear?” “What the fuck?” I got home to find that Michelle had left me a message on my voicemail. I was so happy and giddy. What did I know? She broke up with me through a voicemail. “Uh… hey Albert….” They always use your full name when it’s something serious. “Well, Monty’s back in town and he’s asked me to be his girl again and I said yes. So… I guess it’s over. Sorry Al. I hope we can still be friends. No hard feelings! Love you.” BEEP. END OF MESSAGES. THE END. FIN. HAPPILY EVER AFTER. Except NOT. Love you? Clearly she doesn’t love me! She’s sleeping with my ex-best friend! The “ex” means that he used to be my best friend. We were best friends since the beginning of time, well since grade 1 and everything went really well, and we were just GREAT pals, but then he moved away, and then he moved back, and then he moved away, and then he moved back and this time when he moved back I was all “Hip Hip Hooray because he promised to stay permanently now that he’s moved out from his parents and WHAT DO YOU KNOW? HE SLEEPS WITH MY GIRLFRIEND.” Anyway…. I look back at the ceiling. “What the fuck?” Whoever painted this room did a half ass job.
a state of Extreme feeling
a state of Extreme feeling,
of which i cannot convey
Your eyes bore in my soul,
my heart pounded like a drum
no control, no control
Your smile, so light, so bright
i’m holding my breath,
waiting for You to say something,
anything.
You glanced up at me,
i’m already in a million pieces
get a broom, a mop, a swiffer
You collect me up,
super glue me back together, Please.
piece by piece, it’s almost like a puzzle
no need to figure which piece goes where
You’ve already memorized me by heart
have You? did You?
You give me that thrill,
that anxiety, that
state of Extreme feeling.
of which i cannot convey
Your eyes bore in my soul,
my heart pounded like a drum
no control, no control
Your smile, so light, so bright
i’m holding my breath,
waiting for You to say something,
anything.
You glanced up at me,
i’m already in a million pieces
get a broom, a mop, a swiffer
You collect me up,
super glue me back together, Please.
piece by piece, it’s almost like a puzzle
no need to figure which piece goes where
You’ve already memorized me by heart
have You? did You?
You give me that thrill,
that anxiety, that
state of Extreme feeling.
The Violin
Her name escapes me now,
My mouth cannot make the shape of the consonants
And vowels in this noun.
They cannot meet the edges of my lips.
Like an upside-down mop,
So tall, with a wad of thickness coming down
It was show-and-tell
A second grade’s most prized day
She said she had something neat to show and not tell
We sat in neat military rows
In such straight lines,
We never left the boundaries
Of four square tiles on the floor
The violin,
Cherry red, wood, and maybe half sized
I had never seen a violin up close before
A,B,C, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
I didn’t know which she played,
They have the same tune.
It was all out of tune,
One and a half pitch too high
An E, flat, a C, too sharp no doubt
But I didn’t care
Oh violin, oh violin
Where do I begin?
I want you so bad, oh so bad!
This may be a sin!
Grade five,
I got a violin.
I remember her now,
Memory plays games with the mind
Chantel Wittside.
My mouth cannot make the shape of the consonants
And vowels in this noun.
They cannot meet the edges of my lips.
Like an upside-down mop,
So tall, with a wad of thickness coming down
It was show-and-tell
A second grade’s most prized day
She said she had something neat to show and not tell
We sat in neat military rows
In such straight lines,
We never left the boundaries
Of four square tiles on the floor
The violin,
Cherry red, wood, and maybe half sized
I had never seen a violin up close before
A,B,C, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
I didn’t know which she played,
They have the same tune.
It was all out of tune,
One and a half pitch too high
An E, flat, a C, too sharp no doubt
But I didn’t care
Oh violin, oh violin
Where do I begin?
I want you so bad, oh so bad!
This may be a sin!
Grade five,
I got a violin.
I remember her now,
Memory plays games with the mind
Chantel Wittside.
Yep, serious.
SO I've decided that this blog will be completely dedicated to my "literary work".
I'm only going to post stories, poems, reviews, my original song lyrics, and other types of writing on this blog... and not on my other one.
THIS will only be for serious writing while the other will be for my everyday journal type of thing.
It'll all work out, you'll see.
... and if you're reading these words right now, you most likely were directed here by my article in Tiger Talk! I hoped you found that piece... amusing.
Well anyway, starting from the next post, everything will be serious literary work!
Well, maybe.
P.S. My other blog address is www.theofficialtta.blogspot.com
You know, just in case you want to check that out too....
I'm only going to post stories, poems, reviews, my original song lyrics, and other types of writing on this blog... and not on my other one.
THIS will only be for serious writing while the other will be for my everyday journal type of thing.
It'll all work out, you'll see.
... and if you're reading these words right now, you most likely were directed here by my article in Tiger Talk! I hoped you found that piece... amusing.
Well anyway, starting from the next post, everything will be serious literary work!
Well, maybe.
P.S. My other blog address is www.theofficialtta.blogspot.com
You know, just in case you want to check that out too....
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