At first, it was a quirky and beautiful use of language. Then the characters grew flesh on their bones and the bow of the story they had been pulling back on launched. Short, short chapters. One or two full pages and half of the flipside.
An unknown and compelling trajectory.
Reading something this good raises hell with my writing.
About 830 I decided I wasn't going to watch the debate. Live TV makes me anxious in history rooted ways. I was watching the live broadcast of Lee Harvey Oswald being brought somewhere when the man in the hat stuck a gun in his gut.
"Dad. Is this real?"
"I'll be a son of a bitch if it ain't." I had become an old fourteen two days prior.
I was watching the Today show, live, when the second plane flew over Katie Couric's shoulder to smash into the tower where I still felt that I had neighbors.
Then my sister called from the beach and said she was going to watch. Now I had to watch. And I'm so glad I did.
I heard a pundit say that you could really learn about people by watching a televised debate with the sound off. Since I have to rely on closed captioning most of the time, it wasn't a stretch.
I saw him, lurching. Rancid looking. Trying to puff himself bigger like a poisonous toad.
Then I saw her, sleek and chic, the lead lioness of her pride, stride across the stage corner him, and mark him. I hope she wears hand lotion. Something slimey like Curel. And she was brilliantly sharp and sly.
I sat on the edge of the bed just feet from the big screen with a hand towel that I thwacked the back of the desk chair with each time she burned him. If it was a drinking game, I'd be dead. The cats hid, bless them. When he spouted that pet eating nonsense I howled like a wild thing.
I wanted to see her leap to the top of her podium, heft a glittering spear and...I have a very violent turn of mind.
When it was over, I couldn't find the remote so I saw something that many didn't Watching him wandering around in the Spin room looking for some MAGA hatted geeks to shout "USA" at him.
There were none. He had no mic so he moved from one place to another seeking comfort. He looked like an old potzer angry because there was a long line for the Early Bird Special at Golden Corral and they made him stand outside.
The men with their backs to him were security, but the ones facing him, eyes only half on their phones, wore looks of pity. Disgust. When a microphone could finally be found, he just kept making it worse.
My sense of smell and taste came back. While I watched and raved, I ate a big piece of red velvet cake from Publix and licked the lid. I slept great.
Also did a new reading for 9.11
4 comments:
It was a long-overdue and well-deserved trouncing. They are still trying to remove the orange stains left after she mopped the floor with him.
I still want to sharpen my spears.
Just a fabulous telling. Thank you! Love the hand crème idea. He DOES look rancid. We’re lucky we don’t have to smell him.
You described the debate to a T … shouldn’t be surprised you are a writer after all. I love the comment about still trying to remove the orange stain. I want to laugh but it’s still too early for that … we still have a ways to go before we can celebrate any kind of victory.
Tina
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