Let's Burn Our Dreams Into the Skyline
Hot Damn.
“Do you think this is funny?” My mother asks calmly, obviously aggravated, from the Formica island in the kitchen. I muster my laughs with a pillow from the couch and pretend to be channel surfing.
“In a way… yes,” Pete replies stupidly, not knowing whether or not he should give our mother an honest answer – he goes with honesty. Oof. Someone likes to live life on the edge.
“How is masturbating to men funny?!” My mother is obviously baffled by her sons apparent sexuality. I for one thought it was obvious all along. I can’t help but laugh again, and not even the soft beige pillow can not contain my bout of hysterical laughter this time.
“Linnea, this is not amusing!” Mother screeches, slamming Pete’s “F” paper down on the countertop.
“Of course it’s not,” I reply, rolling my eyes and fixating my brown orbs back onto the flashing TV screen, which is currently offering me cleaning products.
“This is strike 3, Peter, strike 3,” I don’t get why adults repeat themselves in an attempt to add emphasis.
“What? This isn’t fair!”
“Life isn’t fair, kid,” My mother cackles, pressing her blue ballpoint pen into the paper so hard when she goes to sign it, it makes a huge rip, “Now, upstairs. I don’t want to hear you breath for the rest of the day.”
Pete turns to walk upstairs, but stops himself mid-step, “Does that mean I’m allowed to breath if you don’t hear it or-”
He is cut off mid-sentence by some kind of odd animal noise that erupts from my mother’s small frame.
“UPSTAIIIIIIIIIRS!” She wails, flailing her arms. Her face is crimson red by the time she finishes the 2-syllable word. Pete’s eyes dilate – he has gotten the hint that she is not in the mood for his shit today. He retreats to his room mutely, but not before shooting me a glare.
The strident ring of the phone breaks me out of my hysteria and I attempt to calm myself down before picking up the off-white corded phone.
“Yellow?” I giggle into the receiver.
“Pink! It’s Max,” She replies, joining me in my giggle fit.
“As if that wasn’t obvious,” The phone belts out a steady “beep beep beep”, “Someones on the other line, hold on.”
I click the on button and am greeted by a disgusting, enormous belch curtosy of Gabe.
“Lovely,” I set down the phone to clap for him.
“Thank you, babe. So what are our plans for this evening?” He asks nonchalantly.
“Hold on, I’ll 3-way Max in,” I click on once more.
“3-way? Well hot damn!” Gabe yells.
“3-ways?!” Max asks excitedly, “Where? The Wentz Palace?”
“Sure,” I shrug, balancing the phone on my shoulder, “But Pete’s grounded for that essay.”
The laughter on the other end is so loud I drop the phone.
“Oh god,” Max gasps in between fits of immense laughter, “That’s like… perfect.”
There is silence for a few moments before Gabe pipes up with, “Max, bring some eggs with you. I have an idea.”
This cannot be good.
“In a way… yes,” Pete replies stupidly, not knowing whether or not he should give our mother an honest answer – he goes with honesty. Oof. Someone likes to live life on the edge.
“How is masturbating to men funny?!” My mother is obviously baffled by her sons apparent sexuality. I for one thought it was obvious all along. I can’t help but laugh again, and not even the soft beige pillow can not contain my bout of hysterical laughter this time.
“Linnea, this is not amusing!” Mother screeches, slamming Pete’s “F” paper down on the countertop.
“Of course it’s not,” I reply, rolling my eyes and fixating my brown orbs back onto the flashing TV screen, which is currently offering me cleaning products.
“This is strike 3, Peter, strike 3,” I don’t get why adults repeat themselves in an attempt to add emphasis.
“What? This isn’t fair!”
“Life isn’t fair, kid,” My mother cackles, pressing her blue ballpoint pen into the paper so hard when she goes to sign it, it makes a huge rip, “Now, upstairs. I don’t want to hear you breath for the rest of the day.”
Pete turns to walk upstairs, but stops himself mid-step, “Does that mean I’m allowed to breath if you don’t hear it or-”
He is cut off mid-sentence by some kind of odd animal noise that erupts from my mother’s small frame.
“UPSTAIIIIIIIIIRS!” She wails, flailing her arms. Her face is crimson red by the time she finishes the 2-syllable word. Pete’s eyes dilate – he has gotten the hint that she is not in the mood for his shit today. He retreats to his room mutely, but not before shooting me a glare.
The strident ring of the phone breaks me out of my hysteria and I attempt to calm myself down before picking up the off-white corded phone.
“Yellow?” I giggle into the receiver.
“Pink! It’s Max,” She replies, joining me in my giggle fit.
“As if that wasn’t obvious,” The phone belts out a steady “beep beep beep”, “Someones on the other line, hold on.”
I click the on button and am greeted by a disgusting, enormous belch curtosy of Gabe.
“Lovely,” I set down the phone to clap for him.
“Thank you, babe. So what are our plans for this evening?” He asks nonchalantly.
“Hold on, I’ll 3-way Max in,” I click on once more.
“3-way? Well hot damn!” Gabe yells.
“3-ways?!” Max asks excitedly, “Where? The Wentz Palace?”
“Sure,” I shrug, balancing the phone on my shoulder, “But Pete’s grounded for that essay.”
The laughter on the other end is so loud I drop the phone.
“Oh god,” Max gasps in between fits of immense laughter, “That’s like… perfect.”
There is silence for a few moments before Gabe pipes up with, “Max, bring some eggs with you. I have an idea.”
This cannot be good.