Status: something to help the writer's block
The Irony is That This Cell Phone Has Gone Through Dante's Inferno and Back and Still Looks Better Than You
In Which There Are Sweethearts and a Significant Lack of Strangulation
James Whitmore moved to a moderately sized town on Long Island when he was seven years old. The air had been thick and humid with the promise of rain, heavy gray clouds stretching over the sun. His parents’ bickering over where they should place the coffee table (In the middle of the room? Off to the side? Closer to one end of the sectional?) sounded softly in his ears.
He fumbled with an old cell phone his father had given him in the car to distract him from the insanely long drive. There wasn’t much a four-hour car trip could do to keep a seven-year-old boy from strangling his five-year-old brother if he even so much as hummed the Barney theme song again.
James was sitting on a decorative garden rock, mashing the buttons in a phone that would call nowhere when the door to the house across the street opened. A girl with olive-toned skin, dark hair pulled into pigtails, and wearing a necklace of plastic beads around her neck ran towards him, stopping abruptly in her driveway to check for cars before deciding it was safe. Her parents watched with smiling faces from a porch.
He thought she was pretty.
“Hi!” Her voice reminded him of his favorite candy. “My name’s Natalia. I’m—” She paused, her tongue poking out of her mouth as she counted fingers. “Five!” She held them up triumphantly. One of her front teeth was missing.
“Hi, sweetheart.” He called her sweetheart because his dad called his mom sweetheart and when he asked him why, his dad said it was because he thought his mom was pretty.
James thought Natalia was pretty.
Natalia scrunched her nose. James laughed. “My name’s James. I’m seven.” Her eyes danced.
“Do you want to play with me, James?”
Before he could answer (it would have been yes), his mother called to him from the chaos of organizing the little glass clowns she wouldn’t let him touch. His brother cowered behind her leg with his fingers in his mouth, eyes on the ground.
“Take Will with you!”
He fumbled with an old cell phone his father had given him in the car to distract him from the insanely long drive. There wasn’t much a four-hour car trip could do to keep a seven-year-old boy from strangling his five-year-old brother if he even so much as hummed the Barney theme song again.
James was sitting on a decorative garden rock, mashing the buttons in a phone that would call nowhere when the door to the house across the street opened. A girl with olive-toned skin, dark hair pulled into pigtails, and wearing a necklace of plastic beads around her neck ran towards him, stopping abruptly in her driveway to check for cars before deciding it was safe. Her parents watched with smiling faces from a porch.
He thought she was pretty.
“Hi!” Her voice reminded him of his favorite candy. “My name’s Natalia. I’m—” She paused, her tongue poking out of her mouth as she counted fingers. “Five!” She held them up triumphantly. One of her front teeth was missing.
“Hi, sweetheart.” He called her sweetheart because his dad called his mom sweetheart and when he asked him why, his dad said it was because he thought his mom was pretty.
James thought Natalia was pretty.
Natalia scrunched her nose. James laughed. “My name’s James. I’m seven.” Her eyes danced.
“Do you want to play with me, James?”
Before he could answer (it would have been yes), his mother called to him from the chaos of organizing the little glass clowns she wouldn’t let him touch. His brother cowered behind her leg with his fingers in his mouth, eyes on the ground.
“Take Will with you!”
♠ ♠ ♠
I took a PSAT today and learned that very few people these days have seen a cow. I think my life has been permanently changed.