Wednesday October 10th, 2012

The exercise:

Write about: the cure.

I spent most of the day hauling squash out of the garden. Though we don't have nearly as much as we did last year, we don't have a team of helpers either, so it's still a lot to get through on my own. Hoping to be finished with them by lunch tomorrow.

As part of the festivities, I got to drive the tractor for the first time in at least a year and a half. Took a while to get reacquainted with the controls, but I managed to get the squash back to Kat's parents house without crashing into any trees.

Also: less than one month to go to the due date.

Mine:

"All right," Harold called out as he shrugged into his winter jacket, "I'm off to see the boys at the Doctor's."

"Have fun and give my best to Rory," his wife replied from the living room, her voice interwoven with the musical notes of her favorite album as they emerged, rather loudly, from their stereo.

Harold descended the front stairs and hung a left, his pace unhurried. Three blocks later he made another left as dark clouds gathered overhead. Snow was just beginning to drift earthward as he pushed through the heavy wooden door of Doctor MacTaggert's.

"Good evening, Harry!"

"Hey Rory," Harold said with a wave in the smiling bartender's direction. "It's good to be back here - I've had one seriously long week."

"Well then it sounds to me," Rory replied as he reached for a bottle of rum, "that you're in need of my secret cure-all."

4 Comments:

Greg said...

Yay for tractor driving! And not hitting those dangerous trees that just leap out of nowhere at you :)
How does the tractor help with the squash harvest then? Is it just a convenient way to transport all the squash as you haul them up?
Heh, Rory's cure-all sounds just the thing in cold weather and after a tough week. I think I could with one of those myself. This bag of Rolos I have on my desk will have to do during office hours though.
I also like the subtle touch that Harold's wife is relaxing in her own way :)

The cure
Jimmy rubbed his back with his free hand, wondering if it was right to be aching quite so much when he was still only six. Then, his back not much improved, he hefted the knife – more of a machete really – with its bloodied twelve-inch blade, and started butchering out another cut from the pig carcass. Miss Snippet, patrolling the classroom with her clipboard, stopwatch, and the heavy book of Modern Butchery, paused at his table.
"Nice work Jimmy," she said, sounding only slightly reluctant. To his surprise, his back seemed to ache less almost immediately with her words of praise. "These are some lovely cuts. Take these over to Jerome and get him to show you the cure."
She walked off, and he dutifully piled slabs of meat into the plastic carriage-trays of the pull-along train and hauled it over to Jerome, who was knee deep in a mountain of salt.
"Miss says you're the man with the cure," said Jimmy. Jerome looked at him through salt-encrusted eye-lashes and waved a hand around him.
"Bacon?" he asked. "A sausage of some kind? An air-dried ham? Take your pick, kiddo."

writebite said...

The Cure

Yet another cream got thrown into the trash, along with other pills and concotions that had promised to be a cure-all.
Illusions, they were, all of them.
The only cure for feeling this down in the dumps would have to be a mind boggling breakthrough. This all encompassing feeling was worse than a broken heart, worse than the loss of employment or the knowledge of encroaching disease because it was so absorbing, it robbed one of life.
One thing came along, unexpectedly. It was like a miracle, a break through the dimmed light.
Stars could not shine brighter than the look in your big, blue eyes as you smiled at me for the first time! You were only six weeks old! More powerful than the most powerful medicine, you have the ability to change my life for the better.

Cathryn Leigh said...

Heh so many different cures we have going here. I nearly thought Marc was going to steel my idea when he mentioned the wife listening to music... but no mention of the band I like.


The Cure

“It’s Friday I’m in love.....” Leigh sang along with The Cure as she drove home. She didn’t care what people thought as she jiggled the steering wheel and danced along with the song. The Cure was, after all, one of her favorite bands and the best way to cure a bad day at the airport when it was too cold to ride. (Not that she didn’t belt out the lyrics of her favorite songs as she rode...)


Someday, when I'm able to ride my motorcycle more, Leigh might actually get a story of her own, rather than being the character I stick in random role plays on Protagonize... poor thing

Marc said...

Greg - yeah, it's just a lot easier to put eight crates of squash on a pallet and cart it in with the tractor than it is to haul them in one at a time. Especially since they run between twenty and thirty pounds each.

Always heartwarming to hear a tale of a student thriving under Miss Snippet's tutelage :D

Writebite - wonderful contrast between the beginning and end. Nicely done.

Cathryn - ah, that angle didn't even occur to me, I'm sad to say.

I look forward to Leigh getting the chance to shine within her very own story :)