Wednesday November 19th, 2014

The exercise:

Write something that takes place at: the reunion.

Spent most of the morning in town with Max, exploring some of his favorite stores, while Kat was in an online class at home. After I dropped him off with Grandma after lunch I finally got around to raking up all the leaves that had dropped off our walnut trees in the front yard. Good to get that done.

Kat's at a class in Penticton this evening and, so far at least, Max is sleeping peacefully. It's nice to have some time to myself earlier in the evening than usual... but I'm afraid of waking him up, so it's hard to do much.

Oh well, I'll just keep typing quietly away...

Edit: he woke up about fifteen minutes after Kat got home. That works for me.

Edit the second: and of course he doesn't want to go back to sleep now...


My high school gym hasn't changed much since I was here last. Maybe a few more championship banners hanging on the walls, a couple new head-sized dents in the floor, but that's about it. Same miserable puke green paint on the walls, same old stench that can only come from sweaty teenagers who don't shower nearly often enough.

I never liked this place.

It's not that I was terrible at sports; I was average at most of them, pretty good at a couple. I didn't really stand out at either end of the scale, which is a pretty safe way to play things. Not that I did it on purpose. I didn't think anything through that much at that point in my life.

No, it was the dances they insisted on hosting here. Four times per school year. Bring a date or be labelled a loser. Stay home and invite upon yourself endless jokes involving dating your own mother. Or father.

So you find a girl who is willing to go with you. Arrive after the lights are turned down low, leave before things get too bright. Hope you're seen but not noticed. Dance as little as possible, keeping movements low key. Drink lots of water, enough so that it seems reasonable that you need to go to the bathroom every time a slow song comes along.

What ridiculous pressure. How could any of us stand it?

And now they're bringing us all back together, in this public holding cell of a gymnasium. Only this time, they've hired a live band...


Greg said...

That sounds like a busy day! For you, Max and Kat. The leaf-sweeping sounds therapeutic and relaxing though, quite pleasant.
On the other hand, your reunion doesn't sound like a very happy affair; though I like the idea of the gymnasium as a holding cell. There's some lovely descriptions in there, I do hope it's not too autobiographical!

The reunion
She stood in front of the mirror and said his name three times. She scanned the reflection, seeing only the room behind her: the bookcase shelved with DVDs and scented candles, the antimacassared side-table on which stood a crystal vase holding a single rose, the window with the bilnds half-drawn against the night.
She turned around, wondering if she was disappointed or relieved, and jumped like she'd touched the live-wire while rewiring a plug. Standing right behind her, his eyes gazing intently at her neck, was Myrtouche.
"We meet again," he said, his voice soft and high-pitched. His eyes twinkled brightly and reminded her of the Killer-Clown that the police had arrested three weeks ago. The news stations were still showing pictures of him. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this reunion?"
She swallowed and realised that she'd been relieved when she thought he hadn't come.
"I want to use my second wish," she said. She wished that she sounded strong, firm, womanly, but she could hear herself sounding whiny. Childish.
"Of course," he said, placing a hand on her shoulders. It burned. "And what will it be?"
"I want a reunion of my own," she said. "I want; I mean I wish that the continents of the Earth were back as original Pangaea."
Myrtouche's smile vanished like tears under a blowtorch's flame. He tilted his head, and she recognised the gesture; he was calculating as fast as a supercomputer. Eventually he tilted his head back and glared at her.
"Even allowing for infinity," he said, "I won't get my money's worth out of you for that. You're going to need to pony up some collateral."
"I have three sisters," she said, and shivered as Myrtouche's smile reappeared.

Marc said...

Greg - no, not too autobiographical. Just a few real tidbits thrown in to help make it feel more real (I hope).

Hmm, quite the wish granter we have here. I'm not sure I'd want to deal with him, no matter what I was able to get in return!