Wednesday November 5th, 2014

The exercise:

Write something that has to do with: the booth.

Kat and I spent the morning working on the yard and our house, attempting to get cleaned up and organized before winter's arrival. Made some good progress. Still, as always, lots left to be done.

Need to get last month's visit to Vancouver Irrealis figured out before I bring it back around again. Currently thinking/hoping that will be this Sunday.

Max turns two on Friday. I just... that's... how the... what?

Mine:

"Order's up for booth fourteen."

"Oh come on, Peter... not you too."

"What are you talking about? And get this food out of my kitchen, I've got more coming in a hurry here."

"We don't have fourteen booths. There's only -"

"One shy of that. Yeah, I know."

"Great, we can't even say the number anymore? How incredibly juvenile."

"Hey, I don't really believe that crap, but rules are rules. Boss man says no mention of... that number... I say, You got it."

"Well I'm not putting up with it. Let me know when the order's up for booth th-"

"Hey guys? Guys?"

"What, Blake?"

"The paramedics are at booth fourteen again... it's not looking good."

2 Comments:

Greg said...

That's the problem with houses, there's always house-work to do. Maybe you should just put that tent you had for your labourers in the summer back up and move in there?
And an early happy birthday for Max! Looking back so far I think you've done pretty well -- you've only had a couple of scares with him!
Hmm, that's a superstition that seems to doing its best to become reality in your story. I do hope the paramedics are there for coffee and waffles and because of the coffee and waffles....
It's a lovely back-and-forth in the conversation too, with just the right tone of annoyance and weariness from the more rational of the pair :)

The booth
Little girl, pause a moment,
Sit down beside me in this booth,
Turn a card upon the table,
And it will tell you truth.
The Tower! It will bring you strength,
But for what? What makes you sad?
Ah... I cannot help you with your mother,
No matter that she's mad.
Turn another, choose a card...
The lovers... you're too young for that!
A third: The hanging man indeed,
Your fate is sealed with that.

Marc said...

Greg - yeah, if only the tent was well insulated and heated... with a fridge... and plumbing...

Intriguing poem. Enjoyed reading it, and will be thinking about this little girl and your narrator for a while, I'm sure.