Random Flashes near a 33rd Birthday
He was four. He asked who sang that song on the radio. Frankie Valli. "What was he....born between two mountains?" Way more laughter than the joke warranted.
He was driving to school. Siblings in the back seat, fighting. He turned around, dad-style, to give them a whack, lost control of the wheel on the snow-slick road, and did a complete 360 in the middle of a busy intersection...and kept movin'. Upside: he never had to drive the siblings anywhere after that.
He was walking in the woods behind the Homans'. He turned left, and stopped dead, heart leaping into chest: a giant bear, looming over the path. Unmoving. Made of fiberglass, full of pellet holes. A target. New gun club. Better not walk back here any more. Or, worse, ride the horse. "Good eatin' but kinda stringy."
He was running, in tiny shorts, the worst member of the track team, but this time he was doing all right, running third. He crossed the line and slowed down, panting heavily. But everyone passed him, and kept going. His heart sank into his shoes. This was supposed to be two laps. He quit the team the next day.
The church youth group was tripping to Chicago. It was taking a long time to check into the hotel, so he went wandering. He rode the elevator to the 23rd floor, and stepped out onto the fire escape, just to see what the city looked like from that high with no glass between him and the sky. Click. The door had shut behind him, and there was no handle on the outside.
Gas station bathroom. Dire emergency, requiring a trepidacious dismissal of questionable hygiene. He leaned forward too far. The tip of his penis touched the fetid porcelain. He freaked the hell right out, but made note in the back of his mind that he'd just discovered the worst feeling in the entire world.
He was driving to school. Siblings in the back seat, fighting. He turned around, dad-style, to give them a whack, lost control of the wheel on the snow-slick road, and did a complete 360 in the middle of a busy intersection...and kept movin'. Upside: he never had to drive the siblings anywhere after that.
He was walking in the woods behind the Homans'. He turned left, and stopped dead, heart leaping into chest: a giant bear, looming over the path. Unmoving. Made of fiberglass, full of pellet holes. A target. New gun club. Better not walk back here any more. Or, worse, ride the horse. "Good eatin' but kinda stringy."
He was running, in tiny shorts, the worst member of the track team, but this time he was doing all right, running third. He crossed the line and slowed down, panting heavily. But everyone passed him, and kept going. His heart sank into his shoes. This was supposed to be two laps. He quit the team the next day.
The church youth group was tripping to Chicago. It was taking a long time to check into the hotel, so he went wandering. He rode the elevator to the 23rd floor, and stepped out onto the fire escape, just to see what the city looked like from that high with no glass between him and the sky. Click. The door had shut behind him, and there was no handle on the outside.
Gas station bathroom. Dire emergency, requiring a trepidacious dismissal of questionable hygiene. He leaned forward too far. The tip of his penis touched the fetid porcelain. He freaked the hell right out, but made note in the back of his mind that he'd just discovered the worst feeling in the entire world.
posted by Chad Wedeven | Sunday, February 25, 2007
3 Comments:
Hahahaha. Aw, Chad Blossom.
What about all the BEAUTIFUL and REWARDING experiences?!
Happy Birthday for the 80th time
(I would record the song I sang you, but I think I've tortured you enough for today :p).
I love you.
Blah! I tried to call n say happy b-day since I had computee on actual birthday, but no answer. So happy birthday. I was gonna send you a happy birthday spork, but I lost yer address. Damn.
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