June 3, 2013

• A Dramatic Reenactment

  (a dark and quiet midnight on the eve of the last day in May. A seven-year-old girl sleeps peacefully in her mother’s bed, along with a thirty-pound dog, Spongebob Squarepants, nunny the pink rattling bunny blanket, and Saige the American Girl Doll).

  
  GIRL: Mama! I need the bathroom!

  (girl pukes all over the bedroom floor, on the bed, on the carpet, on Spongebob).

  
  MOTHER: …

  (*RING RING* telephone suddenly and jarringly rings)

  VOICE ON PHONE:  I’m just calling to let you know Mr. OBL’s grandfather just died.

  (*clackety clack* mother turns to internet for solace)

  XANGA IS DYING.

  (suddenly, as if no time at all has passed, it’s 7:00 a.m.)

  I thought perhaps if I gave you a dramatic reenactment you could get a better picture of the timing, because it was awesome. No, really, it was awesome. The rest of the unfortunate events (absent babysitter, fight with mother, fight with Medicare, confrontation with writing group woman, 10 hour drive back and forth to 2 hour funeral, internet, television and phone service down for 24 hours) didn’t really happen in such awesomely quick succession, so aren’t as suited for dramatic reenactment.

  Not that I couldn’t do it; I could, I could, I tell you.

  TODAY.

  • 10:44 am
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