(Formerly Flash) Fiction Friday #9 (And of course the other usual B.S.)
Hooray for not sticking to New Year’s Resolutions!
You know what else is hard? Reading friggin’ Aftermath. You know, Chuck Wendig’s Star Wars novel I promised I’d have a review of finished by last Monday? Yuuuup, still plodding through that. I guess giving up is always an option, but I already did that with 1Q84 and I guess that as a book blogger I should probably try not to do that too often… *heavy sigh* Considering it’s taking me so long to read it, I’m sure you can guess how this review is going to go; I’ll try to live up to the high expectations I know you’re all holding me to. Look for a review next week.
On the bright side, I started reading A Game of Thrones again, because work is boring and I need something to sneakily read on my phone at the register on slow days, and unfortunately I bought Aftermath as a hard copy and not an ebook. So fear not, I won’t keep you waiting for a review of that nearly as long as you’ve been waiting for my upcoming one. Also, if you pay attention to “My Reading List” I have so helpfully included to the right of this post, you’ll see some other, “sexier” books on there, which I’ve already read a while back and should have some mini-reviews of out within the next week or so. Also also, I swear to all that is good and holy that I will be starting my City of Bones sporking within the next couple weeks, hopefully sooner than that. Hooray for promises I’ll probably break!
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| This is specifically for you, Boyfriend <3 |
Oh, you were expecting a story, were you? Well, I guess there’s really no point in calling this “Flash Fiction Friday” anymore, since this one is about three pages long and not technically even finished. So from now on, on the occasions when I do post a story, I might just refer to it as Fiction Friday/Story Saturday, depending on when I post it.
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Friday Nights at Home
“But why can’t I stay up and watch it?” Dave protested as I
prodded him to get into bed. I sighed; had my little brother always been this
difficult? Then again, I was not Mom. I never could be Mom.
prodded him to get into bed. I sighed; had my little brother always been this
difficult? Then again, I was not Mom. I never could be Mom.
“Because, it’s… past your bedtime,”
I said, hoping the darkness of the bedroom hid the cringe on my face at my own
pathetic response. It was true, of course: Star
Trek wasn’t on until ten o’clock these days, and Dave was supposed to go to
bed strictly at eight on Grandma Sylvia’s insistence, Friday night or not. “Just because your Mama’s not around–God
rest her soul–doesn’t mean the order in this house is going to go to the
Devil,” she was too fond of saying.
I said, hoping the darkness of the bedroom hid the cringe on my face at my own
pathetic response. It was true, of course: Star
Trek wasn’t on until ten o’clock these days, and Dave was supposed to go to
bed strictly at eight on Grandma Sylvia’s insistence, Friday night or not. “Just because your Mama’s not around–God
rest her soul–doesn’t mean the order in this house is going to go to the
Devil,” she was too fond of saying.
Dave crossed his arms over his chest
and glared at me. In response, I pulled the blanket right over his folded arms
and up to his chin. Immediately, he started to flail in protest and I couldn’t
help but laugh. “C’mon, Janey, just ask Dad for me, pleeeease? He always used
to let me watch it,” he continued to plea.
and glared at me. In response, I pulled the blanket right over his folded arms
and up to his chin. Immediately, he started to flail in protest and I couldn’t
help but laugh. “C’mon, Janey, just ask Dad for me, pleeeease? He always used
to let me watch it,” he continued to plea.
“‘I’m afraid I can’t let you do
that, Dave,’” came a flat, stilted voice from behind me. Dad stood in the
doorway, a smile flashing across his face as he stretched out his arms and
began to stiffly march toward us, more Frankenstein’s Monster than evil robot.
A hard knot formed in my throat and dropped into my stomach; already I knew
that this playful mood wouldn’t last for long. No point in smiling at the joke
if that was going to be the case. As Dad continued to tease my brother in a droning
impression of HAL 9000, I wordlessly got up and left, afraid of ruining the
moment.
that, Dave,’” came a flat, stilted voice from behind me. Dad stood in the
doorway, a smile flashing across his face as he stretched out his arms and
began to stiffly march toward us, more Frankenstein’s Monster than evil robot.
A hard knot formed in my throat and dropped into my stomach; already I knew
that this playful mood wouldn’t last for long. No point in smiling at the joke
if that was going to be the case. As Dad continued to tease my brother in a droning
impression of HAL 9000, I wordlessly got up and left, afraid of ruining the
moment.
Back in my own room, I flopped
face-first down on my bed and pressed my face firmly into the pillow,
remembering how as a little kid I’d always tried to leave a perfect imprint in
the middle. I sat up on my knees, watching as the pillow re-formed itself, the
shallow indent filling itself in again as if melting in reverse. I half
expected Grandma Sylvia to be lurking in the doorway, asking what nonsense I
was up to now. To her, anything that teenagers did when not under an adult’s
watchful eyes–and even when they were–was automatically “nonsense”. It was
her favorite word, and she used it quite liberally. Hopping off my bed, I
pushed the door closed as far as I thought I could get away with. Ever since
Grandma Sylvia had moved herself into our house, she’d made it very clear that
if she saw a bedroom door completely closed, it must mean that some form of
“deviant nonsense” must be going on behind it.
face-first down on my bed and pressed my face firmly into the pillow,
remembering how as a little kid I’d always tried to leave a perfect imprint in
the middle. I sat up on my knees, watching as the pillow re-formed itself, the
shallow indent filling itself in again as if melting in reverse. I half
expected Grandma Sylvia to be lurking in the doorway, asking what nonsense I
was up to now. To her, anything that teenagers did when not under an adult’s
watchful eyes–and even when they were–was automatically “nonsense”. It was
her favorite word, and she used it quite liberally. Hopping off my bed, I
pushed the door closed as far as I thought I could get away with. Ever since
Grandma Sylvia had moved herself into our house, she’d made it very clear that
if she saw a bedroom door completely closed, it must mean that some form of
“deviant nonsense” must be going on behind it.
The hard knot coiled tighter in my
stomach, threatening to move into my throat again. Mom called my love of
science fiction “nonsense” of any variety, even if she did find it a bit
strange. She’d never called anything I did or liked “nonsense.” I sat down on
the bed again and pulled my copy of The
Moon Is a Harsh Mistress out from where it was wedged between the bed and
the wall, thinking of how tightly pursed Grandma Sylvia’s lips would be if she
saw me reading such a “nonsense” book.
stomach, threatening to move into my throat again. Mom called my love of
science fiction “nonsense” of any variety, even if she did find it a bit
strange. She’d never called anything I did or liked “nonsense.” I sat down on
the bed again and pulled my copy of The
Moon Is a Harsh Mistress out from where it was wedged between the bed and
the wall, thinking of how tightly pursed Grandma Sylvia’s lips would be if she
saw me reading such a “nonsense” book.
I was so absorbed in the story that
almost two hours had passed before I remembered that it was almost time for Star Trek. I dog-eared the page to mark
my place–more out of secret rebellion against my grandmother’s exacting
standards than lack of a bookmark–and made my way to the living room. Dad was
already there on the couch with his newspaper. His playful facade on display
earlier had once again disappeared behind his stoic lawyer mask. He stared
intently at the paper, not even lowering it an inch as he took a sip from the
Tom Collins glass in his other hand.
almost two hours had passed before I remembered that it was almost time for Star Trek. I dog-eared the page to mark
my place–more out of secret rebellion against my grandmother’s exacting
standards than lack of a bookmark–and made my way to the living room. Dad was
already there on the couch with his newspaper. His playful facade on display
earlier had once again disappeared behind his stoic lawyer mask. He stared
intently at the paper, not even lowering it an inch as he took a sip from the
Tom Collins glass in his other hand.
Grandma Sylvia perched stiffly on the ancient rocking chair
in the corner of the large room farthest from the television; her designated
spot. She occupied her own private circle of lamplight in the dimly-lit room,
spotlighting her as she knitted something out of blue yarn with the brisk
efficiency of a robot designed to act as Southern-grandmotherly as possible.
She certainly didn’t seem to run on sleep the way I thought old ladies should,
her main fuel instead being copious amounts of sweet tea and furtive sips of
whiskey when she thought no one was looking. There was a glass of sweet tea on
the table beside her now, perhaps even with a drop of whiskey in it, and I
resigned myself to the fact that she would be sticking around to purse her lips
through the episode.
in the corner of the large room farthest from the television; her designated
spot. She occupied her own private circle of lamplight in the dimly-lit room,
spotlighting her as she knitted something out of blue yarn with the brisk
efficiency of a robot designed to act as Southern-grandmotherly as possible.
She certainly didn’t seem to run on sleep the way I thought old ladies should,
her main fuel instead being copious amounts of sweet tea and furtive sips of
whiskey when she thought no one was looking. There was a glass of sweet tea on
the table beside her now, perhaps even with a drop of whiskey in it, and I
resigned myself to the fact that she would be sticking around to purse her lips
through the episode.
“Dad, it’s almost on,” I said. When he didn’t look up, I
gave his Tom Collins arm a nudge. “Dad, Star
Trek is on. Can I turn on the TV?”
gave his Tom Collins arm a nudge. “Dad, Star
Trek is on. Can I turn on the TV?”
He gave a start. “Hm? Oh. Yes, go ahead.”
I turned on the television and quickly flipped to NBC, just
as the opening notes of the theme song chimed and the USS Enterprise glided through space across the screen. Just as I
always did on these Friday nights, I grabbed a pillow from the couch and hugged
it to my chest as I sat cross-legged on the floor. Almost immediately, my
grandmother’s signature “Hmph!” could be heard from her corner.
as the opening notes of the theme song chimed and the USS Enterprise glided through space across the screen. Just as I
always did on these Friday nights, I grabbed a pillow from the couch and hugged
it to my chest as I sat cross-legged on the floor. Almost immediately, my
grandmother’s signature “Hmph!” could be heard from her corner.
“Really, Alan, you shouldn’t let Jane watch such nonsense,”
she fussed. Nonsense, there was that
word again.
she fussed. Nonsense, there was that
word again.
Dad sighed at her in the way only he could and get away with
it. “Ma, there’s nothing wrong with it. And Janey’s fifteen, she’s allowed to
watch what she wants. Besides… it’s educational.” There was the rustling of the
paper being folded, and I looked up at Dad. He smiled slightly, giving me that
conspiratorial wink he always used to give me whenever Mom questioned what he
let me watch on TV.
it. “Ma, there’s nothing wrong with it. And Janey’s fifteen, she’s allowed to
watch what she wants. Besides… it’s educational.” There was the rustling of the
paper being folded, and I looked up at Dad. He smiled slightly, giving me that
conspiratorial wink he always used to give me whenever Mom questioned what he
let me watch on TV.
This week’s episode, “Plato’s Stepchildren,” was a pretty
silly one, although I was noticing that a pattern of really bizarre adventures
was starting to emerge in this season. It was still fun to watch, though.
Captain Kirk and the crew had found themselves on a planet of sadistic,
telekinetic aliens who based their society off of ancient Greece. Not the
strangest premise I’d seen on the show, but the writer and director seemed to
being going way over the top with it, having the aliens use their powers to
force the crew to dance around and act like animals. They even drove Spock to
tears! I could hear Grandma Sylvia tutting and tsking away, belying her deliberate inattention to the TV.
silly one, although I was noticing that a pattern of really bizarre adventures
was starting to emerge in this season. It was still fun to watch, though.
Captain Kirk and the crew had found themselves on a planet of sadistic,
telekinetic aliens who based their society off of ancient Greece. Not the
strangest premise I’d seen on the show, but the writer and director seemed to
being going way over the top with it, having the aliens use their powers to
force the crew to dance around and act like animals. They even drove Spock to
tears! I could hear Grandma Sylvia tutting and tsking away, belying her deliberate inattention to the TV.
The episode got a little uncomfortable to watch when Spock
and Nurse Chapel were forced to kiss each other against their will. The music
started to build dramatically as they awkwardly embraced, and continued to
build as the camera shifted focus to Kirk and Uhura. They clutched each other
dramatically, until they could no longer resist the aliens’ power and were
forced to kiss as well.
and Nurse Chapel were forced to kiss each other against their will. The music
started to build dramatically as they awkwardly embraced, and continued to
build as the camera shifted focus to Kirk and Uhura. They clutched each other
dramatically, until they could no longer resist the aliens’ power and were
forced to kiss as well.
There was another “Hmph!” from the rocking chair, but louder
and more shocked-sounding this time. Dad gave a little chuckle. “Well now, I
believe we might have just seen a little bit of history being made,” he said
mildly. The ice cubes in his glass clinked as he took another sip of his drink.
and more shocked-sounding this time. Dad gave a little chuckle. “Well now, I
believe we might have just seen a little bit of history being made,” he said
mildly. The ice cubes in his glass clinked as he took another sip of his drink.
“History?” I heard
Grandma Sylvia exclaim, and my Dad and I both turned to look at her, dreading
what she might say next. Dad shot her a withering look that surprised me. She
opened her mouth to elaborate, but never got the chance.
Grandma Sylvia exclaim, and my Dad and I both turned to look at her, dreading
what she might say next. Dad shot her a withering look that surprised me. She
opened her mouth to elaborate, but never got the chance.
“Actually, I’m not so sure about how historical that kiss
is.” My older brother Mark was suddenly in the living room, apparently having
decided to grace us with his presence to be a smartass. “Sammy Davis, Jr.
kissed Nancy Sinatra on TV last year, and I’m pretty sure I saw an interracial
kiss before on I, Spy, too.” I rolled
my eyes at him, but secretly I was grateful his interruption had stopped our
grandmother from going on a tirade. Leave it to him to cite precedent when it
came to a “nonsense” TV show. Still just a senior in high school, and Mark
already fancied himself part of the family’s next generation of lawyers.
Grandma Sylvia just gaped at him for a moment, then shook her head and went
back to her furious knitting, muttering to herself as she did so.
is.” My older brother Mark was suddenly in the living room, apparently having
decided to grace us with his presence to be a smartass. “Sammy Davis, Jr.
kissed Nancy Sinatra on TV last year, and I’m pretty sure I saw an interracial
kiss before on I, Spy, too.” I rolled
my eyes at him, but secretly I was grateful his interruption had stopped our
grandmother from going on a tirade. Leave it to him to cite precedent when it
came to a “nonsense” TV show. Still just a senior in high school, and Mark
already fancied himself part of the family’s next generation of lawyers.
Grandma Sylvia just gaped at him for a moment, then shook her head and went
back to her furious knitting, muttering to herself as she did so.
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