5 - thanksgiving

10/13/08 • -1 min

Reflecting on a childhood thanksgiving dinner with the family.

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With four smoke-stained cream walls staring me down from the shadows, I sat on the thin basement carpet and basked in the cold light of a static-plagued black and white television. I itched at the collar of my dress shirt. The other handful of kids populating the scratchy carpet occasionally made similar efforts, all of us dressed in our uncomfortable Sunday best. The bitter autumn wind pressed its hungry mouth up to the single tiny window and let out a slow breath. The rattling was audible, even above the din of adults laughing and clinking glasses upstairs. I’ve never seen a house as deep into the woods as my Grandmother’s. It always takes us half an hour to slowly work our way over the bumpy dirt roads. I always enjoyed the trip back out. Long after the sun has set, the car rocked me to sleep, the bright headlights illuminating the forest before us, the gentle hum of the portable cassette player in my lap.

One of our mothers called us from atop the stairs. Dinner was ready. My eldest cousin hopped up off of her stomach and twisted the volume knob on the television until it clicked off. A Walk to Remember popped into black silence, and the basement was suddenly altogether too dark. With the uneven pattering of a dozen little feet nervously racing up the stairs, we reached the warm light of the hallway. Our parents were already circling around the table where the food was arranged, slapping down servings on their own large china plates.

Reflecting on a childhood thanksgiving dinner with the family.

you may stream the story here (note: the prior stream was faulty, it is now corrected)

OR

right click + save as for the mp3

Previous Episode

4 - bulbs

A young businessman comes home to a surprise.

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Returning late from a business trip and more than a little jet lagged as a result, I entered my house bleary eyed and tired. Flipping the light switch in the hall proved ineffective to my dismay. Fumbling my way to the closet with only the light from my cell phone to guide me, I searched for my box of spare light bulbs. After hastily tossing the vacuum cleaner and a few coats to the side, I found the dusty little box. Clinking as I extracted a bulb, I strained my arm towards the fixture to remove the expired bulb. Barely within the struggling reach of my fingertips, I twisted it. To my surprise, the hall was suddenly illuminated. Retracting my arm, I placed the bulb back in the box and pondered how the bulb could have loosened itself. Weighing the possibility of myself ever knowing how against the amount it really mattered, I retired the thought.

Having delt with mysteriously faulty electronics after a six hour flight and a two hour drive home, I was in a particularly foul mood. Resolving to fix myself a drink and a heavy dose of Tylenol, I shambled into the kitchen. A sickening case of déjà vu poured through my veins like black sludge as I found flipping the switch about as effective as clapping my hands and dancing around the light bulb.

My first thought was to check to see if the television was where I left it. The whole sequence of events reeked of a bizarre robbery. Sprinting through the darkness, I nearly ran straight into my TV, affirming its continued occupancy in my house. In fact, nothing had be disturbed whatsoever. This of course is aside from the minuet unscrewing of every light in the entire house. As I trudged through the procession of dim rooms, tightening each bulb, a sense of unease flooded me. In order to tighten the light my bedroom I had to fetch a screw driver at some point to open a fixture. Whoever had done this, had it been a person, put quite a bit of effort into it.

Despite the exhaustion lapping at the edges of my consciousness, a compulsion coursed through me. I couldn’t sleep until every single light in the entire house was once again functional and illuminated. Working slowly, but as steadily as I could I wandered through the remainder of the house, each time dreading leaving a lit room for the next one painted in black shadows. I passed the night in a fog of paranoia; even the fridge lights were restored. Against my better judgment I even ventured into the basement and the attic. Turning bulbs with shaky, sweaty hands until the safe dusty yellow light graced me once again, I determinedly saw my task out.

As I descended from the attic, not even bothering to brush the thick dust off of my expensive pants, the sun rose merrily in my bedroom windows. A thin smile graced my lips as I let my eyes slack and close. I lay on the cold fabric of my bed, the security of daylight the only blanket I needed.

Here is where I lay now, the old grandfather clock in the corner of my room chiming nine in the evening. The events of the previous night must have worn me down even more then I thought because I’m still so tired. My body aches, no, screams for more rest. Yet, I’m afraid to submit. Afraid I'll wake up in the dark.

do you believe in x
Friday October 3rd, 2008

Next Episode

7 - first snowfall

Enjoying the comforts of mundane activity.

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The first snowfall always brings little visitors. I always wake up on that late fall day with toes as cold as ice. I always throw back my heavy sheets and hop-skip across the cold wooden floor to the closet. I always pull on my puffiest white pullover, a pair of soft, thick sweatpants and my warmest wool socks. I always look out my windows, coated with that rough white frost into the calm white world that the night as left me. I always stir up some sweet, dark hot chocolate and fix myself a fresh, toasted croissant. I always pop my head out the front door to fetch the day’s paper. I always trace the multitude of tracks left in the snow on my front porch with my finger, trying to count how many separate sets of bare little feet have been pacing around my house while I sleep. I always pick up the little pouch left on my doorstep by the visitors. I always open it and count out the eleven yellowed teeth contained within. I always slip on a pair of warm boots and walk the parameter of my house, making sure each window and door is firmly secured.

do you believe in x
Wednesday October 15rd, 2008