The Flight

Tishon — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 14:16:05 +0000

After years of marriage, often, the only link a couple has between who they were in the early stages of their love and who they had become is their children. Cheryl and Leonard, a couple whose marriage had long ago grown its own set of vocal chords, found they had nothing to say to one another during their flight to the veterans hospital. A mutual fear had bound their mouths shut. Leonard, for the first time, wondered how good of a father he had been. Cheryl prayed silently. Since Sergeant Werdigier’s phone call, all her private thoughts were litanies. Leonard, a man who normally was never short of words, was silent. He wanted to comfort his wife but each time he began to speak, it came out a sigh or deep breath. Cheryl reached across the armrest and softly placed her palm on her husband’s hand. It was the most they had said to each other in years.

excerpt from a novel that will probably never see the light of day

You Kind Of Had To Be There

Tishon — Sun, 03 Jan 2010 17:55:29 +0000

You’ve been reliving it for six years now. You should probably let it go, but you know how sometimes you experience something and it’s like, all of a sudden, everything is alright, ya know. All the times you failed to squeeze even the slightest bit of flavor out of raw chicken, or that one time your mom punched you in the face for forgetting to take in the groceries because you were playing video games (that was kind of funny, though), this one time makes you forget about all that.

It’s even better than the time you saw Jewel in Central Park. Remember how you thought she was looking right at you, swore she winked and smiled you a crooked tooth on the last line of “You Were Meant for Me?” It hadn’t occurred to you that despite the hardcover copy of her poetry book in your backpack and your knowing the words to all her songs, you stood out from everyone else at the concert because, well, you were the only black guy there. So if Jewel actually was looking at you, she was probably wondering where between EPMD and Fleetwood Mac did she fit in your collection. You’d probably tell her she’s nestled snugly between James Taylor and No Doubt’s Tragic Kingdom. She’d like that.

But this moment, it’s even better than the Jewel concert. It happened in Pratt Institute’s Film 101 course. For the purposes of embellishment, I’m going to say it was the coldest winter in recorded history. The professor hadn’t yet arrived, but the entire class was there: the chubby girl who You’d have totally macked on, had all her videos not involved in one way or another the severed heads of plastic babies, the two roommates who were definitely holdovers from The Poughkeepsie High A/V club, and the Mediterranean guy who was cool up until the day he used the word pastiche in one of the critiques. You lost all respect for him then.

Film 101 was held in a tiny room with no windows. It would have been freezing in there, were it not for an odd-looking space heater set squarely in the center of the room. It was rectangular, with exposed wires that glowed a dim orange –– the kind of thing that would burst into flames upon contact with anything fibrous.

As you waited for the professor, one of the A/V girls pointed to the heater and asked, “What –– is that?” And this, my friend, is the moment you have been reliving for the past six years. Every time you meet an attractive woman, you hope to God you can once again ascend to the level of wit you had that day in Film 101, when you looked at that space heater and said, “It’s a toaster oven, floor model.”

Oh, to have heard the laughter. Even the severed heads of babies were doubling over.

It was your finest hour.

Originally submitted for Opium Magazine’s 500 Word Memoir Contest. I didn’t win.

The Ministry of TISHON Blog » Writing

The Flight

You Kind Of Had To Be There