After scraping up that one last meager bite, I chew and swallow, and know that it's time to hit the road. I excuse myself and diligently run through the list of things to do in my head, thanking Mom for the pork roast cooked just the way I like it. As my grumbling gut starts to digest, I can't help but think there is still a lot on my plate for tonight.
The girl with me sits cross-legged on the edge of my sofa. Looking into her wide impatient eyes, I read her mind and utter, "let's get going". She springs up.
"You got ready fast for a change," she adds.
"Yeah I guess so," I reply under my breath in a less joyful tone than hers.
"Do you have the tickets?"
"Ya. We gotta go."
I'm late, but not in any cool or casual way. Somehow I'm late for an informal, casually-made affair with no specific time frame. I hope my friends don't mind, I only want to see them for a bit because I know that they have big plans tonight too. The girl and I get in the tiny car outside, I flop on to the passenger seat. My phone rings and tells me it's an unknown number. It's probably my good friend calling. I don't answer, but I'm sure it was him, he has an unknown number. I press my temple to the cold window as we drive ahead.
We stop at the bank, a gas pump, and finally the store. I buy a bottle of liquor. I commit myself to a more expensive bottle of rum following the notion that I only live once. In that respect, I plan to be very, very alive tonight.Having conquered the liquor store, I re-enter the vehicle where she has been sitting with the engine off and seat belt on. A muffled version of Beethoven's Fur Elise emits from her purse. She answers "hello?" so inquisitively it's as if she doesn't even know who's calling. Maybe it's an unknown number.
"What?... Why?... Where's yours?... I'm busy... Fine, wait fifteen minutes. I'm coming," is all I hear from the exchange. The denouement of that conversation told me another unanticipated stop was about to happen. I cringe.
"Where do we have to go now?" I whine.
"My brother locked himself out."
"Where are your parents?"
"Out."
"I don't wanna go all the way to your house. At this rate I'm not even going to see my friends."
"You'll see them eventually. Don't be pissed."
I roll my eyes animatedly as we embark down the highway and travel mile after mile further away from the only place I want to be. Things just aren't going as planned. I only want one thing and something just keeps getting in the way. Don't be pissed, she tells me. Too late. I can't believe today, of all days.
We pull into her driveway and sure enough, a boy is leaning back against the front door. I lope towards him unenthusiastically.
"Happy birthday," is all he says as I unlatch the door for him.
In my ungrateful state I force a "thanks".
The girl gets out of the car behind me and says "I have a little present for you" and urges me inside.
This better be good and it better be fast, I thought.
I enter the house, take off my shoes, and don't find any room to put them. The two dogs bark ferociously until they realize it's who it is. I step into the living room.
Everyone in the room orchestrates a deafening: "SURPRISE!" as they stretch out arms offering hugs, handshakes, and beer. I stand aloof and eventually smile once everything calms down a bit. This changes everything.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
all blown out
Lines varying from twenty-five to sixty people file out from every store. Eager people poke their heads any which way to get a glimpse of the action and see what they are missing out on. Fluorescent signs and banners scream indications that prices have been brutally and repeatedly slashed-- may full prices rest in peace. Melting dirt-snow drips from my Sorel boots and contributes to the filthy flood; a mess suited for two dozen highly-trained janitors. The scent summons upon my face a wince, trying to pinpoint the stronger force of what smells like a combination of cinnamon buns and body odour. The latter prevails and I lose my appetite. The sound of screaming babies overpowers the hum of Christmas music, which, for some reason, still loops constantly in every store. A security guard passes by and utters "code beige" on his walkie. I don't know what constitutes a code beige, but this place is a circus.
Varieties of wide, tall, tiny, young, and old people all patiently wait to drop dollars on whatever Santa Clause didn't bring. Some, like myself, wish to follow through on monetary gifts brought by a different kind of Santa Clause. Subcounsciously, my hand finds its way into my cargo pocket to ensure that the cash and gift certificates haven't gone anywhere. For security purposes, I nervously do so every five minutes. This lust for retail causes my hand to sweat, dampening the wad. I feel like royalty as I bask in more money than I'd ever had. I should be exempt from standing in line because I have so much. The people lope sluggishly forward as the big red Zellers sign slowly grows larger, until finally there are but two ahead of me. I will barge through that door with the force of twenty men and spend, spend, spend. I begin to plot how the process is going to unravel. I feel like I should be stretching my hamstrings or taking deep breaths, but I'll just check on the money again.
What I shouldn't do is buy the first thing I see. Buying something I need completely escapes me, and, like any rampant money spender, all I want to do is get rid of this urging pile of money as if it's going to disintegrate. I desire what I do not require, and vice-versa. I should be rational and not buy anything unless I need it... I then revert to the theory that I would never limit myself to, say, only getting one plate at an all-you-can-eat buffet. This money is not the result of any kind of labour; it is simply the annual reward for being a good child. It is not hard-earned, but handed-over, and it's there to be spent. As merry as Christmas day was, I insist on bustling through clean-picked stores to hopefully find that one cherry to place on top.
Apparently, bargain-hunting requires a lot more than a kid with no budget. The notion of buying something I need, let alone want, goes out the window. Really, the selection is laughable. I sigh knowing that there is less and less around every corner. Eveything that remains on the shelves is either useless, still expensive, or a Christmas decoration. Any gift I've ever received beats this junk! In fact, my time would be better spent at home with my new gear and the people who bought it for me. Finally, I half-heartedly decide on some album. The clerk tells me I'm too young, and makes note of the "parental advisory, listener discretion" tag. Explicit language is nothing I haven't heard, but there's no point of making a scene, because he's right. Mom and Dad probably wouldn't approve of me spending my money that way. It seems every force is working against me and I am compelled to leave empty-handed with the same amount of cash, nothing lost, nothing gained. I bank the money for another day when it's needed, but no Boxing day bargain can match a Christmas present.
Varieties of wide, tall, tiny, young, and old people all patiently wait to drop dollars on whatever Santa Clause didn't bring. Some, like myself, wish to follow through on monetary gifts brought by a different kind of Santa Clause. Subcounsciously, my hand finds its way into my cargo pocket to ensure that the cash and gift certificates haven't gone anywhere. For security purposes, I nervously do so every five minutes. This lust for retail causes my hand to sweat, dampening the wad. I feel like royalty as I bask in more money than I'd ever had. I should be exempt from standing in line because I have so much. The people lope sluggishly forward as the big red Zellers sign slowly grows larger, until finally there are but two ahead of me. I will barge through that door with the force of twenty men and spend, spend, spend. I begin to plot how the process is going to unravel. I feel like I should be stretching my hamstrings or taking deep breaths, but I'll just check on the money again.
What I shouldn't do is buy the first thing I see. Buying something I need completely escapes me, and, like any rampant money spender, all I want to do is get rid of this urging pile of money as if it's going to disintegrate. I desire what I do not require, and vice-versa. I should be rational and not buy anything unless I need it... I then revert to the theory that I would never limit myself to, say, only getting one plate at an all-you-can-eat buffet. This money is not the result of any kind of labour; it is simply the annual reward for being a good child. It is not hard-earned, but handed-over, and it's there to be spent. As merry as Christmas day was, I insist on bustling through clean-picked stores to hopefully find that one cherry to place on top.
Apparently, bargain-hunting requires a lot more than a kid with no budget. The notion of buying something I need, let alone want, goes out the window. Really, the selection is laughable. I sigh knowing that there is less and less around every corner. Eveything that remains on the shelves is either useless, still expensive, or a Christmas decoration. Any gift I've ever received beats this junk! In fact, my time would be better spent at home with my new gear and the people who bought it for me. Finally, I half-heartedly decide on some album. The clerk tells me I'm too young, and makes note of the "parental advisory, listener discretion" tag. Explicit language is nothing I haven't heard, but there's no point of making a scene, because he's right. Mom and Dad probably wouldn't approve of me spending my money that way. It seems every force is working against me and I am compelled to leave empty-handed with the same amount of cash, nothing lost, nothing gained. I bank the money for another day when it's needed, but no Boxing day bargain can match a Christmas present.
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