 |
Current mood:  apathetic Category: Writing and Poetry
Ampersand
By Chris Hill
©2008
As I sat there straining my eyes flipping through pamphlets, I found myself wondering which accented which. Was it the dimly lit room that feed the humidity, or was it the over abundant moisture that made if feel like the room was growing darker? Either way I was become more aware with every passing moment that a vest and jacket, albeit the right attire, was not the lest of my bad decisions made in the past month.
Placing the booklet under a shallow pool of light of the gaudy, tasseled, desk lamp; I wondered if polished marble is too pretentious? I decide yes and flip the page, I loosen my tie just as the director enters and asked if we had decided on anything yet. I quickly put down the brochure and straighten up my tie.
A woman's voice let's the director know that they are all lovely choices and that she has narrowed it down to a select few.
Holy shit! I had almost forgot Wendy was there... that's seems to be happening at a more frequent rate with in the past couple of weeks.
"Right Hun?" She say turning to me.
"Right, really great stuff you got here... top notch."
The man in all black suit and rather impressive head of full black hair, gave me a rather queer glance.
"Well I'm glade to hear your pleased with our selection... would you like to tour the grounds?"
"Yes, that would be great." Wendy says as she jumps and grabs her purse.
I watch the man as he puts his hand in the small of my soon to be ampersands back, and all I can think is he must use some form of product.
Wendy looks back at me slouched on the sticky leather couch, with a scoff.
"Billy, are you coming."
"Of course, of course."
I peal myself off the processed cow hide as it makes one last squeal from beyond the grave.
"Wouldn't miss it for the world"
And we walk...
Through dark, hard wood double doors...
Past the meticulously made stain glass windows...
And we walk...
Past the massive pipe organ...
Past the rows and rows of pews...
And we walk...
Past alter...
Past the chiseled and ripped stomach of Jesus...
And we walk...
We walk until the sun begins to burn my eyes, and all I can think about is that if I go back to the gym I could have abs like that.
I'm the right build.
That's it.
Twice a week.
No more excuses.
If Jesus can do it so can you.
This the point that I realize that I have fallen remarkable far behind the group.
In fact at this point I had stopped walking entirely.
This older man whispers something into Wendy's ear and looks to his watch.
Defiantly product... I'm thinking maybe even a stylist.
"Hun, you really shouldn't be smoking here... you said you where quitting anyway. You know how daddy fells about government regulated substances."
I look down amazed that not only am I no longer walking, but I am indeed somking and sitting on the edge of the foutian.
"Now come on; Mr. Fletcher is a very busy person."
I blow out a long cloud of smoke and realize that the whole gym thing might be a pipe dream after all.
I walk over thinking that I bet Peter had a little bit of a belly. And by the time I reach the two of them I have convinced myself that the majority of the people back then where malnourished and therefore had bloated bellies far beyond that of my own. And a small smile crept across my face with this knowledge.
Wendy looks at me with a hint of animosity, "What are you smiling at?"
"Nothing... tell you later."
I give her a kiss on the check and put my hand into hers.
"Well let's not hold Mr. Fletcher up any long than we have to." I flash a smile and we're off.
Trough a lovely rose garden we trudge... at this point there is a definite determination in the directors step. Wendy squeezes my hand hard.
"Oh Billy, aren't they just lovely!"
The diamond's from the ring that started this all, slices into the flesh between my knuckles. I wince and repeat.
"Lovely."
We walk up a marble staircase, passing through a set of imposing cast iron gates.
As we breach the top of the stairs a vast sea of green comes into view. Speckled with grey and black monuments, large statues of angels, and littered with long forgotten flowers.
The director motions us to a black golf cart sitting just past the gates.
"If you would be so kind, it's just around the corner."
Wendy grabs my hand tight and pulls me to the elaborate vehicle, digging the stones into an already open wound.
We jump in and Mr. Fletcher drives use through this sullen paradise.
"Isn't this So exciting?!" Her eyes glow with enthusiasm.
I give her a half smile...
It's really all I have left at this point.
I watch as our captain swerves through the narrow paths with precision and skill. The whole time not a single hair on his head misplaced.
Now I am starting to wonder if it's not some kind of elaborate helmet... and at the speeds we we're going, I was wonder where mine was?
Turning the corner I find myself griping on the upright that held the canopy secure. And just as I slip into a fond childhood memory of my first time on Mr. Toads Wild Ride, the black bullet comes to a calm and precise stop.
We get out of the death trap and into another. In front of is an arrangement of bright orange flags, about 3in tall. They are placed in two rectangles about 6ft. by 3ft. One directly adjacent to the next.
This is the point when everything in my body starts to simultaneously brake down. My knees get weak and my head begins to float. I vaguely make out Wendy telling the Director that it was perfect. That's when my mind went one way and shell of my body crashed to the ground.
I wake up to the same leather couch in the same dark, wet room. Wendy leaning over fanning a brochure in my face.
"Oh honey, you back!"
"We where so worried!"
I grab the booklet out of her hands and struggle to pull myself up.
"How long was I out?"
"Nearly 2hrs. Mr. Balsam."
I turn to see the creepy head of hair staring at me from behind his desk.
"We where so worried honey, you just collapsed."
"Maybe you're a little out of shape Hun."
"We should get you a gym membership."
The image of the ornate crucifix surfaces in my mind.
"We'll see about that honey."
I situate my self and try to get my bearings... table... desk... doors... couch... weird dude, with even weirder hair... ok, I think I'm back.
"You'll be pleased to know that your fiancee and I got a lot done while you where incapacitated."
He reaches over from behind the desk.
"If you would care to take a look?"
He hands me a computer printout.
"I think you'll find it satisfactory... please just double check for any spelling errors."
I rub my eyes until the image comes into focus.
In my hands is the digital representation of my life, of my claim to this land, of my proof of existence.
'Wendy & Billy Balsam'
My claim to fame, my last stand. The only proof that I was ever here....
Wendy lets out a squeal.
"Oh honey, isn't it just wonderful! Now we'll be together forever!"
And of course it's polished marble......
 | Currently listening:
My Girl
By Original Soundtrack
Release date: 2008-03-01 |
|
10:58 AM
Powered by  | | English | | Albanian | | Arabic | | Bulgarian | | Catalan | | Chinese | | Croatian | | Czech | | Danish | | Dutch | | Estonian | | Filipino | | Finnish | | French | | Galician | | German | | Greek | | Hebrew | | Hindi | | Hungarian | | Indonesian | | Italian | | Japanese | | Korean | | Latvian | | Lithuanian | | Maltese | | Norwegian | | Polish | | Portuguese | | Romanian | | Russian | | Serbian | | Slovak | | Slovenian | | Spanish | | Swedish | | Thai | | Turkish | | Ukrainian | | Vietnamese |
|