How I spent my New Years Eve overlooking Times Square...Its dark, its heavy, its psychological, kinda of the opposite of the shinning crystal ball that was about to drop at midnight. But when ms. marya e. gates and I are done with the screenplay, I believe well have a blockbuster on our hands, and that will certainly be something to celebrate! Happy New Year Everyone and the Best of Success on Your Journey in 2015! I hope you enjoy this little passage as well from my upcoming memoir Putting Pink Icing on a Tall Cake, Arson and Old Lace chapter... ✍ ❤ “Timothy! Don’t correct me like everybody else! I hate it when people put words in my mouth!” she snapped in my face, scraping closer. “Just like whenever I questioned Betty about the red light bulbs in all the sockets when we first moved in here, she’d dismiss me with, ‘Oh the girls must have left them behind after the electrical fire, you know how superstitious they can be’, and I must have know that, ‘red lights in the evenings make you look younger, little Audree?’” She stopped for a moment and played with her pendant, the round light was still green. She shook it like a child might shake a misbehaved doll. “I...I’ve never heard of any superstitions based on electrical fires, mom?” This was getting beyond not being able to laugh, I was becoming tongue tied as well. “But...um... then again, what working girl would want any souvenirs of her job going up in smoke?” I ended with flatly, trying to forget my fears of the forgotten, and looked down at my round pink cake plate at my feet, picking whatever tiny, dried, miniature pink icing rocks off its moon shaped face I could find, thinking perhaps that like a child, they would restore my humor with at least a teeny crummy laugh. “Then one day, not long after we’d moved in, I was still carrying you, Timmy, I guess Betty’d realized she’d let the cat out of the cathouse one to many times, and that even someone like me, who wasn’t exactly known as the brightest bulb in my family, was bound to catch on sooner or later, and ran around the entire duplex, from the front to the back, up from the basement to the attack and through all the apartments, like a chicken with her head cut off, gathering all the red light bulbs she could find up in her silver feathered wrap like it was a basket and she was on a red Easter egg hunt. I just figured she wanted them all for herself so she could stay looking younger.” She lifted her long, pink, plastic, tulip shaped Slurpee cup up to her matching lips and tilted it towards the full moon overhead with her head back further still to get the last drops of her wine. The silhouette she cast against the shadow of little pine forest next door looked like she was about to play funeral taps on a pink bugle. “I told her though I wouldn’t mind an extra bulb or two myself,” she said wiping her mouth with her feathered sleeve and a few lose ones stuck to her same colored lipstick, and looked at me oddly guiltily, as if she was the cat now who ate the pink canary, “but that was before your daddy started screwing them back in whenever he wanted to be with me.
Posted on: Fri, 02 Jan 2015 05:05:55 +0000
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