The End Is Nigh.
Nicky and Mike over at We Work For Cheese have been running this a writing challenge throughout February. And today is the final day! Better yet, nobody has murdered either of them; I feel happy and sad all at the same time.
And, kidding aside, thanks to Nicky and Mike for running this circus. I know how much work is involved, and much as I’ve grumbled, I’ve had an amazing month. Ziva gets my vote as winner.
Okay, school’s out now! You can all go home and chill. If you’ve just been reading, thanks for keeping us company. If you’ve been writing, you deserve a medal.
But I hope to see you all here again very soon.
I feel thoroughly miserable.
As I slam shut the hatchback on my car, I kinda want it to complain, to object to the load that the car contains. For its hesitation to indicate that the car is too full, that I have too much stuff.
But this is a stupid thought, and Life affords it the disdain it deserves; the hatchback closes smoothly.
It’s September 1998, and the garden is a carpet of crunchy orange leaves. I hear footsteps.
Good morning, Indigo! breezes Bear, as he appears around the hedge and strolls up the driveway, And isn’t it a beautiful day? As if on cue, birds begin to twitter cheerfully in the trees. Frankly, I’m surprised the little devils don’t flutter round my friend's head and land on his outstretched paw, to sing sweetly as he chuckles; Walt Disney would have be proud, I conclude sourly.
Man, I’m in a bad mood today.
Yeah, morning Bear, I mutter. My companion, all seven feet of him, stands next to me and gives me a manly hug; I can sense he’s thinking without looking at him.
Though his dayglo Hawaiian shirt demands some attention.
So, it’s the big day! He indicates the loaded car. It looks like you’re all packed. Are you ready to move house?
Moving house is always a chore.
I hate moving house Bear, I grumble, and look how much my life boils down to!
Bear knows full well what I mean, I’m sure, but he’s tricky; he knows how to get me to talk, I guess. How do you mean?
I wave two-handedly, somewhat despairingly.
My life fits in a car! Bear pats my shoulder reassuringly as I continue, It wasn’t even that difficult to shut it! Seriously, is that all there is?!
His chuckle is dark and throaty. You measure your life by how much volume it takes up? No, that’s not what I meant, and he knows it.
Of course not. I feel I’m lying a little.
Oh, so it’s about how many things you have? That’s not it, is it?
No. Of course not. My tone is defiant, but I’m pretty sure I’m lying now. How can my life fit into one tiny little car, with nothing on the front seats, and no doors squeezed shut?!
That’s good. Because you’re a decent person, right?
I like to think so. Yeah, I guess.
And you have good friends, who appreciate your qualities? I squeeze him back slightly, manfully, tho I’m fairly sure I’ve just been slighted in some way. In italics.
The best. This one’s all true. I feel a little brighter.
And the new house looks amazing. I heard there may even be some badgers in the back garden. I smile; I do adore badgers. Bear has more good news, tho. There will be another lodger there at some point, but the landlord is quite fussy. So I don’t think we’ll get anyone objectionable.
Well, that’s a comfort, too. Uncertainty is next to Uneasiness in my dictionary.
Yeah, I say brightly, It’s going to be great.
Bear turns me and gives me a meaningful look.
Quite so. And believe me, I’ve known you a long time, he cuffs my head gently, and I don’t measure your life by the meagre possessions in this car. You have skills, talents and imagination by the bucketload, and they occupy no space whatsoever.
This is flattering, and somewhat of a smackdown. He’s good at this.
Yes Bear. You’re right. I manage a smile.
The black bear thumps my shoulder enthusiastically.
So, can I drive?
I don’t think twice. Sure, that’d be nice.
I realise too late that I've been suckered again.
Never let a bear drive.
We scream off the driveway on two wheels into an adrenaline-fuelled future.
This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2012/2013