Random fiction event
As I walk in the room, my sister is sitting on the couch. The television is on with the sound off. It seems to be tuned to a Spanish soap-opera, but she's not watching it. The radio in her room down the hall is turned up loud enough to be heard in here, though there's another here on the bookshelf. But she's not listening to the radio, either. She's doing macrame. There's an open jar of peanut butter on the floor. I don't see any evidence of bread. The window's open, and every once in a while a leaf blows in through it from the front yard.
When she sees me, her face gets that glowey look and she drops the macrame. In the peanut butter I might add. Before I know what's happening her arms are around my neck. "How was your day?" she bounces.
"Well, I found out something from the doctor today. He tells me that, in a way, because I'm very stable somehow makes it possible for you to be... very unstable."
"Oh, dear," she says. "That's worrying."
"Yes, I know. So I'm dating a stripper now, and I've decided to start taking quaaludes."
"Get out! Me too!" She grins impishly at me and turns to leap back onto the couch, picking up her macrame from the peanut butter jar.
I sigh, take a seat next to her feet on the couch, brush a bit of peanut butter from my lapel. I somehow can't help but stare for a moment at the Spanish soap opera. Then I shake my head. "I'm sorry, El. I'm afraid I just don't know how to be anything other than what I am. Maybe I'm too weak to be not strong."
She nods her head solemnly, "You're a bad, bad man, Charles." She throws the peanut butter macrame on the floor and leans up to grab my arm. "Hey, let's go ride bikes!"
When she sees me, her face gets that glowey look and she drops the macrame. In the peanut butter I might add. Before I know what's happening her arms are around my neck. "How was your day?" she bounces.
"Well, I found out something from the doctor today. He tells me that, in a way, because I'm very stable somehow makes it possible for you to be... very unstable."
"Oh, dear," she says. "That's worrying."
"Yes, I know. So I'm dating a stripper now, and I've decided to start taking quaaludes."
"Get out! Me too!" She grins impishly at me and turns to leap back onto the couch, picking up her macrame from the peanut butter jar.
I sigh, take a seat next to her feet on the couch, brush a bit of peanut butter from my lapel. I somehow can't help but stare for a moment at the Spanish soap opera. Then I shake my head. "I'm sorry, El. I'm afraid I just don't know how to be anything other than what I am. Maybe I'm too weak to be not strong."
She nods her head solemnly, "You're a bad, bad man, Charles." She throws the peanut butter macrame on the floor and leans up to grab my arm. "Hey, let's go ride bikes!"