(no subject)
Being the type who can't seem to commit to any one project, and having gotten a burst of inspiration in the last few weeks, I introduce the first fraction of a chapter to "A Year of Holidays." Think of it as a mini-NaNo for January, where I'm going to try for 500 words per day. Enjoy.
Chapter 1: A Christmas Eve Death
Of the three worst things Jeremy could imagine on Christmas Eve, he was stuck in the midst of two of them. He was still shopping, and the store was blaring antiquated disco music. He was stuck in line at the only available cash register at the “Everything Multimedia” superstore, behind a woman who insisted her long-forgotten gift certificates were still valid.
“But it’s a gift,” the doughy, rotund shopper insisted, “why would it have expired?”
Impeccable though the logic was, Jeremy just gritted his teeth with irritation. He was stuck holding the DVD set of “Comrades” third season, a sitcom about coffee-drinking yuppies in mid-1990’s post-Soviet Russia who lived in luxurious apartments, dated an endless stream of gorgeous model-like men and women, and got into hilarious misunderstandings about whether or not they still hated the United States of America. It had been popular many years ago, and a favourite of his older sister Melissa. For his younger sister Sherrie, he found the latest CD from teen pop sensation Tiara. She sang 1:30 toothaches about hopeless love and little yellow birds. His last item was “38 Classic Western Films” crammed onto a single video disc. The films were only 3 minutes long, designed as an ideal gift of elderly people who couldn’t remember they had actually been watching a movie in the first place. In each one, a modestly-dressed young unmarried frontier woman is kidnapped by Indians, bank robbers, or in one, a space monster. She is tied to a stake while her captors eat barbecue ribs until a man in a while hat (usually played by 1940’s Country and Western singer Curt Stanley,) untied her, shot the bad guys, and married her. He intended that one for his grandmother, whom he’d forgotten would be reminded it was the holidays, and thus come for a visit.
Jeremy had come back to his hometown totally unprepared for Christmas. He’d spent the last three months away at college gleefully draining his savings on video games, junk food, and beer. There was also a period when his focus was on buying “Perfect Strangers” collectors plates at online auctions, but gave up when the bidding got too high. As such, he’d scoured the bargain bins for these last-minute Christmas presents, and intended to wrap them in brown paper lunchbags, which he’d then draw candy canes on in pencil crayon. It was a good plan, he decided. Or it would have been, if he’d had any lunch bags left. Maybe he could just wrap them in a shirt.
Jeremy was lost in his own little world, humming along to the vibrant dance-fiddle tunes of the late-70’s dance hits, when at last the woman ahead of him relented and left the store with her purchases, unsatisfied at paying the whole $13.75 bill. The cashier called over to Jeremy, whose eyes were clenched shut, trying to recall the words to “Fernando.”
“Sir, I can help you,” the young lady cashier pled. It had been a long night, but she was doing her best to remain courteous. “Seriously? Please, can I help you?”
“Oh!” Jeremy snapped out of it, “Sorry, uh, right,” he dropped his items on the cash counter for her to take care of. She merely rolled her eyes. Jeremy didn’t blame her. He was annoyed with himself for even being there at 10 minutes toward close.
“Anything else, today?” she asked.
Jeremy gave it some thought. “No, that’s fine”
“Would you like your receipt in the bag?” she asked.
“Nah, just toss it out,” Jeremy said, gathering the small black plastic baggie with his gifts in it and heading for the door.
“You can’t do a return without the receipt…!” the cashier called, but Jeremy was already out of earshot, breathing a sigh of relief.
He had escaped both disco music and last-minute Christmas shopping, but the third bad thing Jeremy could imagine was about to catch up with him. From his back pocket, his cell phone rang. It was an “only for emergencies” phone which had been used to order 78 pizzas over the past 14 weeks.
“Hello?” he answered.
A soft-spoken, mournful woman’s voice on the other end informed him, “Jer, it’s mom… grandma’s passed on.”
Frozen in place, Jeremy only whimpered a plaintive “oh,” and ended the call.
He looked in his bag and turned around.
Back at the cash register, he told the young lady, “I’d like to make a return.”
Keep on rockin'
-Scotto
Chapter 1: A Christmas Eve Death
Of the three worst things Jeremy could imagine on Christmas Eve, he was stuck in the midst of two of them. He was still shopping, and the store was blaring antiquated disco music. He was stuck in line at the only available cash register at the “Everything Multimedia” superstore, behind a woman who insisted her long-forgotten gift certificates were still valid.
“But it’s a gift,” the doughy, rotund shopper insisted, “why would it have expired?”
Impeccable though the logic was, Jeremy just gritted his teeth with irritation. He was stuck holding the DVD set of “Comrades” third season, a sitcom about coffee-drinking yuppies in mid-1990’s post-Soviet Russia who lived in luxurious apartments, dated an endless stream of gorgeous model-like men and women, and got into hilarious misunderstandings about whether or not they still hated the United States of America. It had been popular many years ago, and a favourite of his older sister Melissa. For his younger sister Sherrie, he found the latest CD from teen pop sensation Tiara. She sang 1:30 toothaches about hopeless love and little yellow birds. His last item was “38 Classic Western Films” crammed onto a single video disc. The films were only 3 minutes long, designed as an ideal gift of elderly people who couldn’t remember they had actually been watching a movie in the first place. In each one, a modestly-dressed young unmarried frontier woman is kidnapped by Indians, bank robbers, or in one, a space monster. She is tied to a stake while her captors eat barbecue ribs until a man in a while hat (usually played by 1940’s Country and Western singer Curt Stanley,) untied her, shot the bad guys, and married her. He intended that one for his grandmother, whom he’d forgotten would be reminded it was the holidays, and thus come for a visit.
Jeremy had come back to his hometown totally unprepared for Christmas. He’d spent the last three months away at college gleefully draining his savings on video games, junk food, and beer. There was also a period when his focus was on buying “Perfect Strangers” collectors plates at online auctions, but gave up when the bidding got too high. As such, he’d scoured the bargain bins for these last-minute Christmas presents, and intended to wrap them in brown paper lunchbags, which he’d then draw candy canes on in pencil crayon. It was a good plan, he decided. Or it would have been, if he’d had any lunch bags left. Maybe he could just wrap them in a shirt.
Jeremy was lost in his own little world, humming along to the vibrant dance-fiddle tunes of the late-70’s dance hits, when at last the woman ahead of him relented and left the store with her purchases, unsatisfied at paying the whole $13.75 bill. The cashier called over to Jeremy, whose eyes were clenched shut, trying to recall the words to “Fernando.”
“Sir, I can help you,” the young lady cashier pled. It had been a long night, but she was doing her best to remain courteous. “Seriously? Please, can I help you?”
“Oh!” Jeremy snapped out of it, “Sorry, uh, right,” he dropped his items on the cash counter for her to take care of. She merely rolled her eyes. Jeremy didn’t blame her. He was annoyed with himself for even being there at 10 minutes toward close.
“Anything else, today?” she asked.
Jeremy gave it some thought. “No, that’s fine”
“Would you like your receipt in the bag?” she asked.
“Nah, just toss it out,” Jeremy said, gathering the small black plastic baggie with his gifts in it and heading for the door.
“You can’t do a return without the receipt…!” the cashier called, but Jeremy was already out of earshot, breathing a sigh of relief.
He had escaped both disco music and last-minute Christmas shopping, but the third bad thing Jeremy could imagine was about to catch up with him. From his back pocket, his cell phone rang. It was an “only for emergencies” phone which had been used to order 78 pizzas over the past 14 weeks.
“Hello?” he answered.
A soft-spoken, mournful woman’s voice on the other end informed him, “Jer, it’s mom… grandma’s passed on.”
Frozen in place, Jeremy only whimpered a plaintive “oh,” and ended the call.
He looked in his bag and turned around.
Back at the cash register, he told the young lady, “I’d like to make a return.”
Keep on rockin'
-Scotto