Friday, September 09, 2005

something something

In a smoke-filled apartment two young boys slept, one in a crib and the other in the lower bunk of what would become both of their beds. Their parents looked in at their progeny and smiled. The mother turned off the light in the bedroom, took the father by the hand and led him to the living room. The flash of the television illuminated the room with its flicker, chattering about the news of the day: Vietnam was winding down, save the troops who were finishing up the evacuation; the Christmas shopping season was underway; the weather was turning dark.

The father popped some corn on the stove, his bare chest occasionally spattered with hot oil, and he had a cigarette hanging from his lips. His beer was getting warm next to the stove but he didn’t care. His family was good, even the usually ornery younger boy. His band didn’t have any gigs for a while but his wife was taking care of the slack financially until he could get his break. All in all, he couldn’t complain. Life was good.

The popcorn was done, salted and buttered, and Dad joined Mom on the couch. They looked into each other’s eyes and shared a kiss. Ah, the American Dream realized…