Looking at it

3 Stories about relative perspectives.

Beetle’s

Seeing Red

Seeing Blue

The beginning of the end. The end of freedom, fiscal responsibility and morality. The first day or is it the last day? I still couldn’t believe what I was watching. The biting air outside made it feel like hell had frozen over and my gin and tonic was the only thing keeping me warm, numbing me enough to keep the tears from flowing like a faucet. I had been on the campaign for what seemed to be ages. Knocking on doors, passing out flyers, speaking at town meetings. All for this? The television blared with the sound of trumpets and the gaiety of victory as the presidential party filed out the door onto the capital building. There was our man, the man who worked so hard for the last eight years. It can’t be easy, being president. Fighting a war, trying to do what’s best for the country. He really got the shaft, ol’ Bush. He was forced to make a decision at a fork in the road. Hard decision, hard consequences. Now what does he have? He’s hated by most of the world, and even his own country can’t wait to see him out of office. Personally, I will miss him. I think he did what was best with what was given to him. As I watched the procession and the speech, I started reminiscing on the campaign. What had led us to this, why we were now watching a man, whose name is one letter away from that of a terrorist, take the most powerful job in the world. Some blame it on Bush, some on the age of McCain. Me? I don’t know. But the thought of increasing taxes and the power of the government has always scared me. My ice cubes clinked on the sides of my glass, while Yo-yo Ma played for the new president. As I finished my drink, I again wondered. Is this the beginning? Or the end?

The cold, crisp air rushed into my lungs with immediacy and promise. The sting of the wind on my face only pinched me to make me realize that it wasn’t a dream. The sea of smiles surrounding me was endless. All eyes were focused on one spot, on one future, on one nation. In the distance, you could hear the occasional “Yes we did!” or “We shall overcome.” For such a cold day in January, it was a warm day in history. As we waited for our future president to emerge from the capital building, the euphoric feeling of victory was in the air. Not only a victory for the country but for the world. A nation who had been in a deep cloud of fear and confusion for the last eight years had finally found light and a path to hope. A new era of equality and accountability was about to begin. My mind drifted over the history of the battle for progression. Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther King Jr., Malcolm X, John Kennedy, Robert Kennedy. It seems that for every step forward, we had taken five steps backward. The ground was frozen, but hearts were melting as Barack Obama took his oath. Tears of joy glistened on the faces of the observers and gave proof of the incredible nature of what was happening before our eyes. The dawn of a new day had arrived. A day of hope, a day of truth. A beginning.

 

Ceahorse’s

Bobby’s mornings.

Erica’s listeners

His name is Bobby. Bobby likes basketball more than life itself. There is nothing that Bobby would rather do with his time. Everyday, with the exception of Sunday, —Church day—, Bobby wakes up early and heads to the basketball courts. Most of the time, there is no one there while he plays. For the first half hour, after he arrives, he dribbles the ball in a circle, making sure to switch his hands frequently so one hand doesn’t dominate. For those of you who don’t know what dribbling is, it’s the name used to describe when a player bounces the ball with one hand at a time. Dribbling is required in basketball anytime a player takes a step, so therefore good dribbling skills are essential. After he has finished his thirty minutes of dribbling, he steps up to the free-throw line and attempts fifty consecutive free throws. Free-throws, in a basketball game, are when the player stands at a line ten feet from the basketball hoop, or net, and is allowed to shoot without any pressure from his opponents. Bobby knows that free-throws are very common in professional basketball games, because he has watched many games on TV, however he never sees any of the older boys at his court shoot them. He doesn’t know why. Bobby has practiced his free-throws for many months now, and sinks about eight percent of them, that’s about four in for every five shots. After he has completed his free-throws, he practices lay-ups. These are shots taken while the player is running and jumps toward the basket. Bobby has found, by practice, that it is better to bounce the ball off the backboard rather than try to put it directly in. The only thing that Bobby really misses in his practice is defending, which is just as important as all the other skill already mentioned. Bobby can’t practice defence because he never has anyone to play with. He had asked his sister Erica one time but she doesn’t like playing sports, so she refused. He remembers he said that all she ever cared about was her silly dolls. She didn’t like the way he spoke to her. She told him to leave her alone and to stop bugging her. They started yelling and were stopped by their mother. She always says they shouldn’t fight and that they should be friends; even closer than friends.

Her name is Erica. Erica likes her dolls more then anyone she knows. There is never a time when you see her without one of her dolls. Even at school she always carries one of her smaller ones, either in the open, or hidden in her pockets. She has about fifty dolls right now; some newer than others and some as old as ten years old. They all have their own names. Usually she uses common names like, Jenny (her second favourite) and Sarah (her latest) but sometimes she gives them names that are totally unique, names like Rainbow, or Juebbles. Everyday, she plays with them. Sometimes she has a tea party and sets them all up in a circle around her low table. She likes the low table her father has bought for her because without chairs all her dolls can find a place around the table. Other times, she just needs someone to talk to. So, she sits down Betty, — her current favourite, with the red and white checked dress and the yellow braided pig tails— and tells her all about the problems she had had that day. Betty is a much better listener than anyone else she tries to talk to. Once, she tried to tell her mother about how she had lost a very important hair elastic, but her mother was too busy walking around in circles in the kitchen. Her father is no different, in fact, he is worse. When she said to him that she had lost her elastic, he didn’t even look up from his paper. He simply said that everything would be ok for her. Her brother is impossible to talk to; all he cares about is his silly rubber ball. He even bounces it around in the house making all sorts of horrible noise. Last time they had spoken, He’d asked her if she wanted to play with him, at first she thought it would be great to have him over for the tea party, but then she realized he wanted her to go outside and play with that orange ball. He lost his patience and started to make fun of her, she got sad and started to cry, they both began to yell. Mother stopped them, and separated them. She always says they shouldn’t fight and that they should be friends; even closer than friends.

Lion’s

Wake Up Daddy!

“Wake up daddy. Wake up. You got to see it. The snow, it snowed.” She said already wearing her boots and jacket on, pajamas underneath.

“Yeah, it’s bright,” he said and with his processor working a little slower realized “It snowed? It’s spring!”

“Look Dad, spring snow,” she yelled and pulled the cord to raise the blinds revealing the reflecting luminescence of a clear day after a good snow. He grumbled. “The snow, can we go play? And we’ll play, make snow angles, and play forts, and play jumping in the snow.”

The dad grumbled, and covered his head with the duvet, and said “Can Daddy play sleep for a little while longer?”

“Why don’t daddy play drinking co-ffeeee? And get your boots on. My boots are on.”

Dad peeked his head out from the darkness of his covers and into the shining open light that filled the room. He saw her in boots and a jacket, with pink pajamas in-between. He smiled and said, “I guess daddy can play drinking coffee.”

“And get on your boots?”

“And get on my boots.”

“And play, make a snow angle.”

“And play whatever you want?”

He made his cup of coffee, microwaved day-old coffee, and cut up bananas, the way she liked to eat a banana, for them to eat before going out. He took off her jacket and asked “What did you forget to do?”

She thought for a little while looking out the kitchen window at the bright world outside and said “Um, Make my bed?”

“You got your boots on and jacket. What else should you‘ve put on?”

“My… my… hat… and gloves. My hat and gloves?”

“What about your legs?”

She looked down and chuckled, “I forgot my pants. And I forgot my tee.”

“You want some more bananas?”

“No. Maybe you want to get some boots on?” she asked.

“Yeah, I can get some boots on. You want to get dressed, pants and all?”

“I’ll get dressed and you get dressed, and we’ll go to play snow angels.”

They both got ready boots, and pants, and gloves, and hats, and all. They got out of the house and he started shoveling the snow off the walk, and she was throwing snowballs at him while he revealed their concrete walkway. He finished, placed the shovel near the door, and scooped up snow and packed it into light snow ball and tagged her in the back.

“Dad,” she yelped and before she knew it she saw the sky and then the ground again, doing a flip and they both landed, butt-first in the snow. “Can we play make snow angels now.”

“Yeah, find some fresh snow,” and they did. “Now lay down face up and move your arms like me.”

They both laid in the snow looking up and at each other swinging their arms and legs sweeping the snow to reveal the silhouettes of angels hidden in the snow. They laid there and then she said “Daddy I think winter and spring are fighting, because it was really hot yesterday and now it’s… there’s snow.”

“No, they’re not fighting. It’s just a low pressure system from up north running into all that hot air from yesterday. It’s all very scientific nothing to do with a fight. See wherever there is low-pressure high-pressure tries to find it, and when it does they will run into each other.”

“Like a punch?”

“Well, I guess but it doesn’t hurt.”

“Well, I like when winter punches spring. It doesn’t hurt, it makes snow. And we get to play angels.”