||[06 May 2004|03:48pm]
done with finals.
mailed in my last story last night, not quite superb but I was sick and tired and drunk from looking at it.
I will copy and paste it at the end of this entry so you can read it and see how I decided to end it, it wasn't much of a decision, it was more of a, fuck this I'm done.
so I'm coming through columbia on saturday. I want to stop and get my hair cut, so I'll swing by the mall, see becca, see megan. go see lucas. then I'm going back to mexico, see kaleena, unload. I might go back to columbia for the night, lucas said there is a party, is anyone else planning on going to that party? (aka, megan? you? or becca and/or kelly?)
since I've been at work all day I've done nothing but buy shit on ebay. so far I've won some shorts and cellulite lotion. haha.
okay and I don't have any money
here is that story: comments are appreciated, but they will have no account for my grade as I have already turned it in...
Dinner was good. The waiters were friendly and the food came quickly. The steak wasn't too bloody and the salad wasn't wilted. Laughing mingled in the air with the smell of fried eggplant. Everybody was having a great time. Except Sue, who hated eggplant.
In all their excitement and hungry chatter, none of her family or any of the friends had acknowledged her. Not one person out of all those 18 people had even asked how she was, how her day was going.
"How come no one is paying attention to me?" she wanted to scream. "I'm the one who gave birth to her!"
She wanted to run up to the head of the table and remind all these people how she carried Colombia for nine and a half months and was she was the one is labor for 16 hours. If it wasn't for her, Colombia wouldn't even be here. These people wouldn't be here, enjoying their bloody steak and fried eggplant, being so happy that Colombia was turning 20.
Didn't they understand, "Without me there would be no her,” Sue thought angrily, glaring at her bubbling daughter, who was daintily shoving forkfuls of eggplant into her perfect pink mouth. Colombia was beautiful. She was tall and slender, and her thick, blue-black shiney hair spiked out like lotus petals. Her skin was soft and pale, and seemed to be brought to life under her dark halo. She had wanted to come here, to Clover's Organic Cousine, for her 20th birthday party, because they made the best eggplant cake in town.
Sue hated eggplant, she always had; the thick smell, the slimy texture. When Colombia was five her dad had gotten her three chicken eggs for Easter. Ted had convinced Sue it would be fun and education for Colombia, who had no siblings, to not only learn some responsibility, but also have some playmates.
"Playmates? Dirty birds would be so much better than real little people to play with," she had thought sarcastically.
But she gave in, she couldn't remember why. Ted had probably looked at her with his hazel eyes and said something dumb like, "But Suzy Q (god, she hated that cliché nickname, you think he'd try something different after 10 years of marriage) we've gotta make Easter extra special for our baby somehow." And that probably made her think of how there barely was a Colombia and thank god for the new technology in fertility drugs. And Ted would've seen the look on her face as she thought about how Colombia was it for them, and taken her in his arms and hugged her as she looked up at him, playfully hitting his shoulder and saying, "Oh, fine, get the stupid chickens."
The next day when Ted came home from work at the garage he carried a small shoe box that had held pink size 12 1/2 sandals, the perfect size for the three tan eggs that now lay inside padded by straw. Colombia was immediately intrigued, but concerned as to how the orphaned eggs would survive without a mother. Ted explained to her she could be their mother.
"Instead of using your baby dolls to play house you can dress up real live babies, baby chicks," he said ruffing her hair, as Sue watched from across the room, envisioning chickens dressed in overalls and dresses flying around the house.
Colombia, as New Mother Hen, immediately began to pamper her baby eggs. She cradled them, rocked them, and put them to sleep at 8 o'clock sharp, bedtime. Tucked into her own bed, however, she began to worry about her babies. While her parents watched "Must See TV" she snuck into the kitchen and sat on the nest. That's the same night Sue remembers her running into the living room, interrupting Friends, and carrying a yellow dripping egg.
To comfort Colombia, and the remaining babies, Ted took her to the Super Wal-Mart and bought an incubator to help keep them warm for the night. Sue stayed home and watched the rest of Friends. However, she had started feeling a little hungry and, being raised on a frugal farm in Western Illinois, decided not to waste the unfortunate yolk. She started up the gas burner and plopped the third baby right onto the sizzling pan.
She had just reached poached perfection when Ted and Colombia came home proudly displaying the new home. Colombia ran to the show box that was now 1/3 empty to proudly introduce the new home. Sue had thought Colombia would think it was another egg, maybe not even realize it was an egg at all, she had thought Colombia was too little to understand, she had thought Colombia didn't hear the 'adult' words she sometimes muttered under her breath when she hit her foot on the cabinet or cut her finger while making dinner. She had thought very wrong.
"You bitch!" Colombia ran screaming at her, arms flailing, ripping, and punching, just as Sue lifted Baby #3 to her mouth. The fork flew across the table and the plate catapulted egg against the wall. Not the most dignified funeral.
Sue had wanted to punish Colombia, "at least timeout," she had argued with Ted, "she physically attacked me, and she used a curse word" she said hushing her voice. But Ted had thought the five-year-old’s reaction was understandable, "For God's sake Sue, you ate her baby!"
So Colombia went unpunished and raised her remaining two 'children' in their backyard with her father's permission, right there on 31st and L. Ted hadn't really asked Sue if it was okay, ever since the "eating incident" Sue kept quiet about the chickens. She felt bad, like her daughter thought she was a muderess, not only that, some sort of cannibalistic murderess. So Sue kept quiet when it came to chickens.
The family began to grow and along with it grew Colombia's passion for 'chicken's rights.' Sue had never heard of such a thing and she was certain the neighbors hadn't either. Soon there was a full blown free range chicken farm, certified supporter of PETA, living in the backyard. Colombia had agreed to sell some when some of the larger roosters began to develop territorial issues, but "only for pets, no food." Business was slow, and when Colombia was 10, the front yard had to be conquered because the "roosters are only acting natural Mom, tell the neighbors they will stop crowing all the time once they have their own space." So Sue gave in still feeling a little guilty, and tried to make the best of living in the middle of a chicken farm, a non edible chicken farm, who had even heard of such a thing?
Of course this meant that she had to stop cooking chicken, "how do would you feel if your family just started bringing in other people and eating them?" After 15 years, Sue had thought of countless recipes for eggplant, and she still hated even the smell of it.
"At least I can order steak here," she had thought as she hungrily eyed the menu. But as she turned to the young waiter named, Mark, or Mike or something like that, and pointed to the steak dinner, Colombia had leaned over from across the table, "Mom! What are you doing? You can't order that! You can't live in an animal rights mecca and order that! What will people think?"
Colombia had then looked up sweetly at the MarkMike and said sweetly, "She'll have the fried eggplant, it's her favorite."
Now, Sue pushed her mushy eggplant around the plate. Damn technology, she thought. If only there'd have been no such thing as fertility drugs, she could be eating steak, living in a house with a nice yard and a picket fence, no chicken wire draped from 10 foot poles. Guilt surged through her, but then again, she had never expected technology would bring her a daughter like Colombia.
She looked up at her daughter. Colombia was eagerly discussing veganism with Sue's brother, Tom, and her friend Joel. The others at the table, although not directly involved in the discussion, leaned in nosily to overhear what was being said.
Colombia's presence seemed to attract people from every direction. It was like she had some strange sort of kinetic energy, magnetism, maybe, Sue didn't know much about science, some sort of force, anyway, that made people love her. She didn't really have to understand science to know that it had something to do with Colombia's beauty. With her cool, pale skin, and her spiky black hair, she had a beauty that was rare, the cliché Diamond in the rough, was the one Sue heard most often. Although Colombia had the physique of a runway model, she wasn't graceful, and Sue was sure this was the secret to her attraction. Colombia was just awkward enough to make her relatable to average people. Across awkward handshakes and clumsily folded legs, they could understand her more as a human, and not the midnight fairy she gave the initial illusion of.
And people always commented on the beautiful blue black shade of Colombia's hair to Sue. Everywhere she went, church, the grocery store, the library, everywhere, usually Colombia wasn't even with her. "Oh! her hair is just so gorgeous!" They would always stop her, gently putting their hand on her shoulder as if to 'catch' whatever it was Sue had that made Colombia so beautiful. "Oh yes, you can buy it too, Feria Starry Night, only $6.95 at the Super Wal-Mart," Sue would always reply subtly shaking off their greedy hands. Sue hated Colombia's hair. Why couldn't she just leave it her natural color? Was there something wrong with her light brown hair? she thought as she peered through her own dirty blonde bangs. When she was Colombia's age, dirty blonde hair was the color girls wanted. They would rub flour in their hair instead of washing it to make it look dirty and unkempt. That's what was cool then. Sue's dirty blonde hair had always been cool.
Colombia always tried to help her 'spice' her hair up. "Come on Mom," she'd say. "Let's do something cool with it this time." Then she'd twist the thin, limp hair into dreadlocks, or pretend she was going to cut off the dying ponytail. Sue would cringe and untangle Colombia's eager fingers from her flossy strands, then she would make an appointment with Bobbi at Master Cuts. But after every visit with Bobbi, Sue would come home, ask Colombia what she thought, gently rearranging the fresh ends of her hair, and Colombia would look at her, pop her gum and ask, "Think about what?"
Sue cursed herself for agreeing to name her daughter Colombia. Like the chickens, it was one of Ted's ideas, and like the chickens, it haunted Sue everyday of her life. "As if she doesn't get enough attention already, we had to name her some crazy name." Sue had argued against naming her baby after a drug trafficking country, but eventually gave in because the more she said it in her head, the prettier it sounded and the less it reminded her of cocaine. But now people reminded her almost everyday what a pretty name it was and how it suited her daughter perfectly, "What an original name for such an original girl" and Sue tried to decide if Susan would make her sound more fun. Maybe she could spell it with a Z, Suzanne, she had seen some younger women do it like that, it added spunk, she thought. In high school she had always gone by Susie, but her parents told her it was time to grow up once she went to college. So she enrolled in Business Ethics as Sue McAndrews.
Dinner was getting long, as was the vegan conversation at the other end of the table. Sue started getting anxious. She felt like she was eleven again, waiting for her dad, Deacon Kenny, to finish up making his social rounds after Sunday service. She would always stand at the door of the sanctuary, keys in hand, jiggling them just loud enough so she knew he would hear, but kind of quiet so that she wouldn't get in trouble for interrupting. She leaned over to Ted and pressed the keys to their Honda Accord into his rough palm, "Honey, are we almost ready to wrap it up here?" she whispered. Ted looked at her, "What are you talking about? We've only been here an hour and you know this is Colombia's favorite place. Come on, Sue, it's her birthday for crying out loud, it's her day today."