Sweet Moments in Primary
5 years ago
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Writing Project.
Okay, I have another one of these writing projects and I need a little help with it. Or, at least, I would like some feedback. It is pretty long, so I apologize. I don't know that it will be worth your time, but I know that most of you like to read so... Anyway. It would be nice on my part, but don't feel obligated to read it. I just thought I'd put it out there. (It's below by the way.)
Any Title Ideas?
I sat on the red bench next to the white wall of what appeared to be a school. Hallways opened up from the main lobby where I sat and doors were everywhere.
People were everywhere too. Women, mostly. All running around as if they were the cast of a play during opening night. Their voices echoed through the hallways and camera crews bustled about between them, throwing out interviews and filming the girls dress.
I heard a cough by my shoulder and turned to see who it was. A small pale woman was standing in front of my bench, her hands clasped in front of her. I squinted at her hair, jet black with snowy white streaks shooting from the roots. I couldn't help but picture a zebra. She was wearing the exact same outfit as I was. A pair of black slacks and a pastel green button-up shirt. I glanced up at her, waiting.
"Hi, Mrs. Glover," the woman smiled holding out a hand for me to shake. "My name is Ponia Cal Kake and I just wanted to say what an honor it is to finally meet you!"
I let out a weak smile as the girl released my hand. Her excitement was plainly visible and I could not understand why. I could never understand why. Were they mocking me?
I watched Ponia leave and clump herself into a group of girls. I could hear their voices, but I wasn't listening to what they were saying. I shut my eyes and leaned my head against the cold wall.
I was thinking about the girls, not just Ponia Cal Kake, but everyone.
Their skin tones hadn’t been right. Some resembling the palest white and others the bizarre blue/orange that had released only days before. Their hair was also changed, ranging from pink to black to blue. And yet at the same time they all looked like me. They were the same exact height, had the same type of hair –thick and wavy, cut off three and a half inches below the shoulders. Their build was just like mine. Tall and lean. Long torso, firm muscle, size eight and half shoe. They even got the slight bulge where the love handles were.
I dropped my face in my hands. I could feel the heat radiating off my cheeks and I knew that it was hopeless. Even if my husband looked for the slightest elements of my body that made me unique, he wouldn’t succeed. I was certain that they had covered everything. From my broken toe to the six small indents on my left arm, the size of needle eyes where warts once grew. It would all be there. On every one of these girls. Nothing missed. Everything covered.
I was startled out of despair when I was nudged on the shoulder by the butt of a shot gun. Two guards escorted me by the elbows through a long narrow hallway, each of them carrying a loaded rifle under their forearm. They were both three times my size. I realized by now that there was no point in noticing the little things like this. Three times my size. Loaded rifle. There was no purpose in trying to escape. They had my husband. And I wasn’t going to leave without him.
I was lead to an isolated room; the only room in that entire hall. It looked to me like an old racquet ball court lined with white mattresses. There were no windows and the floor was a mucky brown tiling. The only source of light came from a long glass tube in the middle of the ceiling that stretched from one end to the other. There were also the small red and green lights of the half a dozen cameras (the crewman were dressed in black), but I didn't count those.
In the middle of the room, kneeling on the ground, his shackled hands pressed against the cracked tile in front of him, was my husband. A thick tan Hessian bag was thrown over his head and fastened around his neck. On any normal occasion the woven fabric would have allowed light to leek through and for someone to see out of. But this was not a normal occasion. They would have ensured the no-sight policy and zero light would have been allowed through the holes.
It was hard to tell the height of my husband crouched on the floor the way he was, his thighs pressed against his chest. He was wearing a worn pair of jeans and a stained white tee-shirt. By the way the clothes hung on his body, I could tell that he had lost a lot of weight. He wasn't wearing shoes.
The guards released my elbows, which were bruised by now, and I was free to move about the room. I was not permitted to speak, however. If I did, I would be executed on the spot. The guards were not known to hesitate.
I crossed the room in four strides and knelt down in front of my husband. I let my finger tips graze his cheek, letting him know I was there. He reached out to me, calm and soft. I didn’t miss the slight urgency in the way he moved his hands. He must have gone through this same ritual dozens upon dozens of times already in this single day and yet he was still eager to find her. To find me.
He didn’t wait around for anything, not for an invitation and with no fear that he was invading some invisible boundary. He immediately ran his fingers along the outside folds of my ears feeling for the notch on the left side. After finding it, he ran his hand along my eyebrows. I could feel the tips of his fingers slip across and fall ever so slightly along my right eyebrow, along the cut that had been there for as long as I can remember. He brushed his fingers through my hair next, feeling for, and finding the mole an inch past my hair line.
A sigh escaped his lips and somehow it managed to be heard beyond the brown sack covering his head.
I wondered how many times he had gone through this. How many other woman had had the same features. It would be impossible for him to find me. For him to know that this was me. That I was the one he was looking for.
I watched closely as he slid his hands down the full length of my arms until they reached my left palm. He took this hand in both of his, feeling for the in-dent of the ever present golden band that had only been taken off an hour previous. He brushed his thumb against the skin, gently stroking the spot where I had dedicated almost six years of complete faith to my husband who was now a prisoner in his own country.
I felt a nudge on my shoulder, signaling that my time was over. That I had failed. That I had not been found.
A low rumble escaped my husband’s lips and I could hear the pain in it as I rose to my feet.
“Mmmmm.”
I did not stop, nor did I so much as turn my head. Too many times had we come this close. Too many times had I given in to believing that he would find me. That he would recognize some part of me. But I was always wrong. Instead I managed to swallow the dry lump in my throat that had formed when my husband made that sound.
It was the sound of the first letter of my name. A name he was not permitted to speak. If he did, there would be no second chances, no going back, no changing the sponsors’ mind. That would be it. Game over. Simple as that.
I was ready this time when the guards grabbed at my elbows. I used their tight grip as a brace, allowing them to carry most of my weight.
And then, just before I pushed my foot across the threshold, I heard it. That muffled sound that I had heard so often in my mind but never in reality. At first I was not sure that I was really hearing it.
"Mary."
It had been three years, nine months, and twenty-seven days since I had heard him utter my name. Somehow my brain did not register but when he spoke it a second time. His voice was barely audible as if something was keeping him from speaking, yet every letter was distinct.
"Mary."
The guards were stunned and I was amazed.
Relief shot through my body like fresh blood, pumping my limbs with energy. When the guards released their hold I raced across the room and quickly untied the bag around my husband’s head. Upon pulling it off I found his mouth crammed with some kind of grey cotton and his eyes covered with a thick leather strap that cut into his skin. I found the buckle at the back of his head and carefully loosed the leather blindfold. His hands, still shackled, reached up and pulled the covering from his eyes.
That moment, the single moment I had been waiting for, passed in exactly the way I expected it would. My husband’s weak grey eyes found mine. His hands forgot about the blindfold and found my face instead. He didn’t seem to care that he could only stretch his hands the length of the short black chain, or that his mouth was stuffed with fabric. The only thing that existed was me.
Tears weld up in his eyes and streaked down his dirty face mixing with the fresh blood from his wounds. The short inky black hair that I had last seen him with was now long and shaggy, plastered against his head and face. I reached up and cautiously pulled the fabric from of his mouth.
“You found me,” I whispered, still taking in the reality of the situation.
My husband touched my hair, my cheeks, my lips; his breathing becoming noticeably unsteady.
I let him touch me. Hold me. How long had it been? How many times had we both dreamed of this single moment? How did we ever doubt our success?
I fought the lump in my throat that had grown twice its size and asked the question that saved our lives.
“How?" I asked. "How did you know it was me?”
My husband caressed my face in his hands, the cold shackles brushing against my skin.
“You touched me,” he said, “when no one else did.”
People were everywhere too. Women, mostly. All running around as if they were the cast of a play during opening night. Their voices echoed through the hallways and camera crews bustled about between them, throwing out interviews and filming the girls dress.
I heard a cough by my shoulder and turned to see who it was. A small pale woman was standing in front of my bench, her hands clasped in front of her. I squinted at her hair, jet black with snowy white streaks shooting from the roots. I couldn't help but picture a zebra. She was wearing the exact same outfit as I was. A pair of black slacks and a pastel green button-up shirt. I glanced up at her, waiting.
"Hi, Mrs. Glover," the woman smiled holding out a hand for me to shake. "My name is Ponia Cal Kake and I just wanted to say what an honor it is to finally meet you!"
I let out a weak smile as the girl released my hand. Her excitement was plainly visible and I could not understand why. I could never understand why. Were they mocking me?
I watched Ponia leave and clump herself into a group of girls. I could hear their voices, but I wasn't listening to what they were saying. I shut my eyes and leaned my head against the cold wall.
I was thinking about the girls, not just Ponia Cal Kake, but everyone.
Their skin tones hadn’t been right. Some resembling the palest white and others the bizarre blue/orange that had released only days before. Their hair was also changed, ranging from pink to black to blue. And yet at the same time they all looked like me. They were the same exact height, had the same type of hair –thick and wavy, cut off three and a half inches below the shoulders. Their build was just like mine. Tall and lean. Long torso, firm muscle, size eight and half shoe. They even got the slight bulge where the love handles were.
I dropped my face in my hands. I could feel the heat radiating off my cheeks and I knew that it was hopeless. Even if my husband looked for the slightest elements of my body that made me unique, he wouldn’t succeed. I was certain that they had covered everything. From my broken toe to the six small indents on my left arm, the size of needle eyes where warts once grew. It would all be there. On every one of these girls. Nothing missed. Everything covered.
I was startled out of despair when I was nudged on the shoulder by the butt of a shot gun. Two guards escorted me by the elbows through a long narrow hallway, each of them carrying a loaded rifle under their forearm. They were both three times my size. I realized by now that there was no point in noticing the little things like this. Three times my size. Loaded rifle. There was no purpose in trying to escape. They had my husband. And I wasn’t going to leave without him.
I was lead to an isolated room; the only room in that entire hall. It looked to me like an old racquet ball court lined with white mattresses. There were no windows and the floor was a mucky brown tiling. The only source of light came from a long glass tube in the middle of the ceiling that stretched from one end to the other. There were also the small red and green lights of the half a dozen cameras (the crewman were dressed in black), but I didn't count those.
In the middle of the room, kneeling on the ground, his shackled hands pressed against the cracked tile in front of him, was my husband. A thick tan Hessian bag was thrown over his head and fastened around his neck. On any normal occasion the woven fabric would have allowed light to leek through and for someone to see out of. But this was not a normal occasion. They would have ensured the no-sight policy and zero light would have been allowed through the holes.
It was hard to tell the height of my husband crouched on the floor the way he was, his thighs pressed against his chest. He was wearing a worn pair of jeans and a stained white tee-shirt. By the way the clothes hung on his body, I could tell that he had lost a lot of weight. He wasn't wearing shoes.
The guards released my elbows, which were bruised by now, and I was free to move about the room. I was not permitted to speak, however. If I did, I would be executed on the spot. The guards were not known to hesitate.
I crossed the room in four strides and knelt down in front of my husband. I let my finger tips graze his cheek, letting him know I was there. He reached out to me, calm and soft. I didn’t miss the slight urgency in the way he moved his hands. He must have gone through this same ritual dozens upon dozens of times already in this single day and yet he was still eager to find her. To find me.
He didn’t wait around for anything, not for an invitation and with no fear that he was invading some invisible boundary. He immediately ran his fingers along the outside folds of my ears feeling for the notch on the left side. After finding it, he ran his hand along my eyebrows. I could feel the tips of his fingers slip across and fall ever so slightly along my right eyebrow, along the cut that had been there for as long as I can remember. He brushed his fingers through my hair next, feeling for, and finding the mole an inch past my hair line.
A sigh escaped his lips and somehow it managed to be heard beyond the brown sack covering his head.
I wondered how many times he had gone through this. How many other woman had had the same features. It would be impossible for him to find me. For him to know that this was me. That I was the one he was looking for.
I watched closely as he slid his hands down the full length of my arms until they reached my left palm. He took this hand in both of his, feeling for the in-dent of the ever present golden band that had only been taken off an hour previous. He brushed his thumb against the skin, gently stroking the spot where I had dedicated almost six years of complete faith to my husband who was now a prisoner in his own country.
I felt a nudge on my shoulder, signaling that my time was over. That I had failed. That I had not been found.
A low rumble escaped my husband’s lips and I could hear the pain in it as I rose to my feet.
“Mmmmm.”
I did not stop, nor did I so much as turn my head. Too many times had we come this close. Too many times had I given in to believing that he would find me. That he would recognize some part of me. But I was always wrong. Instead I managed to swallow the dry lump in my throat that had formed when my husband made that sound.
It was the sound of the first letter of my name. A name he was not permitted to speak. If he did, there would be no second chances, no going back, no changing the sponsors’ mind. That would be it. Game over. Simple as that.
I was ready this time when the guards grabbed at my elbows. I used their tight grip as a brace, allowing them to carry most of my weight.
And then, just before I pushed my foot across the threshold, I heard it. That muffled sound that I had heard so often in my mind but never in reality. At first I was not sure that I was really hearing it.
"Mary."
It had been three years, nine months, and twenty-seven days since I had heard him utter my name. Somehow my brain did not register but when he spoke it a second time. His voice was barely audible as if something was keeping him from speaking, yet every letter was distinct.
"Mary."
The guards were stunned and I was amazed.
Relief shot through my body like fresh blood, pumping my limbs with energy. When the guards released their hold I raced across the room and quickly untied the bag around my husband’s head. Upon pulling it off I found his mouth crammed with some kind of grey cotton and his eyes covered with a thick leather strap that cut into his skin. I found the buckle at the back of his head and carefully loosed the leather blindfold. His hands, still shackled, reached up and pulled the covering from his eyes.
That moment, the single moment I had been waiting for, passed in exactly the way I expected it would. My husband’s weak grey eyes found mine. His hands forgot about the blindfold and found my face instead. He didn’t seem to care that he could only stretch his hands the length of the short black chain, or that his mouth was stuffed with fabric. The only thing that existed was me.
Tears weld up in his eyes and streaked down his dirty face mixing with the fresh blood from his wounds. The short inky black hair that I had last seen him with was now long and shaggy, plastered against his head and face. I reached up and cautiously pulled the fabric from of his mouth.
“You found me,” I whispered, still taking in the reality of the situation.
My husband touched my hair, my cheeks, my lips; his breathing becoming noticeably unsteady.
I let him touch me. Hold me. How long had it been? How many times had we both dreamed of this single moment? How did we ever doubt our success?
I fought the lump in my throat that had grown twice its size and asked the question that saved our lives.
“How?" I asked. "How did you know it was me?”
My husband caressed my face in his hands, the cold shackles brushing against my skin.
“You touched me,” he said, “when no one else did.”
Friday, February 26, 2010
Urban Dictionary: Julia. Do you agree?
A name for girls. Most julia's are artistic, smart, romantic, beautiful and also very charming. Julia's can get whatever they want if they try. They can be very sexy so watch out! They are romantics and love old movies, art and books. they love old stuff! They usually aren't very athletic but if a julia is athletic she's kick butt! they have great fashion sense and usually look smokin'. A julia will most likely become a mother because they love kids. They are very successful in life and there is just something about them that draws people in. Also they are ah-mazing dancers!
Also - Julias are people that love everybody and are loved by everyone. they are very artistic and express their feelings to people they love and can trust. they love to draw read and dance when no one is watching. they care a lot about fashion and clothes but are very unique and love to stand out and be different. they are very hot cut and sexy so you have to be careful with them. they are very sensitive when it comes to people but they are very strong and tough and do not care what people say or think. they are extremely good friends with everyone. they are brave courageous and bold and they will do anything. they are also attracted to boys named Joel. But more than anything they are extremely hot friendly and sexy they are the best people to know.
Also - Julias are people that love everybody and are loved by everyone. they are very artistic and express their feelings to people they love and can trust. they love to draw read and dance when no one is watching. they care a lot about fashion and clothes but are very unique and love to stand out and be different. they are very hot cut and sexy so you have to be careful with them. they are very sensitive when it comes to people but they are very strong and tough and do not care what people say or think. they are extremely good friends with everyone. they are brave courageous and bold and they will do anything. they are also attracted to boys named Joel. But more than anything they are extremely hot friendly and sexy they are the best people to know.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
The Hunger Games III
I can't wait 'til AUGUST 24th!!! I can hardly contain my excitement! AAAAAHHHHHHH!!
Home Decor.
During the Valentine's weekend only one roommate stayed behind. So, about an hour after everyone left we decided we'd decorate our incredibly boring apartment. Here is the outcome (apologies for the fuzzy pictures I'm still getting the hang of my camera):
And yes, that is wrapping paper. And we can't find a good place for the flowers. When we put them on the little table it just seems like too much color on that side of the room. But it won't fit anywhere else.
And yes, that is wrapping paper. And we can't find a good place for the flowers. When we put them on the little table it just seems like too much color on that side of the room. But it won't fit anywhere else.
Books I read for January.
I guess you could say that I "took the short road out" for this month, since I read mostly childrens books. But, nonetheless, I did read four books that I haven't read before and that was my only criteria for this particular new years resolution. Which is probably the only one I'm doing well in. All of the rest I've either forgotten or I'm struggling with.
"The Voyage of the Dawn Treader" by C. S. Lewis.
I actually really, really liked this books. TONS of gospel principles. It was an easy read, well, I should say easy listen. It makes the time go by faster at work.
"The Silver Chair" by C. S. Lewis. I actually didn't like this one as much as I did the Dawn Treader. It wasn't as cool. But maybe that's due to the fact that neither Lucy nor Edmund or any of the other Pevensies for that matter, were in the book.
"The Last Battle" by C. S. Lewis. Of all the Chronicles of Narnia this one was my LEAST favorite. It was about false leaders and being deceived and all that and I really did not like it. I mean, it was a good story and all and it had an awesome ending, it's just, I didn't like it. It bugged me.
And lastly, "Leven Thumps and the Gateway to Foo" by Obert Skye. I had actually been putting off reading this book for ages because I thought it would just be a play off of Harry Potter. Which, I hate play-offs. I avoid every vampire book that has suddenly sprouted due to Twilight. It just kills the original I think. Anyway, I really liked this book. Very entertaining. I'm looking forward to reading the rest of the series. It'll be my birthday gift to me. I'm so excited!
"The Voyage of the Dawn Treader" by C. S. Lewis.
I actually really, really liked this books. TONS of gospel principles. It was an easy read, well, I should say easy listen. It makes the time go by faster at work.
"The Silver Chair" by C. S. Lewis. I actually didn't like this one as much as I did the Dawn Treader. It wasn't as cool. But maybe that's due to the fact that neither Lucy nor Edmund or any of the other Pevensies for that matter, were in the book.
"The Last Battle" by C. S. Lewis. Of all the Chronicles of Narnia this one was my LEAST favorite. It was about false leaders and being deceived and all that and I really did not like it. I mean, it was a good story and all and it had an awesome ending, it's just, I didn't like it. It bugged me.
And lastly, "Leven Thumps and the Gateway to Foo" by Obert Skye. I had actually been putting off reading this book for ages because I thought it would just be a play off of Harry Potter. Which, I hate play-offs. I avoid every vampire book that has suddenly sprouted due to Twilight. It just kills the original I think. Anyway, I really liked this book. Very entertaining. I'm looking forward to reading the rest of the series. It'll be my birthday gift to me. I'm so excited!
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Update.
Well, I guess I should post one of these days. Give you a bit of an update.
School is fine. Work is fine. Everything is fine. Not brilliant or fantastic, but fine. I've been doing a lot of reading/listening lately so that's been fun. My apartment (plus some) is going to do the special musical number tomorrow at church. We're singing "Lead, Kindly Light." Very nice arrangement. I'm not exactly looking forward to standing up in front of the ward to sing, but I'll do my best. Then, after church we're inviting all those who sang (like our FHE brothers and some other guys and girls in our ward) to come eat dinner. They requested that we serve enchiladas, which happens to be like my favorite dinner ever. What are the odds?
Oh, that reminds me, the other day I was buying groceries and since I don't have a car, I walk. I dump out all my school supplies and lug my empty backpack to the store where I fill it and walk home. Occasionally I'll get more things than my backpack can hold so I have to drape all the bags along my arms and it's not at all fun walking at that point. I end up sweating up a storm by the time I get home. And that's saying something. It's always cold up here!
Anyway, this particular day I hated having to walk. Maybe it was due to the fact that I had a jug of milk on one arm and lots of other small heavy things on the other. Or maybe it was because it was super cold that day. Or maybe I was because I had no energy left in me to make the walk. But whatever reason I felt lucky to be walking around a town full Mormons. I mean, there was bound to be at least one of them who'd show pity on me and drive me the several blocks home. It's not like it hasn't happened before. But no. I was wrong. All the cars just kept right on driving by. I could almost hear them say to themselves, "Aww, poor thing. She has to walk. It's a good thing we have a car!" Or they'd just laugh at how ridiculous I looked with a bulging backpack and my arms drooping with groceries.
When I had been walking for about twenty or thirty minutes a car finally pulled over. I looked and saw this elderly man poking his head out of the open window of a nice white car. I can't even tell you how relieved I was! I was so relieved in fact, that I didn't at first catch what the man was saying. ...And then I understood.
"Excuse me," the old man said, "do you know where I can find a chocolate shop? I know there's one around here somewhere."
I was crushed! I told the man that I was not familiar with the town and that I had never seen a chocolate shop around here before. He nodded, thanked me for my time, and drove away. ...That was a fine how-do-you-do. But I guess it's not such a bad thing. I mean, aren't we taught not to take rides from strangers? Oh well. Next time I'll just leave the big things for when I have a roommate who can drive me to town.
School is fine. Work is fine. Everything is fine. Not brilliant or fantastic, but fine. I've been doing a lot of reading/listening lately so that's been fun. My apartment (plus some) is going to do the special musical number tomorrow at church. We're singing "Lead, Kindly Light." Very nice arrangement. I'm not exactly looking forward to standing up in front of the ward to sing, but I'll do my best. Then, after church we're inviting all those who sang (like our FHE brothers and some other guys and girls in our ward) to come eat dinner. They requested that we serve enchiladas, which happens to be like my favorite dinner ever. What are the odds?
Oh, that reminds me, the other day I was buying groceries and since I don't have a car, I walk. I dump out all my school supplies and lug my empty backpack to the store where I fill it and walk home. Occasionally I'll get more things than my backpack can hold so I have to drape all the bags along my arms and it's not at all fun walking at that point. I end up sweating up a storm by the time I get home. And that's saying something. It's always cold up here!
Anyway, this particular day I hated having to walk. Maybe it was due to the fact that I had a jug of milk on one arm and lots of other small heavy things on the other. Or maybe it was because it was super cold that day. Or maybe I was because I had no energy left in me to make the walk. But whatever reason I felt lucky to be walking around a town full Mormons. I mean, there was bound to be at least one of them who'd show pity on me and drive me the several blocks home. It's not like it hasn't happened before. But no. I was wrong. All the cars just kept right on driving by. I could almost hear them say to themselves, "Aww, poor thing. She has to walk. It's a good thing we have a car!" Or they'd just laugh at how ridiculous I looked with a bulging backpack and my arms drooping with groceries.
When I had been walking for about twenty or thirty minutes a car finally pulled over. I looked and saw this elderly man poking his head out of the open window of a nice white car. I can't even tell you how relieved I was! I was so relieved in fact, that I didn't at first catch what the man was saying. ...And then I understood.
"Excuse me," the old man said, "do you know where I can find a chocolate shop? I know there's one around here somewhere."
I was crushed! I told the man that I was not familiar with the town and that I had never seen a chocolate shop around here before. He nodded, thanked me for my time, and drove away. ...That was a fine how-do-you-do. But I guess it's not such a bad thing. I mean, aren't we taught not to take rides from strangers? Oh well. Next time I'll just leave the big things for when I have a roommate who can drive me to town.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
My Sabbath Afternoon.
It was a bright and sunny (and warm!) Sabbath day in Idaho. It had been an amazing Fast Sunday and my roommates had all decided to take their after-church nap. Though I was also tired, I decided that I would get a few things done before I became dead to the world. So, I was sitting on the couch using my roommate's laptop when all of the sudden a horn went off. The horn was very loud and whenever I thought that it was sure to end, it continued.
Occasionally it would stop and then start up again. It wasn't long before I become completely irritated and one of my roommates even woke from her nap. My roommate had been sleeping on the couch and, upon waking, voiced her opinion on the obnoxious car-horn-honker. I couldn't help but think that perhaps it was someone late for church or that perhaps it was a guy honking at a girl with whom he was going on a date. I made up my mind then (not that it hadn't necessarily been made previously on this matter) that if a guy EVER honked at me in that way -long and drawn out and for all of thirty-nine apartments and for all of the two-hundred thirty-four girls that might also be taking naps to hear -that I would immediately dump the inconsiderate stink-bomb and find someone else!
And, despite the many deserving comments that I thought toward this Honker, the honking continued. We could, by that time, hear our many neighbors grow more and more irritated by the honking.
It wasn't until my roommate, the one who had woken from her nap and who was now staring out the window that I changed my mind.
"Hey," my roommate said, squinting through the blinds, "isn't that Betty's car?" [name changed]
I thought it unlikely since Betty's car was older than mine and she had never before mentioned an alarm. However, my roommate -we'll call her Stella -asked me to go and wake Betty up and ask her to check. So, into the room I went (with the honking ringing loudly in the background) and woke Betty up from her nap. Eventually, she and Stella were both standing by the door watching, trying to decide who's car it was. Betty was sure it wasn't hers and Stella was sure it was.
At that point I was so irritated that I volunteered to run down the stairs and through the parking lot with my bear feet to see who's car it was -anything to get it to stop! I discovered quickly that Stella was right and so Betty came out to stop the ridiculous honking. She did. And it started again. It stopped. And started again. This must have happened at least half a dozen times before a young man came out to help. Much of the complex had by then come to see the fiasco and were now leaning out over the railing to get a better look. The young man, eventually, unplugged the horn (somehow or other) and the honking stopped.
I suppose that the moral of this story is that before you think ill of someone, make sure it's not your roommate's car just going berserk.
Occasionally it would stop and then start up again. It wasn't long before I become completely irritated and one of my roommates even woke from her nap. My roommate had been sleeping on the couch and, upon waking, voiced her opinion on the obnoxious car-horn-honker. I couldn't help but think that perhaps it was someone late for church or that perhaps it was a guy honking at a girl with whom he was going on a date. I made up my mind then (not that it hadn't necessarily been made previously on this matter) that if a guy EVER honked at me in that way -long and drawn out and for all of thirty-nine apartments and for all of the two-hundred thirty-four girls that might also be taking naps to hear -that I would immediately dump the inconsiderate stink-bomb and find someone else!
And, despite the many deserving comments that I thought toward this Honker, the honking continued. We could, by that time, hear our many neighbors grow more and more irritated by the honking.
It wasn't until my roommate, the one who had woken from her nap and who was now staring out the window that I changed my mind.
"Hey," my roommate said, squinting through the blinds, "isn't that Betty's car?" [name changed]
I thought it unlikely since Betty's car was older than mine and she had never before mentioned an alarm. However, my roommate -we'll call her Stella -asked me to go and wake Betty up and ask her to check. So, into the room I went (with the honking ringing loudly in the background) and woke Betty up from her nap. Eventually, she and Stella were both standing by the door watching, trying to decide who's car it was. Betty was sure it wasn't hers and Stella was sure it was.
At that point I was so irritated that I volunteered to run down the stairs and through the parking lot with my bear feet to see who's car it was -anything to get it to stop! I discovered quickly that Stella was right and so Betty came out to stop the ridiculous honking. She did. And it started again. It stopped. And started again. This must have happened at least half a dozen times before a young man came out to help. Much of the complex had by then come to see the fiasco and were now leaning out over the railing to get a better look. The young man, eventually, unplugged the horn (somehow or other) and the honking stopped.
I suppose that the moral of this story is that before you think ill of someone, make sure it's not your roommate's car just going berserk.
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