Tumgik
#and a handful of chocolate chips has made me much more optimistic about my future
rose-tinted-nostalgia · 11 months
Text
me at 9:32 PM: I’d rather be tossed into a shredder, every moment I’ve ever lived an illegible pile of lines on the floor, than to ever be read by a man like him again.  me at 9:34 PM:  dark chocolate chips complete me. 
3 notes · View notes
etraytin · 4 years
Text
Quarantine, Day 56
Not a whole lot happened today, but I am vindicated by the orthopedic surgeon, who scolded my mother in law for walking around without the damn brace on for three additional days and gave her another X-ray to make sure she hadn't caused more damage. She has a different brace now, one that is less unwieldy and easier to take on and off. This is good because she is actually wearing it, but bad because she insists that he told her it was a walking brace and has taken that to mean she does not need to sit down anymore. Her foot was swollen and painful by evening so hopefully that conclusion will be revisited tomorrow. If nothing else, I have to take her to an appointment and if necessary I can just drive us around randomly for three or four hours till we run low on gas because riding in the car is one time when she is literally strapped into a chair. 
I made an excursion today to the small tailgate market, which was held in a highly diffident manner in the parking lot of a local funeral home. It was raining, but that just meant I got to use my beautiful umbrella, and maybe that a few stray germs were washed away. I got more flowers, and some little plantlets for the kiddo to plant in the yard, and some lettuce and beets. Good times. I had to pay by Paypal at some of the booths that were so contactless they didn't even take cards, so that was exciting. My efforts at safe shopping were helped by a care package from my sister, who has connections in shoppy places and was able to score me disinfecting wipes and a box of nitrile gloves, plus extra hand sanitizer and a few other goodies. She also sent me the correct brand of poultry seasoning after I bemoaned my lack the other day while making stuffing. She is a _very_ good sister. So I was able to clean myself and my umbrella and my purchases and bring them very safely into the house, where they were much appreciated. It does look a lot nicer in here with some fresh flowers, especially since the weather had been so blah. 
A lot of today was still trying to figure out what we're going to do if and when my FIL is ready to leave the rehab place in a couple of weeks. It turns out that everything is incredibly expensive and insurance and Medicare will cover hardly anything. So that's not great. 24-hour in-home care costs something like 500 dollars per day, which is completely insane. I know for goddamned sure that the actual person providing the service isn't making 23 dollars an hour even for the time when they are sleeping, so somebody along the chain is making bank for doing basically nothing.  That is, of course, the heart of America's for-profit medical system. We can try to get somebody in to help in the morning and the evening, but the nights are also a big problem, and the middle of the day can be quite difficult as well. He really probably needs to be placed in a skilled care facility, but COVID-19 has made even the nicest of those places pretty damn grim right now. It's hard to know what to do, and there are no real good choices.
(One of the home care providers told me that most of their 24 hour clients afforded them by using long-term care insurance. I went to the trade industry site for long term care insurance because I didn't know anything about it, and found a page with the long, long list of conditions under which they advised you not to even bother to try and get insurance. Any preexisting condition, basically, or if you were old. They offered a half-hearted apology to the vast majority of the populace who are uninsurable and advised them to tell their loved ones to invest early in long-term care insurance so they don't suffer the same fate. It's a sick sumbich world we live in, my friends.) 
Let's see, other interesting things that I will appreciate having added to the historical record in the future, hmm. My new IUD has resulted in a period lasting ten days and counting this month, contributing substantially to my overall sunny and optimistic outlook on life. The only thing worse than a period that lasts a third of the month is one where toilet paper supplies are limited. At least I can still get tampons. I got into my mother in law's Gmail account and unsubscribed her from about sixty commercial mailing lists, then downloaded the app for her so it would organize her mail into tabs. I have no idea how she was reading any of her mail before, as those sixty mailing lists I removed her from are only the pieces of mail that arrived over the course of about a day and a half. This will be better. My husband and the kiddo went over for another window visit at the rehab center and took birdseed to fill the feeder outside his dad's window. I think he will enjoy that. One of the most Republican people on my Facebook feed agreed with me that disbanding the Coronavirus task force at the White House was asinine but also probably good to get the response away from the White House. I don't even know how to feel about that, but since Trump has changed his mind again it probably doesn't matter. 
I tried to make whipped mocha coffee by adding cocoa powder to the instant coffee and sugar before whipping it. It was terrible and extremely sticky. Do not recommend. Instead I ate several handfuls of chocolate chips straight from the container (see also: neverending period) and got the new filter into the Keurig to allow for regular coffee to be made once more. Good job, me! Time to reward myself with a more horizontal position. 
4 notes · View notes
theblacksirenx · 6 years
Text
Time Can’t Erase The Memories
Who → Laurel Lance
When → July 4th, 2018. ~ 4:30pm.
Where → Laurel’s bedroom
Notes → Another self para from me bc I have no self control and I just need to write. Contains current time stuff and flashbacks in the form of memories. Italicized pars are the flashbacks. Gives you a bit of insight into the real Laurel and her life, rather than the stuff she tells everyone about the Laurel she pretends to be.
Staring up at the photo hanging on the wall across from her bed, Laurel sighed. Nowhere else in the house did she have any pictures. Just the one. The shot of her with Matt and James warmed her heart, and it made her happy being able to look up and see it every day. It was a good memory, a happy one. It was a picture she could look at without feeling any type of anger or sadness.
It was easy for Laurel to say that she just didn’t have any pictures of her life before Amsterdam. But much like her life, and who she claimed to be, it was a lie. She had pictures. She had plenty of them. But hanging them up would never do any good. It could give away the lies she had told, and it would only bring her sadness. Laurel looked back at her life before Amsterdam, hell, even before going to this Earth, and it made her feel awful 
Leaning over from where she sat in bed with her legs crossed, she tugged open the drawer of her night stand. Beneath a few books, she had hidden a small stack of pictures. Some of them were worn and faded, small tears obvious along the edges. Some of them were in better condition, the newer ones that she had from her time on this Earth.
On the top of the stack sat a family picture. It was her, her mother, and her father. Laurel was wearing her pajamas still, but her parents had set up the camera with a timer to surprise her with a stack of waffles with syrup, chocolate chips, whipped cream, and a candle. It was a traditional Lance family thing to do when it was someone’s birthday. She clearly remembered that day. 
“Happy birthday, Dinah!” her parents chanted as they set the plate in front of her at the table.
She leaned forward, blowing the candle out before picking up her fork and knife.
“This.. is the best tradition I think our family has,” she told them, shoving a forkful of waffle into her mouth.
“We’ll go out for dinner later,” her mother said.
“And that’s not all,” her father said. “I’ll be picking up your favorite this afternoon. Yellow cake,” he said. “With chocolate glaze,” he said, as she chimed in along with her father to finish his sentence.
“I can’t wait. You guys are the best.”
It was one of the worst days of her life.
“Where’s daddy?” she asked. “He’s been gone for a long time, it doesn’t usually take him this long to go out for the cake.”
“Dinah, sweetie..” her mother said, wiping wet streaks of eyeliner and mascara off of her cheeks. “Y-your father was in an accident.”
“He.. what do you mean, where is he?” she asked, her voice beginning to shake.
The moment her mother said that her father was dead, it felt like her whole world shattered. She and her father had a bond that was unbreakable. He was her partner in crime, the parent she trusted more, the parent she felt like she could tell anything to even when she had screwed up. And now he was gone.
“N-no, you’re lying to me,” she said, ignoring the tears falling. “He’s not gone, this is some cruel joke. It.. It’s my birthday,” she sobbed.
Her mother’s arms went around her tightly, but she pushed her away. She was thirteen years old, and her father was gone. On her birthday, he had died. She never thought that when she saw him before he left that it would be the last time. 
“His body is at the hospital. Dinah, we need to go,” Mrs. Lance stated, trying to keep herself together for her daughter’s sake.
“I’m not going anywhere!” she snapped, giving her mother a hard shove. “Just leave me alone.” 
She stormed off to her room, slamming the door behind her. The small brunette leaned against the closed door, sliding down it until she was seated on the floor with her knees tucked up to her chest. 
“Happy fucking birthday to me.”
A single tear rolled down Laurel’s cheek, but she was quick to brush it away. Eve since that day, she avoided doing anything for her birthday. It always became a day where she could be alone, and deal with the huge loss. Sometimes it’d become a day of anger, and acting out. But she made sure that she never had birthday cake, never celebrated, and she rarely told people that was her birthday so she could really avoid it all.
Setting the photo down, Laurel looked at the next one in the stack. Her and Oliver. 
“Do you have to go?”
“Have to? No. But I should. My dad and I don’t always see eye to eye but I know that he’s looking forward to the trip,” Oliver stated.
“I’m going to miss you, Ollie,” she told him.
Oliver pressed his lips to her temple, and tugged her closer. She curled up against him, running her fingers gently up and down his bare chest. She didn’t know it was possible to love like that. After losing her dad, she became so mad at the world, but Oliver was there for her. He stood by her, even as she began making some less than good decisions.
“I know. But it’s only a short trip, we’ll be back in a week. Promise.”
She leaned up and kissed him softly. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Her eyes glued to the photo, she felt a pain in her chest that she knew was heartache. They looked so happy in the shot, standing on the dock right before her boyfriend got on the boat with his father. Laurel was sad that he was leaving, but she had been sure that she’d have him back soon enough so they could continue their lives together. She never expected to be so wrong.
As the news flickered across the television screen, the words she read an heard were unbelievable. There was no way. 
“Starling City native and owner of Queen Consolidated, Robert Queen, and son Oliver Queen found dead after boating accident.”
“No..” she whispered. “No, no no..”
She tightened her blanket around her body, feeling sick to her stomach. She loved him. Oliver Queen was the love of her life, and she was never going to see him again. Much like her father’s death, she never could have seen it coming. Growing up, she knew that the family used the Gambit all the time. She didn’t understand what happened.
“Ollie,” she cried out, listening and watching as the news continued with the story. “No..”
They had plans. He was the only man she had ever envisioned a future with. They were so happy, they had everything figured out and suddenly it was all ripped away from her. She was crying, sure, but inside she felt completely numb. Her Ollie was dead. 
She was only twenty two. But he was dead, and she had now lost the two most important men in her life. There was no getting them back. They were gone. 
Laurel and her mother didn’t have what anyone would call a functional relationship. After her father’s death, it just got worse. Her mother didn’t know how to handle Laurel as she started to act out, causing trouble and becoming more and more angry and aggressive as the months and years passed. So when the news came out about Oliver, Laurel had nobody. She was on her own to grieve the fact that she had nobody.
People wondered why she always found herself involved with bad men. But she desperately wanted to be around that strong male figure and although her choices weren’t always ideal, it was enough for her. The distraction that came from being with them and working with them was also very welcome. She needed that.
As she set that one down, she sighed softly. She didn’t have a memory for that one, because even though it was her face, it wasn’t her. It still made her stomach twist though. It was Quentin, and his Laurel. She knew Quentin carried around the picture of the two of them after his Laurel died. She remembered when she saw it for the first time, but she could entirely remember how the picture ended up in her possession. Seeing it now, she wondered if it would have been better if it had stayed with Sara. Her doppelganger’s sister was a great woman, and Laurel could only imagine the pain of losing both her sister and her father.
When she moved to the next picture in the small stack, she had to take a minute to breathe. She felt like all of the air had been sucked out of her lungs. Laurel wiped her eyes as more tears fell. 
He was gone. Another person she cared for, taken away. She wondered when this cycle would stop. She knew she lived in a shitty world full of shitty people, but she didn’t think that Quentin was going to be the next person in her life that she’d never see alive again. 
“I’m so sorry, daddy,” she whispered.
Looking at the cold, lifeless body in front of her, Laurel didn’t know what else to say. Sara had left more than half an hour ago, but she still remained. She couldn’t seem to pull herself away.
“You didn’t deserve this.”
She pulled a chair over to him and sat down, taking his hand in hers. Her eyes stung with tears as she looked at him, wishing that there was something she could do to change this. 
Quentin’s death was so fresh. He died trying to save her. Diaz had the gun pointed at her, ready to shoot her. But Quentin jumped in front of that bulled for her. He wasn’t supposed to die. The doctors were optimistic, he should have made it through surgery. But he seized on the table and there was no coming back from it. His brain was without oxygen for too long. 
He wasn’t technically her father. He was Laurel and Sara’s father. Her died years before, back on her Earth. But it still ripped her apart inside. He died right before she left for Amsterdam. While he hadn’t been the one who raised her, he looked like the man who did. And sure, they had only known each other a short while, but he looked at her as if she was his Laurel.
Once they got past the initial rockiness of her kidnapping him, him shooting her on Lian Yu, all the other times she did shitty things to him and Team Arrow, he treated her like a daughter. He took her somewhere safe when she was shot by Dinah Drake, he tried time and time again to find redeeming qualities in her that she was pretty sure she didn’t have. He was the reason she finally stood up to Diaz. He was the reason she had begun seeing the light, and how did she repay him? By getting him killed.
At first, referring to him as her dad was just a way for her to ruffle his feathers and get under his skin. But eventually it was because he really was a father to her. She loved him as if he really were her father. He was such a positive force to have around. But now he was gone, and she entirely blamed herself for that.
The stack of pictures had a few more in it, but Laurel couldn’t bring herself to keep looking. Her little trip down memory lane was more than enough to make her wish she had just burned the pictures, or left them back in Star City. 
Deep down, she knew that even if she had destroyed them, or left them behind, she still had the memories engraved into her head whether she liked it or not. Going through that much loss could take a toll on anyone, and losing people she loved was something her mind would never be able to escape. She walked around with the grief of the losses every single day of her life.
Stacking them up neatly, she put the pictures back in her night stand. Her face was wet with tears, and she couldn’t seem to make them stop. She inhaled shakily as she looked up at the picture hanging on the wall. Her heart was so heavy and full of sadness, but looking at the smiling faces she, Matt, and James all wore was nice. That feeling left quickly though. 
So many men in her life, all the good ones, were dead. What if that was a sign?What if now, any man she got close to would end up dead? She didn’t want that. She hoped that she was safe their in Amsterdam, but there were no guarantees. There was no way to know for sure that she wasn’t going to be found by Diaz. There was no way to know whether or not she and the people she had grown close to would be able to live peacefully for very long. Fear was a powerful thing, and Laurel was full of it. 
No matter how much she wished she could breathe in relief, relax, live life to it’s fullest, and forget the pain she endured, she knew it was impossible.
2 notes · View notes
bitsy83 · 7 years
Text
Sing 2 - Duets
(Just the first chapter of my fan-sequel to my new favorite movie. I just hope I can get this posting down ok.)  
Chapter 1 - A New Day
“I remember when I was a kid, my dad always told me to never let failure stop you from achieving your goals. After all, if all roads to success were easy, then everyone would be a winner. And you have to know how to lose in order to know what winning is really all about.
“Less than a year ago, I was an optimistic, but struggling, theater producer who barely had two pennies to rub together. My shows were failing, money was practically nonexistent, and I had more death threats than an Internet troll. My best pal, Eddie, told me time and again to just give up and let the theater go so I could move on to bigger and better things. What he didn’t realize was this was my bigger and better thing and I wasn’t letting it go for anybody. So, in a last ditch effort, I decided to do the one thing I knew would pack my theater to the brim: a singing competition! I won’t go into too much detail, but let’s just say this was both the greatest idea I ever had and the biggest mistake I ever made. I may have stretched the truth here and there about the prize money and maybe have put a bit too much pressure on my contestants and myself, which eventually led to the collapse - both figuratively and literally - of my beloved theater.
“I was a failure. A washed-up clown. A loose cannon, I believe someone stated. I had hit rock bottom, which meant one thing: the only place left I had to go…was up. But I didn’t do it alone…
“While I still had Eddie and dear Ms. Crawley in my corner, the competition introduced me a lively group of characters I would later on call my friends and close knit theater family. Johnny, Rosita, Gunter, Ash, Meena, and Mike. (Well, Mike when he wasn’t avoiding the loan sharks and killer Russian bears).  With their help, I was able to not only put on a fantastic show, but my theater was restored to its former glory, thanks to the illustrious Nana Noodleman.
“I swear, I’ve never seen this place so popular, not even when I was a kid! Obviously, I had to make some changes if I was able to make this second chance last.  Dear Mrs. Noodleman oversees the productions and gives insight on what should and should not be performed. We still put on various plays and concerts, but we’ve even gotten requests to use the stage as a wedding venue and other private events.  This is always good for a little extra spending money for any future shows we have, especially for my little theater family.  They still put on their shows and even help out backstage when their talents are not required onstage.
“For example, Rosita has offered to help out with prop and set design.  I guess when you are raising twenty-five children and one husband, organization and good imagination just come naturally to you.  Gunter has offered to be our official choreographer.  He’s an excellent teacher, though sometimes his students get a bit embarrassed when he breaks out the sequenced leotards.  While Meena has finally gotten over her stage fright and does occasionally perform, she happened to take quite a shine to working as a stagehand.  She’s hoping that it’ll help beef up her college resumes.  Poor girl’s been stressing herself out in getting into a good school so she can major in music and maybe even theater (a girl after my own heart).  
“Our up-and-coming rock star, Ash, has set an all-time record for rebounding after her ugly breakup with what’s-his-name.  Not only has she written countless new songs since her first solo performance, she reunited a few old schoolmates of hers and started a new band: Nature’s Rejects. (Not my first choice for a band name, but what can you do?)  This girl’s been getting gigs all over the city and has become a local celebrity.
“Last, but not least, Johnny.  I knew the second I looked at him that this kid was going to be a whiz on the piano and I was right.  He still gets lessons from Ms. Crawley, but he’s such a pro now that I think he only does it to have access to a piano.  Hearing him sing while tickling the ebony and ivory just melts your heart.
“The hands of fate has given me a new beginning. I may have taken a final bow at my old theater, but this revival will live on for generations to come! Or my name isn’t Buster…”
A knock on the door interrupted Buster’s monologue. “Good morning, Mr. Moon,” said Ms. Crawley as she shuffled into his office, holding a cup of coffee.
“Hold that thought, Ms. Crawley,” said Buster and quickly went to his camera tripod, turning off the recording button. “Looks like my auto-documentary will have to be put on hold. So, what is on the agenda today?”
“Well, let’s see…” With a shaky hand, Ms. Crawley pulled out her notepad. “Meena and Eddie will be working on the new sound system and lighting fixtures we ordered. Johnny will be in for his usual piano lesson. Oh, and Ash and her little friends will be using rehearsal room A for practice until about one, and then we start rehearsals for the new play. Rosita will be here early to help with the set design.”
“Excellent!” said Buster, sipping his coffee. “Just like a well-oiled machine.” He walked over to his window, taking a deep breath. “It’s gonna be a good day, Ms. Crawley. And there will be plenty more to come after that!”
***
“Honey, have you seen my car keys?” asked Norman as he was wiping Casper’s face with a paper towel.
“Coat pocket,” said Rosita, pulling an action figure out of Hannah’s mouth. “Ok, where did I put my binder?”
“On the counter near the coffeemaker.”
It was just another chaotic morning at the breakfast nook for Rosita and family, though the morning routine has had some upgrades. Ever since Rosita performed her song with Gunter, Norman saw her in a whole new light. After a long, heartfelt talk, he realized that he had been taking his wife for granted and should have been helping her with the kids as well as her new job at Moon theater. So now, Norman gets up with Rosita and together they help the kids get ready for school and getting their own schedules on track. Rosita was never one to complain, but she was so happy to finally get a little extra help in the morning as well as around the house. Although they still kept up her strange contraption to get the kids out of bed and do the cleaning while they were both at work.
So, after giving the kids their backpacks (Rosita did the girls while Norman got the boys) and sending them on their way, Norman and Rosita took a moment to fix each other up.
“Bye Norman,” said Rosita, straightening his tie.
“Bye bye, Rosita,” said Norman, handing her her purse. “Tell Gunter I said…what’s hello in German again?”
“Guten Tag. And I will.” Rosita chuckled and gave her husband a loving kiss. “See you tonight, honey. Have a great day at work.”
With that, Norman went to the car while Rosita hummed down the street in the opposite direction. It was gonna be a good day; she could feel it.
*** Meena hummed to herself as she was preparing the pancake batter. Since she was plugged into her tunes, she didn’t hear her grandfather come up behind her, trying to steal a few extra chocolate chips. His attempt was thwarted thanks to Meena’s mother smacking his trunk.
“No dad,” she scolded. “You remember what the doctor said about your blood pressure: cut back on the sweets!”
Grandpa just harrumphed and went to sit down at the breakfast table. “I still think I need a second opinion. That doc’s a quack.”
“He’s a duck, dad…”
“So I got a bit of a sweet tooth,” he continued. “I’ve been eating like that since I was Meena’s age and I still made star quarterback on the college football team.”
“Well, you’re not her age now, so you’re gonna have to follow doctor’s orders. Besides, I made you a nice bowl of oatmeal instead.”
“I can make something else,” said Meena, who had taken off her headphones.
But her mother shook her head. “You finish up on the pancakes, sweetie. You know how you grandma loves them. Speaking of which, I better go see if she’s having trouble finding her glasses again.”
After placing the bowl of oatmeal in front of her disgruntled father, Meena’s mom left the kitchen to head upstairs. Once the coast was clear, Meena picked up the bowl of chips and went over to the table. She held a finger to her lips and sprinkled a few chips on his oatmeal. Grandpa chuckled. “That’s my girl.”
“Mom does have a point though,” she said. “I don’t want you getting sick.”
Grandpa laughed as he took a bite of his breakfast. “Aw, I’m as fit as a fiddle, Meena. Don’t you worry about me. Or should I say ‘Don’t you worry ‘bout a thiiiing!”
Meena giggled. “Very cute, Grandpa.” She gave him a small kiss on his head, then went back to the stove.
“That reminds me, baby girl. Did you ever hear back from that dream school of yours?”
“Lincoln?” Meena shook her head. “No, not yet. Although I’m starting to wonder if I still have a shot…”
“Of course you do! So the other schools you applied for turned you down. So what? If they had half a brain, they’d have taken you in a heartbeat! Once you become a world-famous singer, they’ll be kicking themselves to their graves.”
Meena rolled her eyes. Once again, her grandfather was promoting her as a superstar singer. “Grandpa, I know you want me to make it big, but I want to do more with my life than just sing. I wanna learn everything I can about music. The history, the styles, the impact it has on different cultures. And thanks to Mr. Moon, now I’m kinda interesting in theater production.”
Grandpa coughed. “You mean, you’d rather go back behind the curtain again? I thought you were over your stage fright.”
“I am!” she said, placing the fresh batch of pancakes on the table. “I just want something to fall back on, that’s all. I can’t put all my eggs in one basket.”
Shaking his head in both admiration and frustration, Grandpa took another bite of his oatmeal. “Well, I can’t argue with your logic, baby girl. Just don’t deny the world your gift, that’s all I’m saying.”
“Who says I only have one gift to give?”
Grandpa laughed. “That’s true, that’s true. Nice to finally see some backbone growing outta you. Make me some coffee, baby. I’m gonna get the paper.”
***
Ash grumbled as she dragged her feet to the kitchen. She hated mornings, whether they be the crack of dawn or eleven o’clock. She was strictly an afternoon, evening, and night kind of girl.  She was about to start the coffee when she saw a cup for her was already made. Ash smirked and reached for the creamer. “Thank you, Olive,” she said over her shoulder.
Ever since her breakup with Lance, Ash wasted no time in moving forward as much as possible. One step forward including patching things up with her old friend, Olive; a raccoon Ash knew back from the third grade. Olive was loyal and friendly, though gifted with a sarcastic wit that she wasn’t afraid to unleash. They had been very close in the past, but once Ash started dating Lance during their junior year in high school, their friendship faltered.  Once the breakup happened, Ash contacted Olive again and the two of them were finally able to talk things over.  Everything connected to Lance (including music posters, clothing, old CDs, and his weird collection of bottle caps) was successfully removed from the apartment, Olive moved in and they got along swimmingly.
Olive chuckled as she sat at the table with the morning paper. “Figured it was either that or break out the air horn. How is it that I’m a nocturnal animal and still get up before you do?”
“You got messed up DNA?” said Ash. “So, anything about zombies in the paper?”
Olive shook her head. “Not yet, though apparently a piece of sand covered in oyster mucus is touring the country.”
Ash looked over Olive’s shoulder to see what she was referring to. The front page of the paper said Priceless 600 Year-Old Pearl To Be Displayed at City Museum. Below the headline, a picture of a large white orb was displayed on a velvet pillow in glass box. Ash let out a low whistle. “Wow, imagine having that on your eBay page.”
“Seriously. Hey, we rehearsing at the theater today?”
Ash’s second step forward was working on her music career and Olive was just the boost she needed. Olive was already great at the bass and was friends with a drummer named Brandy: a sweet, bubbly teenage skunk who was addicted to all forms of social media.  This actually wasn’t a bad thing since Brandy was in charge of the band’s Facebook page and Twitter account.  
“Yup,” said Ash as she downed the rest of her coffee. “Be sure to text Brandy.  I don’t want her missing the warm-up again.”
“Don’t worry; she’ll be there,” said Olive, wiping her glasses on the corner of shirt. Especially if she wants to see Johnny…
***
“Thirty-six…thirty-seven…thirty-eight…”
Johnny blinked away the sweat in his eyes as he finished up another set of curl-ups while hanging upside down.  He kept catching glimpses of the news broadcast during his sets.  
“The pearl will be displayed at the Cornea Museum for exactly one month before continuing its global tour,” said the cat announcer. “The pearl has been in the Mundabi family for nearly ten generations and is part of a very important tradition.  Whenever the current owner of the pearl passes away, the pearl must make a global voyage to various cities in the world before being handed down to the next heir. The pearl is said to be worth over five-billion dollars in American currency. Mayor Olsen has promised the Mundabi family that the pearl will have only the best security protecting it. Mr.  Mundabi almost rejected the city of Cornea after learning about the botched gold heist that took place last year.  The culprit was none other than Marcus “Big Daddy” Greystone, who is still currently serving time…”
Johnny turned off the TV and sighed heavily. He hated it when the news brought up his dad’s gang. Sure, his dad was a criminal, but he only stole money. He had never broken into homes or stolen personal items, even if the item in question was beyond priceless.
Thinking of his father led Johnny over to the collection of pictures he had sitting on the makeshift shelf in his room. All the pics were of happier times when he still lived in England and before his father had become “Big Daddy Greystone.” Most of all, it was when he still had his mother. His eyes fell upon his favorite photo of her.  Unlike Johnny and his dad, his mother was brown-furred gorillia.  She had a kind face and hazel eyes that always eased Johnny’s heart.  In the photo, she was wearing her favorite pink sweater and was holding Johnny when he was a toddler.  The young ape in the picture wouldn’t look at the camera, but kept his eyes on his mother, who returned the gaze with a beautiful smile on her face.  But what Johnny remembered the most was her voice.  Her passion for singing matched his own.  Every night before bed, he would sit on his father’s lap while she played the piano and sung him a lullaby, her melodious voice lulling him to dreamland. She was the exact opposite of his dad: kind, gentle, soft-spoken. She really brought a sense of balance to their family, until…
Johnny shook away the memory. Don’t think of that now, Johnny thought to himself.  He then looked over at the picture of him and his dad.  He must have only been about three or four and was propped on his dad’s shoulder, smiling and waving to the camera.  His dad had a large smile on his face as he looked up at his son, every bit of him shining with pride.  Next to the photo was the newspaper article of his father getting arrested, complete with mugshot.  It was like they were two different apes.  The news would always see his father as a notorious, heartless criminal who didn’t deserve a second chance.  But to Johnny, he’d always be his dad.  
Johnny picked up a marker and scratched another day off the calendar.  “Almost there, dad.”  Flipping ahead, he saw that there were only six months left before his father’s parole.  The prison visits had been helping him cope with the absence.  It was the first time he and his dad actually sat down and really spoke to each other as father and son and not gang leader and henchman.  Marcus promised Johnny, over and over, that things would be different once he got out.  Johnny believed him, but was still worried.  He knew that having a criminal record meant it’d be difficult to get a job.  Still, he couldn’t afford to give up hope.  
Looking down at his watch, he saw that it was time for him to get cleaned up and head to the theater.  After a quick shower and breakfast, Johnny grabbed his skateboard and locked up the garage.  
22 notes · View notes