Jelly, jelly so fine

Thursday, June 11, 2009

The strange saga of Mr. George Blake

Chapter 1.

It started out as a rather ordinary day in the life of George Blake. He got up at a quarter to seven and quickly made his twin bed with tight hospital corners. He tiptoed down the hallway, careful not to wake Dolores in her adjoining bedroom, and stepped in to the miniscule bathroom. She hated it when he was too loud in the morning, and for god sakes, he didn't need to step into that minefield.

George looked into the mirror and wondered for an instant who the aging old fellow was. New lines of worry seemed to have magically appeared on his face, seemingly overnight. He made the mistake of rotating his hips while brushing his teeth, catching a glimpse of his evergrowing paunch and quickly squared into the more forgiving front view. He gave himself a big smile and said,under his breath, "You still got it." Number one salesman in the company and these days, that wasn't easy.

Blake put his hand on the colonial railing on the top of his stairwell and gazed up at the vaulted ceiling. He hadn't wanted to move back to suburbia and felt a strange suffocating feeling in the relatively new tract house. The orange peel texture on the drywall was a trap for dust and the still near empty walls emanated a sickly smell of new paint and must. The base boards had big black smudges where they had been evidently kicked by the movers.

If they hadn't got stuck raising their worthless daughter's child after her third stint in rehab they would probably be retired right now. He would be sitting on his boat up in Clear Lake with the most difficult decision of the day being whether to use a plastic worm or a spinner bait.

He hurried down the stairway and entered the kitchen. George noticed that the side by side Kitchen Aid refrigerator already had a small scratch across it's stainless steel front. Opening the freezer door, he fumbled around and finally found the box of frozen waffles. He popped one in the toaster and started the coffee pot. Late and he would have to hurry. The carpool would be in his driveway any minute and the boss had wanted to talk to him. Mucho important. Probably about letting some of the useless weight go and how they would divvy up the new territory. George grabbed the still mostly frozen waffle out of the toaster and stuffed the bulk of it into his mouth...


1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Love the pic. His face matches his wrinkled shirt.