One inch scope into my life.

Andréa Peters
Creative writing.

A faint yellow hue in colour, the mass is mostly flattened, but rising and bruised looking in a few dirt spotted areas. Damn you inconsiderate litterers, I growl under my breath, as I think about the potential for long-term damages. Seated precariously on the small two person kitchen table, I carefully take my flat off, and stare at the grotesque squatter in silence.

Persistent and clingy, it slowly stretches in long pieces of thick mild cheddar cheese string-like goo, right onto my Kleenex protected finger. Gross. Searching the room for something better to operate with, I settle on a butter knife and a hard spatula, just in case a back up is necessary to kill off this tenacious parasite.

In need of a firmer grip, I move to the floor where I draw my knees in to my chest, and cinch the victim between my thighs. I vigorously tug and scrape until I’m all out of breath, and suddenly guilt-ridden, it dawns on me that I probably would have better control on my breathing if I stopped botching the headstand pose every time I do yoga.

Frustrated, I stuff my shoe in the freezer and turn the radio on. Pretending like I’m really doing the reading that was due Friday, I can’t help but cast sharp, occasional glances at the refrigerator door. Who in their right mind abandons their gum right in the middle of the hallway like that, anyway? To think it must have all started with a ton of sugar being poured into giant silver pots, which produced a sweet aroma as they heated up… I don’t know if it’s the jet lag effect to get on store shelves here in Fredericton that rendered my enemy so bitter, but there’s definitely nothing sweet about it anymore. Frig this. I don’t even chew gum: you’re going down, buddy.

The clock on the oven ticks behind me, and I impatiently fidget, feeling like I’ve been sitting here forever. I finally stand up, and retrieve my shoe from its temporary morgue to inspect the results. Still soft, for Christ’s sake. It’s been in there for like…at least five minutes! How long does it take for a gum to freeze? Ugh. Spitting one’s saliva infused trash on the ground in a public area so ought to be qualified as legally prosecutable behaviour.

“Oh would you just relax,” I hear the relentless little voice in my head taunting. “You’re freshly out of a job-- what better than scraping a gum off your shoe do you have to do with your life, eh?” My legs tremble and I set the shoe down without taking my eyes off of it, as if I were trying to psych it out before our dual resumed. However, the only thoughts penetrating the vault of my brain are pulling the plug on the phone to silence my concerned mother’s incessant calls, and watching reruns of Friends while eating a lot of marshmallows.

Yes. Watching Friends reruns is what I need to do, I think to myself. As I make my way to my room, wafts of a sickly overripe peach-like scent flood my nostrils, and I gasp for air. Good God, what is this thing? A radioactive Juicy Fruit?! Pinching my nose with my non-gum contaminated hand, I decide that I can’t do this any longer. It has to go.

Back on the kitchen floor in a strange contortion, I hold my shoe at eye level. I must have zoned out, because I’m surprised to feel my eyeballs going all crooked in their sockets, as I start to see this monster in double vision. Now that I’m really looking at it, I notice it sort of has the shape of a beaver. It must be a sign from my landlord, or something. I knew I should have picked up that nickel I dropped on the bus… There’s no way I’ll have next month’s rent money in on time, now.

I hear the lock on the door turning, and my mother erupts into the kitchen. Frantic, she inquires in a high pitched voice as to why I haven’t picked up the phone all afternoon. “Busy”, I murmur. She takes a long look at the two days old dishes piled up in the sink, at my tousled hair and food stained shirt, and she extends her hand towards me. “Give me that shoe; you’re doing it all wrong. You need Goo-Gone, for that stuff. Bring me my purse.”

Overheard jewels of the week.

In Gender Studies Class: 1:00pm

Guy: Gahhhh. I’m so bored, this is retarded.

Girl: You probs shouldn’t use the word “retarded” as an adjective…It’s not politically correct, and if prof hears you, she’ll hide under a table over it and you’ll ruin class.

Guy: Not you too…. Courtney’s cutting me off sex until I stop using it completely, because her cousin’s “challenged”, and she doesn’t want a family feud to break out when I go to meet them all for the first time on Turkey Day. It’s really hard to stop, and you know how much I love sex! Arrgghhh…Fuck me…

Girl: No thank you… I’d rather leave that to your boo once you become socially acceptable…

Guy: (death look.)


At Timmies on Prospect: 5:30pm

Kid (maybe 10?): Mom, can I have another donut?

Mother: Have another one, if you want to end up looking like your fat-ass excuse of a Dad. Sure.

Kid (turning to his father): Dad? Will mom love me less is I get fat?

Dad: (silent).


From my room, overhearing my Mom skyping with my twin, 8:30pm

Dave: So Mom, what’s Andréa up to, today?

Ma: “Patching up her slipper comfy jeans”, she told me earlier. They ripped in the thigh area.

Dave: Wooooahh! The twin’s got thunder thighs! HA!

Ma: David Joseph Peters!! Your sister’s thighs aren’t thunderous!

Dave: Yeah whatever! Mom, tell her on my behalf: “Be brave, Sis.” I tore through two pairs of shorts this summer. “It’s part of life, when you’re half black and got more booty than you know what to do with.”

Ma: Um…David. I’m sure she’ll appreciate your support, but her thighs didn’t get big, she just took a fall.

Dave: Soon or later, when she’ll have gotten over her denial, tell her to give me a call if she needs to talk.


At the grocery store: 9:00am

Guy one: Alright. Let’s start with the meats section. We need meat, dude.

Guy two: Wait up, look, there’s a brick of tofu here on sale. That stuff is like, crazy intense protein for super cheap!

Guy one: Yeah. And it’s also as tasteless and rubbery feeling as my prosthetic finger. No thank you, let’s get some steaks.

Guy two: I should have foreseen you pulling the fake finger card on me again…(pauses and erupts with laughter) See what I did, there? Get it? I made a pun with pulling and your finger… Ha…ha..HA!!

Guy one: You’re so lame; you should just go back to living with your mother.


(p.s: I need to confess I actually bought the tofu on sale. It really was a great deal.)


At the Harvest Jazz Festival:

Girl one: Man, she blows!

Girl two: You’ll need to be a bit more specific, here. We’re at a jazz concert, and I don’t know if you’re speaking of blowing horns, cock, or just in the general sense of things.

“Virtuous” Advice for Just About Anyone

(A little bit of silliness to jump start the week-end. If you'd like to add, have at it in the comments section :D)


When in a bad mood, keep still and silent.
If someone is explosive in front of you,
be silent and walk away backwards.
If you feel explosive,
try not to projectile flip out at anyone. And remember punching a wall will hurt.
If anything, you're best off remaining still and silent here too.
Baggy jumpsuits do not suit you, nor do they look cute, “earthy”, or virile.
Ever.
When tired, you get in a lonely, yet antisocial mood:
If you hadn’t noticed, it’s a terrible combination. Rethink this one.
Difficulties are abundant, but often sporadic in occurrence--
Cheer-up while you can.
Listen to the echo of your own voice. Avoid being nasal or strident,
or you’ll annoy yourself too.
Ordinariness can be restful,
so stop trying to be “interesting”, every once in a while.
Get _really_ lost once, and the next time you’ll know your way!
If you only have $2 to spend in a grocery store, buy broccoli.
(Fine. Popeye would disagree here, but trust me, on this one).
Your mother will call you back ten more times throughout the day. Let it ring, and finish breakfast.
When was the last time you changed your shoe insoles or dusted the fan??
Yeah. That’s what I thought.
Have a day,
And try to make it a good one.
:)


A.