Archive for the ‘Luc Reid’ Category
Of Few Words
Friday, August 6th, 2010
Esme only speaks once every ten years, on the first sunny day in October, usually in the middle of the morning when the light’s still gentle. At other times she’ll smile or shake her head or point or make a disapproving noise or even sing wordlessly, but only on those rare October mornings does she speak.
It’s traditional for the family to gather for these times, piling into the old house Esme shares with her daughter Julia and Julia’s girlfriend, Mish: all six of her children with their spouses or lovers, their children and dogs, sleeping in every available space in sleeping bags or on cots from the old hunting cabin. Mish makes Austrian pancakes in the mornings, and they have barbeques and softball games and they play canasta whenever it isn’t morning and sunny.
Most years a family or two is missing, but this time everyone is there, and even by-the-book Marshall has pulled his kids out of school, because Esme is dying. They all know it. This will be the last time.
It has rained for three mornings in a row, but today came up crisp and bright, and frost silvers the brilliant leaves on the maple outside the kitchen window. They make their way into Esme’s room early, bringing their plates of Austrian pancakes with confectioner’s sugar and preserves, their coffee and grapes and cranberry juice and scrambled eggs with paprika. When the room is full, more of the family settles down just outside, in the hallway.
Esme sleeps for a long time this morning, restlessly. When she finally opens her eyes and hush spreads across the room and out the door, she smiles so joyfully that the room seems to get brighter.
It’s Jackie she motions to, her youngest grandbaby, only eight years old. Jackie squeezes through to Esme’s bed and climbs up to lie down next to grandmama.
When Esme speaks, her voice is so soft and cracked, no one can make out the words except for Jackie.
Esme says: “You always ask me why, but it’s just that nobody used to listen. You see?”
And Jackie nods seriously. She does see.
Sneak Peek
Thursday, July 29th, 2010
“Two for After Serenity, please,” said William, a linebacker-sized guy with a Beatle haircut. Tucked up against him was a short, copper-haired woman with the face of a Greek goddess. She was looking around Robbie’s modest living room with an air of complete disbelief.
“That’ll be twelve hundred dollars,” Robbie said.
“And a large popcorn.”
“Four dollars. Do you want butter?”
“Is it real butter?”
“It’s an amazing, fat-free, butter-like food from the future. People eat this stuff and have orgasms.”
“Really?”
“No, actually it’s real butter.”
William grinned as he handed over the cash. Robbie made change, locked the front door, and followed William and his date down into the basement.
Several of the patrons milling around in the recently-remodeled basement called out Robbie’s name. Some were settled in the big, faux-leather movie chairs, sipping soda or peering at the DVD case. Others watched Robbie’s 65″ flatscreen TV expectantly. Robbie popped in the DVD and took a seat in the back row, next to the copper-haired woman. She bent over as the preview began, until her lips were almost touching his ear.
“When is this movie supposed to be from?” she whispered.
“It comes out eight years from now.”
“And you got it how?”
“Time travel.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You will after you see a few of these movies.”
“At these prices?”
“A guy’s gotta make a living.”
“If you can time travel, why don’t you just play the lottery? Or buy stocks?”
“I’m numerically dyslexic.”
“You’re a big, fat liar.”
“Well, I’ve been trying to lose weight.”
The movie started then, and the copper-haired woman stopped to watch it. It wasn’t as good as its predecessor, but it didn’t have to be. Everyone in the room, Robbie knew, was keenly aware that they were seeing something nobody else would see for years.
Animated conversation broke out over the credits. When the disc was done, Robbie took out the DVD and held it up in one hand. In the other, he lifted a hammer. As the others watched, he dropped the DVD into a steel bowl and smashed it with the hammer. Everyone cheered. Robbie took out a bottle of 12-year-old scotch.
The copper-haired woman peered into the bowl and shook her head while William poured them both doubles. “This is a hell of a way to make a living,” she said.
“Yes,” said Robbie, grinning. “Yes it is.”