I LURE YOU IN WITH MUSIC AND THEN
Jan. 5th, 2009 02:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
soltianHere's a rar of the songs from the music meme, since although most of them didn't get guessed my mp3 player picked some pretty good ones!
And HERE is a short story I wrote and illustrated for class. My focus for this one was that bastard Masaru again, this time exploring a small window of the history he has with his family.
I was cheerful, because even though it was mid-December, it was sunny and the blue sky and evergreen trees were celebrating my grandmother's death.
Her former neighbor, friend, lover, or some other croaky old man was making a speech that was pleasantly unintelligible. In fact, his gravelly voice was almost soothing in how much I could not make out. It was the third or fourth speech that had been given so far, and all of them had the same generic and flattering words to give, none of them true. A slow, rumbling song started up among the participants as they finally got ready to cover the body with dirt and let everyone go home. My mother cleared her throat meaningfully and ground her heel against my shoe, reminding me to pay attention. As if I was eight, swinging my legs over the third pew from the front, seat B.
I sighed and turned my face in utmost solemnity to the glistening black casket being lowered into the grave. Too much money had been spent on wrapping Beth Koch up just so she could seep back into the dirt. My mother sniffed and stuck her arm through mine. Her grip was cold and steely, and her face completely blank.
After the service, I grasped my father's hand and muttered something in his ear about a presentation I had to give in sixteen hours at the office. He nodded his understanding, the concern in his expression as easy to dismiss as ever. Mother was not so easily taken care of. I had hoped to avoid talking to her entirely, if I could, and hoped my grandmother's friends would keep her occupied while I escaped. I edged out of the churchyard and managed to get as far as the parking lot before she caught up with me, barely bending her knees as she stalked stiffly up to my car.
“Why aren't you ashamed of yourself?” she snapped, tucking a beige handkerchief back into a small, awkward purse she used for formal occasions. “Your own grandmother, Masaru, and you didn't even say two words about her. Don't you have any sort of human decency?”
“I said 'yes, it's too bad' a couple of times,” I tried slowly. Sarcasm could only exacerbate the problem, but I couldn't help myself. “I don't think what I had to say was all that appropriate.”
“And what do you have to say?” She demanded, fishing her leather gloves out of the same cramped purse. She turned her chin upwards, glaring harshly at me from above her nose. “What disrespect for the dead could this ungrateful son of mine be hiding?”
I sighed, giving myself a moment to accept that I had to respond.
“Mom, Grandma Beth was a bitch. She hated me, and I hated her. All she ever taught me was that I would be a failure and a convict, and the only joy she ever gave me was the look on the face when I proved her wrong.”
She was silent. I reminded myself not to make the mistake of thinking I'd beaten her. She was baiting me to go on, but it'd be even worse if I let her make the next move.
“It's simple. I am glad that she's dead. The world is a better place without her.”
Her gaze smoldered, and there was a livid tightness to her lips I had never seen before. Maybe I had finally made her lose her temper.
Maybe she would actually hit me.
I saw her hand trembling and felt sure for a second that she would, and finally prove herself worthless. Then she turned away from me, and the tightness in her lips disappeared, and I realized too late that she was crying
“Masaru...” I barely caught her words, her tone was foreign.
“Are you going to forget me, too?”
I hate this woman.
I hate this woman, and I'm never going to be able to win against her.
I found myself wrapping my arms around her back, and she pressed her damp cheek to the front of my coat.
“Don't be stupid, mom,” words jerked out of my mouth, because I needed to say something, even though she'd already won. “We weren't even talking about you.”
“Masaru,” she sobbed, and I realized that she was small, that she was never going to be able to tower over me again.
“My mother, Masaru...she was my mother.”
“I know, mom,” I said, and my voice was stiff that time, my arms tighter around her back. “I'm sorry.”
And HERE is a short story I wrote and illustrated for class. My focus for this one was that bastard Masaru again, this time exploring a small window of the history he has with his family.
I was cheerful, because even though it was mid-December, it was sunny and the blue sky and evergreen trees were celebrating my grandmother's death.
Her former neighbor, friend, lover, or some other croaky old man was making a speech that was pleasantly unintelligible. In fact, his gravelly voice was almost soothing in how much I could not make out. It was the third or fourth speech that had been given so far, and all of them had the same generic and flattering words to give, none of them true. A slow, rumbling song started up among the participants as they finally got ready to cover the body with dirt and let everyone go home. My mother cleared her throat meaningfully and ground her heel against my shoe, reminding me to pay attention. As if I was eight, swinging my legs over the third pew from the front, seat B.
I sighed and turned my face in utmost solemnity to the glistening black casket being lowered into the grave. Too much money had been spent on wrapping Beth Koch up just so she could seep back into the dirt. My mother sniffed and stuck her arm through mine. Her grip was cold and steely, and her face completely blank.
After the service, I grasped my father's hand and muttered something in his ear about a presentation I had to give in sixteen hours at the office. He nodded his understanding, the concern in his expression as easy to dismiss as ever. Mother was not so easily taken care of. I had hoped to avoid talking to her entirely, if I could, and hoped my grandmother's friends would keep her occupied while I escaped. I edged out of the churchyard and managed to get as far as the parking lot before she caught up with me, barely bending her knees as she stalked stiffly up to my car.
“Why aren't you ashamed of yourself?” she snapped, tucking a beige handkerchief back into a small, awkward purse she used for formal occasions. “Your own grandmother, Masaru, and you didn't even say two words about her. Don't you have any sort of human decency?”
“I said 'yes, it's too bad' a couple of times,” I tried slowly. Sarcasm could only exacerbate the problem, but I couldn't help myself. “I don't think what I had to say was all that appropriate.”
“And what do you have to say?” She demanded, fishing her leather gloves out of the same cramped purse. She turned her chin upwards, glaring harshly at me from above her nose. “What disrespect for the dead could this ungrateful son of mine be hiding?”
I sighed, giving myself a moment to accept that I had to respond.
“Mom, Grandma Beth was a bitch. She hated me, and I hated her. All she ever taught me was that I would be a failure and a convict, and the only joy she ever gave me was the look on the face when I proved her wrong.”
She was silent. I reminded myself not to make the mistake of thinking I'd beaten her. She was baiting me to go on, but it'd be even worse if I let her make the next move.
“It's simple. I am glad that she's dead. The world is a better place without her.”
Her gaze smoldered, and there was a livid tightness to her lips I had never seen before. Maybe I had finally made her lose her temper.
Maybe she would actually hit me.
I saw her hand trembling and felt sure for a second that she would, and finally prove herself worthless. Then she turned away from me, and the tightness in her lips disappeared, and I realized too late that she was crying
“Masaru...” I barely caught her words, her tone was foreign.
“Are you going to forget me, too?”
I hate this woman.
I hate this woman, and I'm never going to be able to win against her.
I found myself wrapping my arms around her back, and she pressed her damp cheek to the front of my coat.
“Don't be stupid, mom,” words jerked out of my mouth, because I needed to say something, even though she'd already won. “We weren't even talking about you.”
“Masaru,” she sobbed, and I realized that she was small, that she was never going to be able to tower over me again.
“My mother, Masaru...she was my mother.”
“I know, mom,” I said, and my voice was stiff that time, my arms tighter around her back. “I'm sorry.”
no subject
Date: 2009-01-06 03:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-06 06:43 pm (UTC)Not that he doesn't hate his mom.
He's a very angry man.
Thank you sdlkasjfkl I love you by the way ;___;