@ProfeJMarie Writer, Reader, Educator, Parent
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Instagram Mini-Fics
It works out. Still, rejection stings. #6wordstory #writersofinstagram“Pops, pops! Do you see that one house with the big yard and the tree in the middle of it?” he asks his dad, his nose pressed up against the glass. His dad chuckles, unable to see much beyond the little head with big ideas that fills the squished in window on the plane. “Yeah,” he pretends, “I see it.” “Ima buy that house when I’m grown, then build a awesome tree house and that’s where Jamar and me are gon’ live.” “You won’t live in the big house?” “Naw. You and moms can live there. And Jamar’s parents. I can fix lots of stuff, but you can fix *everything*.” “How do you know Jamar will want to live there with you?” “Because we tight. And he told me about all the stuff we’re gon’ do with our kids. Teach ‘em stuff. See?” His dad smiles and leans in to share the window space with his son, their cheeks lined up, noses to the glass. “Yeah, I see. That’s a good plan.” #Future #writersofinstagram“We met at the campus bookstore. She was singing and looking through every book in the stacks for Psychology 101. I mean, every single book. I asked her what was wrong with all the ones in the reject pile, since I needed that book, too. She told me she was looking for one that had friendly handwriting and highlighting in it already. It was psychology, so that meant everything about the book should feel nice. I was desperate for a new book and couldn’t help myself from grabbing one and holding the shiny, compact weight of the text in my hands even if I knew I wouldn’t buy the new one. I remember opening it just to hear that crack of a new spine and get a whiff of new book smell. New textbook pages have a great scent.” I stop and Mari only looks at me, patiently awaiting the point of the story I suppose. However, I’m not sure what the point is. Nostalgia? That kind of thing doesn’t seem useful right now. I hurriedly finish my story. “Anyway, she ended up buying the new textbook for me in exchange for helping her find the ‘friendly’ used textbook that I paid for. She said her mother expected her to buy all new anyway, so she wouldn’t know the difference.” It took surprisingly little for Lucas to convince me to swap. There was something about her that sought approval, like she needed me to let her make this decision. And much like she desired the independence, I desired the gift of hope. The book represented a fresh start - a life apart from the one I’d left behind. #newbook #excerpt #writersofinstagramProbably one of the most entertaining parts of my new job are watching customers trying to manage the “all-in-one” drink machine. Somewhere some comedian has surely included this bit in her routine, right? I pulled out my phone and zoomed in on the back of a forty-year old man holding his cup under the fountain spigot and putting what looked like all of his weight behind pushing the touch screen button that chooses the drink for him, not realizing that the “pour” button is right below the screen. As soon as he put his whole palm on the screen, I snipped some of the recording and texted it to Justin. His reply came quickly. “One-stop shop for palm-reading and peach-vanilla Fanta.” I choked back a laugh as I slipped the phone back in my pocket and helped the poor fellow out. “Here you go,” I offered, pointing to the big silver button. “The touchscreen is just for choosing. The rest is mechanical.” “Oh, duh,” he muttered. “I thought it was broken, but instead I was just an idiot.” “Nah,” I reassured him, “people get confused by this all the time. It’s just new and different, which can be a challenge.” He gave me a courtesy laugh at that point and I realized I’d slipped into “explain to a child, especially one who can’t handle change very well” tone. Old habits. The buzz in my pocket pulled me away from the now uncomfortable drink machine guy. It was a picture of Kate Winslet’s hand on a steamed window of the car in the movie Titanic. “Or maybe he was going for this to commune with his lime-cherry-root beer.” Another text followed. This one of a bloody palm print on a mirror from some horror movie. “Or he was leaving his last message to the world by saying how much he wanted his coke-kool-aid.” Gross, Justin. Then the next text of an upside down palm print made into an elephant. “He was going to flip over the drink machine after imprinting.” And there I’d gone and done it - sent my brother into a palm print vortex. I shut off all sound and vibrate alerts. If I didn’t, I knew I’d be getting at least a dozen more similar texts. #excerpt #drinkmachine #writersofinstagram-
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Audio Book Hangover
For the past six months, a man named Ralph Cosham has been my traveling companion during my daily work commute. He doesn’t pay for gas, never offers to drive, and never buys me a Dr. Pepper. He doesn’t even thank … Continue reading
