Connection

The wind blows a poster onto a freshly cut green lawn. Corners of the poster rustle as the center become plastered to the ground, wet from the spray of automatic sprinklers. “LIVE CO” are the only words visible. The house behind the front lawn was white, the walls, doors, roof and all; all except for the part of the house in the back that is always underneath the shade so no sunlight ever reaches that small blind spot. The house belongs to the person who just so happens to be napping under the sun in a hammock between two large oak trees. The young wife of this man is supposedly out buying grocery and doing the daily chores that women do, however, unbeknownst to the man napping under the sun in a hammock between two large oak trees, the young wife supposedly buying groceries and doing the daily chores is actually snuggling up in bed with the mail delivery boy of age twenty. The sunny afternoon lights up the hotel room through the open window. The sunlight rays shines through the drapes onto two pairs of feet at the end of the hotel bed. One pedicured foot knocks a pair of jeans off the lower-side corner of the king sized bed. A couple moments later, a cell phone vibrates softly within the jeans that were kicked off the lower side-corner of the king sized bed. The word “GIRLFRIEND” flashed on and off in sync with the vibrating cell phone. The girlfriend of the mail delivery boy of age twenty stomps her foot outside of the movie theaters not two blocks from the hotel her boyfriend, who has absentmindedly forgot about the date and is otherwise preoccupied, is currently at. She looks to the left. Then right. Calls again. Stomps. The girlfriend decides to wait across the street at a café, where she can sit and relieve her feet of the high 3-inch heels she wears and from the consistent stomping done on them. She steps out of the sidewalk and hears a screech then a line of honking and cuss words flying at her from a car to her. The girlfriend, opposed at her boyfriend’s lack of response, flips her hair back, lifts her chin up, brushes a perfectly clean shoulder and continues walking towards the café. The woman in the car screeches and honks, throwing a hand up to the back of the girlfriend and then finally going on to her way to pick up her son of age eight from volleyball practice. The son of age eight, whose mother screeched and honked at a girl jaywalking to the café, sits silently on the curb outside of the school’s gym. He takes out from his backpack, leftovers of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and fed pieces of it to the mice that slowly approached him from underneath the curb drain. Other volleyball kids came out to see their classmate petting the rodents and quickly runs back inside screaming and yelling. The coach, already dressed to go celebrate her beloved second cousin’s wedding, of which she was a bridesmaid, a very late one, goes out to see what the commotion is about and was met with a wave of eight year-olds pulling on her new outfit and yelling “rabies” and “rats.” The couple, whose wedding the volleyball coach is suppose to be at, looks up at the clock tower as it chimes noon. The couple decides they couldn’t wait much longer and walks into the church to begin the ceremony without the bride’s beloved second cousin. The priest who is to conduct the ceremony stands inside already, fidgeting at the altar, hoping the ceremony would discontinue the wait of the late second cousin and bridesmaid, so that he may return to the church confessional where a grieving middle aged man whose wife just passed away is talking to and empty room, unaware of the fact that the priest now conducting a wedding ceremony is no longer on the other side of the thin board with miniature air holes. The best friend of the man, whose wife just passed away and is currently in the confessional, inhales and puffs a portion of his cigarette, flicking bits of it onto the ground and leaning on the driver’s side of the car wondering when his friend will be done confessing his sins and forgiving himself for the natural death of his wife. The best friend looks across the street and sees a young woman all dressed up for a date sitting alone on a stool inside a café facing his direction. This best friend of the man confessing inside the church looks at his watch and assumes he still had quite some time before his buddy comes out, and head towards the café. The girlfriend whose boyfriend is currently in a hotel with the wife of the man sleeping in a hammock is growing more and more angry by the minute. The best friend of the man at the confessional sits down beside this fuming young woman and asks to buy her a drink. She replies haughtily saying she is already drinking something, but then paused and said she could use a fresh one. She looks at the clock over the cash register counter and sighs. A couple minutes later, the girlfriend of the mail delivery boy in the hotel and the best friend of the man in the confessional, walks back to the car the man parked in front of the church. While walking across the street, the girlfriend of the mail delivery boy takes a rolled up poster from her purse, rips it up, throws it into the air and gets in the car of the man that she just met at the café. The little shreds of poster paper thrown into the air is caught by the wind and flies a couple blocks past the church, where a wedding and a confession is currently taking place, past the café, where a waiter is cleaning up the cups left by the young woman and gentleman, past the hotel room where a young wife and a mail delivery boy can be seen emerging suspiciously out of in the late afternoon, and lands next to a similar slip of poster paper in front of a fresh green lawn. letters on the newly arrived piece of poster paper reads “NCERT.”

Contagious

Inside the top-most floor of a building somebody says a statement. There is disruption in the air, laughter. The receptionist of the office looks up tersely at the noise, shaking her head thinking and rolling her eyes then telling them to shush, as if they were kids she thinks in her head. However, after the volume of the laughter lowers it is not too soon before it rises back up again.

After another couple minutes a sharp clear ring of laughter broke out again in the office room. Soon sounds loud, bellyful chuckles and small timid giggles weaves in and out of each other as if they are the rhythm and beats of a song. 

The receptionist soon becomes just as affected as the other office members. Her lips form the smallest of a grin, then a wider smile, and soon break out in a hearty laugh. Word somehow gets out, through whispers from one to another, in the next room, and then next and then next. The event travels down the elevator from the tippy-top of the office building where the statement propagated. Men and women walk out at different levels of the building from the elevator, sharing the humorous tale with their cubicle neighbors.  Some of the office people who leave early, ventures out and the whispers and gossip spread outward from the building.

The effect seems to act similar to a ripple effect with the building at the dead center of it. Word travel fast by mouth, and even faster through the use of telephone and electronics. The comical news spread through the office building in minutes, the city in hours, the country by days and the world by weeks.

The Other World

His eyes stays closed even as he feels his mind coming back from a deep dream. Joe rolls over in his bed, onto his back. He feels the sun’s glow, warming his pale arm that is placed in the direct view of the windowpane. Joe wiggles his fingers, sensing the awareness and feeling of movement return to him. He takes a very deep breath. In. Out. Joe is still unwilling to open his eyes. He feels the warmth of the bed sheets on his back. He also feels the warmth from his body facing the ceiling slowly seeps into the air. The chill wakens Joe a little more. He squints his eyes together in hope. Joe silently wills himself to go back, back to the world of leisure and richness of his fantasies. He attempts to go back into this peaceful slumber by remember the last thing he remembers. The feeling of a soft velvet dress on his left hand and a soft, fragile hand placed on his right. Velvet, velvet, velvet. He plays the scene over and over again. The music he heard slips from his mind slowly. His attempt is unsuccessful, the more he tries to grab it, the more it slips away leaving Joe in frustration. Joe rolls onto his stomach again, the same position he had awoken from. His head rubs against his pillow, as if it would cause him to fall back into the seduction of deep slumber. Nothing works. Joe grunts and sighs. His breath whooshed out harshly. He rolls himself on his back once again. Slowly, fighting through the bright light and crustation on his eyelashes, Joe opens his eyes to the real world.

Bargains

Teri was born in Guangdong, China. She has lived there for over twenty years. Teri gained much experience in the culture of the East, the way people eat, the way they talk, and also the way they bargain. In Guangdong, Teri knew nothing of such words as ‘set price’ or ‘taxes’. She would walk into a clothes store and haggle a price down from 120 Yuan, the monetary value in China, insisting the purse was only worth about 35 Yuan, and finally after less than two minutes of creative wordplay, battling the price to 50 Yuan successfully.

In her late twenties, Teri immigrated to America through connections with her husband’s family. She found the culture there to be a whole new experience. The people ate differently, talked differently, and most of all, to the shopaholic Teri, the people there bargained differently.

Teri entered an American clothing store and saw a dress that she absolutely adored. She looked at the price tag, 119.99 US dollars. Another thing Teri learned was how much Americans loved the number 9; there was always one present on a price tag. She took the dress confidently and walked towards the register counter. Teri began her bargaining techniques with the young man at the cash register. Material is bad, she exclaims in short English phrases, not worth 120 dollars, will not last more than two wears, only worth no more than 30 dollars. The boy stared at Teri. Never has the cash register ever encountered such statements in his whole time as employee at the clothing store. The boy cleared his throat and kindly told Teri once again that the cost of the dress. He told her to look, and pointed to the green flashing numbers at the top of the cash register. $131.09. Teri looked ghastly. She ordered the young man to wait one minute. There is a mistake. Mistake, mistake, mistake, she points at the boy. Why, she questions, price cost more than said so on tag. Now, Teri told the boy, the dress now worth 20 dollars to me. The young man told her it was the tax cost, 9.25%. Teri’s eyes are almost as round as almonds at this point, and started to curse in a language incomprehensible to the boy. The cash register employee, now a bit annoyed of Teri’s attitude and bad English, retorted shortly that we couldn’t bargain prices, take it or leave it.  Teri gave the young man an evil look and walked briskly out of the store. Later that night, while in bed, Teri told her husband this story. Her husband laughed. Welcome, he told her, to America.