Swallowed

Ed had always hated surprises.

Ever since he was a little boy he couldn't stand them.

And today's surprise was no different.

The day had started off like any normal day. Ed had gotten up at 6:00am on the dot. He had done his 10 push-ups and 20 lunges, brushed his teeth, taken a shower and sat down to his bowl of cereal.

The surprise came on his way to work.

Ed was sitting in traffic on the 101 slowly inching his way to work. He was listening to his daily Spanish lesson podcast.

But then all of a sudden, there came the surprise.

The earth started shaking. The cars were all rattling and even their slow progress across town came to a halt. All around Ed the earth began to open and his car began a slow descent underground. It appeared that only he was subject to the sinkhole forming under his car. 

Slowly, slowly Ed sunk. First 10 feet, then 20 until the light above him was eventually swallowed by the darkness.

It was hot this far underground so Ed unrolled his windows. He was satisfied with his choice  of having sprung for the electric windows and so did not have to lean across the passenger seat to manually unwind the other window.

Still, he gave a sign of annoyance. He had always hated surprises. 

Sold

The new carpet under her back felt stiff and uncomfortable as she stared up at the ceiling, paint fumes stinging her nostrils. She didn't like change.
She closed her eyes and began a mental tour through her childhood home. She walked first through the living room. Images sprang to mind of countless slumber parties, practicing cheerleading chants in front of the dining room mirror and laying out sick on the couch while her mother doted on her.
Her mind wandered into the kitchen where she and her brother tried to cook one night a week. Those nights morphed into pizza nights as the meals they churned out continued to be inedible. Through the breakfast room she floated, these memories were mainly of homework, and into her parent's bedroom.
The girl longed for the TV nights she would spend with her parents. She'd curl into the lazy boy by the side of the bed while watching the ginormous tv mounted on the wall. Was there anything more comfortable than a childhood home?
She slowly wandered up the stairs, remembering how she would have to skip the second step when she'd sneak out past curfew, for it squeaked.
At the top of the stairs lurked the air vent that her brother's pet snake had escaped to from it's cage. And turning to the first room on the right she gazed into her childhood bedroom.
Barbies, Stuffed animals, talking to her boyfriend quietly on the phone late at night. The memories washed over her. She would spend hours in that room doing everything and nothing.
The girl slowly opened her eyes. The house felt like a part of her.
And she would never see it again.

Daddy's Girl

I know his songs immediately. I'd even bet by the first note. Although he's been dead for 10 years now the radio DJs continue to play his songs continuously. He was, after all, the voice of an entire generation. To say his songs are overplayed would be a gross understatement. There are only so many times you can hear " Take me to Heaven" no matter how much you loved it. But, I never tire of listening. It's best when his songs come on when I'm alone in my car and can listen without any audience. No one stares at me awkwardly wondering if they should change the station or worse, talk through the song imagining I can focus on their petty conversation and not my dad's voice.

My father blew his brains out at the height of his fame a decade ago. Conspiracy theorists love to try and convince others that he was murdered by his jealous drummer, Danny, but I know that's not true. Danny was his best friend and devastated by his death. He was, and still is, like an uncle to me. He also helps me manage my dad's publishing rights. As for my mother, she was never in the picture.

So when his number one hit song, for there were many, plays on the local radiostation and I'm alone in my car I like to sit and imagine what things would be like if he were still alive. I always conclude that they wouldn't be much different, except for the fact that I would have a father.

Being a legend's child is not as wonderful as it sounds. But it's only- I can't say that I'm very fond of my peers. And I can never live a normal life. I didn't choose a profession that is packaged with fame. My infamy is my birthright. The spotlight is right outside my door, ready to embrace me shall Rick Stevens' daughter ever try her hand at modeling, acting or singing. But that kind of life doesn't interest me. I hate the gawkers. And wish for a simple life. I think I would have liked to been a social worker. Or maybe a Spanish teacher.

Sometimes, when I listen to "Take me to Heaven" alone in my car I close my eyes and glide. But I always open them after a moment or two.