Chester Pane
from Portland, Oregon is reading The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot DiazApril 3, 2012 - 2:14pm
@Matt: Smiles Everyone, Smiles!
That brings to mind a little colorful anecdote from my childhood. Before the warm-fuzzy sixties Star Trek haze (you know that granular filter they'd place over a female when Kirk or one of his shipmates wanted to copulate with her?) wore off my parents' marriage, we lived on a Cherry Tree farm for a number of years.
There were some Royal Anns, but most of the orchards were lined with Montmorency trees which yielded the tart fruit commonly used for pies and other dessert-related foods. Plucked straight from the tree, they're tastebud-wrenching sour.
As kids, my siblings and I, distracting ourselves from the reality that was our disintegrating family, would find ways to entertain ourselves. How many sour cherries can you eat? Well, my little brother was the youngest, and he could eat a lot. One day he ate thirty or forty. But he was so young he hadn't yet learned to spit out the pits. Or he didn't want to.
My sisters, who were significantly older and more experienced, egged him on. A penny for each cherry. My stomach had collapsed after fifteen or so, making me fifteen cents richer--and a mess out of my underwear-- but he kept right on going. I remember wishing I could make that kind of money. He still makes way more than me.
My oldest sister, whose white shorts had turned red in the groin while we were having dirt clod fights a few weeks earlier, had begun to exchange private parts with a tall skinny boy up the hill. I'd caught them once accidently with my toy binoculars from the tree fort my Dad had built in one of the large Royal Ann trees.
Originally my dad had built the structure for my sisters, his 'Royal Ann' princesses. But they had since abandoned it for loftier things. The skinny boy had stuck his index finger in her. It had been quite a while since we'd taken a bath together and I was surprised to see she had hair growing down there where it used to be smooth enough for me to draw on.
She told my little brother, after he had finished another dozen pie cherries, that all of the pits that he'd swallowed were going to turn into saplings in his stomach and he'd have branches growing out his skin. He took off running, looking for our mother, screaming. But I knew he had run in the wrong direction because I'd seen my mother walking toward one of the greenhouses with the arborist a while before.
My stomach ached, so I searched out my mom for some of that pink liquid. She was in the greenhouse on her knees with her mouth stretched around the arborist, bobbing her head. He held her pony tail with his big fist. When she saw me standing there she pushed away at his thick canvas worker pants but he held her on him. He had his neck arched back and was looking up at the sun through the glass roof. The veins in his neck pulsed.
When she finally popped her head free, her mouth was creamy like tapioca. The tapioca was shooting out of the arborist and some of it hit the greenhouse glass next to them. When the arborist looked down and saw me, he turned red and pulled up his pants, hurrying past me.
I ran away. Ran to my older sister. I told her what I'd seen. She told me that those were seeds coming out of the arborist and that if anyone of them had gotten into mother's stomach, she would soon have babies growing everywhere out of her.
Did...you mean to post that in the therapy thread? Not saying it's serial killer behavior or anything...
Haha, wait, so, you're confronted with someone who smiles ALL THE TIME for no reason, and you don't think it's weird? Lies.
EDIT: If anything THAT (the perpetual smile) is serial killer behavior.
@Matt
Not quite like that. LOL
I just thought of someone who does it. She is an admitted stalker. Yeah. I rest my case.
@Matt: Smiles Everyone, Smiles!
That brings to mind a little colorful anecdote from my childhood. Before the warm-fuzzy sixties Star Trek haze (you know that granular filter they'd place over a female when Kirk or one of his shipmates wanted to copulate with her?) wore off my parents' marriage, we lived on a Cherry Tree farm for a number of years.
There were some Royal Anns, but most of the orchards were lined with Montmorency trees which yielded the tart fruit commonly used for pies and other dessert-related foods. Plucked straight from the tree, they're tastebud-wrenching sour.
As kids, my siblings and I, distracting ourselves from the reality that was our disintegrating family, would find ways to entertain ourselves. How many sour cherries can you eat? Well, my little brother was the youngest, and he could eat a lot. One day he ate thirty or forty. But he was so young he hadn't yet learned to spit out the pits. Or he didn't want to.
My sisters, who were significantly older and more experienced, egged him on. A penny for each cherry. My stomach had collapsed after fifteen or so, making me fifteen cents richer--and a mess out of my underwear-- but he kept right on going. I remember wishing I could make that kind of money. He still makes way more than me.
My oldest sister, whose white shorts had turned red in the groin while we were having dirt clod fights a few weeks earlier, had begun to exchange private parts with a tall skinny boy up the hill. I'd caught them once accidently with my toy binoculars from the tree fort my Dad had built in one of the large Royal Ann trees.
Originally my dad had built the structure for my sisters, his 'Royal Ann' princesses. But they had since abandoned it for loftier things. The skinny boy had stuck his index finger in her. It had been quite a while since we'd taken a bath together and I was surprised to see she had hair growing down there where it used to be smooth enough for me to draw on.
She told my little brother, after he had finished another dozen pie cherries, that all of the pits that he'd swallowed were going to turn into saplings in his stomach and he'd have branches growing out his skin. He took off running, looking for our mother, screaming. But I knew he had run in the wrong direction because I'd seen my mother walking toward one of the greenhouses with the arborist a while before.
My stomach ached, so I searched out my mom for some of that pink liquid. She was in the greenhouse on her knees with her mouth stretched around the arborist, bobbing her head. He held her pony tail with his big fist. When she saw me standing there she pushed away at his thick canvas worker pants but he held her on him. He had his neck arched back and was looking up at the sun through the glass roof. The veins in his neck pulsed.
When she finally popped her head free, her mouth was creamy like tapioca. The tapioca was shooting out of the arborist and some of it hit the greenhouse glass next to them. When the arborist looked down and saw me, he turned red and pulled up his pants, hurrying past me.
I ran away. Ran to my older sister. I told her what I'd seen. She told me that those were seeds coming out of the arborist and that if anyone of them had gotten into mother's stomach, she would soon have babies growing everywhere out of her.
My stomach hurt more after that. It still hurts.
Wow Chester, I'm going to go kill myself now.
Thanks for that uplifting Tuesday treat! :D
I liked how he showed instead of told.
Tell us another drug story Chester. Those are my favorite. And I need something to take my mind off of that.
Dakota, this comes to mind.
@ Chester
So laughable but serious? Should I be laughing or would that be morally wrong?
Sometimes I set up pictures of good-looking women as my desktop background.
I know Kung Fu.
EDIT
Too far for even you guys...