The Poisoned Ink Well

Sunday, December 01, 2002

And later after I had my dream, I was sweeping the hardwood floors in my parent's house, and out of the corner of my eyes, I watched as the Challenger exploded on the screen of the color TV, and I stopped and marveled for a moment at being witness to their deaths, as I swept out cobwebs and dust, and then Reagan came on, and we cooked macaroni and cheese for dinner, and we sat on the couch, and propped our feet up on the brass and glass coffee table, at the center of my known universe, and we ate quietly, and watched and listened as that president gave us, yet another one of his cliché laden speeches.

The national and global stage looked so tiny to us, that year, inside of that 19 inch box, with it's exploding spaceships and doddering, old, gray haired presidents, as we gave away clothes (suits, ties, and dresses), put their favorite memento's in boxes, and boarded up our parent's houses for the final time and said good bye to each other.