Façade (384 hits)
Category: GeneralRating: 1.31 on 14 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by r0fl (View user info) at 2007-04-27 00:58:57 EDT
The breeze crept in threw the window, smelling of autumn. How she'd ask you, did it smell like autumn? The smell of dead leaves, the smell of changing seasons, the smell of changing lives. People moved during this time of year to accommodate their children and school, high school sports began, lives changed, sometimes forever. The smell crept through the window, enveloping Deidre's nostrils; reminding her of her childhood and subsequent adolescence.
The aluminum antlers of the T.V. flickered in the sunlight escaping through the low-hanging clouds, picking up the local movie on TBS this afternoon: Shawshank Redemption.
"That Andy," Deidre mumbled to herself. "He always stays upbeat, always had a plan, even if you didn't know it yet." The movie itself (made for T.V., of course) was over three hours long with commercials and advertisements, but if you asked her, she'd merely reply with "I ain't got nothin' but time, child," and smile, chuckle, and look off in the opposite direction.
"I was a scholar once, y'know," she'd tell you, completely serious. She'd been a professor at a local liberal arts college on symbolism in theatre and literature. Her students despised and loved the class at the same time -
"You mean a class on reading real novels and watching movies?" They'd respond when you mentioned Dr. D'allesandro's class during Add/Drop. But when you got there - you'd realize that it wasn't just that - it was analyzing the stories themselves, not enjoying them.
So here she sat, watching one of her favorite movies, rocking in her favorite chair, complete with red and white blossoms in front of a hospital-blue fabric. Occasionally, you could probably attribute it to the weather and barometric pressure - the picture would become fuzzy and the rest of the room would come into focus: a semi-well kept room and bedroom, sheets somewhat in place, a half-bouquet of daisies and lilies on the window sill, the wallpaper curling up in the corners of the room. The room; it smelled of autumn, we've established this, yes, but also smelled, sanitary, like that of a germ-a-phobe, like that of a crazy person. It smelled of alcohol - but not the good alcohol. The kind that made things clean.
Deidre D'allesandro, or Double D as she was called (she wished it was because of a mystic physical appearance and not an acronym for initials, but alas, it was not) sat in her "cell" as she called it, watching her movie, with her blanche colored afghan covering her thinning legs, rocking incessantly as the advertisements rolled on and Morgan Freeman narrated the story of Andy's unfortunate incarceration. "Always positive," she would mumble, jiggling a cup in her left hand.
The cup held her day's worth of Tic-Tacs; her doctor told her to watch her sugar intake, and this was one of the main things she ate these days after the stroke; her whole life was a mystery these days - up was down and down was up - and she went from living independently and going to church every morning at eight-fifteen to being told when she could go to the restroom and when not to - quite a shock to say the least.
Manny, the Dominican who oversaw her care, poked his head in through the cracked door to check on her. "How you feelin', D?" he asked.
"Fine Manny, bones'er cold..." DD replied, responding more to the changing of the seasons than the question floating through the air like pollen, drifting up and down with the jet stream - going whatever way it pleased. "Need anythin'?'" he'd ask, somewhat casually, but still professional nonetheless.
Manny had that delicate balance in him, and he loved what he did.
"No thanks, Manny" Double D responded, and pulled the hair from her right side of her face behind her ear, in a primitive "See, I'm still pretty..." sort of way. He didn't bite, and walked down the hall toward Mr. Robertson, end-stage Renal Failure.
The Tic-Tacs jingled in her cup, and Morgan Freeman was detailing the two elements in prison: Pressure and Time. He hypothesized, as a man incarcerated from what we know as all his life for a past mistake - that is all that remained when one was stripped of his individual freedoms and put in jail. Andy, however, was innocent, eternally optimistic, always focusing on the future and not on his mistakes, or the mistakes of others in the past.
Another breeze blew in through the window, bringing a gust of cool wind and autumn air. The frays of the afghan blew in with their general direction, the way the flags atop the Monster at Fenway blew indicating wind during the eighth and ninth innings. It smelled like history, like long ago, when her son George left for football conditioning camp long ago, his cleats making rhythmic noises on the asphalt toward the field. His shoulder pads swayed - supported by the large helmet in-between the central opening as he held the facemask with his right hand. Football was merely a distraction; she'd felt watching him walk toward the half-risen sun toward the jocks and mercenaries of high-school athletics.
A colder breeze now, one of shock value, brought Deidre back to now, to the present. Her breath-mints jingled in her cup, Andy was freshly carving chess pieces on the television - a metaphor she'd hypothesize in class - of complicated steps and calculated moves - which he'd undoubtedly take during his journey toward freedom.
But now, partly paralyzed from a stroke, she was stuck in this room, of blue wallpaper and flooring. The wallpaper was peeling in places, showing the marble walls beneath, the reason for the wallpaper in the first place. The corners were ridden with wear, the glue given up long ago - at a time when Ms. D'allesandro was barely born - let alone teaching a high-level (LIB712 if you wanted to know) imagery class.
Her mug, draped with the Lipton tea-tag warmed her hands, as TBS broke to commercial. Her left hand held onto the handle and she slowly stared at her left. It was old, wrinkly, and unattractive. 'The price you'd pay,' she'd mutter if you asked her about age and its decisive properties. Her Tic-Tacs were slowly lowered to the floor.
She stared at her fingers of her left hand, the weak, brittle nails extending beyond her finger pads. They made her sick on some odd way; enough to make her wretch and cough uncontrollably for a span of a few minutes to those outside, but to her, an eternity. The plaid blue wallpaper curled up on the edges, exposing a painted-white brick face - the type in college dorm rooms to discourage the hanging of posters and puncturing of push-pin sized holes - a bitch to fill in you see.
Her spearmint mints jingled again in her hand not holding the tea mug, as Andy wrote that infamous letter to Red about the rock not belonging on the wall near the large tree. The smile on Red's face showed it all, of triumph, of happiness, of overcoming life's greatest obstacles, and it hit Deidre: Andy's façade, that of an innocent banker - hid the art of someone pummeling away behind the playmate of the month, tunneling through limestone walls for nearly a decade, always staying positive.
Maybe there was hope for her yet she thought, as TBS grabbed a quick commercial about Bob's Discount Furniture and Dairy Queen's new Blizzard Sundaes. The tag of her tea draped low over her teacup - and suddenly she became angered. Deirdre threw the mug, still half filled with Lipton's at the door to her private quarters, producing a loud, metallic clang. Strange, she thought, knowing full well that the mug was ceramic and the wood was made of solid Maple and Oak, as her tour guide had said months earlier when she agreed to be 'stored' here.
Lightening crashed through the T.V. set as Andy raised his palm-sized rock overhead as commercials diminished, the timing of Andy's strikes on the plumbing perfect with oncoming thunderous booms. Escape, she thought, how nice it would be to escape this human shell, escape these inadequacies, escape these incapabilities, et cetera, with an emphasis on the ET CETERA.
The wallpaper curled in the corners of the floors and ceiling, the outside smelled of autumn, and the floor smelled of spilt tea and broken porcelain. Life was good; at some point; but not now. Life was cruel, twisted, unbecoming. The metallic clang rang in her cochleae, sounding correct but not quite right. The sun set slowly through the window, perfectly visible. It's pink hue colored the sky the same color, gradually dimming as space and time moved forward. The Tic-Tacs jingled in her free hand (they were both free now, actually), and she scratched the side of her face that was somewhat numb.
-----
"What's the diagnosis again, Billy?" Winston asked, curious but not imposing. Winston unstock his headphones and peered into William D'allesandro's eyes.
"Well, she had a stroke, 'bout a year ago... and thinks she's still at home, in her nursing home, for that matter, just biding her time before the Big-Guy-Upstairs comes to get her."
"Sad, really," he replied.
"Really?" Asked Billy. "I'd rather it this way. At least I wouldn't know that I was completely nuts, staring at white-brick walls and out barred windows, smelling piss and shit on the floor and knowing that I'm holding a Styrofoam cup filled with teeth from my right side, the side that went numb after that stroke. That I've been staring and a blizzard-white screen for the past four months since they turned the cable off, when I apparently would have become to rowdy."
"Well, if you put it that way, I guess it isn't so bad," Winston stated, and kept mopping up the floor past Dr. D'allesandro's room.
He picked up a crumpled piece of paper from the floor, written by Double D, embolden with scribbling of true meanings of prison and notes for 'class.'
He pump-faked twice and shot it toward the wastebasket, wide left. It hit the wall and clamored to the floor with a metallic clang, and with his headphones on, he never even noticed.
User Reviews
Submitted by UTOCKIN2ME (user info) at 2007-05-15 21:44:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
Fac-aff
Submitted by steph (user info) at 2007-04-29 22:03:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Unabonger (user info) at 2007-04-29 21:48:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by r0fl (user info) at 2007-04-29 21:28:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2007-04-29 15:39:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
nice transition from dialogue to action.
needs a little proofing/cleaning up, but its an enjoyable read
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Thanks ghola, I haven't seen you around but it looks like you have been. As soon as this finals week shit is done I'll be sure to drop by and check out some stuff.
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2007-04-29 15:39:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
nice transition from dialogue to action.
needs a little proofing/cleaning up, but its an enjoyable read
Submitted by lungfish (user info) at 2007-04-27 16:41:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2007-04-27 16:29:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
~~~MY NUTS, MY NUTS, MY NUTS ARE IN YOUR BUTT~~~
Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2007-04-27 12:57:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
.
Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2007-04-27 12:57:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Submitted by r0fl (user info) at 2007-04-27 11:32:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by ChaosJester (user info) at 2007-04-27 09:46:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
So she's in a nuthouse instead of a nursing home. Big deal.
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If you can't see that that's not the pay-off, do me a favor and just stop reading my shit.
Submitted by ChaosJester (user info) at 2007-04-27 09:46:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
meh...
seemed way too long for such a weak pay-off at the end. So she's in a nuthouse instead of a nursing home. Big deal. Also, I get the comparison between the tic-tacs and the teeth, it just doesn't interest me.
+0 for the description, which is sort of the only thing okay about this story.
Submitted by kaos-king (user info) at 2007-04-27 04:35:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2007-04-27 04:24:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Patchy but I like anyway.
Submitted by shitfuck (user info) at 2007-04-27 01:45:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
So when does he bang that really untalented chic with huge tits from 24 American Survivor Island Office?
Never or what?
WTF MAN!