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CHANGES & VOTE FOR WHO?
This page has two stories by Reid Laurence
CHANGES
By Reid Laurence
Well... here I am, I thought, as I looked up at the great, big, marquee in front of me. But as I read the lighted letters off in the words, 'Antique Road Show' I could see right away that some of the bulbs were out and needed changing. How could they neglect an important sign like that, I wondered? That's like a guy who won't wash his hair, or a waitress who doesn't ask you if you want water. I swear... when will America get back up on its feet were it should be? Maybe we need more pride in who we are and what we stand for, I don't know.
Anyway, when I reached down into the pocket of my worn out jeans and felt the giant wad of cash there, I felt a lot better about things in general.
It won't be long now, I said to myself, simultaneously pulling out some of the money and flipping through it as if it were a deck of cards. I might even be on t.v.! Just think, I could be up there in front of millions of viewers... I hope I don't mess up and stumble over my words like the president. How could that happen now? Even my drunken, uncle Eddie is more fluent then President Bush, but that's not saying much, is it?
Finding my way through the crowd, I noticed the show was well under way and one of the antique historians was hard at work summarizing an authentic Grecian urn that someone had brought along when suddenly, he asked a most penetrating question which made us all stop and think.
"What's a Greek urn?"
"I don't have any idea," responded the lady who'd brought it. "Please tell me."
"Ohh, about seven-fifty an hour!" he replied, laughing hysterically at his own jest. "But seriously now lady, what kinda cash would'ya expect for this thing... it's indecent. Look at it, or no, wait, don't look at it. The guy here," he remarked, pointing to one of the immaculately hand painted figures on the vase. "His whole package is exposed. Makes me feel like I'm stand'in next to Danny Bonaduce. You know what I mean? Very uncomfortable. Anyway, lets cut to the chase shall we? I'd say, don't expect anymore then ten bucks for it. I don't see no holes in it. Maybe you could cover the paint job on it an stick some flowers in it."
"Flowers? In a three-thousand year old vase? Really now... are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure. I don't got a problem with that. Unless you think you can get yourself a better deal. It's a free country lady. More power to ya."
But after another hour or so of other such similar flawless lessons in history, my turn had finally come to meet a similarly skilled antiquarian and the power of speech that I thought I'd arrived with had all but dribbled from the bottoms of my feet. Nervous? You said it, but I couldn’t let a little thing like spent nerves stop me now. Not after coming all this way. So when the representative of one of the most important collectable firms in New York asked me, "What have you brought with you today?" I just stood there with my jaw hanging open, as pale as a ghost and with about as much to say. In fact, the only thing I could think of doing was to show the historian, in pantomime, the reason I had come. "You're kidding me," he said.
"Nope," I finally squeezed out. "It was my grandfathers, and his father's father before him. Whaddaya think. Its's been sitting in a big chest in our attic for over a hundred an forty years. I was really hoping ta dump some of it today. My wife wants me ta pick up some groceries an I'm a little short on cash, ya know... what with the way things are an all."
"Yes I know," answered the polished looking interviewer. "The economy is tightening up and we could very well be headed for recession, but really now," he reasoned. "Confederate money? How in the world did you come across it?"
"My great, great grandfather Colonel Laurence I suppose. He did what he thought was right at the time, I guess. The story goes, he never was much into hating anyone, he just didn't like changes. Hey," I began, throwing caution to the wind. "Nobody's perfect right? Anyway, whaddaya think it's worth?"
"Well, if I had to give you a dollar amount right now, I'd say anywhere from fifty cents to seventy-five cents on the dollar."
"It's a deal," I replied, pushing the bills into his hand. "Where do I pick up my dough?"
Wow, whatta maroon, I thought to myself, as I scrambled for the door. Brand new Yankee cash in hand and proud of it too. After all, where was he gonna spend that stuff? God knows, I tried.. I just couldn't get stores to take it. Talk about changes in America, gosh. Old Colonel Laurence must be roll'in in his grave. But then, my thoughts shifted to recollections of my lovely wife's face, and the pride I knew she'd feel when I literally brought home the bacon and put it in the pan. Mmm, I could smell it cooking now.
Stopping off at the local grocery store as I'd planned, I stood and stared for a while at the hot babe who shelved the dairy section like I always did, and thought of a really neat question to ask her. Just the kind of remark that would make her stop and think about how smart a guy I am, but I had to wonder to myself... would my wife Mary think I'm flirting? Naw, how could she? Talking is just a part of living I concluded, and boldly walked over to the yogurt refrigeration case where she stood busily restocking the assorted flavors. "How ya do'in?" I began coyly. "Remember me," I asked her. "I come in here all the time."
"Go away."
"Well hey," I politely said, choosing to ignore her blunt disregard for my sophistic reasoning. "I know you know you're yogurt, but If somebody walked up ta you right now and asked you who you'd vote for in the upcoming election, who would you pick?"
"What? I'm busy mister. Do I have'ta call the manager?"
"No, no, please. It's just an innocent question," I stated. "Really, I just wanted to know you're thoughts."
"Alright, I'll tell you then, if you really want to know. But you promise to leave me alone after I tell you? You're not gonna be waiting for me in the parking lot are you? I don't need anymore nuts, you know. All a the assorted nuts are in aisle five."
"I get it," I said. "I appreciate you're dispassionate use of metaphor and I promise, I'll leave you alone and I swear I'm not a nut."
"Okay then. I'll tell you. So far, I'm voting for Barack Obama."
"That's cool," I replied. "But what makes you lean toward Obama? Anything special about him I should know?"
"Yeah, for one thing, he knows we have only one internet, not 'internets'."
"Okay, I see your point," I said. "Anything else I should know about him?"
"Yeah, there is," began the girl. "He's for changing America. He might even get the country back on its feet. He could get us all to pull together and disregard our racial differences. Anyway, he's got to know more about big business then Bush."
"But surely President Bush must've proven something while in office," I pled.. "Whaddaya say?"
And then, from the mouths of babes came her innocent reply, shocking me to sensibility like a sock full of Charles Bronson quarters to the head..."He proved the country can't run itself. Nuff said?"
***End***
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VOTE FOR WHO? by Reid Laurence
"Dinner's done Ellie. C'mon in an sit down. We're doing a real 'sit down with each other, family type thing tonight'."
"Can't right now dad," I heard, from the dimly lit recesses of my daughter's room. But even as she spoke, I couldn't help but notice the sudden sparks of light accompanied in syncopated auditory rhythm by one of the flashy, new pieces of electronics she'd borrowed from the university laboratory.
"Why not?" I asked. "Ya know it's a rare occasion when we all get to sit down an act like a family. You do wanna act like a family, don'tcha?"
"Sure," muttered my daughter, as a fierce burst of electrical energy came surging from behind the door, sending a shock wave of alternating current all throughout the household.
"What was that?" asked my wife Mary, even as she watched the ceiling lights and table lamps flicker and burn with swells of unexpected, high levels of power.
"I'll give you two guesses," replied my first born daughter, Natalie.
"Alright. You go tell your sister that's enough. We're ready to eat and I want her sitting here with the rest of us."
"But mom… you know I can't get past that crazy force field she's got at her door."
"Then just talk to her through the darn door. Better yet, I will…"responded Mary, with anxiety in her tone. "Ellie!" she yelled. "You get in here and eat with us, pronto!" But as Mary finished her sentence, it became obvious that Ellie's reply had come not in a verbal sense – as most are prone to – but in a physical, and all we could do was stand and watch… in awe.
"Wha… What is it?" I asked pointedly.
"What is What?" answered Ellie.
"That thing that came out of your bedroom, that's what," replied Mary. "It's staring right at me Reid, do something."
"Mom," began Ellie, our budding scientist. "You call me away from my work and then you complain. I don't understand. What's going on in your head? Are we eating dinner or aren't we?"
But before any of us had time to argue any further, the worst of my mechanical nightmares had become slowly to materialize and to our amazement, my daughter's titanium-palladium grade experiment had begun to explain itself. "Why are we fighting?" it asked plainly, suddenly addressing all of the occupants in the room as if it had done so many times before. "I don't understand why people have to go on like this, but I do understand that any issue can be resolved if one has the proper mindset with which to make those resolutions come true. Summarily, there is no problem or difference between us based in race, nationality, gender or superficial appearance to others that we can't all rise above."
"He can't stop talking Ellie," I remarked. "What have you done? What sort of creation is this?"
"I'm hungry dad, can't we just eat. I came out here to eat dinner, remember?" But even as Ellie finished her sentence, my wife had begun one of her most dramatic fainting spells and had very nearly fallen to the hard surface of the floor, as Ellie's creation saw fit to take charge of the moment, and caught her lifeless body in its midair plunge, picking her up, to lay her gently on the living room sofa.
"I'm in shock Ellie," I responded, having just been witness to the most remarkable event of my life thus far.
"Why dad?" answered my daughter, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "It's a robot. Can't you just get used to the idea. He's gonna run for president on a Libertarian ticket."
"President of the United States? A robot? Are you kidding me?" But without hesitation, this metallic monster of my daughter's creation began once more to speak, again addressing us as if he were in the middle of a well rehearsed speech taking place in some large convention hall…
"If we could only rise above preconceived notions of each other and base our opinions on sound qualifications like the ability to make important decisions in milliseconds or less; Unfailing, unwavering judgment; reason beyond the scope of any of my opponents, and hair that will never suffer from male pattern baldness. I submit to you that I am the most qualified candidate for office and if elected, I promise a chicken – or whatever it is you humans eat – in every pot , as God is my witness."
"But a robot," I muttered, sinking down into a dining room chair with growing passivity. "America will be led by a robot?"
"It's better for all of us dad," explained Ellie, taking a seat at the dinning room table. "Just think about it… he has no animosity toward anyone; he's completely unbiased; his I.Q. is off the charts, and he comes with a one year parts and labor warranty. What could be better?"
"I see your point Ellie," I said, growing gradually more akin to the idea of the type she was about to present to the world, and the new Libertarian choice for the highest office in America. "But do you think your mom will vote for him?"
"I don't see why not," answered Ellie very casually. "She voted for Al Gore didn't she?"
*End*
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