Her eyes daggered over to mine; they
were piercing, cold, and unforgiving. I couldn’t help but to stare back making
things uncomfortable to me because I didn’t think her dilemma was as dramatic
as she was making it to be. “Frederick, we have no milk”, she said percussively
leaving a sting at the end of each word; yet, I couldn’t help but let a grin
creep up in the corner of my mouth, no matter how hard I try to resist it. This,
of course, only increased her frustration, so I offered to make the distant
trip to the store in hopes it would ease her pain. Satisfied with my offer, her
head bobbed up and down as if she had just asked to be queen and then began to
brew her coffee knowing the milk would be present by the time it had finished.
Bothered by my current situation, I
dragged my feet to my car and began on my journey to retrieve the golden egg; aka,
milk. I wouldn’t have been as vexed if the closest grocery store wasn’t through
some woods and over a river adding up to be a good twelve miles, but I was committed
and rather than being irritated by this road trip, decided to distract myself
with the radio. Luckily my favorite old song by The Red One Rocketman, Benny
and The Jets, came on; so I cranked the volume and hardily thought about the
milk or the trip anymore. Other songs came on after the end of Benny; none
quite as brilliant as Benny though, so the trip became quite extensive and
began to drag on and reminded me of my ultimate task; milk. Soon enough I pulled
into the parking lot of Tom Thumb, got out of my car, and was back in my car
just about two seconds later. I let out a cheapish laugh, still perplexed at
why she made such a big deal over this two percent milk; couldn’t she have
survived one day without it? Not really phased whether she could or not, the
thought that this exasperating trip is now half way over was enough to motivate
me to get on the road again.
Retracing my currently made path,
back over the river and through the woods I’d go. Once again I turned on my
radio, but was quite annoyed with it and not in the mood for music anymore; so I
peered out my window and realized how gloomy of a day it actually was. I also
was approaching the bridge, now realizing how much I hated it. The color, a
faded red, reminded me of rust and made me somewhat uneasy towards it, but, “It’s
held people for hundreds of years”, I thought as I crossed the little bump
indicating I was now inevitably on the bridge. Anxious to get off, I noticed I was just about
to be half way over it, until I felt a comfortable drop in my stomach. Focusing
forward, I saw no more road in front of me and cars were uncontrollably
dropping as I realized that the bridge was collapsing underneath me. Not
knowing what to think, I saw the river below me zoomed in as if I could almost
touch it, but just before my body reached the water, my head flung up from my pillow.
Sleepy Self Portrait by Bryon Otis
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