The Writer's E-Zine Home

Writers' Village University - F2K: Free Fiction Writing Course - ePress-online
Writers' Village University Membership Information

Signs of Life

Nancy L. Horner

An Evening With Us

We're having a laid-back Friday evening. Husband David and I have discussed vacations, the new Toyota we're considering, the diet David and I both need to go on, and why the Schwan's man is undoubtedly just as disappointed as we are that they discontinued broccoli and cheese soup, our favorite. One by one, we migrate to the living room. Eighteen-year-old Daniel's playing the guitar while I attempt to write an email when David comes along and asks for the guitar. I walk out of the room and return to see David standing by the piano with the guitar propped on his pot belly. "Hey, that's great!" I tell him. "You've got a shelf to hold the guitar, now!" It's not a good idea to make David laugh when he's holding the nice guitar, I realize, as the guitar has a close call with the nearby wall.

Daniel, who has a scholarship to the engineering/computer science school at the university he'll be attending, blurts out, "How upset will you get if I quit computer science, which I'm not going to do anyway, and join the Air Force to become a fighter pilot?" This leads to a semantic argument about the meaning of "which I'm not going to do anyway," a fragment Daniel claims is a reference to his intent to go on to law school, as well as the question, "Why on earth would you want to become a fighter pilot?" The answer, "'Cause I like planes." I tell him I like fire trucks but I'm not going to become a firefighter and point at the cute little tin shaped like a fire truck (yeah, okay, it's a bit goofy) on the small shelf under the computer table. David is spluttering, again, and I'm afraid the guitar is seriously going to be injured if he laughs any harder.

Daniel complains that his hair, which I've just chopped off, makes him look like Spock. "Actually," David says, "you don't look like Spock." Coincidentally, there happens to be a book by Leonard Nimoy on the floor, in the stack of books to donate to the library. David holds it up so that Daniel can see the photo of Spock. "If you want," he says, "Mom can cut your hair like Spock's. Otherwise, I wouldn't complain." A look of panic briefly flits across Daniel's face.

I'm now seated on the floor. I decide to do a quick test to determine whether or not I can pick up our orange tabby kitty, Sunshine—who is sprawled on her back and has an evil glint in her eyes—without getting slashed. Occasionally, I have to pick her up from this same position to move her off a bed that needs to be made or stripped, so I figure I can use the practice. "Think I can pick her up without getting attacked?" I ask the guys. "No way," they agree. I snatch her up off the floor, tuck her next to my chest and rub her head so that she knows I'm not disturbing her for the sake of cruelty. Success. No claw or bite marks, but just barely. "Well," says Daniel, "You did have the element of surprise on your side."

Minutes later, a dazed Sunshine straggles past Spooky, our black-and-white cat. Spooky is currently queen of the folding chair, the extra chair that William dragged out so he could sit near me while I was goofing online. Sunshine makes the mistake of walking a bit too close to the chair and Spooky swipes at her. Sunshine bats back. I say, "Hey! Don’t do that!" and both cats jump backwards, look innocent for about 30 seconds, then start leaping on top of each other, all claws and teeth. "Do you think it's true that cats take on the personalities of their owners?" David asks, as we watch the fur fly. "Weeeell," I answer, "They are a little bit bitchy."

Meanwhile, 11-year-old William is in the kitchen, practicing his handwriting. While David was away on business early in the week, I'd removed the satellite unit and hidden it because William has recently discovered that it's great fun to stay up till three in the morning watching cartoons without grumpy grownups and big brother interrupting. He has to do his handwriting page before I'll turn the satellite unit over for Saturday morning cartoons. He plops the finished page near me and proceeds to punch at his brother, who is six inches taller than he is but actually weighs twenty pounds less. It's like Cat Fight, the Sequel. We break up the fight but William follows Daniel out of the room and we have to call Daniel back to make sure he's safe.

Will gets bored and leaves, I start typing because Daniel has said something completely inane, although not worth repeating; I love it when he thinks I'm about to exploit him in a monthly column. Daniel says, "Oh, no," and heads for the shower. Eventually David disappears. The party's over. It has been a quiet evening in the Horner home, but it certainly hasn't been dull.