"What did the mama buffalo say
to her child as he left for school?" Zi quipped toward Angelica.
She turned from repositioning the
Alvin and the Chipmunks Beanie Babies on the bookshelf. Simon was sat because
of his height in front of the autographed copy of Carrie. "What?"
"Bison."
"R-r-r-r..." She crossed
her eyes for effect. "What did Angelica the frog say to Zi the frog?"
"Gee, you're humorous."
Zi stood, arms held wide, proudly peacocking.
"No... Time's fun when you're
having flies."
"That too shaggy dog for
me."
"Bison is not?"
"Back to work. Read... read
carefully. If not, little evil flying monkeys may visit and deposit monkey
manure on your lap... and your little dog's head... heeheehe!" There it
was, the evil laugh of the Wicked Witch of the West was attempted, a broom
flung on which he leapt. "Well, my little pretty, I can cause accidents,
too. I'll get you my pretty and your dog, too! Fly! Fly!"
Shaking her head while reading a
change in the manuscript, LOVE LETTERS, "You just gave Vench a quality in
which I am uncomfortable. Why let the villain have any admirable attributes? Good
should be good and bad, bad," doused the wet blanket of criticism, not
nocturnal wetness, though she a drippy gloomy Gale, stated Angelica to Zi as
they were polishing the text.
Zi placed upon his head the black
witch's hat that sat on a shelf in a corner, still channeling the Oz character,
bent at the waist and twittered his fingers. "You cursed brat! Look what
you've done! I'm melting! Melting! Oh, what a world, what a world! Who would've
thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness? I'm
gone! I'm gone! I'm going!"
"Seriously... why soften the
edges of our villains?" She wheedled with that wily cunning of a seventh
grade English teacher, who was presently using her eyes to remove that hat.
"Ok... why is a bad joke like
a crappy pencil... because it has no point."
"Was that a subtle swipe at my
question?"
"Let me rip you a new point.
Come on tell the truth... you like to word picture evil. The badder the better.
I like the complexity of the character, it more reflects the truth of life. And
yes, I can gravitate to the chew-the-toes-off-of-children evil, but the creep
would only do it out of some convoluted pathos."
"Convince me." She
smiled, "Thanks for referring to me as a pencil... I resemble that
remark."
"What do you call a Guernsey
cow with no legs? Give... ground beef."
"I get it... that is evil...
but I was asking to be convinced of the value of a complex villain."
"Oh... ok! Let me try. I'll
relate a true story." She rolled her eyes not knowing where he was
trekking. He rolled back as if dueling. "As a young man I taught Sunday
School."
"No way... Ray."
"Way... Renee. Why do so many
folks wear perfume and cologne to church... da... the pews. I digressed. I
promised the kids if they finished a very large project I'd take them to a
Phillies baseball game. I was a huge fan." He grabbed his Mike Schmidt
Louisville Slugger. "Why was Cinderella lousy at baseball... a pumpkin for
a coach, always losing her shoes, and was running from the ball."
Noticing that Angelica gave that
joke-me-once-shame-on-you-joke-me-thrice-shame-on-me look, he moved on with the
anecdote. "Well, they finished, I got group rate tickets and a parent's
van. Phils and Expos. Right... they don't exist any longer. My plan was to use
one of my most favorite players, Larry Bowa, as a Life Lesson because of his
famous work ethic. Talked about him on the ride there. A poor hitter who
overcame that to make the big leagues." He showed her his autographed
LARRY BOWA baseball but did not let her hold it.
"Heard of him."
"In the game, not respecting
him, three times they intentionally walked the bases loaded just to pitch to
him. The first time he popped out. I spoke of accepting adversity. The second
time he popped out. He flung the bat. I told my class it was that competitive
drive that made him successful though I did not like what he did. The third
time he popped out. There it was, my Life Lesson. I was ready for next Sunday.
The never quit attitude."
"How's this about a
villain?" Crumpling up a wad of paper, she pitched to Zi, he swung, missed
and she did the happy dance.
Ignoring her, he continued.
"Well, unexpectedly the story or the game did not end there. The Phils
were losing by two in the bottom of the ninth and as you might have pondered or
expected, the Expos' manager who was in the dugout below us, with two outs, no
one on base, walked not one, no not two, but three batters to get to Bowa.
There was the sin. The insult. Bowa, a pipe cleaner of a guy responded, had a
bases clearing triple. He rewrote my plans believing I would speak about
trusting in yourself. But as life is it threw me a curve ball. Bowa rose from
his slide, looked over in our direction, obviously at the manager and presented
him with the universal gesture of disapproval. Yep, he flipped him the bird. No
not just a subtle one but one that rose from his knee, accentuated with two
arms, and hung in the air like a proud 4th of July flag. The stands erupted.
Quietude held off my want for exuberance. My hero had done something unhero
like. Remember the times. Adults did not so display. Youth were equally
discouraged."
"Bowa was the man." She
put the Phillies' baseball cap, that hung above the computer, on her head.
"Well, I felt as if my arse
was on fire. I knew this would spread through the congregation like peanut
butter on a hot day. Partly as a preemptive retort, my next Life Lesson, a
thing where I pointed out how to live life more to the word was simple. In
every good Bowa there is an evil Bowa, don't let others draw it out. I felt
unlike Bowa believing I knocked it out of the park."
"How did that work?"
"Not well. That was the last
Phillies field trip I was allowed to host. The parents publicly questioned my
choice of hero, wrote about it in the newsletter. I questioned their disconnect
from reality. But my point about our character is very simple, I've learned
that every person is not black or white but varying shades of gray. Only robots
and Jason can be absolute evil."
"And that's the moral of the
story?
"Hell, there ain't no moral...
I like the story."
"You were a Sunday School
teacher?"
"Drop it."
We'd love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who writes us at writingteamcw@yahoo.com (Write - Blog Dawn - in subject line) and leaves an s-mail address, we will send you a gift and add you to any future mailings.
Angelica Hart and Zi KILLER DOLLS ~ SNAKE DANCE ~
CHASING YESTERDAY ~ CHRISTMAS EVE...VIL
http://www.champagnebooks.com/
Vixen Bright and Zachary Zane STEEL EMBRACE
BOOK NOOKIE-A LIBRARIAN'S BUIDE TO THE DO-ME DECIMAL SYSTEM
http://www.carnalpassions.com/
THE FABLE OF SIN-SIN CINDERELLA Series
http://angelicahartandzi.com
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