"An Imagination Game"

So I'm thinking its time for an imagination game. I want you to close your eyes and imagine something. No, not yet. Wait until after I finish. Hey you. Yeah, you. Open your eyes back up. I wasn't ready yet. You know what, everyone just wait till the end to close their eyes. 

Ok. Now, as I was saying, we are going to imagine something. I want you to imagine you're driving down the highway. There's not much traffic out on this nice sunny day. It's a nice big highway. Three travel lanes on both sides of the median. By the way, it's a median. Not a comedian. Not a medium. A median. I can't tell you how often it's called a comedium. 

On this highway you're just bebopping along in the right hand lane. (We call that the granny lane in the trucker world). Your favorite song is on and you're jamming out, proud of yourself for sounding EXACTLY like the lead singer and not missing a note. All is right with the world. Maybe you're on your way to the beach. Maybe you're off to pick up your spouse for a weekend getaway to an awesome bed and breakfast. 

Up ahead, just off the travel lanes, on the shoulder you see a car. Back in the day people would stop to help change a tire or something but this is the modern world and you've got more important things to do. I get it; I'm usually on a schedule myself and I never have time to stop. Besides, it could be a serial rapist or something and I'm way too pretty to take that risk. 

As you get closer you see someone sitting in the grass away from the car that has its hood up. Cool. They must be waiting for AAA or a friend to come help. Thank God for cell phones! 

As you're looking over at them because, let's face it, we are curious creatures and can't help looking, what you don't see right away is the guy in front of the hood trying to figure out what all that steam is coming from. That's when the 6 year old boy or girl standing next to Daddy jumps away from the blown hose. It's a kid and not as careful as it should be. WHAM! This child tripped in her or his excitement and fell into the roadway. You've just hit this kid!!  It bounces up the hood and over the windshield in the time it took you to get your foot off the gas pedal at 70mph. As you literally stand on the brake pedal this small kid is plummeting back to earth from the impact. You've killed an innocent child. Was it deliberate? Of course not. But that child is still dead. 

Equally bad, the poor girl or boy started to fall but their dad had quick reflexes and had already started reacting. He saw the risk and jumped to save his child. He pushed her or him to safety and took the impact himself. Right in front of those eyes their father's body is destroyed and he's dead. 

Why? How'd this happen? Why did I deliberately talk you through this? Right now you may be absolutely appalled at what I just put your imagination through. If you're like me you think in pictures as well as words. In that scenario I have to make the victims faceless because I do have kids and a heart. 

Calm down for just a second and take a couple quick breaths. Shake it off, we know it's not real. But, let me ask you a question so I can answer a couple of the ones I just asked you. Be honest with yourself when you answer this...

How many of you, as you were imagining this, simply checked your mirrors and changed lanes as you approached the car on the shoulder? Be honest. Did it cross your mind? 

We see emergency vehicles on the shoulder and we grudgingly get over at the last minute, if at all. But if you see a broken down vehicle or an 18 wheeler, do you get over? Why not? Because it's not legally required? 

I see this every day. Many times I, myself, have had to pull to the shoulder to tighten straps or fix tarps. There I am between an 80 foot long vehicle with flashing hazard lights (we call them four ways) and cars zipping past at 70+ mph. Sometimes even other big trucks zipping past. Literally within a foot or two of me. One misstep, one thousandth of a second of someone not paying attention and my kids are orphans. And all they usually have to do is move over one lane. 

Think about it folks. How hard is it to just move over a little? One life ended, another changed forever. In the blink of an eye. 

Many of you will forget all about this imagination game, hopefully to never be reminded by a real life scenario like that. Some may change their driving habits just a little. Remember, though, this is a fictional story. Some people call what I do "art". Well....life often imitates "art".  Drive safe. 

"Siri ously Irritating"

Ok..so I run my blog from my iPhone. I have a laptop but I don't really know how to use it. I write all my "poetry" and posts in the notes section of my iPhone. Whenever I'm ready to post something then I'll copy and paste it. Sounds pretty simple, right? I like simple. 

Here lately I've had several people ask me if I dictate stuff into my phone while I'm driving. No, I manually type it all out. For 2 reasons. The first of which is that I can't speak what I write. I know it sounds odd but, let's face it, I AM odd. I can't even just have a conversation with someone. I have to be playing solitaire or reading a book or something in order to carry on a conversation. Manually typing it out slows my brain down enough to let the words flow. 

The second reason? Quite simple. I have an iPhone. iPhone has Siri. Siri and I don't get along. Personally, I think there's a solution. Make Siri a guy. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about females here. My keeper is a female and we talk quite a lot and I think she's awesome in every way. However, Siri is her own special brand of female. She's set to English but either she doesn't understand it or I'm an idiot. My keeper would probably say it's a toss-up at times. Rightly so. 

Siri and I...we have a "hate/hate" relationship. Here's kinda how our "talks" go...

Me: Siri, call Michael

Siri: I'm sorry, I can't find micro in your contacts. 

M: no..call..Michael

S: I didn't find any movies called "fall"

M: nooo...callll...Michael

S: the weather will be sunny today in San Diego. 

M: wtf?!

S: I'm sorry, I can't take any requests at the moment. 

Really, it's easier to just pick up the damn phone and punch in numbers. It's not worth the fights. 

I'd hate to see how my poems would come out. 

Did they have Professor Xavier programming Siri?! It takes some level of telepathy to work with this thing. She's the queen of passive-aggressive, Siri is. The other day I was just in a generally frustrated mood and snapped while talking to myself. Splendid job, Apple, setting Siri up to respond to my voice even if I don't hold down the "Siri do what I command" button. She scared the hell outta me. Here I scream "you suck" and Siri pops up out of nowhere with "after everything I've done for you?". Seriously?! Like WHAT, raise my blood pressure? 

Little Miss Siri seems to think I couldn't function without her. That's not the case. What I need is someone to talk me down when Siri makes me homicidal. Nothing quite makes my day like when I say, "send a message to Firefly." (No, that's not her real name. We are truck drivers; we only call people by their real names when we are mad at them. A truck driver calling you by your legal name is like your mom using all three of your names.) and Siri responds with "I found 4 results for 'flyby' on the Internet."  What?! Did I lapse into Hindi or something, Siri?! 

So I propose we make Siri male. We can just call him Dude. Just make him casual. "Hey, Dude, call Mike".  I bet he'd come back with something like, "yeah, man, I'm going give him a jingle. You guys chat and I'll just chill over here." 

Hey, Dude, send Firefly a message..."you got it, bro. Tell her I said howdy." Thanks, Dude. 

See? Easy. Listen up, Apple. Help us out a little. Explain to Siri that we all speak just a little differently or at different speeds. Or bring us something that's not going to want to make us throw our phone out the window. 

Guest Post: Flash Fiction

Whatever

It’s really not that hard, you just make a decision. You think about what you want to do and then you work at it. Simple. Easy. That’s what I tell him, but it never sinks in.

Lots of people change their jobs, but you need to pick a vocation. You have to start. If you don’t do something you will never be ready for anything, that’s what I’ve been telling him for three years. I keep on telling him, but he never listens. Now I’m trying to show him carpentry, but he’s always distracted.

“I’ve got a splitting headache.”

Lot that phone will do for you son. Yeah, keep on staring at that phone, texting, watching videos.

“Son, will you put that thing down and pay attention!”

“Wait It’s almost done, Dad you should see this.”

“No thanks.”

Boy can’t read you know, that school just passed him through, can’t read a sentence, can’t turn a page, doesn’t know what a page is. Hell doesn’t know what a book is. Last month I bought him a book, he never read it.

“Come on son, put it down we need to cut these boards. I need to get these deck boards cut before it rains.” Deaf as a post. Put your gloves and goggles on and go get that plank over there.”

“What’s a plank Dad? Don’t look at me that way. I asked cause I don’t know. You always tell me to ask, don’t you?”

“The planks are the one by sixes, thinner than the other boards, and they are as long as the shed.”

Always ignores me, don’t pay no attention. I showed him everything as a kid, took him places, took him to Washington, told him about this country, took him to a Chicago museum just to show him a dinosaur. I showed that kid how to ski down a mountain when he was seven, and now all he does is look at that damn phone.

“I will set the guide fence on the saw, but you need to keep an eye on the plank as we guide it through.”

“I don’t like this saw, it’s noisy and I’m kinda scared of it. Can’t you get someone else to help.”

“No, I got you. Afraid you might learn something, huh. Just keep your eyes on the board, it needs to go straight and not bind the blade or she’ll kick back. Now, son look at me, are you ready?”

“Whatever… all-knowing father. Wisest man on the planet!”

Smart ass ain’t he. Got that from me. Only way I’d know he’s my kid. Ain’t got a lick a sense. Start this saw up, and then I don’t need to listen to his disrespectful mouth.

I motion to him to keep the board near the fence, he is shaking a little. Or maybe it’s that damn phone vibrating. I keep pushing at a nice steady speed, watching the fence, watching the board. Darn it! There’s a knot in the board. I should have looked at it. Gonna pop out, kid didn’t put his goggles on. I motion to him about his goggles and point to the knot. “Your goggles not the phone cover your eyes.” I keep putting one hand up to show him. Does he think I’m gonna call him while I’m pushin this board through. Here comes the knot, and there goes the knot, right up to his forehead. He’s not bleeding, gonna be fine.

“I’m done dad. I’m not helping no more. I going to Kaitlyn’s house.”

“Son, I need you here.”

“I’m not staying here cutting these stupid boards and doing whatever you want. I’m nineteen and I got a life. I’m going to Kaitlyn’s.”

“You know son, you got yourself a nice girl. She’s got a good head on her shoulders, and she’s pretty. What are you going do when she’s done school and moves on?”

“Thanks for the slap and the compliment. That’s what I love about you dad— can’t say something nice without saying something bad.”

“I’m not supposed to be your friend, I’m your father.”

 I need that kid and he’s not here. How am I going finish this. I just sit sometimes thinking about my boy. I need my boy. I need my boy. I need him. Stop crying you baby. I need him, God bring him back. Why’d you take him. I wasn’t done teaching him, not even close, had so much more to do and you stole him. Gimmie back my boy. Every time I sit on this deck, I hear those sirens going… I think about him. I hated that phone, I hated it so much I wanted to smash it with my hammer. Hate it Hate it… I can see myself striking it, watching the pieces fly into the air, but it never changes, he’s gone. I wasn’t done coaching you boy. You know I tried, you know it, I tried always every day, I kept trying to show you something, wanted you to be ready, more ready than me. Every father wants that… every dad, always wants their kids to be better than themselves. I kept telling him don’t talk and text on that phone while you’re driving. His mother bought him that phone, I was against it, and now she’s damned for it too. It was just a drive back from the market, he was just going to Kaitlyn’s. She was just going to the market, she be back soon. I hear them now, maybe that’s her car, maybe they’re getting a second chance. Them sirens blaring again, who is it now? This deck was for me and her, she liked a little wine in the evenings and watching the sunset, it was all for her. Now they’re both gone, and it’s just me and little Lisa. How do I tell her, her mom’s never coming back?

Dear god, how do I tell her… that her brother killed her mother?

Copyright © 2015 Artemis J Jones