I forgot how big.
May. 23rd, 2006 09:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
joodJoe Versus the Volcano was on TV last night, and as Dede and Joe exited the restaurant (you know the one, it has a tropical island with an active volcano painted on the side wall), it struck me that I may have entirely missed what all the signs were leading to. It may not be the sweet, whimsically perverse fable I'd thought it was.
"I'm sorry, I really can't let it rest. But honestly, Boobaroo? Is that really the best you could --"
"Hush." That impish grin is still endearing, despite everything. "Now where was I?"
"Hot," she prompts.
"Right." His eyes twinkle, just a little. "The heat is something incredible," Joe tells her, his consonants softening and his Ls turning thicker. "It's like that first hit of heat when you pull open a door on a four-alarm blaze; wind so hot and hard and heavy it pushes you over or lifts you up."
She nods, gently. He's having a hard time keeping his eyes open.
"Waves of fire, like seawater, roll over the surface of the lava, and we think, 'This is it! This is how it ends!' but before we're even singed, an updraft tosses us away. We're as light as autumn leaves on a breeze, shooting away from certain death, and back up into the sky, hand in hand, tumbling over and over."
She smiles. "But what then, Joe? We don't have wings, so we can't fly away. How do we survive?"
His smile is languid. If he was more alert, she'd think it was smug. "Well, we're on a tiny island, right? So the volcano just huffs us out, like a cork out of a pop gun, and we sail right on out and into the water. We just splash down, safe and sound."
"And we can both swim?" she asks. "I don't remember doing any swimming of my own."
"Sure you can swim. And you know I can. So we swim for a while, and we watch as the volcano spews out rivers of burning hot lava, the Fire God finally demonstrating the full measure of his wrath by sinking Waponi Wu completely."
She casts her head down, and her eyes up, so she is giving him that skeptical look through a curtain of dark hair. "So we're stuck out there in the middle of nowhere, treading water?"
There's an uncharacteristic silence as he pauses to swallow thickly and take a deeper breath. "Na-," he coughs, and tries again. "Nah. With a huge gurgle and churning of seawater, the four large trunks pop out of the water like corks, and bob on the surface, waiting to become a raft once more."
"The trunk raft again?" she asks, hoping to encourage him to try something more creative.
"Sure," he replies, looking at her with that soft expression she loves so much. "And you take special pleasure in telling me off, because I began to lose hope, assuming we were going to drown. You get that adorable little grin and say, 'Seee?'"
She gets that little grin. He sure can be sweetly self-deprecating when backed into a corner.
"And after we reconstruct that raft and drift off toward the glowing Face of God, we decide that no matter where we go," he yawns as his eyes drift shut, "we're gonna take that luggage."
He finally nods off and snores softly. She tidies the edge of the covers where they caress his neck. Flicking the switch on the little lamp so it begins to move and glow, she engages in her now nightly ritual of returning the books from his side of the bed to the night stand one at a time, humming the lamp's tinkly lullaby.
First phrase of melody, Robinson Crusoe.
Second phrase, Romeo and Juliet.
Third phrase, The Odyssey.
She hums the fourth phrase with a tremble as she rises and slips out of the room. Dr. Ellison has come tonight to consult about what she can expect over the next few weeks.
Dede registers the faint drone of "cerebral amyloid angiopathy" and "palliative care", but inside her mind she's a blonde on a raft, promising Joe he'll never go anywhere without those impossible, perfect, waterproof trunks. He's saved her in so many ways - in his stories, in his encouragement to join him in leaving their fluorescent hell - and she owes him.
Some promises are hard to keep, but if Joe's going to have to go through that door alone, away from the things of man, she figures she should make sure he does it in style.
I cannot believe I just did this.
"I'm sorry, I really can't let it rest. But honestly, Boobaroo? Is that really the best you could --"
"Hush." That impish grin is still endearing, despite everything. "Now where was I?"
"Hot," she prompts.
"Right." His eyes twinkle, just a little. "The heat is something incredible," Joe tells her, his consonants softening and his Ls turning thicker. "It's like that first hit of heat when you pull open a door on a four-alarm blaze; wind so hot and hard and heavy it pushes you over or lifts you up."
She nods, gently. He's having a hard time keeping his eyes open.
"Waves of fire, like seawater, roll over the surface of the lava, and we think, 'This is it! This is how it ends!' but before we're even singed, an updraft tosses us away. We're as light as autumn leaves on a breeze, shooting away from certain death, and back up into the sky, hand in hand, tumbling over and over."
She smiles. "But what then, Joe? We don't have wings, so we can't fly away. How do we survive?"
His smile is languid. If he was more alert, she'd think it was smug. "Well, we're on a tiny island, right? So the volcano just huffs us out, like a cork out of a pop gun, and we sail right on out and into the water. We just splash down, safe and sound."
"And we can both swim?" she asks. "I don't remember doing any swimming of my own."
"Sure you can swim. And you know I can. So we swim for a while, and we watch as the volcano spews out rivers of burning hot lava, the Fire God finally demonstrating the full measure of his wrath by sinking Waponi Wu completely."
She casts her head down, and her eyes up, so she is giving him that skeptical look through a curtain of dark hair. "So we're stuck out there in the middle of nowhere, treading water?"
There's an uncharacteristic silence as he pauses to swallow thickly and take a deeper breath. "Na-," he coughs, and tries again. "Nah. With a huge gurgle and churning of seawater, the four large trunks pop out of the water like corks, and bob on the surface, waiting to become a raft once more."
"The trunk raft again?" she asks, hoping to encourage him to try something more creative.
"Sure," he replies, looking at her with that soft expression she loves so much. "And you take special pleasure in telling me off, because I began to lose hope, assuming we were going to drown. You get that adorable little grin and say, 'Seee?'"
She gets that little grin. He sure can be sweetly self-deprecating when backed into a corner.
"And after we reconstruct that raft and drift off toward the glowing Face of God, we decide that no matter where we go," he yawns as his eyes drift shut, "we're gonna take that luggage."
He finally nods off and snores softly. She tidies the edge of the covers where they caress his neck. Flicking the switch on the little lamp so it begins to move and glow, she engages in her now nightly ritual of returning the books from his side of the bed to the night stand one at a time, humming the lamp's tinkly lullaby.
First phrase of melody, Robinson Crusoe.
Second phrase, Romeo and Juliet.
Third phrase, The Odyssey.
She hums the fourth phrase with a tremble as she rises and slips out of the room. Dr. Ellison has come tonight to consult about what she can expect over the next few weeks.
Dede registers the faint drone of "cerebral amyloid angiopathy" and "palliative care", but inside her mind she's a blonde on a raft, promising Joe he'll never go anywhere without those impossible, perfect, waterproof trunks. He's saved her in so many ways - in his stories, in his encouragement to join him in leaving their fluorescent hell - and she owes him.
Some promises are hard to keep, but if Joe's going to have to go through that door alone, away from the things of man, she figures she should make sure he does it in style.
I cannot believe I just did this.
