I sat in the backseat bleary eyed from the drive yesterday. Occasionally, I would glance at a book Atasi had given me an hour before. I didn’t really feel like reading, but the weight of the book felt comfortable in my hand.
The Pedagogy of the Oppressed by Freire. At one point, I opened the book and began counting how many times the word ‘oppressed’ appeared on a single page… one, two, three, four; flipping to another random page… one, two, four, six oppressed; another random page… five oppresses. This is not the kinda book I wanna to read while going home for Christmas, and my gaze drifted out the car window to the passing mountains for an undisclosed amount of time.
An unfamiliar street sign snapped me to attention. “Hey, Gooch” I called from the back seat. “Where are we?”
“Ummm. I dunno,” he said. I think I woke him from a daydream too.
“Are we still heading south on 29?”
“I’ve just been driving straight,” he reassured me.
Suddenly, a cell phone went off somewhere inside the car, and Mario sitting shotgun answered it on the second ring. “I’m on my way to Atlanta… No, I’m not there yet… I dunno… I’m still in Virginia.”
Christmas Day
Taylor and Kady: the singing, dancing Christmas princesses.
New Years Eve
“What exactly is flare and panache?” I asked Chris as he brought out a box full of Mardi Gras beads and other tacky knick-knacks. “ I don’t think I have either of those.”
Stiles quickly reached into the box and pulled out a black wig with pigtails. He tried it on and walked into the dining room to see himself in a mirror. “You look like Pocahontas!” someone laughed.
I guessed wigs were the way forward this year, so I walked up to the box and grabbed a blonde one. Jason looked at me as I put it on and began trying to the clear the hair from my eyes. “Uhh, dude! You look like the guy from Spinal Tap.” I guess I can dig that; I thought and headed to the front door to leave for the party.
“Come on in!” was the greeting at the basement door of the mayor’s house by an older man. “What’s your name?”
“Me? I’m David St. Hubbins,” I replied.
“Hi, David,” said the older gentleman, who turned out to be the mayor’s father.
Then, almost as if on queue, Chris deadpanned, “The patron saint of quality footwear.”
“Hey! I’m Randy. Nice to meet you,” said a jolly guy in a penguin suit and a top hat. “I’m the mayor. Ya’ll are safe here. The cops in this town work for me.”
“Happy New Year!”
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