TINY TUESDAY (m)

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Registered: 03-25-2003
TINY TUESDAY (m)
24
Tue, 01-15-2002 - 11:44am

TINY TUESDAY (m)


In honor of the birthday of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., this week let’s write a scene or short story where one of more of your characters is inspired or influenced by his words.

Happy writing,

Mac

PS…if you need a jump starter, here’s the link The King Center website http://www.thekingcenter.com/

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Visitor (not verified)
anonymous user
Tue, 01-15-2002 - 2:21pm

Mine...


Lucy considers her tiles and those on the board before she lays her tiles over the pink square. “D-R-E-A-M,” she mutters.

“Doublewordscore, doublewordscore,” Norbert blurts out. He nods in the puke-green vinyl armchair, his helmet shakes forwards and back. The eye he keeps partly open watches the Scrabble game underway on the folding card table.

“Pinksquare, pinksquare.”

“Shaddup!” Lucy retorts, not looking up. “I’m trying to count my score.”

“Pinksquare, doublewordscore, pinksquare, doublewordscore,” Norbert insists.

“Shaddup!” Lucy scowls at the vinyl armchair, careful to avoid Norbert’s good eye. “2 and 1 and 1 and 1 and 3, so that’s 8. And a double-word score makes it 16.”

“What’s your word? I can’t see your word,” barks Nell, pushing Lucy’s hands away and squinting at the tiles. “Where’s my glasses? Have you seen my glasses?”

Nell thrashes in her seat and jams her gnarled hands into both of her tattered shirt pockets. Her grunts turn frantic, and Lucy snickers. A pair of battered spectacles lies askew at her feet.

“Spell out your word for me!” barks Nell, now standing and slapping her limbs like a dying fish.

“DREAM, Nell, D-R-E-A-M,” Lucy practices her melodramatic sighs. “You know, like Martin Luther King.”

“IhaveadreamIhaveadreamIhaveadreamIhaveadream,” mutters Norbert. His helmet shifts too far forward for him to view the game; he shrieks in high-E staccato. An orderly swoops in and walks Norbert back to his room.

“Who?”

“Martin Luther King, Nell,” Lucy supplies. “Here, I found yer stupid glasses.”

Nell gropes at Lucy in a myopic haze. When her fingers clasp the plastic rims, Nell bounds over the duct-taped ottoman and races to the window.

“Was he the one on the TV, Luce? Huh? Was he?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s act it out, kay, Luce?” Nell brushes the wooden tiles off the card table and holds the scrabble board over her head. “The March on Washington. Let’s act it out.”

“Okay,” grins Lucy, climbing onto the seat of the orange vinyl visitor’s chair. “Ready?”

Nell nods.

Lucy extends her arms to embrace the room and clears her throat.

“I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream…”

“Go on, Luce, go on,” Nell urges.

“…I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed…”

“Uh-huh, Uh-huh,” chortles Nell. Clatter from the dining room pours into the hallway, and heavy footsteps head their way.

“…We hold these truths to be self-evident…”

Luke’s deep male voice joins Lucy’s: “…that all men are created equal…” Lucy’s bravado shrinks when she notices Luke.

Luke continues, “I have a dream that one day the residents will appear at the mess hall without being personally invited. Let’s go, girls.”

Nell punches his beefy shoulder. Lucy climbs off the chair and links elbows with Nell, then Luke. They turn towards the dining room and continue in unison: “I have a dream today.”

iVillage Member
Registered: 03-25-2003
Tue, 01-15-2002 - 8:22pm

My TT: One November Day (m)


Sometimes I remember the day my Daddy died like it was yesterday. I was five-years-old and not quite tall enough to see over the dashboard of Daddy’s dinged-up blue Ford pickup truck. So I climbed up on my knees in time to see Daddy enter the ABC Beverage, and then I slid into the driver’s seat. Pretending to drive, I turned the large steering wheel to the left but was distracted (just for a moment) by the sight of a man coming around the side of the building. Even at that early age, I wondered why he was wearing his ski mask when it wasn’t even cold enough for Mama to make me wear a coat.

I returned my attention to the steering wheel again, moments later I heard the gunfire. Four shots were all it took to kill my Daddy and the liquor store clerk who’d refused to give the man all the money in cash register: forty-eight dollars.

After Daddy was buried, Mama piled everything we owned in the bed of the truck and we headed out I-20; we had no place to go but to the small town in Texas where Mama was from.

About an hour outside of Atlanta, we’d stopped to get a bite to eat and Mama noticed a flyer in the café window announcing Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. would be speaking at the Dexter Avenue Baptist Church. As I stuffed my face with a cheeseburger, fries and chocolate shake, she studied the map and sipped her black coffee. A ring smoke had circled her head like a halo.

The next morning, I watched as Mama checked her hair in the rearview mirror before she looked over at me and said, “honey, this man you’re about to hear is very important. I want you to pay attention to what he says. Will you do that?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I’d answered.

As I listened to what I later learned was his “Loving Your Enemies” sermon, I noticed how men and women--of all ages and colors of skin--shook their heads up and down and mumbled Amen and Hallelujah. I heard what that man said; his words covered my skin like a fresh layer of freckles, always there and near the surface.

I had no way of knowing that one day in the future I’d cry for him when--just like my Daddy--he was gunned down at the hand of a stranger, an enemy. I was seventeen and full of hate and bitterness and once again wanted to strike out at my enemies but his words came to me. I could’ve let the cancer gnaw away at me--like he’d said that November day in 1957--but I decided not to and for that I was transformed.

iVillage Member
Registered: 03-25-2003
Tue, 01-15-2002 - 9:31pm

Good one, eyewrite (m)


I liked this, especially the way you weave the speech into your story.

I was wondering what kind of ward/hospital they’re in. Knowing this wouldn’t add/distract from the story, I’m just curious.

Your characters were neat. Norbert’s “IhaveadreamIhaveadreamIhaveadreamIhaveadream” and the fact he wears a helmet said a lot about him, and Nell’s fascination with Lucy’s rendition of MLK’s I Have a Dream speech did the same.

Thanks for your TT,

Mac

iVillage Member
Registered: 03-19-2003
Wed, 01-16-2002 - 12:43am

Lovely eyewrite,(m)


I used to work with mentally retarded adults, and your story reminded me of some of them. You wove in the characterizations so deftly. I just really loved this.

Linda

cl-ozarker

"We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master." - Ernest Heminway

iVillage Member
Registered: 03-19-2003
Wed, 01-16-2002 - 12:51am

Nice work mac.(m)


This was very moving. I like the way you captured the little girl's memories of her dad's death, then likened it to Martin Luther King's death. Would that we could all learn the lesson she did.

Linda

cl-ozarker

"We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master." - Ernest Heminway

Visitor (not verified)
anonymous user
Wed, 01-16-2002 - 1:09am

Nice tone here, Mac,...


I like the feeling in your piece. You convey great respect for MLK. I liked the real feeling, of Mama and Daddy and the beat up truck. That poor child losing daddy in the accident. Snff.

Lovely read, Mac, thanks for posting, Eyewrite

Visitor (not verified)
anonymous user
Wed, 01-16-2002 - 1:18am

Thanks, Mac and Linda...


Mac, it was a psychiatric institution/ward. There's something about the quirky nature of those in institutions that appeals to me. I've met some interesting characters, and I work them into some stories.

I had fun with this piece, though it could be considered a bit irreverant to MLK.

Thanks for reading!

Eyewrite

iVillage Member
Registered: 09-24-2003
Wed, 01-16-2002 - 1:33am

The Winds of Change


“Junior, you’d better get away from those white folk’s Cadillac. Now, son!”

Dad’s a cook at the Silver Grill Café in Haddock, Georgia, about forty-nine miles east of Macon. I’m fourteen, and I wash dishes after school at the Café to help my parents make ends meet. I’ve got two younger sisters, and a brother. Money’s tight, always been tight. Dad and I are out back trying to cool off a spell, and there’s a brand new 1956 Caddy parked in the parking lot. Sitting on two vegetables crates stacked on top of one another, dad finds a clean corner on his greased and red stained apron to wipe his brow. The mid-summer sun is baking that black shinny caddy. It’s too hot to touch.

“But daddy just look at that new style, it’s so purr-tee. I’d love to see what that engine looks like under the hood.”

“Junior, did you hear me? I said get!”

“One of these days, I’m goin’ to get me one of those.”

“Are you nuts son? You ain’t never goin’ to get one of those. You black folk, and you’d be lucky to ever own a car in your lifetime.”

“Mrs. Marcus says that the winds are about to change direction, and this preacher out of Alabama named Dr. King, Dr. Martin Luther King is going to be leading that change. He’s already talkin’ ‘bout what he sees as our pilgrimage to freedom. Mrs. Marcus says for us to keep our eye on him, listen closely, and be ready.”

“I think I’ll have your mama talk to the school about your teacher and her puttin’ foolish idea’s into your head.”

“Mrs. Marcus knows daddy, she’s been following Dr. King for sometime. She told us to pay attention in school, work hard, and one day we’re going to have opportunities to go where we want, be what we want to be, and live the American dream just like everyone else. So we got to get ready.”

“Pisssh-off, get back to the sink, your dishes are piling up.”

I step back into the steaming hot kitchen, turn on the facet sprayer, and begin rinsing the leftover food off the plates. This is one rotten job, and somethin’ is for certain, I ain’t doin’ this for the rest of my life. I will own one of those caddy’s one day cause I’m goin' to be on the lookout for Dr. King, and I will listen to his words, and I will live that pilgrimage to freedom.

The end.

iVillage Member
Registered: 09-24-2003
Wed, 01-16-2002 - 1:36am

Interesting characters with a wonderful sense of warmth...good job! (n/t)


iVillage Member
Registered: 09-24-2003
Wed, 01-16-2002 - 1:50am

Hey Mac, I liked the parallel of the story, and the voice. Thanks. kat (n/t)


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