We Have Always Lived In A Palace (apologies to Shirley Jackson)

Entry One.

It’s been a long journey, and after the long march we were weary, but we have finally begun to create the new palace. Because there are so many of us, we project the building to be completed in seven days. (That may be a little optimistic, but we'll see.) We're all still a bit depressed that the gods allowed the Great Natural Flood to ruin our old palace, but I'm trying to find the silver lining. So far no luck. One thing is certain though, we’ll sleep well tonight. 

Entry Two. 

The work continues to progress. I met a new guy, Shala, and he has some interesting (translation: crazy) conspiracy theories. He believes in alien life, and even thinks that we’re not alone on this planet. Rubbish! I’ve lived long enough to know a nutter when I hear one. 

Entry Three.

Shala is starting a meet up. Some of the younger guys find him fascinating and try to get work shifts in his section so they can listen to his rants. I kind of thought he was cool too at first but his tone has changed somewhat. Now he’s such a Debbie Downer. The end of the world, natural disasters, we’re all going to die, blah, blah, blah. He’s so obsessed with these imagined scenarios that he barely does his share. 

Entry Four.

Jeez! Shala continues to do little but wax poetic about dumb shit. I’ve spoken to the foreman about it but he seems immune to nonsensical spouting and refuses to take action. Whatever. It’s starting to get hot, too. We need to get this palace built, and fast. I hope I get my own room so I don’t have to listen to Shala anymore.

Entry Five.

One of the scouts discovered an amazing food source. It was just laid out for us like a picnic. We rushed the site and took all that we could carry, although once we were discovered several of our party were murdered in cold blood. (Shala was not among them.) The rest of us managed to get away with a good deal of supplies, and we’ll return under cover of darkness to retrieve our fallen comrades, and perhaps steal more. The only thing keeping our spirits up is that we finally sleep under a solid roof tonight and we have tons of food for our upcoming Summer Banquet. 

Entry Six.

The palace is nearly complete now and it’s GORGEOUS! I’m not sure why we chose brown again, but the slope of the walls is breathtaking. Much nicer than the old digs. There are those who preferred the old pre-flood palace but I think this one is so much better. Updated, modern. Clean lines. I don’t think I get my own room, though. :( 

Entry Seven.

Everyone seems to have gone off Shala, including the younger guys who thought he was so cool. I kind of feel sorry for him. He just works alone most shifts, but still spouts his theories to any hapless listener. BUT the palace is finally done! We finished right on schedule.

Entry Eight.

Today, just as we were putting the finishing touches on the celebratory banquet table, Shala rushed in, breathless, claiming he saw an alien. He screamed that it was heading towards us, but everyone ignored him. He’s always hearing things. I started carrying out some trash and to my dismay noticed two flat long red and gray spaceships bouncing off the ground one at a time, moving directly towards the palace. Shala was right! I sounded the alarm and we all rushed for cover. From our hiding places we watched in horror as one spaceship landed directly on the roof, decimating the beautiful lines, the sloping eaves, the banquet hall. The second spaceship landed next, crushing whatever was still standing. Heartbroken, I dug deeper into the foliage. Someone was wailing nearby and I sidled up to him, glad for the company, but to my annoyance, it was Shala. We cowered together, wondering what had happened to everyone else. I heard a loud rumbling sound coming from the spaceships, and a higher pitched one after that. For a moment it actually sounded like they were conversing. Shit, I thought. We’re going to have to move again.

Loud Rumbling Sound: Ma! There’s an anthill here! I’m stomping it.

Higher Pitched Sound: James Christopher Anthony Muriel Hopkins! You get away from that dirty anthill. I just bought you those sneakers and I will not have them ruined. 

MIRIAM AND HARRIET REDECORATE (a micro play in one act)

Setting: An I Dream Of Jeannie style living space. The room is beautifully furnished in a moroccan style. Velvety couches and throw pillows for miles. Patterned walls and soft lighting. French music is softly playing. Harriet is draped listlessly across a purple couch. Miriam enters.

MIRIAM

Whatever is the matter, dear?

HARRIET

(Moodily) Oh, you know, ever since she got into her early forties it’s felt like there’s just nothing left to do. She’s reached her full height, her BMI is at a workable 20.5, and her hair is lustrous and full. 

MIRIAM 

We did a great job with her, didn’t we? 

HARRIET

Yes, but it seems as though we’re not needed anymore! I’m young! I’m creative. I’m full of brilliant ideas and have no way to execute them. To quote Toni Morrison, I’m an artist without a medium. Nothing to do but eat ice cream and get fat.

MIRIAM

Come now. Surely we can think of better things to do. She’s beautiful, it’s true, but that doesn’t mean she’s finished.

HARRIET

What do you mean?

MIRIAM

Well, now that the structural engineering is done, the fun starts! We can start thinking outside of the box.

HARRIET

You mean like … redecorating?

[Miriam pulls out a giant cardboard box from behind the couch.] 

MIRIAM

I’ve been collecting these over the years. Christmas is right around the corner, what say we put some of these decorations up?

HARRIET

(Claps her hands joyfully and starts digging in the container). Oh, an anomaly! Where shall we put this? I was just in the eastern hemisphere and noticed a little bare patch; that might work. 

MIRIAM

This little tusk will go nicely at the heel. There’s so much wear and tear in the area perhaps it will shore things up a bit.

[They work busily, pulling out various treasures, exclaiming over them, then running from the room to place each item.]

HARRIET

I think a little more shrubbery on the philtrum? Where can I get some?

MIRIAM

Try the upper ocular ridge; there’s plenty there. In fact take it all.

HARRIET

There’s a small tangle in the left vestibular that needed sprucing up, so I hung tinsel and draped the ends out the window. This extra areola looked smashing on the right wall, but this teratoma is just a little too plain, don’t you think? 

MIRIAM

Well, we could festoon it with a sprinkle of hair and a chipped tooth. That’s what my grandmother always did and it was hugely popular; in fact, many of her creations became part of traveling exhibits—did I ever tell you that?

HARRIET

Only thirty-seven times. [Turns the box upside down.] Hey, that’s everything. [Both stand with hands on hips and survey their handiwork.] Now THAT’S what I call beautifully decorated. Wait till she wakes up. She’s going to be thrilled!

[Camera zooms outward, out, out, out, to reveal a stretching, yawning forty-something woman. She crawls out of bed and screams when she discovers a tooth sprouting from her heel, she has a fine new mustache, there is now a third nipple on her hip and her eyebrows are gone.]

END

Reversal of Fortune

A few years ago I booked a summertime party with my trio, at a swanky beautiful Park Hill Home. The backyard was a modern concrete multileveled wonder, with a long thin swimming pool, carefully covered with a tarp to discourage cannonballs. 

After telling the client that no, we could not haul our gear up to the balcony level using the ornate metal staircase, and no, we would not set up on a raft in the pool, we settled on a location near the patio door, tucked into the corner of the brick porch. Naturally, it being summer, I wore giant platform sandals and my entire focus whenever we broke was NOT FALLING DOWN. I teetered into the bathroom on break, but I Did Not Fall Down. We were offered party food (sushi), and I did not gallop to the table, which have inevitably meant falling sideways, then Down. I didn’t trip on the nest of cables surrounding the stage. I didn’t turn an ankle as I smiled and extended a hand to a guest. Not one bandmate sprayed food while talking. The music didn’t suck. We got compliments. We ran out of business cards. It was a great night, and I Didn’t Fall Down.

At the end of the evening I switched to my load out dress (in the car, because the bathroom was occupied) and realized I’d neglected to bring a pair of flats, so I had to break down the Bose tower and load the keyboard, stands, and bench in my giant shoes. I took fewer pieces and made more trips, and I Didn’t F. D. After the car was packed I returned to the courtyard, thanked the client like a grown up, joked a little with some guests, and paid the band. I even drove my stick shift home wearing those beasts. 

Still marveling in the afterglow of that perfect night, I clomped into the house and kicked off my heels, then caught sight of myself in the full length mirror. The shimmer of well being, the rosy glow of a job well done, and pride at impersonating a real live grown up all simultaneously cracked heads and shattered like poorly formed ice under a Zamboni. I looked behind me in the mirror to be sure, but yes it was true. My dress was inside out.