Tag Archives: the shining

An evening with Stephen King

When it comes to long-term relationships, it’s important to surprise each other every once in a while. If you’ve been together long enough, this can be done as easily as accidentally listening to your partner when they’re talking. Which is how I heard the following last night. 

“If you weren’t so scared of spiders, I’d take you down into the sewers by my mom’s house.” 

An actual sentence uttered by my husband of ten years. I haven’t listened to a damn thing the man’s said in at least three years (the “Hamilton” soundtrack just blaring in my mind every time he opens his mouth), and yet, somehow, this is the one thing that got through. Blame it on the pandemic and our isolation, but so help me, I heard it and I couldn’t unhear it, which meant I was about to get to know my husband better whether I wanted to or not.

“Say what now?” I replied, as the sound of a record scratch reverberated through my head.

“Yeah…have I never told you about when I used to hang out in the sewers?”

“You have not,” I responded, while looking around futilely for anyone else who could corroborate that this was happening. 

“Yeah, you know the drainage ditch across from my parents house? If you follow that down to Farmington Avenue, there are these two concrete tunnels, side by side. You know the kind I mean?”

“I do not. I did not play in the sewer as a child,” I said, unable to hide my smile. “But by all means, continue.”

“Well, one was big enough you could crawl through and after about hundred yards, you came to a room down there. It was a roughly seven square foot concrete room, with a bunch of drainage pipes. My buddies and I, we’d go down there with flashlights and hang out.”

You think you know someone. You think you know all their stories. Only to find out that their childhood was apparently written by Stephen King. 

“What is your life, dude?” I asked after a long pause. 

“Oh, that’s nothing. We once made a hideout out of an abandoned foundation for a house.”

HOO BOY. 

“Hang on,” I said. “I’m going to need another beer.”

I grabbed two. If Stephen King has taught me anything, it’s that stories that begin with children in sewers tend to be long.  

“It was about three feet down, with steps built in and a dirt floor. We made a roof out of broken down tree limbs so it was hidden from view. We’d steal cigarettes from the Circle K and go down there after school,” said the man I formerly knew as my mild-mannered husband. “We had a little radio we’d play. Our one buddy, he had a rough home life, he’d go there when he needed to get away. It was great for about three years and then some high school kids discovered it and kicked us out.”

“Please tell me at some point you guys poked a dead body with a stick.”

“No.”

“Did you pull a gun on the high school punks? Because they tried to steal your dead body?”

“No.”

He let out a long and well earned irritated sigh. 

“But we did build a treehouse one summer,” he added. 

“Of course you did.”

“Well, what was your childhood like?” he asked.

“Normal. Not some combination of ‘IT’ and ‘Stand By Me.’” 

“Like I already said, there was never a dead body. Seriously, what did you do in the summers?”

Oh, because apparently we were getting to know me now. I took another sip of my beer. 

“You know,” I said, “running around feral in the woods and cornfields. Minimal adult supervision.”

“So you were ‘Children of the Corn’?” 

I laughed hard. Which might also have been because I was now on my third beer. 

“I was also prom queen,” I snorted.

We both started laughing. We laughed so hard, in fact, that we woke up our young son. He shuffled out of his room in that terrifying way small children have late at night. 

“‘The Shining!’” we both shouted while pointing at him.

“What are you guys doing?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Nothing,” said his father.

“Redrum,” said his immature mother.  

He very wisely turned around and went back to bed. 

And so, the point of all this is that, one, the world was a Stephen King novel long before 2020. And two, I think I’m going to start listening to my husband more. Especially while we are living through this diet version of “The Stand.” 

Turns out getting to know your family is worth it. They have lives worthy of books. 

 

In These Uncertain Times

Hey, want a fun 2020 drinking game? Take a shot every time you read an article that includes the phrase “in these uncertain times.” I’ll help you get started. 

In these uncertain times (drink!), I am constantly torn between making every effort to stay as healthy as I possibly can and saying screw all of this, the world is on the brink of disaster, let’s burn it down. It, of course, meaning my physical, mental and emotional health. 

Because on one hand, the best thing I can do, the smartest thing, the most logical, to survive and to thrive in these uncertain times (hey-oh!) is to get my body and mind in top shape. Which is why I go for daily runs every morning. It keeps my body strong but more importantly, I can escape my family for a few brief shining moments. 

And then I come back and log onto Facebook for five minutes where I’m immediately like, hey, let’s make this coffee Irish. The world is a madhouse. 

But maybe it won’t always be, I tell myself after throwing my cell phone across the room. So I make a healthy breakfast. This too shall pass, you know?

Yup, it’ll pass right up until the planet dies from global warming, I also tell myself, because sometimes I am just the worst in these uncertain times (bottoms up). Which is when my breakfast magically turns into all the leftover fried chicken from last night. 

No, no, I have to stay positive. If nothing else then for my children’s sake. They’re so young and innocent. The world can still be a beautiful place, right? A beautiful place that everyone wants to go out in and stand way too close to each other, forgoing any kind of protection, so that there is another spike in Covid-19 this fall and they cancel school and I’m still stuck with my kids all day and someone bring me a carton of cigarettes and whatever the hell that drug Molly is. 

Slow down, slow down. The key word here in these uncertain times (you’re welcome) is “uncertain.” No one knows what’s going to happen. We can make educated guesses and we can make smart decisions and we can listen to the scientists. We can keep calm and carry on. “Uncertain” doesn’t necessarily have to mean bad. I was once uncertain about my husband when I first met him. And it turns out he’s an amazing human being whom I love dearly even though he currently looks like Grizzly Adams and I haven’t seen him in three days despite the fact he is working from home because he’s working 14 hour days to help out his company in these uncertain times (hell, take two, I’ll join you). 

At least this is a way to slow down. Smell the roses. Take walks and have picnics with my family. Although all this isolation is clearly having a negative effect on my 3-year-old who is full-on turning into Jack from “The Shining.” All family and no friends makes Mae a dull girl. She’s named a toy knife she got in a kitchen set last Christmas “Stabby” and has started carrying it on her at all times. She’s definitely going to murder us. Or need years of therapy. Or both. 

So, you know what? Carpe diem, baby. Which is a fancy way of saying I’ve never tried cocaine but I think I might like it. And if there ever was a time for a 38-year-old mom to try it, 2020 would be it, yeah? 

Except no. Right? Because the world is not ending. Things are bad, sure, but nothing we can’t bounce back from. Also I don’t even know where to get cocaine. And according to 80’s movies you have to snuff it up your nose and that sounds horrid.

Maybe I’ll just take a depression nap. That lasts for five days. 

Hey, remember back when we were in certain times, you know, when our biggest worry was just nuclear war and vast corruption and rampant racism and sexism? It’s great that those are still there too underneath all the fun new 2020 stuff. 

Sigh. In these uncertain times. 

The point is, none of us know the future. But it does look bleak currently. But throughout history, bleak is when we humans shine the hardest. But you never know. But we are nothing without hope. But we are on the brink of destruction. But I want to see my great grandchildren and have them call me Gam Gam 

So, in these uncertain times, I salute you. All of us. We’ll get through this together. Because there is no other choice. Together or not at all. 

In these uncertain times. In these uncertain times. In these uncertain times. 

Cheers.