Thursday - The Smoke Detector
Feb. 9th, 2006 12:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermoreToday on my drive into work, I was still thinking about Amanda and how it shouldn't have surprised me to see her yesterday. She was exactly the kind of girl who would bum a cigarette off the Angel of Death and think nothing of it. I like to think that when she asked him, even though he doesn't smoke her brand, that he a had Marlboro in his pocket just for her. In his own right he can be generous, despite what most people think of him.
I often think of the last conversation that I had with Amanda, about a month before the fire. I wish I could say that it was deep and meaningful, but it wasn't. I was waiting for my friend, Patty, who also lived in the house, while she got ready so that we could go to a party. Amanda was staying home that night and watching Patty's kids. I was 7 months pregnant, and did not want to go to the party. I could barely tolerate Patty's drunk friends when I was drunk myself, and spending an evening with them when I had to stay sober was not my idea of a good time.
Amanda was watching TV with the two children. The set was tuned to Aqua Teen Hunger Force on Cartoon Network. She was curled up in her landlady's recliner with the remote control in her hand.
Since the fire, I have often thought about that remote control. There was a smoke detector in the house, just a few feet from where she sat that night, but the fire department reported after its investigation that it had no batteries in it. The old woman who owned the house did not like to be alone and it had a steady stream of young people who came through it, some to live and some to visit. I wonder if at some point that remote control or somebody's hand-held game device needed batteries, and if they didn't raid the smoke detector for them.
I stood next to Amanda and watched the TV for a bit, and then felt the need to say something since we were in the same room for the duration of Patty's getting dressed and it seemed rude not to speak.
"This is a very weird cartoon," I said.
"Yeah it is," Amanda said.
"I like it though."
"Yeah, me too."
And that was it. If I had an inkling that I would never see her again, I might have said more. I might have asked what her plans for the future were whether she ever been in love or did she ever want to get married or maybe have a family. I might have asked what her favorite color was or what her favorite song was, since these are interesting things to know about a person. I might have asked her when was the last time she had heard from her older sister, who had also once lived in this same house and often watched Patty's kids. I might even have told her a joke so that the last thing I would remember about her would be her laughing.
Then again, if I had an inkling, I would have suggested that she take the batteries out of the remote in her hand and put them in the smoke detector.
Patty finally came into the room and said she was ready and it was time to go.
"See you later," I told Amanda as we walked out the door.
"Later," she said, "bye."
I often think of the last conversation that I had with Amanda, about a month before the fire. I wish I could say that it was deep and meaningful, but it wasn't. I was waiting for my friend, Patty, who also lived in the house, while she got ready so that we could go to a party. Amanda was staying home that night and watching Patty's kids. I was 7 months pregnant, and did not want to go to the party. I could barely tolerate Patty's drunk friends when I was drunk myself, and spending an evening with them when I had to stay sober was not my idea of a good time.
Amanda was watching TV with the two children. The set was tuned to Aqua Teen Hunger Force on Cartoon Network. She was curled up in her landlady's recliner with the remote control in her hand.
Since the fire, I have often thought about that remote control. There was a smoke detector in the house, just a few feet from where she sat that night, but the fire department reported after its investigation that it had no batteries in it. The old woman who owned the house did not like to be alone and it had a steady stream of young people who came through it, some to live and some to visit. I wonder if at some point that remote control or somebody's hand-held game device needed batteries, and if they didn't raid the smoke detector for them.
I stood next to Amanda and watched the TV for a bit, and then felt the need to say something since we were in the same room for the duration of Patty's getting dressed and it seemed rude not to speak.
"This is a very weird cartoon," I said.
"Yeah it is," Amanda said.
"I like it though."
"Yeah, me too."
And that was it. If I had an inkling that I would never see her again, I might have said more. I might have asked what her plans for the future were whether she ever been in love or did she ever want to get married or maybe have a family. I might have asked what her favorite color was or what her favorite song was, since these are interesting things to know about a person. I might have asked her when was the last time she had heard from her older sister, who had also once lived in this same house and often watched Patty's kids. I might even have told her a joke so that the last thing I would remember about her would be her laughing.
Then again, if I had an inkling, I would have suggested that she take the batteries out of the remote in her hand and put them in the smoke detector.
Patty finally came into the room and said she was ready and it was time to go.
"See you later," I told Amanda as we walked out the door.
"Later," she said, "bye."
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no subject
Date: 2006-02-09 07:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-09 07:32 pm (UTC)Sometimes on my drive to work, I pass by the Angel of Death (aka, the Grim Reaper), who appears to me as a carney who operates an enormous ferris wheel that represents life. When he stops the ride to let someone off, that's it for them. It's a giant visual metaphor that he created for my benefit.
"The Carney" and "Ferris Wheel" are always capitalized in these posts, to indicate that they are not just any ordinary carney or an ordinary ferris wheel.
The Carney does not appear in this journal every day or even every week, just when he and I have an encounter that I care to relate.
I'm not saying that he's real but I'm not saying that he's not, either. I can see him as clear as day, but I don't think anyone else who drives by this stretch of road does. ;)
no subject
Date: 2006-02-09 08:33 pm (UTC)I was fucked up in the head for a little while after reading it. I'm starting to get it.
no subject
Date: 2006-02-09 08:20 pm (UTC)(Oh, yeah, read this link first to put things into context, heh)
At least your last words with Amanda concerned a common ground that you shared. I like that show, too.
no subject
Date: 2006-02-09 08:52 pm (UTC)My mother lived with cancer (lymphoma) for two years before we lost her when I was 15. I could fill a book with conversations I would like to have with her, with the questions I never got to ask her. Most of those questions, I hadn't even thought of yet at that point in my life.
I'm sorry you lost your father so soon in your life. I'm glad that he was wonderful and that he gave you elephants and gorillas to remember him by. :)
Now that you mention it...
Date: 2006-02-09 10:01 pm (UTC)Re: Now that you mention it...
Date: 2006-02-09 10:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-10 07:15 am (UTC)The image of the batteries.. such power.
I was totally involved in this reading experience.
no subject
Date: 2006-02-10 03:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-10 08:19 pm (UTC)I guess its rude to add a person and not tell them...
So.. I added you.. let me know if you'd rather I had not
BTW... i found your journal just lurking around
no subject
Date: 2006-02-10 09:42 pm (UTC)