THE DICTATOR

Oh, no! That last page is blurry.Why doesn’t my printer warn me earlier that the ink cartridge is almost down to the last drop? ‘Bess, do me a favor, just slip on a pair of jeans, a shirt that isn’t too tattered, a sweater and old shoes. I’m out of ink again. Get me a black HP 240 right away. This story has to be at the editor’s by noon. Money’s on my night stand. Hurry!’ ‘Dad, for god’s sake why don’t you let me get a few cartridges instead of one every other day or two? You’re a pest. I’m doing my yoga exercises. I’ll be done in ½ hour.’ ‘ You can sit like a lotus flower when you get back. I need the ink NOW!’ The front door slams.’

A nice cup of warm cocoa with a sweet roll is what I need to relax, think, think. A new story? A new story? I’m blank. ‘Hi, Frank. I’ll send the hard copy of Chapter 2 right after Bess comes back with a new cartridge for me. I swear HP is putting less ink inside and charging more every time I run out. My daughter will have it in your hands before noon. I promise.’

‘Here’s your stinkin’ ink, Daddy. The next time you do this to me you had better have some bucks handy, or you will be going to Office Depot yourself.’ ‘What’s with you, Bess? I do plenty for you that you don’t even notice. Go do your yoga and by the time you are finished my printing will be done and you can take it to Frank’s. He expects you by12.’

The house is deathly quiet. I love it. My new chapter for ‘Road House’ will have to be read, re-read. The house erupts with noises. ‘Danny, turn that t.v. lower. How can I think with Sky Walker yelling gibberish? In fact, turn it off! Go to Pearsons’ for me. I used my last good blade this morning. Get me a dozen extra sharp- Atra. You know what kind I like. I think you have been sneaking one now and then. Ask Mom if she needs anything special while you’re there. She’s ironing.’ ‘Dad, can’t you wait? I’ve got my own things to do. Charlie and I are going to the driving range, hit a few buckets of practice balls.’ ‘No, I can’t wait. Get what I want first, then do what you want to do, or you won’t have my car to do it.’ My car purrs and Danny is gone. The house is quiet again.

My mind catches fire. ‘The Road House’ catches fire too. Chapter 3 starts to materialize. Hold on–smell the smoke, see the tiny flames burst into giants and shatter the windows. Feel the heat. Hear the engines. Write it down! Fingers fly over Word Perfect. Chapter 3 is done, 4 is maybe ½ done, maybe close to an ending. Think, think.

‘Maggie, get dinner going but make less noise, please. I’m doing a re-write and need to concentrate, do a little more research. Bring me a cold drink, please. The fridge opens, ice cubes dropping in my glass sound like the Titanic hitting the iceberg. Water trickles in. As I reach for the glass, the cold water is plunked over my head. What drops from it, falls on my papers, my story. What happened? Why did you do that, Maggie?’

‘Cause I’m tired of you ordering me around. Next time you want something, Honey, get it yourself. I’ve got other things to do besides kissing your rump.’ I don’t believe what she did to me, wipe off my papers as best I can and start my re-write over.

‘OK, Honey, that’s the way you want to play, go ahead ask me to do you a favor.’ Maggie asks me to take out the garbage and I give her the finger and the raspberries so hard, I spit in my own face.

That darn woman laughs at me and I don’t care. I still love her.