15. The Funniest Thing – Kiese Laymon
I often use the comic as a way into memories I'd rather forget.
I often use the comic as a way into memories I'd rather forget. For example, last year I did a public conversation with Jesmyn Ward in New Orleans—and everyone who knows me knows I believe she’s the world’s most influential living writer. The event was amazing, and afterward one of the organizers gave me a ride back to the hotel. As I got out of her car, a gust of wind blew my hat off my head.
It’s 9:30 on a Friday night and I'm in the middle of Canal Street with my hat on the ground. This might not seem like a big deal, but I have two arthritic hips that are bone-on-bone, and if I bend down to get that hat, there might be no getting up. But I don’t want to be that guy in front of the events’ organizer and all the folks on the street. Sigh. I bend down, I fall. From my knees, I put the hat back on my head. I try to get up again. The hat flies off once more.
I fall again, busting my knee. Some beautiful Black boys walk by me. One says, "That dude drunk as hell,” and they laugh. (I do not drink.) So there I am, bloody-kneed, still two feet from my hat. I see two police officers across the street, heading my way. I don't want to have to answer their questions. I don't want to need their help to get up. So leaving my hat in the street, I crawl to the curb and pull myself up. I limp back over to my hat and start kicking it out of the street, over the curb, toward the entrance of the hotel. There, I lean on a column, put my grimy hat on my head and shuffle up to my room.
I was too embarrassed to tell this story out loud until I considered it from the hat's point of view. To that hat, it must have seemed absurd, even slapstick. I could hear the hat’s laughter, and that ushered me back into the moment, the memory, the scene.
– Kiese Laymon
Prompt:
What’s the funniest thing that happened to you last year? Write a paragraph from the point of view of an inanimate object that bore witness to it. Could be your hat. Could be your wedding ring, a streetlamp or the plant in the corner of the bar. Use as much sensory/sensual language as possible to describe the memory from that object’s perspective.
Alejandra Redondo
Location: Mexico City
About: I'm an actress, this prompt was inspired by an audition I went to, during a very difficult time. It's the camera's point of view.
Age: 30
Mmm... Ya abrieron la puerta, viene una más, veremos cómo es. Ok, jeans, no es raro. Predecible, ¿estoy mal puesta o le tiemblan las piernas?
Déjame sentir... Estoy fija, es ella. Estoy acostumbrada a ver toda clase de nervios por aquí, pero en ella hay algo sereno, no pareciera la clase de mujer a la que le tiemblan las piernas antes de pararse frente a mí. El peloncito con el que llevo compartiendo todo el día, muestra cierta clase de simpatía, es que es agradable... Delgada, alta, atractiva y sorprendentemente, oscuramente agradable. Bueno, me van a colocar, voy a empezar a grabar y podré acercarme a sus ojos. Ella parece haber entendido muy bien la explicación. Va su presentación, ¡qué color tan curioso! ¿Azul, verde, gris? No me podría decidir, aunque... Azul. Ahí está, cuánta tristeza. La está tratando de tapar con toda la serenidad que le es posible, pero hay algo grande en el azul profundo, podría jurar que es por eso y no por la audición que le tiemblan las piernas. Lo maquilla con una sonrisa, tiene esta boca delineada naturalmente hacia arriba que la hace sonreír, incluso en contra de su voluntad.
Y va su escena... Es buena... Contenida... No me sorprende eso, pero a la vez no es predecible, aborda desde otro lugar, su pelo se mueve con naturalidad. Paran. Comunica más seriedad de lo que él quisiera en la escena. Le piden otra toma, ésta es la prueba, si logras seguir las direcciones (peloncito le dio varias) después de tu propuesta, significa que sabes actuar. Y lo hace, no entiendo cómo entonces las piernas no le dejan de temblar. Para. Peloncito le pregunta que de dónde es. Mexicana, responde. Sí, pero de dónde. Toluca. Raro escuchar eso por acá. Peloncito le dice que le notó un ligero acento español al entrar, se le ilumina la cara como no lo había hecho antes, “Mi papá era de España”. Ahh... la pérdida, la sombra constante, pero no, no es ésa, ésa se siente añeja, algo le pasó recientemente, no logro saber qué. Él le dice que claro, que es la sangre, y ella finalmente sale. Me intriga mucho más que todos los que han pasado por aquí, pero no da perfil, demasiado profunda para el superficial personaje.
Ann Kim
Location: San Francisco, CA
About: I am a debut author. The inspiration for these journal entries was the loneliness of life and the small comforts of home.
Age: 55
Bad Connection
Hi Ann, it’s me, Ivanka. Can you hear me? The connection’s really bad.
I’m alone down here at the bottom of the Trader Joe’s bag. The bag that has Goodwill written on it in black Sharpie. What’s Goodwill, by the way?
The air smells strange. Like dirty laundry and car exhaust and wood shavings. I liked it better when I sat on your closet shelf between those cute Kate Spade kitten heels and soft suede Tod’s loafers. The scent of French lilac shelf liner and Bounce fabric softener always made me feel safe and snug.
It’s been almost a year since you took me off that shelf and put me into this bag. I’m not sure why. Did I do something wrong? If so, I’m really sorry.
We had so many fun times together, remember? That charity gala with Tyler Florence and the Slanted Door guy. You looked elegant in that Calvin Klein pale gray dress and matching bolero jacket. Or that women’s leadership conference where Michelle Obama spoke. You were classic in that Nanette Lepore navy boucle dress and pink pashmina. Or that college reunion where you were nervous about seeing your ex-boyfriend. You looked timeless in that vintage black silk sheath and strand of Mikimoto pearls.
Everyone always complimented you on how I provided a “pop of color.” That’s what you first noticed about me, remember? The bright magenta leather and shiny gold accents. Not to mention the stiletto heels. So different from the boring black pumps you used to favor before me.
Wherever we went together, people would say, “I love your boots!” I thought you loved me too. No, I know you loved me. We used to be BFFs – best footwear friends. But then something happened. Something changed. I just don’t know what.
I remember you were always a little embarrassed talking about me. I’d hear you tell people, “They’re actually by Ivanka Trump, can you believe it?” I figure you didn’t want to brag or make people feel bad about their ordinary shoes. I get it.
There was that one time when your boss asked about me, and you acted all weird and said, “Oh, I don’t know. I got them such a long time ago. They’re probably Nine West or something.”
Nine West? Seriously? Were you talking about me?
Now that I think about it, that was the last time I remember sitting on the shelf in your closet. Between my old pals Kate and Tod. The next day, I met Trader Joe.
I miss the smell of lilacs.
Anne Barsanti
Location: Alexandria, VA
About: I immediately remembered the first time on a stand-up paddle board. It was just last year. I was turning 60 this year and I had always wanted to try.
Age: 60
Falling
She’s holding me all wrong. Well, at least the water is consoling to me. She inches on – stomach first. No real grace in her efforts. The water in Hanalei Bay is calm today, thank god. She needs help. I can feel her hesitancy. The sun in warm, enveloping not scorching. The bay water, cool, so inviting. I love the water. I was made to glide with the current, surf the waves. It is home to me.
She tries to stand on me. She’s agile for her age. Yet, not meaning to, I bobble with the rolling wave. It is natural for me, but she flips over me and overboard. I smile because there she is, determined to try again. This time she stands, with knees bent, paddle in hand. I’m proud of her as she paddles along balancing with the waves. I try to stay steady. She needs me. She is smiling.
Anonymous
One Morning at the Boathouse
“I think I forgot something”
“What?”
“Something kind of important”
“What?”
“Something really important”
“What? Didn’t you do your stupid little mantra last night while packing up, sox, underwear, t-shirt, belt, shirt, pants, shoes.”
“I did”
“So, what are we missing? Your sox? Belt? No, wait…., tell me it isn’t..”
“Yup”
“Oh, that’s funny. Mr. bigshot CEO and he forgot his..”
“Enough”
“Oh, can I tell people when you get to work? They would love this”
“No”
“Come on, what about Sally. She would be cool with it.”
“Yes, she is cool, but no. We would get fired.”
“Speak for yourself. Everyone loves me. I work hard. I can always find a job. Come on, we have to tell someone. This is so rich. How about our friend Alex? He would like this.”
“Ok, I’ll text him now.”
“Ask him if he ever saw this in the ER.”
“No, he doesn’t have time for stories now. He responded with the laugh emoji.”
“So, what are we going to do? Get some at that fancy store you like, Brooks Sisters.”
“It is Brooks Brothers, and no, they don’t open until 10, and our first meeting is at 9.”
“Drive home then?”
“No, that will take over two hours.”
“Don’t you have anything in that crew locker?”
“No, all I have, I wore today and it is all sweaty. It was hot out there today and I rowed ten miles.”
“Big whoop. Doesn’t help now.”
“I think there is only one thing to do.”
“NO…. remember when you did that in college. You thought you were all cool. Things got injured. Pain was had. NO!”
“I was young and stupid then. Plus I think it was after a big party.”
“Well, now you are old and stupid and tired.”
“Yup”
“I really don’t like this. You know I am the one that suffers here. I will definitely have to go in the twirly-whirly machine when we get home. You know how all the kid’s stuffed animals hate that thing.”
“Sorry. Ok, here we go. Stand up. One leg at a time.”
“I really don’t like this. Nooooo…….”
“Zzzzzzip it Mr. Blue Jeans!”
Beth McKie
Location: Massachusetts
About: I routinely find shards of glass or porcelain in my backyard from the family who built my house in 1910. Someday I hope to make a "mosaic" with all my treasures.
Age: 32
It’s strange to see daylight after so many years entombed in the dirt. I’m missing my body. Did that happen before or after I got stuck here? I can’t remember. All I know is I’m resting above the ground in a bed of leaves. Fresh air, ah! Then, rustling. A squirrel is disappointed to find I’m not an acorn.
I hear a heavier footfall approaching. If it’s a dog, FIE! I do not wish to be peed on. Oh! It’s… a human! A woman! Could she be my girl, all grown up?
I startle her as she reaches for me. Wide-eyed, she emits a soft squeak. Brushing clumps of dirt off my face, she inspects me carefully. Then, we’re rushing away. I’m flying at a speed that hurts my skin, having just woken up. Sheesh!
The woman yells, “George! You’ll never guess what I just found!”
He replies, “A doll’s head?”
The woman breaks out in laughter.
Katie Wesolek
Location: Nashville, TN
About: This is a story told from the perspective of my shirt, which very publicly failed to remain buttoned at a critical moment.
Age: 35
She chose me that day. The woman reached into the drawer, shrugged, and plucked me out. Fastened my clasp, spun me around, hoisted the girls into my waiting, supportive cups. Covered me up with a soft, chambray button-down. I don't mind that part, I get it, but still, I'm always kept in the dark. Sometimes I yearn to breathe free.
For a while, I could only guess where the woman had taken us. It was quiet, and she kept walking a few paces and pausing, strolling, pausing. There must be something to see out there. Something compelling to demand her sustained attention.
I whispered to the chambray. Psst. Hey. You feel how the strap on her purse is tugging your top button open? Let it goooo, sister.
The woman twisted her torso to pluck her phone from her back pocket. Eureka! Free at last. I drank in our surroundings. At last, the silence and pacing made sense. An art museum? Wonderful.
On the wall hanging before me was a print from Dorothea Lange's Migrant Mother series. I could see so much of myself in woman in the photograph. She appeared gray and haggard. I was gray and haggard. Her boob was out. My boob was out...
Just then, a museum guard sidled over to us and whispered to the woman, "Riveting, isn't it?"
Marigrace Bannon
Location: San Francisco, CA
About: My inspiration for all my entries were the prompts, my life and a great deal of introspection.
Age: 65
Last week, I ordered some items to be delivered from Costco, just so I could get 30 rolls of toilet paper. I was down to my last 2 rolls. Upon arrival, the young lady delivering my groceries, placed them at my apartment door, not too close, and nonchalantly said, “Sorry out of toilet paper.” I received 5.5 lbs of organic pink lady apples, 5.5 lbs clementines and 3 lbs of lemons. I live alone. I estimated I had 84 pieces of fruit. I placed the apples, clementines, and lemons in beautiful decorative bowls, frosted sea glass, a gold braided bowl and a porcelain hand painted ceramic bowl with a lemon motif. They were all situated against the mirror on my diminutive dining room table. I took a picture and texted to my family and friends, describing my Costco order and the missing item.
Eileen: “That’s a lot of roughage.”
Danielle: The laughing/crying emoji.
Ann: “LOL.”
Jean: “OMG.”
Kristina: “Oh man! I can trade you 2 rolls of toilet paper for some lemons and clementines. I have a bidet.”
Eileen: “You should have refused the order.”
Flo: “It’s a nice arrangement though.”
I responded to Flo.
“Unfortunately, all the museums are closed, so they won’t have access to my installation.”
Another smiling face.
Apple: “I heard her on the phone. She’s gonna core my middle, top to almost my bottom, put a cinnamon stick in my center, pour maple syrup all over me, sprinkle cinnamon, grate some nutmeg, scatter some pecans. I hope no butter. I don’t do dairy. She’s gonna bake me. Yep, 350.”
Clementine: “She’s already ripped my cousins skin off with her teeth, popped a section in her mouth and spit the pit in the garbage can, but she missed. There’s more than two pits on her fake black and white parquet kitchen floor.”
Lemon: “We have to all be organic. Do you smell the polish she used for this table? Authentic wood polish? No, chemical lemon scented disposable wipes. How’s that for a Pledge? She didn’t waste anytime, she already sliced my sister and put a wedge in her scalding Earl Grey tea in that blue tiffany mug with the innocuous bow.”
Apple: “My bowl is awfully close to the heater. I do better in a cooler climate.”
Clementine: “She keeps rearranging my bowl and lemon’s bowl, then stands back and admires her handiwork, like she’s creating something.”
Lemon: “There she goes again to the bathroom.”
Apple, Clementine and Lemon: (In unison) “How much toilet paper do you think she has now?”
Shannon Twenter
Location: Alexandria, VA
About: A wonderful theatrical production in which a huge piece of fabric from another actor tripped me, and had me literally flying in the air. It reminded me of how I felt in that moment, but in reflection, what it represented.
Age: 44
I am a beautiful, flowing piece of radiant deep blue fabric. Multi-faceted, silky, able to create such dimensions with my flexibility. For this show alone, I was an ocean, a storm, a river, a canal, a blustery wind. And each of these roles I mastered with my astute elegance and subtle contours. When respected, I satiate. When not respected, I can stop a show, literally. There I found myself as ribbon encircling the air, turning into a mental storm of confusion, and rolling to a flow out of the main stage, but suddenly not gathered quickly enough, I was tripped on, gathered into the zipper and seams of this sailor's boots. The tangle grew deeper and deeper, and the wrap now a tight knot as up she went into the air - my gymnastic flair transported into the sailor's body as she fully flips off the ground and then comes pounding down with a sound that was not more poetic than my aesthetic beauty but attempted to be so. Luckily, the sailor got up because as they say 'the show must go on', and it did. The select audience members, whose mouths still lying open bore witness to this triple axel, wondered what this now amazing character - myself - had in store for this sailor, who was literally knocked off her feet. Perhaps an opportunity to laugh and say don't get caught up in the mental storm, or the rushing. But choose flow, to jump, and to get back up because those saved her that night. And will save her.