Facewash 2020 - excerpt from an unwritten screenplay
Daniel Thomas Williams @danielthomaswilliams
The following story presented itself, as many do, in a momentary interpretation of a mid-stroll encounter. Its intention is only to bring some lightness to your mind, (as I know many of us could use some,) if only for a few minutes. At first I played with the idea that this story was an unwritten screenplay, however, I realized the real joke would be to write an unwritten screenplay. While working the draft, I was determined to find work and hoped that by the time this was published I would be able to laugh at the ending. It worked, so thats neat.
A playlist under the same title may be found on Spotify (here.)
Enjoy, DTW.
A pink popsicle melts and dries between my fingers in the mid afternoon sun. I consider letting the dog lick it clean, however I reluctantly switch my plan to the hose in the front yard. Off to the west, across the street and over the park, thermals spread the horizon with sundae allusions.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, in a memory, I’m with Grammy at Crescent Beach, at the Red Baron on tiptoes, peering down through the glass counter at the ice cream selection. A routine ceremony, though I know my answer is chocolate chip mint. There was never any question, never a deviation.
As I return to presence, the monotonous whirr of mower blades circle the block followed by the guilty pleasure of gasoline notes on the back of fresh clippings. Despite the summer bouquet, I pick up on the fragrant boxwood hedgerow that borders the lawn and brings on an episode of nostalgia bordering on déjà vu. Scuttling along at waist height on a day in the city with Gran, the oil of leaves smells like I don’t know anything.
The firm yet yielding stretch and creak of the nylon chair crackles as I take a seat. The first spurting blast of water is warm with an evident scent of hose, plastic and yet almost herbal.
“No! Don’t!” I protest quietly in mock battle with imaginary bullies. “I won’t tell you anything!”
One hand on the nozzle, my free hand struggles to fend off my own ruthless attack. Spraying myself in the face, I show myself no mercy. Duck-faced, I sputter my lips back and forth like a sprinkler through the gentle shower. My neighbour’s window slides shut with a pointed force and I am reminded that I am making a scene.
When I close my eyes I see the sun’s rays running horizontal and criss-crossed through the trees of the greenbelt between the childhood homes of my youth. The summer before grade 7, running home just a little bit late for curfew. The not so threat of trouble doubles the warmth of the humid evening air. Giggles of the girls from class just behind us. “This is going to be the best summer ever” I think with a certainty afforded only to a mind not yet spoiled by cynicism.
In my chair, I realize that I’m still holding the nozzle though no longer spraying myself. My arm still held high over my head. I’m wearing a shirt, I remember, the front now completely soaked through. Peeking through squinted eyelids, I check to see if my behaviour has drawn a crowd I would have to wait out without acknowledgement.
The neighbour’s kid stands directly in front of me, staring through the low fence.
“Hey what’s up buddy?” I try playing it cool. “Did you get your bike fixed up yet?” I casually brush puddles off my lap.
His mouth agape in disbelief, he quickly releases his steadfast glare, briefly pretends he was smelling the flowers, then abruptly takes off down the sidewalk with the grace of a duck and all the speed his three foot form affords him.
In a strange sudden visual recollection, I remember I stashed some sour keys between the couch cushions. I collect my thoughts for a moment. Tomorrow, I will get a job.
Facewash 2020 on Spotify
Daniel Thomas Williams @danielthomaswilliams