Kasey Shea
Bruewer/Creative Writing 1
Broken Sofa Tuesday
I could start by saying I remember it
like it was yesterday, but frankly, I don’t. All I can remember about the date
and time was it was after dinner and on a week day. I also remember my mom
calling me some mean things and my dad laughing at them and then I to him when
he got the same scolding in return. Oh yeah, and Dear Old Dad broke me through
the couch. It wasn’t too long ago and I thought we were messing around but it
was by no means, and accident.
Like I
said before, a weekday, let’s say Tuesday, and after dinner, so maybe 7:24 p.m.
Well, my dad had been lifting in our “weight room” as he calls it. When it’s
just a bench press, rack for dumbbells and a pull up bar. He came up stairs
with his music blaring. The music isn’t disturbing; it’s just the only thing he
listens to, Bruce Springsteen. He has literally maxed out four iPod nanos with
The Boss and is well near halfway to maxing out an iPod Classic with him. It’s
ridiculous. My dad could live with two things, his music and a mirror, as that’s
exactly what he was doing when I decided to play hyena and do what I do best. Tick
him off.
He was
in the living room talking to himself or maybe anyone who would listen saying
garbage like, “Did a bee sting my arm? I mean look at it!” My mom was laughing herself
silly when I decided I’d try to have a little fun. I walked down the steps
towards the couch positioned behind the mirror, in between, stood my dad. I
slowly started towards the couch and made the quick decision to speed up. I
leapt onto the couch and sprung off sticking my right arm out like a flying
clothesline. He saw me in the mirror and caught me in air but the collision
caused my elbow to hit him in the middle of the chest. He picked me up laughing
and saying a few words that I can’t say in school. He dropped me from the
cradle position from about six feet in the air onto the outer frame of the
couch. Not the middle cushion like a sane person who didn’t want to face my
mother’s wrath. I collided with the frame and heard a thunderous crack and felt
the couch cave in under me.
It didn’t even hurt. It just
shocked me that I’d broken through the couch. He was laughing his butt off and
so was I when lightning struck twice. My mom came in and saw what had happened.
The couch wasn’t in two, but that was because the fabric hiding the frame wasn’t
torn. The frame itself was split. My mom stared at us and didn’t yell which is
the scariest thing ever.
She glared at us and said, “What
the **** is wrong with you?” I was trying not to laugh when she targeted me.
“You know he’s going to try to
out-do you. Yet you still tick him off. He’s not your friend.” And she sent me
to go to the basement. I stayed on the steps to hear what she said to my dad
but my dad beat her to it.
“It’s
not broken. Look.” He said sheepishly. Like a dog that knew he was in trouble
but still acted innocent. I guess he pushed it back into place. My mom wasn’t
amused. My dad walked away but I could even feel the heat of my mom’s scorn as
she stared him upstairs. She walked back into the kitchen and I heard her say
one more thing.
“****ing
idiots” I heard a smile in her voice.
The
next day I asked my dad why he didn’t just drop me on the cushion or even the
floor and he told me something that I’m still laughing about.
“I was
trying to hurt you” he laughed. I have a solid feeling that I’ll be remembering
that one for a while.
***
In this writing, I think I did a good job displaying the controlled chaos within my home.I tried to portray my parents reactions best I could and showed how my dad reacted in the aftermath of the mess. I feel like I did well using better language than nice, mean etc.
