The Unsecret Dialogue of Gravediggers.

“You can’t just walk around using your hand as a testicle vice at will, S!”

J appeared drunk as she bobbed and wove in front of her friend’s face, sweat running down her forehead and into her eyes as she chucked another shovel-head of earth out and over her right shoulder.

“Are you even listening to me, S?”

S wasn’t listening; she was instead, absorbing the things that were coming out of J’s mouth.

“Fine, at least dig, then…it’s hot out here; the buzzards are coming.”

J pointed a pterodactyl-like finger past S’ head, aimed high on the horizon, whereupon a kettle of the grotesque, awkward carrion birds slowly descended through a clear, hot sky towards the spot where the girls dug. With her other hand, she handed S the shovel she’d been digging with and went to the trunk to get another one, so as to speed this undertaking along.

The (Un)Secret Childhood Dialogue Chronicles -Tap Shoes.

I remember once when we were only about 5 years old, and minutes away from our debut on stage in our first (and last) dance recital; I was so nervous I couldn’t see straight, but S could’ve cared less about the people or the lights or the crowds of strange little girls to compare ourselves with.I recall so vividly too, as we sat backstage finishing the touches on our stupid little outfits (which were, by the way, exceptionally glitzy and covered in sequins and glitter, complete with a huge feather we each had to pin in our hair), S was fidgety as usual and muttering to herself.

“What? I can’t hear you…” I shouted to her ear as I pulled the hairbrush through her dark, wild hair before attempting for the final time to get the obnoxiously huge feather pinned in.

“I just still don’t know how good of an idea this whole “dance recital” thing is, you know?”

S had both hands up to make the bunny ears around the words dance and recital. The feather floated from my hands once again and glided in rocking motion to the dusty floor. We both sighed; I looked her over and saw that she was messing with her tap shoes, struggling to get them and tie the puffy ribbon laces.

“I know you hate this…but we’re almost up, S…get your shoes on!” I leaned down to help her with shoes as I hollered, “We’ve been over this – I know I owe you big time for coming to dance class with me…”

“-…and especially for making me dress like this!…my feet are killing me and we haven’t even been on stage yet!”

S’ helium voice rose to a staccato above the music and clapping of the audience. She pulled and heaved at her little feet in vain to finish getting her shoes on as I searched desperately for my left shoe. It only took me a second to see that S had it and was trying like Hell to make it fit on her right foot.

“Well, no wonder your feet hurt, that’s my shoe…”

Needless to include, our debut was hideous and we dropped out of dance class immediately following the police inquiry.

The Unsecret (Childhood) Dialogue of S and J (3).

“I had no idea the child was epileptic…”

Ms. Melody’s hands trembled in her lap as she answered the string of questions put forth by Mr. Brown, the principal. As J sat across the small space in the waiting niche from the two adults, she couldn’t help but to sense a bit of irony circling overhead, even at age 5. She casually let her eyes wander over to the nurse’s station, where her best friend in the world lay “unconscious” after all of the commotion.

“Pssssst. Psssst.”

S skillfully turned her head slightly to the right and peeled open one eye with careful attention, winked the eye quickly at her friend to reassure her that she was, after all, just fine, and then rolled and began to groan loudly.

“She’s waking up!”

cried J as she popped up from her chair and rushed over to S’ side, kneeling down closely to make sure that they would have the few seconds of private dialogue they needed to get out of the day’s cluster-fuck, unscathed.

“Here, here S – quick! Take this, hurry, give me your hand!”

Without a second’s hesitation, S shot her right hand out secretly, keeping it hidden between their tiny forms as she did. J slapped a key into her S’ palm, being careful to curl S’ small fingers up around the rough edges until S’ hand was closed tightly around it. The two savored a short moment of “the know” (the childhood title they used for their’ extraordinary ability to communicate almost telepathically), in which they shared a mental image of the overall escape plan.

“Hit the lights on your way out, would ya?”

S gave J’s request a quick nod of agreement as she began to sit herself up and ready for her mark.

And with that, the room became an explosion of activity all at once: papers flying everywhere, voices hollering, doors opening and slamming closed behind small, blurry blobs of pure motion. The fire alarm began to sound then, just as S made her way safely through the side exit and brushed her hand downward across the light switch. The building went dark; the fire-bell klaxon blaring with a Doppler affect overhead, the girls met up outside the office and slipped easily out through the rotten and retired drainage pipe that had eroded away enough to leave a child-sized passage. J being well-aware of S’ tendency to escalate situations without necessarily meaning to, she forced S to carry on ahead while she waited at the mouth of the passage exit to be certain that nobody had followed them through somehow.

It was another half hour before J made it to her house, where S had already made apple and peanut butter snacks for them.

“Your Dad says I can keep your house-key and he will just make you a new one…”

S said matter-of-factly as she crunched a piece of green apple.

              “He’s home?”

J suddenly sat up and wiped her face with her filthy hand, shocked and beginning to worry.

              “Does he know? You told him!?”

              S rolled her eyes, an expression that J endeared deeply in her best friend.

              “Um…I had to tell him, he drove past me at the crosswalk and pulled over to pick me up…I didn’t want him to take me back to school because he didn’t know better!!!…sorry, he’s not mad…”

J burned S with a look of sheer dubiousness.

              “He said we shoulda called him as soon as Ms. Melody gave me a seizure again, so that we coulda avoided all that time in the principal’s office…he thinks we spend too much time in there, anyway…”

The two girls crunched loudly on the snacks and caught their breath, collectively.

 

 

The Un-Secret (Childhood) Dialogue of S and J.

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The paper airplane landed gracefully into a patch of bare skin just above the collarbone of the whiny redhead named Tasha, who sat one desk to the left of J, who sat dead center – in the very back row of the classroom; she jumped and started to cry immediately, rubbing her skin and looking around like a hunted animal. J stifled a laugh best she could and shot a look at S, sitting in the far right hand desk about a meter away from the teacher’s desk. S was turned completely around in her seat, staring at J with those searing green eyes, intensely willing something.

Typically, the two young trouble-makers could communicate almost totally through expression and mannerisms, but J was at a loss as to what S was trying to tell her this time. The teacher, Ms. Melody (whose name only cruelly misled any student going into her kindergarten class), spun on her cane in front of the chalkboard, accidentally flinging the stick of chalk that she had been using across the room and hitting the aid in the rear who silently graded papers. The aid wore his earphones and paid little attention to the classroom happenings while he was there, so he was caught completely off guard by the sudden smack of a stick of chalk against his brow, and nearly started enough to flip his chair over backwards – papers flying up over his head and landing like snowflakes on his lap and around his surprised form as they settled. The class exploded in laughter then, a cacophony of high-pitched voices, snickering in glee at the impromptu spectacle; Ms. Melody washed over with that reddened look of shocked outrage that was so familiar o the children, S and J especially, and barked an order that was snuffed out by the collective noise.

 

Pick up the airplane!!!

The thought finally struck J as if a mallet had from behind, and she scrambled to grab the small folded note that S had (poorly) thrown only nano-seconds before the aid was shot by the teacher with a piece of rogue chalk.

“Nice pitch…”

J mumbled to herself as she swiped up the note with an extended lean over her desk, almost flipping headfirst onto the carpet, herself, in the process.

In a single motion that both S and J had come to interpret as Doom, Ms. Melody snapped her left handed fingers and pointed at S in the front of the classroom, all while locking eyes with J in the very back at the same time, and for a very long and drawn out moment.

“Give me the note right now, J.”

the teacher said calmly.

“May I read it first?”

asked J, sincerely.

The click of Ms. Melody’s tongue gave J her answer, and she stood, looked down at the piece of paper in her hand, looked over to S (who sat with a condemned look of guilt on her puckered face), and nonchalantly put the paper in her mouth, chewing it briefly before swallowing. The class exploded again with unruly hysterics that only 5 year old children can produce; and J noticed the aid nearby drop his jaw open and let it hang. S began to clap loudly from the front row, and soon enough the rest of the class joined in the applause. Spittle flew from Ms. Melody’s mouth as she seemed to combust verbally in an outburst of all things Teacher; she was pissed.

gurls

The Unsecret Dialogue Chronicles: Grand Theft Auto: Part Two.

READ PART ONE HERE:

J sighed as she watched the pinkish-red brake lights come to life through the motion amidst the busy parking lot; she eased out onto the road slowly, following every traffic rule she could think of at the moment, including the use of her blinker as she slowed again and pulled off to the shoulder to wait for S to snail-crawl the ancient Mini from its inconspicuous spot towards the rear of the lot.

Inconspicuous to everyone besides S…

J thought to herself, chuckling.
After several anxious moments of an unintentional, however – record-breakingly uncanny – imitation of a bobble head in the driver’s seat on the side of road waiting for her fairy-like partner in crime, the Mini at last appeared in the lineup of cars waiting its turn to pull out onto the highway. Before long, the two friends were in tight caravan formation and heading home, or so J thought.
The fog was sinking down onto the road with the setting sun, and J wasn’t sure but she thought she saw the Mini driving itself during several stretches of straight two-lane highway. Additionally, J mentally noted at least five separate cigarette butts flying out the driver’s side window in the deepening darkness of night: something she had to make certain to give S a good chastising for when they got home. Just then her phone rang from the passenger side door panel, where she has stashed it prior to indulging in her earlier catnap; the vibration rattled it down deeper in the door’s built in pocket as J imagined herself as Gumby or Inspector Gadget and tried in vain to lean far enough over to reach it.
Another red cherry butt of a cigarette exploded against the windshield.

Fuck this!

J thought to herself, and tore to the right with her grip on the steering wheel with a few quick flashes of her high beams at the Mini in front of her. Oddly, her best friend is pulled over and out the Mini before J can even put the vehicle she is driving in NEUTRAL.
S: What’s the problem? Let’s just pull off up there at the next exit if your toes are cramped up, eh?
J: My toes are not cramped up, S…did you just try to call me right now?
S: Oh, ye…I did…I was going to suggest that we stop over at Red’s and let him take a look at it, see what he thinks, you know?
J: Now? Seriously? It’s white-hot, S…I think we need to cover it with canvas for a while in the junk pile out back or something; not flaunt it all over to our friends in a pissing contest…
S: So you’ll follow me over there, to Red’s?
J lets out the frustrated sigh that S has come to know and love the way a child associates a special blanket to comfort;
J: Yeah…S…yeah but let’s go! And stay off your phone no smoking while you drive!
S: Okay! Follow me!
S hops back to the archaic Mini and starts the engine with a fierce and victorious howl from her doll-sized lungs before pulling out into the traffic. J pulls out right behind her and matches her speed as they make their way to see Red the Undead – the best mechanic around.

shmokay

The “Unsecret” Dialogue Chronicles – Part 5

The two women have been working for handfuls of hours before the shorter, dark-haired fey steps out the back door; only moments pass before the barely-taller, sinewy blonde comes out behind her, letting the screen door slam with an obnoxious THWACK!

J:        Speaking of your “finest calculations”, Bear…what the hell are we gonna do now? Load up this fuckloads of trash into my car and drive to…..?

S:       Yeah, well I said it wasn’t well-thought out already, didn’t I?

J:        Don’t get snippy with me, Miss Thang! I mean, sure my tits are hanging out but they’re covered in blood for Chrissake…and it’s not even mine, S…I’m not very sure how I’m feeling right now…do we make out or just wrap this up?

S:       Are you still talking?…

S shakes her head and jumps down from the perch she had been smoking atop of in the cool air; she brushes off her ass and walks back inside without another word.

J:        I’ll assume that means you’re trying to wrap this shit up, eh?

S yells from inside the house – in her Bear Trainer’s voice;

S:       Get your ass in here already and c’mon! Such a dawdler!

S mumbles under her breath:

‘It’s no wonder I stared at my phone screen for twenty minutes before pressing the send button under your name, you molasses-motioned pothead…’

J:        What? (from the backyard, still finding her way slowly inside)

S:       Huh? Nothing, I wasn’t talking to you…

J:        cock-blocking me?

S:       No! I said I wasn’t talking to you! Are you coming?

J:        Dude, who’s coming?

S:       Huh?

CLICK HERE for Part 6!

The “Unsecret” Dialogue Chronicles – Part 3

A NOTE ON THE VOICES OF “S” AND “J”:
• “S” SOUNDS LIKE AN ADORABLE SOUTH AFRICAN (WITH TOURRET’S)
• “J” SOUNDS LIKE A HIGH-STRUNG VALLEY GIRL (WITH TOURRET’S)

Liquid noisily splashing against plastic sheeting in background.
J: So, uhhhh….were ya gonna tell me about the toaster or…..?
S: J…would you please stop stepping there! You’re making a mess – LOOK!!!
J: Sorry, oh oops…my foot was stuck to some Jello-y stuff that’s stuck down…oh shit…oops…
S: J! Stop fucking around and help me with the mirror real quick – hurry!… or else the dude you didn’t see yet becomes a problem for us!
J: Okay, okay…
slips and slides her way over to the counter and climbs up next to S, who is tearing off a sheet to cover the vanity mirror with
J: Bear! The toaster!
S: Right right…the toaster…

the two struggle briefly to reach all the way to the ceiling, as they are only ten feet tall – combined.

J: This is about your Gods damned burgle, isn’t it?
S: Huh? Oh….that….huh?
J: Don’t play dumb with me!
S: You do realize your own circumstantial lack of leverage here, don’t you?
J: THE TOASTER!!!
S: Huh?….

*The final sheet of plastic has been lain; and the two tiny creatures sit down on the vanity counter-top with surprisingly heavy ‘thuds’, one grinning widely and the other exhaling a sigh of frustration *

S: That toaster was well worth the money I spent on it, though – for the record…

J is totally distracted by a shimmer in a puddle of dark blood

J: Why?…how much did you pay for it?

CLICK HERE for Part 4!