It's a return to writing for me, so it may be sloppy. It's based on the song "Can't Take It Away From Me" sung by Liza Stansfield and written by the Gershwin brothers. Comments are welcome.
The mountains of Sandston woke up with another foggy morning, bringing a clear, fresh air to the inhabitants of the bustling city. The mail would be dropped at the buildings upon the mountains, landing on the dewy blades of green. The children would rush outside in their plaid skirts and khaki pants to be certain they were on time for school.
Up upon the highest stop on the eastern mountain, the vocals of Liza Stansfield burst to life, awakening a lightly tanned boy from his sleep. He muttered along with the song, “They can’t take that away from me…”He began to strip off his sleeping shirt and ran his head under the running sink, careful not to tread upon a dormant cockroach. When his hair was reasonably wet, he grabbed the nearest towel and vigorously attempted to dry it within seconds. After it was reasonably damp, he ran his fingers through his hair to be certain it would stay up.
After cleaning up his face and brushing his teeth, he rushed out of his bathroom and ran into the hallway. Doing so, he tripped on a ginger cat, causing his face to smash into the portrait of his sister on the hallway wall.
“Dammit, I’m gonna be late and Ronny’s frickin’ cat’s in the way!” The boy berated, picking up the cat and carrying her with him to the living room where his toast and eggs were laid out for him.
“Mom, why do you give me this to eat?”
“We’re in a recession!” The voice of a cranky middle-aged woman bellowed from down the hall. He retorted, “Government wants my hat…”
Abandoning the cat, he rushed to his minuscule breakfast and began to gulp it down as quick as he could, having to pause every three seconds to confirm he wasn’t choking. When he was done, he checked the clock and rushed back into his room and slipped on a collared shirt which bore the brand of the Bill Blass, and buckled his jeans right. His mother entered the room, frowning at her handsome son.
“Boy, I thought I thought I told you to listen to your teacher. Stick to the dress code.”
The teenager fitted his black and white saddle shoes on as he debated, “James Dean never did,” knowing his mom would stop talking to figure out who James Dean was. “Mom, can you drive me to school?”
“No, Pa took the car to take Ronny to school,” His mother yawned, awoken at her son’s energy this morning. “Slim, if you need a ride, why don’t you use your bicycle?”
“No, I’ll walk.”
Slim bagged his books and kissed his mother on the cheek as he went out. He ran down the steps until he encountered the miniature playground which was owned by his neighbors with little children who never find a way to sleep at 4 A.M. Here he jumped on the monkey bars, nearly slipping off balance, but retaining it in the process. Slim stopped for a moment, stretched his arms, and jumped on the low roof of the neighbor’s.
However, he lost his footing as he jumped onto the roof and slid down the rim of the house, landing on the damp lawn. The boy quickly regained his composure and was ready to walk down the hill until an old, portly fellow stopped him dead in his tracks.
“Where the hell do you get off like that, jumping your skinny ass on my roof?” The man cried, resembling the noise of a freight train.
Wincing in pain of his shrill, Slim apologized, “Sorry, Mr. Severy, I was in a rush…”
Mr. Severy went on, ignoring Slim’s words, “I don’t know what America is coming to! Back in my day, we enjoyed the simple life. Simple melodies, simple stories like the Three Bears…We appreciated each other, and always showed respect for our elders! Now its gee-tars killing your ears by lunatic in sideburns and children talking about them USO-whasits in the sky! You know that not once, not ONCE, in ten years, did I get present or a thank you from anybody?”
“What are you talking about, I got you Davy Crockett boon skin hat last year!”
Mr. Severy pondered on that. “Hat? I thought that was a raccoon! Hell, I must have used 15 bullets on that critter…”
Slim paused. Then, he said with disgust, “Good-bye, Mr. Severy. A furious shrill rebutted “Well get yer ass of my doggone roof!”
“Talking guitars…Shoot, I don’t like that honk Elvis, stole Chuck Berry’s thing…” Slim muttered on his way to school. As he rounded the corner, an orange gooey substance flew out of nowhere and smacked Slim straight across his face.
“Augh!” Slim cried. “What the hell is this!?”
A very thin boy with bushy black hair, about the same age as Slim left his hiding spot from behind the tree and approached Slim, cackling like a hyena.
“Man, I got you good!” His clothes were exactly alike, with only their skin drastically different seeming to be what separated them. “That’s Silly Putty, man!”
“Jelly!” Slim grunted, and began grappling with him lightly, as if this was a usual
routine.
“Hey, man, hey!” Jelly protested, clearing losing the fight. “You might fight tough, but I will smoke you one the basketball court. You know I would.”
“First of all Jelly, I don’t fight tough, you just stink. Second, basketball ain’t anything. Who cares about basketball?”
“I would say that too if I lost 48 times and counting.” Jelly grinned, only to be tackled again.
“Hey, Jelly,” Slim said as he got up. “You like rock and roll, right?”
“Yeah…” Jelly dully replied, as if the answer was obvious. “Who doesn’t?”
“I know, just asking, you know, what you like about it. Besides, the sound?”
“You know, my brother, Chuck Berry made it…and I guess that proves something. Maybe it means a black man can accomplish something in this country. Gives me hope.”
“And nobody can take that away from you, right?”
“Most definitely.”
Gershwin
The mountains of Sandston woke up with another foggy morning, bringing a clear, fresh air to the inhabitants of the bustling city. The mail would be dropped at the buildings upon the mountains, landing on the dewy blades of green. The children would rush outside in their plaid skirts and khaki pants to be certain they were on time for school.
Up upon the highest stop on the eastern mountain, the vocals of Liza Stansfield burst to life, awakening a lightly tanned boy from his sleep. He muttered along with the song, “They can’t take that away from me…”He began to strip off his sleeping shirt and ran his head under the running sink, careful not to tread upon a dormant cockroach. When his hair was reasonably wet, he grabbed the nearest towel and vigorously attempted to dry it within seconds. After it was reasonably damp, he ran his fingers through his hair to be certain it would stay up.
After cleaning up his face and brushing his teeth, he rushed out of his bathroom and ran into the hallway. Doing so, he tripped on a ginger cat, causing his face to smash into the portrait of his sister on the hallway wall.
“Dammit, I’m gonna be late and Ronny’s frickin’ cat’s in the way!” The boy berated, picking up the cat and carrying her with him to the living room where his toast and eggs were laid out for him.
“Mom, why do you give me this to eat?”
“We’re in a recession!” The voice of a cranky middle-aged woman bellowed from down the hall. He retorted, “Government wants my hat…”
Abandoning the cat, he rushed to his minuscule breakfast and began to gulp it down as quick as he could, having to pause every three seconds to confirm he wasn’t choking. When he was done, he checked the clock and rushed back into his room and slipped on a collared shirt which bore the brand of the Bill Blass, and buckled his jeans right. His mother entered the room, frowning at her handsome son.
“Boy, I thought I thought I told you to listen to your teacher. Stick to the dress code.”
The teenager fitted his black and white saddle shoes on as he debated, “James Dean never did,” knowing his mom would stop talking to figure out who James Dean was. “Mom, can you drive me to school?”
“No, Pa took the car to take Ronny to school,” His mother yawned, awoken at her son’s energy this morning. “Slim, if you need a ride, why don’t you use your bicycle?”
“No, I’ll walk.”
Slim bagged his books and kissed his mother on the cheek as he went out. He ran down the steps until he encountered the miniature playground which was owned by his neighbors with little children who never find a way to sleep at 4 A.M. Here he jumped on the monkey bars, nearly slipping off balance, but retaining it in the process. Slim stopped for a moment, stretched his arms, and jumped on the low roof of the neighbor’s.
However, he lost his footing as he jumped onto the roof and slid down the rim of the house, landing on the damp lawn. The boy quickly regained his composure and was ready to walk down the hill until an old, portly fellow stopped him dead in his tracks.
“Where the hell do you get off like that, jumping your skinny ass on my roof?” The man cried, resembling the noise of a freight train.
Wincing in pain of his shrill, Slim apologized, “Sorry, Mr. Severy, I was in a rush…”
Mr. Severy went on, ignoring Slim’s words, “I don’t know what America is coming to! Back in my day, we enjoyed the simple life. Simple melodies, simple stories like the Three Bears…We appreciated each other, and always showed respect for our elders! Now its gee-tars killing your ears by lunatic in sideburns and children talking about them USO-whasits in the sky! You know that not once, not ONCE, in ten years, did I get present or a thank you from anybody?”
“What are you talking about, I got you Davy Crockett boon skin hat last year!”
Mr. Severy pondered on that. “Hat? I thought that was a raccoon! Hell, I must have used 15 bullets on that critter…”
Slim paused. Then, he said with disgust, “Good-bye, Mr. Severy. A furious shrill rebutted “Well get yer ass of my doggone roof!”
“Talking guitars…Shoot, I don’t like that honk Elvis, stole Chuck Berry’s thing…” Slim muttered on his way to school. As he rounded the corner, an orange gooey substance flew out of nowhere and smacked Slim straight across his face.
“Augh!” Slim cried. “What the hell is this!?”
A very thin boy with bushy black hair, about the same age as Slim left his hiding spot from behind the tree and approached Slim, cackling like a hyena.
“Man, I got you good!” His clothes were exactly alike, with only their skin drastically different seeming to be what separated them. “That’s Silly Putty, man!”
“Jelly!” Slim grunted, and began grappling with him lightly, as if this was a usual
routine.
“Hey, man, hey!” Jelly protested, clearing losing the fight. “You might fight tough, but I will smoke you one the basketball court. You know I would.”
“First of all Jelly, I don’t fight tough, you just stink. Second, basketball ain’t anything. Who cares about basketball?”
“I would say that too if I lost 48 times and counting.” Jelly grinned, only to be tackled again.
“Hey, Jelly,” Slim said as he got up. “You like rock and roll, right?”
“Yeah…” Jelly dully replied, as if the answer was obvious. “Who doesn’t?”
“I know, just asking, you know, what you like about it. Besides, the sound?”
“You know, my brother, Chuck Berry made it…and I guess that proves something. Maybe it means a black man can accomplish something in this country. Gives me hope.”
“And nobody can take that away from you, right?”
“Most definitely.”