Rodrigo’s eyes went skyward, following the rocket as it pushed against unseen forces. Gravity. Defeatism. Self-appointed moral barometers. The seven-year-old was watching magic incarnate, and although he knew this to be the case, he couldn’t find the words to express it.
“It’s…it’s…it’s…” was all that Rodrigo exhaled when his opinion was polled.
Once the rocket had disappeared, Reggie tried to pull his kid brother towards the car. Unsuccessfully, of course. Rodrigo kept his neck craned, concentrating on the fading wisps of purple exhaust. Imagining the strange world the crew was going to explore. Contemplating how wonderful it’d be if the planet’s inhabitants actually accepted the offer.
From what the scientists said, they could be quite stubborn.
“D’ya think the aliens are going to come back with `em?” Rodrigo inquired through a gap-toothed grin.
“Well,” Reggie began, pausing to take his brother’s hand while crossing the street, “for their sake, I certainly hope so.”
“`Cause they’ll never get here on their own. And they’re hurtin’ for certain – more people than resources, more hatred than love. Sometimes even the brightest of rainbows can’t shine through the storm clouds. Doesn’t mean the rainbow ain’t there, jus’ needs a sweet breeze to clear out the air. Get what I’m sayin’?”
“Uh-huh,” Rodrigo mused, idly scratching his scalp. “The rocket-men are gonna go help the aliens `cause the aliens are in big-time trouble.”
“You got it, buddy.”
The seven-year-old pushed his legs into double-time to keep pace with his older brother. Other days, he’d dawdle behind. But at this moment, there was an electricity in the air and Rodrigo’s inquisitive mind was surging. So many details to consider and questions to answer.
“Hey Reggie, how long’ll it take the rocket-men to get to Earth?”
Welcome to MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! This is the spot where I rummage through the entertainment-debris that’ll be occupying my mind during the workweek. Your task is to hit up the comments section and share what you’ll be doing to survive the 9-5 life. It’s like a show-and-tell cocktail with a nerdcore garnish.
C’mon, let’s give each other some bad ideas.
I’m tired and cranky and hungry. The pile of work on my desk is increasing at an exponential rate. My gums are bleeding. How’s my breathing? Belabored. All I want to do is lay down for the night and wake up tomorrow. Know what I can’t do until I finish about seven different projects? Lay down for the night and wake up tomorrow.
Goddamn do I hate Mondays.
But I’d be a liar to imply that I don’t have a soft spot for the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE, OL‘s weekly show-and-tell feature. Here’s how it works: I’m going to give you a guided tour of my demented mind, steering you away from the Freudian nightmares and towards the entertainment wet-dreams. After scoping out the monsters lurking in my brain-bone, it’s your duty to hit up the comments section and show off the wares you’ll be using to survive the workweek.
C’mon, you think we’re afraid of the 9-5? You think we can’t survive the daily grind? Bring it on! FLAME ON!