{"id":293,"date":"2021-04-22T21:50:58","date_gmt":"2021-04-22T21:50:58","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/platoonofsparks.com\/?page_id=293"},"modified":"2021-05-31T04:32:18","modified_gmt":"2021-05-31T04:32:18","slug":"a-rye-sense","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/platoonofsparks.com\/?page_id=293","title":{"rendered":"A RYE SENSE"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

When I was a\nkid, a buddy of mine came over on New Year\u2019s to play our favorite pastime,\ntable hockey. The first thing he did was hit the smallest room in the house to\ndrop a trainload of buffalos. I hit the kitchen to wait for him. My dad, three\nsisters, and brother were in the family room on the floor watching the tube. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo you\nsuppose there is such a place, Toto? Not a place you can get to by a boat or a\ntrain. It\u2019s far, far away – behind the moon – beyond the rain…\u201d <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

My braces tore\ninto a cold piece of steak between slices of rye with the feel of a run-over\nbaseball glove. I moved in for a closer look at Kansas. With too big a bite, I\nbegan to choke, and choke, and then seriously choke. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

My father hesitated,\nprobably convinced I was performing another one of my mock theater auditions. But\nour eyes met, and he saw my whole life flash before me. He rushed over, picked\nme up by both feet in one hand, and smacked my back with the other. I was a\nsmall kid, and he was a strong man. I continued to suffocate, however, and the\npressure of the blood in my head was building. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe\u2019s\nchoking,\u201d my younger sister said in a conspiratorial voice. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

One must\nhave gratitude to have a factual news reporter on the scene. In my upside-down\nperipheral, I could see wide eyes with mouths agape, the sight of which frightened\nme just as much as not being able to breathe. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

My father geared\nup for another attack. \u201cGet ready,\u201d he said. And how exactly, I wondered as I dangled,\na fish out of water, was I supposed to prepare? <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Inhaling, Pops lifted me higher, and with one big exhale, struck my spine with a karate blow from Hell. The chunk of steak flew across the room. Through water-choked eyes, I followed the flight plan of the coughed-out package. The meat arced and plop onto an unlikely landing strip; my brother\u2019s astonished mouth.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bro immediately\nbegan to gag and search with one hand while holding his stomach with the other.\nI wanted to tell him the steak was on his tongue, not in his stomach. He stood and\nleaned over, afraid to touch it any further, in any way, as even spitting would\nhave required. The mass slowly and painfully slid from his pasty white tongue,\nalong with strands of phlegm and exaggerated grunts. My younger sister looked\nup just as it deposited itself in her hair. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh gross,\nOh God,\u201d she yelled. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The weight\nand slime of the newly delivered parasite swung as she frantically whipped her\nhair. In a surge of creative panic, she secured a pencil and stabbed at the\noffensive protein while groaning, \u201cAh! Get it out! Get it out!\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The flurried strands of keratin met a Christmas candle flickering on the low-lying coffee table. Hair whooshed into a blaze of orange followed by black and a scorch of stink. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

My father\ndropped me to the floor. I did a parachute landing roll.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pop\u2019s rushed to my oldest sister kneeling on the carpet in her bathrobe, having just finished a shower with a wet towel on her head. He stole the damp cotton and messily wrapped it around the Moses burning bush. And to think, only a moment before that darkened shrub had been a blonde. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

My older\nsister overcompensated for the sudden removal of the turban and fell backward. Her\nglass of cola sailed beyond the safety of the family room and shattered on the\nkitchen floor. A new aroma joined the stink. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The children of the clan stared an accusatory stare; you\u2019re in big trouble now. It wasn\u2019t just cola in her drink, but Christmas cheer as well. The reek of Vodka married the stink of burning protein and joined with the ever-present holiday scent of nutmeg and fruitcake. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Busted and\nfearing the wrath of good Christians everywhere, she stomped away across the sloshed,\ninebriated floor. A slip, a fall, and to the tile she slammed, onto a piece of shattered\nglass. Blood gushed from her arm.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, my God,\nDaddy, Daddy!\u201d she wailed and returned for a debus of the laceration accompanied\nby an odd smile of shock. But she had won. She had trumped the burn victim. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The crowd\nresponded with, \u201cOh my Gods\u201d and \u201cHoly Mackerels,\u201d repeated at different\ncadences for effect. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dad tore the\ntowel from the smoldering and blubbering miss junior mint, and like an\nexperienced deli meat clerk, wrapped the newest fatality to stop the flow of\nChristmas red dripping all over the carpet. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boom. The doggie\ndoor popped open, and the family dog thrust in to check out the excitement. In\nhis beloved innocence, he thought it was playtime. He spotted the towel and tugged,\nhis head jolting from side to side. My older sister screamed. Everyone screamed.\n<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

My middle\nsister pulled the nice doggy\u2019s tail, and the dysfunctional mutt nipped her hand\nand went right back to the towel. Crying harmonized with screaming.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

My brother tried\nto steady my older sisters jerking arm. Miss junior mint was beat-red sobbing,\nher hands pulling at the remains of the forest fire. Pops beat the dog with a\nfly swatter. Clan members threw items. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

As I watched\nin a moron state of observation, I unconsciously worked my tongue to extract rye\nstuck in my metal braces. You could say I was a little behind the moon. Absently,\nI stepped on the TV remote, and a televangelist appeared, the volume way too\nhigh, as he loudly reprimanded the sinners of the world between dog growls, caterwauling,\nand my father\u2019s family-friendly curses. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cExcuse me!\u201d\nmy buddy interrupted. He stood in the kitchen, his pants held up by one hand, his\nfly unzipped, and his belt unbuckled. His other hand pointed behind him. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Everyone stopped\nto look at the intruder\u2014a sudden moment of breathless silence. The dog halted his\nprehistoric threat and side-glanced my buddy; canines still imbedded towel-deep.\nThe Evangelicals telepathically sensed the moment and hushed to prayer. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I witnessed\nthe look of disgust and surprise in my family\u2019s eyes. Nothing less than a\npervert had assaulted an intimate family moment. Innocent as the dog, my buddy\u2019s\nfocus toggled back and forth among the chaos. He gestured and explained, \u201cI,\nuh, you\u2019re out of wipe.\u201d <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

A congregant\nin the Evangelical world capsized to the floor, huffing and puffing, swaying,\nand wailing, \u201cSave me Jesus, Save me.\u201d <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

All eyes in\nthe room turned to the Lord. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I jumped up\nto join my buddy. Too quick. Vertigo hit me, and I toppled and tripped over my\nfather\u2019s foot. I reached for the coffee table for support, missed, and slammed\nmy hand on the end of a butter knife coated with cheese dip sticking out over\nthe end of the table. It left orbit at Mach speed.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The metal cheese\nmissile rocketed into the middle of the TV. The screen cracked, fizzled, and popped,\nand went blank. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The front\ndoor of the house slammed open and rattled. A chill whipped in from the winter\noutside. Feet stomped down the hallway into the kitchen. My mother appeared and\nstood next to my frightened frozen snowman buddy, her rubber boots over her\nhigh heels dripping with snow. In her arms were two bags of groceries, one with\ntoilet paper breathing out of the top. She stared at the freak show ogling back\nat her. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

My middle\nsister seized the moment, used the fallen knife to scavenge the piece of steak,\nteased the dog with it, and threw the clump of cow out the doggie door. She followed\nthe dog with a revenge kick as he ran outside.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJesus, Mary,\nand Joseph, what was all that banging about and who in God\u2019s name stunk up the\nbathroom? Can\u2019t anybody light some matches around here?\u201d she demanded as she\npushed my buddy\u2019s head away with the toilet paper as though he was a coat rack.\nShe curiously strode forward. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat in the\nworld happened to my new carpet?\u201d she asked as she surveyed the wreckage. \u201cHoly\nMother of God! What in God\u2019s name happened to my brand new TV!?\u201d she screamed. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

My brother waited,\nthen pointed to me. My other siblings joined in, all fingers on me. My life-saving\nfather glared at me and threw me under Dorothy\u2019s house, \u201cWhy don\u2019t you learn\nhow to chew? How many times have I told you, you don\u2019t chew enough?\u201d <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

At that moment,\nI understood what Dorothy meant by far, far away, and well beyond the rain. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Before I\ncould blurt out a defensive, my mom signaled to my buddy and me, \u201cYou two\nNeanderthals had best take a hike or heaven help me!\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

We left the\nhouse without playing table hockey. My buddy left without wiping, something I\nalways felt guilty about, not having more courage to demand. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

—<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Today, in my\nhousehold, I make sure to never run out of toilet paper. I do not watch\ntelevision. I have never had a dog named Toto. When Evangelicals come to my\ndoor, I suddenly develop Tourette\u2019s syndrome. I have never again eaten steak. I\ndo, however, still have a fondness for rye.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

If some New\nYear\u2019s Eve you stumble upon a man sitting alone in the middle of train tracks, eating\nrye, and croaking out a song intermixing Save Me Jesus with Somewhere Over the Rainbow,\nwhile laughing and slamming back a bottle of Vodka as he watches an approaching\ntrain; then please, by all means, join me. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I promise you\nI\u2019ve been to therapy. I\u2019ve done my homework. We will both roll out of the way a\nsecond before impact. Only then will you truly know what – far, far away,\nbehind the moon, beyond the train – really means.  <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Trust\nme; I will have plenty of wipe for you.  <\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

When I was a kid, a buddy of mine came over on New Year\u2019s to play our favorite pastime, table hockey. The first thing he did was hit the smallest room in the house to drop a trainload of buffalos. I hit the kitchen to wait for him. My dad, three sisters, and brother were […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"parent":243,"menu_order":1,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-293","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/platoonofsparks.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/293","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/platoonofsparks.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/platoonofsparks.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/platoonofsparks.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/platoonofsparks.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=293"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/platoonofsparks.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/293\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":308,"href":"https:\/\/platoonofsparks.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/293\/revisions\/308"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/platoonofsparks.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/243"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/platoonofsparks.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=293"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}