A battle ensued. The individual edible flowers were interconnected with “tendons” that anchored them to the spiky peel and pithy center, and I had to slice and tug and rip and curse to get the flowers out.
My worst nightmare had just materialized–walking naked onstage in front of a live audience and having to perform some obscure skill–say ventriloquism–in order to save my life.
“No way!” I screamed inside. “No way you’re getting this mature lady on stage with all these experienced tappers, performing in front of a live audience.”
Aunt Lily was portly and white-crowned–the sweetest thing, and she was family, who deserved respect. Time to bring out the whoopee cushion.
I looked at our geriatric audience. Most were in wheelchairs. One woman was snoozing with her mouth open. Another was strangely gurgling.
The woman I’d met just ten minutes earlier smiled, lowered her eyelids, and began to sing–from a place that transcended the human who sat beside me.
It was obviously a youngster…frantically searching for its kin. Desperate to outrun the predator, it leaped and bounded, reaching a speed of 55 mph…
I couldn’t go back home. Living with parents was not appealing. I heard a whisper: go west, Terry, go west.
I needed to learn how to safely command the killer table saw, and I needed that soon–before I lost my resolve.
They never knew I was there, hidden in the branches of the ash tree, wondering what it would be like to scamper like a squirrel or crawl like a beetle.