Jordon T. Langley, Part 4


“Okay, now what?” asked Mr. Langley.  “I have the pad and pen.”

“Write down, DAY ONE.”

He wrote.

“Then write, Each day I will talk to three different people for five minutes each.  I will speak, not just listen.  I will contribute to the conversation.”

Mr. Langley had stopped writing.

“What’s the problem?  Can’t you spell?”

“Of course I can spell.  I just don’t want to talk to anyone.”

“That’s the deal, take it or leave it,” said the camera, closing it’s shutter.  “We are going to add to that list all week long.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because you’re just too strange to keep going on this way.  You’re like the living dead.”

“That’s my choice.”

“Only if YOU HAD ANOTHER CHOICE.”

“Oh.  That’s a good point.”

“You think you chose this life but you just kind of let it happen, right?”

“I guess so.  I mean no one was interested in me, so I wasn’t either.”

“That’s because you aren’t INTERESTING!  You could be, you just don’t believe in yourself.  You know a lot about Egypt, right?”

“Yes, but no one would want to hear about that.”

“Someone who was also interested in Egypt would want to hear about it, you dolt.”

“Oh, right.  I guess that’s true,” said Mr. Langley, rather surprised.  “I never thought of that.”

The camera screamed.  It wasn’t very loud but anyone hearing it would know it for what it was.  Did you have a mother?”

“Yes.  Her name was Edna.”

“How about a father?”

“His name was Ralph.”

“OMG Ralph and Edna.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Look into the camera,” said the camera.

He looked.  “Yes, those are my parents.”

“Do you see how you turned out the way you did?”

“No,” said Mr. Langley.  “I don’t know what you mean.”

“LOOK AT THEM.  They look like they would torture innocent people in prison.  Did they EVER smile?”

“Not really.  And that’s my father’s favorite coat.”

“I just want you to know that if I could bang my head on the table, I would be doing that right now.  Were they nice to you?  Did they want you to have friends?”

“They never spoke to me.”

“Never?”

He thought for a moment, then said, “It’s time for school, dinner, bed and sit up straight.”

“That’s child abuse.”

“I read a lot.”

“I’m sure you did,” said the camera.  “But you are going to give life a shot.  I’ll show you all the pictures you want to see, except for the future, if you do exactly as I say.  Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Call the Museum of History and see if they have classes about Egypt.  If they do, register, right now.  Go ahead, get the phone.  You don’t have any time to waste.  How old are you?  Seventy?”

“I’m thirty-five.”

“Ackkkkkkgraat.”

“What does that mean?”

“IT MEANS YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME.  You look ancient.  Look at your face, your clothes.  And that hair?  Do you use Motor Oil on it?  Exactly what century are you trying to live in, the sixteen hundreds?  Number two on the list.  I WILL BUY A PAIR OF JEANS AND SIX T-SHIRTS IMMEDIATELY.  ALSO A PAIR OF SHOES THAT WERE MADE IN THE LAST TEN YEARS.”

“Okay.  Where should I go?  Wait, are you crying?”

“No,” sniffed the camera.  “I have allergies.”

“What could you possibly be allergic to?”

“YOU!”

“Oh, right.  I’ll make the call.”

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4 Responses to Jordon T. Langley, Part 4

  1. I’m picturing the animated movie version of this story:)

  2. Your creative mind never ceases to amaze… ❤

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