Yes. We shall.
So, two more shock stories and then we're closed for the evening.
One: Once upon a time I was sitting in my in-law's house when there was this weird noise. It sounded like a firework mixed with the hissing of a snake mixed with death. I immediately looked to the ceiling and froze, certain there was something wrong. My wife's sister, Kaitlyn, who at that time was a teenager, came running downstairs yelling, "There's a tree on fire outside!!" We're not talking a small tree here. It was a Juniper that was as tall as the house (I learned later). She? Immediately went into action. I? Watched her in stunned silence. She ran outside, assessed the tree, and ran back inside to call 911. I sat there, petrified. She raced back outside, filled with adrenaline, and started to try to hose down the tree while she waited for the fire truck. I continued sitting, the thought "Must do something important now..." resting at the tip of my pre-frontal lobe. By the time the fire-truck came and Kaitlyn had Anna outside talking to the fireman, I had finally been able to take my first step of action. And when I assessed myself? I realized I had been frozen by fear while ascending the stairs probably to go hide under a bed.
Strangely, the fireman was less willing to give me a free stuffed animal than he was to Anna when I went outside to be amazed by the redness of the truck. I tried hard to avoid the question "And you sir, what were you doing during this emergency?" because then I would have had to say, "Uh, I stared at the phone really hard for several minutes before somebody else picked it up and called 911." And then the fireman wouldn't have shown me how the lights of the truck work, because he would have known I am ridiculous.
Kaitlyn and Anna pose near the fire-truck. The Weed cowers inside the house, trembling.
Story #2--So this one time I was reading a book while traveling home on the bus from grad school. In this book, a person is walking on some ice, and then slips and falls back hitting his head hard on the ice. The book describes the injury incurred in great detail. I'm so riveted that I see it all with a pristine clarity. It talks about the man slipping and falling on ice, and then smacking his head hard, and then reaching back and feeling the wetness of his blo...(passes out).
(Comes to) Where am I? What was I talking about? (Reads the paragraph he just wrote)(passes out again)
Member this part? Where he thinks Boo's getting killed in the garbage machine?
This is my life.
Anyway, the real end of that story is that I came so close to passing out that I called Wife on the phone. I don't really remember the conversation but it probably went something like this:
Me: Hey, babe, uh....
Wife: The Weed? Are you there?
Me: Yeah. I'm... I don't feel good.
Wife: Are you sick?
Me: No, I'm gonna pass out.
Wife: What? Why? What happened?
Me: I was reading this book, and there was this part where... oh, I can't talk about this. I'm gonna be sick.
Wife: Just put your head between your knees sweetheart. Do you have any food with you? Try and ingest some sugar sweetie. You'll be safe. It was just a book.
Me: Okay, Mommy. I mean Wife.
On an entirely unrelated note, are you a little bit crazy? And do you write lots of words in books? Do you want to be a Writing Crusader? Then go here to sign up to be one at Rachael Harrie's blog. You won't regret it.