Day 111: Cold Blue Anger Part 1 of 3

This is one of the school projects that kept me from the blog at the beginning of the month.  It is a revised draft of a story I had worked on earlier.  I had big idea to completely change it around.  There was no anger management class.  Tony was at home with Mitzy.  He was in a "grumpy" mood because he was concealing the fact that his temper that gotten him fired and Mitzy was pregnant.  Tony, their next door neighbor was going to help him come to the decision to tell Mitzy the truth (or get his job back).  Alas, I did not have enough time to rewrite the story so drastically, so I revised what I had.  I'll save the other idea for a rainy day.

Tony raised his right fist back and swung it forward with a force that made his muscles quiver. The punching bag jerked back and forth into the air as Tony swiftly threw punch after punch.  He gritted his teeth and grunted each time his fist made impact with the black bag.  Sweat sprayed the ground as he started circling around the bag while he punched.

“Good!” the instructor cheered.  “Now, focus.  Think about every situation you’ve had this week that has made you mad.  Channel all of that pent-up anger and frustration into your punches.  Imagine that you’re punching every person that has upset you.”

Tony smirked and punched harder as he imagined the punching bag to have a balding head with a bad comb-over and wearing silver-rimmed circular glasses, just like what his anger management instructor was wearing.  Whoosh!  A punch to all the ludicrous rules that were supposed to bring across healing but only made him feel more like he was participating in a three-ring circus.  Another one for all the hours he had poured into attending this irritating course and having no results to show for it.  He was sick of life and sick of everything.  Then the punching bag morphed into that man with the annoyingly high-pitched voice that sat next to him who claimed to know more about how to survive in the class, even though this was his fourth enrollment.  The obnoxious voice transformed into his former boss, whose fault it was in the first place for him having to attend this stupid course. 

Tony had been going to these anger management sessions for five grueling weeks.  His wife Mitzy had pestered him about them beforehand.  Tony had promised her that he would look into them and conveniently placed the thought out of his mind.  Unexpected circumstances, however, forced Tony to listen to reason. 

He had been at work, stuck in another one of those meetings that merely served to place the boss on a pedestal and allow the lackeys and suck-ups to surface for air and throw their co-workers under the bus.  It was during one of those speeches that Tony felt the weight of that bus tire on his chest, in the form of a heart attack.  Perhaps he couldn’t stand to hear lies being spread about his work ethic anymore and the pressure of keeping his mouth shut in front of his boss was too much for him.  So, right in the middle of the meeting, Tony stood up, strode right over to his boss, and punched him square in the nose.  This action released emotions that Tony had been harboring for months, and he continued hitting him until security came to drag him off.

Mitzy had said that he was lucky he didn’t kill his boss and only gave him a mild concussion.  Tony wasn’t so sure if he agreed.  Once his boss was out of the hospital, he promptly fired Tony and filed a restraining order against him.  He would have pressed charges, had the court not ordered Tony to complete the anger management course.  Tony’s wife still worked, so she was able to pay for it.  That was another thing that bothered him.  A man’s wife should not be supporting him.

He gave the bag one last swing and steadied it from shaking.  He was breathing heavily. 

“Excellent job, Tony!” the instructor clapped.  “Don’t you feel better?  By taking the time to channel your anger like this, you are less likely to lash out at people when you’re angry.”

Tony rolled his eyes as he walked past “Professor” and slumped back down in his seat, a few drops of sweat dripping from his forehead.

Ever since he was a boy, Tony had possessed a habit of calling people by nicknames, which were usually insulting.  This preference usually got him into trouble, usually with his mother or teachers, so he tried to keep them in his head as much as he could.  Occasionally they still managed to slip out.   

The resident anger management expert with the high-pitched voice who was sitting across from him laughed.  “You beat that punching bag to death!”

Tony didn’t answer, hoping “Squeaky” would take the hint and shut up.  Sadly, Squeaky wasn’t the brightest car on the lot.

“You know, I remember when I did the punching bag thing for the first time.  It was so exhilarating!  I even knocked the bag off the hook.  And the teacher yelled at me for being so reckless, saying I needed to control my anger.  I thought that’s what the punching was for, so I gave him a swing to show how I felt about his advice.”

“Probably missed,” he mumbled and looked at his phone.

Squeaky didn’t seem to hear.  “When it’s my turn to punch the bag, I plan on seeing how many times I can punch it in a minute.  Maybe I’ll beat my record!”

“And maybe I’ll punch your head in if you don’t be quiet.”

Indignation blazed in the man’s eyes.  “Are you threatening me?  I swear if you move a finger I’ll-“

Tony’s mouth curled upwards.  “I dare you.”

Squeaky rose from his seat and strode forward.

“Hey,” a deep voice warned from behind them, stopping Squeaky in his tracks.  It was Andrew, a volunteer teacher’s aide.  “Knock it off, guys.  Aren’t you learning anything in this course?  Anger does not solve any problems.  Both of you walk away for a minute and take some deep breaths to cool off.”

Tony wasn’t about to get anywhere to go “cool off,” so Squeaky stood up, still glaring at him, and began pacing in a corner of the room and cursing in Spanish.  Tony, still stewing in his anger, watched as Andrew walked over to assist a group of men with an exercise that the instructor had assigned them to work on while they waited for their turn in the punching bag activity.   

Tony had not always been an angry person.  In fact, he was always smiling as a kid.  He was also constantly in the principal’s office so often that the principal considered making him a nameplate for the front of the door.  Tony loved pranks and did all sorts of things to make himself laugh.  One of his finest personal achievements was when he managed to lock all the teachers out of their computers.  They had to cancel a few classes and call in an IT guy to fix it.  He was into sports, and his easy-going, jovial nature made him popular in school.  He was voted most likely to succeed in high school despite the “bad boy” reputation he had developed, which caused him to always have a girlfriend of some sort at his arm.  At graduation, his future looked bright.  He had no idea he’d find himself at one of these anger management classes.

“Okay, everyone!” Larry announced fifteen minutes after Tony’s altercation, “we’re going to wrap things up now.” 

Fourteen men filled the empty seats.  Tony put away his phone, the worksheet he had been told to work on still sitting blank on his thigh.  His mind wandered as everyone took turns sharing something they learned that day or stating what they would try to work on during the week. 

When his turn came, Tony cleared his throat.  “The punching bag technique is a great idea.  I’m sure it’ll help me next time I want to yell at someone.  All I have to do is walk away from the argument and punch the bag for a few minutes.”  He added to himself, “As if that would actually happen.”

The instructor nodded.  “Everyone is making excellent progress.  Before we go today, I’d like to give Andrew a few minutes to speak to us.  As you all know, he completed this course about a year ago, and I thought it would be nice if he gave us a few pointers.”

Tony groaned as Andrew walked to the center of the group.  Andrew was abnormally tall, 6’5, with a black beard extending two inches beyond the chin.  Tony thought he could pull off being a modern day Abe Lincoln if he lost twenty or thirty pounds.  Abe looked out of place in the old high school gym, since he was the only guy in the group wearing a suit.  It was too warm for suit weather anyways, and it irked Tony that he’d consider wearing it in the first place.  Abe also wore annoying loud ties that distracted him whenever Abe spoke.  The thing that bugged Tony the most was that the man wouldn’t stop smiling.  Abe was smiling every time Tony saw him.  There were even faint traces of a smile when he reprimanded the group.  When he wasn’t smiling, he would whistle.  It was unnatural for a person to be that happy, and the perpetual emotion sickened Tony.

“Hi,” he began in a mellow tone.  “Like most of you here, I used to have one of the worst tempers you’d ever seen.  I’d get impatient and yell all the time.  Eventually, my temper led to drinking, which got me involved in bar fights.  I’ve had my fair share of police car rides.  One time I broke three of a guy’s ribs.”

This remark made a few men chuckle.

“This course turned my life around.  It showed me how I could interact with people again without biting their heads off at anything they’d say.  I learned tips on how to be more patient.  I know it’s hard work, but this program does pay off in the end.  I haven’t had a major blow-up in over seven months, and I know that every one of you is capable of doing that too.”

His eyes locked on Tony’s eyes for a second then looked away as he sat back down.  The members clapped politely.

“Thank you for that, Andrew,” the instructor said.  “Any other thoughts before we conclude today’s meeting?”

Feet scuffled.

“Alright.  Thank you, all, and have a great week.  Remember to stay calm!”

Day 110: The Seven Chairs

Here is an old story that I found that I wanted to post here.  I wrote it for a class assignment last semester in October.  It's based on one of the famous pictures by Harris Burdick.  See the picture here  The artist designed them to be creative starters to convince children and adults alike to have something inspirational to write about.  I loved the picture so much that I wanted to write a story behind it, which was also fun too.  Enjoy!  And if you liked this story, you can click on the link at the bottom of the page to look at more "Harris Burdick Mysteries."

     Once there was a woodcarver named Henry.  He was renowned for making beautiful furniture and was quite successful.  He did all the work himself, from cutting down the trees to delivering the finished furniture to his customers.  That day, Henry was walking through the forest, trying to look for some more wood to complete his next order, but he was having a difficult time.  Henry had cut down most of the suitable trees near his house, and he needed to venture farther and farther away to find wood.  Henry decided that he would walk for another half hour and turn around if he found nothing.  He did have some more wood at his workshop, but he was saving it for his wife.  He had promised to make her a new dining room table set, and so far, all he had made was the table and one chair.  

     Henry was so distracted with his thoughts that he did not realize he had wandered past a dilapidated cottage.  As he continued walking, Henry noticed that the trees were growing in a precise pattern around him.  He stopped short when he realized he was in the Forbidden Grove.  It belonged to an elderly enchantress who desired her privacy and caused trouble for trespassers.  Just as he was about to turn around, Henry saw the perfect tree.  It was large and majestic, taller than any tree he had ever seen.  Imagine working with that wood!  His eyes filled with greed.  He had to have that tree.  Henry heaved his axe high into the air and chopped into it without hesitation.  As he saw the quality of the wood, he began chopping more vigorously.  

     “This wood is too brilliant to waste on my customer,” he thought.  “I will use the wood I had been saving for my wife to make Mr. Shepler’s dresser and use this wood for my wife.”  

     Henry happily returned with the wood and resumed his work.  He had no idea that the enchantress had seen him cut down her tree, and she was not going to let him get away with it.

     After Henry was done with Mr. Shepler’s order, he started working with the large tree he had cut down.  It proved to be more splendid than he had anticipated.  It was a gorgeous hazelnut brown, durable, and the perfect consistency to carve into.  Henry had never worked with anything finer.  There was so much wood that Henry was actually able to make seven more chairs out of the tree instead of the five that he had planned.  His wife was thrilled to see her new, enlarged dining room set and continually praised her husband’s fine handiwork.  Henry’s wife was so excited with her furniture that she invited their church’s bishop and one of the nuns over for dinner Sunday night so they could see it too.

     Henry’s household consisted of six people.  Along with his wife, Henry had two children.   His daughter, thirteen, behaved fairly well, but she was prideful and complained about doing some of her chores.  His son was almost six and had gained the reputation of being the most ill-behaved boy anyone had ever encountered.  Henry’s cottage was also home to his grandparents.  Old Grandma was hard of hearing, and Old Grandpa was getting more tired and crotchety every day.  Old Grandma always yelled loudly for someone to repeat himself while Old Grandpa fell asleep at the most unusual times and places. 

     The bishop and Sister Margaret arrived promptly at seven.  Henry’s wife had a grand feast pre

pared for them and boasted about the great work her husband had done on their dining set.  Old Grandma pretended to listen to the conversation, nodding at improper places.  Henry vainly tried to stop his son from misbehaving at the table while his daughter mentally complained about how boring the bishop’s voice sounded.  Old Grandpa focused all his attention on his meal, eating with atrocious manners.  

     Meanwhile, the enchantress, who had been spying on Henry for the past two weeks, was looking in through the window from outside.  It was infuriating to see these miserable people sitting at furniture that was made from her tree.  She decided this would be the perfect moment to enact her plan.  The enchantress’s grove of trees had been made with magic, which made each tree susceptible to her witchcraft.  She recited a spell to use on her dissected tree and gleefully watched its results.  Everything happened in the blink of an eye.  Henry had been wishing that he could excuse himself from the hectic dinner when he looked up from his plate and saw that seven of his chairs, along with the people in them, had utterly disappeared!  Each person barely felt what was happening to them, just a slight rush of wind as each chair propelled itself to its destination.

     The first chair landed the bishop on top of a tree.  He was confused to see that his surroundings changed, so he looked around and noticed a caribou about twenty feet below him grazing the forest floor.  The bishop clung to his teetering chair and prayed for God to send an angel down immediately.  The wife’s chair landed in the Amazon River.  Water rushed into her mouth as she struggled to swim in the river, using her chair as a flotation device.  Old Grandpa was confused to see that his food was gone and that he was sitting in the middle of the African Savannah.  He was about to open his mouth when he saw a lion in the distance, stalking closer to him.  Henry’s daughter rapidly turned her head about and saw that she was in a strange house.  A gruff man suddenly stalked inside and towered over her.  A large hunting knife dripping with blood was at his side, and a large burlap sack was slung over his back.  He asked what she was doing in his house with a thick Australian accent, and the daughter began screaming.  

     The fifth one ended up in France.  Sister Margaret could not figure out why she was suspended in midair or how she had gotten there, but she was too petrified to find out.  Two men below started calling up to her, asking if she was alright and what they could do to help.  Sister Margaret did not seem to hear them.  She was clutching her rosary and praying fervently aloud.  Henry’s son wondered why the blood was rushing to his head.  He realized that he was upside down in his chair and struggled to sit upright.  He was at the entrance of an icy cave with the ocean about three feet from him.  A baby seal jumped onto the ice and approached him.  Henry’s son smirked and started poking the baby seal, making him cry out.  The son’s cackling hushed when a humongous mother seal jumped onto the ice and barked loudly.  Henry’s son stopped harassing the baby and backed into the cave, with the seal following him.  The seventh and final enchanted chair sent Old Grandma on top of an elephant during a Hindi procession.  If anyone noticed her appear, nothing was done.  Old Grandma clutched onto her wobbling chair and screamed for someone to help her.

     All of this happened within a minute.  Back at the cottage, Henry started frantically calling his family’s names throughout the house.  At this point, the enchantress came in and spitefully proclaimed that he would never be able to find them.  Henry knew who the enchantress was as soon as he saw her and remembered what he had done in the Forbidden Grove.  The disappearance of the seven chairs made sense now, and he was scared.  

     “What’s wrong, Henry?  Are you worried about what I might do to you?” A smiled played on her lips.

     “I am so sorry,” he pleaded.  “I never should have chopped down your tree.  Please.  Please bring my family back.”

     “Ha!  Why should I?  You got what you deserved for stealing from me.  It seems to me, it couldn’t hurt your family to have some disciplining either.”

     “I’m begging you!  I’ll do anything you ask.”

     The enchantress thought for a moment.  “I will return the seven people to you on two conditions.  First, you must promise to tell them all exactly why they were whisked away from this cottage.  They must know that it is your fault for chopping down the tree.  Second, I want you to make her a rocking chair.  I might as well get something out of you.”

     Henry nodded profusely.  “Yes, yes!  I’ll do it!”

     “Very well.”  The enchantress snapped her fingers and swept her cloak over face.  She was gone.  Henry turned around and saw that everyone was sitting back at the table.  He was overjoyed to see them.  Before he could embrace them, he was bombarded with crying and shouts for explanations.  Reluctantly, Henry explained in full detail what had happened.  There was a dead silence when he was done.  The bishop shakily rose from the chair, suspicious it might disappear again, and announced that he thought it would be best for Nun Margaret and himself to take their leave.  Sister Margaret was sitting as still as a wall with a wide-eyed expression, clutching her rosary.  After saying her name again, Sister Margaret snapped out of the daze she was in and mechanically followed the bishop out the door.  After they left, Henry’s daughter stormed upstairs, lamenting all the trauma her father had impressed upon her.  Seeing his sister leave, Henry’s son also rose from the table to warm himself by the fire.  He huddled close to it and muttered that he would be a good boy and not lie or disobey ever again.  Henry’s wife had been glaring at him the entire time through the story.  Now that her guests and children were gone, she started yelling at her husband for being so foolish and causing them to go through such an ordeal.  The more she thought about it, the angrier she became, and Henry’s wife started hitting him and chasing him around the house.  Old Grandma, who had not heard Henry’s explanation very well, started shouting amidst the commotion for someone to explain why she had been riding an elephant.  Old Grandpa did not mind any of this; he was asleep at the table.  I can assure you that Henry was never tempted to steal from the Forbidden Grove again.      

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Day 109: Letting Go

If my math is correct, I should be on Day 150 right now.  :(  I will keep posting until I get back on track again.  I apologize for taking such a long break.

Last night I went to a painting party.  I am not a very good artist, and I have never painted with real paints on a canvas before.  Even though I was apprehensive about going, I went so my sister wouldn't be alone.  Surprisingly, I had a nice time, and my picture did not turn out as bad as I thought it would be.  That doesn't mean it wasn't perfect though.  I could have spent all night with that paint, trying to fix my mistakes I had made or struggling to make it look closer to my initial intentions for it.  As it was, I probably spent an extra twenty minutes longer than I had to with "finishing touches."  It was an endless cycle though.  No sooner had I tried to fix one mistake then three more had appeared.  I kept trying to fix them until I willed myself to stop and let it go.  I thought I was satisfied with it, but when I brought it home, I still wasn't happy.  I wished I could go back and fix it or had the opportunity to do it over again.  But there came a point where I had to accept that I could no longer change what I had done.  I had to take a deep breath, accept my mistakes, and be happy with what I had accomplished.  It was a learning experience, and hopefully I can apply what I learned into the next painting that I do.