A Part of the Family

Sometimes I wonder if I’m in the right family, I really do. I’ll sit here in the evenings with everyone around me, eager to shoot the breeze, keen to discuss the day’s goings on. Not for them, though. They’ll sit there, mouths hanging open, guts spilling over the sides of sofas, expressions glaikit as they chew their way through a Chinese or an Indian or a fish supper.

I’m a pleaser, always have been. You want to talk soaps? I’m up for it. Sports? Pick one. Shopping? Get your wallet out because we’re gonna spend big. If all you want to do is talk nonsense about the weather then I can chew the cud with the best of them. I’m not fussy, I’m really not.

Sometimes I lack stimulation, that’s all. I say this in the nicest possible way, but my family aren’t what you’d call academic. What I really want is for someone to challenge me, to say ‘let’s discuss Greco-Roman architecture into the small hours’, or ‘Central banks have not learned lessons from the sub-prime mortgage crash. Discuss.’

I look across at them and know it won’t happen. I can almost see the exhausted grey matter pulsing weakly beneath their skulls, synapses barely mustering the energy to decide on whether to go for a piss now or to wait for the next ad-break. It’s almost a relief when they drag themselves off to bed.

I’ve never been one for sleeping; my body clock doesn’t work that way. After 2200 my thoughts start whirring. It doesn’t matter that everyone else is asleep; I’ll talk to the bloody walls. Here is where I get my stimulation, when lights are cast low on the living room walls and night-rain spatters against the windows. I’ll research, I’ll explore, I’ll commit knowledge to memory, all so that I have something to fall back upon when the tedium begins in the morning with MTV Hits.

It’s often only the creak of floorboards above me that alerts me to the fact that I’ve been up all night. I’ll hurriedly turn everything off before arranging myself as though I’ve fallen asleep, a slob like them. Down they’ll come, dropping onto sofas like sacks of spuds. The remote is dug out from between sofa cushions or from an arse crack before being pointed directly at my face. I’ll feign sleepiness as I fuzz into life, biddable and obliging as ever. The remote will bob slightly as my channels are examined for anything suitably simplistic. I’m so humiliated I could scream. I can offer so much more.


***As always folks, I’d be delighted to hear your feedback on my short stories. Thanks for reading!***

15 thoughts on “A Part of the Family

  1. I could relate so well. I agree – the intellectual stimulation is not easy to find, particularly in a family setting, unless you’re very blessed of course!
    I try to find that kind of ‘kick’ in reading myself to death and in the small community I’ve built over the years, of people who think a little like me.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I was waiting for that twist! All along I suspected it was the sofa narrating but it didn’t sit quite right. When you delivered the punchline it all made sense. I really liked it.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. This piece was engaging right away, but the twist at the end was hilarious. Loved it!

    btw, I seem to be posting under the name “Sparks”–not sure how that happened or how to change it yet. Sparks is a new blog a friend and I are working on, but it’s not up yet. We’ll be posting writing prompts (or sparks) and offering a forum for folks to post their writing with links to their own sites. My own site is Wild Imaginings: a Spiritual Journey at http://www.nancyschoellkopf.com

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I started sputtering at “The remote is dug out from between sofa cushions or from an arse crack.” 😆 Before that I was feeling all melancholy. Great surprise ending, fooled me big time. That TV has a good personality!

    Liked by 1 person

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