The last voice. The one she's been braced for. "Okay. What is this? What's going on with you, really? Those babies need you tomorrow. They need you to be alert and aware. They need proper stimulation, exercise, healthy meals. Not only do they need those things, they deserve them. What are you going to do, feed them peanut butter off a spoon while they watch Teletubbies for the umpteenth time?
The cards falter. The voice changes.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid. Sleep for fuck's sake. Go get in that bed and sleep. You know if you just lay down and try, just TRY, you know you'll sleep. You don't get five minutes of peace when you have responsibilities. Go. To. Sleep."
She lays the cards down, heads for the stairs, wondering when her mother's voice became her own.
Oh, man, Deena. Powerbar, that is.
Third person.
Umph, love. The exhausting oneself so one has a prayer of going to sleep. Been there. Sisyphus should have been a woman.
I like the man in the bayou.
Man, Deena. You have your finger right ON that nerve. Um.
Damn, Deena. That's incredible.
Thanks guys, and thanks to Aimee, because I was having a horrible time thinking of something to write until I read her drabbles. They goosed my muse.
Connie, I thought you might like him. I think he and Otis may know one another. I'll have to ask him next time he shows up.
I think he and Otis may know one another.
Great, two old men leaning back in rickety chairs, shootin' the breeze and telling tall tales. I'll tell Otis to bring his own spittoon.
You know, I never got my voices names. I should name them. I think my Juju woman is, in some weird way, related to your puritan, except she's scary, though your puritan sounds scary enough.
Martha, the nasty old woman in the long black dress. Otis' sister. It's always family that annoys you most. If your Juju woman has hard, dark eyes that follow you everywhere, tight, judgemental lips, and a sharp voice that's very clever on pointing out your flaws, then she's related to Martha. After I discovere Otis, though, she stopped bothering me so much. Made me feel just a touch sorry for her, meeting her tobacco-spittin', moonshine-swillin', foul-mouthed, cackling brother. But just a very small touch sorry.
As always, I'm loving the drabbles.
They goosed my muse.
I need to say this sentence over and over.
