Quickly’s Day 3: The Sounds of Imaginary Dreams

men walking on nets

Prose: The Sounds of Imaginary Dreams

It was either the Goodwill or the Salvation Army, the later being situated on a steep slope toward the lake, and the former making no impression on my memory whatsoever.

It was where I bought my first radio. It was silver. Dad painted it blue, from the same pot of paint that he touched up his car after I reversed it into the garage when the door was closed and bolted ( I assume) since the door didn’t budge when I hit the speeder pedal with the vigour and enthusiasm of a learner driver. Anyway, the radio … It had two black knobs. One for tuning in the station, the other to turn it on and off. There was no back on the radio, so you could watch all those tubes heating up and exposing their glowing amberish-red selves.

Fascinating. It was just like Eddie, starting out cold and slow, and then heating up.

But anyway, the radio … turn it on and start it up – Rolling Stones in my bedroom. The Doors were singing while I flunked Geometry 101. Hey Jude banged around in my head, and left no room for Chemistry. My youth is probably imprinted on my old bedroom walls, along with my Monkeys poster on the back of my closet door, and a pack of cigarettes hidden behind the Complete Works of Charles Dickens.

 


Written for Quickly’s Cafe of Imaginary Dreams and/or this prompt . This isn’t actually “imaginary”. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting #apoemaday on Twitter

4 responses to “Quickly’s Day 3: The Sounds of Imaginary Dreams”

  1. There’s a lot going on here. I so want to know about Eddie. And more of the relationship between the narrator and the father… post garage door. 🙂 You are very good at diving in and out of images. Reading it is a little like doing breaststroke – relaxing and yet somehow invigorating.

    Like

    • Eddie was, and probably still is, a brainless pillock. His mother didn’t drill into his thick head that no means no, even though everyone else was doing the 60s free love thing. And the narrator and her dad only exchanged cross words once in her lifetime. Her mother however was incensed that all hell didn’t break out over the garbage door saying, Well aren’t you special. If I’d done that there would’ve been fireworks. The narrator and her mother had a difficult relationship. 😅

      Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: