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The murderer's cane moves ominously toward the old woman singing, "I'm a little teapot..."
Quickly I switch the channel from
Stephen King's Storm of the Century to CNN.
I don't want to see the scary part.
I relax on the bed to watch a little television.
I prop up a stack of pillows for my back.
"If all that stuff wasn't in that chair," I muse, "I
could sit comfortably instead of struggling with these pillows.
I click the remote from CNN back to channel 2.
A woman screams.
She runs down a hallway.
Outside the storm of the century dumps three feet of snow on the small New England town.
The villain sits in a jail cell.
"How is Linoge making that cane kill people?" I wonder.
Keith plops down on the bed.
He reaches for the remote.
Click.
History channel.
"Keeee-e-eeeth!" I complain, "I was watching that!"
Our son bought us a universal remote and programmed it
to control the tv, the vcr and the cable box.
It's a handy gadget.
However, whoever rules the remote, rules the world!
"Change it back!" I insist.
Dutifully he clicks back to channel 2.
The constable's wife finds the old woman in the bathroom with her face down in a sink full of water. "What happened to her?" "His cane beat up this sweet old woman in the bathroom while Linoge is locked up in jail." "You're watching that?" Keith criticizes incredulously. "I thought it was going to be about a big snow storm," I answer defensively. Click. History channel. "That's way too violent," Keith concludes. He settles comfortably on the bed to watch a program about weapons of World War I and World War II. "More violent than world war," I mutter to myself. When our old tv in the bedroom conked out, he confiscated MY new color television out of the study! I could watch my program on the black-and-white tv in the kitchen but I stand my ground. "It's my tv. I bought it with my own money." "If you'll clean up that pile of papers, I'll buy you a new one," he promises. I'm furious. I can feel the electric energy run up my neck. Newspapers and other paraphernalia fill the overstuffed chair on my side of the bed. A long cardboard box sits on top. Two corners of the box tilt beyond the arm of the chair and the other two corners are sitting on top the stack of papers. "Why do I sort the papers? Why don't I just throw them away?" you ask. For one thing, I rarely throw anything away. For another, I like to get the mail out of the stack first. One time I found a thousand dollar cashiers check in a pile of old letters. "What is the mail doing in the stack in the first place?" you might wonder. "Give me a break," I whine. Keith throws everything on my side when he gets in bed, and I shove it off or pile it in the chair. Once it's on my side of the room, it's my responsibility. While I sort papers, I am engrossed in the evolution of the tommy gun. I'm still a little ticked off because he won't let me watch the snow storm show so he can watch stuff about weapons for world war. I jerk a handful of papers out from under the cardboard box. He has the gall to say my show is too violent, rapid fire rifles in the hands of organized crime! Sheesh! There's Al Capone. All of a sudden the tv switches to channel 9. I holler at Keith to stop. "If you are going to watch something, watch it, and quit changing the channels!" But he said, "I didn't do it! The tv started changing channels on it's own." "Well maybe the remote is so used to you surfing the channels that when you stop, it goes ahead (it's programmed remember?)" I quip. The television is on channel 99 and then it goes back to channel 9. I demand, "At least watch SOMETHING if you aren't going to let me watch what I want to." The television picture flips from channel 14 to channel 9. "I didn't do it! It's changing on it's own," Keith insists. I should make him buy me a new tv of my own, but I can't make Keith do anything. I yell at him, "Stop doing that!" He keeps pleading, "I'm not doing it. It's doing it on it's own." I'm starting to wonder if it's me. my electric energy that I seem to have that messes up recorders and video cameras. After all the murderer's psychic energy caused a cane to kill an old woman. Is my anger about the television changing the channels? I grab the remote out of his hand and point it away from the tv. I am convinced he is doing it unconsciously and not noticing. Next thing you know, it's on channel 99 (static). Sooo... he's innocent. But what is going on? So I call Curtis, "Are you changing the channel on your tv with the remote?" His tv is on the other side of the wall from ours and I thought the remote rays were coming through the wall. "No, Mom, I'm not watching tv, I'm doing my home work." Well, this is really becoming a mystery now. There's nothing we can do but keep changing the channel back to 14 while the tv is bouncing between 9 and 99. Meanwhile, I don't really care anymore. I pull a few more papers from under the stack. I shake out the mail, sort it, fold the newspaper and put it in the trash. I really get a lot done. I'm down to the cushion of the chair. I'm feeling really proud of myself. The last thing I pick up is the cardboard box. And guess what is lying on the cushion of the chair? The other remote. Yep! I was doing it all along!! The corner of the box is bouncing on the remote every time I pull out some papers. It is hitting the 9. Revenge is sweet. Too bad the corner of the box wasn't clicking the snow storm story on channel 2. |
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Copyright © 1999 by Pamela Joy
Fairbanks, Alaska