#that H divorced him and took half the swagger | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thehoodsweetheart · 5 years

Text

Sandcastles | Part. II

A/N: You guys asked for Part 2 so here we are! I could create a whole playlist for the songs that inspired this. I hope you guys enjoy it. There may be a few errors. I’ve been trying to push this out for a while.

Warnings: Fuckboy!Erik (cont.), Some Angst, Mentions of Smut

Summary: If you have not read Sandcastles Part 1, please do so before reading this. Although, it may not be totally necessary to do so but it helps. The reader is a Black Woman, always has been always will be.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You dragged the half-full black Nike duffle bag along the edge of Iman’s closet. Your hands worked diligently taking the various dresses, onesies, sweaters, and pants off of their hangers. You worked strategically folding them to maximize the amount that could fit into the duffle. Thus far, all of drawers in Iman’s dresser were cleared and you were half way through the closet. You never realized your baby had so many clothes. Maybe you shouldn’t take everything? Nah, scratch that. Pack it all.

Where were you going? The last place most people would think to find you and you found solace in that, your twin brother’s house. In his words, he had a big ass house that he was barely at. Yes, you are a twin but when your parents divorced they thought the arrangement of your brother staying with your father and you your mother was a logical idea. They were wrong. On you guy’s seventh birthday, your dad moved and took JR with him to Louisiana and somewhere between holidays and summer visits, your very own twin became like a stranger. That is until you guys matured enough to forage your own relationship, which has innately gotten better since he started playing for the Los Angeles Rams.

You glanced at the white digital clock that sat atop of Iman’s changing table. You inhaled deeply wiping the few droplets of sweat away from your brow. Your eyes shifted to the sleeping Iman in her crib. She was taking her morning nap right on schedule. It was hell trying to get her to go to sleep because apparently during your time away, Iman had grown used to sleeping on her father’s chest. You hadn’t realized it but for a moment you had been holding your breath. Exhaling slowly, you felt the familiar churning of your stomach. Fuck, not again. You had to work faster. You needed to work faster. Time was of the essence and this morning sickness was only slowing you down.

If we’re being honest, the term morning sickness wasn’t even applicable. You had all day sickness. You couldn’t keep a single thing down, not even water, which was a concern. You dropped the onesie that you had in hand and rushed to the nearest bathroom. You toppled over spilling whatever contents were left in your stomach into the toilet; at this point it was nothing but bile. You dry heaved as a stray tear escaped your eye. You weren’t even this sick when you were pregnant with Iman. Pregnancy with her was relatively easy. You didn’t have many aches and pains, nor excessive sickness, or extreme cravings. You biggest challenge with her was heartburn and you loved spicy food. Erik would argue that your mood swings were the biggest challenge. Fuck Erik. Your chest tightened with just the thought of him.

Your phone pinged alerting you of a new text. You pulled yourself together brushing your teeth trying not to gag and end hunched over the toilet once again. You returned to Iman’s nursery picking up your phone. It was a text from JR.

Wazzam sis? Where you at? You good? You need me to come over there?

I’m still packing. I’m good, just a little sick. It’s slowing me down.

Just get what you can. I’ll send some movers to get the rest of your stuff if you need me to. I know you’re trying to get out of there before your boy gets back.

You stared blankly at your brother’s last text. Your lips pressed together in a thin line as your heart rate increase. You needed to be out before Erik got back.

I’ll be on my way within the next 30 minutes. Maybe less.

You quickly texted back. At least you hoped to be out within that timeframe.

Erik finally returned to work today so it was your golden opportunity. It had been three days since you returned home. The first two days were filled with avoidance on your part. You slept in one of the guestrooms with the door locked. Tiptoed through the house as if it weren’t your house too. A soon as Erik entered one of the common areas you were in you were quick on your toes to make an exit. This couldn’t last long though. You couldn’t avoid him while occupying the same home. The more you avoided him, the longer you knew he would stay home from work.

Erik was trying to apologize in the best ways he knew how. There we gifts that he strategically placed in Iman’s nursery because he knew you had to go in there. It only earned him a scoff and an eye roll. You couldn’t be bought. He tried ordering food from your favorite Mexican restaurant. Erik even cooked which he hasn’t done in over a month. You gladly accepted the food but opted to eat alone. The food would’ve been a nice sentiment if you could make it through a meal without vomiting. Then came the flowers, the obnoxious amount of flowers that practically covered the entire house. Each bouquet had a hand written apology that you didn’t give him the gratification of reading in front of him. He had been walking on eggshells knowing you would make good on your promise to leave, but you pulled a “him” to appease his worries.

Making your way to bedroom to grab some of your essentials, you could only wonder if somehow what you were doing or did could in anyway backfire. You cringed at the thought. You were honestly repulsed at your actions from last night and this morning. If you knew anything about your husband, you knew he was smart. Scratch that, he’s a genius. But would he catch on?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

You peaked into the in-home gym watching intently as Erik lifted weights. He laid back bench-pressing an obscene amount of weights. Jaw clinched, eyebrows knitted close together, eyes intently fixed on the metal bar above him Erik had to be deep in thought. The sweat that dripped down his chest drenched his shirt causing it to cling to his body. Based on his usual nightly routine, you knew his workout would be done within the next 10 to 15 minutes before he was done. You shook your clammy hands in front of you before clasping them together. You still needed to work up the courage to follow through with your plan but that would have to be enough time.

You jogged upstairs to get your head start. Cracking the bedroom door, you peaked inside of nursery to ensure Iman was in a deep sleep. Turning on your toes you took quick strides to the master bedroom. You made your way around you and Erik’s bedroom to the adjoining bathroom. You leaned against your vanity staring at your reflection in the mirror. Your coffin shaped nails tapped against the marble top. You had wasted enough time.

You turned on the shower adjusting the temperature. You stripped out of your clothes, put on a shower cap, and stepped into the steaming hot shower. You closed your eyes allowing your mind to roam as the water hit your body. There were still so many unanswered questions. Some questions that Erik refused to answer and plenty of questions you dared not ask, because honestly did you really need those answers. Would you feel better if you knew how long the affair lasted? If it was only a few times or did they fuck all the time? Who fucks better? Is that even a determining factor in if you could forgive him? Did he know her prior to the internship or was his attraction to her why he hired her?

You clenched and unclenched your fist ignoring the burning sensation of water temperature being a bit too hot. The more you thought about it, the angrier you could feel yourself become. How dare he betray your trust for the second time? Your grandma always said fool me once shame one you, fool me twice shame on me, and if you get fooled three times you are a goddamn fool. You began to scrub at your skin increasing the burning sensation. It was too bad you couldn’t wash away the disgust. You wanted to him to hurt like he made hurt. Not even physical pain, but the mental and emotional pain you endured leading up to this very moment. That’s exactly why you couldn’t stay there much longer, but leaving is always harder than it seems.

The sound of the bathroom door opening caught you off guard causing you to jump out of your thoughts. Your eyes snapped open to see Erik entering the bathroom with his wireless Beats by Dre headphones on. He stopped dead in his tracks taking in the view of you. A mixture of emotions flashed through his eyes the most prominent being uncertainty. You scrambled to cover yourself with your arms as if this wasn’t your husband who’d seen you naked plenty of times.

“I’ll be out soon.” You called out. This was the most you had spoken to him in two days.

Erik took off the headphones dragging his tongue across his bottom lip the glint from his gold fangs flashed. He pulled the sweat- drenched tee over his head facing you the entire time not breaking eye contact. His eyes were filled with remorse, a flash of that lost puppy look washing over his face. He nodded in appreciation of your voice holding on to every sound of every syllable. As short of a sentence it may have been, it was better than your silence. Shit, even being cussed out was better than silence. Silence just made the situation marinate. It straight up made him feel like shit.

“Nah…you don’t gotta rush.” Erik swaggered back into their room.

Letting out an uneasy sigh, a devious smirk formed on your lips. It was show time. You quickly rinsed off before grabbing your towel wrapping it tightly around your body and snatching off the shower cap. You picked up your lotion from your vanity then strutted into your room. You completely ignored Erik’s presence as you proceeded to dry off in front of the floor length mirror in your room. You could feel his gaze piercing into you. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You glanced up through the mirror to see him watching you as if you were prey. He sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread, as he hunched forward with a more predatory look in his eyes dreads falling into his face.

You broke the gaze maintaining a stoic, unbothered expression. This was all a game and you were about to have fun with it. You proceeded to point your foot placing it on the edge of the bed as you rubbed in your lotion at an agonizingly slow pace. It would only be a matter of a few moments before you would get the reaction you were seeking, the reaction that you were taunting out of Erik. You knew he had the audacity.

Erik stood up rounding the bed acting as though he was searching for something within your proximity. You rolled your eyes at his obviousness. By now you had switched legs, beginning to moisturize the other. As you leaned forward, arching your back some you began to work the Shea Butter starting from your ankle, leading to your calf, then your thigh. Your hands inched closer to the apex of your thigh when Erik’s hand got a firm hold of your wrist, the front of his body being pressed against the back of yours. You cut your eyes at him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the shower?” Your words laced with attitude.

“Yea but not yet” He mumbled huskily against your ear. “Let me help you with this…It’s the least I could do.” Erik nibbled at the rim of your ear. “…The least I could do to show you how sorry I really am.”

You tried to suppress a moan as he flicked his tongue across the flesh just below your ear as his calloused hand kneaded at the apex of your thighs. Your back arched more pressing your ass firmer against him. Blame it on the pregnancy hormones, but as angry as you still were with him, your body was betraying you. The pulse, that’s right an actual heartbeat, you felt at your center let you know the tough ‘act’ was over. The glaze on your lower lips that was beginning to drip onto your inner thighs just solidified it. His nose rubbed along the side of your neck as he leaned more into you.

“N’Jadaka…” You whined in protest only to receive a dark chuckle in response.

“See princess…all you gotta do is give Daddy permission.”

Erik stuffed one hand into the mess of your thick curls gripping them in his fist. You sucked air through clenched teeth from his sudden roughness. He forced you to look in his eyes, something you refused to do for extended periods of time of the last few days, before capturing you in an intoxicated kiss.

You hated how you craved him. How your body craved him. How lust could supersede hurt and anger. How your flesh burned and yearned for salacious acts only he could provide. At least that’s what you tried to tell yourself, right? It all happened in a blur. You tried to rationalize through every kiss, lick, bite, and tug at flesh, that this is what you needed to do. You needed him open and what better way to breakdown his wall of paranoia. Or were you the one open? How could you not be repulsed by stooping this low in an act of manipulation? You knew he would leap at the opportunity to fuck you into submission and forgiveness if possible. He’d better enjoy it because it would be the last time he would get to. Little did Erik know, he was far from forgiven. Did he honestly think you would give in after being home for three days? Wrong. You only confronted him about his escapades eight days prior.

But now here you were, in control as your hips rose and fell, your aching core gripping his entire length thoroughly stretched to accommodate his girth. Your head thrown back eyes shut tightly. Erik delivered a powerful smack on your ass that only served as encouragement and motivation. You peered down at him through hooded eyes biting down on your bottom lip. You dragged your nailed down his studded chest and abs. It was time to pick up the pace. You bounced faster being sure to tighten you walls each time you reached the tip. The tip hitting your spot at just the right angle every time encouraged your cream to both of your thighs. The room was filled with sounds of flesh slapping and the sloshing of your sex. When Erik reached to grip your hips you slapped his hands away. You knew he wanted to gain control but this was a revenge fuck. He let out a growl as his abs flexed. Despite reforming over the years, your husband still thrived on power. A lack of power would only frustrate him. You were on the verge of cumming so he power trip would have to wait. A slue of curse words followed letting you know you had him just where you wanted him. It was also only a matter of time before he would take over…and that he did.

You passed out cumming and woke up the next morning on the verge of cumming. One leg raised in the air cuffed in his brolic arm, he was buried so deep in you from the side that you felt winded. You didn’t know if you wanted to curse him out or sing praises, so you did both. The overwhelming sensation brought tears to your eyes that Erik gladly kissed away while whispering yet another apology. If you weren’t already pregnant, you would’ve surely ended pregnant after this escapade.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You blinked a few times at your reflection in the mirror. Purplish bruises cover your neck and the tops of your breast. You zipped up your hoodie to the top in efforts to hide them. You didn’t even want anyone to have a clue that you had sex with Erik after he cheated on you. Imagine being embarrassed of sleeping with your own husband. A heavy sigh escaped your lips as your broke away from your trance. You had to move on and move fast. You sped walked into your walk-in closet grabbing a tote immediately grabbing some essentials like under garments, a track suit, sundresses, and sandals. You grabbed enough clothes to last you until you called a moving company to pick up the rest of your things the next day. Next on your to do list was the bathroom to pack your hygienic products. Your eyes darted around the room. Was there anything important you were forgetting? You surely hoped not.

You waltzed over to the stand pulling out a notepad you used to keep in there. You pulled out the pen that was wedged into the spirals. The devil on your shoulder was back at it again as the pen glided across the page. Your pettiness was getting the best of you.

Erik,

If you’re reading this, then you should know that we’re gone. Don’t come looking for us. Fuck marriage counseling. This marriage was over when you decided to have a second affair. I won’t keep Iman away from you, but I never want to see your sorry ass ever again. I’ll have my mom or somebody bring her to you for visits. As far as baby #2, I’ll have you informed when I’m in labor.

P.S. I hope you enjoyed last night and this morning. Now you know how it feels to be fucked into thinking everything is okay.

Love, Y/n Udaku-Stevens

You ripped off the page setting it on top of the nightstand. You twisted your wedding ring and bands off in one motion setting them on top of the note before grabbing your tote and heading back to Iman’s nursery. You made sure to slip off her Kimoyo beads leaving them in her crib. You had taken yours off the first time you left eight days ago. You swiftly situated Iman into her car seat. You would have to carry her and you guys’ bags, but this wasn’t something you were unaccustomed to. You carried her with plenty of grocery bags whenever Erik was out of town or just simply not around.

As you finished loading your truck, you paused. This was it. How would Erik react coming home to two being gone…for good. You knew he suffered from issues of abandonment. Were you adding to his problems of being alone? It could definitely trigger it. You groaned resting your forehead on the car’s door. You couldn’t pity him. He clearly didn’t care about how you felt anymore.

You hopped into the driver’s seat and proceeded to drive off. You drove away from the house that was supposed to be a home to build your family. You didn’t want to stay there though. It wasn’t home anymore. Just being there gave your chest a heavy feeling. If you did stay, making Erik leave would be another fight that you just didn’t have the energy for. In so many ways you found home in Erik, yet that was gone too. Your very concept of home washed away like sandcastles to a tide.

You didn’t even bother to turn on the radio. You were too deep into your thoughts. You opted to start over. This was your decision. You could go back to work and find a new place to call home. You could figure out how to create a new normal for you and Iman. But how you would deal with two kids under two years old alone? What if you were pregnant with twins? That would be like God playing some type of sick joke on you. You bit your bottom lip using your thumb to hastily wipe way a single stray tear, before refocusing on the road. Whatever the future circumstance would be you couldn’t worry about it. You had to deal with your problems in the right now.

Tag List: @yoyolovesbucky @beaut1fulone-blog @sarcastic-sunshines

If I forgot to tag you and you asked, I’m soo sorry!

#erik killmonger x reader #erik killmonger x oc #erik killmonger imagine #erik killmonger #black panther #erik killmonger x black!reader #black panther imagine #black panther rec #sandcastles #sandcastles part 2

357 notes · View notes

meisteralready · 7 years

Text

A Supermarket at 45 rpm

1982. Reagan was still just an actor in the white house, my hometown baseball team would win the World Series, and I was turning nine years old. We didn’t have cable, my Mom and I lived in an apartment in Fenton, Mo, St. Louis County. South of the city. That summer was awesome. I think it was sunny everyday. I went camping for a whole weekend for the first time with someone other than my family. I also kissed a girl for the first time. It was on a trampoline late one afternoon in Eddie Weber’s backyard. That summer, I bought my first record as well, a 45 rpm.

All summer long, we kept hearing the same song, at the pool, in movie theater parking lots, at the field house where we would go or sno-cones after soccer practice. It started off weird, the song did, with what sounded like someone hitting empty coke bottles. The guy singing had a strange accent. It was a rock song, but it had a lotta flute in it and no, it wasn’t Jethro Tull, In the lyrics, he talked about vegemite sandwiches. I found out the name of the song was “Down Under” and the name of the band was Men At Work.

I remember being in the car with my Mom and the song came on. I quickly asked her to turn it up, which caught her attention, for this was not something I did on the reg. She chuckled at various references in the song especially “where the beer would flow and men would chunder", which I only found recently meant to puke. Mom stated, halfway in the song, “I think these guys are from Austraila”, and when the famous vegemite line was uttered, she laughed, “Oh, yeah, they’re Aussies,” adding, “your father and I knew a lot of blokes like that.”

I didn’t quite know what that meant, but she beamed with pride. My Dad and Mom, when they were first married, lived in Sydney for a few months, then Melbourne, before having to come home because my grandfather got sick and Mom found out that she was pregnant. It was hard for them to leave Australia, they were a young couple in the prime of their lives, living abroad in a friendly country (Well, friendly at least to white people at that time, aside from how they treated aborigines), and they seemed to be deeply, madly in love.

Their photo albums from that time were like highlight reels for happiness with pictures that made it seem like they’re living in heaven on earth. After they moved back, Grandpa did die and grief-stricken, Mom miscarried. Three years later, I was born, but they were miserable together and eventually got divorced. Yet Australia, was this gem of their time together and, even today, the greatest times of their lives.

Back in 1982, The DJ on the radio in the car confirmed that, indeed, Men At Work were from Australia and that they were HUUUUGEEE there. Now at that time, the only other band I knew that was from Australia was AC/DC and I was told by John Hrdlicka, my next door neighbor with the most christian mother i had ever met, that AC/DC actually meant After Christ, Devil Comes. My cousin Kathy had an album of theirs with Angus displaying his devil horns, so that, in essence, confirmed it. To a eight year old, Satan was some heavy shit.

A week or so later, Mom and I went to Schnuck’s, our neighborhood grocery store. This was the early 80s, we didn’t go out a whole lot, and going to the supermarket was a BFD. A Big Fucking Deal. Sometimes we’d see a friend of mine from school or Mom would flirt with the store manager to get double coupons on a week where there wasn’t double coupons. And Mom usually let me get something, like candy or a comic book or the like. But this time it was different.

Mom, by now six years divorced, still beautiful, and very liberated, was talking it up in the meat aisle with a guy wearing a wide-open, chest-hair-filled polyester shirt. I didn’t know him and it didn’t seem like anybody else did as well. They displayed all the signs of attraction between two people, something that, years later, I would come to recognize. He would lean in to her to tell a joke, my Mom would lilt in her laugh and shift her hips side-to-side. I didn’t even know if the jokes were good, and, being nine, kicked at the rollers on the shopping cart, and was generally, loudly bored. After an elongated “MoooOOOoooM,” she turned to me, quickly dug into her purse and handed me four bucks.

FOUR BUCKS. That was pretty incredible. Outside of Christmas cards or birthdays, it was the most money I had ever held in my hand. I was dumbfounded. “What do I do with this?” I asked. Mom, never breaking her gaze from her Meat Market Adonis shooed me away with a “whatever you want.” I walked away amazed and let them continue their budding romance next to the pork steaks. I had to get one more meat joke in.

The supermarket was now, a whole new world to me. I was willy wonka and this was my chocolate factory, everything seemed at my disposal. WHAT TO BUY WITH ALL MY RICHES? I went to the comic books - nothing new there, I had all the latest editions that were on the shelf. I looked at the candy and nothing was overly biting me - I believe I had one of those sno-cones only an hour or so earlier. I went closer to the liquor aisle, no, i was pre-pubescent wino. Near the liqour, Schnucks was trying out something new, something I had never seen before outside the local Sam Goody - a section for 45 rpm records.

Now, in the history of vinyl, these were the waning years of the record single. Tape and later CD singles would be the 7 inches’ demise, falling to an all-time sales low in 1985. And supermarkets, being the dinosaurs of change, added a 45 record section in the last dying breaths of the medium. It is though, historic to me for it was where I bought my first record, next to a guy buying a fifth of Seagram’s Gin and Similac.

I looked through the two rows of singles - Hurts So Good by John No-One-Had-Yet-Heard-of Mellencap Cougar, Abracadabra by Steve Miller Band which did not reach out and grab me, and many, many copies of Always On My Mind by Willie Nelson, which I almost bought because Willie looked like a space cowboy on the cover wearing a silver jacket, changing out his regular red bandana for some teal blue sari-looking one, all the while with weird sand dunes in the back that made him look like he was one Mars. He probably picked the album cover while stoned. Who I am kidding, everything done by Willie Nelson was done while he was stoned. Shit, if I could do that, damn right, I would. But all of us can’t be Willie Nelson. I think. What was I talking about?

Right, the record. So, I’m flipping through the singles and come across Men At Work. I knew I like the song and I distinctly remember the price tag reading $3.30. Right in my wheelhouse. So I walk up to the register and put in on the conveyor belt, and right as it was getting zapped by the mysterious green light that under the glass plate that somehow knew all the prices of everything everywhere, the cashier asked me if I was interested day-old roses that were on sale for a quarter a piece. She listlessly waved her hand toward it in such a way that I still have hope today that she finally found a job that fulfills her. Feeling rich and proud of my very unlike-eight year old purchase, I think I literally said, “Throw it on my tab.” My flirt with the cashier didn’t go as well as did the older gentleman with my mother. She sighed and I was immediately embarrassed, my only wish was to be back in the meat aisle.

I turned, defeated, to find my Mom. She and Mr.-70s-held-over were near the front of the store by the half-priced store-brand cereals that were on the endcap. I sauntered over with the rose hidden behind my back. Mom was tearing what I guess was her phone number on a piece of paper from a pad in her checkbook. This pad, usually used only for to-do lists, now included romantic encounters. As she handed it to this poor-man’s-Chuck-Barris, I pretended to be interested in a box of knock-off fruity pebbles, which I think they were called Fruit Rocks. He swaggered away and i presented my Mom with the rose. She smiled so brightly. I can still feel that kiss she gave me on my forehead.

I don’t know if that guy, who I will now always call Fruit Rocks, ever did get a hold of Mom, but what I do remember is getting home and Mom happily loading up that single on the record player. you see, I was not able to touch the hi-fi for at least another two years. The first time was when I bought my first long-playing record, which Prince’s Purple Rain, but that’s a whole other story.

That night, though, I had Mom play Side A of that 45 over and over. “Down Under” definitely brought the Thunder, which, coincidentially, is now the name of an Australian all-male stripper revue. Mom & I danced and laughed at each other for hours. I never got the drug references in the song, of which there are many, for example, “Lyin’ in a den in Bombay. With a slack jaw, and not much to say”? Really? You do the math.

OPIUM.

Dancing the night away back then with Mom is a great memory. I HATED the B-side of the record, though. I can’t even remember the name of it. It was pure crap. Some song that I have erased from my memory. I detested it so much that I got a steak knife and intentionally scratched “I HATE THIS” into the grooves. I mean, I could do it, right? It was mine. I BOUGHT it. Over the next couple months, I lost interest in the 45 and eventually, lost track of the record.

Fast forward to 2009. My Mom, after a long and truly courageous battle with an illness, passes. Yet, she lived long enough to see her only grandchild born, something she always wanted. My daughter Evangeline, who adored her. Evie looks just like Mom, and is just as funny as she was, just as kind, and is just as beautiful.

It took me a long time to go through Mom’s stuff. It sat for years. In 2015, I began. God forbid anything ever happened to me, my kid wouldn’t know what any of this stuff was. I catalogued things, wrote a bit about each box I would go through, made little quicktime movies. It helped a lot. Tremendously cathartic. One night last summer with Evangeline visiting, I open up a box marked “silverware”. It was in my Mom’s handwriting, which was always beautiful, the way all Mom’s seem to write.

Inside was no cutlery at all, instead, loose odds and ends and on top was something small, flat and wrapped in bubblewrap. I opened it. It was that old Men at Work forty-five, one side still scratched to hell with the price tag reading $3.30 staring me dead in the eye. I had never mentioned it before, in all conversations I ever had with Mom, even as an adult, that this was my first record. But she knew. She protected it. She cared.

I began to weep, softly. Evie, a little alarmed, stopped playing with her toys on the floor, came over and hugged me. She asked me what was wrong. Kinda just like what Mom would do. I told her this very story. She cried a bit as well. Eve was only two when my Mom died. She has fleeting memories. She said that she missed “Meemaw”, what she could recollect of her. She said she was sad because she could not remember her voice. We, regrettably, neglected to take many videos of her and Mom.

After a bit, Eve reached into the box and pulled out a small package. It was a rubber banded manila envelope of cassette tapes. it was marked “Austraila”, again in Virginia Meister’s expert penmanship. These were taped audio letters, sent back and forth, from Mom & Dad to each of their parents in America, while they lived abroad. One side would be of my parents’ adventures in Oz, with the other being the whole family relaying stories of back home.

Evie and I sat the rest of that night and listened to them while flipping through the treasured photo albums. She remembered her grandmother’s voice and for the first time in my life, I heard the voice of my grandfather whom I had never met.

And we played that Men At Work 45. And we danced and we laughed at each other. But we only spun “Down Under”, never that B-Side, because that other song? That was pure crap.

1 note · View note