a rip in the fabric of time
draft 1
fiction
edward w pritchard
For me since I was a boy a rip in the fabric of time occurred on Saturday nights. About the hour that the Lawrence Welk show came on TV in syndication time ceased it's racing forward progress and the past flopped into our living room. The air became creamy and the light muted and frayed and my singing Mother lost years before my eyes. The future ceased to exist and the present was only snack food as distracted but compelled I watched the Lawrence Welk operation perform it's slick modus nostalgaeri.
Time seemed external and I felt myself common, just one of the herd being entertained; watching the Welk family earn a living. My ancient relatives romantic interludes and distant dreams took center stage for a few minutes as the repetition of life's spectacle reoccurred. Our mediocrity emerged as the show dimmed into a series of Geritol commercials and rumors of marital difficulties among loving cast members. Show over my entire family raced through the house turning on lights and restarting personal projects to drive the past out of now.
end
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