I Dreamed A Dream...(Les Miserables)

I dreamed of pipes along the fence
When pipes were high and off the ground
I dreamed that pipes would never dent
I dreamed of pipes perfectly round

Then horses always stayed away
The sprinkler pipes were safely hanging
There were no horses to feed hay
No pipes were dented by hooves banging

But the horses come at night
With their neighs as soft as thunder
As they tear the pipes apart
And they act like nothing’s wrong

Kathy would not hear my cries
My days were filled with endless wonder
The horses swatted at the flies!
But kicked the pipes when darkness came!

And still I dream of pipes dent free
That horses would not watch me leave
They know that no one will believe
They kick the sprinkler pipes to spite me

I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I'm living,
So different now from what it seemed...
The horses killed the dream I dreamed...

The Project Man

This is Matt writing. I guess it's time I contribute to the page. Here's my first song in years. It's a parody to Billy Joel's, Piano Man.

The Project Man

It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday
A project’s about to begin
Last week’s project’s a pile in the other room
A mass of old steel and tin

He says, son, can you pass me the welding torch
It’s a hitch that he’ll make with his gear
It’s a little bazaar to pull a boat with a car
But it’s something he’s dreamed of for years

La la la, de de da
La la, de de da da da

Chorus:
He’s building a truck, he’s the project man
He’s starting a barn tonight
He hates wearing shoes, he’ll work in bare feet
Working hard while he watches the pipes

Now the space in the house is a little tight
Mom wants a new place to sleep
He draws up a design that’ll work out just fine
This was way back in ‘83
He worked on it hard for a couple of years
But with time his will had just sunk
Now the years have been fun, but it still isn’t done
At least they’ve got space for their junk

Oh, la la la, de de da
La la, de de da da da

Project man is a social class specialist
Shares a joke, then he slips out in style
Then he jumps in his car to drive out of Hyde Park
She knows he’ll be gone for a while

Now he’s reading his emails of politics
As the Saturday slowly slips by
He’d better move fast to get the garden in
Cause on Sunday he’ll be in Dubai

Chorus

It’s a pretty slow day for a Saturday
And Matt hasn’t come for a while
Now if I call him up wrong; well it won’t last too long
All I hear is the tone of the dial
Well I head on down to the corner house
I guess it’s time I face my fears
I just walk right up, tell him, “Pretty nice truck.”
He just says, “I aint touched it in years.”

Oh, la la la, de de da
La la, de de da da da

Chorus

Sunday, Mystery Sunday

The newspaper editor blew another puff of blue smoke from his fake Cuban cigar as he simultaneously threw up his feet and tilted back his bowler hat. This was a proud day for The New York Times and he was trying to take it all in as best he could. As he gazed over the Manhattan skyline to peer over Central Park and the long shadow cast upon it by the Chrysler Building, he couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest man on this planet. And in a way, he was. Within the last twenty-four hours a few of his freelance reporters had “unearthed” two of the greatest mysteries ever wrought upon the planet; the body of Jimmy Hoffa had been found at last and so was Amelia Gerhard’s plane. It was only a matter of hours before each small household in America was to gather around father at the breakfast table, New York Times in hand, finally solving the mysteries that had plagued mankind for decades. The Times could sell ad space for a million dollars per square inch. The front page had been laid out already, both stories running side by side, and all that stood in the way of Joe Public and the wonderful truth was a printer machine that had earlier ran out of ink. I stepped off the elevator and onto that 23rd floor with an even bigger story. I guarded it like a bulldog with a pork chop between my upper arm and my pit. “Hey Tanner, the boss is about to break out the Champagne for our “biggest story ever” celebration, where are you going?” “Tell him to hold the Champagne,” I hollered back as I whisked my way up the top of the stairs. I caught a bewildered look from my confused colleague out of the corner of my eye. As I made my way to the top of the stairs, I held out the guarded piece of information in my right hand before declaring, “stop the presses, I know where Matt’s dad went every Sunday after sacrament meeting!” Suddenly a hoard of Champagne glasses shattered on the ground. All the typing ceased. I straightened my tie to go hand the boss the real headline of the day.“Hey, Tanner, wake up doofus!” Chase whispered as he nudged my shoulder with the sacrament tray. I reached for a piece of bread with one hand while I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes with another. It had all been a dream, just a crazy dream. This was reality and I still didn’t know where Matt’s dad went after sacrament meeting. It had been killing me for the longest time.Like a small child who rats on her brother for peeping during family prayer, only to realize she herself had to have had her eyes open as well to notice, I never inquired of anybody where Danny went. After all, the first time I had seen him pulling out of the church parking lot, I had played hooky myself from church. But here I was, caught by my father who had come home to check on his supposedly “ailing” son, only to find him eating Twinkies and playing Tetris. I was ordered to put on my Sunday best and march up to that chapel faster than an atheist repenting in a foxhole. As my eyes caught a glimpse of Danny’s in that Blue truck, I could feel his sense of sadness for my predicament. Here was a man much older than myself who seemed to be saying, “Someday kid, someday you’ll be able to get out of church just like myself”. It’s not that I hated church, per say, it’s just that I found it waaaayyyyy to boring. I had heard all the talks a dozen times. If I was going to sit through one more discussion on whether tithing gets taken off the gross or the net, I was going to explode! (It’s gross people!) Matt’s’ dad had found that sanctuary away from the sanctuary and I had to experience that for myself as well. I found a Sabbath day when the family had all left on vacation. I could have gone with them to see the Grand Canyon, sure, but I yearned more deeply to find the secret hiding place of Mr. Wettstein on Sundays. I had made up a lie about how I had to work that weekend and that I couldn’t get it off. I parked the car in the lot just to the north of the church bowery and waited. Ten O’ Clock rolled around at last! As people stepped outside to gather lesson materials out of their cars and graham crackers for the nursery children, I spotted that Blue truck! I pulled out discretely and started to follow Mr. Wettstein down Center Street. He passed his house, but that was no surprise. I had known for a while that home was not where he went. I had a sneaking suspicion that perhaps it was Glausers restaurant on Center Street. I followed the old man down airport road and onto 10th west. I could barely hold the wheel as I dripped beads of anticipating sweat. Perhaps Danny was part of some secret society that met together in the basement of Glausers for ribs, pool, and a little hazing of the new guy. It was like a sort of fraternity for those who were fed up with church and I was going to get in! As we approached the bump on 2nd North, I made a costly mistake. I dropped my soda cap onto the floor and took my eyes of the prize, so to speak, for a split second. Once my eyes returned to the road ahead, he was gone. The light had changed to red and I could spot no traces of Blue Chevy anywhere. I drove by Glausers but it was closed. I sat outside in my car for a minute cursing myself for being so stupid! I finally got out of the car and stepped into a back alley to relieve myself. As I did, for just a split second, I thought I heard the sound of a cue ball colliding with a striped 3 ball and then…. it was gone. “The dream was not to be realized today”, I told myself as I bowed my head and made my way back to the car. I made it back to the church in time for Elders quorum where we were discussing what else? Tithing.

First Encounters of the Awkward Kind...

I still remember the first time I really spoke with Danny. It was one of those awkward moments that never quite leave you, lying in wait like a dormant disease ready to spring up at the next sighting of the man. Matt and his dad were fixing something inside the garage, possibly replacing a clutch on a Datsun Z or cleaning out a carburetor on an old snowmobile. Since the only thing I had ever done mechanically was busting out the robot at a school pep dance, I decided to step back and let the men do their thing. It was something strait out of Home Improvement; oil leaking, wrenches dropping, and grunts occasionally permeating the air. After a while of standing there folding my arms, I felt a tad bit out of place. I decided I’d try to strike up a conversation regarding the old truck that sat in the next bay. I had driven past the Wettsteins house many times and had caught glimpses of the old truck through an open garage door. I walked around the old truck like I was an antique Jalopy prospective buyer at some exclusive auction. I peered at the tires and took a look inside. After giving it a good, thorough inspection, I confidently straightened up, puffed out my chest, and said “yep, this things a beaut! It’s really coming along Mr. Wettstein!” Both Matt and his father dropped their wrenches in a pique of laughter. “That damn thing?” Danny quipped, “why I haven’t touched that piece of junk in ten years!” I could have just died! I made up a quick excuse why I had to leave and made my exit. I still feel of tinge of embarrassment each time I see Danny.

Mr. Wettstein...#1

"UMMMMMMMMMM." I had heard that sound so many times while trying to get a hold of Matt. That annoying dial tone and I had conversed on the phone far longer than Matt and I ever had. Usually it didn't annoy me too much, after all Matt lived just half a block down the street and I learned that if I strained my voice a bit I could usually chat with him over the rooftops of the Andersens and the Darleys. Tonight, however, was different. Matt and I had just worked a boring shift at Western Watts and afterward I had drove him home. I had literally dropped him off in his driveway, 13 steps from his door. This had happened less than 3 minutes ago, yet Matt's dad told me loud and clear when I called him up "Matt's not here"! and then........."ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm." I knew Matt was home, well, I was pretty certain. Perhaps he had gotten taken off by a ravenous pack of wolves that had somehow made their way into his yard, snatched him up in the split second I turned to look what was behind me while I pulled out, and then took off into the night. Maybe, just maybe. I had to be sure. I climbed onto the roof with my binoculars and spotted Matt in the kitchen. Thus began the long fight with Mr. Wettstein over the use of the phone. Sometimes I would call twenty times a night just to get one sentence in; "Tell Matt....Ummmmmmmmmm....that I want to go....ummmmmmmmmm...play basketball tomorrow....ummmmmmmmm...up at the church.......ummmmmmmmm. I could never be sure in the midst of all those hang ups that my message was being relayed, after all, the phone calls Danny had ignored were legendary. Matt even told me a time where some Sweepstakes Company had called with the message "Mr. Danny Wettstein, we are with the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes and we are calling to confirm that you'll be home during halftime of the Super Bowl next week so that we may award you a check in the grand total of.....ummmmmmmmmmmm". I wonder why he even bothered to answer the phone at all. Perhaps, deep inside, Mr. Wettstein appreciated that game that seemed to only get funnier with time, both of us bringing our A-game to the match.Years later I saw Matt during the Christmas holidays. Years had passed since I had dialed that infamous 563-3588 number. Matt and I had made plans to meet up for dinner, we just didn't know when due to a work meeting I had to attend. The plan was for me to call up his parents home and let Matt know the meeting was over with. When I called up,all I got was "Matt's not here.....ummmmmmmmmmm". We never did meet up. Matts' dad had won the game. And after all of this there is just one more thing I'd like to say to Danny...."ummmmmmmmmmmm".



Tanner Morrell