Emotion Improving

I heard the bus roll onto our street and screech to a stop. I listened form my front entryway as my son called good-bye to his friends on the bus. He came in the door, a tiny light shining in his eyes, a big smile on his face, as he dropped his bag on the floor. I was dreading this moment. He saw my face and asked what was wrong.

"Daniel, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but your cat got run over by a car this morning," I said, my voice quavering. The light, that was there a moment before, quietly faded from his eyes. His shoulders slumped and his face crumpled. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he asked, hopefully,

"But Lucky is still alive right?" I shook my head. He let out a choked cry and ran into my outstretched arms. Tears spilled over and fell from his red, puffy eyes, streaming down his hot face and dripping onto my shoulder. He sobbed and sobbed, his tears of sadness flowed like a river out of his fourth grade body, and I felt a pang of sympathy. I remember when he first got that cat as a kitten, he insisted on letting it sleep with him. I remember when lucky had gotten sick and had to stay in the vets office. Daniel had had to sleep with me every night.

"Shh," I tried to calm him and soon the tears stopped. He went and sat on the couch. I had never seen such a forlorn face in all my life.




I was mad. My little sister had been in my room again and had broken my favorite doll. I stormed into the living room where my victim, my two-year-old sister Annie, smelling of baby powder, was sitting on the rug. She was playing happily with her Pooh-Bear teddy, chewing on his ear. I swooped low to the ground and pulled it away from her plump hands, a feeling of revenge pulsing in my veins.

She looked up at me, surprise written all over her little face. She calmly said,

"Teddy?" When I sneered in her face and didn't consent, her head slowly tilted to the ground. Her arms started to tense up and her body braced.

Then she let out a wail. Her face was red with fury, and her blue eyes pierced me indignantly. Angry tears streamed down her soft cheeks. I immediately felt guilty and gave the pooh bear back. She snatched it out of my reluctant hands and cuddled it close to her chest, staring at me all the while, making sure I didn't try to steal it again. I was sorry for what I had done, but she never ,ever, went into my room again.



"Welcome to the ninth inning of the championship game, folks! The bases are loaded.The California Dodgers and the Boston Red Sox are close in a 8 to 7 game. The Dodgers pitcher is on the mound, and he is pitching to the last batter. Will he strike him out and win the Tye? The weight of the game rests on his shoulders."

The announcer boomed over the loudspeaker, telling the details of the game, while I, the pitcher, Tom Sawyer, nervously paced the dugout full of sweaty players. The coach was drilling me on how to pitch. He was saying something about a screwball when the announcer screamed

" Let the inning begin!" I was up. I had to get this right or I, I mean we, lost the championship. The player on the plate looked mean. He had eyes like a hawk. I was going to have trouble striking this batter out. I scuffed the mound with my cleats. This was it.

I slowly brought my arms up, my right hand trapping the ball that was cradled in my gloved left hand. My left knee came up in sync with my arms, as if attached by a string. I stared the player down, and then I whipped my arms forward, my left hand falling down to my side as the ball flew from my right hand, and I stepped my left foot back to the mound. The ball sang through the air, and I heard the thump of the ball hitting the catchers glove, instead of the crack of the ball hitting the bat.

"Sttirrrrike one!" shouted the ump. I breathed a sigh of relief. One down, two to go. I repeated my sequence and got another strike. It was the last pitch. My brow ran with a map of tiny streams of sweat. We could win this with no struggle, if I did this right. I slowly brought my arms back feeling as if my stomach was having an earthquake. I drew a shaky breath and let her rip.

Zing, thump. "Strrriiike Three! The players exploded out of the dugout like an erupting volcano. Skipping, jumping, whooping, yelling, and waving their arms in the air. The descended on me like a waterfall and they lifted my up on their shoulders. We had won!






I had a headache just thinking about it. Mothers day was in two days, and I had planned to give my wife the night off by making dinner for her. Why, you ask,was I getting a headache? I was worried because I had never cooked anything in my 68-year-old life except for toaster waffles. I knew she wouldn't feel very special with a toaster waffle meal, so I had decided to make something different. But I had no Idea what.

Well mothers day dawned and I woke bright and early on the day that I would look back on as the day I learned to 'cook'. I flipped through the recipe book for something elaborate but easy. I finally decided on spaghetti with meat sauce and side of rolls and broccoli. That would be easy enough.

I got to work on mixing the dough. When that was what I hoped would be ready, I put it on to rise. Then I chopped broccoli and stuck it in some water on the stove, and put some noodles on to boil next to it. This is easier than I thought, I chuckled to myself.

Well, I guess I jinxed it because I was stirring the meat sauce when everything went wrong. All of a sudden the noodles, that I had actually forgot about, boiled over. While I was cleaning that up I noticed the noodles were waterlogged. hmm. As I was turning that off, this horrible smell of rotten eggs and burning onions entered the air.

The spatula I had used to stir the meat sauce was melting on the stove! I quickly picked that up, all the strings of the melting handle trailed after like spider webs, and dumped it into the sink. Then when I checked the bread it hadn't really risen. Oh well, into the oven it goes. Then I remembered, the broccoli! When I checked it, all the water had evaporated and the ends were burning. I guess we'll have to go without broccoli. Then the meat sauce started burning. Can things get any worse?!? I thought. And then the smoke alarm went off. The noodles were waterlogged, the bread was too small, the broccoli was limp, and the sauce was burnt! I fell to the ground in a dead faint.