Sensitive Bennett
This is post 20 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.
All hope of turning swords into ploughshares seemed gone for the nonce. Bennett did not feel equal to the Austen volume, and did not immediately resume the comparison of Cincinnatus and Washington. Instead, he gazed at the window, where the deepening night mingled with the reflection of his study, seemingly warm and bright. His reverie was interrupted by Gwen. “Exactly what have you done now, Ed? Chloe’s up there sobbing hysterically, and Lizzy says she hates you and wants to go home. You know she’s supposed to be the ring bearer this weekend. Maybe I have to accept that you’re never going to get up out of your chair and fight against injustice, but I’m damned if I’ll let you perpetrate it in this house!”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Bennett snapped, and picked up his notes so violently that a few other items on the table, including a card with a picture of two deer being intimate, fluttered to the floor. Stiffly, he retrieved it as Gwen watched, making no move to assist.
“I’m talking about people in pain, Ed,” she said coldly. “People suffering, and all you can do is moon around in here, nattering on about some dead white European male who probably made his wife, children, and slaves equally unhappy.”
Bennett stood irresolutely, fingering the card. Then he straightened, and the gleam in his eye took Gwen aback as he brushed by her and started almost briskly up the stairs. “Ed—Ed—what are you doing? For God’s sake, don’t make things any worse.”
He leaned over the banister, waving the card at her. “I’m off to pamper my inner child, Gwen. And be a sensitive, caring dad to my queer son. I thought you’d approve.” He continued up the stairs, leaving her gaping.
Continue
All hope of turning swords into ploughshares seemed gone for the nonce. Bennett did not feel equal to the Austen volume, and did not immediately resume the comparison of Cincinnatus and Washington. Instead, he gazed at the window, where the deepening night mingled with the reflection of his study, seemingly warm and bright. His reverie was interrupted by Gwen. “Exactly what have you done now, Ed? Chloe’s up there sobbing hysterically, and Lizzy says she hates you and wants to go home. You know she’s supposed to be the ring bearer this weekend. Maybe I have to accept that you’re never going to get up out of your chair and fight against injustice, but I’m damned if I’ll let you perpetrate it in this house!”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Bennett snapped, and picked up his notes so violently that a few other items on the table, including a card with a picture of two deer being intimate, fluttered to the floor. Stiffly, he retrieved it as Gwen watched, making no move to assist.
“I’m talking about people in pain, Ed,” she said coldly. “People suffering, and all you can do is moon around in here, nattering on about some dead white European male who probably made his wife, children, and slaves equally unhappy.”
Bennett stood irresolutely, fingering the card. Then he straightened, and the gleam in his eye took Gwen aback as he brushed by her and started almost briskly up the stairs. “Ed—Ed—what are you doing? For God’s sake, don’t make things any worse.”
He leaned over the banister, waving the card at her. “I’m off to pamper my inner child, Gwen. And be a sensitive, caring dad to my queer son. I thought you’d approve.” He continued up the stairs, leaving her gaping.
Continue
posted by Hobbes at 5:45 AM
1 Comments:
This is auspicious. No journey that begins with sarcasm can end without sensitivity.
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