Winds of Skilak
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
We're going to Alaska, 1980. What do you mean? You just put the house up for sale. Sam sat down his briefcase. I listed it with the realtors. He turned to me with his brightest smile. I handed in my resignation today. My mouth gaped open. I stared at my husband as if he'd grown a second head before I could articulate a response. He grabbed me in his arms and twirled me around. We're going to Alaska Bonnie, we're going to Alaska. He finally set me down, but my head continued to swirl. You mean just like that? We're going to Alaska maybe. I hadn't heard him. Right. When did we decide all this. Sam removed his coat and hat and hung them on the coat rack by the front door. When he turned and faced me, his smile disappeared, the muscles in his face pulled taut and his eyes bored into mine. We've talked about this Bonnie, We planned this for years. He started toward the kitchen. I ran after him, but we haven't even mentioned Alaska for at least a year. See him removed a cup from the covered and poured in a little powdered creamer while the coffee maker coughed out the last few drops of freshly brewed coffee dread somersaulted in my stomach. What about our life here? I thought you were happy sand poured coffee into his mug in stony silence, clenched his jaw and set the glass carafes back on the burner Instead of turning around to me, he leaned over planted both palms on the counter and took a long, slow breath. I folded my arms in front of me and heaved a sigh, resisting the urge to tap my foot. The clock above the stove sounded like a metronome and a deserted cathedral. He finally turned around and leaned against the counter facing me. You know, we've dreamed of this for a long time. You still have that dream, don't you? I took a deep breath. We're living a dream life now, or at least I thought we were. I spread my poems in supplication and raised my voice an octave or two. What about our jobs?