Read Online I Can Barely Take Care of Myself by Jen Kirkman - Free Book Online
Authors: Jen Kirkman
Tags: Humor, Personal Memoirs, Biography & Autobiography, Entertainment & Performing Arts, Women, Marriage & Family, Topic
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real ambitions or the final resting place of a career that never blossomed. Plymouth Players acted as carpenters, milkmaids, and blacksmiths, carrying on as if it were really the 1600s, demonstrating their skills without any modern conveniences.
Once we were let loose on the plantation,my fourth-grade class immediately began its mission: get one of these pilgrims to screw up and act as if it’s 1983, not 1683. I watched the class bully, Greg, mess with a busy Pilgrim woman. “So, do you have milk?” he asked. She answered, “Yes. We get milk from the cow’s udders every morning.” He said, “Do you put it in the fridge?” She said, “I don’t know what that is.” He asked her, “Do you havea VCR?” The class burst into giggles and Mrs. Williams warned, “Okay, that’s enough.” This pilgrim was unfazed. She answered, “Do I have a what? I don’t know what that is. But I do have this device, a loom!”
I wandered from the group and over to the edges of the plantation, where the bridge to the present day led right into the gift shop. I recognized a familiar sign discreetly hanging on thewall behind the door, a yellow sign with three triangles meeting in the center. FALLOUT SHELTER . Wait, was Plymouth Plantation a target for a nuclear bomb? Does everywhere have a fallout shelter? One minute I could be browsing the collection of Plymouth Rock refrigerator magnets and Mayflower coloring books, and the next minute I could be underground, taking shelter from a nuclear winter.
Suddenlymy thoughts were tumbling over one another like socks in a dryer. If there is a nuclear war right now, we are going to die on this plantation. If I try to run off this plantation, I’m going to get lost and no one will be able to find me. I can’t breathe. What if something is wrong with my lungs? Even though I was only just standing there, thinking scary thoughts, my body was reacting like I wasin the front seat ofa roller-coaster carriage, about to careen down the tracks on the first drop.
I got a surge of adrenaline and turned to run back to the plantation, back to 1683, a simpler time when wars were fought with bows and arrows. Then I heard a noise. A plane was flying low overhead and the rumbling shook me. What if it was a warplane carrying a bomb? Suddenly, I couldn’t feel myheart beating. Were there secret modern hospitals at Plymouth Plantation or just fallout shelters? I felt alone and on the verge of death while everyone around me kept up this stupid butter-churning charade.
Even with my cardiac arrest, I managed to run back to my group and saw my classmates innocently learning how to shoe a horse. I asked Mrs. Williams, “Why is that plane flying so low? What’sgoing on?” The blacksmith continued banging metal together and denied the very existence of the plane. “What’s going on is that I’m preparing a new shoe for our trusty horse.” I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t have my life risked in order to carry on this facade that it wasn’t 1983 and that our lives weren’t all in nuclear-level danger. I was possessed by a newfound fearlessness and disregard forauthority. I screamed, “Drop the goddamn pilgrim act! It’s Armageddon!”
And it happened. I got a pilgrim to drop the act. He wiped his brow with his handkerchief and said to my teacher, “Is she okay?” I felt like I had just come up for air after drowning. The pain in my heart stopped. The rush of speaking up was exhilarating and my knees began to buckle.
Mrs. Williams led me away from the groupand the blacksmith continued to heat his coals. My teacher demanded an explanation. I told her that I saw the fallout shelter sign and then the low-flying plane and I wasn’t sure whether the air-raid signals like the ones in The Day After were working at Plymouth Plantation. Mrs. Williams said, “You watched that movie? Jennifer, nobody else in class watched that movie. I sent home that note.”Instead of yelling at me, she took my hand and led
Once we were let loose on the plantation,my fourth-grade class immediately began its mission: get one of these pilgrims to screw up and act as if it’s 1983, not 1683. I watched the class bully, Greg, mess with a busy Pilgrim woman. “So, do you have milk?” he asked. She answered, “Yes. We get milk from the cow’s udders every morning.” He said, “Do you put it in the fridge?” She said, “I don’t know what that is.” He asked her, “Do you havea VCR?” The class burst into giggles and Mrs. Williams warned, “Okay, that’s enough.” This pilgrim was unfazed. She answered, “Do I have a what? I don’t know what that is. But I do have this device, a loom!”
I wandered from the group and over to the edges of the plantation, where the bridge to the present day led right into the gift shop. I recognized a familiar sign discreetly hanging on thewall behind the door, a yellow sign with three triangles meeting in the center. FALLOUT SHELTER . Wait, was Plymouth Plantation a target for a nuclear bomb? Does everywhere have a fallout shelter? One minute I could be browsing the collection of Plymouth Rock refrigerator magnets and Mayflower coloring books, and the next minute I could be underground, taking shelter from a nuclear winter.
Suddenlymy thoughts were tumbling over one another like socks in a dryer. If there is a nuclear war right now, we are going to die on this plantation. If I try to run off this plantation, I’m going to get lost and no one will be able to find me. I can’t breathe. What if something is wrong with my lungs? Even though I was only just standing there, thinking scary thoughts, my body was reacting like I wasin the front seat ofa roller-coaster carriage, about to careen down the tracks on the first drop.
I got a surge of adrenaline and turned to run back to the plantation, back to 1683, a simpler time when wars were fought with bows and arrows. Then I heard a noise. A plane was flying low overhead and the rumbling shook me. What if it was a warplane carrying a bomb? Suddenly, I couldn’t feel myheart beating. Were there secret modern hospitals at Plymouth Plantation or just fallout shelters? I felt alone and on the verge of death while everyone around me kept up this stupid butter-churning charade.
Even with my cardiac arrest, I managed to run back to my group and saw my classmates innocently learning how to shoe a horse. I asked Mrs. Williams, “Why is that plane flying so low? What’sgoing on?” The blacksmith continued banging metal together and denied the very existence of the plane. “What’s going on is that I’m preparing a new shoe for our trusty horse.” I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t have my life risked in order to carry on this facade that it wasn’t 1983 and that our lives weren’t all in nuclear-level danger. I was possessed by a newfound fearlessness and disregard forauthority. I screamed, “Drop the goddamn pilgrim act! It’s Armageddon!”
And it happened. I got a pilgrim to drop the act. He wiped his brow with his handkerchief and said to my teacher, “Is she okay?” I felt like I had just come up for air after drowning. The pain in my heart stopped. The rush of speaking up was exhilarating and my knees began to buckle.
Mrs. Williams led me away from the groupand the blacksmith continued to heat his coals. My teacher demanded an explanation. I told her that I saw the fallout shelter sign and then the low-flying plane and I wasn’t sure whether the air-raid signals like the ones in The Day After were working at Plymouth Plantation. Mrs. Williams said, “You watched that movie? Jennifer, nobody else in class watched that movie. I sent home that note.”Instead of yelling at me, she took my hand and led
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