The Curse of Glee: Happiness is Such a Terrible Burden

honestly sometimes i just write weird stuff

Margot came down the stairs with her hair half-braided, left shoe tucked under one arm and three bobby pins sticking out of the corner of her mouth.  Addison would have laughed, if he wasn’t so nervous about navigating rush hour traffic. 

“You want to know the only thing I hate more than mornings?”

“What?” Addison asked, glancing at her before double checking the paper bags that held their lunches.

“People who don’t hate mornings.”

Addison rolled his eyes.  Of course Margot would say that, but sometimes he through Margot would say just about anything�"especially if it meant getting in a dig at him.  He wasn’t sure if he could tolerate her back-seat dramatics and fifty-mile-an-hour traffic at the same time.  He found two individual packs of baby carrots in the fridge, and added those to the bags.   

“Do you want an extra thing of fruit snacks?”

“Give me a granola bar instead,” she said, hopping into her shoe.

“Can’t,” Addison said.  “We don’t have any more.”

At least, they wouldn’t after three o clock.  He needed something more than gummified sugar to get through rehearsal. 

“Curses on the house of the rising sun,” Margot muttered, rolling her eyes.  “You know how there’s that whole stupid bit about lassoing the moon to woo a lover?”

Addison arched an eyebrow, but refrained to point out that she’d mis-quoted the play.  Sometimes he couldn’t tell if she was bitchy in the morning or actually itching for a fight. 

“What about it?” he asked.

“I would shoot down the sun for mine,” Margot said, stabbing bobby-pins at odd angles into her still-unfinished braid.  “Or shove it in the face of my enemies, make their eyes and skin burn with light and fire forever.”

Usually he didn’t care that Margot was in a grumpy mood.  Usually he was just as sleep-deprived as she was.  As much as she complained about mornings, she almost never slept.  The only person who seemed oblivious to worry or insomnia in this house was their mother, who had all the emotional expression of a cucumber.  Kimberly Langford breezed through the kitchen, collected the iced coffee she’d made the night before, strode out to the garage.  Addison felt his gut clench, spilling the words from his mouth before he could stop them.

“What did mornings ever do to you?”

“Dictate regular society and oppress the world of imagination.”

“As if you had an imagination.  Since when have you cared about regular society, anyway?”

“I would, if I didn’t have to be awake at the butt-crack of dawn,” she said.  “The day can only be crappy from here.”

“Your outlook on life is admirable.  With an attitude like that, the world would be a much better place.”

Margot leaned forward and yanked his ponytail.  Addison spun, but Margot jumped back before he could shove her. 

“What the hell, Margot?”

Despite her griping about the hour, she managed a smile.  Apparently torturing him was her consolation prize for having to wake up. 

“Addison, focus on the road and not your sister,” their mother said as they got into the car.  “Margot, pull something like that again and you’ll be the reason for an accident.”

“Is that a threat for punishment, or…?”

“Do you really want to find out?”

Margot slouched back into her seat.  She always had more energy for sulking than for arguing, in the long run.  Addison didn’t mind it, but it would be nice if Margot didn’t start fights in the first place.  A lot of things would be nice--like if their mother could make it to opening night. 

Cursed be the hour of the risen sun/when all my troubles have just begun…

Norman, the director and his drama teacher, had been surprised at how quickly he’d picked up the lines.  Addison was more surprised by how easy it was to play his character, a man whose life as a hermit is interrupted by the reappearance of an estranged son.   The son thinks his old father is insane--but then again, the father thinks the son is dead. 

“Hey Mom, did you ever hear back about rescheduling with your client on Thursday night?”

Silence, except for the acrylic tap against a plastic screen. Sometimes he could hear the thin screams of whatever metal band Margot was currently channeling her anger through, but that was in the afternoons.  At six forty-five, Margot was only awake enough to be grumpy. 

Addison shivered, remembering the one and only time Margot had tried to drive to school.  It was their mother’s idea, for her to practice driving on her learner’s permit.  Three blocks and several jumped curbs later, their mother had decided Margot didn’t merit her litigation skills.  Addison couldn’t say he blamed her.  He glanced over at his mother, wondering if continuing to interrupt her while she waded through her inbox would cause her to drown in unread emails.

”Now would be a good time to brake, Addison, unless you want to hit the car in front of you.”

For a moment he couldn’t tell if this was his mother’s way of saying break a leg, but the red glow in his periphery brought the meaning into focus. 

“S**t!”

The word was out of his mouth and his foot slammed the pedal at the same time.  His ears felt warm and hollow, and he was confident that seatbelts had been made for keeping hearts inside chests as surely as they were made to keep bodies inside cars. 

“Ease to a stop next time, Addison,” his mother said.  “Slowly, the same way Margot wakes up.”

“Margot never wakes up.”

His mother spared him a raised eyebrow.  You get my point don’t you, or do I need to spell it out?  Addison swallowed and looked back out the windshield.  Their mother was the only person who could effectively put Margot down, and sometimes she turned vicious just to remind him that she would do the same thing to him, to his sister, to anyone if she felt like it.  Margot groaned.  In the rear-view mirror, he could see her rubbing her neck.  Addison almost felt sorry, but not because he’d slammed on the brakes. 

“Why does it have to be raining?” Margot said.  “It’s like the gods want me to go back to sleep.”

“Have Zeus write you an excused absence note.”

“Sure, right after Dionysius whips up your recommendation letter.  Do you have theatre practice today?”

“When don’t I have rehearsal?” Addison asked.  “Opening night is this Thursday.”

“They’re going to wear you out before anyone has the chance the see the play.”

“Why do you think they tell you to break a leg?”

“You know that’s not the reason, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, but it might as well be.” Addison sighed, then decided to try again.  “Mom, are you coming?  On Thursday?”

“I don’t have cash for tickets,” she said. 

“You don’t have to buy them--I can ask for up to five, for family and friends.”

His mother sniffed.  She’d made the same sound when he’d once asked for a quarter for the candy machine when he’d been three.  Some stranger, an old guy whose breath smelled like mints and fireplaces, had offered to give him three quarters: two for candy and one for a ride on the plastic ponies that used to be outside random grocery stores.  His mother had made that same sniffing sound, shoving him and Addison onward.  He’d gotten the same response when he’d asked for a few dollars to buy his teacher a birthday card, or to go to the movies with his friends.  Addison hated that sniff.

Not that he would need five tickets, or even three.  Two would be just fine, except Margot would probably sneak in after the lights went down and watch from the corner of the auditorium.   His mother refused to give or receive charity, and seemed bent on making sure no one else enjoyed or benefited from philanthropy either.  He’d bought ten tickets, and put them on hold for anyone who might need it.  Norman had told him that it was exactly something that the father in the play would do.  Addison didn’t know what that was supposed to mean exactly.  He just hoped he could make someone’s day--or night--a little better.

He turned into the parking lot and pulled into the drop-off lane.  His mother reached over and tapped the display in the center, pulling up the contact list from her phone.  Now that he and Margot were out of the car, she would probably switch to returning voicemails until she got to the office. 

Addison took off his seat belt, half tempted to kiss it in thanks for keeping his heart where it should be.  He supposed he should thank his mother for keeping his head where it should be, but he was still angry.  Maybe if she came to the play, he would say something.  Margot was already out the back seat and headed toward the doors, lunch bag in hand.  He was about to follow her when his mother’s voice held him back.

“Put the car in park, Addison.”

Right.  That.  He put the car in park and then got out, leaving the door open for his mother to get in when she came around the front of the car.  She tousled his hair as they passed each other.  Addison set his jaw, but the corners of his mouth lifted anyway.  He hurried inside, lunch bag in hand, opening lines in his head. 

Cursed be the hour of the risen sun

when all my troubles have just begun

but whatever troubles they might be

I’m damned to face them all with glee.

Author's Note

week 5! the title (which sparked the story) came from an odd conversation with a coworker. let me know your thoughts! it's a very rough draft, so all feedback is welcome. thanks for reading!