Interlude

The following chapter is written in 3rd person POV following the O’Briens

While the others are having tough and meaningful conversations, over at the O’Briens…

Like most days in the O’Brien home, it’s peacefully quiet. Thanks to their unit being a corner apartment, all the lights are off and the natural light of the sun gives their entire living space a warm hue. The elderly couple are sitting in their dining room, having a cup of coffee and going through their daily routine. Mrs. O’Brien is trying to solve the day’s crossword on the newspaper, while Mr. O’Brien has copied the sudoku puzzle from the same newspaper on a separate notepad to solve it.

“What’s an eight letter word for ‘concerns for homeowner associations’? Second letter is a ‘Y’.” Mrs. O’Brien asks her husband. Mr. O’Brien ignores her entirely, as he adds a number note for his puzzle.

“Oh, come on, Ricky! I know you know this. You’re a member of one!” Mrs. O’Brien goads her husband further. Mr. O’Brien puts his pencil down, just to give his wife a look that can only say ‘you’re the one who **** me to join that stupid homeowners association’.

“Don’t give me that look.” Mrs. O’Brien tells him, and Mr. O’Brien gives his unspoken ‘yes, dear’ by rolling his eyes and going back to his puzzle.

…

“So, what is it?” Mrs. O’Brien asks again.

“You’ll never finish a crossword on your own if you keep asking me for help.” Mr. O’Brien tells her.

“What do you think I married you for?” Mrs. O’Brien cheekily responds.

“The sex?” Mr. O’Brien jokingly fires back.

“Oh, Ricky.” Mrs. O’Brien says in reaction, sounding as if she agrees. She even puts her hand over her husband’s and squeezes it to convey the idea further. But all of that was just a set-up for her kill shot.

“I’ve had better.” Mrs. O’Brien then adds, teasing Mr. O’Brien with enough sprinkling of truth that it should get a rise out of him.

“So have I, dear.” Mr. O’Brien replies unfazed, not even breaking eye contact from his Sudoku puzzle, before squeezing Mrs. O’Brien’s hand back lovingly as he does.

“I was kidding!” Mrs. O’Brien shouts, taking full offense to Mr. O’Brien’s nonchalance. “Who was better than me!? I bet it was Angel, wasn’t it?” Mrs. O’Brien starts to question, and Mr. O’Brien sighs in disappointment, as he realizes that he fell into her trap so easily.

“That bitch! She always flaunted how much you liked her better than me. I’d hate her if she didn’t make such good donuts.” Mrs. O’Brien continues to say in fake annoyance.

And so, the O’Brien’s morning routine of arguing just to get each other’s blood pumping goes on like clockwork. Maddy isn’t shocked by their constant playful arguing anymore, and has learned to tune some of it out. Especially nowadays. In fact, she’s tuned out their conversation entirely today, as she continues on with her morning routine as well.

She brushes through her grandparents’ vinyl collection with her fingers, to find their one record that she’s been playing lately. She picks it out quickly, and walks towards her grandparents’ record player. She takes the record out of its sleeve, spinning it smoothly between her fingers, before placing it on the platter and moving the needle to the right spot to play her song.

‘Tonight~ I’m gonna have ~myself… a real good ~time’

“I feel ah-li-ha-ha-ive~” Maddy sings along, as she spins and twirls towards her grandparents’ vacuum cleaner.

‘~And the world~’

“She’s doing it again.” Mrs. O’Brien comments, pausing her argument with her husband to watch Maddy blissfully clean their house. Meanwhile, Mr. O’Brien can only smile as his granddaughter is clearly just expressing her happiness.

‘I’ll turn it inside out~ Yeah’

“This is the third time this week, Ricky. You know, the exact amount of days after we allowed her to stay out past her curfew?” Mrs. O’Brien points out.

‘I’m floating around~ in ecstasy~’

“So?” Mr. O’Brien asks, in perfect sync with Freddy Mercury. He gives himself an out and waves his finger in tune with ‘Don’t. Stop. Me. Now.’. Mrs. O’Brien doesn’t seem to be amused by Mr. O’Brien’s lack of concern as to the possible source of Maddy’s recent euphoria.

‘Don’t. Stop. Me.’

“She’s just having a good time, Mary.” Mr. O’Brien argues, again in-sync with the song.

‘~Havin’ a good time!’

Like she’s been doing the past few days, Maddy times turning on the vacuum cleaner at this point in the song, allowing its noise to try and drown out her own singing.

‘I’m a shooting star leaping through the sky~ like a tiger, defying the laws of gravity~’
‘I’m a racing car, passing by~ like lady Godiva’
‘I’m gonna go go, there’s no stopping me~!’

Maddy lip syncs the last part while extending her arm out in the air, and Mrs. O’Brien side comments to Mr. O’Brien, “She reminds me of Mrs. Doubtfire.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” Mr. O’Brien jokes, getting a slap on the arm from his wife.

They continue to watch their granddaughter barely cleaning their living room with the vacuum cleaner, as she’s been basically singing and dancing on the same spot, but the amount of satisfaction Maddy’s performance is bringing them is immeasurable.

‘Don’t. Stop me. Now~!’

“I’m havin’ such a good time. I’m havin’ a ball~” Maddy sings along, as she pushes and pulls the vacuum cleaner over the cleanest part of the rug at this point.

‘Don’t. Stop me. Now~!’

“~If you wanna have a good time, just give me a call!” Maddy continues to sing wholeheartedly.

‘Don’t. Stop me. Now~!’

“Cause I’m havin’ a good time!” Maddy lets go of the vacuum cleaner and stretches out her arms wide.

‘Don’t. Stop me. Now~!’

“Yes, I’m havin’ a good time~ I don’t want to stop at all~!” Maddy begins to spin in place as Freddy Mercury holds the last note.

Maddy starts to interpretatively dance the next lines of the song. She puts her hands together, as if she’s praying, before raising her arms up like a rocket ship on its way to Mars. She then interlocks her fingers, making an explosion sound before breaking them apart, as Freddy Mercury sings he’s a satellite and out of control.

Maddy then takes a deep breath and hugs herself tightly in preparation for the next line in the song. But as she abruptly pulls her hand close to her body, her hand inadvertently pulls on the cord of the vacuum cleaner and accidentally turns it off. Unfortunately for Maddy, she’s so deep into her performance that she doesn’t realize there’s no noise from the vacuum cleaner to mask her enthusiastic singing.

“I’M A SEX MACHINE READY TO RELOAD~!” Maddy half sings and half shouts with glee, that even if the vacuum cleaner was on, it wouldn’t be able to drown her out. She sways her hips and bent her knees, while running her hands all over her upper body as she does.

“Like an atom bomb, about to oh~ oh~ oh~ oh~ OH~ ~EXPLODE!” Maddy sings, exploding into a wide starfish stance on the last lyric.

“~I’M BURNING through… the… sky?” Maddy continues to sing in blissful ignorance, before she realizes that the vacuum is off and that her grandparents are fully engrossed with her singing and dancing.

Maddy immediately runs to the record player, slightly slipping on the same part of the rug she’s been cleaning all this time, before turning off the record player. She turns around towards her grandparents, noticeably blushing beet red from embarrassment.

“Oh, Maddiecakes. Why’d you stop? You were having such a good time!” Mr. O’Brien quips.

“I…” Maddy tries to explain her behavior, unable to look at her grandparents out of embarrassment. “I’M GOING TO MY ROOM!” Maddy shouts in panic, before running away towards her room.

*SLAM!*

“Well, it seems our innocent granddaughter isn’t so innocent anymore.” Mr. O’Brien jokes, smiling from ear to ear in amusement.

“She could be happy about something else.” Mrs. O’Brien tries to halfheartedly argue.

“Mary, our granddaughter just declared she’s ‘a sex machine ready to reload’. She didn’t leave any room for interpretation.” Mr. O’Brien points out, and Mrs. O’Brien frowns knowing that she’s on the side of a losing argument.

“I just don’t see why she’s all sing-y and dancy. It’s just sex.” Mrs. O’Brien comments.

“What? You’ve never had sex that made you want to sing and dance in joy?” Mr. O’Brien asks his wife.

“I’m married to you. What do you think?” Mrs. O’Brien teasingly asks back.

“Well I have.” Mr. O’Brien tells her, placing his hand over hers.

“Oh yeah? What was your song then?” Mrs. O’Brien asks.

“December 1963. Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons.” Mr. O’Brien answers her.

“Good song.” Mrs. O’Brien comments, and Mr. O’Brien nods in agreement. Mr. O’Brien begins to space out, clearly reminiscing the memory of the night and the lady that made him sing and dance to that song.

…

“But… didn’t that song come out in the 70s?” Mrs. O’Brien asks, and Mr. O’Brien snaps out of his blissful reminiscing when Mrs. O’Brien makes her realization. “We’ve had countless nights together by that point, why would…” Mrs. O’Brien starts to piece together a theory that will infuriate her.

“And we’ve already been swinging at that point!” Mrs. O’Brien shouts in accusation.

“Richard O’Brien!” Mrs. O’Brien shouts in shock.

“WHO. WAS. SHE!?”

…

And so, the O’Brien’s morning routine of arguing just to get each other’s blood pumping goes on like clockwork.