Huston, we have a problem

“Huston, we have a problem,” I mumbled to myself.

         “What?”

         I looked up to see my wife standing, hands on hips, a puzzled look on her face.

         “Oh, sorry, I was talking to myself,” I replied sheepishly.

         “You said, Huston, we have a problem.” She stepped a little closer now, concern all over her face. “What’s going on?”

         I held up my hands, then tried to explain, “It’s a writing challenge from Reedsy. I have to write a story with the words Huston we have a problem in the first sentence.”

         She sat in her desk chair and scooted closer to me before asking, “What are you going to write about?”

         I shrugged. “That’s why I was mumbling to myself.”

         “Okay,” she inched closer. She was getting into this. “Have you considered a story about the conversation of the astronauts as they were trying to solve the problem?”

         “That’s an interesting subject and the basis of the prompt. The problem is that I’ve been away from the NASA program for too long. I don’t think I could honestly portray what they endured during that time. I mean, think about it. The pressure they must have felt. Alone and so far away from earth. I don’t think I could do it justice.”

         “Well, how about writing a story about teaching our daughter to drive?”

         “What? You want me to tell everyone about how you made me teach her to drive because it scared you too much? How she always sped up behind a car before stepping on the break? That was forty-odd years ago, and she still drives that way. Na, that would be a horror story. That was one of the other prompts, but not for this story.”

         She shifted in her chair and leaned forward. “How about the time we lived in Mississippi and the ice storm we went through?”

         “I remember. I was in Atlanta at the time. You were still in Mississippi. The NASA project had ended, and we couldn’t sell the house. You were still working with the termination team, and I had that job in Atlanta.”

         I shifted in my chair to see her better. “The story wasn’t the ice storm, per se. I mean, we had three inches of ice on the roof of our house. The true story was that you were sick as a dog and unaware that the entire area’s power would be out for three weeks. The ice had brought down the primary power lines across Northern Mississippi. If it wasn’t for our neighbor coming over to check on you and start a fire in the stove, you might have frozen to death. Yes, that was a problem, but I don’t think it qualifies for this story.”

         She leaned back and scratched her head, thinking. “How about the time you flew in the Sky Warriors thing?”

         “Yep, that was cool. The aircraft had laser guns in the wings. Sensors around the plane that, when struck with the laser, caused smoke to come out of the engine. I got to do barrel rolls and hammer stalls. Flips and cuts, and pulled five g’s. I will leave that one alone as I got my butt kicked by a more experienced pilot.”

         “Here’s an idea,” she inched over to look at the blank page on my screen. “Do you remember when I stopped by your office, and that guy kept walking back and forth? He was talking to someone, but no one was there. He had lost contact with reality. That would be a good story.”

         “That’s true; he had several imaginary friends with him around town. He also slept under the bridge in a homeless encampment. I don’t have the time to follow him to see any of the glitches that portray him in a realistic light. Even though he is defiantly experiencing issues with reality, it would be demeaning to portray him improperly.”

         She rolled her chair back to her desk before saying, “You know your cousin Kenny? Didn’t he go totally off the grid when he returned from South America? He’s a pretty interesting guy to talk to.”

         I looked over at her and said, ”Kenny is a strange man. Some of what occurred in the gold fields messed up his mind. The stories he told me would make your hair curl. Also, he lost most of his teeth from some jungle fungus. He and a couple of his friends were working the goldfields when some government soldiers took over half of their gold as they made their way out of the jungle. As far as I know he has gone totally off the grid. He bought a cabin up in the woods and, doesn’t own a phone.”

         “Ugh,” she stood to go out the door. “When you finish bloviating, let me know.” She stopped at the door and asked, “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

         “I’d love one. Please.”

         I turned, looking over my shoulder at the open door, and said, “Bloviating, you say. I don’t bloviate. That would mean I would write useless babble. I might as well copy and paste ‘Lorem Ipsum is simply the dummy text of the printing and typesetting industry.’”

         I turned back to my blank screen. As if by magic, a cup of coffee appeared in front of me.

         “Thank you, my dear. Now please explain how I am bloviating?”

         She sat in her desk chair and stared at me over her cup of tea.

         “If I were to bloviate,” I went on, “I would write about some guy that came home to find a push button sitting on his table. He might think it looks like the ‘Easy Button’ as seen on TV. He would stare at it and wonder what it was for and how it got there. He would walk around the table looking for any wires and then even look under the table too. Maybe he would think it was the golden buzzer on the show  America’s got talent. If he pushed it, gold confetti would shower down from the ceiling. He would walk around the room and search for canisters that might spew the golden leaflets. He might even walk over to the table and hold his hand over the button, trying to decide whether or not to push it?”

         I turned to my wife, who now stood there with a knowing smile, and said, “See, that’s bloviating. Lots of words that say nothing at all.”

         “Now, there is something I could write about.”

         “What’s that?” she asked.

         “How could anyone love the aroma of coffee but hate the taste?”

         “Don’t you dare go there if you want dinner tonight?”

         I watched her leave the room, then turned back to my computer. The screen still read, Huston, we have a problem.

         “You bet,” I sighed.