Yesterday, my nephew Greg Hutton tagged me in the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge. Being an author, and figuring videos had now been done to death, I wanted to come up with a “novel” way to bring awareness (and donations) to the fight against this terrible disease.
So, instead of a few seconds of icy water, here’s a flash flood of fictional words:
This was supposed to be a challenge.
He was standing stock-still, out in the open, high-waisted jeans lampooning his legs, stars n’ stripes jacket carrying shoulder pads the size of house bricks. The fluorescent orange hi-top sneakers screamed ‘I’M HERE!’ louder than any megaphone ever could. His one-and-only effort to conceal himself was more ridiculous than his ‘hiding place’: the centre of an empty Madison Square Garden.
He wore a bucket.
On his head.
I walked up to him and tapped the side of his ten litre plastic disguise.
“All right stop,” I said. “Collaborate and listen…You’re back with this brand new invention?”
Vanilla Ice removed the bucket and nodded in approval.
“If there was a problem, Yo, I’ll solve it…Check out the hook so some others revolve it.”
The words tumbled over me like hail, freezing my skin and seizing my heart. Oblivious to my shock, Vanilla Ice returned the bucket to his head and folded his arms. A full minute passed before a muffled mantra began to seep from the spaces under his chin:
“Ice Ice Baby, too cold…Ice Ice Baby, too cold, too cold…”
I walked away, chilled and aware. The message was clear – the challenge was at an end.
But only for me.
Three more would take my place.
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