Billy woke up from a series of fantastically peculiar dreams. Half run by the industry and mystery of it all, he came to his wits and heeded Mamma McMichael's breakfast call. Sitting with his Mother and Father at the table, there was a calm so unique - kind of distracted from the morning stresses. Whatever the case may have been, they didn't wish to start eating until every McMichael was seated at the table. Cindy was not there. Rushed for time, Billy thought to save Cindy the drama of late-to-breakfast lectures by leaving the table and attending his morning duties, knowing he had only to clean himself up a bit to put himself together for the day. He didn't think it would take too much time and he found himself dressed for the day at the table with his mother and father still waiting on Cindy. Cindy seemed a bit sour at least from the sound of things. No one had seen her face, but the growing clamor in her room seemed to suggest as much.
If travel time stood at 45 minutes between home and the social house, they had 2 minutes to spare before they would be late. Suckered for time, Cindy came all disheveled and hurting. The McMichael's had a rushed and awkward breakfast feeling the tension that something had gone terribly wrong, without any sense for what it could have been. Before jumping in the mover, something in Cindy spiked and Mama McMichael threw her arms around her. Billy felt the rush of wanting to do the same. She unwelcomely accepted his embrace, but the sting of whatever crucible she had entered into kept pulling and pulling and pulling.
They all filed into the mover knowing they would be late and they would have to face the later-than-thou comedy at the social house. This however seemed insignificant compared to Cindy's growing pain. Mama seemed to think a no-touch policy was requisite, while Billy tried to offer compassion through the vehicle touch. The problem-tension encouraged a solution-tension that kindled a fire of passion. The great and wild climax spilled out and over when Cindy screamed, "Billy don't, Mom is trying to help!"
Billy was immediately torn because he was also trying to help. He meant well; yet, she perceived his attempts and efforts as unhelpful. To add sugar to stove-tops, Billy shelled off commenting about interpretation offering a defense for his actions. This was met by a parade of noisy, condemning jeers of Mom and Dad McMichael. Father let out, "Heaping coals, heaping coals, heaping coals, Billy!"
Billy immediately restrained himself and bit his tough hard. He instantly became conscientious. He was afraid to suggest any more concern or comment on anything else for fear of unbridled angst that would no-doubt boomerang. He sat and thought. He thought about the mornings progress only to find himself confused. The things he meant were not seen and the things he did not, were. On a more sophisticated level, I presume, he thought about the elements of transmission and communication. He thought to himself: "My intention was not appreciated and this seems to prove a lack on both ends, respectively. For if my intention was not appreciated, I obviously failed to make it clear. However Cindy's shortsightedness inhibited her from appreciating my concern." Funny how strange dreams meet strange things and how in the end there may be a lesson to learn. It seems that a gift must be understood relative to its giver and that the strings of communication have two ends.