The Square Peg
“This is so hard,” Joyce says, taking off her glasses and rubbing her eyes wearily.
“What’s that, hon?” Rory asks, walking from the kitchen with two beers in his hand and sitting beside his wife. He hands her one and looks at the muted TV set in front of them, perplexed.
“These lyrics, they’re just not coming,” she says, tapping the pencil rhythmically against the pad on her lap.
“Lyrics?” Rory asks, incredulous, “since when did you write lyrics?”
“Ror,” Joyce says, suddenly angry, “are you kidding me? I told you weeks ago I was entering this battle. How is it that you already forgot?”
“The Tri-State Change your Fate battle of the bomb droppers.”
“I don’t quite know how to respond,” Rory says honestly, trying not to laugh.
“It’s a rap battle, okay?”
“Are you serious?”
“You? Rapping? You’re about as white-as-rice as they come, honey.”
“So? So is Eminem and he seems to have made a pretty good career out of it.”
Rory looks at his wife. His wife who, as far as he knew up until this point, had no interest in spitting rhymes or dropping bombs. He waits a little while to see if this is a joke.
“What rhymes with trippin’?” she asks as she pushes her spectacles up her nose.
“Are you kidding?” he asks again, “Joyce, you rapping can only be like trying to cram a square peg in a round hole.” Suddenly he grabs the pad from her lap.
“Hey! I’m not ready for you to see that-“ Joyce tries, grabbing at it but he holds it out of her reach, high above his head as he reads it aloud.
“J-dizzle – J-dizzle? Really? – J-dizzle fresh from the Albuquerque streets, up in your grill with the New Mexican beats,-”
“Hey comon Rory quit it,” she says, climbing over him to try and reach it.
“Representing for real the enchantment state-”
“And all you haters can go ahead and hate, ‘Cus from Rodeo all the way to Santa Fe, I’ve travelled to y’all to have my say, All them other states you know be trippin’…”
He trails off. He looks to Joyce who stopped fighting a little while ago. She looks at him seriously.
“What do you think so far?”
Rory smiles and kisses Joyce. “Guess you’re a circle peg after all,” he lies, “I love it,” he doesn’t lie, “How about from noon to nightfall fresh rhymes I be spittin?”