He lay dead on the hill. The sun beat down upon him. He was stiff as a board. His name was Chief Red Feather. He was Tommy.
I stood over him. I held my cowboy hat in my hands because it was too hot to wear it. With my mouth I made the sound of gun shots and pointed my index finger at him.
“Bang! Bang! You’re dead, Red Feather!”
His Mother could be seen in the distance out of the corner of my eye. She was calling for him. The sound of her voice caught up to us and Tommy bolted up.
“What, Mom?! I’m playing!”
“Supper is almost ready. Your friend can stay for supper but you gotta wash up. Alright?”
He sat still there and closed his eyes for one second, trying to pretend he wasn’t hot wearing the cheap headdress made from found feathers.
“What are we having?”
“Chicken and potatoes and peas”
Tommy groaned. He looked up at me and squinted.
“You want to stay for supper?”
My first instinct was to say yes but I knew I had better get home to my own Mother.
“I can’t. My Ma is expecting me”
“O.k. Suit yourself, bucko”
He said bucko in a strange way. Like he heard it on television or from his Dad. He looked proud for sounding so grown-up and condescending.
He stood up and marched toward the farmhouse. I walked over to the fence and got my bike.
“Hey!”
“What?”
“I’ll see you at school tomorrow?”
“It’s a school day, ain’t it?”
“Yeah. I guess so. Bye, Tommy”
He just turned around and went inside. He never said goodbye. If it were anybody but Tommy it would annoy you but with him it made sense. It fit him.
I rode my bike home in the fading light of the summer sun.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Something To Make The Time Pass Quicker
She sat on the edge of the bed. The light from the bathroom hit her face. She looked beautiful. Different but beautiful.
“I can’t tell if I love you or I just love not being alone” she said. She began to cry.
Her suitcase sat at her feet. She was putting on lipstick while she talked. A distraction to keep her mind off the awful truth.
“I’m sorry. I have to go”
“But why? Can’t we talk about this?”
“I just need a change, Charlie. I can’t do this anymore.” She rose to her feet and grabbed her belongings and walked to the door.
I followed her, grabbed her by the elbow.
“I can’t let you do this”
“Please”
And with that she was gone. She waved goodbye and blew me a kiss from the parking lot.
Now I live alone in a house large enough for two. Eight hour work days and TV dinners. Sepia toned photos of a bygone era.
I caught a movie on TV the other day.
A love story.
It made me sad for too many reasons.
Maybe I should get a dog. Or a cat.
Something to make the time pass quicker.
“I can’t tell if I love you or I just love not being alone” she said. She began to cry.
Her suitcase sat at her feet. She was putting on lipstick while she talked. A distraction to keep her mind off the awful truth.
“I’m sorry. I have to go”
“But why? Can’t we talk about this?”
“I just need a change, Charlie. I can’t do this anymore.” She rose to her feet and grabbed her belongings and walked to the door.
I followed her, grabbed her by the elbow.
“I can’t let you do this”
“Please”
And with that she was gone. She waved goodbye and blew me a kiss from the parking lot.
Now I live alone in a house large enough for two. Eight hour work days and TV dinners. Sepia toned photos of a bygone era.
I caught a movie on TV the other day.
A love story.
It made me sad for too many reasons.
Maybe I should get a dog. Or a cat.
Something to make the time pass quicker.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Waiting
“Mommy” was the call.
“She’s not here” was the response.
They sat to my left.
In the corner an old woman reads Golf Digest. Her wrinkles and liver spots remind me of my own mortality and why I am here in the first place.
I’m suddenly nervous.
A nurse walks by with a clip board and calls a name.
“George Erickson”
A man I hadn’t noticed before stands up. He is probably in his late 40s. He looks fit, in shape. He probably doesn’t really need to be here. Maybe he is getting a physical because a new job requires it. Maybe his wife just felt something abnormal in his testicles while they were making love. Maybe she talked him into getting it checked out even though he takes good care of himself.
The nurse leads him away into the examining room where Doctor and patient will laugh together about how wives don’t understand the male anatomy and never will. They will exchange golf tips.
“Mommy!”
“Your Mother isn’t here, Caitlin!”
The man tries to keep his patience.
The girl huffs and scowls.
I notice that somebody has carved the word “FUCK” into the arm rest of my chair. “How odd”, I think but I suppose even vandals go to the Doctor.
Or maybe it was simply a man who just found out he had cancer or AIDs or some other fatal disease. Maybe “FUCK” was his way of letting off some steam, getting something off his chest.
I sigh and bury my face into my hands and wonder if I will be feel the urge to vandalize something after I’m done with the Doctor.
Before I left Angie asked if "it was fear or worry".
I told her "I think it's both".
In a while I will be home and everything could be different.
This is waiting.
“She’s not here” was the response.
They sat to my left.
In the corner an old woman reads Golf Digest. Her wrinkles and liver spots remind me of my own mortality and why I am here in the first place.
I’m suddenly nervous.
A nurse walks by with a clip board and calls a name.
“George Erickson”
A man I hadn’t noticed before stands up. He is probably in his late 40s. He looks fit, in shape. He probably doesn’t really need to be here. Maybe he is getting a physical because a new job requires it. Maybe his wife just felt something abnormal in his testicles while they were making love. Maybe she talked him into getting it checked out even though he takes good care of himself.
The nurse leads him away into the examining room where Doctor and patient will laugh together about how wives don’t understand the male anatomy and never will. They will exchange golf tips.
“Mommy!”
“Your Mother isn’t here, Caitlin!”
The man tries to keep his patience.
The girl huffs and scowls.
I notice that somebody has carved the word “FUCK” into the arm rest of my chair. “How odd”, I think but I suppose even vandals go to the Doctor.
Or maybe it was simply a man who just found out he had cancer or AIDs or some other fatal disease. Maybe “FUCK” was his way of letting off some steam, getting something off his chest.
I sigh and bury my face into my hands and wonder if I will be feel the urge to vandalize something after I’m done with the Doctor.
Before I left Angie asked if "it was fear or worry".
I told her "I think it's both".
In a while I will be home and everything could be different.
This is waiting.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
A Song to Make One Feel Like Singing
She stood on the hill with her hands in her pockets.
This is the story how Paul met Amber.
He smiles from a distance and walks toward her.
It is a love story.
She pulled her hands out of her pockets when she saw him approaching.
It is a true story.
Paul was a sad man. He had been single for nearly 11 months. Dumped. Alone. Eating poorly. Sleeping poorly. It wasn’t for lack of trying. He had gone on a few dates here and there. Made eyes at women. He wasn’t unattractive. He simply had very high standards. He had very specific tastes that were hard to live up to. For example, his partial list of things he looks for in a mate:
-Hair at least shoulder length (preferably light brown or strawberry blonde)
-A keen sense of fashion but nothing too bourgeois. (“Thrift store chic” he calls it)
-No vegans/vegetarians.
-No smokers
-Must own at least one album by the Velvet Underground.
-Must like children.
-Large breasts but nothing too large (“just shy of Dolly Parton country”)
-Tattoos a plus.
To pull him out of his self imposed misery his Sister decided to set him up on a blind date. A woman from her office. Named Claire. Claire was nice enough. Average. Slender fingers and long brown hair that ended in ringlets. She wore glasses made of wood. She called them "designer frames". Paul liked her but wasn't smitten. She was a driven woman. Paul wasn't driven. He had no ambition. He was content to drift. To wander. They didn't get along for this reason.
They ate sushi and drank sake and smoked cigarettes. He studied her face and she talked about herself and her 5 year plan. When she asked him about his 5 year plan he excused himself to the restroom and changed the subject upon his return. In order to make him seem more daring, more spontaneous he suggests they go do karaoke after dinner. They arrived at a place called "Songs" at midnight.
Amber was already on stage. She was singing "Superstar" by the Carpenters. She wore a silvery dress and it shined bright in the stage lights.
Long ago, and, oh so far away
I fell in love with you
Paul was instantly transfixed. He couldn't remember his date's name (Claire). He could barely remember his name. It wasn't that Amber was especially attractive or well put together. She just had a spark. She looked exciting. She wanted to do more than just watch the evening news before bed or the daily crossword puzzle. He could tell. She was wild. Maybe even a little dangerous? She had a big mess of black hair. She was pale but not in an unattractive way. She looked European. Perhaps even Parisian. The way she moved on stage was silly. She collapsed to her knees. She theatrically clutched her chest.
Paul’s curiosity gets the better of him and he approaches Amber while her sister sings David Bowie’s “Changes”.
They exchange a simple greeting. He tells a joke about David Bowie. She laughs. He asks if she comes there often. He kicks himself for the cliché sounding question. She says every week because she loves performing. She asks if he likes karaoke. He says “I do now”. She laughs again. She asks him to join them and proceeds to entertain him all night. She tells him her ideas for plays. She confesses she grew up wanting to be Cher. He tries to hold his own. He exaggerates his participation in his High School's drama club.
They make loose plans to flying kites in the park on the next Sunday. Paul feels good. Excited. He wakes up Sunday feeling energized, refreshed. For the first time in a while he doesn’t need coffee. He walks to the park instead of driving. He sees her in the distance.
She stood on the hill with her hands in her pockets.
This is the story how Paul met Amber.
He smiles from a distance and walks toward her.
It is a love story.
She pulled her hands out of her pockets when she saw him approaching.
It is a true story.
This is the story how Paul met Amber.
He smiles from a distance and walks toward her.
It is a love story.
She pulled her hands out of her pockets when she saw him approaching.
It is a true story.
Paul was a sad man. He had been single for nearly 11 months. Dumped. Alone. Eating poorly. Sleeping poorly. It wasn’t for lack of trying. He had gone on a few dates here and there. Made eyes at women. He wasn’t unattractive. He simply had very high standards. He had very specific tastes that were hard to live up to. For example, his partial list of things he looks for in a mate:
-Hair at least shoulder length (preferably light brown or strawberry blonde)
-A keen sense of fashion but nothing too bourgeois. (“Thrift store chic” he calls it)
-No vegans/vegetarians.
-No smokers
-Must own at least one album by the Velvet Underground.
-Must like children.
-Large breasts but nothing too large (“just shy of Dolly Parton country”)
-Tattoos a plus.
To pull him out of his self imposed misery his Sister decided to set him up on a blind date. A woman from her office. Named Claire. Claire was nice enough. Average. Slender fingers and long brown hair that ended in ringlets. She wore glasses made of wood. She called them "designer frames". Paul liked her but wasn't smitten. She was a driven woman. Paul wasn't driven. He had no ambition. He was content to drift. To wander. They didn't get along for this reason.
They ate sushi and drank sake and smoked cigarettes. He studied her face and she talked about herself and her 5 year plan. When she asked him about his 5 year plan he excused himself to the restroom and changed the subject upon his return. In order to make him seem more daring, more spontaneous he suggests they go do karaoke after dinner. They arrived at a place called "Songs" at midnight.
Amber was already on stage. She was singing "Superstar" by the Carpenters. She wore a silvery dress and it shined bright in the stage lights.
Long ago, and, oh so far away
I fell in love with you
Paul was instantly transfixed. He couldn't remember his date's name (Claire). He could barely remember his name. It wasn't that Amber was especially attractive or well put together. She just had a spark. She looked exciting. She wanted to do more than just watch the evening news before bed or the daily crossword puzzle. He could tell. She was wild. Maybe even a little dangerous? She had a big mess of black hair. She was pale but not in an unattractive way. She looked European. Perhaps even Parisian. The way she moved on stage was silly. She collapsed to her knees. She theatrically clutched her chest.
Don't you remember you told me
You loved me baby?!
You said you'd be coming back this way again baby!
She rolled on to her back and did scissor kicks into the air.
Paul is mesmerized. Claire teases him to "take a picture, it'll last longer" but he ignores her. The song ends and she returns to her seat in the back with her Sister. They laugh to each other. They hug.
Paul and Claire take a seat at the bar. He offers her a drink but she declines. She says it’s late and she’d better get home and walk her golden retriever. This strikes Paul as funny for some reason and he cracks a smile.
He watches her leave and orders a whiskey and coke. He studies Amber and her sister in their booth. They eat gyoza and calamari and drink cheap beer. They take turns singing on stage. The sister is cute but not quite as appealing. She doesn’t have the charm, the charisma.
Paul’s curiosity gets the better of him and he approaches Amber while her sister sings David Bowie’s “Changes”.
They exchange a simple greeting. He tells a joke about David Bowie. She laughs. He asks if she comes there often. He kicks himself for the cliché sounding question. She says every week because she loves performing. She asks if he likes karaoke. He says “I do now”. She laughs again. She asks him to join them and proceeds to entertain him all night. She tells him her ideas for plays. She confesses she grew up wanting to be Cher. He tries to hold his own. He exaggerates his participation in his High School's drama club.
They make loose plans to flying kites in the park on the next Sunday. Paul feels good. Excited. He wakes up Sunday feeling energized, refreshed. For the first time in a while he doesn’t need coffee. He walks to the park instead of driving. He sees her in the distance.
She stood on the hill with her hands in her pockets.
This is the story how Paul met Amber.
He smiles from a distance and walks toward her.
It is a love story.
She pulled her hands out of her pockets when she saw him approaching.
It is a true story.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Pride of the Shore
There isn’t a patch of wet cement in a 30 mile radius without your name scrawled in it.
There ain’t an old oak tree in the park without our initials carved across its trunk.
We have a fine view of the park. It isn’t of anything especially pretty or interesting but it is pleasant. If you stand on your tip-toes and lift your head in a certain way you can see the tops of the trees turn to brown and red and orange in the Fall.
It is Fall now. The air is turning crisp. We both have tickles in our throats. It’s going to be a cold winter.
Soon we’ll make snow angels every chance we get. Soon there won’t be a night of rest for the fireplace. We’ll duplicate cave drawings on the dust of the windowsill when we get bored from being stuck inside with nowhere to go. You’ll begin building a better body in secret. You'll do push-ups and sit-ups while I am at work. All winter long, in long winter clothes.
You’ll stun boys at the beach come June.
We’ll sit on the sand and I’ll tell you that the sting of loneliness can really hurt a man like me and you will touch my arm and tell me that I’ll never have to worry about that. We’ll build sand castles every chance we get and your bathing suit will be the pride of the shore.
There ain’t an old oak tree in the park without our initials carved across its trunk.
We have a fine view of the park. It isn’t of anything especially pretty or interesting but it is pleasant. If you stand on your tip-toes and lift your head in a certain way you can see the tops of the trees turn to brown and red and orange in the Fall.
It is Fall now. The air is turning crisp. We both have tickles in our throats. It’s going to be a cold winter.
Soon we’ll make snow angels every chance we get. Soon there won’t be a night of rest for the fireplace. We’ll duplicate cave drawings on the dust of the windowsill when we get bored from being stuck inside with nowhere to go. You’ll begin building a better body in secret. You'll do push-ups and sit-ups while I am at work. All winter long, in long winter clothes.
You’ll stun boys at the beach come June.
We’ll sit on the sand and I’ll tell you that the sting of loneliness can really hurt a man like me and you will touch my arm and tell me that I’ll never have to worry about that. We’ll build sand castles every chance we get and your bathing suit will be the pride of the shore.
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