I have a memory of a radio playing Simon and Garfunkel in the early morning, as a heavy fog rolled in. It is vague and faded, like your smile is now. That big round Irish face looking down on me in a lover's haze.
I remember you sitting on the bed next to me and drawing shapes on my chest with your index finger. You said, in a sing-song voice deepened by exhaustion and influenza, "it's somebody's birthday soon". I smiled and looked up at the ceiling and played dumb.
"I wonder who that could be".
"Are we doing anything special?"
"You'll see".
Mango ice cream and chocolate cake on your porch in the sun, the smell of candle wax and whiskey lingering in the air. You turn to me and say "thank you".
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Chapped Lips Quoting Shakespeare
The corpse of yesterday's newspaper rots
in the wet gutter below me.
Your bike is still parked in front of his house,
the one with police tape around the porch.
A pretty girl walks by and smiles at me
but I ignore her, she's not you.
My favorite sweatshirt has paint on it now,
from trying to make you a housewarming present.
A group of men sit in a van parked in front of a halfway house
and it's obvious they are going on a trip together.
I just hope you are happy now, with him or alone,
wherever you are.
in the wet gutter below me.
Your bike is still parked in front of his house,
the one with police tape around the porch.
A pretty girl walks by and smiles at me
but I ignore her, she's not you.
My favorite sweatshirt has paint on it now,
from trying to make you a housewarming present.
A group of men sit in a van parked in front of a halfway house
and it's obvious they are going on a trip together.
I just hope you are happy now, with him or alone,
wherever you are.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
The City Without You
Sometimes I wish I could live in that city again but without you. Without sharing that apartment, without breathing the same air. I'd do it all over again without your head on my chest on that couch and that lingering face in the air.
Maybe someday again I will let go of it but I can't for now. Both the city and you and tied together in my mind.
Maybe someday again I will let go of it but I can't for now. Both the city and you and tied together in my mind.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Henrietta and Georgie
On the Johnson Family Farm there lived a pig. The pig was named Georgie. He was a friendly pig who loved everyone. Who Georgie loved the most was a horse named Henrietta. Everybody on the little country farm was in love with Henrietta, she was the most beautiful animal in the whole village. For Georgie it was different, he loved her inside and out. He even loved her faults which none of the others could see.
One day Henrietta asked Georgie if he wanted to take a walk with her down to a pond on the other side of the farm. Georgie knew it was dangerous because no animals on the farm had ever ventured that far before but he was so wanted to impress Henrietta with his bravery that he said yes.
So together they pushed open the wooden gate and snuck on down the hill in search of the infamous pond they had heard so much about.
"I heard Jimmy the chicken saw it once but then he disappeared", said Georgie, fearfully.
"That's just an old wive's tale", said Henrietta.
Georgie was slow and Henrietta had to frequently slow down and wait for him to catch up. He had little legs and couldn't walk as fast as her. She didn't mind though, she loved Georgie and would do anything for him. She wished he knew how special he was, that's why she asked him out to the pond in the first place, to tell him how she felt away from the others. On the way to the pond Georige told her jokes and made her laugh and laugh. He was a funny little pig with a charming way of telling stories.
"Hey, Henrietta", Georgie said, "Why does a rooster watch TV?"
"I don't know, little Georgie. Why?"
"For hentertainment!"
Henrietta laughed, "oh that's a good one, Georgie".
After what felt like all afternoon Henrietta and Georgie arrived at the pond they had heard so much about.
"Oh, wow! It's beautiful", said Henrietta.
"Ooh. Yes. It is. Quite beautiful", replied Georgie.
They walked closer and closer to it until they were right up on the shore, above the surface of the water. Georgie looked down in the muddy water and noticed a little pink creature looking back up at him.
"Henrietta!", he cried, "Come look! Look at that strange little animal in the water!"
Henrietta walked over and stood above Georgie.
"Oh, silly Georgie. That's not a strange little animal in the water! That's you! It's your reflection"
"What's a reflection?", he asked.
"It's like a mirror, Georgie. It shows you what you look like"
"That....that's me?", he asked.
"Yes, Georgie. And that's me. Above you. Don't you see?"
Georgie looked intently at the water and sighed then he said "yes, I see" before he began to cry.
"Oh, dear. Georgie! Why are you crying? It's such a beautiful day. And this pond is lovely. Aren't you having fun?", asked Henrietta.
"I didn't know I looked like that", he cried.
"So...what's the matter?"
"I'm so ugly"
Henrietta laughed and said, "You are not ugly, Georgie. You are a pig. That's how pigs look".
Georgie yelled out, "Then I don't want to be a pig!".
Henrietta could tell that Georige was upset.
"Georgie. I think you are a beautiful little pig and I love you".
"Ha. Ha", cried Georgie, "very funny, Henrietta. Haven't you done enough? You don't have to humiliate me!"
"Georgie! I'm being serious. I think you are a wonderful, charming creature and I love you".
Georgie began to walked into the water, slowly, staring at his reflection the whole time.
"Georgie?", Henrietta cried.
"What?"
"Is everything ok?"
"I'm thinking"
"Ok, Georgie. You think".
Just then in the distance a loud gunshot went off, a rifle. Henrietta screamed.
"Georgie! That must be Farmer Johnson! We must go, Georgie! We will be in such trouble!"
"You go on back, Henrietta. I have some thinking to do."
Henrietta saw the elderly man approaching through the trees. The man ran at Henrietta yelling "what in the hell you doing down here, horse? Get the hell back up to the stable!" and he chased her up the hill. Henrietta looked back at Georgie and yelled "Come Georgie! Come back!".
Georgie was lost in thought, staring into the shiny water.
"She can never love me", he thought to himself. Then he thought that maybe if he could walk into the water far enough his..."reflection", as Henrietta called it, would disappear. So Georgie took a deep breath and kept walking deeper and deeper into the water until he could no longer see his reflection.
One day Henrietta asked Georgie if he wanted to take a walk with her down to a pond on the other side of the farm. Georgie knew it was dangerous because no animals on the farm had ever ventured that far before but he was so wanted to impress Henrietta with his bravery that he said yes.
So together they pushed open the wooden gate and snuck on down the hill in search of the infamous pond they had heard so much about.
"I heard Jimmy the chicken saw it once but then he disappeared", said Georgie, fearfully.
"That's just an old wive's tale", said Henrietta.
Georgie was slow and Henrietta had to frequently slow down and wait for him to catch up. He had little legs and couldn't walk as fast as her. She didn't mind though, she loved Georgie and would do anything for him. She wished he knew how special he was, that's why she asked him out to the pond in the first place, to tell him how she felt away from the others. On the way to the pond Georige told her jokes and made her laugh and laugh. He was a funny little pig with a charming way of telling stories.
"Hey, Henrietta", Georgie said, "Why does a rooster watch TV?"
"I don't know, little Georgie. Why?"
"For hentertainment!"
Henrietta laughed, "oh that's a good one, Georgie".
After what felt like all afternoon Henrietta and Georgie arrived at the pond they had heard so much about.
"Oh, wow! It's beautiful", said Henrietta.
"Ooh. Yes. It is. Quite beautiful", replied Georgie.
They walked closer and closer to it until they were right up on the shore, above the surface of the water. Georgie looked down in the muddy water and noticed a little pink creature looking back up at him.
"Henrietta!", he cried, "Come look! Look at that strange little animal in the water!"
Henrietta walked over and stood above Georgie.
"Oh, silly Georgie. That's not a strange little animal in the water! That's you! It's your reflection"
"What's a reflection?", he asked.
"It's like a mirror, Georgie. It shows you what you look like"
"That....that's me?", he asked.
"Yes, Georgie. And that's me. Above you. Don't you see?"
Georgie looked intently at the water and sighed then he said "yes, I see" before he began to cry.
"Oh, dear. Georgie! Why are you crying? It's such a beautiful day. And this pond is lovely. Aren't you having fun?", asked Henrietta.
"I didn't know I looked like that", he cried.
"So...what's the matter?"
"I'm so ugly"
Henrietta laughed and said, "You are not ugly, Georgie. You are a pig. That's how pigs look".
Georgie yelled out, "Then I don't want to be a pig!".
Henrietta could tell that Georige was upset.
"Georgie. I think you are a beautiful little pig and I love you".
"Ha. Ha", cried Georgie, "very funny, Henrietta. Haven't you done enough? You don't have to humiliate me!"
"Georgie! I'm being serious. I think you are a wonderful, charming creature and I love you".
Georgie began to walked into the water, slowly, staring at his reflection the whole time.
"Georgie?", Henrietta cried.
"What?"
"Is everything ok?"
"I'm thinking"
"Ok, Georgie. You think".
Just then in the distance a loud gunshot went off, a rifle. Henrietta screamed.
"Georgie! That must be Farmer Johnson! We must go, Georgie! We will be in such trouble!"
"You go on back, Henrietta. I have some thinking to do."
Henrietta saw the elderly man approaching through the trees. The man ran at Henrietta yelling "what in the hell you doing down here, horse? Get the hell back up to the stable!" and he chased her up the hill. Henrietta looked back at Georgie and yelled "Come Georgie! Come back!".
Georgie was lost in thought, staring into the shiny water.
"She can never love me", he thought to himself. Then he thought that maybe if he could walk into the water far enough his..."reflection", as Henrietta called it, would disappear. So Georgie took a deep breath and kept walking deeper and deeper into the water until he could no longer see his reflection.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Treat Me Wild
Last night I had a dream. In the dream we were together again, you and me. We were on a bus, heading to the house you used to live in on the hill. You pulled the bell early and said "I feel like walking". You took my hand as we stepped off the bus.
You then turned and said "it's such a lovely night" and it was, it was a lovely night. There was a mild wind that periodically sent a chill down the spine, I'd always liked that feeling and you did too...or so you told me anyway.
We began our long trek up Liberty Hill and we didn't say anything to each other but it didn't feel awkward or strange. It was safe and comfortable, like always. Occasionally you would turn back to me and smile.
When we got to the very top of the hill, before it began to slope back down into the valley, you said "let's rest our feet here for a minute" and exhaled loudly. Then I remembered something you once told me ages ago. You said, "this spot right here, at the top of this hill, this is my favorite spot in the whole wide world". At the time you said this I agreed with you but that was back when we were both kids, basically. That was before I'd been to Paris or Prague or Africa or even New York City. "Yeah, it's a great spot", I said in the dream.
We sat on the curb underneath that old blue house with the peeling paint and looked at the bright city below. Houses and factories and restaurants all lit up, cars speeding from place to place, the bridge rising to let a big old barge pass underneath it. I felt the chill of the wind on my face and the little hairs on the back of my neck stood up. You leaned against my shoulder and took a deep breath. The water in Lake Union rippled with the breeze.
You then said "look at the billboard down there. By the water. I've never noticed it before. It must be new" and you pointed right to it. It had a picture of a cartoon dog on it and a man holding a dog treat out for him to eat. Then it said "Wild Brand Biscuits. Real salmon, Real Wild." and underneath all that in the corner it said "Treat Me Wild!" in bright red letters. You laughed at the slogan and said "that's kind of silly". And I laughed too. Then you kissed me on the cheek and said "treat me wild, Jack. Will you?" and I kissed you back.
Then I woke up.
You then turned and said "it's such a lovely night" and it was, it was a lovely night. There was a mild wind that periodically sent a chill down the spine, I'd always liked that feeling and you did too...or so you told me anyway.
We began our long trek up Liberty Hill and we didn't say anything to each other but it didn't feel awkward or strange. It was safe and comfortable, like always. Occasionally you would turn back to me and smile.
When we got to the very top of the hill, before it began to slope back down into the valley, you said "let's rest our feet here for a minute" and exhaled loudly. Then I remembered something you once told me ages ago. You said, "this spot right here, at the top of this hill, this is my favorite spot in the whole wide world". At the time you said this I agreed with you but that was back when we were both kids, basically. That was before I'd been to Paris or Prague or Africa or even New York City. "Yeah, it's a great spot", I said in the dream.
We sat on the curb underneath that old blue house with the peeling paint and looked at the bright city below. Houses and factories and restaurants all lit up, cars speeding from place to place, the bridge rising to let a big old barge pass underneath it. I felt the chill of the wind on my face and the little hairs on the back of my neck stood up. You leaned against my shoulder and took a deep breath. The water in Lake Union rippled with the breeze.
You then said "look at the billboard down there. By the water. I've never noticed it before. It must be new" and you pointed right to it. It had a picture of a cartoon dog on it and a man holding a dog treat out for him to eat. Then it said "Wild Brand Biscuits. Real salmon, Real Wild." and underneath all that in the corner it said "Treat Me Wild!" in bright red letters. You laughed at the slogan and said "that's kind of silly". And I laughed too. Then you kissed me on the cheek and said "treat me wild, Jack. Will you?" and I kissed you back.
Then I woke up.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Girl Machine
He thought this:
Is she a girl or machine?
How can she resist me?
Spurn my advances, deny my charms.
Where did it veer off course?
My sights were set on the moon but they ended up in limbo?
She laid awake in bed thinking this:
Give up, give up, give up.
Be done with it and this and love.
Is she a girl or machine?
How can she resist me?
Spurn my advances, deny my charms.
Where did it veer off course?
My sights were set on the moon but they ended up in limbo?
She laid awake in bed thinking this:
Give up, give up, give up.
Be done with it and this and love.
The Mask
Donald Johnson was 35 years old. Not an old man by any means but no longer a young man either. Certainly too old to be doing this, he thought.
He gripped the steering wheel tighter as he took a sharp left turn on to Beverly Street. He slowed to a crawl as he scanned the numbers on the houses for "4728". He finally spotted them on a tiny little stucco job at the end of the block.
He waited for a second, composing himself and honked 3 times, 2 shorts and one long. Just like the woman on the phone instructed him to do. He waited for what felt like an eternity before she finally emerged from the tiny house. As she approached the car he thought to himself that she was prettier than he expected. Which isn't to say she was "pretty" exactly, she was definitely worn and tired looking, a little vacant. But she was born with a natural beauty, that was obvious. Her eyes held a hint of a spark. Maybe, he thought, that's why she got into this business in the first place. He got out and ran around to the other side of the car to open the door for her. She kissed him on the cheek as she wordlessly entered the car, carefully adjusting her short skirt as she sat down on the aging upholstery. The kiss surprised and aroused him. He told himself to not get too worked up yet. He had her for 3 hours and he didn't want to rush into anything.
He pulled out slowly and looked down the rest of Beverly Street, letting his eyes wander aimlessly into the darkness, as if something interesting to do would present itself magically. After it became apparent that no activities would make themselves known easily, he turned to her and said "so...what do you want to do?"
"I don't know", she replied. "It's your money".
Donald sighed and looked up at the upcoming stop sign. He bent his head down. He thought about what he would do on a normal date, maybe in his youth. He paused before asking, "are you hungry?"
"Sure. I could eat"
"Ok. Well, let's eat then...Miss...what's your name?"
"Diane. Just call me Diane"
He took her to a place called "Tony's Diner" across town, by the shopping mall. They shared mozzarella sticks and each had a steak with all the trimmings. He paid, naturally. The conversation came slow and awkwardly. She only spoke when spoken to. She frequently left to use the restroom or smoke a cigarette. Donald just sat there and thought about what it used to be like with Cheryl. She was the first. She was different. She had the biggest green eyes and the thickest dark hair. The way she touched him gave him goosebumps. Just thinking about her made him light up.
The door to the restuarant swung up as "Diane" walked back in. When she sat back down across from him Donald could smell the cigarette smoke on her breath.
"Are we almost done here?", she asked.
"Yeah. Ok. Let's go"
"Where next, sugar?"
"Uh, my house. I guess. If that's ok with you?"
"Like I said, sugar. It's your money. You do whatever you want"
He winced slightly when she said this. He hated being reminded of what exactly he was doing. He did not like "Diane", that was obvious. She was crude and ill-mannered, even for a prostitute, he thought.
They pulled out of the parking lot at exactly midnight. He decided to take the scenic route back to his house and he made this known to her. As with most things he said to her thoughtout the evening she seemed indifferent and perhaps a bit bothered by the interaction. He tried his best to not let it bother him but it did. He imagined what sex with her would be like, how it would be cold and emotionless. He wondered how it work logistically. How would she be able to take him? Who would she be thinking of in order to open her body to him? Would he even be able to stay hard for her? The whole idea began to make him feel sick to his stomach. Maybe he would spice it up the way he usually did but he was really trying to avoid that now. He didn't want to scare her like he scared the others. He wanted it to be painless, maybe even fun. But now with "Diane" he didn't see that as a possibility.
They pulled into his driveway at exactly 12:18AM. He opened the car door for her, even though she didn't deserve it, he thought.
"Where's the bathroom?", she asked as they entered the darkened house.
"Last door on the left at the end of the hall"
He thought that she was probably going to do drugs in there, turn his nice Christian home into an opium den. As he pulled off his jacket and hung it over the arm of an frayed lounge chair he grit his teeth. He wanted nothing to do with this woman. As he looked down at his watch to see exactly how much time with her he had left she emerged from the hall completely nude. Every imperfection she tried to cover with silk or linen or animal print or fishnet or support hose was in full view. She looked innocent, unguarded, younger. He became aroused.
"So...where's your bedroom, sugar?"
"No. No bedroom", he said somewhat sternly. "Just lay down on the couch".
She smiled uncharacteristically and said "whatever floats your boat".
He then excused himself and disappeared into the total blackness of his bedroom. She looked up at his cheap, stackled ceiling. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. She felt a headache coming on. She told herself she was going too old for this business. Maybe she could retire next year? Hang it up for good. Go live with her Sister in Missouri.
When she opened her eyes she saw him standing over her with a mask on. An African mask carved from wood. It looked heavy and expensive. She laughed.
"What's so funny?", he asked.
"That mask. It's just...different"
"You want me to take it off? It...helps...me"
"Again, sugar. Whatever floats your boat"
Donald burst into a fit of anger. "DON'T CALL ME SUGAR!", he snapped. "I HAVE A FUCKING NAME AND IT'S DONALD. I TOLD YOU THAT ON THE PHONE".
Diane sat up and stared at him. She didn't know what to say. She watched as he slunk into the kitchen.
"Where are you going? What are you doing in the kitchen?"
When he returned with a knife it became clear.
She screamed as he approached her.
He thought to himself that he hoped the next girl would be more his type. Maybe be warm, loving...so he didn't have to resort to this. He was 35 years old now. Not an old man by any means but no longer a young man either. Certaintly too old to be doing this, he thought.
He gripped the steering wheel tighter as he took a sharp left turn on to Beverly Street. He slowed to a crawl as he scanned the numbers on the houses for "4728". He finally spotted them on a tiny little stucco job at the end of the block.
He waited for a second, composing himself and honked 3 times, 2 shorts and one long. Just like the woman on the phone instructed him to do. He waited for what felt like an eternity before she finally emerged from the tiny house. As she approached the car he thought to himself that she was prettier than he expected. Which isn't to say she was "pretty" exactly, she was definitely worn and tired looking, a little vacant. But she was born with a natural beauty, that was obvious. Her eyes held a hint of a spark. Maybe, he thought, that's why she got into this business in the first place. He got out and ran around to the other side of the car to open the door for her. She kissed him on the cheek as she wordlessly entered the car, carefully adjusting her short skirt as she sat down on the aging upholstery. The kiss surprised and aroused him. He told himself to not get too worked up yet. He had her for 3 hours and he didn't want to rush into anything.
He pulled out slowly and looked down the rest of Beverly Street, letting his eyes wander aimlessly into the darkness, as if something interesting to do would present itself magically. After it became apparent that no activities would make themselves known easily, he turned to her and said "so...what do you want to do?"
"I don't know", she replied. "It's your money".
Donald sighed and looked up at the upcoming stop sign. He bent his head down. He thought about what he would do on a normal date, maybe in his youth. He paused before asking, "are you hungry?"
"Sure. I could eat"
"Ok. Well, let's eat then...Miss...what's your name?"
"Diane. Just call me Diane"
He took her to a place called "Tony's Diner" across town, by the shopping mall. They shared mozzarella sticks and each had a steak with all the trimmings. He paid, naturally. The conversation came slow and awkwardly. She only spoke when spoken to. She frequently left to use the restroom or smoke a cigarette. Donald just sat there and thought about what it used to be like with Cheryl. She was the first. She was different. She had the biggest green eyes and the thickest dark hair. The way she touched him gave him goosebumps. Just thinking about her made him light up.
The door to the restuarant swung up as "Diane" walked back in. When she sat back down across from him Donald could smell the cigarette smoke on her breath.
"Are we almost done here?", she asked.
"Yeah. Ok. Let's go"
"Where next, sugar?"
"Uh, my house. I guess. If that's ok with you?"
"Like I said, sugar. It's your money. You do whatever you want"
He winced slightly when she said this. He hated being reminded of what exactly he was doing. He did not like "Diane", that was obvious. She was crude and ill-mannered, even for a prostitute, he thought.
They pulled out of the parking lot at exactly midnight. He decided to take the scenic route back to his house and he made this known to her. As with most things he said to her thoughtout the evening she seemed indifferent and perhaps a bit bothered by the interaction. He tried his best to not let it bother him but it did. He imagined what sex with her would be like, how it would be cold and emotionless. He wondered how it work logistically. How would she be able to take him? Who would she be thinking of in order to open her body to him? Would he even be able to stay hard for her? The whole idea began to make him feel sick to his stomach. Maybe he would spice it up the way he usually did but he was really trying to avoid that now. He didn't want to scare her like he scared the others. He wanted it to be painless, maybe even fun. But now with "Diane" he didn't see that as a possibility.
They pulled into his driveway at exactly 12:18AM. He opened the car door for her, even though she didn't deserve it, he thought.
"Where's the bathroom?", she asked as they entered the darkened house.
"Last door on the left at the end of the hall"
He thought that she was probably going to do drugs in there, turn his nice Christian home into an opium den. As he pulled off his jacket and hung it over the arm of an frayed lounge chair he grit his teeth. He wanted nothing to do with this woman. As he looked down at his watch to see exactly how much time with her he had left she emerged from the hall completely nude. Every imperfection she tried to cover with silk or linen or animal print or fishnet or support hose was in full view. She looked innocent, unguarded, younger. He became aroused.
"So...where's your bedroom, sugar?"
"No. No bedroom", he said somewhat sternly. "Just lay down on the couch".
She smiled uncharacteristically and said "whatever floats your boat".
He then excused himself and disappeared into the total blackness of his bedroom. She looked up at his cheap, stackled ceiling. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. She felt a headache coming on. She told herself she was going too old for this business. Maybe she could retire next year? Hang it up for good. Go live with her Sister in Missouri.
When she opened her eyes she saw him standing over her with a mask on. An African mask carved from wood. It looked heavy and expensive. She laughed.
"What's so funny?", he asked.
"That mask. It's just...different"
"You want me to take it off? It...helps...me"
"Again, sugar. Whatever floats your boat"
Donald burst into a fit of anger. "DON'T CALL ME SUGAR!", he snapped. "I HAVE A FUCKING NAME AND IT'S DONALD. I TOLD YOU THAT ON THE PHONE".
Diane sat up and stared at him. She didn't know what to say. She watched as he slunk into the kitchen.
"Where are you going? What are you doing in the kitchen?"
When he returned with a knife it became clear.
She screamed as he approached her.
He thought to himself that he hoped the next girl would be more his type. Maybe be warm, loving...so he didn't have to resort to this. He was 35 years old now. Not an old man by any means but no longer a young man either. Certaintly too old to be doing this, he thought.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Aromatics
"What time will they be here?", Bev asked.
"20 minutes!"
She nodded and bent her head down, continuing to cut the green onions into perfect little pieces. She wiped off a bead of sweat forming on her brow.
From the living room her husband shouted, "I don't know why you always knock yourself out for them, Bev. She's an ingrate and he's just a idiot. Pure and simple"
She ignored this and continued to concentrate on cutting the vegetables.
"No", she thought to herself. "Not vegetables. Aromatics. Like the man on TV said".
What she wanted to say to him but couldn't was that it wasn't for them. Or for him. It was for her. It was her chance to feel important. A sprig of mint on top of a bowl of homemade coconut sorbet was her version of a Helen Frankenthaler watercolor. A drizzling of a balsamic reduction over a chicken breast was Jackson Pollack on a plate.
He shuffled in his chair and loosened his tie. He checked his watch for the 10th time in the last five minutes. The sound of a knife on a cutting board reverberated from the kitchen. He sighed. He thought about her for a second, the girl from the office. Everything about her was perfect. The way her purple blouse made her breasts look, how her hair caught the sunlight through the window. He told himself to forget about her and focus on Bev. She was his, not some fantasy. He reminded himself that the chopping he heard was being executed by her. It was tangible and comforting when he thought about it.
"How long until they are here?", she shouted again.
He checked his watch again.
"Any minute now".
The chopping stopped.
"20 minutes!"
She nodded and bent her head down, continuing to cut the green onions into perfect little pieces. She wiped off a bead of sweat forming on her brow.
From the living room her husband shouted, "I don't know why you always knock yourself out for them, Bev. She's an ingrate and he's just a idiot. Pure and simple"
She ignored this and continued to concentrate on cutting the vegetables.
"No", she thought to herself. "Not vegetables. Aromatics. Like the man on TV said".
What she wanted to say to him but couldn't was that it wasn't for them. Or for him. It was for her. It was her chance to feel important. A sprig of mint on top of a bowl of homemade coconut sorbet was her version of a Helen Frankenthaler watercolor. A drizzling of a balsamic reduction over a chicken breast was Jackson Pollack on a plate.
He shuffled in his chair and loosened his tie. He checked his watch for the 10th time in the last five minutes. The sound of a knife on a cutting board reverberated from the kitchen. He sighed. He thought about her for a second, the girl from the office. Everything about her was perfect. The way her purple blouse made her breasts look, how her hair caught the sunlight through the window. He told himself to forget about her and focus on Bev. She was his, not some fantasy. He reminded himself that the chopping he heard was being executed by her. It was tangible and comforting when he thought about it.
"How long until they are here?", she shouted again.
He checked his watch again.
"Any minute now".
The chopping stopped.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Los Angeles
The sun baked the back of his neck through the window. He shifted in his seat slightly.
"Turn up the AC, man", he yelled to Jarred.
"It's up as high as it goes, Ted. Besides, we're almost there", he replied.
As he said this, as if on cue, the ocean met the horizon. Miles and miles of blue expanse hung barely in view above the road.
The music blasting from the back speakers changed yet again. This time to a Beach Boy's song.
"Stop changing the fucking songs, Jake".
"Shut the fuck up"
Jarred sighed and said towards the backseat, "this is what we get for bringing a DJ with us".
Ted sat and enjoyed the oohs and ahhs assaulting his ears at an obscene volume.
He opened a box of donuts and shook it around a little bit. The gnawed remains of an apple fritter danced on the cardboard and he debated eating it or not.
"Hey, is there any truth to that whole don't eat less than an hour before swimming thing?"
"What?"
"IS THERE ANY TRUTH TO THAT WHOLE NOT EATING AN HOUR BEFORE YOU GO SWIMMING THING?!", he said louder, to be heard over Brian Wilson.
"No, dude. That's just an old wise tale"
Ted and Jake laughed in unison.
"What?"
"It's old wive's tale. Not old wise tale, man"
Jarred looked flustered.
"Well, whatever it fuck it is...that's what it is"
Sensing his frustration, Ted just dropped the subject before devouring the battered carcass of the last donut. As he swallowed the last bit he began to mentally count the days until they went back home in his head. It still seemed too soon. He could live out here, he thought. He could live perpetually minutes away from the ocean, with the sun on his neck.
When the car came to a stop at the edge of the parking lot Ted didn't even wait for the others. He simply started running to the water like a child might. Jarred laughed at him, quickly grabbed his towel and shorts from the trunk and chased after him.
"Last one in is a rotten piece of shit!", he yelled as he passed Ted.
They both smiled as Ted broke out into a sprint. They both paused at the edge of the beach and threw off their clothes. Ted simply went in wearing his boxers and Jarred put on his swim trunks not so discreetly. Jake came barreling over the hill a few seconds later.
Ted ran in first and dove under the surface of the sea. The first wave hit and turned him all around. He opened his eyes as he found his footing and stood up, much closer to shore than he remembered being. He let out a huge yell and pounded his chest like an ape.
"Nice work, Tarzan", Jake said from the shore.
The sun pounded down on the men as they all eventually found their way into the water. For a split second Ted thought that if this was what the afterlife was, feeling the waters crash into you for all eternity, he could be ok with dying.
He noticed a girl in a black bikini on the shore. He smiled at her before taking a deep breath and diving under before the next big wave hit.
"Turn up the AC, man", he yelled to Jarred.
"It's up as high as it goes, Ted. Besides, we're almost there", he replied.
As he said this, as if on cue, the ocean met the horizon. Miles and miles of blue expanse hung barely in view above the road.
The music blasting from the back speakers changed yet again. This time to a Beach Boy's song.
"Stop changing the fucking songs, Jake".
"Shut the fuck up"
Jarred sighed and said towards the backseat, "this is what we get for bringing a DJ with us".
Ted sat and enjoyed the oohs and ahhs assaulting his ears at an obscene volume.
He opened a box of donuts and shook it around a little bit. The gnawed remains of an apple fritter danced on the cardboard and he debated eating it or not.
"Hey, is there any truth to that whole don't eat less than an hour before swimming thing?"
"What?"
"IS THERE ANY TRUTH TO THAT WHOLE NOT EATING AN HOUR BEFORE YOU GO SWIMMING THING?!", he said louder, to be heard over Brian Wilson.
"No, dude. That's just an old wise tale"
Ted and Jake laughed in unison.
"What?"
"It's old wive's tale. Not old wise tale, man"
Jarred looked flustered.
"Well, whatever it fuck it is...that's what it is"
Sensing his frustration, Ted just dropped the subject before devouring the battered carcass of the last donut. As he swallowed the last bit he began to mentally count the days until they went back home in his head. It still seemed too soon. He could live out here, he thought. He could live perpetually minutes away from the ocean, with the sun on his neck.
When the car came to a stop at the edge of the parking lot Ted didn't even wait for the others. He simply started running to the water like a child might. Jarred laughed at him, quickly grabbed his towel and shorts from the trunk and chased after him.
"Last one in is a rotten piece of shit!", he yelled as he passed Ted.
They both smiled as Ted broke out into a sprint. They both paused at the edge of the beach and threw off their clothes. Ted simply went in wearing his boxers and Jarred put on his swim trunks not so discreetly. Jake came barreling over the hill a few seconds later.
Ted ran in first and dove under the surface of the sea. The first wave hit and turned him all around. He opened his eyes as he found his footing and stood up, much closer to shore than he remembered being. He let out a huge yell and pounded his chest like an ape.
"Nice work, Tarzan", Jake said from the shore.
The sun pounded down on the men as they all eventually found their way into the water. For a split second Ted thought that if this was what the afterlife was, feeling the waters crash into you for all eternity, he could be ok with dying.
He noticed a girl in a black bikini on the shore. He smiled at her before taking a deep breath and diving under before the next big wave hit.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Where
Randy closed his eyes for just a second and she was gone.
That's how it felt anyway.
When he thought about her now he thought about her as an abstraction. A big mess of hair on top of a pale, round face. He thought about her lips on his.
He rode his bike around the outskirts of their shared small town to forget about her but it wasn't enough distance from her memory.
Then one night he found it. He thought he would never even think about it again much less find it. But there it was, staring back at him from the bottom of a tattered box in his garage. It was a video tape. It was simply labeled with a red x but he knew what it really held.
It was a tape of him and her together. They must have only been 18 or 19 in it. He was a virile strapping young man in those days, not the bloated sack he had become. He watched the tape in his living room on mute. He needed to adjust to the nostalgia slowly. He watched the shaky, grainy footage of her dancing on top of a copper colored boulder. She wore an over-sized sweatshirt with the California raisins on it. Her hair was in a ponytail. She looked right into the camera, right at Randy and said something that seemed like "I love you". Randy shut off the tape and made yet another dinner for himself. He broke a heel of bread in half and buttered it before he caught himself thinking about the past again. He thought about Thailand or Vietnam in the Summer and if it would be far enough away to feel like himself again if he went there. He remembered that she always loved Thai food and decided on Russia maybe. Russia seemed like a place he could get lost in.
That night as he tried to sleep and dream of Russia he remembered that on that videotape was a part where they made love and debated if he wanted to watch it or not. He looked over at his alarm clock. 4 AM. He wondered what time it was in Russia and sighed.
That's how it felt anyway.
When he thought about her now he thought about her as an abstraction. A big mess of hair on top of a pale, round face. He thought about her lips on his.
He rode his bike around the outskirts of their shared small town to forget about her but it wasn't enough distance from her memory.
Then one night he found it. He thought he would never even think about it again much less find it. But there it was, staring back at him from the bottom of a tattered box in his garage. It was a video tape. It was simply labeled with a red x but he knew what it really held.
It was a tape of him and her together. They must have only been 18 or 19 in it. He was a virile strapping young man in those days, not the bloated sack he had become. He watched the tape in his living room on mute. He needed to adjust to the nostalgia slowly. He watched the shaky, grainy footage of her dancing on top of a copper colored boulder. She wore an over-sized sweatshirt with the California raisins on it. Her hair was in a ponytail. She looked right into the camera, right at Randy and said something that seemed like "I love you". Randy shut off the tape and made yet another dinner for himself. He broke a heel of bread in half and buttered it before he caught himself thinking about the past again. He thought about Thailand or Vietnam in the Summer and if it would be far enough away to feel like himself again if he went there. He remembered that she always loved Thai food and decided on Russia maybe. Russia seemed like a place he could get lost in.
That night as he tried to sleep and dream of Russia he remembered that on that videotape was a part where they made love and debated if he wanted to watch it or not. He looked over at his alarm clock. 4 AM. He wondered what time it was in Russia and sighed.
Friday, September 19, 2008
The Return of 52 Stories...
I will be updating the 52 Stories blog beginning next week for another year full of new stories, glorified poems, etc. Stay tuned for the first of another batch of 52 stories beginning on Tuesday, September 23rd.
Thanks,
Jason
Thanks,
Jason
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Mary And The T-shirt
Mary was left thinking "how did we get here"? And she analyzed the past to figure that out.
She figured it all started with that t-shirt. The one on the man jogging in the park. It read "I'm so miserable without you, it's like having you here". At first she just laughed at it but then she wrote it down to not forget it. She wanted to tell Craig about it later. He would think it was funny and maybe even slightly poetic.
She went on with her afternoon. She shopped for books with Susanna and they ate ice cream together, she called her Mother who lived in Pensacola, she made a turkey pot pie from scratch for her and Craig to eat for dinner.
She was dusted with flour when Craig walked in. He laughed at her.
"Babe, you look so silly"
"Hey, making a pot pie is harder than I thought"
And they smiled at each other and then embraced. Craig was an illustrator. He worked on children's books mostly but had aspirations of one day writing and illustrating his own book instead of being a hired gun. Mary didn't know any of this and thought he was content. There were a lot of things about Craig that Mary didn't know. After she set the oven timer for 40 minutes and cleaned herself off they ate.
"I'm sorry if the crust is too dry"
"It isn't dry, hon. It's wonderful"
"Oh!", Mary then said, as if shocked.
"I forgot to tell you about the weirdest t-shirt I saw today"
"What was it?"
"It was...something like if you think I'm miserable with...wait, that's not it. I don't want to butcher it. I wrote it down. Let me get the paper"
He waited as she got up and pulled the scrap of paper from the bottom of her PBS tote bag. She then stated, in a proud voice, "I'm so miserable without you, it's like having you here".
"Huh?", said Craig and she repeated it.
Then she said, "isn't that weird? For a t-shirt?"
"Yeah. It is weird alright", he said before laughing slightly.
"How's about some dessert?", Mary asked.
"Sure. What were you thinking?"
"Cookies"
"Do we have any ice cream?"
"I don't think so. I had ice cream earlier though"
"Well, I didn't"
Mary then feigned aggravation and said, "God, Craig. I'm so miserable without you, it's like having you here" jokingly.
Craig suddenly burst into tears and said "we need to talk".
She figured it all started with that t-shirt. The one on the man jogging in the park. It read "I'm so miserable without you, it's like having you here". At first she just laughed at it but then she wrote it down to not forget it. She wanted to tell Craig about it later. He would think it was funny and maybe even slightly poetic.
She went on with her afternoon. She shopped for books with Susanna and they ate ice cream together, she called her Mother who lived in Pensacola, she made a turkey pot pie from scratch for her and Craig to eat for dinner.
She was dusted with flour when Craig walked in. He laughed at her.
"Babe, you look so silly"
"Hey, making a pot pie is harder than I thought"
And they smiled at each other and then embraced. Craig was an illustrator. He worked on children's books mostly but had aspirations of one day writing and illustrating his own book instead of being a hired gun. Mary didn't know any of this and thought he was content. There were a lot of things about Craig that Mary didn't know. After she set the oven timer for 40 minutes and cleaned herself off they ate.
"I'm sorry if the crust is too dry"
"It isn't dry, hon. It's wonderful"
"Oh!", Mary then said, as if shocked.
"I forgot to tell you about the weirdest t-shirt I saw today"
"What was it?"
"It was...something like if you think I'm miserable with...wait, that's not it. I don't want to butcher it. I wrote it down. Let me get the paper"
He waited as she got up and pulled the scrap of paper from the bottom of her PBS tote bag. She then stated, in a proud voice, "I'm so miserable without you, it's like having you here".
"Huh?", said Craig and she repeated it.
Then she said, "isn't that weird? For a t-shirt?"
"Yeah. It is weird alright", he said before laughing slightly.
"How's about some dessert?", Mary asked.
"Sure. What were you thinking?"
"Cookies"
"Do we have any ice cream?"
"I don't think so. I had ice cream earlier though"
"Well, I didn't"
Mary then feigned aggravation and said, "God, Craig. I'm so miserable without you, it's like having you here" jokingly.
Craig suddenly burst into tears and said "we need to talk".
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Two F's and Two E's
"How do you spell coffee?"
"Two F's and two E's"
"Ok. Thanks"
"Why are you asking?"
"Crossword puzzle"
"You and your puzzles!"
She smiled when she said this. He loved his puzzles.
She rubbed his shoulders as he took a deep breath.
"Excited for your trip, babe?"
"Of course. Of course"
The next morning he left on a hunting trip. He woke up far earlier than any human being ever should and forced himself to drive to Bill Monroe's house. They'd talked about going hunting forever. Ever since they both became obsessed with "Big Buck Hunter" at a pub by Bill's place they fancied themselves amateur hunters. Diamonds in the rough.
"What if we see a sasquatch?"
"You mean bigfoot?"
"Haha. Get real, Bill"
"I watched this special on the history channel though. Them shits is real"
He just rolled his eyes at this as the men piled in his pick-up truck and pulled out onto the foggy highway. Bill lit a cigarette as they rolled over a hill as the sun crept up over the horizon.
"Did you eat breakfast?"
"No. Did you?"
"Nah. Let's stop off somewhere"
"Ok"
The men pulled into a drive-thru and ate sausage and egg sandwiches as the sun fully rose. Bill grew warm and took off his large plaid coat.
"This coffee tastes like shit"
"You know how to spell coffee, Bill?"
"C-O-F-F-E-E"
"Yeah. Two F's and two e's. I always thought it was only one e"
"Spelling ain't your strong suit"
The men laughed. Bill lit another cigarette.
"Two F's and two E's"
"Ok. Thanks"
"Why are you asking?"
"Crossword puzzle"
"You and your puzzles!"
She smiled when she said this. He loved his puzzles.
She rubbed his shoulders as he took a deep breath.
"Excited for your trip, babe?"
"Of course. Of course"
The next morning he left on a hunting trip. He woke up far earlier than any human being ever should and forced himself to drive to Bill Monroe's house. They'd talked about going hunting forever. Ever since they both became obsessed with "Big Buck Hunter" at a pub by Bill's place they fancied themselves amateur hunters. Diamonds in the rough.
"What if we see a sasquatch?"
"You mean bigfoot?"
"Haha. Get real, Bill"
"I watched this special on the history channel though. Them shits is real"
He just rolled his eyes at this as the men piled in his pick-up truck and pulled out onto the foggy highway. Bill lit a cigarette as they rolled over a hill as the sun crept up over the horizon.
"Did you eat breakfast?"
"No. Did you?"
"Nah. Let's stop off somewhere"
"Ok"
The men pulled into a drive-thru and ate sausage and egg sandwiches as the sun fully rose. Bill grew warm and took off his large plaid coat.
"This coffee tastes like shit"
"You know how to spell coffee, Bill?"
"C-O-F-F-E-E"
"Yeah. Two F's and two e's. I always thought it was only one e"
"Spelling ain't your strong suit"
The men laughed. Bill lit another cigarette.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
The Second Letter
I wrote you a letter. Another one. It was about many things. It started out with the basics: I miss you, how are you, I am doing well, etc.
But then I got sentimental and started talking fond memories of us making cheese and salami sandwiches and eating them by the side of Lake Whatcom. And watching the 4th of July fireworks from the roof of your office. And things of that sort. My favorite part was something along the lines of:
Remember how every night before bed I would kiss you three times? Once on the left cheek, once on the right cheek and then once on the lips? You used to say you couldn't sleep without your three kisses. It really did wonders for my ego, you know.
But then the unthinkable happened...your letter fell out of my jacket pocket as I ran across the street to deliver it to the mailbox. Hours of carefully chosen words and at least half the ink supply of a dime store fountain pen wasted. The unseasonable storm went and blew it to heck! To think that out there sits an illiterate sparrow with my perfectly worded re-counting of our first date lining his nest! It's a shame. So much for the lost art of letter writing. I'm going to cut my loses now and mail you this simple explanation before I risk tempting fate with another sappy flowery prosed spectacle.
So, dear:
Enjoy.
I miss you.
Think of what you could be reading.
Love,
Theodore.
But then I got sentimental and started talking fond memories of us making cheese and salami sandwiches and eating them by the side of Lake Whatcom. And watching the 4th of July fireworks from the roof of your office. And things of that sort. My favorite part was something along the lines of:
Remember how every night before bed I would kiss you three times? Once on the left cheek, once on the right cheek and then once on the lips? You used to say you couldn't sleep without your three kisses. It really did wonders for my ego, you know.
But then the unthinkable happened...your letter fell out of my jacket pocket as I ran across the street to deliver it to the mailbox. Hours of carefully chosen words and at least half the ink supply of a dime store fountain pen wasted. The unseasonable storm went and blew it to heck! To think that out there sits an illiterate sparrow with my perfectly worded re-counting of our first date lining his nest! It's a shame. So much for the lost art of letter writing. I'm going to cut my loses now and mail you this simple explanation before I risk tempting fate with another sappy flowery prosed spectacle.
So, dear:
Enjoy.
I miss you.
Think of what you could be reading.
Love,
Theodore.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Boys
The 4 boys took their places. The oldest one, Tim, stood on the highest part of the hill and yelled "damn it, Tommy, just stay the fuck still". Tommy's reply was "don't curse at me". He stood below Tim as the grass met the pavement. Tim looked over to Joe, the largest of the boys and said, "hold his hands behind his back".
Joe complied with the request and held Tommy's hands back. While he did this Tommy asked, "why are we doing this again?".
"To be on tv, butthole".
"Stop swearing"
"Butthole isn't a swear. You can say it on tv"
"I guess so"
"Now if you just hurry up and stay still then Ben can get a clear shot of when I kick you in the nuts"
"Why do I have to be the one to get kicked? Why don't you do it?"
"It's not funny if I get kicked. You are little and fat. It's funnier. Besides, you already agreed to do it already. Don't puss out now"
"Oh, alright. Let's just do it already. Dang!", Tommy huffed.
Tim added, "we don't want to hurt you, dude. Don't you want to be famous though? On tv?"
Tommy thought for a second and nodded, "yeah, ok. Let's just do it. Ok?"
Tommy then braced himself and grimaced. Ben hit the record button on the video camera borrowed from his older Brother in film school. "Wait!", said Ben, the defacto director, as he pressed the record button again. "Uh, cut, I mean".
"What?"
"You guys should move down the hill a bit. The angle here is funny"
"Oh, Jesus," said Tommy, "Ok, Spielberg"
Then they did it. Tommy took a breath and then Tim swung his foot into his groin. He fell to the ground as his friends laughed.
"Fuck you guys!"
"Oh, look who's swearing now"
"I'm going to tell my Mom"
"What the hell is she going to do?"
Tommy couldn't form any more words as the pain grew throughout his whole body. Ben helped him up after a few minutes and dusted the dirt off his back.
"So you said your Brother can help us put this on the internet?"
"Yeah, I think so"
"I hope people think it's funny"
"They should. Cause it is"
Joe complied with the request and held Tommy's hands back. While he did this Tommy asked, "why are we doing this again?".
"To be on tv, butthole".
"Stop swearing"
"Butthole isn't a swear. You can say it on tv"
"I guess so"
"Now if you just hurry up and stay still then Ben can get a clear shot of when I kick you in the nuts"
"Why do I have to be the one to get kicked? Why don't you do it?"
"It's not funny if I get kicked. You are little and fat. It's funnier. Besides, you already agreed to do it already. Don't puss out now"
"Oh, alright. Let's just do it already. Dang!", Tommy huffed.
Tim added, "we don't want to hurt you, dude. Don't you want to be famous though? On tv?"
Tommy thought for a second and nodded, "yeah, ok. Let's just do it. Ok?"
Tommy then braced himself and grimaced. Ben hit the record button on the video camera borrowed from his older Brother in film school. "Wait!", said Ben, the defacto director, as he pressed the record button again. "Uh, cut, I mean".
"What?"
"You guys should move down the hill a bit. The angle here is funny"
"Oh, Jesus," said Tommy, "Ok, Spielberg"
Then they did it. Tommy took a breath and then Tim swung his foot into his groin. He fell to the ground as his friends laughed.
"Fuck you guys!"
"Oh, look who's swearing now"
"I'm going to tell my Mom"
"What the hell is she going to do?"
Tommy couldn't form any more words as the pain grew throughout his whole body. Ben helped him up after a few minutes and dusted the dirt off his back.
"So you said your Brother can help us put this on the internet?"
"Yeah, I think so"
"I hope people think it's funny"
"They should. Cause it is"
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
The Worst One
Underneath a graying sky on the first official day of Spring 18 boys gathered on a grassy hill to play baseball in the park. An assortment of friends and parents sat watching them and cheering them on. The Chase sisters also watched the game but from a much greater distance. They sat on a bench well behind the center fielder but they could make out the action well enough. They had only sat there to rest after a long walk through the park on the overcast Sunday afternoon. They had wandered into the park after a lovely brunch together and each girl was gearing up for the week ahead in their own way. Beverly, the oldest, was trying to squeeze out every last ounce of stress left from the previous week. This included drinking 2 mimosas with breakfast much to Judy's chagrin. Judy was the youngest sister and therefore the most naive. She was only 13 years old and didn't understand why anybody in the world would need chemicals or alcohol or nicotine or pills or any such sorted things. She herself was able to deal with her life without the aide of such business and so others should as well. Anne, the middle sister and the one with the most level head, politely understood both sides of the debate and dealt with both sisters admirably.
After a long bout of silence Judy broke it with "I feel like a lemonade. Pink lemonade. Doesn't that sound delightful, Anne?"
Beverly chimed in saying "You know, sugar is no different than alcohol".
"Yes, it is! Sugar doesn't make you slur your words and act all funny and people don't go to meetings to give it up!"
"It makes you bounce off the walls. It still affects your brain, dingus. Just in a different way"
"Oh! Shut up, Beverly. You're drunk!"
Beverly laughed at this and replied with "I am NOT!"
Anne had to giggle too.
"Your sister is fine, Judy. Don't be ridiculous"
Judy huffed and folded her arms dramatically. After a few seconds she sighed and said in a radically disinterested tone, "Well, I still feel like a lemonade".
All the girls shared a laugh after this and returned their attention back to the game.
Anne said, "Oh, now I've lost track of the score. Who is winning now?"
Beverly plainly replied with a simple "the ones in the uniforms".
It was true that only one team had real, true uniforms. The other team simply wore red t-shirts and blue jeans. One poor child couldn't even muster the resources to comply with this simple request and wore a white t-shirt. It made him stick out like a sore thumb. He wasn't the worst player though, at least not in the sisters' eyes. In fact, Judy was quite taken with the young man. This simultaneously delighted Anne and annoyed Beverly. Beverly thought the boy looked simple and stupid and that her charming little sister, however misguided, was way out of his league. She envisioned them going on dates together. She pictured him arriving to pick her up, sweating and stammering, for a night at the movies or dinner wearing a mismatched suit (assuming he could even acquire a suit of any sort) and bringing her the shabbiest daffodils in the history of daffodils. She kept all this to herself, of course. She smiled and patted her sister on the head as she sat and swooned over the boy. She thought "he's cute enough, I suppose and he's no worse than that poor boy at second base". "That poor boy" was the one Anne dubbed "the worst one". The player which thoroughly frustrated not only his teammates but even the most empathetic of spectators. His wild throws, missed catches, improper knowledge of the rules and general laziness aggravated everyone within a 1/2 mile radius of the field. Anne's heart went out to the poor child even as part of her was annoyed by the lag in game play his behavior caused. Her attitude was decidedly more positive than her sisters' though. They hated the boy. They didn't go so far as to say it outloud but it was clear as day through their body language and facial expressions.
"Come on. Let's go home", said Beverly without a hint of it being a question.
"Why?"
"It's getting late and it looks like it might rain soon. And I want to take a nap before this god awful weekend is over".
"Oh, alright"
They rose slowly but surely and wandered down a path. Anne turned her head around one last time to take in one last look at the game. She took a deep breath and thought about the "worst one" and how his parents must have felt. She wondered if she would support a child like that someday and looked down at her younger sister. She smiled and grabbed her hand as they left the park and started for home.
After a long bout of silence Judy broke it with "I feel like a lemonade. Pink lemonade. Doesn't that sound delightful, Anne?"
Beverly chimed in saying "You know, sugar is no different than alcohol".
"Yes, it is! Sugar doesn't make you slur your words and act all funny and people don't go to meetings to give it up!"
"It makes you bounce off the walls. It still affects your brain, dingus. Just in a different way"
"Oh! Shut up, Beverly. You're drunk!"
Beverly laughed at this and replied with "I am NOT!"
Anne had to giggle too.
"Your sister is fine, Judy. Don't be ridiculous"
Judy huffed and folded her arms dramatically. After a few seconds she sighed and said in a radically disinterested tone, "Well, I still feel like a lemonade".
All the girls shared a laugh after this and returned their attention back to the game.
Anne said, "Oh, now I've lost track of the score. Who is winning now?"
Beverly plainly replied with a simple "the ones in the uniforms".
It was true that only one team had real, true uniforms. The other team simply wore red t-shirts and blue jeans. One poor child couldn't even muster the resources to comply with this simple request and wore a white t-shirt. It made him stick out like a sore thumb. He wasn't the worst player though, at least not in the sisters' eyes. In fact, Judy was quite taken with the young man. This simultaneously delighted Anne and annoyed Beverly. Beverly thought the boy looked simple and stupid and that her charming little sister, however misguided, was way out of his league. She envisioned them going on dates together. She pictured him arriving to pick her up, sweating and stammering, for a night at the movies or dinner wearing a mismatched suit (assuming he could even acquire a suit of any sort) and bringing her the shabbiest daffodils in the history of daffodils. She kept all this to herself, of course. She smiled and patted her sister on the head as she sat and swooned over the boy. She thought "he's cute enough, I suppose and he's no worse than that poor boy at second base". "That poor boy" was the one Anne dubbed "the worst one". The player which thoroughly frustrated not only his teammates but even the most empathetic of spectators. His wild throws, missed catches, improper knowledge of the rules and general laziness aggravated everyone within a 1/2 mile radius of the field. Anne's heart went out to the poor child even as part of her was annoyed by the lag in game play his behavior caused. Her attitude was decidedly more positive than her sisters' though. They hated the boy. They didn't go so far as to say it outloud but it was clear as day through their body language and facial expressions.
"Come on. Let's go home", said Beverly without a hint of it being a question.
"Why?"
"It's getting late and it looks like it might rain soon. And I want to take a nap before this god awful weekend is over".
"Oh, alright"
They rose slowly but surely and wandered down a path. Anne turned her head around one last time to take in one last look at the game. She took a deep breath and thought about the "worst one" and how his parents must have felt. She wondered if she would support a child like that someday and looked down at her younger sister. She smiled and grabbed her hand as they left the park and started for home.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
The Charm of a First Date at a Chain Restaurant in Midtown
Jack sat across from Karen. A candle sat between their faces. Karen suddenly laughed and said "no fair". Then she said, "I don't have a group picture with me in it from High School to show you".
Jack said, "just guess which one I am".
"Well, it's hard because you've lost so much hair".
"Ouch," Jack said, "that hurts a little".
They both laughed at this. After a minute she finally pointed to a lanky pale boy in the back row of the photograph.
"You? This is you?"
"Nope"
"It's got to be! You look exactly the same!"
"But it's not. Trust me"
"Um....ok. This one?", she pointed at another pasty and tall child.
"Guess again"
"Oh, jesus. I give up. Which one are you?"
Jack laughed and pointed at a small boy with freckles in the bottom left hand corner.
"This is you?!"
Karen laughed and said "but you're so tiny".
"It was before I hit my growth spurt"
"You jerk. You tricked me"
They both smiled and then sat in silence for a time. Karen's mind began to wander to the romantic and a thought hit her.
"What about girlfriends? Did you have yourself a High School sweetheart?"
"I did. But things didn't work out"
"Why? What went wrong?"
"We just didn't fit well. It was like oil and water. What about you? Any boyfriends? Captain of the football team? Homecoming king?"
Karen laughed and said, "more like assistant director of the audio visual club".
Jack responded with a short, blunt chuckle and said "well, what happened with him?"
"Same deal...only it was more like electricity and water".
The waiter interrupted their laughter to bring them their check. Jack excused himself and used the restroom. Karen waited and stared out the window overlooking a busy corner. Her mind wandered and she imagined playing on the beach as a kid with her Sister. She thought about what it would be like to go swimming with Jack and what his body would look like in swim trunks. She closed her eyes and thought about this for a spell.
Jack said, "just guess which one I am".
"Well, it's hard because you've lost so much hair".
"Ouch," Jack said, "that hurts a little".
They both laughed at this. After a minute she finally pointed to a lanky pale boy in the back row of the photograph.
"You? This is you?"
"Nope"
"It's got to be! You look exactly the same!"
"But it's not. Trust me"
"Um....ok. This one?", she pointed at another pasty and tall child.
"Guess again"
"Oh, jesus. I give up. Which one are you?"
Jack laughed and pointed at a small boy with freckles in the bottom left hand corner.
"This is you?!"
Karen laughed and said "but you're so tiny".
"It was before I hit my growth spurt"
"You jerk. You tricked me"
They both smiled and then sat in silence for a time. Karen's mind began to wander to the romantic and a thought hit her.
"What about girlfriends? Did you have yourself a High School sweetheart?"
"I did. But things didn't work out"
"Why? What went wrong?"
"We just didn't fit well. It was like oil and water. What about you? Any boyfriends? Captain of the football team? Homecoming king?"
Karen laughed and said, "more like assistant director of the audio visual club".
Jack responded with a short, blunt chuckle and said "well, what happened with him?"
"Same deal...only it was more like electricity and water".
The waiter interrupted their laughter to bring them their check. Jack excused himself and used the restroom. Karen waited and stared out the window overlooking a busy corner. Her mind wandered and she imagined playing on the beach as a kid with her Sister. She thought about what it would be like to go swimming with Jack and what his body would look like in swim trunks. She closed her eyes and thought about this for a spell.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
The Part of the Brain That Makes Something Out of Nothing
"What is this?"
She pointed at a little lump on her hip.
"This right here?"
He felt the spot for a second or two.
"Yes"
She guided his hand to the exact spot of the lump.
"That's probably nothing"
He let his hands drop to his side.
"Probably?"
She tensed up a little and her shoulders tightened.
"It's hard to say for sure. We can take a blood test"
He gently put his hand on her back.
"A blood test?"
She let out a deep breath.
She pointed at a little lump on her hip.
"This right here?"
He felt the spot for a second or two.
"Yes"
She guided his hand to the exact spot of the lump.
"That's probably nothing"
He let his hands drop to his side.
"Probably?"
She tensed up a little and her shoulders tightened.
"It's hard to say for sure. We can take a blood test"
He gently put his hand on her back.
"A blood test?"
She let out a deep breath.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
The Birthday
They sat together in the darkness. They watched the boy bathed in candle light, eyes wide, as his loved ones sang him the birthday song.
Somebody behind them coughed loudly and it took John out of the movie. Nancy was still transfixed, staring intently at the birthday party being projected on the dark screen in front of them.
Eventually the film was over and they began their long walk home.
"I know it's kind of silly but that whole birthday thing in the movie kind of put me in the mood to have a birthday. Isn't that weird?"
John laughed and said, "No, it makes sense. They made it look so fun".
They held hands and they started over the bridge. As they stood still for a moment and looked at the moon's reflection in the bay John had an idea.
"Let's have a birthday tonight"
"What?"
"Let's stop at the store and buy some cake mix and frosting and candles and balloons and have a birthday party for you in our apartment. We can invite Mr. Henderson from upstairs, he doesn't know what year it is let alone that it isn't your real birthday"
Nancy smiled and said "that's silly".
But as the walk home continued it began to sound better and better to them.
"Oh, fuck it. Let's do it. I really want to eat some cake".
Somebody behind them coughed loudly and it took John out of the movie. Nancy was still transfixed, staring intently at the birthday party being projected on the dark screen in front of them.
Eventually the film was over and they began their long walk home.
"I know it's kind of silly but that whole birthday thing in the movie kind of put me in the mood to have a birthday. Isn't that weird?"
John laughed and said, "No, it makes sense. They made it look so fun".
They held hands and they started over the bridge. As they stood still for a moment and looked at the moon's reflection in the bay John had an idea.
"Let's have a birthday tonight"
"What?"
"Let's stop at the store and buy some cake mix and frosting and candles and balloons and have a birthday party for you in our apartment. We can invite Mr. Henderson from upstairs, he doesn't know what year it is let alone that it isn't your real birthday"
Nancy smiled and said "that's silly".
But as the walk home continued it began to sound better and better to them.
"Oh, fuck it. Let's do it. I really want to eat some cake".
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Ellen
She lives alone. A strong woman with broad shoulders. She doesn't work anymore. She lives off her deceased husband's life insurance policy. A widow, her name is Ellen.
Tonight Ellen is celebrating. She's sitting on her stoop drinking champagne from a coffee mug. In her hands she's holding a book. She turns it over in her rough hands. The cover is a muted pink with a drawing of birds across it. The title reads "The Monroe College Literary Journal". She turns to the the table of contents where she reads her name for the 12th time today.
What Goes Around Comes Around by Ellen Spencer.............pg. 31
She smiles and sighes. She holds the book to her stomach. A well dressed man walks past her.
"Hey, Mister! See this?" she says and she holds the book up to him.
"Excuse me?"
"See this right here? Ellen Spencer! That's me! I wrote that!"
The man scratched his head in confusion.
"Ok. Um...good. Good for you". He continues to walk on.
Ellen stands up and takes a deep breath before walking back inside. She pours herself some more champagne and turns on the television.
She puts down her book and focuses her attention on the tv. There's a show on about a group of young people. Teenagers. What catches her attention is a part where a young man throws his cell phone into a river. The boy screams "I hate you! I hate you!".
She imagines this playing out in the real world. The instant regret, the explanations to relatives or employers, the worry. In a flash she writes down the words "a story about a boy who throws his phone into the ocean" and puts the paper on her bulletin board. The sun is beginning to set outside and the street lights come on suddenly. The light shines into her kitchen window. She shuts the blinds and pours herself some more champagne.
Tonight Ellen is celebrating. She's sitting on her stoop drinking champagne from a coffee mug. In her hands she's holding a book. She turns it over in her rough hands. The cover is a muted pink with a drawing of birds across it. The title reads "The Monroe College Literary Journal". She turns to the the table of contents where she reads her name for the 12th time today.
What Goes Around Comes Around by Ellen Spencer.............pg. 31
She smiles and sighes. She holds the book to her stomach. A well dressed man walks past her.
"Hey, Mister! See this?" she says and she holds the book up to him.
"Excuse me?"
"See this right here? Ellen Spencer! That's me! I wrote that!"
The man scratched his head in confusion.
"Ok. Um...good. Good for you". He continues to walk on.
Ellen stands up and takes a deep breath before walking back inside. She pours herself some more champagne and turns on the television.
She puts down her book and focuses her attention on the tv. There's a show on about a group of young people. Teenagers. What catches her attention is a part where a young man throws his cell phone into a river. The boy screams "I hate you! I hate you!".
She imagines this playing out in the real world. The instant regret, the explanations to relatives or employers, the worry. In a flash she writes down the words "a story about a boy who throws his phone into the ocean" and puts the paper on her bulletin board. The sun is beginning to set outside and the street lights come on suddenly. The light shines into her kitchen window. She shuts the blinds and pours herself some more champagne.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
What Phil Sang Into Angie's Answering Machine on December 7th 1999
Come back to me.
Come back to me.
I can change.
I can do more push-ups, get a new name.
I can change.
I can get tattoos, start smoking cigarettes, learn to drive a motorcycle.
Whatever helps you love me.
Come back to me.
I could break all my bones and grow them right back but they'll long for you the same. That won't change.
You could cut out my heart and buy me a new one but it would still love you the same.
That wouldn't change.
You could take my tongue and rip it out and I would grow another one in its place but it would still speak your name.
That wouldn't change.
Come back to me.
I can change.
I can do more push-ups, get a new name.
I can change.
I can get tattoos, start smoking cigarettes, learn to drive a motorcycle.
Whatever helps you love me.
Come back to me.
I could break all my bones and grow them right back but they'll long for you the same. That won't change.
You could cut out my heart and buy me a new one but it would still love you the same.
That wouldn't change.
You could take my tongue and rip it out and I would grow another one in its place but it would still speak your name.
That wouldn't change.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
The Pale Blue Robe
She wore a faded blue robe. She stroked his hair as she walked past him.
"I'm going to take a shower, love"
"OK"
He read the newspaper intently.
To tease him she opened her robe and pressed her naked torso against his back.
He smirked and said "I know what you're doing".
She laughed and said "Is that so?"
"Save it for later, peach. I want to finish reading this. Take your shower"
She laughed at this.
"Ouch. I can take a hint"
She went on with her shower. She thought about him and how he had changed. She asked herself if she still really loved him.
In the kitchen he finished reading an article on a paralyzed man who was still a mathematical genius and could solve difficult equations mentally but couldn't physically express it. The only way the doctors knew he could do it was by monitoring his brain activity while they showed him math problems.
He wished he could read her brain waves like that, without having to talk. He had grown tired of listening to his own voice. She mistook this for him being tired of her but it wasn't the case. He still loved her just not himself. He took a deep breath when he heard the shower stop.
"I'm going to take a shower, love"
"OK"
He read the newspaper intently.
To tease him she opened her robe and pressed her naked torso against his back.
He smirked and said "I know what you're doing".
She laughed and said "Is that so?"
"Save it for later, peach. I want to finish reading this. Take your shower"
She laughed at this.
"Ouch. I can take a hint"
She went on with her shower. She thought about him and how he had changed. She asked herself if she still really loved him.
In the kitchen he finished reading an article on a paralyzed man who was still a mathematical genius and could solve difficult equations mentally but couldn't physically express it. The only way the doctors knew he could do it was by monitoring his brain activity while they showed him math problems.
He wished he could read her brain waves like that, without having to talk. He had grown tired of listening to his own voice. She mistook this for him being tired of her but it wasn't the case. He still loved her just not himself. He took a deep breath when he heard the shower stop.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
The Eating Habits of Strangers
She sat in the corner and picked at her cheeseburger like an old man might pick at a loaf of bread while feeding the birds. Across from her sat a small man with a pompadour haircut making out with his teenaged girlfriend. Josie sat and took all this in. She contrasted it with how her day started.
She started the day on her way to a casting agent's office where she was to read lines for a soap commercial.
"With new Oleavio soap for sensitive skin...washing my face is a dream!"
She practiced the lines in her head on the subway all morning. She took turns accenting different words in the sentence.
"Washing MY face is a dream!"
"Washing my FACE is a dream!"
"Washing my face is a DREAM!"
She felt confident she could deliver lines with confidence for once. She skipped breakfast to feel lighter and to not upset her stomach. She made sure she got at least 9 hours of sleep, she didn't want bags under her eyes. She approached audtions with the same cautiousness some might reserve for surgery.
As the day progressed she got more and more nervous. She had wished she made the appointment for 9 or 10 or even 11 instead of 12. Noon. So much time to wait. And worry.
She got to the offices early and waited in the tiny and dirty waiting room. She filled out her paperwork and stared at the tv in the corner playing a Destiny's Child music video. She smiled without realizing it. She felt silly. She wasn't an actress. There were pictures on the walls of models and child stars. Black and white head shots blown up to enormous proportions. She waited some more before excusing herself for the restroom. The receptionist didn't even hear her and she left. She left the waiting room, the office, the floor, the building.
"I can't do this", she said to herself.
To soften the blow she went out to eat with money she didn't have and observed the eating habits of strangers.
She started the day on her way to a casting agent's office where she was to read lines for a soap commercial.
"With new Oleavio soap for sensitive skin...washing my face is a dream!"
She practiced the lines in her head on the subway all morning. She took turns accenting different words in the sentence.
"Washing MY face is a dream!"
"Washing my FACE is a dream!"
"Washing my face is a DREAM!"
She felt confident she could deliver lines with confidence for once. She skipped breakfast to feel lighter and to not upset her stomach. She made sure she got at least 9 hours of sleep, she didn't want bags under her eyes. She approached audtions with the same cautiousness some might reserve for surgery.
As the day progressed she got more and more nervous. She had wished she made the appointment for 9 or 10 or even 11 instead of 12. Noon. So much time to wait. And worry.
She got to the offices early and waited in the tiny and dirty waiting room. She filled out her paperwork and stared at the tv in the corner playing a Destiny's Child music video. She smiled without realizing it. She felt silly. She wasn't an actress. There were pictures on the walls of models and child stars. Black and white head shots blown up to enormous proportions. She waited some more before excusing herself for the restroom. The receptionist didn't even hear her and she left. She left the waiting room, the office, the floor, the building.
"I can't do this", she said to herself.
To soften the blow she went out to eat with money she didn't have and observed the eating habits of strangers.
Monday, February 18, 2008
The List
James had a problem. James was alone. Not a temporary kind of loneliness but a chronic longing to belong with another human being. A woman, specifically.
He'd had girlfriends but that was all long ago. There was Candace or "Candy" as she liked to be called. She was the first. She left him for another man. A taller and skinnier man. Then there was Amy. She was what he still referred to as "the love of his life". They broke up and got back together a total of 4 times. She had commitment issues. Next came Elizabeth. She was sweet but it just didn't work. They were too different. They had nothing in common.
Those were the girlfriends. He'd had a couple of one night stands. Sharon was the first. She was a girl from L.A. that he met at a concert and asked him if she could crash on his couch. They ended up having sex in his bed and she was gone before he woke up. There was also Lisa. She went home with him after a New Year's Eve party.
But that was all ages ago. Now James was what most people would refer to as a hermit. Which isn't to say he was a recluse. He still saw people when the occasion called for it. He could still communicate when necessary. Birthdays, promotions, a friend from out of town visiting...he could still relate. His hermitdom was more of an internal condition. He gave up on the idea of having a wife and kids, an idea he once held dear. He'd even given up on having a girlfriend ever again. The list of women James had loved in secret outnumbered the ones he loved publicly 10 to 1. Somewhere along the way women began to frighten him. This had never been the case in the past. He was raised by women. He was the son of a single Mother with 2 Sisters. He knew how to talk to women so that wasn't the problem. He didn't know what had happened to his once potent charms. But they were gone, he knew that much.
One Sunday morning, following a particularly humiliating night of being rejected by yet another girl with a boyfriend, James decided to make a list of his ideal partner. He read in some women's magazine at his Dentist's office that that's what you should do when you're unlucky in love. No bother that their sample list included "tall, dark and handsome" and "large penis". It could apply to men too, he gathered. It was all the same. Besides, he had nothing better to do and he liked making lists anyway. He'd already spent the better part of his morning on his grocery list, his 6 month plan and a list of movies he needed to watch so why not craft the perfect girlfriend in list form?
The list went on for 2 pages. When he was done he laughed at himself and said "I've gone fucking nuts" outloud. But he kept the list. He would add to it secretly when he saw a woman on the street with a trait he admired.
"Confident walk" got added Tuesday morning. "Wears nice dresses" was added later the same day. He had to write smaller and smaller so all the words could fit on the pages. That eventually stopped working so he added a third page and then a 4th. All of them filled up on both sides. The qualifications got more and more specific, sometimes turning into whole paragraphs. The day he finally finished the list he was in the park. He sat on a park bench underneath a big pine tree and took a deep breath as he put the pen in his pocket. 5 pages, front and back. There was nothing else to add. It was everything he could think of. It took 2 months but he was finally done.
As the days passed James found himself growing more and more desperate for affection. The days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months. He would read the list some nights when he had trouble sleeping. It made him smile to imagine this perfect woman walking and talking. He would imagine her kissing him and rubbing his head after a long day of work. But the temporary wonderment of such a notion soon gave way the heartbreaking realization that it was only pure fantasy that couldn't be real. He'd had enough. At 1AM he got up, got a pair of shoes on and list in hand walked out to his backyard.
"I'm going to bury this goddamn list! She's never going to exist! FUCK!", he yelled as he began to dig the shovel into the soft ground.
He threw the pages into the hole, spit on it in frustration and began to fill it back in with soil. He went to bed feeling accomplished. The next morning James woke up and laughed to himself. He looked back on the night before like a delirious dream.
"What the fuck is wrong with me?" he asked himself and later, publicly, his friends.
He freely admitted his strange behavior to his loved ones. It made for a good story to tell at the bar when the conversation had dried up. It broke the tension. James didn't mind looking the fool, he even preferred it. He fancied being the jokester.
The days after that morning all blended together in the long run. Work, eat, sleep. Take out the trash on Tuesday, laundry on Sunday. It was all the same.
Winter months turned into Spring months and things began to bloom. As Summer loomed on the horizon, James decided to mow his backyard. He hoisted his heavy lawnmower from his basement and set out to work.
On his first pass around the yard he hardly noticed it but it was there. Hair. Human hair. Growing from the ground. He stopped dead in his tracks when he finally saw it. He even left the lawnmower on in his excitement. He leaned down to look at it. He carefully touched it with his gloved hand. He gave it a gentle tug. There was resistance. There was something attached to the hair, he knew that much. He finally turned off the lawnmower and put it away in his basement where it belonged. He took one last look at the hair before going in for the evening.
The next day James awoke and checked on the hair. It was still there, it hadn't been an illusion. It even looked slightly longer than the night before but he couldn't be sure. He decided to measure it so he could be sure that it was growing from now on. It was currently 5-1/3 inches but that would soon change.
A week later it was 7 full inches. 7 inches of human hair. Blonde, straight hair. It was definitely growing at an alarming rate. Could it be? Was it true? Was his list turning into a woman? Growing? From the ground? Did he accidentally "plant" her? James began to feel like a kid in the days approaching Christmas. What else could it be? It must be her.
He went off to the public library on the weekend and researched gardening. He brought back stacks of books on horticulture, cultivating crops, nurturing your green thumb, cultivating and so on. He went to the garden supply store and bought special tools and special gloves. Should he buy plant food? She wasn't really a plant, she was a person. Or at least she would be. Would plant food just make her sick? Or worse yet, kill her? He decided to get one bag just in case planting human food in the ground didn't work. A plan B.
He began cooking for her. He assumed liquids were the easiest thing for her to get nutrients out of. It could soak up into her "roots" or whatever she had. He made her soups. Chicken and wild rice, crab bisque, homemade pho. All of it poured on the ground around the growing hair, carefully so as to not get any on the hair itself. He realized he should maybe even build some protection for the hair. It would be autumn soon and he didn't want leaves to fall on to her head.
He took a tarp and formed a primitive tent around her. A pup tent, nothing fancy. But if there was a rainstorm or it got windy she wouldn't get hurt.
He obviously couldn't find tips on growing a human so instead he followed instructions on gardening cabbage. He figured her head was about the same size. He also got advice on cutting hair and trimmed her split ends and would brush the hair every chance he had.
After a couple of weeks the earth began to break and the very top of her head emerged. Just the very edge of her hair line at first and then the tiniest bit of her forehead several weeks later. Before too long she stuck out of the ground up to her shoulders. She was beautiful. Everything he could imagine. He cried at the sight of her. She was his list. Soon she would be out of the ground fully and he'd cut her down and clean her off. They would read in bed together and she would laugh at his jokes. They would laugh about her origins. She would say she was from the Midwest when people asked. They would even joke that they met in a gardening class when people asked how they met. He would name her Susan.
He'd had girlfriends but that was all long ago. There was Candace or "Candy" as she liked to be called. She was the first. She left him for another man. A taller and skinnier man. Then there was Amy. She was what he still referred to as "the love of his life". They broke up and got back together a total of 4 times. She had commitment issues. Next came Elizabeth. She was sweet but it just didn't work. They were too different. They had nothing in common.
Those were the girlfriends. He'd had a couple of one night stands. Sharon was the first. She was a girl from L.A. that he met at a concert and asked him if she could crash on his couch. They ended up having sex in his bed and she was gone before he woke up. There was also Lisa. She went home with him after a New Year's Eve party.
But that was all ages ago. Now James was what most people would refer to as a hermit. Which isn't to say he was a recluse. He still saw people when the occasion called for it. He could still communicate when necessary. Birthdays, promotions, a friend from out of town visiting...he could still relate. His hermitdom was more of an internal condition. He gave up on the idea of having a wife and kids, an idea he once held dear. He'd even given up on having a girlfriend ever again. The list of women James had loved in secret outnumbered the ones he loved publicly 10 to 1. Somewhere along the way women began to frighten him. This had never been the case in the past. He was raised by women. He was the son of a single Mother with 2 Sisters. He knew how to talk to women so that wasn't the problem. He didn't know what had happened to his once potent charms. But they were gone, he knew that much.
One Sunday morning, following a particularly humiliating night of being rejected by yet another girl with a boyfriend, James decided to make a list of his ideal partner. He read in some women's magazine at his Dentist's office that that's what you should do when you're unlucky in love. No bother that their sample list included "tall, dark and handsome" and "large penis". It could apply to men too, he gathered. It was all the same. Besides, he had nothing better to do and he liked making lists anyway. He'd already spent the better part of his morning on his grocery list, his 6 month plan and a list of movies he needed to watch so why not craft the perfect girlfriend in list form?
The list went on for 2 pages. When he was done he laughed at himself and said "I've gone fucking nuts" outloud. But he kept the list. He would add to it secretly when he saw a woman on the street with a trait he admired.
"Confident walk" got added Tuesday morning. "Wears nice dresses" was added later the same day. He had to write smaller and smaller so all the words could fit on the pages. That eventually stopped working so he added a third page and then a 4th. All of them filled up on both sides. The qualifications got more and more specific, sometimes turning into whole paragraphs. The day he finally finished the list he was in the park. He sat on a park bench underneath a big pine tree and took a deep breath as he put the pen in his pocket. 5 pages, front and back. There was nothing else to add. It was everything he could think of. It took 2 months but he was finally done.
As the days passed James found himself growing more and more desperate for affection. The days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months. He would read the list some nights when he had trouble sleeping. It made him smile to imagine this perfect woman walking and talking. He would imagine her kissing him and rubbing his head after a long day of work. But the temporary wonderment of such a notion soon gave way the heartbreaking realization that it was only pure fantasy that couldn't be real. He'd had enough. At 1AM he got up, got a pair of shoes on and list in hand walked out to his backyard.
"I'm going to bury this goddamn list! She's never going to exist! FUCK!", he yelled as he began to dig the shovel into the soft ground.
He threw the pages into the hole, spit on it in frustration and began to fill it back in with soil. He went to bed feeling accomplished. The next morning James woke up and laughed to himself. He looked back on the night before like a delirious dream.
"What the fuck is wrong with me?" he asked himself and later, publicly, his friends.
He freely admitted his strange behavior to his loved ones. It made for a good story to tell at the bar when the conversation had dried up. It broke the tension. James didn't mind looking the fool, he even preferred it. He fancied being the jokester.
The days after that morning all blended together in the long run. Work, eat, sleep. Take out the trash on Tuesday, laundry on Sunday. It was all the same.
Winter months turned into Spring months and things began to bloom. As Summer loomed on the horizon, James decided to mow his backyard. He hoisted his heavy lawnmower from his basement and set out to work.
On his first pass around the yard he hardly noticed it but it was there. Hair. Human hair. Growing from the ground. He stopped dead in his tracks when he finally saw it. He even left the lawnmower on in his excitement. He leaned down to look at it. He carefully touched it with his gloved hand. He gave it a gentle tug. There was resistance. There was something attached to the hair, he knew that much. He finally turned off the lawnmower and put it away in his basement where it belonged. He took one last look at the hair before going in for the evening.
The next day James awoke and checked on the hair. It was still there, it hadn't been an illusion. It even looked slightly longer than the night before but he couldn't be sure. He decided to measure it so he could be sure that it was growing from now on. It was currently 5-1/3 inches but that would soon change.
A week later it was 7 full inches. 7 inches of human hair. Blonde, straight hair. It was definitely growing at an alarming rate. Could it be? Was it true? Was his list turning into a woman? Growing? From the ground? Did he accidentally "plant" her? James began to feel like a kid in the days approaching Christmas. What else could it be? It must be her.
He went off to the public library on the weekend and researched gardening. He brought back stacks of books on horticulture, cultivating crops, nurturing your green thumb, cultivating and so on. He went to the garden supply store and bought special tools and special gloves. Should he buy plant food? She wasn't really a plant, she was a person. Or at least she would be. Would plant food just make her sick? Or worse yet, kill her? He decided to get one bag just in case planting human food in the ground didn't work. A plan B.
He began cooking for her. He assumed liquids were the easiest thing for her to get nutrients out of. It could soak up into her "roots" or whatever she had. He made her soups. Chicken and wild rice, crab bisque, homemade pho. All of it poured on the ground around the growing hair, carefully so as to not get any on the hair itself. He realized he should maybe even build some protection for the hair. It would be autumn soon and he didn't want leaves to fall on to her head.
He took a tarp and formed a primitive tent around her. A pup tent, nothing fancy. But if there was a rainstorm or it got windy she wouldn't get hurt.
He obviously couldn't find tips on growing a human so instead he followed instructions on gardening cabbage. He figured her head was about the same size. He also got advice on cutting hair and trimmed her split ends and would brush the hair every chance he had.
After a couple of weeks the earth began to break and the very top of her head emerged. Just the very edge of her hair line at first and then the tiniest bit of her forehead several weeks later. Before too long she stuck out of the ground up to her shoulders. She was beautiful. Everything he could imagine. He cried at the sight of her. She was his list. Soon she would be out of the ground fully and he'd cut her down and clean her off. They would read in bed together and she would laugh at his jokes. They would laugh about her origins. She would say she was from the Midwest when people asked. They would even joke that they met in a gardening class when people asked how they met. He would name her Susan.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Leaving the City
Tomorrow I leave this city. I leave its trees and houses. I leave behind its people. It's probably just sentimentality talking but I feel like I love everybody who has ever lived here. I mourn the loss of everyone who has died here. Every woman I've ever loved has been from here. Every kiss has been under its sky.
From where I am laying on the couch I can see the water and the sky. And the harbor ships coming in. I see an airplane in the overcast sky and I imagine myself on it. Flying high, over the land and sea, nervous and alone. I contrast it with how I feel now. On her sofa, the object of her affection. Loved and missed. If home is where the heart is then my heart will always be here. With her, in this apartment. On this couch. No city could ever match her beauty and she doesn't even know it.
This is what I will miss the most.
From where I am laying on the couch I can see the water and the sky. And the harbor ships coming in. I see an airplane in the overcast sky and I imagine myself on it. Flying high, over the land and sea, nervous and alone. I contrast it with how I feel now. On her sofa, the object of her affection. Loved and missed. If home is where the heart is then my heart will always be here. With her, in this apartment. On this couch. No city could ever match her beauty and she doesn't even know it.
This is what I will miss the most.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
The Bag Full of Hair
There's a bag full of hair on the street corner. Bright blonde hair. Golden hair. In little chunks in a small brown paper bag. On the corner of 15th and Harrison. They look like the clippings of a haircut, swept up into a lunch sack. There's no blood. Not that I can tell. I laugh because I'm uncomfortable. With a furrowed brow she looks away from me.
"It's not funny. It's creepy. What is wrong with you?"
"I know it's not funny. It's just...bizarre"
"Yeah. It's weird alright. It's like one of those things you tell yourself you will tell your kids about someday"
"I doubt it"
"Why?"
"I doubt I'll live that long"
She laughs and says, "Well, I'll live that long. I don't smoke"
Then she tells me about a tv show she saw that was about the world ending in 2012 and how it made her feel both terrified and at peace. The story is capped with "should we call the police?"
"The police? What are they gonna do about the Mayan calendar ending in 2012?"
She laughs and says "I mean about that bag with the hair in it, dipshit. What if it's evidence or something?"
"I doubt it's that sinister, Charlotte. It's probably just the remains of a prank or a barber shop's trash"
With an unmotivated urgency she says "Do you want to go out to eat tonight? I want to try that sushi place that Dad likes. With the conveyor belt"
"I suppose. Can we invite Chris?"
She sighes. "Why do we have to invite him?"
"He's my friend. He's going through a rough time right now"
"I suppose you can call him. But after you call the police about that bag of hair. I couldn't sleep if I knew it belonged to a little girl or a rape victim or something"
I can't believe that this woman is related to me. She sounds nothing like me. She sounds nothing like Mom, she uncertainly sounds nothing like Dad.
"Why do you always have to be so dramatic?"
A sigh, a pause.
"Alright, alright. I'll call the fucking police. Jesus"
She smiles as she holds her hand up to her eyes to block out the sun. Her lips are chapped and it reminds me that she is imperfect and that makes me relate to her more. I grew up in her shadow, my taller and older and more attractive sister. Now we're equals of sorts, with blemishes and spare tires and matching bags under our eyes. And chapped lips.
"It sure is bright today".
I say this to make her feel less alone. A verbal squint of solidarity, a wordy echo of her uncomfortable stance.
"Damn straight it is. Will you come with me to buy some sunglasses? Mine broke"
I nod as I notice a group of teenagers congregating across the street. 4 girls and 4 boys. They look awkward and frustrating and obnoxious and endearing all at the same time. One boy with shaggy hair wears a t-shirt that says "2 YOUNG 2 DIE" in big block letters and smokes a cigarette like a beginner.
The image of the bag on the corner hits me again.
"You still want me to call the police?"
She looks down at the ground and mumbles "No. I guess you're right. It's probably nothing".
"We can go back and look at it again if you want. See if we see any clues or anything. Signs of a struggle."
"Like detectives?"
"Like detectives"
"Just like when we were kids"
"Like when we were kids"
"It's not funny. It's creepy. What is wrong with you?"
"I know it's not funny. It's just...bizarre"
"Yeah. It's weird alright. It's like one of those things you tell yourself you will tell your kids about someday"
"I doubt it"
"Why?"
"I doubt I'll live that long"
She laughs and says, "Well, I'll live that long. I don't smoke"
Then she tells me about a tv show she saw that was about the world ending in 2012 and how it made her feel both terrified and at peace. The story is capped with "should we call the police?"
"The police? What are they gonna do about the Mayan calendar ending in 2012?"
She laughs and says "I mean about that bag with the hair in it, dipshit. What if it's evidence or something?"
"I doubt it's that sinister, Charlotte. It's probably just the remains of a prank or a barber shop's trash"
With an unmotivated urgency she says "Do you want to go out to eat tonight? I want to try that sushi place that Dad likes. With the conveyor belt"
"I suppose. Can we invite Chris?"
She sighes. "Why do we have to invite him?"
"He's my friend. He's going through a rough time right now"
"I suppose you can call him. But after you call the police about that bag of hair. I couldn't sleep if I knew it belonged to a little girl or a rape victim or something"
I can't believe that this woman is related to me. She sounds nothing like me. She sounds nothing like Mom, she uncertainly sounds nothing like Dad.
"Why do you always have to be so dramatic?"
A sigh, a pause.
"Alright, alright. I'll call the fucking police. Jesus"
She smiles as she holds her hand up to her eyes to block out the sun. Her lips are chapped and it reminds me that she is imperfect and that makes me relate to her more. I grew up in her shadow, my taller and older and more attractive sister. Now we're equals of sorts, with blemishes and spare tires and matching bags under our eyes. And chapped lips.
"It sure is bright today".
I say this to make her feel less alone. A verbal squint of solidarity, a wordy echo of her uncomfortable stance.
"Damn straight it is. Will you come with me to buy some sunglasses? Mine broke"
I nod as I notice a group of teenagers congregating across the street. 4 girls and 4 boys. They look awkward and frustrating and obnoxious and endearing all at the same time. One boy with shaggy hair wears a t-shirt that says "2 YOUNG 2 DIE" in big block letters and smokes a cigarette like a beginner.
The image of the bag on the corner hits me again.
"You still want me to call the police?"
She looks down at the ground and mumbles "No. I guess you're right. It's probably nothing".
"We can go back and look at it again if you want. See if we see any clues or anything. Signs of a struggle."
"Like detectives?"
"Like detectives"
"Just like when we were kids"
"Like when we were kids"
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
You are 5AM
You will always be 5AM to me. Weary, tired and anxious. Rising with the sun. A half-smile across your face as you rise from our shared bed and put on your bra and underwear.
In a haze you ask me if I can drop off your key on your lunch break.
"Okay"
You kiss my forehead like a worried Mother and whisper "go back to bed".
I will miss this the most when I miss you.
In a haze you ask me if I can drop off your key on your lunch break.
"Okay"
You kiss my forehead like a worried Mother and whisper "go back to bed".
I will miss this the most when I miss you.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
The Truth
Scrawled on a piece of notebook paper and taped on her mirror:
Rachel,
There's not really an easy way to say this so I suppose I should just say it. I love you. I mean "I'm in love with you". I know that's hard to hear and I know you're happy with Jeff and I'm happy for you. I just had to say it finally and get it off my chest. I think I've always had feelings for you but I never wanted to hurt our friendship. I hope you are ok with this and things don't have to get weird between us. I can't imagine my life without you so please don't be uncomfortable with me. That's why I never really said anything...to protect that. I've just gotten to the age where secrets seem more and more meaningless to keep. If you are truly a friend then I owe you the truth.
Rachel,
There's not really an easy way to say this so I suppose I should just say it. I love you. I mean "I'm in love with you". I know that's hard to hear and I know you're happy with Jeff and I'm happy for you. I just had to say it finally and get it off my chest. I think I've always had feelings for you but I never wanted to hurt our friendship. I hope you are ok with this and things don't have to get weird between us. I can't imagine my life without you so please don't be uncomfortable with me. That's why I never really said anything...to protect that. I've just gotten to the age where secrets seem more and more meaningless to keep. If you are truly a friend then I owe you the truth.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Merle Haggard's House
"Over here on the right. This used to be Merle Haggard's house. And it used to be the only thing for miles and miles"
Cows dot the hills in the distance. I run my tounge along the bottom row of my teeth and fret over the crooked ones. He notices and says "too much sugar".
"You know who Merle Haggard is, right?"
"Of course I do", with mild irritation.
"Well, I don't know. Maybe you don't"
More silence passes by as do random palm trees and orange groves. A sign greets us with "Welcome to Bakersfield".
Cows dot the hills in the distance. I run my tounge along the bottom row of my teeth and fret over the crooked ones. He notices and says "too much sugar".
"You know who Merle Haggard is, right?"
"Of course I do", with mild irritation.
"Well, I don't know. Maybe you don't"
More silence passes by as do random palm trees and orange groves. A sign greets us with "Welcome to Bakersfield".
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Eric
"What?"
"What do you mean what?"
"I mean...what? What are you doing?"
"You heard what I said, Greg"
"O.k. I suppose I mean why? Why are you doing this?"
"Cause. It felt good. Ok. It feels good. I...need a change"
"But I can forgive you. We can fix this. You don't have to leave on top of everything else you've done"
"I want to leave"
Silence passes.
"I'm sorry"
"What is his name?"
"Oh, come on, Greg. Don't do this"
"It's just a simple question. What's his name?"
"Eric. Ok. His name is Eric"
"Where did you meet him?"
"I'm not doing this with you. I'm leaving. I'm sorry. Goodbye"
And with that she was gone.
I sat on the couch and slowly started going through the various stages of grief. I cried til I threw up. I rolled the name "Eric" around in my head until it lost all meaning. I repeated the name outloud. Slowly at first and then over and over like a mantra. I got up and said it louder into the living room. I shouted it to the ceiling. It quickly grew from a name to a primitive grunt. I hurled it into the air as I started pounding the wall with my fist. As the days went on it eventually became the only word I could say. People would say "hello" and I would reply "Eric".
"How are you?"
"Eric"
"Where are you from?"
"Eric"
"Eric...what state is that in?"
It grew until people thought that was my name and began calling me Eric. I embodied the spirit of Eric. I became the type of man that would break-up a marriage. I became Eric.
"What do you mean what?"
"I mean...what? What are you doing?"
"You heard what I said, Greg"
"O.k. I suppose I mean why? Why are you doing this?"
"Cause. It felt good. Ok. It feels good. I...need a change"
"But I can forgive you. We can fix this. You don't have to leave on top of everything else you've done"
"I want to leave"
Silence passes.
"I'm sorry"
"What is his name?"
"Oh, come on, Greg. Don't do this"
"It's just a simple question. What's his name?"
"Eric. Ok. His name is Eric"
"Where did you meet him?"
"I'm not doing this with you. I'm leaving. I'm sorry. Goodbye"
And with that she was gone.
I sat on the couch and slowly started going through the various stages of grief. I cried til I threw up. I rolled the name "Eric" around in my head until it lost all meaning. I repeated the name outloud. Slowly at first and then over and over like a mantra. I got up and said it louder into the living room. I shouted it to the ceiling. It quickly grew from a name to a primitive grunt. I hurled it into the air as I started pounding the wall with my fist. As the days went on it eventually became the only word I could say. People would say "hello" and I would reply "Eric".
"How are you?"
"Eric"
"Where are you from?"
"Eric"
"Eric...what state is that in?"
It grew until people thought that was my name and began calling me Eric. I embodied the spirit of Eric. I became the type of man that would break-up a marriage. I became Eric.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Cloud Cover
The sky was dark grey. Like ash. It was night.
James was standing over Heather's body.
He was thinking about something else. Once on the bus he watched 2 strangers kiss each other. The woman didn't have enough money to pay the fare and promised a kiss to somebody who would help her. An overweight man paid her fare and she kissed him on the lips. He smiled at this thought and Heather thought he was smiling because of her. He wished Heather was a stranger again. He wanted to feel that thrilling discomfort.
She was laid out underneath him, her arms were akimbo and her eyes were closed. She held a pucker with her lips. He leaned down over her until her bare breasts touched his chest. He kissed her once softly and pulled away.
"Goodnight, Heather"
"Where are you going?"
"Home"
Heather laughed.
"What's so funny?"
"Wham. Bam. Thank you, ma'am. Is that how it is?", she said teasingly.
"Heather. Come on. You know it's not like that. I'm tired. I want to get some stuff done tomorrow"
Heather laughed again, covering her mouth this time.
"What's funny now?"
"Nothing. I was just thinking of that time you flipped off that guy in the truck and how he followed us home and how silly you looked trying to get him to not kick your ass"
James smiled.
"That scared the shit outta me"
"What's so great about home anyway? Why do you always leave me for it? You gotta secret girl up there?"
James laughed.
"Of course not. I just like my alone time"
Heather playfully grabbed his crotch.
"You mean jack off time"
James batted her hand away, smiling.
"Knock it off! I'm gonna go home, ok? I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Yeah. Ok"
James thought about tomorrow and the next day and the day after that...all filled with Heather and her same body and same stories. There was a time that gave him comfort but it started to scare him.
James started to drive to his apartment but decided he needed to clear his head. He drove east, he drove west. He flipped the cassette in his tape deck 4 times, listening to each side twice. He drove until the sky was no longer dark grey but light grey. He looked up at the sky and wished it would clear.
James was standing over Heather's body.
He was thinking about something else. Once on the bus he watched 2 strangers kiss each other. The woman didn't have enough money to pay the fare and promised a kiss to somebody who would help her. An overweight man paid her fare and she kissed him on the lips. He smiled at this thought and Heather thought he was smiling because of her. He wished Heather was a stranger again. He wanted to feel that thrilling discomfort.
She was laid out underneath him, her arms were akimbo and her eyes were closed. She held a pucker with her lips. He leaned down over her until her bare breasts touched his chest. He kissed her once softly and pulled away.
"Goodnight, Heather"
"Where are you going?"
"Home"
Heather laughed.
"What's so funny?"
"Wham. Bam. Thank you, ma'am. Is that how it is?", she said teasingly.
"Heather. Come on. You know it's not like that. I'm tired. I want to get some stuff done tomorrow"
Heather laughed again, covering her mouth this time.
"What's funny now?"
"Nothing. I was just thinking of that time you flipped off that guy in the truck and how he followed us home and how silly you looked trying to get him to not kick your ass"
James smiled.
"That scared the shit outta me"
"What's so great about home anyway? Why do you always leave me for it? You gotta secret girl up there?"
James laughed.
"Of course not. I just like my alone time"
Heather playfully grabbed his crotch.
"You mean jack off time"
James batted her hand away, smiling.
"Knock it off! I'm gonna go home, ok? I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Yeah. Ok"
James thought about tomorrow and the next day and the day after that...all filled with Heather and her same body and same stories. There was a time that gave him comfort but it started to scare him.
James started to drive to his apartment but decided he needed to clear his head. He drove east, he drove west. He flipped the cassette in his tape deck 4 times, listening to each side twice. He drove until the sky was no longer dark grey but light grey. He looked up at the sky and wished it would clear.
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