Two Boats

Let's go to the beach, so the other boys can see what they are missing.

Let's take a drive.

Ok.

We sit on the hood in the early morning light and talk about where to go.

Let's just go North until the F turns into an E...

Ok.

We kiss until the highway beckons us to join it.

I brought a boombox so we can listen to some music, I know your stereo is busted.

What do you want to listen to?

Yo La Tengo sounds good right now.

You are obsessed with them.

Is that bad?

No, it's endearing.

You know what's endearing about you?

What?

Everything?

The road winds and the conversation ebbs and flows like the water in the ocean we are circling.

Let's buy a boat.

Ok.

What will be name it?

Let's name it after my Grandma.

What about my Grandma?

Ok. Let's buy two boats.

A motorboat?

And a sailboat too.

Muscle Memory

He lay flat on his back. He felt a wetness over his lip and knew it wasn't over. He pressed the tissue against his nose and stared at the blood. He looked up at the ceiling again. He created constellations out of the Spackle marks. He heard her step out of the shower in the next room and he thought about what she looked like naked. He loved her but wasn't in love with her.

He had a flash of his ex-lover standing in a dingy blue towel in the doorway of his old apartment. She rested her hand on the off-white dry wall and said "let's go down to the lake today". She put on her earrings and dropped the towel as she walked back into the bathroom.

He sighed and felt his upper lip. He looked down at his finger, it was a dirty red.

"Let's maybe go to the lake today", he called out to her.

"What? You know we're having lunch with Mark and Marlena. I mean...I can ask if they want to-"

"Forget it", he said, "I'm just being stupid".

He sat up slightly and turned his head to look out the window. It was overcast and wet, but not raining.

Maybe

We said goodbye next to an open car door in the rain. The small Mexican woman taking a smoke break on the sidewalk next to us smiled. That old 4 Non-Blondes song came on the radio as you leaned in to kiss me and you laughed. I said, "it's like we are saying goodbye in 1995 or something".

As I'm writing all of this down, a girl who looks like you walks past the window of the restaurant I'm sitting in. She reminds me that that goodbye was the last time we spoke.

I instantly wonder how you are, where you are...if you're even alive. Maybe you cut your hair and changed your name and I see you everyday but I just don't realize it. Maybe that's what happens after we die. Perhaps my Grandfather is now that kid down at the corner store who always tried to short change us or maybe your Mom is the waitress who just brought me a refill. Maybe she'll lean over and say to me, "don't worry, Mary is fine. She's now an 8 year old with an above average reading comprehension who loves horses living in Montana". Maybe the switch is made when we've lost all hope, those moments when we die on the inside, just a little, that's when someone new takes over. Maybe that's just what happened to you. You aren't really dead, just that part of you that I said goodbye to on that rainy day in front of your beat-up Skylark.

A History of Birthdays

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".

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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".

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.

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.

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"

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.

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.