Twenty-one was the magical age, as far as Skippy was concerned. Less than a year to go and he'd be there! Of course, driving at sixteen was very cool but that was almost five years ago. Drinking legally was the goal, now.
Drinking illegally had its perks, of course. The thrill of sneaking around, fake IDs, the secrecy, barely escaping getting caught too many times to count. Lots of fun!
But now drinking was about to become something he could legally do. As a grownup, so to speak. A bone-fide rite of passage, drinking is! Yessir!
Naturally, on his twenty-first birthday Skippy and his friends proceeded to get thoroughly plastered. What an adult thing to do! It was by no means his first time being that drunk, but twenty-one or no he found out for the first time how unpleasant the inside of a drunk tank is.
The next year his state lowered the legal drinking age to eighteen. What a gyp, Skippy thought!
"Hi, how are you? I'm just returning your call." I vaguely remnembered the name on the caller ID as being someone I used to work with, someone I used to know a little. But that was over five years ago, I think.
"Let's meet at the 7-11. You know, the one by Wal-Mart."
I agreed to meet with her. I was going to go to that Wal-Mart later, anyway. I wondered what it was she wanted to see me about that couldn't be talked about over the phone, but she seemed kind of upset and so I didn't ask. Didn't want to come off as stand-offish.
But what could it possibly be that compelled Sue to call me, of all people, after so many years?
I showed up but Sue didn't. At least, I don't think she did. If she did, we didn't recognize each other. The place was pretty busy but I don't think she showed.
Now I wonder if I should call her. Just to see what happened. It might be important, I don't know. This has to be about something, though.
Chicken: "Once I escaped from the coop I crossed the road because I could! Yessir, let 'em eat steak tonight. I'm outta here!"
Farmer: "That scatterbrained chicken got out again. Look at him running back and forth across the driveway like he's going somewhere. What a goof!"
Thank you very much you piece of crap! So what if it's 10* with the wind howling? I have to be at work in less than an hour and you're supposed to start! It's too dark outside to try to see what's wrong with you, other than the fact you're a piece of crap!
One of these days I'm gonna get a decent car and then I'll be only too happy to beat the crap out of you, you piece of crap!
Come on, please start, just once more! Please, you piece of crap!!
Ah, at last! Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Wow, what a clean break, and with a crescent shaped hole running lengthwise down the middle! Very cool. What else can I break around here?
Stop that. You've broken enough things in your life. But there is something cathartic, empowering even, about exercising enough control over something to break it. Most things seem to just wear out and break on their own, leaving me with the sometimes difficult task of fixing it.
As a kid I remember that breaking things was much more fun. Until later when the consequences came!
Just think how much fun a day without consequences could be! Did a day like that ever exist?
Why is it that the rewards for doing right never seem as strong as the consequences for doing wrong? Is it because of the inherent fun also missed when not doing wrong? Is it the excitement of doing wrong that adds to the fun?
Whatever it is, I doubt breaking another crayon would be as much fun.
Her hair was in pigtails, but there was nothing else porky about her.
She never returned his calls, and he never knew why.
It was a huge mall with three levels. It took seemingly hours for us to walk it, looking at all the shops. Not enough time to go in all of them. And there were so many people.
What's that smell? I know we're getting tired, and hungry, and we must be miles from the food court (is it even on this level?) but that smell is so inviting, so tasty. A bakery, perhaps? I sure could use a dough-nut.
No, it's the Tinderbox, a tobacco shop, with the wonderful aromas of various pipe tobaccos wafting through the air! I have to go in there!
Today I'm not sure that store even exists anymore. I know my own pipe has laid unused for three years now.
My, how times have changed. Years ago everybody smoked, even in hospitals. Today what few smokers are left are almost viewed as lepers. The unrealistic, romantic aspect of smoking has been thoroughly replaced with the stark reality of addiction, terrible diseases and early death.
But I still fondly remember those delicious smells from the Tinderbox.
Hey, Babe,
The weather is here, wish you were beautiful! Ha, ha, yeah, I know, I stole that line from Jimmy Buffet. But it is sooooo nice to be out of the snow here in sunny Florida!
I saw my first gator today. My pale skin turned even paler!The natives can tell I'm not from around here.
The conference has been okay, I guess, especially on the company's dime. But next time you gotta be able to come with me or I'm not going. Good weather without you isn't good enough!
Love, Scooter
They were all vying for the same office, and trying hard to win the public's approval. They had markedly different ways of going about that, it seemed to me, and yet the results were so similar.
One was a giant blowhard. He gave the impression that we were supposed to feel blessed that he was even running at all.
Another was clearly quick-thinking on his feet, but still came off as completely disingenuous, as if he was hoping to hide the fact that he had no idea what he was talking about.
A third was blatantly deceitful, apparently unaware of what his reputation around town really was. Here he had made his fortune taking advantage of people and ruining their lives for his own financial gain, but now we were supposed to believe in his altruism, as if his only goal in life was to make our town better.
These were our only choices for mayor, so I went home and made my own choice. I put my house up for sale.
She will not let go. Or maybe she can't. Whatever her life had been like, whatever happened to her before, colors the way she sees the world now. Funny how fear can masquerade as caution, paralyzing you with indecision.
She wants to let go. This is a good sign. But does she trust him enough? Is it worth the risk?
For his part, is he up to the task? If he fails her now she will be forever unable to let go, imprisoned by every hurt she has ever known and embraced, none more damaging than his failure right now.
She wants so much to trust him, to just let go. Can he catch her? Will he catch her? Will she let him try?
As twin sisters Marcy and Lea couldn't be more different. Raised Catholic, Lea couldn't take the strict nuns at school and so became an agnostic when she got older. Her sister Marcy, on the other hand, became a missionary in Bogata. At least they both got out of Texas, although Alaska was quite a shock for Lea, weatherwise. And Jelly Bellies, her favorite candy, are hard to find up there.
As a missionary Marcy is deeply involved with people, especially children, and hates all the injustice she sees done to them. Lea, on the other hand, likes being alone on long dog sled rides in the open country. We're afraid one day we'll find her as a frozen popcycle.
For the time being Lea's hobby as a coin collector is sort of on hold. Can't find much on the frozen tundra, you know.
Someone is crying alone. I have just entered the room and some movie is on the TV. The woman on the screen is crying quietly, for what reason I do no yet know.
It used to be I could ignore such things. It's only TV. Those things wouldn't show up on my radar screen.
Not anymore. Nowadays, for some reason I'm not quite ready to admit, my own emotions are never far from the surface. Someone else's pain becomes my pain. A word, a look, a note from a song, can bring things to my surface I used to easily stuff. It is still surprising to me that this is so. My old friends would not approve.
Someone is crying, but she is not crying alone. For what reason I do not yet know.
The power's out. Where's the flashlight? Where is everybody?
I move slowly so if I stub my toe it won't hurt so much.
Being alone in the dark feels more alone somehow. No one to stay close to, the warmth of another body that isn't there. Then, what did it matter if the lights were on or off?
Now it still doesn't matter, but for a different reason. I may as well try to go to sleep. The blackout will seem shorter that way if I sleep through it. There's nothing I can do about it, anyway.
How dark the darkness is.
Hippopotamus dung is extremely pungent. Not to mention big! If you're a big game hunter it can be very helpful in tracking your prey.
But if you step in it you will just need to get new boots. The stench cannot be removed, no matter how hard you try, nor can it be ignored.
Her two front teeth were not the only things she was missing. Her glasses were gone, somewhere in the weeds. A tattered red canvas tennis shoe with the white rubber Keds logo missing, was also gone.
But she was tough as nails for a ten year old. Scared the dickens out of me as I laid on my back, run over by this dynamo. I thought we were playing touch football!
Well, I got touched, alright, as she scored first. I bet she's no longer picked last!
"The washing machine on the front porch has got to go," she said. Why, I don't know. Okay, so it doesn't work. That's why it's out on the front porch! Duh! I couldn't fix it anymore and so I got the old battle-axe a new one. New to us, anyway. So what if that was a year ago?
"What? There are bees in the old washer now? What kind of bees? Real ones or just wasps? Alright, I'll move the thing out back when the weather turns cool enough to make the bees sluggish. No, they won't get in the house. Just use the back door. Do I gotta think of everything?"
She keeps looking at her watch as if the bus is late. She sure seems to be in a hurry. I was already here on the bench when she came up running, all breathy and dissheveled.
I wonder why she keeps looking off to the right? The bus will be coming from the left. She seems so nervous and fidgity as if she's afraid something might happen before she can escape on the bus.
"Are you okay?" I don't want to appear forward. She is quite a looker, even if she is much younger than I. She replies, "Yeah," but I just have a feeling she's not.
Finally the bus arrives. She's making tiny hops while waiting for it to come to a stop and open the door. She hops on in.
I follow behind.
She sat next to someone she obviously knows very well. A young guy, I'd guess about her age. I sat unnoticed in an open seat right behind them.
Yes, I'd say she knows him quite well, as they kissed too passionately for public viewing.
"Did you have any trouble slipping away?"
"No, I waited until everyone was gone. You?"
"My parents think I'm going to the store. I was so afraid someone might drive by and see me waiting for the bus."
Well, it's obvious to me that these young lovers are executing some major move. Maybe they're eloping.
As the bus pulled away, relief swept over her. After recounting how they both slipped away she now began to reflect on their actions over the past hour or so. It wasn't too late. They hadn't yet crossed the point of no return.
Is this really what I want? she asked herself as excitement began to turn to anxiety. How are we going to live? Especially on what little Bobby makes. Oh, God, now I'm sounding just like my father!
"I'm sorry, Bobby, I can't do this. We're not ready. I'm not rready. I know that now. Besides, we both have school tomorrow."
Billy's parents were not the type of people who would ever be nominated for "Parents of the Year." More likely they'd be the ones on the evening news crying while their kid was down a well, only to find out later he was really asleep hiding under his bed.
I assume the only reason they were parents at all was because neither of them had enough sense to go to the drug store now and then. That would be too much planning ahead. The only thing they ever planned was where their next beer was coming fom.
Billy's dad kept his job only because it was the kind of job no one else wanted. Billy's mom was, shall we say, unemployable. Probably for the best. The less she was seen in public the better.
Billy got quite an education in what not to do, what kind of a parent not to be. But he was my best friend, and I hoped he learned by observing my family just how good a home life could be.
When we all grew up Billy eventually got married, as did I. We no longer kept in touch.
I was distressed the other day to see him and his wife on the local TV news. Apparently his kid fell down a well.
"The story goes like this, and if you stick to the script we'll be okay."
"Waddaya mean we'll be okay? Goin' up the river is okay to you?"
"Just stick to the script, moron. They got no proof we did anything, or were even in the area."
"Then how did they finger us so fast? Eh? It's just a good thing they didn't find the stuff we stole."
"We didn't steal nuthin', see. We weren't even there. We don't know nuthin' from nuthin'. They can't prove nuthin', so grow a pair, will ya? Jees, Louise, I knew I shoulda done this by myself."
"I wish you had, let me tell ya. Some brains of the outfit you turned out to be."
"The plan was solid. We were just unlucky, is all. Don't be such a candyass. They still can't prove anything."
"Uh, oh."
"What?"
"I'm not sure. They've left us in this room for too long, I think. Look up in that corner. Does that look like a microphone to you?"
| Index Introduction Flowchart Files Links About me Awards Email me Resources |