When I was in New York , my mom called me from Cleveland and asked me about some rude guy from a comic shop who was asking for his Strat-o-matic baseball cards back so he could complete his collection. I told her that he was a jerk but if she could find them, she could give them back to him. I told her where I thought they were and she returned sheepishly later telling me that she had thrown that box away since she thought it was junk.
Categories: My Writing... Tags: Comic Store, Irony
Scotty liked the way he felt when he was in the air. There was nothing than can defeat him when he was on his bike. He did most of his thinking while flying in the air. Most people concentrated or focused on the landing, or the technique. Scotty just focused on the freedom.
“Why do I jump? Because there is something that I can touch that no one else can. I can feel the sky as I jump every time. I hate the concept of the ground, but I’ve got to touch the sky every now and then. Jim can fly his jets till he turns blue in the face, but he never touches the sky.”
I could never jump a bike, my fear of heights would capture my desire to touch the sky.
But there was that one day…
I was 11 and had the greatest BMX bike ever (Okay maybe it wasn’t the greatest, but it was mine) , a solid red Schwinn that my Uncle Al gave to me. And I know I wasn’t Evil Knievel because instead of jumping Snake River, or a Las Vegas monument, I was just jumping the ramp that my brother and I had put across a small stream.
We put the ramp where we could ride as fast as we could down the two blocks of street , making the small turn down the dirt road and then down the small hill to the ramp.
It was the last day of summer and I hadn’t landed the jump yet.
I had tried every day that summer and whether I was short, or didn’t even make the ramp, I just wanted to make this jump before school started. Everyone in the 5th grade knew I was going to try the jump and I had the pressure of trying to make it or be known as a failure for the entire year.
So my best friend Scotty was there and told me “no matter what happens, just do your best and don’t forget to touch the sky.”
So I put on my best Dungarees and my favorite t-shirt on and headed down the three blocks to the staging area.
As I rode up my stomach fell.
Cause it wasn’t Jimmy or Scotty there.
It was the entire 5th grade.
“You can do it Donnie” said a guy who I thought tried to stuff me into my locker last year.
“I’ll kiss you if you make it D,” Joanna said to me.
And all I could think of was Scotty’s words as I started to pedal, and circled the path.
Touch the sky, touch the sky…
and I started my run, pedaling faster and faster as I hit the turn and down the dirt hill I pedalled.
The kids were just blurs as I past each of them, I could see the ramp and hit it going faster than I thought possible.
And I was flying. It was just like Scotty said. It was amazing, I could taste it.
I landed the jump , and as my hands were in the air celebrating my landing I hit a pebble.
And I flipped in the air again, but this time with a bike on top of me landing with an awkward thud.
Something was broken in my arm. Yup, definitely broken.
Joanna gave me that kiss, but I didn’t feel it.
I didn’t feel my broken arm (in three places).
Categories: My Writing... Tags: Fiction, My Writing..., Story of my life, Teen angst
(Simply a fiction story of my overactive imagination…)
Fredrick was a small town that was originated by two gay frontiersmen named Fred and Rick back in the 1800′s. Nothing really happened in the town. It had developed into the #6 retirement community in the the entire south due to the proliferation of antique stores and the town shut down at 8 p.m. daily with the exception of the Polish bar that kept open till midnight. Oh, what a wild town it was.
When my wife told me that we were going to Fredrick, I thought that there would be something interesting for a thirtysomething couple to do.
“We’re not here to do anything really, except shopping for the children for me, and you get to rest,” Allison said as my mouth dropped.
“Wait a minute dear. We had a deal.”
“The deal was over when you had a heart attack at 34. You get to follow the doctors diet, you get to rest in the country and if this week goes well you get to go back to your internet job and heart attack causing lifestyle”
“But,” I knew I was doomed.
“No, you don’t.”
“Fine,” the words I said when I knew that I was doomed. I had a plan, get away when she slept like a freight train.
Yeah, about that. We were staying in her parents house 5 miles from the main strip of Fredrick. And when I mean strip, I mean one street that if you moseyed a block over you were surrounded by bed and breakfasts and grumpy old people who hadn’t had enough prune juice in their life.
So the first night, I snuck out at 1 A.M. thinking that I had plenty of time till last call.
I pushed the car down the gravel driveway until it was far away from the house for me to start it up. I headed down the two lane highway that lead into town to find it deserted. I walked up to the bar and thinking that maybe it was just a slow night, but how wrong I was.
“Sorry son, Denial county rules say all alcoholic beverages must be served drank no later than midnight. So you can head back home. And by the way Daniel, give my best to your wonderful wife and I won’t tell her that you tried to get a drink when I see her next,” said Sheriff Stone laughing.
I drove back home angrier than ever.
I tried to get onto the family computer but trying to suffer through dial up was completely beyond me. I tried everything to find some connection that my wireless could pick up but I was in the middle of NOWHERE! There was not a wireless hot spot in the town, not even in the only three star hotel.
“Sorry son, we just don’t have a reason to have it here. You can head up to Austin if you need it bad enough,” was the excuse that I got.
I was in my own personal hell.
I got back into bed and looked at my wife.
“Did you say hi to Sheriff Stone for me honey,” Allison said as she laughed while turning to hold me?
“I hate this place. I love you, but I just don’t like you now.”
“Just give it a shot dear.”
“Shoot me, hell, I’ll just borrow your dad’s gun.”
“No, dear. Let me hold you and you can try something new tomorrow,” she said as she fell asleep holding my shoulder.
I didn’t sleep much that night. It was quiet.
Too quiet.
The next couple of days were a blur, Allison shopping, me being pack mule and drug around to every shop that I could imagine in hell:
A store that had nothing but cat stuff, including ceramic waving cats, which always freaks me out.
A store that had every sports teams gear, cept my favorite team, reason why … “no one really likes them down here”.
We went to a store that had antique guns, but no bullets.
Oh and don’t get me started on the store that sold nothing but antique doll clothes.
The best that I could do was just resign to the fact that the next couple of days would drive me nuts.
However, the final night changed the entire way I think of Fredrick.
I was sitting on the porch that had surrounded my in-laws house enjoying a pipe of vanilla tobacco when it walked up to me.
Now, everyone in town talked about the 18 point buck.
It was a legend in the entire county, no one had ever seen the beast that it was. All the hunters had tried to shoot at it and thought to have failed. It was huge and had the scars that would terrify any child. Bambi, this was not.
I didn’t move and stopped even puffing on the pipe as it came closer.
The chair that I was sitting on was on the edge of the porch closest to a large area of grass that I was supposed to mow before we left on Sunday. And I looked back to find my gun, hell even my father in laws gun to shoot it. I would be the hero of Denial. But I forgot that my gun was in my car and my father in laws was in the gun case locked up because of the last time I came to Denial. I was in such a hurry to shoot a buck off the porch like my father in law that I forgot about the recoil and I kinda launched myself through a plate glass window. The family nicknamed me “Secret Service” because of it. I had to find a way to let everyone see that I could either kill it, or hell take a picture of it.
The buck came closer and my heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest. It slowly moved and started eating something on the ground in between my chair. I slowly tried to move and it immediately jerked up.
I could feel the snorting and snot flying from the nose of the beast. I took a puff of my pipe again and it went back to work eating while I slowly took my phone out so I could take at least a picture of it.
I tried to block the sound out when it took but the noise was just enough. The buck sprang onto the porch and came closer and closer to me. I backed up more and more until I was at the door of the house.
As I tried to open the door in the dark the buck came closer until it launched into the air at me. I heard a loud noise and I blacked out.
I came to in the hospital room with scratches and bruises everywhere and I had a couple broken bones.
“You’re a lucky man, not many people have come that close to an 18 point buck without proper equipment and survived sir,” said the nurse to me.
I tried to get her attention and she finally got my message to bring my phone to me.
I wanted to show her the picture of the buck, but as I scrolled through I found that I only took a picture of the bucks ass and a good portion of my left thumb.
Stupid camera phone.
Stupid buck.
When I got home weeks later my wife had a surprise for me.
“Just keep your eyes closed hun until we get into your office.”
“What’s the big deal? You refile everything while I was gone again dear?”
“Shut up and keep your eyes closed.”
“Fine,” I said knowing that she had something up her sleeve.
“Okay open them,” she said with a laugh.
Now of all the things I wanted in my office, the list included naked playmates, stacks of unmarked cash, hell even the lack of bills would make me happy, I wasn’t expecting to see it hanging on my wall.
“There you go honey, you’ll never forget that moment again.”
On my wall was the eighteen point buck head, with a plaque that read:
To my darling husband
who didn’t flinch much when
I shot the eighteen point
on our porch.BTW, we named the Buck Dollar
Love, your wife.
I knew I’d be renicknamed Dollar when I got back to Fredrick again.
But this time Allison, I’ll have my weapon near me and I’d only stare at the stars with you next to me.
And I promise I won’t leave the bed after you are asleep ever again.
Now can you please change the dressing on my ear. I can still hear ringing.
Categories: Instant Tragedy, My Writing... Tags: Buck, Deer, Fiction
We all travel a road where we try to get somewhere. We have plans, ideas, looking for the right exit.
But sometimes, the right play is to keep driving, sleep when you are tired and eat when you are hungry, until you get to the destination you wanted to get to in the first place.
But there are no turn around lanes on this highway, just a lonely road of twists and turns that anger, confuse and sometimes sadden us.
But the road continues on and we have to travel to places where we intend to go even if the path is long and winding.
The last month or so, I’ve seen my friends come close, my acquaintances move further away and the people who would back my plays actually back my plays.
And it feels good.
Yesterday the boss called me up out of nowhere to tell me that I had been doing an exceptional job on the project that I was working on.
Did he have to? No.
Did it make me want to drive further on the road, probably.
Because the road is whatever you want it to be, your career, family or your play at the tables. You have choices and sometimes you get lost making the left turn at Albuquerque.
But you never lose by taking the trip. Sometimes the best trips are down to the store where you learn something just by watching someone.
This evening I had a moment like that. It started at a mirror at a retailer. I passed by the mirror and looked at my face. Not at the person, but at the face. And in some cases, I didn’t recognize who I was. I saw the body, but not the soul. But I saw the maturity and the gray hair that had accompanied my receding hairline.
I’m not 40 and I look like this.
But as I’m trying this year to look at the gold and not the just the wood slivers in my soul, I saw a man.
A man pushing a cart down the aisle. His hair was mussed and he smelled of urine. He was obese and looked like his life was challenged enough in the first place.
He had a box of cereal, and a spoon in his cart and he paid with pennies and change, refusing all help from the checker and myself.
“This is the road I’ve chosen and I’ll go as I please,” he said as he was escorted from the store.
The man was happy in what he had, and I couldn’t understand that.
Why would he be happy as miserable as he looked and probably was? Where did he live and what did he do?
But as I ran out of the store to look for the man in the snow and the ice, he had disappeared.
Was he there in the first place I thought as I slugged the groceries to the car?
But I realized that the road I was on wasn’t one that made me happy at all.
And that realization was the beginning of it all.
Categories: My Writing... Tags: Choices, Homeless, My Writing..., The Man
Anthony looked at the end of the bed. As he stared as his cold bare feet he knew that his live-in maid/ on and off girlfriend had somehow screwed with the blanket. It isn't easy being 6' 10 and he usually can't have a bed with a foot board at the end. Some hotels (especially Lisbon) he would find himself hanging off the bed. But then again, this is his story... ... "Honey, don't you understand I don't ask for much from you," she started. "Expected what which time dear," I asked wishing that I could find the aspirin. My head was hurting and I took one of those headache powders. I could down these damn things like they were my ex to white powder.
Categories: My Writing... Tags: Inspiration, My Writing...
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