(Yet another in my under 750 word Short story challenge pieces. This concludes the Dusty Rhodes Submissions. )
Artie looked at his doctor in amazement.
“Your blood pressure is amazing. When I took your blood it was like sludge,” Dr. Hargrove said.
“I’m a perfect specimen of health,” Artie said with a smile.
“If you were 80. But you are just 37 Artie. I’m going to have to put you on a diet.”
“A diet? I’m not going to start eating rabbit food. What pill can you give me to get the weight off? How about we go in and cut it out? You can use a rusty butter knife as long as you knock my ass out.”
Dr. Hargrove just shook his head. “This isn’t a quick fix solution Artie! You have to make severe lifetime changes if you intend to be successful. Do you want to live till you’re 60, do you want to walk Trisha down the aisle?”
Artie shook his head, “Sammy, look at me. I didn’t get this way by not eating doc, Angela doesn’t make it easy on me with fried this and fried that. How can I say no to a woman that can eat all of that and still look like she was when I married her after high school?”
“You have to make changes Artie or you won’t make it to 40.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Eat one hamburger instead of 4, drink water instead of those milkshakes that you pound down like we were back in high school. Then I know this one will shock you,” Dr. Hargrove started but was interrupted by Artie.
“More Sex,” Artie said with a full deep throaty laugh that started him coughing.
“No, something other than letting Angie go down on you, why don’t you try walking with her. She walks every day in the park. I see her as I drive into the office each day. You could join her.”
“Walking, and then I’m going to have to listen to her jabber about how Eliose had this incredible idea and blah, blah, blah.”
“It would help your marriage and your heart too Artie.”
“I’m in the restaurant business. Who would trust a tiny chef?”
“You can have a big heart because of your generosity or because it’s struggling to keep you alive. Your choice Artie. I can’t make the first step, you do,” Dr. Hargrove said as he put his hand on Artie’s shoulder.
“Let’s have dinner next week.”
“Okay Artie, we’ll check in on you and see how you are doing,” Dr Hargrove said as he walked out.
Artie hopped down off the table, put his pants up and walked to pay his bill, popping a candy bar in his mouth. “Yeah, like I’m going to stop eating. ”
He started to walk to his car and felt a pain in his chest. Damn indigestion Artie thought to himself. The sweat of walking to the car in the 100 degree heat started to get to him and he felt like he had to sit down.
And then he blacked out.
When he came to he had an oxygen mask on his face and his old high school friend looking at him.
“You had to have a heart attack in my parking lot. You had to …,” Dr. Hargrove’s face fell as his voice quivered. “I’m serious Artie. We saved you this time. Next time you won’t be so lucky.”
Artie tried to talk but was unable to. As the blackness came over him he looked, smiled and tried to pat his stomach, but his arm went limp.
Categories: My Writing... Tags: My Writing..., Quick Story, Quotes, Writing Challenge
(More writing inspired by quotes my friends send me. This one is inspired by my good friend Dusty Rhodes who told me the story of a guy who broke his ankle sliding into second base at a softball game. I thought, let’s take it a bit darker. Today the mob makes a visit to a quiet sales office in the east coast.)
Richard was dressed in a orange and red plaid suit. His hair slicked back with grease, but it might have well enough been lard as much as it had been put in. His bookcase had cereal boxes from the sport teams that he supported because they were winners. He once tore down a sign that had the letter D and a symbol of a fence and replaced it with a sign that said “Speed Kills”. His championship debate trophy from high school as well as all of his achievements were on the wall behind him. Everything was about winning. He never liked to lose. He lost once and his opponent sent him a cake in the shape of a tombstone. He took a picture of the tombstone and showed it to anyone who didn’t understand why he didn’t like losing.
But in this moment of his life, it didn’t matter.
“Now Sally, I told you that I wasn’t going to take your smart ass bullshit anymore. You’ve made my boss very angry,” said the 5′ pinstripe wearing guido that was watching as his “associates” repeatedly kick him in the groin and face.
“Please stop, I refund your money,” Richard said to Pinstripe.
“Look at you, what would your mother say? Your ethics have gone to places where people don’t return. You killed that kid.”
“I didn’t do anything, I was just trying to show her how to sell,” said Richards as Pinstripe called the beating to stop.
Pinstripe’s face turned into a stop sign. His eyes bulged and he started to kick Richard in the balls repeatedly. “You call late night calls and harassment teaching son? That was my niece. She finished her life because you told her that she wouldn’t amount to anything. SHE KILLED HERSELF,” and with each word the cracking of the ribs continued to sound like popcorn. People rushed up to try and stop the carnage but they were unable due to the 2 AK’s held in the hands of Pinstripe’s associates.
“I’m in so much pain, make them stop,” as the blood started to bubble from his mouth.
“It’ll feel better when it stops hurting, ” Pinstripe said as he kicked Richard in the face. He slumped over and listened as the sounds of the police sirens got closer. His associates had already left the building as people gathered around Richard.
“I can’t bring Sharee back, she was all my wife wanted in a child. But you took that away. So I’m taking it all from you. You’re nothing but a two bit used car salesmen disguised as management. Everyone will look at you and pity you because of what I did. I’m warning you… if you hit on another woman in the office and I hear about it I’ll come back and remove your jaw with my bare hands.
“Come on boss, we gotta go,” said one of the gunman as he ran up the stairs.
“See ya later Dick,” Pinstripe said as he walked up the stairs to the exit.
As he passed the receptionist who stared in horror, Pinstripe turned and smiled “Have a nice day sugar tits!”
Richard never talked again.
Categories: My Writing... Tags: Dark Story, My Writing..., Quick Story, Quotes, Writing Challenge
Keegan played the guitar and wailed Bob Dylan while the winos drank their wine. No matter how hard he tried to involve the audience they weren’t buying what he was selling.
“Play some death metal,” one wino said with the paper bag wrapped around the two buck chuck he brought into the small open aired amphitheatre. The breeze blew lightly as the men started their shark like gathering near the bar waiting for the women like chum.
With a sigh, Keegan reminded the wino, that like the thirteen other times that it was requested that his repertoire did not include Slipknot, Freebird or any other of the inane requests that he was getting. It wasn’t his usual place to play on a Friday night. He just needed to let the guitar strings play a melody or two with someone that would listen. Normally, his apartment, a rough one bedroom studio that he rented after his rented house burned to the ground due to a rat chewing through the electrical lines, would have been the place to release his demons.
But today, his demons needed to be fed. They needed to be given praise, hatred, just some kind of emotion that would keep him going. Playing didn’t pay the bills anymore, ever since the selective cover charge that in the end seemed to be less and less even though more and more people showed up. He knew that the alarm would fire early and he would be off once again driving the bus with the snot nosed brats that always “knew him from somewhere” but could never pull it together since they always left the bar with their inhibitions gone, drunk beyond recognition of the guitar player on stage with their panties in their dates pocket.
He looked into the crowd for the one person who got him, there was always one that he converted to the church of music every show, and if he couldn’t find them, he felt like he had to put the guitar up for good.
Tonight might be the night.
Then she walked into the door, being dragged by four sorority sisters, the one that was brought along to make the others look smaller. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t pretty, she had beautiful blue eyes and her smile made the room light up.
Keegan took the moment to switch from Clapton to Stevie Ray Vaughn soulfully pulling each string as the young women ordered sangria. He tried with each chord to touch their hearts but of the five women eighty percent of them were filled with hopes and dreams of completing the MRS degree.
As sangria turned into two, the men started their approach, one by one until she was left.
“I can’t believe it… Her blouse blends in with the couch. She’s domestically camoed,” said one of the sisters to the other as they walked out of the amphitheatre new acquisitions in hand ready to dance the night away. It didn’t matter as Keegan held her with his voice.
The so called friends, who had decided to leave her with “the musician”, as if he had a contagious disease, didn’t know but five years later would find out that he would write many songs, to the one , who others looked past, while he saw into her heart. He called her his love, companion, muse, and lover.
She preferred if he’d just call her by her name.
Categories: My Writing... Tags: My Writing..., Quick Story, Quotes, Writing Challenge
Peace in the country
Mother’s Day 2010
As yet another day starts in the Hill Country I sat on the porch watching the mist start to come over the trees to the east. The smells of coffee and cholesterol wafted in from the kitchen.
“You want any,” my wife asked?
“Nah, I’m plenty good enough just watching the dogs run chasing the shadows in the forest.”
“I’m starting to burn the bacon,” she said as she closed the window to keep the burning smell inside.
(Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeppppppp) sounded the smoke alarm as I walked into the house into a smoke filled kitchen.
“You need help dear?”
“Nah, just trying to make it crispy.”
“There’s a shock. You think the smoke alarm is going to wake the neighbors?”
“Nah, they are along the banks fishing this morning.”
“Happy Mother’s Day darling”
“Yup, it’s Mother’s Day”
The door started to get scratched up and I wandered over, taking a sip of my coffee as I opened the door to let the two most ferocious dauschounds who barked and whined until I reached down and petted them.
“Don’t be given them any treats,” my wife said as I was reaching them down to hand them both a piece of bacon.
“I’ve got no idea what you are talking about,” as one of the dogs trotted by with a piece of meat in his mouth.
Her glare spoke volumes and I just reached down to open the paper trying to find people I didn’t like in the obituaries. Seeing none and not caring about the sports scores, I closed it and headed outside to enjoy yet another peaceful day before it got hot.
Nothing worse, than heat and humidity in the Hill Country.
I should call mom and tell her Happy Mother’s Day.
I think she knows…
Happy Mother’s Day Mom I thought as I relax on the porch until the sun goes down.
Categories: My Writing... Tags: Fiction, Hill Country, My Writing..., Vacation
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
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