Last Time

I stood motionless, half expecting those eyes to open. The room was dim and stuffy, the rain made it humid.The pale, wrinkled skin had me in its grips when a hand touched my shoulder. It broke the trance and I jumped. I must’ve made a strange noisy, because everybody turned and looked. I gave an embarrassed smile and was confronted with an unknown face.

“I’m sorry”, she said while quickly withdrawing her arm, “I know how upset you must be. He was a great man.”

I wondered to whom she was referring, but her tearful glance in his direction revealed it. I wanted to pull her aside and confess. She would be my priest. She would know the reality of my true happiness - how I’d slept better the past few nights than I could remember. It would continue as I detailed the whistling I enjoyed on the way to the funeral home. She would listen intensely and tell me to light a candle and beg for forgiveness. Instead I gave the usual funeral nod and thanks. I turned away thinking the interaction was done, but she felt the need to explain.

“I’m Susan Allen. I worked with your dad. We bowled together and spent a lot of time in McGee’s.”, she said with a course laugh while patting my shoulder.

It was assumed that I knew about McGee’s, so I laughed. I surveyed the landscape looking for an exit. I saw my sister and excused myself.

I walked past everybody out the front door. The cold air slapped me in the face; I pulled my sport coat tightly, but it was little protection. I watched my breath stream from my mouth as a mangy dog walked across the parking lot. It was a small town with the funeral home located on a dead end street. The road was lined with slab homes. I counted the broken cars along with furniture on numerous porches. It was where dad belonged.

    

The day had been long and the claustrophobic with the family. I wanted the next two days to be over, but dad would not let me off that easy. He would make me suffer one last time, so I returned inside.

A large girl towered over the guest book. She seemed familiar, but I could not place her. I was dumbstruck as she turned and glanced in my direction, and then it hit me - it was dad’s daughter with Maryanne. I had not spoken to her in years, and no desire to start now. Thankfully, she shot a scornful look at me and turned away. Maybe she didn't recognize me, but I doubted it. I was surprised and relieved as she embraced my brother Joe. I headed downstairs to grab a sandwich.

No Access

Dear Editor,

I would very much love to read what others in the community think about the myriad of issues facing us, but alas your site is locked down - only subscribers can access. This group includes those that subscribe to the old school print edition that lands on the doorstop or in the mailbox daily, or rather that is the agreement when paying for it. However, I was a paying subscriber for 22 years - I kept paying even when the prices were raised annually  - but sporadically received the newspaper the last two years of my membership. There were repeated telephone calls and emails exchanged that basically asked to receive the actual product, but the service worsened especially when the actual printing of it left its hometown and moved 2 hours north to Indianapolis. I paid for a product rarely received as both national and local news outlets bemoaned the demise of the newspaper. The subscription was cancelled after the final round with customer support where delivery was guaranteed and nothing arrived the next two weeks. I miss the days, especially weekends, of leafing through the thin pages reading the various stories and examining box scores, but I have now settled into a non-newspaper experience as I gather news from various other sources. 

Formerly devoted reader.

Is it me?

I lean back in my chair as the voices echo from my computer's speaker. I turn and stare out the open door, forgetting I am blessed to be able to work from home (sometimes) as I think about the grass needing mowing and other chores. My train of thought is interrupted when the problem child on my team starts talking down to everyone, I quickly cut him off and get us going in right direction and my mind wanders ...

• Nothing worse than a know-it-all who uses their knowledge to push around junior team members. 
• Actually, it is a know-it-all that really does not know it all. It seems the older I get, I realize the more I don't know.
• Bully pops in my head, they are bullying others with less knowledge or less time with the organization.
• I am so tired of dealing with people, I mumble 'why are there so many idiots here' and quickly glance down to make sure my microphone is muted - it is.
• Are all of these people this much of a problem or am I just in a bad mood?
• I really need to get rid of the bully, easier said than done. They technically do their job, but everybody dislikes and avoids them. How do they not notice?
• Wow, one junior person actually corrects the bully and they are right. I feel bad that it makes me smile.
• I hear the neighbor's lawn mower, crap they beat me.
• What is there to eat leftover chicken?
• I really need to clean the junk off of my desk.

My attention snaps back to the meeting as I hear my name, I answer and provide some direction before ending the meeting.

Do Over

 Sweat beads on my head, the sun is unforgiving - there is nowhere to hide. I shield my eyes with my hand and lean back as she arrives.  My stomach churns as the engine is silenced and the door opens and slams shut. I stare at the ground as her footsteps smash the gravel. I want to run.

"Are you not even going to look at me?"

"Hey, sorry, the sun is blasting, like I am being cooked." I finally look at her, into those hazel green eyes, the eyes that seem to peer into my soul.

"Well, move over there in the shade, geez." She motions to the other side, under the trees and walks in that direction. I quickly follow, I am her shadow.

"So?"

"What?" If this were a movie, the director screams 'cut!' and gives direction on being subtle.

"Seriously? All those messages and now you play games?" She pushes her hands through that amazing hair, I want to reach out to her.

"It's not that, it's just ..... well, I dunno." 

"You sure seemed to know what you wanted, or did you just get what you wanted and that is that?" She stands with arms crossed, eyes tracking me.

"You know that is not true."

"Do I?"

"You should."

"Well, I don't, so you tell me ..." Her voice cracks, she looks up, stares into the sky, willing the tears away. 

"Of course, I want you, I want this." I step forward, embracing her, pushing the hair back - still not sure.

Why?

Does anybody else think of themselves as crazy for signing up for an online writing course? This is the third week of this journey, but the doubt persists. With that said, here is the list of reasons - mostly questions - that bombard me as I push forward with this course. I include my response, well responses I use on days I don't just give up.

1. Nobody cares what you may (and probably never will) write. -  I think this sums up all of the self-doubt, but there is a lot of writing out there which does not interest me, so let's add to it.
2. What am I supposed to do with feedback? - I have never been in a situation where anything I write is scrutinized. Wait, that isn't true as I wrote magazine articles both in old-fashioned print and online years ago. The comments from online users were always interesting, it is best to look away.
3. How can I provide feedback when I have no clue what I am doing? - Who am I to judge another person's writing? I cannot provide any writing instruction, but I can comment on how it makes me feel and whether I find it interesting.
4. What do you do when the class is over? - This is a great question, I guess I keep writing, or never write again, we'll see.
5. Just quit, you are not a writer. - This is a hard one to argue against as it is true, but does it matter? I may never be one, but that does not mean I cannot write.
6. What is the point? - This ventures into an existential crisis, but the class pushes me to regularly write as well as get actual feedback. At least for today, that is enough.

Adventures

Another week is complete and the weekend is upon us, which means one thing in my house - the grandson arrives. The 8 year old conductor sleeps silently in the spare bedroom, and I know I must hurry to sleep as the adventures begin tomorrow. There is no apparent script to what awaits, but here is a good overview of past  Saturdays. The morning begins with all Disney characters gathering at the dining room table for breakfast where a race around upstairs takes place just after the meal completes. The little one assumes Donald Duck's persona as I am assigned Mickey and Goofy responsibilities - I have become adept at the voices. The race collides with Lightning McQueen and friends from the Cars movies as well as quite a few Minions. The first place trophy, an old sports trophy from our sun, is presented to Donald as he continues to win while Daisy adoringly watches. As the characters recoup from the race, we are transported to the Krusty Krab restaurant which is located downstairs. I work with Patrick to cook the Krabby Patties and prepare burgers for the steady stream of customers which is a large contingent from the earlier races - Mickey and Minnie share a Krabby Burger while Donald and Daisy share fries. My voice goes low to morph into Mr. Crabs as he questions Squibblers handling of cash register duties along with questions for the back kitchen staff. With restaurant duties complete, we travel to Sodor island and take a ride with Thomas and Friends and the day ends with a bike ride to local part where we hunt dinosaurs in the forest. 

Dinner for two

"What can I get you?" He stands, leans back on his heels while wiping hands on the white apron.

"Hm, let's see," I stand before the case, looking through the glass at the wide variety of fish.

"Everything is fresh, not frozen."

"Nice." It seems like frozen is framed as bad in this situation, but does it really matter. Besides we are many miles from any water.

"It is flown in daily via FedEx."

"Really?" He had read my mind, I guess that is one of advantage of the nearby hub.

"Yeah, arrives every morning."

"She said Salmon, but I have never cooked Salmon, or really any fish." I stare at the pink fish, why is 'wild caught' more expensive?

"It is easy, a little olive oil, lemon and salt and throw it on the grill. Grill it skin side down and remove it once done. You can wrap it in foil to avoid avoid burning it. Cook it, 12-15 minutes and you are set."

"Nice, that doesn't sound too bad, how hot should the grill be?"

"Just set the flame, the knobs, halfway and you'll be good. You can check it at 10 minutes to be safe."

"Okay, I guess give me two pieces." I survey the rest of the store as he weights and wraps dinner.

"You can use that seasoning there as well, but give it a try without it the first time around." He motions towards a rack of rubs.

"Cool."

I exchange my money for the bag and stand there, not moving, wanting to say something but not sure what.

"I put a crab cake in there as well, give it a try - cook in pan, a little olive oil and a few minutes each side, she'll love it.

"Thank you."

Popcorn!

I arrive early, park in designated employee area - dad let me use the car today. The uniform scratches my skin as I am sweating. Thankfully, the sun is heading down. I see Shelly and wave, we walk in together, so near the field and up the 'employees only' elevator. I like Shelly, she is funny, but not like like just as a friend. She is always worried about the money count at the end of the night, she was short a dollar after last night's game. I tell her to not worry, reassure her some shortage is fine and probably even expected. Besides, there are cameras every where, so they can certainly watch, check it out, if they suspected anything.

The doors open and we walk into the meeting room where we sign out our cash drawers - counting money in front of the manager. We part ways as I head to my booth where all of the supplies are waiting - oil, containers (small and large), napkins, salt and the main ingredient - popcorn kernels. I check the time - 1 hour until the game starts. I push the button to heat the pan, wait until it beeps and pour in a cup full of kernels and then flip the switch to start it spinning. The popping soon follows, the smell is wonderful. I tilt the pan to dump the remaining popcorn into the bin and spread the salt over it. 

The gates are opened and people wander around the concourse. I double check the containers and position the money in the drawer as the first customer approaches. I smile and serve one large popcorn and collect 25 cent tip - smile, the customer is king!. There is a long night ahead as the playoffs are in reach.

Preparation

The birds are lined up on the garage roof, waiting their turn on the feeder. How do they know the line up? A blue bird; a red bird, now that's a cardinal; a dark black bird, is that a crow? tiny tan colored variety, I should Google bird types. How do they all know when I fill the feeder? Sun is missing, clouds everywhere, I guess the weather dude was right this time - it could rain any minute now. I really need to trim those bushes. The black cat strolls through the yard, I still don't know where it calls home. The deck is a mess, but I would rather not power wash and stain it ... again. I see foot prints on the steps, squirrel? rabbit? nah, probably that cat as well. I look down at my watch, fifteen more minutes until the meeting, I am not sure what I will be asked but it should be fine. My eye rests on the sink full of dishes, I will tackle them later, why is it always me doing them? I see my reflection in the window and scrutinize my shirt as it will be a video meeting - always awkward for some reason. A dress shirt and pajama pants, a remnant of the pandemic? But, I've worked at home for years. How is the bird feeder already empty? Am I the only one feeding the birds? The bell returns me to the moment, I turn and lift the cup of tea from the microwave - add sugar and head to my office reminding myself to sit up straight and look into the camera, focus and actually listen to what others are saying, for once.

Negative Space

You write? Do we really need to hear more about your father or they your so-called funny observations? The couch is so comfortable, and this is a playoff game, you can tackle the writing tomorrow. Seriously, how can you write when there are so much going on? You know you can’t say no to anybody. Furthermore, at your age, why do you even try to write? What is the point? Now that I think about it, nobody reads anymore - you know Borders went bankrupt. Nobody wants to read your trivial drivel - there is nothing unique about you. Honestly, writing is the last thing you should be doing, unless it is a check to a home improvement company.

Writing? Like letters and things? You think you have talent? Well, tell a story now, oh well, never-mind. Do you really think you can write a book, do you know how long they are? Look at all of those filled journals, anything useful?. When does anybody read them? Everybody knows you wanted to be a writer. That is so original, but you don’t always get what we want. Besides, what have you ever written that is worthwhile?

You have never done anything right and that includes writing. Who do you think would read anything you write? You love creating characters? What does that even mean? You once told me writing is therapeutic and you didn’t care if anybody ever read it, so why do it?

I may be wrong, but you as a writer? Get real.

Almost there

I know things seem bleak now, but actually your journey is just beginning. High school is almost over and then you are free. I probably should not do this, but here are a few suggestions as you move forward:

- Quit hoping, because he lives a lot longer than any of us ever dreamed.

- When opportunity arises, take it, it doesn't often come back again.
- Check the heater vent when the keys go missing.
- Your bad attitude is not a fad as most people think.
- Don't get too attached to the pile of hair on top of your head.
- Ignore him when dad promises to pay for college.
- Remember when the counselor told you "lying will get you nowhere"? Well, they were wrong.
- Invest in Amazon.
- Don't forget to take a jacket when you go to Chicago.
- When you get to college (yeah, you do get there), go to class.
- Don't be too hard on your brother when he is not faithful. Trust me, it'll make sense later.
- Don't answer the phone when Lance calls in June 2014.

- Cherish your time with loved ones, life is a blip.

- It is okay to be wrong.

- Trust your intuition, empathy is one of your strengths.

- Your only real competition is yourself.
- When it comes to the redhead, don't do it, it isn't worth it.

Darkness

The darkness of the piece immediately draws me to it as I wander the gallery. I stopped in the museum during a brief stay in Cleveland. I always thought paintings were supposed to be colorful and fun. It is a solitary figure on a horse on what appears to be a track, but going counterclockwise. The dark colors, the pale horse, I can feel the sorrow and seemingly impending doom in the scene. I stand staring at it, step closer to read the placard - The Race Track by Albert Pinkham Ryder. I look closer and I see it has another more appropriate title - Death on a Pale Horse.

The grimness of the piece is haunting, it stays with me for many days and even now. It reminds me of my darkest days, how my thoughts were that horse and rider going round and round the track of my mind. It doesn’t scare me, but rather makes me think about life and the journey. A closer look at the piece and it seems the track goes on and on and on, so leads me to thinking of the track as the life that we all follow with death always on our heals. The snake by the track is the temptations we all face along the way. Isn’t that uplifting? Ultimately, it is just a haunting piece that moves me in ways most pieces do not.

What do I need?

As usual, I have forgotten my list and slowly walk the store grabbing items I think we need. Chills cover my arms as the store is freezing.

“I told him it isn’t his anyway, so don’t worry about it.” The woman grabs a can of baby formula and hurries down the aisle. I wonder if the phone conversation and item are related. I return to my shopping.

“It isn’t a bargain if we never use it.” The man is borderline yelling at another as one pushes the cart and the other walks to the side.

I see her to my left as I scan the shelf for a particular soup. She is leaning forward, it looks like she wants something on the lowest shelf. I glance down at my reflection in the floor as I think about helping her, the last time I tried did not go well as they acted offended. 

It seems like slow motion as I watch her knee give out and fall to her left and onto the floor, one hand still grasping the cart. I rush over, kneel down and ask if she is okay.

“I think so, just embarrassed. Can you help me up?”

She grabs my hand and I slowly help her stand and make sure she is steady. She looks around as I grab the saltines from the shelf and hand them to her.

“I don’t think anybody seen me, do you?”

“Nah, it is all good.”

“Well, I guess you saw me, thank you so much, I’m not sure what happened.” She smiles and pats my arm and takes the crackers.

“Are you sure you are okay?”

“Yes, thank you.”

I stand and watch as she shuffles towards the checkout lane. I walk in the opposite direction scanning the shelves.

I love a rainy night

 The raindrops hit the window sill, the sky lights up and I am suddenly sitting in Mamaw's kitchen. She is baking her famous apple kuchen, baking it just for me. I can smell the rain through the screened back porch, it mixes with the dog pee as the porch is their bathroom as well. I sit on my stool and smile as she sings her favorite Eddie Rabbit song - I Love a Rainy Night - you see a rainy night washed away all of  his cares and just makes him feel good. I think of my time with Mamaw the same way. A big hug and my troubles were gone. She would send me to the utility room - washer/dryer and storage area - to fetch a bottle of soda, a bottle just for me. I'd open that bottle sitting at her table, savor every drop as she worked her magic in the kitchen or told me a story. I was one of her ten grandchildren, so one-on-one time with her was extra special. Like the Eddie Rabbit song, I always woke up to a sunny day after time with her. The power of a song to transport is amazing - Mamaw loved country music, so I am forever tied to Merle, Conway, Dolly and many more forever embedded in my memory.

Over there

 I didn't say where
especially not the street. 
Was it wrong

for a house to have wheels?

I lied and said

the neighborhood behind us.

Nobody pressed the question

as I am sure they really did not care.

There was no chimney

which explains Santa's absence.

I was not scared 

as the front door would not lock.

But every December

couldn't Santa just walk in?

We often laughed

as there was nothing to take.

I heard the sneers 

as I collected my free lunch at school.

My stomach often growled

as I inhaled every bite.

Nothing is ever really free

as you give up your dignity for sustenance.

There was no dad as teachers suggested

for the many projects.

Mom tried her best

as I died a little looking at others work.

Everybody had the new shoes

while mine were called out as 'buddies'.

My Star Wars shirt from Goodwill

as I had never seen the movie.

My JC Penney plain pocket jeans

as everybody else had the famous stitching.

Dad had said he'd be there

but never showed as I sat waiting.

Every Monday the room roared

as weekend stories were shared.

I never shared

as there was nothing to say.

Did I see the latest movie?

No.

Did I see the new store at the mall?

No.

Did I get the latest game?

No.

I made jokes

as comedy became my protector.

I pushed it all down

to avoid an implosion.