Two Seconds Later

Have you ever thought of the opportunities which could present themselves with the ability to freeze time and space? As Carl watched his crush trip, sending her books flying in front of her, he thought of this concept with deep intrigue. “If I could just freeze time I could catch her books and her before they hit the ground, deterring the dirty mess which is sure to follow,” he said to himself with such conviction he even played the scenario out in his mind.

Yet it didn’t matter what he conceived in his mind, the fact of the matter was, two seconds later those books were going to fall. Two seconds later, she was going to fall. Instead of wasting time playing fairy tales in his head he lurched forward, placing himself by her side as quickly as possible. It was all he could do after all.

Now walking by her side, Carl thought how silly the idea of stopping time to catch her had been. His actions would have appeared heroic and though perhaps it would have made her grow fonder of him, wouldn’t it have been for the wrong reason? Wouldn’t she rather grow closer to someone who cared for her no matter how the situation presented itself instead of someone who manipulated time to make things better for himself? He liked the fact that instead of looking heroic he could now be himself–helpful and caring.

As they walked they exchanged stories of their daily lives, their hobbies and their ambitions. He told her of his dream to make it on Broadway one day and she told him of her dreams of becoming a doctor,  helping the sick. Though they had often bumped into each other before, they had never really talked deeply amongst each other. In a way

Soon enough they made it out of the park they crossed daily on their way to school. Positioned in the center of the growing city, the park was a breath away from the entropy that surrounded them and into tranquillity. The twenty minutes extra it took them to walk, instead of taking a bus, were a welcomed gift.

As they walked towards school Carl got in front of Janelle, walking backwards on the sidewalk. It was a folly he would never get to regret.

Again he found himself thinking of the concept of freezing time. It bothered him to think this could be happening to him, the one day he finally made breakthrough.

“If I could just stop time for a second I could take one step forward. That’s all I need.” Yet it didn’t matter what he thought, not anymore. The fact was two seconds later, nothing would matter.

[divider]

[social]

1971

A Storm of Crows

I had come to this place to remember, nothing more. As I was sitting there on the sandy bank of the river where I had spent the happiest moments of my youth I began to hear again the voices of playful laughter rising above the constant roar of the passing water. It was in those first days when I had escaped the home I came from that I knew a kind of peace, and here in this place those first peaceful memories were made.
I remembered the stories told of those who had jumped from the bridge which stood to my left over the deepest part of the river before me. It wasn’t a very large deep spot, and it was this that had paralyzed at least three young men that I knew of. I had met two of them, and heard about a third during my time in the rural hell I had come from.
It was here that I had found enough time, and peace to talk to people for the first time free of the ever watchful eye of the monster I had been raised by. It was here I had spent all the hours of the sunlit day alternating between soaking in the river, drying in the sun, or sitting peacefully beneath the shadow of the bridge. Here on the bank of this river I had spent countless hours drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, and getting high on pot whenever there was one or more of these three things to be had.
Now years later all I had left were the memories of those times made stronger by the smell of water and sand, and the noise of the muted roar of the water flowing over the rocks just upstream of where I was. There was a cooler with a few beers under the bridge, and now in the complete shade of the evening sun as it spent its last couple of hours falling toward the horizon. I had just finished a beer, and lit a cigarette while lost in my own mind I spent what seemed like and eternity shuffling through my memories of those days long gone by. The glistening of the water on golden skin, the screams and yells of splashing fun were just a few of the things that flowed through my mind.
“Hey there.” Said someone behind me and a little to my right.
Jumping I rose to my feet and turned in one motion dropping my cigarette on the sand, and bending my knees and bringing my arms up into a defensive posture.
“whoa, hey didn’t mean to scare you man.” Said my unexpected company.
He was taller than my nearly six foot by a couple of inches. As I looked at him I noticed his dark eyes and his deep brown skin. My heart began to dance in my chest and I wasn’t sure that it was entirely from the scare I had just received.
“Hey, sorry.” I said, making a conscious effort to slow my breathing and unclench my fists and lower my arms. “I was…….remembering.” I said.
“Yeah man, you sure weren’t here.” Said the stranger as he bent over to pick up the cigarette I had dropped never taking his eyes off of mine. Rising with a slow grace, he said. “You know this shit will kill you.” He said as he took a long draw from my Marlboro. Inhaling slowly he let some of the smoke rise up slowly caressing his upper lip and tanned cheek before inhaling what was left all in a rush only to exhale it all back toward my face. I couldn’t help but notice his wide shoulders and lean hips as he stood there in a tight black T-shirt and blue jeans. He was in his early thirties, or some age close to my own, and was still in good shape.
I smelled the exhaled tobacco wafting toward my face and I began to relax. I simply stood there looking at him while he took another long drag off of my cigarette. “So, what is your name?” I asked.
“What do you want it to be?” He asked smiling as he reached out his long brown arm to give me back my cigarette.
“Doesn’t matter to me.” I said as I took the cigarette back. “You’re the one who has to be called by your name all the time. I’d hate to give you a name you didn’t like.” I smiled and took a drag of the cigarette.
“What would you like to call me?” He asked as I looked at the cigarette frowning.
“It’s wet.” I said.
“You want to call me It’s Wet? That could be interesting, if a little awkward in public.” He said.
“No, the cigarette is wet.” I said rolling my eyes. “You gave it too much lip.” I said.
“What if I told you that I gave it a little tongue too?” He asked.
I burst out laughing at the absurdity of the conversation.
“I’d say you were a little gross.” I said as I took another drag.
“And yet you don’t seem to be bothered by it, because you just keep sucking….or should I say puffing.” He said with a lopsided grin revealing perfect white teeth all but glowing against his dark bronze skin. I suddenly felt my face get hot as I stood there speechless for a couple of seconds.
“Yeah, so my name is John.” I said trying to cover my discomfort.
“Nice name John, but that name doesn’t suit you very well.” He said with the corners of his mouth turning up in a cocky half smile.
“No? What name does suit me then?” I asked.
“I’m not sure yet, but I’m thinking something with pale in it.” He said.
“Ha ha, I see, so I’ll be the white destroyer like my ancestors. The pale demon” I said.
“You admit so readily that your ancestors destroyed the native peoples here?” He asked.
“Yes, I do, it is the truth isn’t it? I mean that is what we did. We came, we killed, and we took what wasn’t ours by cheating, stealing, and sadly, killing as many natives as we had bullets to fire and Small Pox blankets to give away..” I said.
“Aren’t you just full of surprises? I expected arrogance, denial, hell, anything but an admission. Do you know how rare it is for one of your people to know the truth and speak it out loud like you just did?” He asked.
“I don’t have a people.” I said growing suddenly serious. “My people no longer exist as far as I am concerned. The ones who are still alive hold no more interest for me than the sand beneath my feet. They are memories that cast shadows upon my life and nothing more.” I said thinking again of the past.
“Well, you’re even a little poetic huh?” He said.
Thinking of my family that I had turned my back on because I’d finally figured out that I would never be good enough for them I got lost in thought again until my new friend moved slightly and brought my attention back to the present. “Eh. Would you like a beer?” I asked as I stepped back toward my cooler to grab a couple out. For some reason I couldn’t turn my back on my this handsome stranger so I simply knelt down on one leg to get the beer without taking my eyes off of him. As I rose I gently tossed him a beer which he caught just as easily so that it wouldn’t be shaken too much.
I stood and opened my beer and took a long pull and still I couldn’t take my eyes off of this strange man. “So, were you going to give me your name, or should I just refer to you as The Tall Brown Man?” I asked.
“I will give you one of my names. Osh-Tisch is how I was once known.” He said as he came closer and sat down in one fluid motion.
“I’m not sure I could pronounce that correctly. Can I just call you Osh?” I asked as I sat down beside the cooler still wary of the stranger named Osh.
He threw his head back and laughed. “You would call me by only half of my name? Am I only half of a man?” He asked.
“I don’t know, how does one tell if you are only half a man?” I asked smiling and thinking mischievous thoughts.
Smiling he said. “Maybe you’ll get to find out one day.”
Suddenly feeling my face go hot again I asked. “What does your name mean?”
Suddenly very serious, and seemingly regretful he replied. “If I tell you now, you will leave, and I’d rather you stayed a little while. It has been a long time since I just sat around and talked to someone.”
“Okay then Osh. I think I need company oddly enough. I think it was a mistake to come here alone with all of my memories anyway.” I said.
“Are your memories so bad?” He asked.
“Some of them yes, others no, and others still were very happy memories.” I said. “Do you have any memories tied to this place?” I asked.
“More than I care to admit.” He said. “Like you, some of them were happy, others not so much. Here is where I realized I was Badé a very long time ago when I was a young man of twelve summers.”
“What is…….Badé?” I asked struggling with the pronunciation.
“Translated it means Two-Spirit, and it was a title given to my kind by my people and their traditions, both long dead now.” He said. “No one remembers how the Badé were revered, and now those who are of Two-Spirits are ostracized and treated worse than sick dogs.”
“I’m sorry.” I said, not understanding but feeling compassion for the loss of what must have been a beautiful people, and a beautiful culture.
“You would have loved it.” He said.
“Oh? How so?” I asked.
“You would have been accepted for who you are from the time you were a child, long before you yourself would have known the difference between you and other men.” He said seriously while making eye contact that I couldn’t return for more than an instant before I averted my gaze and got out another beer.
“You want another one?” I asked still not meeting his gaze.
“Sure.” He said.
Handing him a beer and watching him without looking at his face I asked, “So, what do you mean the difference between me and other men?”
“The way that other men like women, and you like other men.” He said.
Suddenly very tense and a little afraid I half rose into a crouch with all of my attention focused on Osh while he remained calm and didn’t move except to pop open his can of beer.
“Be still little brother, I mean you no harm.” He said.
“Sorry, but I’ve heard that one before.” I said.
“Yes, but I am telling the truth, I know you can hear it in my voice. I know that have an ear for truth.” He said as he raised his can of beer to drink every motion slow and careful. “What kind of life have you led to leave you so distrustful and ready to fight at such simple words?” He asked.
“The kind where I’ve been tricked and hurt, and humiliated, and beaten.” I said with sudden fury that had left me standing before I had realized it with a can of beer held tightly in my hand and raised to be used as a weapon.
“Sorry.” I said. “Sometimes I forget that the past is just……….the past.”
“Peace little brother.” He said. “My name does not mean trickster.”
I had to take a moment to remember how to breathe normally in order to think through the words of this stranger and wonder why they had so provoked me.
“Sorry.” I repeated as I sat back down, as always on my knees in a position to rise quickly. “Maybe I’m too paranoid.”
“No need to apologize. I have something that might help you relax if you will trust me.” Said Osh.
“How do I know I can trust you?” I asked.
“That is a very good question. The answer is that you don’t, at least not until you try.” He said again smiling and seeming at ease. “You brought the beer, let me supply the one thing you don’t have.” He said as he pulled out what looked like a perfectly hand rolled cigarette.
“Is that weed?” I asked.
“Yes.” He said. “And just to show you that you can trust me I’ll smoke it by myself, and you can have some if you want.”
“Okay.” I said.
“You have some trust issues little brother.” He said as he lit his joint and inhaled after he got it burning good.
“Sorry, and stop calling me little brother.” I said as the pungent scent of marijuana came wafting across the short distance between us.
I watched him take a couple of more good hits then I leaned over to reach for the joint saying. “Hell, give me some I guess.”
“I knew you would help me smoke this.” He said as he raised up to hand me the joint. “It would be easier if you sat closer though.”
“I am sitting beside the cooler, you come sit closer to me.” I said as I hit the joint and felt the old familiar burn in my throat that once meant sweet escape from a life I hated, even if only temporarily.
Standing Osh walked a couple of short steps and sat quickly down in front of me, and before I realized it I was half-way to standing once again. Forcing myself to breathe and sit back down I handed the joint back to Osh.
“It’s strong.” I said.
“I know.” He said.
“It has been a long time since I smoked weed.” I said.
“Then you probably shouldn’t have any more, we’ll put this out and save the rest for later.” Said Osh as he stuck the lit end of the joint into the loose sand leaving it sticking up.
“Yes, good idea, I don’t like to get too high, especially when I’m not somewhere safe.” I said.
“You are safe here with me.” He said.
“Really? Maybe it is because I am here with you that I am not safe.” I said.
“So paranoid. How do you have any friends?” He asked.
“I get to know them before I do anything with them. It often takes time, and since so few people are patient, then I have only a few friends.” I said.
“So, you never just jump up and go with someone to do something fun?” He asked.
“Nope, not really.” I said.
“I see.” He said.
“You wont see for long.” I said with a straight face.
“Why is that?” He asked with a grin.
“Because the sun is setting and soon it will be dark.” I said. “We wont see much of anything then.
“Oh, I’ll still see you.” He said in a low and deep voice with a tone that made me shiver and scared me a little all at once. “That pale skin will shine like a beacon in the moonlight. Do you never walk under the sun?” He asked.
“Not often.” I said laughing a little nervously.
“Besides, I am ‘one of the natives’ as you called my people, I will build us a fire from sticks and flint.” He said.
“Why not just use the lighter that you lit the joint with?” I said with a straight face.
Osh burst out laughing in a deep loud voice as the last rays of the sun struck his dark golden brown face making his brown eyes glitter in the yellow light. “Or, I could use my lighter.” He said as he rose. “I’m going to find some wood. I’ll be right back.”
I watched him walk toward the trees that had grown up around and behind the old dilapidated mill that was even now falling in upon itself with age and disrepair. I stood and walked to the bushes on the far edge of the clean sand under bridge being careful not to bang my head on the beams there where the sand rose forcing me to bend down until I was out from under the bridge. As stood there facing the setting sun and the light it shed through the dancing leaves I began to relieve myself there onto the grassy drop off where a small trickle of water joined the river in the cooling evening air. I once again got lost in the memories of my past and this place so inextricably intertwined.
I remembered how my teenage crush looked standing there waist deep in the water with the sun glistening on his sun darkened skin. Neil always looked so good no matter what he was doing. He had that perfect balance of tone and meaty flesh that I had liked so well.
“Hey, come on in the water is great.” Said Neil.
“Hey, come on up here under the bridge out of sight of the road.” I said, and a lazy smile crossed Neil’s features as he splashed up out of the water to come running at me under the bridge. I was still amazed at how quickly clothing could come off in those days.
Unbidden my memories shifted to another time so soon after that sunny day where I had taken pleasure and solace in Niel’s tan muscled body. A time where I saw him pale with bloody bandages around his head. Later in another time still when his parents stood there months afterward making the decision to pull the plug on Neil’s life support machines. The pain still cut deep at the memory of his funeral, when I had no choice but to remain in the back ground as just another friend while I fought with everything I had not to weep screaming out my grief at the loss of my lover.
“Whatcha thinking about?” Said Osh as I jumped and turned to face him, except this time he was ready for me and simply stepped up into my personal space before I had time to get my feet under me purposefully keeping me off balance, and the drop off behind me keeping me from backing up. I had to grab his arms in order to keep my balance while he simply stood there smiling his smug smile.
“If you wanted to feel my biceps all you had to do was ask.” He said.
“Why do you sneak up on….?” I began to ask in a voice that was still choked with grief as I saw the first flames beginning to rise from the circle of sticks and branches that he had set in a shallow pit in the sand.
Turning my head back I looked to see that the sun had set and full darkness had come while I was lost in those bright sunlit moments of long ago. When I looked back at Osh he was simply smiling a smile that reached his eyes and seemed to make them sparkle in the darkness. When I looked down I saw that he had a hold on my arms with large brown hands that looked calloused and worn.
“Let me go.” I said.
“Are you sure?” He asked. “You nearly fell before I grabbed you, and I’m wondering if maybe the pot wasn’t too strong, or maybe you are more delicate than you appear.” He said apparently choosing not to notice the crocodile tears standing in my eyes making my vision slightly blurry..
My anger flared and I shifted my weight to the right and putting my right leg behind his left I moved with practiced ease to push him back to trip over my right leg, but instead of being unprepared he simply lifted his left leg and stepped back shifting his weight and suddenly I was off balance and headed to the ground. It came as a surprise when I didn’t hit hard as Osh was still holding my arms and slowing my fall only to lose his own balance and land on top of me with his arms out to each side to catch himself and keep his full weight off of me.
“Good thing I’m fast.” He said.
“Why is that? So that I couldn’t throw you?” I asked.
“No, so I could keep you from hitting the ground.” He said laughing again as his long hair fell down in a curtain to bridge the space between our faces. Suddenly the whole world consisted of his face just a couple of inches from mine, and the shifting light of the fire lighting his face through his hair in a mixture of shadow and light that was mesmerizing.
“Please let me up.” I said which only came out as a quiet whisper due to the sudden choking nervous dryness in my throat.
“Very well.” Osh said as he lifted himself up, and to the side rising with that strange fluid grace he had exhibited before. As soon as he was standing he held out his hand to help me up. Taking it I rose from the sandy earth to follow him back to the camp fire, walking hunched over so as not to strike the steel beams of the bridge with my head.
When we sat down by the fire Osh reached into the cooler and got out two beers cracking one open and handing it to me, then opening his own.
“Where are you from?” I asked.
“Here.” He replied.
“Okay, which part of here?” I asked.
“Every part really. I’ve always just traveled around in this area.” He said.
“So you don’t have a home?” I asked.
“Yes, I do, my home is everywhere I go, this land is my home.” He said with a smirk.
“I see.” I said, smiling and giving up on that conversation as I drank deeply from my beer.
For a time there was silence as we sat and drank listening to the crackle of the fire. The creatures of the night had awoken fully now and the sounds of tree frogs, and insects blanketed the night with a living symphony of harmony and nature in balance.
“So do you like beer?” He asked.
“No, I hate beer honestly.” I replied
“Then why do you drink it?” He asked.
“Because it doesn’t hurt my stomach like liquor, and it has alcohol.” I said as I quickly drank the last quarter of the can to be done with it.
“Do you ever regret drinking.” He asked.
“Only when I wake up with a hangover the next day.” I said snickering a little at the irony of the question.
“Do you ever get too drunk to remember what happened the night before?” He asked.
“No, I don’t think so, but then if I did would I remember not remembering?” I asked.
“Haha, very nice my pale faced friend.” He said smiling once again with his white teeth shining in the firelight in contrast to his ruddy brown skin. For a time we simply sat staring at the fire as the smoke and sparks rose into the blackness above to disappear as the tiny embers lost their inner fire.
Suddenly I was aware that something had changed. The light from the fire had grown dimmer, and it was difficult to focus on any one thing. “Something is wrong.” I said and I realized my words had come out slightly slurred and my speech was sluggish.
“It is the beer, you drank it too fast.” Said Osh.
“No, thish is different.” I slurred a little worse than before.
“You put something in that lasht beer!” I said suddenly scared but unable to move quickly enough to keep my balance as I tried to stand.
Catching me before I fell into the fire Osh said. “Not so fast my pale friend, you are in no shape to be trying to walk.”
The fear I felt had given me a little clarity as the adrenaline in my blood fought the drug for just a moment. “Why have you done this?” I asked.
“I think now I should tell you my full name, and what it means.” He said.
“What? Now? Why have you drugged me?” I asked as he pulled me back away from the fire and pushed me down on my back which cause my head to suddenly start spinning.
“My full name is Osh-Tisch.” He said. “It means Finds Them and Kills Them.” Then he lowered his head and kissed me on the lips as once again his hair formed a curtain of darkness around me like being sheltered in the wings of a great black bird.
“No.” I tried to say as I felt a trill of fear at his words but I could only moan out in fear as my body betrayed me into oblivion.

I was standing on a plain of grass surrounded by trees in a perfect circle. There were animals close by, and they were all looking at me. There was a cougar, several deer, a flock of geese, thousands of smaller birds and rodents, and the only thing in the sky was a vast amount of crows. Looking up I saw the sky covered in wing beating pieces of flying darkness.
The shadows they cast as they circled overhead made it seem like the sun was flashing in time to some unknown beat. Turning I saw a pack of wolves with one great golden wolf standing at the head of the pack, his fur the golden color of the sun at its most beautiful, and his mate standing at his side with her coat the color of the silver moon on a clear night.
Beyond the wolves I saw a couple of beavers, a bear, and a badger standing all alone up on his hind legs. There were snakes, and rats walking among squirrels and birds. All of the smaller animals just visible in the tall yellow grass of the field, with the larger animals looking at me expectantly, as if judging how I might taste.
Suddenly I felt the earth move beneath my feet, and when I looked down I saw the ground itself become the semblance of a face. Startled I stepped back only to feel a lump beneath my bare foot. Turning I saw that I was standing on yet another face, and this one I recognized, and with recognition came the pain of memory. Turning back to the first face I realized that I remembered it was well.
Feeling lost, and hurt as I looked at the multitude of faces that rose from the earth around me each one associated with a painful memory my heart began to ache with the pain those memories brought. Some of those faces reminded me of a pale young man wasting away in a hospital bed because of the violence they had perpetrated. I felt heavy, as if I could barely stand, tired as if I had been in the river all day, with that special weakness that pulls on us after we leave the water. Looking down I saw my feet had sank into the earth about an inch and I knew then that these memories were here to devour me whole.
Suddenly the crows above me erupted into a cacophony of noise. All of them cawing all at once was at first deafening and then a single word emerged from the din. It was a word in an ancient and all but forgotten tongue, but I somehow knew the meaning. It meant, ‘move your feet’ which for some reason made me think of dancing.
Lifting my head with great effort I looked up at the sky full of crows as the sun flashed over head between their wings as they circled around me and the center of the field like the arms of a hurricane I saw them in all their blue black beauty as the sun sparkled off of the blue hazy sheen on the black of their feathers, and the impression of near perfect darkness where their bodies cast a shadow beneath them.
Looking down I saw that the earth now nearly covered the tops of my feet as if attempting to pull me down before I could move enough to escape. I lifted my right foot and found that I couldn’t pull it free. Shifting my weight I tried lifting my left foot which I also could not pull free. Looking back to my right I noticed that the earth had receded ever so slightly.
Shifting my weight back and forth I worked myself free of the earth and as soon as my feet came free I began to dance, stomping my feet down upon the earth and those hateful faces to the beat of the chant of the crows in their foreign tongue.
After a few steps I realized that my feet were no longer touching the ground, but they were hitting something solid a couple of inches above the earthen countenances. Seeing this I felt a thrill of excitement and I began to move in earnest. I spun in place stomping my feet beneath me and I rose a foot from the earth.
The animals in the field below watched mesmerized, all except for the gold and silver wolf, they sat their with their mouths hanging open and their tongues lolling out in what struck me as a sly wolfish grin. Spin step, step, jump, step, step, spin, and I was suddenly ten feet off the ground as the wolves followed me with their eyes and their wolfish laughter.
I felt joy, and freedom the likes of which I had never felt before, and somewhere in the distance I thought I heard drums beating out a beat which seemed to match the pace I was keeping with my own dance steps.
Step, step, spin, step, step, leap, and I was twenty feet in the air. Turning again and again I was now sweating with effort but I couldn’t stop, and I couldn’t slow down, the only thing I could do was move faster. Step, step, spin, step step. I noticed that it wasn’t drums that I was hearing but soft concussion sounds as I stomped my feet onto the empty air beneath me.
Now just above me were the circling maelstrom of light absorbing graceful crows. Step, step, spin, step, step, leap. Faster and faster and with each increase in the strength of my steps so to did the sound of the concussions my feet made in the air increase.
Suddenly I was moving faster, and faster until it seemed like there was muted thunder beneath my feet, a dull rolling boom with each step in the dance. Looking down again at the earth where I had stood now there was an empty circle surrounded by my animal witnesses and that circle was full of the writhing faces of memory.
Filled with sudden energy and rage I stomped down upon the air above the faces in the earth and thunder, true loud crashing thunder rolled out across the meadow moving the hair of the wolves, and bears and those with fur and ruffling the feathers of the birds on the ground. Step, step, spin, step, step, leap, stomp, Boom! another powerful peal of thunder rolled out beneath me in deafening waves, and as I watched the faces that were memories from a painful past began to crumble, and weather away before my eyes.
Step, step, spin, step, step, leap, stomp Boom!! Suddenly I was eye level with the cyclone of crows and their mass opened a space for me in their midst. Faster and faster I moved, my fury and rage fueling my movements ever faster, and filling my feet with power as they came down upon the seemingly solidified air. Step, step, spin, step, step, leap, stomp, and a deafening explosion of thunder rocked the world around me as I rose above the crows and the faces in the earth crumbled to nothing but grassy earth once more.
There above the circling sea of black that was now beneath me I danced for a while, shaking with exultation, and euphoria feeling free for the first time in my life. An eternity passed while I danced there in the sky my feet now only making crashes of thunder that seemed far away and harmless now. More the beating of a great drum than the terrible thunder I had unleashed before in my rage at the memories that wanted to destroy me.
My steps slowed as exhaustion claimed my body, and I began to sink back to the waiting earth. On my way the crows in the sky surrounded me, and followed my spinning dance back to the earth. The world was a storm of crows surrounding me with only the earth beneath me visible while everything else was just flashes of background leaking through the curtain of dancing night colored crows.
When my feet touched the earth I once again felt heavy, but this time it was the heavy of feeling tired. The heaviness of a day well spent and productive. I stopped my spinning dance and lay down on the seemingly soft earth now flat and untainted by memory evoking faces out of my own personal nightmares. Down into darkness I fell, and unmarred oblivion embraced me with the arms of a lover.
Be well Pale Thunder Dances in the Sky “Huh?!” With a start I woke and sat up to the morning sun to my right in the east, and the river before me with its quiet roar of water over stones. I stood looking around suddenly wary, and a little worried that I wasn’t alone. Shaking my head and trying to clear the grogginess I walked once again to my left and under the bridge to relieve myself off of the bank of the small stream that joined the river. When I was finished I turned and there standing on the other side of the now cooling ashes of last night’s fire was an old woman, small and brown and shrunken, dressed in leather adorned with beads and feathers.
Her hair was silver, and worn in two braids down the front of each shoulder with black feathers woven in her braids in such a way that they seemed like they simply should be there, as an extension of her own hair.
“Tell me pale demon, how is it that you yet live?” She asked.
“Excuse me?” I said still not feeling well and like I was having to do everything through a haze.
“I came here this morning to push your body into the river and here you are alive and walking and talking instead of dead, and quiet and unmoving. I saw you come here last night with your cooler and your arrogance thinking that you could simply walk where you pleased.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was trespassing. What do you mean push my body into the river?” I asked only then understanding the meaning of her words.
I looked around and saw only foot prints, cigarette butts, and the joint that Osh had brought laying on the ground with no sign of Osh anywhere.
“You should be dead.” Said the old woman suddenly making me feel like I was wrong for being alive.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand……….well, much of anything right now. Have you seen Osh?” I asked.
“WHAT?!” The woman yelled in a voice that seemed to drive a stake through my head, and through the pain I managed to think “How did that little old lady make her voice so loud?” As I opened my eyes I saw that she was now a little pale under her leathery brown skin.
“Osh, you know, tall, brown skin, long hair, perfect teeth, handsome, good weed. I think he said his name was Osh-Tisch, or maybe I’m pronouncing it wrong.” I said trying to sort out everything being said in this strange conversation with my memories of the night before being thrown in the mix like a bad carnival ride that just wouldn’t stop long enough for me to catch my breath.
“He told you his name, and yet you still live. Did he tell you what it means?” She asked.
“Uhm, Finds, or Kills, no no……..Finds Them and Kills Them, I think.” I said.
She sank to her knees there in the sand, and she suddenly looked like an old lady instead of the intimidating and powerful presence she had been a moment before.
“Hey, are you okay?” I asked. When she didn’t answer I picked up the joint Osh had brought and knelt down in front of her. “Can I help you?” I asked looking at her and waiting for her to give some sign that she was still there with me.
“You can light that and share it with me.” She said.
I lit the joint and took a couple of hits to get it going good and handed it to the ancient lady. She took it from me, took one hit, frowned at it, and threw it into the river.
“No one has spent the night here and survived since they killed my grandson.” She said.
“Who killed your grandson?” I asked.
“You, your people killed him here and his blood flowed into the sand, and into the river. Everything that he was murdered in that one act of hatred and arrogance that your kind are so good at.” She said once again seemingly powerful and full of a terrifying strength.
“I’m sorry.” I said.
“Sorry doesn’t bring my grandson back!” She spat out with renewed fury.
I sat there unsure of what to say, finally I said. “Should I apologize for not dying, or for coming here? I’m confused.”
“What did Osh-Tisch say to you?” She asked.
“Not a lot really, mostly he just scared the hell out of me, and I think he drugged me.” I said, and then the whole world seemed to go quiet as I began to remember the dream I’d had and how it had started. “He kissed me.” I said.
I sat there lost in the memories of the dream staring at the old woman as a gentle breeze seemed to come from the river and somewhere I thought I heard an echo of that loud deep laughter I had heard from Osh the night before.
“Did you like it when he kissed you?” She asked suddenly watching me like a mountain lion watches its prey before it pounces.
Blushing I looked away from her intense gaze and said. “Mostly I was just scared because I didn’t know what he was going to do to me. I got caught unaware once before and was nearly killed by……..well, as you call them my kind. Just a gang of rednecks out looking for some violent fun.”
“You are Badé then. That is why you still live.” She said.
“Osh said he was Badé, or Two-Spirit.” I said. “It means gay right?”
“It does not mean gay, as your people say. It means Two-Spirit, the spirit of a man, and of a woman, in one body. Once my people revered the Badé because of their wisdom, and knowledge of the world, because they could see with the eyes of a woman, and the eyes of a man.” She said looking at me with her ancient brown eyes.
“Osh-Tisch spared your life because you are a Two-Spirit, like he was in life. He spared you, but surely not only because of that. You had a dream didn’t you?” She asked.
“Yes, a really strange one, I…there was…..it was very strange. What do you mean in life?” I said thinking once again back on the dream that seemed to be still just as fresh in my mind as everything else that had happened the night before.
“Indeed, I can see some of the dream as you think upon it, and it was no ordinary dream” She said apparently ignoring my question.
“No, well it certainly wasn’t ordinary.” I said. “You can see parts of it?” I asked confused.
“It was a gift to you, and possibly to me.” She said ignoring my question again and frowning thoughtfully.
“A gift? How so?” I asked.
“Are you still afraid?” She asked.
I opened my mouth to tell her that I wasn’t afraid, but then I stopped, because I realized that I was only a little afraid now, and looking back it seemed like I had been terrified for a very, very long time. Finally I said simply. “Not so much now.”
“A wise answer.” She said.
“Where did Osh go?” I asked.
“He was never here, so he could not have went anywhere.” She said.
“But he was here, and we drank beer, and he……..well, he was here.” I said.
Smiling a knowing and wolfish smile the old woman said. “I imagine he was, you did, and he did, but Osh-Tisch is a spirit who is everywhere and nowhere, so he couldn’t have been here.” She said.
“But.” I said with my expertise of the English language while the old woman simply arched an eyebrow and waited.
Finally I had nothing to say because I couldn’t get what had happened last night out of my head. I knew he must have been there, and I had felt him hadn’t I? Didn’t he throw me to the ground? Hadn’t he been right there above me twice with his curtain of hair falling around my face.
Gasping I suddenly realized, he had not had a smell. The whole time he was there all I could smell was the fire, the water, the sand, the pot, and the fresh air coming in when the wind blew in from the trees. Twice he had been all but laying on top of me and he hadn’t had a scent at all.
“Now you understand.” Said the old woman. “Now you know that he was here, and yet he was not.” She said.
I looked out across the river to the other side and saw a single wolf watching me with its golden eyes as it drank from the river. It raised its head and looked at me with that same open mouthed wolfish laugh that I had seen in my dream, and I was suddenly reminded of Osh’s deep throaty laugh as he had all but howled in delight the night before as we had joked back and forth.
I looked back at the old woman who had also been watching the wolf and asked. “That’s him isn’t it?”
“Possibly child, possibly.” She said as she began to rise.
I rose quickly and offered her my hand, and for a moment there was again that flash of fury in her eyes when she looked at my pale white hand, but it passed when her eyes met mine, and she took my offered hand.
I didn’t pull her up, I simply held my arm strong so that she could pull herself up, and then I said. “Would you like some breakfast?”
“I don’t think you can cook without building another fire, and I am too old to wait that long.” She said.
“I was thinking more along the lines of the local cafe just down Old Mill Rd.” I said as I let go of her hand and began to head toward the cooler full of empty cans and I hoped a couple of still cold beers.
“As long as you are buying.” She said.
“I can. I don’t mind.” I said.
“Would you like a beer?” I asked. “I have two left.”
“Sure.” She said. “Shall we drink to Pale Thunder?”
Stopping in the middle of reaching into the cooler to fish out the last two beers I looked at her suddenly wary again.
“Don’t fret child, I heard Osh-Tisch’s voice on the wind when I was walking down this way.” She said with a mischievous grin.
“That’s creepy old woman, very creepy.” I said as I finished digging out the two beers and handing her one.
“What should I call you?” I asked.
“Well, I was thinking grandmother.” She said with a quiet voice.
Smiling I looked at her and remembered what she had said about her grandson, then I said. “Grandmother it is then.”
We both drank from our beers and started walking up the hill to the road where my car was still parked. When I stopped to look back I thought I heard once again that deep velvet laughter on the wind and it brought a sad smile to my face along with a new memory of someone beautiful and terrifying all at the same time.

By, Jason Shores

[divider]

[social]

The Little Things

The flash is what I will remember the most. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. It was unworldly; ethereal. Everything after that flash will simply remain a scarred memory I choose to forget.

~

I’d been taking pictures that day: an assignment for a digital photography course I was taking. Up in the Blue Ridge Parkway, the natural beauty of North Carolina was surreal. Everything from the animals to the flowers had enticed me to keep shooting throughout the day. Though I had spent almost all day taking pictures of animals, what I’d really been looking forward to that day was a landscape shot from the scenic outlook during sundown.

I’d spent most of the day hiking trough trails and capturing what I thought to be the better things with the world. That is my vision. I didn’t want to take pictures of things that were wrong with the world. I didn’t want to raise awareness about pollution or other ecological problems. My vision is to celebrate everything that is right with the world.

After going through one 8GB memory card I’d settled down by my Jeep and passed most of the early afternoon playing solitaire. Right before sunset—which every real photographer will tell you is the magic hour—I drove down to the scenic outlook and set up my equipment. The birds were chirping just right, the autumn colors were perfect, everything was ideal for a great picture. What I hadn’t been expecting was the explosion.

Usually when taking pictures of objects that are moving, I’ll put the camera in continuous drive mode so that it keeps taking a picture every 1/3rd of a second and that day hadn’t been different. There were a couple of eagles flying in the sky that caught my attention because of how they seemed to glow from the sun’s rays. I’d been about to turn off the camera to change the lens when it happened. First there had been a bright flash towards Pilot Mountain and then came a sound that of like thunder. As soon as I’d seen the flash I’d hit the lock button on my remote and jumped inside of my Jeep. The pictures I took aren’t important to me though. If I wasn’t a photographer by nature, I would burn the pictures.

~
You would think an event like a nuclear attack on the US would send the country into chaos, but luckily, our leaders had plans. Ever since President Truman, the country has had a specific order of procedure in case of nuclear war or other such catastrophic event. This procedure is called COG (continuity of government). Though the attack on the US did include a bombing of Washington DC, killing the current President, Vice-president and most of the congressman, there were already other leaders ready to act. That was part of the plan. We don’t know who these guys are or where they are hidden. We just know they are well secured along the eastern coast. I don’t worry for the well being of the government. The United States is a strong nation and it will see it through. But that day all I cared about was my family. That was another marvel. Even with the world turned upside down, I managed to locate my family. My mother had already been in the hospital even before the attacks. She was pregnant. My father, well, they located him for me.

~

I was sitting in my mother’s hospital room with my brother cuddled in my arms. His body moving up and down with each breath he took. My mother was in bed sleeping, weary from recent childbirth.

With my brother in my arms, I hadn’t been able to resist contemplating the fact that I would never be able to hold my own son in my arms. I would never be able to have a son period. I will never get to pass on the gift of life because I have congenital adrenal hyperplasia. The decease made me hit puberty at an early age, causing many changes in my body normal men don’t go through. One of those changes made me sterile. Even though my newborn brother is only that, my brother, he feels like a son to me. He is the closest I am going to get to have a baby in my arms, who is a small part of me—even if it is brotherhood.

I had my brother wrapped in a blue bunny blanket: it used to be mine. I’d had the blanket stored away hoping one day I would be able to give my son the same blanket I had slept many warms nights in. I’d thought I would never be able to pass it on to somebody after I heard of my condition but after many years my mother had come through. For eighteen years my mother had wanted another boy. We’d all given up hope when she reached her mid-thirties but at the last possible minute, she surprised my two sisters and me. At the age of forty my mother had another son and I finally got to pass on my blanket.

I’d put his hand in mine and was marveled by the clearer picture of exactly how small he was. His hand was the size of my pinky and his whole arms was the size of my hand—palm to fingertips. I’d sat in that room for hours. With the world thrown into chaos I didn’t want to be thrown in with it. I wanted to enjoy the small things in life. Whatever life was left. The potential radiating from him was amazing. I’d thought of the future and the type of force that would be needed to somehow fix what had been broken for so long. Even before the bombs exploded so many things were wrong with the world. How could peace be achieved when the only thing governments were doing was shutting up the other by killing them. Was that peace? Maybe one day my brother will learn from the distraught earth and be the driving force required to fix it back to what our forefathers had imagined it to be.

My mother had then begun to wake from her slumber and I’d tried not to make noise in case she went back to sleep but my brother, sensing his mother was awake, began to whimper. I’d told my mom I’d take him outside for a bit so she could sleep some more but she was reluctant. “He’s probably hungry,” she’d said. I carried him to my mother’s arms and told her I’d be back after she was finished feeding him. I exited the room half reluctantly knowing I still had other places I had to go.

Although it was two in the morning, the hospital halls were as busy as they had been in the afternoon. Normally I wouldn’t have been allowed to visit my mother that late but she had no one else: my father was in another hospital room two stories up. The nuclear explosions had left all the local hospitals over-capacity, understaffed, and running out of supplies. Our area hadn’t been the only one to suffer from an explosion but it was one of the worst after DC. It was estimated there were more injured survivors than there were unscathed people. But then again, that was to be expected.

My father had been working when the bombs made contact with the ground. Even though the building he worked in was a mile and a half from the epicenter of the explosion, the building wasn’t prepared for the force exerted. Nobody had been prepared for it. Who would have thought terrorists would target a low populated area in North Carolina?

My father hadn’t seen his son yet and was doubtful he will. He suffered a broken back, broken neck, massive blunt force trauma to the head with implications of serious brain damage. The neurosurgeons said that if my father survived he “may have profound deficits.”

I hadn’t had the best of relations with my dad at the time but with what was going on, everything that had driven me from him seemed little. All I cared about was his health and well being. As walked towards the elevator I couldn’t help but look at the carnage around me. I was in the area which had been sectioned off for pregnant mothers and less critical patients and still it looked hopeless in some cases.

As I walked past a room I caught a part of the ongoing conversation:

“…operation could lead to massive bleeding…we simply don’t know if he will be able to withstand losing so much blood…” I assumed that was the doctor speaking.

“Can you do a blood transfusion?”

“I wish we could. We are in short supply of blood and your son is type O negative.”

“That means he can receive any kind of blood right?”

“No ma’am that means he can only receive type O negative blood.”

I felt so sorry for the woman in the room. Even though I hadn’t seen her yet, I know she must have had face of defeat at that moment. I wanted to see my father, but I knew there was something I had to do. If I didn’t, it would haunt me for years.

I knocked on the open door and stepped inside. I excused myself for interrupting and again after I told them I’d accidentally overheard their conversation. I offered to donate some of my blood: I am type O. The woman’s face of defeat slightly warmed up and a shine was noticeable in her eye. The doctor looked at me and then at the mother. The doctor said it would be time consuming. Paper work would need to be filed. Permission from the parent must be given. I believe it was just a way for him to say he doesn’t need my blood. The mother said she approved of the idea on the spot and would give full permission. Then the doctor explained that my blood would have to be tested to see if it was O negative or positive. If I am positive I wouldn’t be able to give the little kid my blood. The doctor didn’t say it but I knew they also wanted to test to make sure I didn’t have any STD’s. No problem there I’d wanted to say. My condition had left me sort of an outcast. Lust and sex had been one of the least important things in my life.

I was led to a small room with a nurse. The nurse asked me a few prescreening questions I could have basically answered no to without even hearing the question. No I don’t do drugs. No I don’t engage in homosexual activities. No I haven’t been outside of the country in the past 3 years. No I have never had Hepatitis. With the questioning done, she pricked my finger and took a sample of my blood. She left the room, leaving me behind with my thoughts.

After a few minutes she returned and gave me the good news: I was type O negative. Of course I knew that though. Donating blood was something I’d picked up when I turned 18. Every possible donation day after that, I’d given blood.

The nurse then cleaned my arm and tied a tourniquet around my bicep. My veins popped up and became clearly visible. She brought the needle out and I almost lost my breath for a second. It was bigger than I imagined. The ones at the Red Cross had been big but that needle had been enormous. My fear of needles hadn’t helped much then. I would see it through though. She gets closer to me with the needle and the predominating thought in my head is: Oh my God. This is going to hurt.

Once the needle was in, it was all down to the time it would take the blood to flow into the plastic bag. The whole process took a little over 20 minutes in which all I had to do was squeeze a black handlebar like tube. Once finished she took out the needle and bandages my arm in purple gauze. I knew the 2 pints of blood I had given would help but it wouldn’t be enough if the boy lost a lot of blood. I’d done all I could though so I’d carried on.

On my way out of the room the mother stopped me and thanked me for donating blood so her son could have his operation. She extended her arms and wrapped them around me. At first I was confused but then I hugged her back enjoying the little things.

When I was finally heading back on my way, I found myself with a deep desire to see my father. After seeing my brother it made me realize I will always be my dad’s little kid. No matter how old I get my parents will always see me as their child. I might be a man but in their eyes they still see my running around with the same blanket I’d given to my brother. Although my father may not be able to hear me, I still wanted to thank him for everything he’d done to make my childhood the best and for raising me to the best of his ability.

I walked towards the elevator with sweaty hands. My stomach felt weak and my face cold. I began to see yellow dots which turned into nauseating blurs. I’d grabbed for the wall for support but fell to the ground anyways.

I woke up in the same room I had left earlier. The same nurse was waving an alcohol soaked cotton ball in front of my nose. My speech was a little garbled but I think I’d made my point that I was okay and wanted to leave. She’d nodded her head and put her hand on top of mine. It wasn’t a sexual advancement. Of that I was sure. She was a young nurse—maybe early twenties. In the world we were living in, small connections with total strangers really made an impact. I’d smiled at her and then left the room. I walked back down to the elevator and rode two stories up.

On the 5th floor, I saw and heard a scene that made my stomach hurt again. I heard screams of pain from patients and I saw doctors doing the best they could to soothe the pain with medication. All their best efforts were not doing much in some cases. It was obvious that the fifth floor had been assigned for the “not going to make it” patients. Struggling to keep going forward, I’d reached my father’s room. I knew he wouldn’t hear me but out of courtesy I’d knocked on the door. As I walked into the room I heard a sound I had been trying to push out of my head since my first steps in the hospital. I didn’t cry; I didn’t feel angry. I had accepted the fact that my father might not make it out alive. Listening to the steady tone of the machine had brought calmness to mind. My father was in a better place. Anywhere would have been a better place at the moment. Heaven or hell. I sat down in a chair by the bed and turned off the monitor.

~

The flash is what I will remember the most. It was otherworldly. It was surreal. It was a reality I had never expected to see in my life time.

[divider]

[social]

Januaries First Snow

It was a mid-winter day and the wind was blowing particularly hard. The temperature was 24 degrees Fahrenheit but the wind chill factor was well below zero. It had not snowed yet and it was unlikely there would be a first snow of the winter that year. For the past few years, it had snowed less and less in Dobson. Even though everybody knew why it had been snowing less and less with each passing year, nobody wanted to straight up point their finger at global warming caused big city pollution.

Surry Central had the same atmosphere around it that it always attracted after the Christmas holiday. The teachers, having had a break from the troublesome students were now refreshed and ready to give their days worth. The students not so happy about being back, yet still willing to go for their own sake.

At 7:25 in the cold Wednesday morning, the heart of the school was giving its first few good beats. With those few hard thumps warming the vast interior to those who arrived early. The buses would start arriving around 7:30 and with the arrival of the buses, the school would spin into full gear. Dozens of students would swarm the cafeteria for a warm biscuit and hot cappuccino, stuffing their mouths with second-rate food and warming their bodies with the hot foamy liquid.

Grayson Paton Piers (goes by Paton) was leaning nonchalantly against a pair of thin-brown hot pipes that ran from the radiator to the vent on the roof. On cold winter mornings, those pipes were the most loved objects in the eyes of Paton. The heat radiating off them was hot to the touch; but when wearing a hoodie, they provided a warm feeling on the back that warmed him.

Looking out past the frost glazed panes of glass, Paton could see a bright red Cardinal sitting on a tree branch. The Cardinal was not eating, it was not chirping; it was simply sitting on the branch looking beautiful like God had planned it to look. In his mind Paton imagined the ground covered with a layer of thick white snow, the tree branches lightly sprinkled and the Cardinal standing out clearly in all its glory; the red of its feathers sharply making a contrast to the white precipitation on the ground.

Captivated by the Cardinal, Paton did not see his friend slowly creep up once seeing Paton was lost in thought. Vester Waldo jumped in from of Paton, grabbed him by the shoulders, and shook him half to death. “Paton man, vhat in the world is you doing? Expecting that bird to lay a golden egg or somethin?” Vester was a foreign exchange student from Germany and talked English with a heavy German accent. Sometimes it was impossible to understand what he was saying but it added something to the conversation.

Paton snapped back into reality with a thud, banging his head against the hot pipes behind him. “No, no. I was just….I was just uh thinking.” Not the smartest way to lie out of the particular situation but it wasn’t like Vester was going to believe him anyways, Paton thought.

“Oh yea, u vere thinken about das Mädchen from physics class.” As he said this, Vester flashes his hugest toothy smile.

“What? I do not understand German. How many times am I going to have to tell you?” Paton was not bothered with Vester talking German; in fact, he enjoyed it when Vester talked German. It gave him a chance to learn something and making Vester repeat himself was priceless. Vester always got a “what are you stupid?” kind of look on his face that made Paton chuckle.

“I said the girl in class, you thinken about hur.”

“Umm sure Vester lets go with that.” Even though Paton had not been thinking about her at that particular moment, the mere mention of her get his mind whirling in a shrew of emotions.

Kendra Bryn was a slim, middle-height, junior in his Physics class. She had it all; she was blonde, had blue-green eyes, an IQ that easily out matched anybody who dared challenge her, everything. During the first day of class, they were allowed to chose their seat wherever they wanted. Not many teachers ever allowed that and Paton took full advantage of it. Even though he did not sit with Kendra, she ended up next to him either way. Paton had taken a seat on the third row from the back. It was a feeling of equality that he hungered that had ultimately won his decision of where to sit. Being right in the middle of the class gave him the best of both worlds. He was close enough to the front to hear every word the teacher said and he was far enough to where he could take an occasional nap. Little did he know when he chose that seat, Kendra Bryn also had a knack for being in the middle. Needless to say, Paton had not taken a nap in class once.

They talked often, in and out of class. He spent more time with her than he would have ever imagined. They were like two peas in a pod. They would always be together every chance they got. If you were to ask anybody from school, they would swear that they were going out. Yet, they were not. Paton was shy about expressing his feelings for her. He kept a notebook in which he would write love poems about her but never showed them to her. Paton had tried doing it once but decided she would think he was a loser for writing poetry. Instead of asking her out, he just went on contemplating whether she would say yes if he did ask her out.

The morning bell rung, earsplitting clang that always made Paton’s ears hurt. He said goodbye to Vester and then went on the Physics, his favorite class of the day. Paton walked into physics class a few seconds before the tardy bell rang. He did it every day. His teacher, Sherrie McPherson, hated when students were not in their seats with the material for the day out and ready to go when the bell rang.

As he walked to his seat, he gave a couple of high fives to some of his friends along the way and then took his seat next to Kendra. He had not noticed it on his way in but Kendra was dressed up a little more than usual. She was always a sharp dresser, nothing formal but nothing shabby like ripped jeans. Kendra’s hair was up in a way that Paton did not know if it had a special name but if it did, it was surely some weird French name.

Paton took out his physics book and binder and then continued to ignore Mrs. McPherson. “Hey, why are you so dressed up today? Is something special going on today? It’s not picture day is it?”

“Oh this, it’s nothing. And picture day was two weeks ago.” Her tone was neither sad nor angry; it was a mix of the two. Paton had not realized it, but he had hurt her feelings by not remembering her birthday. Kendra raised her hand and without waiting for recognition from Mrs. Johnson, she blurted out, “I think I’m feeling sick. Can I call home?”

“I should make you stay after for interrupting my class, but since you say you’re sick I will let you off this one time.”

Taking no time to pack her stuff up, Kendra walked out with her books in her hands. Paton sat in dismay as Kendra left the room. She was not sick, he knew she was not sick. “I must have said something to piss her off”, Paton thought. He tried to pay attention for the remainder of class but in the back of his head, the last conversation he had had with Kendra was playing repeatedly. He just could not find anything wrong in what he had said. It must be something else, maybe she is feeling sick, Paton thought.

After physics class Paton had AP American History, Honors E-Commerce, and then finally Trigonometry. During American History, he had a test in which he struggled to finish. Paton’s head was not entirely focused in the exam. E-Commerce went by without a glitch. Creating websites was something Paton was good at doing and Mrs. York did not care what the students did in class. As long as they got their work done, she let them be. Trigonometry was the toughest of his classes and he hated it. The only reason he was taking it was that it was required for the college degree he was hoping to get into. Mrs. Chilton was a witch of a woman, taking nothing less than perfect as an answer. He still remembered his first day in her class. The night before he had went to sleep late watching a marathon of How Its Made on the Discovery Channel and was falling asleep during class. Mrs. Chilton had chewed him out saying that if he thought she was boring to leave the class because it was only going to get worse. Needlesstosay, math class passed slower than it had since the first day.

The afternoon bell rang to a welcome glee from all the students. If you were to measure the aura of relief around the students, you would get a high dose around Paton. On his way to the lobby, he took a few minutes to stand under a Dogwood tree and talk to his friends. He made plans to go to the Coffee Bean and then headed on up to the lobby. He usually waited up front with Kendra until her mom picked her up, but since she had left he did not really know what he would do. He could drive on home, the last place he wanted to be after school, or he could just hang out in the lobby until sometime passed. He settled on the latter.

Paton dropped his backpack on the concession stand. It was hardly ever open and everybody used it to put their duffel bags, book bags, and sit on it. He sat there for a moment, leaning his head against the side of the concession stand thinking about Kendra. When he saw Jessica Hanes walking towards the lobby, he waved at her and motioned her to go over to where he was. Jessica Hanes was a slim athletic girl. She played women’s soccer, volleyball, and basketball. She had straight brown hair to her shoulders. Her face had razor sharp features, her eyes a piecing emerald blue, her face was free of blemishes and she was proud of that fact. Paton had dated her when they were in middle school, before she had matured into the beauty she was now, but it had not worked out between them long. Even though many say you can’t stay friends with your ex’s, their friendship had not suffered at all. They were young kids back then. They were not really in love, they just liked being together.

“Hey, how you doing?” Paton got down from the stand and hugged Jessica. There was something about hugs that brought tranquility to him, even if for a second.

“I’m good, but these tests are killing me.”

“I know what you mean. Fowler is about to burst my kidney with his history tests.”

“Yeah, so I can’t believe you forgot.”

“Forgot about what? Was I supposed to call you or something yesterday?”

“No, about today being Kendra’s birthday.”

“Her birthday is not today, I would have remembered.”

“Well apparently your memory is smaller than a goldfishes. I saw her this morning in the lobby; she said she was waiting for her mom to pick her up. I said happy birthday to her and she started crying. I wondered for a minute why she would cry, I figured it was because she thought it a nice thing to do or something. But then I asked her and she said that you forgot. It really hurt her you know.”

“But today is not her birthday. Her birthday is not until the 13th.”

“No, that’s her sister’s birthday, hers is today.”

“No wonder…” Paton was talking more to himself than to Jessica but the words were still coming out of his mouth.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Jessica chirped in drastically changing what they were talking about with an irrelevant remark. “So did you hear that it’s supposed to snow sometime soon?”

“Jessica I uh got to go. I need to do something very important.”

As he got his stuff and headed out the doors, Jessica screamed at him. “You better not make her cry anymore.”

On his way over to his house, Paton kept thinking how he was going to pull a miracle off and get Kendra to forgive him. He thought about just apologizing and saying he was sorry for forgetting but that wouldn’t work. He needed to do something special for her, something she had never had done, something that would flatter her off of her feet and into his arms, something that would stun her and melt her emotions.

Paton pulled into his driveway, said a quick “I’m home” to his mom once inside, and headed to his room just as fast. He threw his stuff on his desk and then did what he did best; he wrote. Words had never been quicker in spilling from his pen onto the paper. They flowed like an overflowed river on a steep incline. With every inch forward, it sped up as gravity pulled it by the reigns. As he wrote he hummed along with the lines. Laying a music infused bed of cotton for the words to lay upon.

When he was done writing, he opened his closet and took out his guitar. It had once belonged to his grandfather, an expert at playing it, but when he died he passed it on to Paton. Paton took it upon himself to try to be just as good as his grandfather had been with the guitar. He practiced every day and night for a few months after his grandfather’s death but never thought he was getting as good as him. Pretty soon he came down to just occasionally playing it when he felt down. He played just as well as his grandfather but he would never admit to it. Again he hummed his beat in his head as his fingers glided over the frets, encompassing the room in a melodic harmony many could only dream of doing.

With his heart thumping louder than ever, he took his guitar and went to his car. He felt his stomach coming up to his throat, nervousness crawling up through his spine and immobilizing him and blurring his vision. Paton drove to Kendra’s house and parked in the driveway. Just like in a romantic fairy tale story, Paton picked up small pebbles and threw one by one at her window. He might have stopped throwing them for fear of breaking the window, but fear was not able to surface. Nervousness was dominating the battlefield of his emotions.

Kendra opened her window, sticking her head out enough to be seen clearly, and said. “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to uhh tell you something.”

“Well spill it. It’s cold outside and the air is coming in.”

“Listen I am sorry that I forgot your birthday, I would have never dreamed of doing it. I know that it hurt you and I really want you to know how sorry I am.”

“Sometimes sorry just doesn’t cut it.”

“I know, I know, that’s why I came here with my guitar. I wrote a song for you that I want you to hear.”

Paton reached into the car and pulled out his guitar. Without saying another word to Kendra, he started strumming the guitar. With eyes wide shut he sang. The last words in his song where the words he had been wanting to ask since the first day he had meet her. “Will you go out with me?”

Unaware to Paton, Kendra shut the window and went to the front door. She missed a part of the song but it still held its meaning. The song hit hard at heart and brought more tears to her eyes. Nobody had ever written a song about her much less sung it to her before. He had given her the best present she could have asked for, though it was a bit late. As Paton opened his eyes, Kendra wrapped her arms around his neck, whispered “yes” into his ear, and kissed him as the first flakes of snow started to fall from the sky. Januaries first snow, melting around the radiance of their love.

[divider]

[social]

Vote

I get up early in the mourning, driven solely by the thoughts of the day ahead. I turn on the TV, not watching but listening to every growing lie told by the media. Exasperated by this, I turn the TV off and turn on the radio. I don’t listen to FM or AM stations because the music played on the stations are censored. Instead I listen to the music the artist intends for me to hear. I get dressed; I put on my best attire, and head out to work. At work I look around and think to myself that I probably got the job because of my ethnicity. Was I the best man for the job? I don’t know. I like to think so everyday when I step in the door but as far as I know I am just there to please policy. During my lunch break I buy a newspaper and coffee and read the headline stories. I see politicians throwing dirt at each other trying to get me to vote for them but does it matter whom I vote for. No matter who I vote for today it’s not me who gets to choose who the next president is. The Electoral College is the one that formally picks the president; my vote is simply going to be used as a statistic. I go back to work, finish up and then I go to the voting center. Looking at the ballot there are only two parties; only two. I would like to have more of a choice but it doesn’t matter. I don’t really care who wins. I am just exercising my right to vote. I cast my ballot and head home. After a day like this I simply turn on the TV and sit down on my couch. Even though I turned on the TV, I don’t watch it. Instead I grab the latest James Patterson book from my shelf and read. The TV is on only for what it is useful; background noise.

[social]

My Hello Kitty Bracelet

I knew it was going to be a bad day when I woke up and had two thoughts pounding inside me head; begging to come out.

Is the math test today or is it tomorrow?

It’s always “today” when you have to ask, isn’t it?

Okay then, I guess I better go get my Hello Kitty bracelet.

Most people wouldn’t understand why I would look for that bracelet and I don’t really care about those people; they don’t really know me.

About the bracelet. It’s pink, scratched up, and–to get the visual across—from a McDonald’s happy meal. I mean, we’re talking really cheap. The cost doesn’t really matter here, though because I didn’t buy it, and that’s why it’s so valuable to me. It’s more of a sentimental values.

The bracelet was given to me by my bestest—an inside joke between us—friend. I don’t know why I think the bracelet is lucky, I just do. Every time I am going to do something that will require me to perform exceptionally well to pass—like this math test—I always wear it. It makes me feel loved, more confident. Okay, it’s probably dumb, but whatever works, right?

Rolling out of bed, I opened the drawer where I kept it along with every drawing she’s made for me, along with a bunch of other stuff. They were all jokes that only made sense to her and me, worthless things except for the immense emotional value they held as memories.

I slid my hand into the usual place where I always left the bracelet, cushioned atop a grey beanie that I wore only once—the first day I straightened my hair.

What? It’s not there.

Pushing the mess of papers aside, even tossing some out of the drawer, I still couldn’t find it. But—it was always here. How was I supposed to pass my math test without it?

Panicking now, I went out to the living room where my mom was watching some random movie on HBO. “Mom, have you seen my Hello Kitty bracelet?”

“Do you mean the pink one that you keep in the drawer?”

“Yes that one!”

“You’re obsessed with that thing. You don’t need it.”

“But—but—you know how much it means to me.”

She flicks the channels; trying to avoid the topic from continuing further. “Yeah maybe too much. You think it’s the only reason you do well in school, and it’s not. You’re so smart—why can’t you give yourself credit?”

“Fuck, Mom. You’ve got the best way of making me feel better about myself, by making me feel ten times worse.”–sarcasm at its best.

Furious, I slammed my stuff into my backpack and left. I was almost to school—already late—when I realized that I’d forgotten my calculator. That was really going to help me in passing the test; no bracelet, no calculator, not going to pass.

Screw this. I should just skip the whole class. I’m going to fail anyways, without my bracelet. No wait, I’ll go, and fail, and show my mom how badly I did. She’ll regret what she did then, I bet.

Not my best plan ever, but it wasn’t like I had anything else to do.

….

“You can use your calculator’s on the test if you wish”

Oh, I do wish. In fact I would love to use my calculator. Too bad I don’t have it. Man, this is the worst. I hate my mom.

….
When I got home my mom still sitting on the couch watching TV, probably been there all day. Only getting up when her necessities called.

I threw my backpack on the floor; landing with a loud thump, awakening her from her zombie like state. “You happy now? I failed my test.”

“You failed? How can you even know that already?”

“Well, I don’t know for sure, but you threw away my bracelet, so I’m sure I did.” I slumped onto the floor. “Why’d you do that, Mom? It’s not just the luck part—you know Laken gave it to me.”

“I’m just doing what I see is fit for my son. I’m worried about you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, I appreciate your way of showing motherly concern. Congratulations, you made your point. Too bad it made me fail my stupid math test. And since you threw it away, it’s gone forever.”

My mom shifted her weight on the couch; probably to keep your ass from going numb. “I lied.”

“What?”

“I lied. I didn’t throw your bracelet away; it’s right here.” She held it up between her thumb and middle finger, twisting it back and forth with the movement of her wrist. Handing it over with a smug expression, she said “Now when you pass that test, it will be because of you and not the bracelet.”

I grabbed it away from her. “You’re so freaking weird sometimes.” I stomped back to my room, still angry but relieved to have the reassuring weight on my bracelet on my wrist.

There is no way that I am going to pass that test. She has no earthly idea what she is talking about.

~

My math teacher e-mails us the results of our tests that same afternoon. I hate that; I’d be happier waiting until the next day to hear about my miserable faliure. Sighing, I clicked open the file. At least after seeing the results I will have a good reason to go scream at my mom.

“Carlos, I am very proud of you,” my teacher had written. “I know you’ve been struggling with math since the beginning, and when I saw you without your calculator, I was very concerned. However, you did very well today, getting an 87. Congratulations! Please remember to bring your calculator tomorrow, though. We are going to start working with something a little more complicated.”

My eyes were fixed on the computer screen; my mind looking for a way to make the situation turn in my favor.

Crap

Mom’s never going to let me hear the end of this.

Then I remember the bracelet on my wrist. Laken made it for me on our way home one day; I’d almost forgotten about it. It never comes off my hand so I had gotten used to it.

Oh man, mom is really going to like this one. It wasn’t the Hello Kitty bracelet after all; it was this one.

I’m glad that’s all over.

[social]

Makayla

The winter-morning breeze was taunting the brave to dare venture out into its grasp. It’s short icy breaths mimicking the cries of a newborn—one-minute calm and then the next, bellowing out in an unbearable tempest. Among the hundreds of early risers dressed in layers—shirt, fleece, sweater, and jacket, Makayla was sitting on a bench under a barren willow tree, weeping into her hands. Other students walked by curious about the weeping girl, sparing a second or two to look at her, but nobody dared stay in the unsheltered open longer than necessary.

Even though Makayla was dressed for the cold weather, her face was red around the cheeks and even redder around her nose. The tears flowing from her eyes inched their way to the tip of her nose and almost freezing forming miniature icicles.

Fifty feet away, inside the comfort of the warm building, I stood watching as the world passed her by with no resemblance of caring. Fresh out of ceramics class, my hands were dry as chalk. I was halfway through a Twix candy bar and already thinking about opening the other package of chocolaty perfection in my pocket. Even though I tried to refrain from eating sweets, I hadn’t had breakfast and needed something to keep me going through the rest of my classes. For some odd reason, the vending machines never have something halfway healthy. (I should point that out to someone.)

I reached into my pockets and fished for my strawberry ChapStick. Car Keys, no; flash drive, no; cell phone, no; ah there it is. Talking to myself isn’t something I do often but I do admit it happens on the rare occasion. After applying a thin layer of ChapStick onto my imperfect lips, I ventured out into the cold. I walked with my hands in the jackets fur lined pockets and my face turned towards the floor and to the right—away from the wind. As I got closer to the bench I started to think about what I was doing. Was I really going to talk to this girl? I’m a shy guy around strangers. I couldn’t just randomly start talking to her. Especially not since she was crying. Maybe I’d make things worse by popping her bubble. Could I even do that?
When I got to the bench, feeling like a dumbass with a tinge of confidence, I did what seemed most reasonable. I sat down. Makayla (of course I didn’t know her name just yet) glanced my way and stared at me like to say, “What do you want?”

Her eyes were red and puffy, swollen from the tears. Black streaks ran from her eyes down her cheeks like a messy watercolor rundown. Even in that condition, she looked superior to the average woman. Her curly brown hair was in front of her, blowing into her face with each strong gust of wind.

Struggling, with no words to say, I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the unopened candy bar. Makayla was still staring at me, closer to saying “Are you seriously going to eat a chocolate bar next to me while I cry my eyes out to the world?” I carefully opened the package, pulled out one of the bars and took a small bite. I then outstretched my arm towards her and asked, “Would you like a piece?”
She thought about it for a minute and then reached for the Twix bar. She took a bit with her perfectly formed mouth and then said, “Thanks, I guess.”

Figuring the ice was pretty much broken; I started some conversation with her.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, cautiously thinking ahead of what I might say next.

“Not anything you can help with.” She said coldly.

“You never know. I have been known to be very helpful. I mean, I can already tell you’re crying because something a guy did to you, right?”

“Maybe, how could you know that?” she inquired.

“Guys are jerks.” I plainly stated. A smug look on my face.

“So you’re saying you’re a jerk?” She raised an eyebrow in a way that almost made my heart skip a beat.

“No.”

“Then you’re saying you’re not a guy.” She had a smile on her face now and I knew I was well on my way to cheering her up with the simplest of words.

“I’m a guy all right. I’m just a different type of guy.”

“Right I know what you mean. You think with your left nut instead of your right. Or is it vice versa?” Her face had hardened again into the implacable stone fortress it had been when I first sat down.

“Neither. I think with this.” I put my finger on my chest and added, “I think with my heart. Plus I am a poet. We poets live in a whole different world than your average man.”

She busted out laughing and said, “You picked the wrong day to try to sweet talk your way around me.”

“I’m not trying to sweet talk you or anything. I just thought I’d come over here and see if I could help with anything. I thought for someone to be sitting out here in this bitter cold, there must be something seriously bothering them.”

“Well something was seriously bothering me.”

“I like how you said ‘was’. Gives me some hope that maybe I cheered you up a bit.”

“Well you weren’t doing at bad job at whatever you were doing. I stopped crying if you’d noticed.”

“I had. You look gorgeous now. Not that you didn’t before.”

“Okay now buster. Don’t push your luck. You haven’t even told me your name yet.”

“Oh that’s right isn’t it? Well my name is Charles. Nice to meet you.” I had a cheesy smile on my face but I didn’t care. I’d left my comfort zone and went for something I felt was right.

“Nice to meet you too. My name is Makayla. And let’s skip this crap I’m not a big fan of formalities. How about we go somewhere and you cheer me up.”

“Oh so you’re only going to talk to me because you need someone to talk to? Is that what it is?” I said sarcastically.

“No. I’m going to talk to you because I want to see how good of a poet you are. Just because you say you’re one doesn’t necessarily make you one.” There was a glimmer in her eye I hadn’t seen before. A faint light once receding into the darkness of her pupils, it now lit up her face.

“Well then, how about we go inside and grab a cup of coffee? I’m sure it would be a good idea to get some hot liquid into your system before you freeze to death out here.”

“No.”

“I thought you just said….” I started to say blankly.

She leaned in closer to me and whispered, “Ask me again but this time ask if I want to go get something to eat.” And then in an even quieter voice added, “I don’t drink coffee.”

“Would you like to get something to eat?” I said.

“Why sure. I’d love to.” We both laughed at this.

“But before we go …” I reached towards her face and wiped some of the smeared makeup she had running down her face. “Now we can go.”

[social]

His New Friend

Little Matthew was 5 years old and loved going outside, exploring the garden behind his house that to his perspective appeared enormous. It was there that he found it. He had never seen one before and maybe that’s why it caught his attention as it chewed on his mother’s roses. It looked so pure…so mystical…so green. To you and me it would have looked like a regular old green caterpillar and the truth is, it was. But too little Matthew it was something, new some kind of a mystery.

Soon enough he had ran back to his house, found a glass jar, and had put the caterpillar in the jar with some leaves and a rose for it to chew on. It was then that his mother, wondering what he was doing decided to go check on him. She found him lying on the ground staring at the glass jar as if expecting something mystical to happen at any moment. She picked up the jar, not knowing that there was a caterpillar in it and was going to throw it away when little Matthew cried out in a relentless effort to save his newly acquired friend. And of course his mother wondering why he was crying looked down at the jar and saw it. The green caterpillar that was on one of the leaves as if nothing was happening around it. She explained to him that she needed to put a lid on the jar and poke holes in the lid so the caterpillar could breath and so that it couldn’t get out. Little Matthew didn’t care what she did to the jar of course all he wanted was to be able to keep his new friend.

For weeks after that little Matthew would spend hours on end staring…watching…hoping that his caterpillar would do something impressive, but it didn’t. It simply chewed on the leaves and got bigger and fatter. Little Matthew was not amused no more and went looking for other things that might do something. That same day his father came home with a new pet for his son…a little puppy. This of course thrilled little Matthew and made him forget entirely of the caterpillar for days. Until one day he heard a loud crash in his room and wondered what it was.

As he stepped in the room he immediately knew what had happened. His puppy had run into the table in his room knocking over the glass jar. He looked everywhere but could not find the caterpillar…he wondered if his puppy had ate it. Little Matthew looked behind his dresser…under his bed…it was nowhere. The only thing different in his room was a flying little critter that kept bothering him as he tried to find his old friend.

[social]