Triptych

Roy flipped on the lights and hesitated a moment by the door. He turned to face the young woman behind the counter. “Ready for your first day at work, baby girl?” he asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, Grampa.” Robyn tugged at the hem of the ill-fitting red smock.

Roy unlocked the doors to his convenience store and greeted the first customers of the day. Martie, one of his regulars, was first through the door. He was followed by a kid Roy didn’t know. He looked to be a mechanic by the way he was dressed — black work boots, navy blue pants, and a striped shirt with his name “Jimmy” sewn over the left pocket.

Roy watched Robyn ring up the sale of coffee and a chocolate donut to Martie. She tilted her head a bit to the left and twisted her mouth to the right as she calculated the change — Roy insisted that she not simply rely on the register to do the math. In those gestures he saw his daughter, Robyn’s mother. How funny, he thought, the traits that pass from one generation to the next.

“Thank you, sir. Have a good day,” Robyn told Martie. Then, “Hi, Jimmy. Will that be all?” as he stepped up with a bottle of Coke and a Snickers bar. Roy couldn’t hear the boy’s response, but noticed a slight blush in his granddaughter’s face. He moved closer and she said, “Robyn.” Then she counted out his change and finished with, “Thanks. Y’all come back.”

Martie was at the door of Roy’s Convenience five minutes before opening time. It was part of his morning ritual to get coffee and a donut on his way to work. Some punk in work clothes was at the corner smoking a cigarette.

When the door opened he said hi to Roy. He started toward the coffee pot and his eye was immediately drawn to a beautiful girl behind the counter. This was not a normal part of his routine. He stirred two creamers into his coffee and pulled a chocolate donut from the display case.

The shapeless smock couldn’t hide the girl’s curves and when she absent-mindedly pulled at its hem they stood out in bold relief. Her long straight hair spilled across her shoulders and flared over her breast when she tilted her head. She made a funny face when she counted out his change. He caught a glimpse of the lacy edge of her bra as he accepted the coins. He imagined that her firm body would defy gravity even without the garments.

“Thank you, sir. Have a good day,” she said. Did she emphasize the “sir” to remind him of the difference in their ages? He was easily old enough to be her father. “Still young enough to look, though,” he thought to himself as he sipped his coffee and pushed his way out the door.

Jimmy took one last drag of his cigarette and tossed the butt into the storm drain. The convenience store reminded him of the one he had almost robbed the week before. He didn’t know what had stopped him that night, but he knew that had he gone through with it he wouldn’t be here this morning. He had a new job helping out at Tennison’s Garage.

The old guy at the door seemed to eye him suspiciously. It made him nervous. He grabbed a 2-liter of Coke and a king-size candy bar without thinking about the fact that sugar and caffeine were not really what he needed this morning. But he found himself at the counter looking at the prettiest girl he had ever seen and he would have felt stupid taking his selections back for healthier choices.

“Hi, Jimmy. Will that be all?” He was stunned for a moment till he realized she had read his name off his work shirt. “You gonna tell me your name?” he asked softly. He felt more than saw the old man moving closer. Was that a smirk on the girl’s face or just a moment of concentration? Her cheeks appeared a shade darker.

“Robyn,” she said handing him his change. “Thanks. Y’all come back.” It was Jimmy’s turn to blush. And he knew. He would be back.

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Rock the Baby – Episode 9

New episodes of Rock the Baby are posted each week. Read from the beginning here.

Break Away

I had to sit down. It’s been four days since the world as we knew it ended. Electronic devices don’t work any more. We have no power. We are running out of water and food. And now I meet a woman who tells me that she caused this with something that she has in a small steel case sitting five feet away from me.

I asked her what it is because I was too afraid to ask her what I really wanted know, was it safe to be sitting this close to it? She sat down across from me and rested her hands on the case. She said they call it “cold fire” and she was part of a team that had been working on it for several years. I looked at her and wondered again how much trouble I was getting myself into. Her eyes glowed like a summer sky.

She went on to explain that cold fire was a combustion process that produces light but not heat. They had recently developed a catalyst/enzyme chip that not only sparked the combustion but then reacted with the light to reclaim and recycle nearly all of the materials consumed. Put one of the chips in a sealed glass container and you have a light bulb that lasts almost indefinitely and never needs electricity. Totally self-contained.

But four days ago one of the prototypes had broken in the lab. There was a sudden and violent reaction when the cold fire met the air in the lab. An unexpected side effect was an enormous electromagnetic pulse. That’s what knocked out all the electronics. She was able to re-confine the materials, still burning, to the steel case that now sat on the table between us.

Since the EMP was unexpected she couldn’t estimate how far its effects extended. Already it was well beyond anything she would have guessed. Her hope was that the lab at BokonoCorp headquarters was still functional so she could use their equipment to extinguish the cold fire she was carrying.

And then her eyes — those incredibly deep blue beautiful eyes — started to well up with tears. She told me that she hadn’t told me the worst part yet. No way did I want to ask her, but I couldn’t sit there like an idiot [any more than I already had] so I did. The worst part, she explained, is that what was supposed to be the ultimate in low-cost illumination now looked more like a small, inexpensive, devastating weapon.

Un-freakin’-believable.

I stood up and spun out my yo-yo. I didn’t realize until that moment how I much use it now to clear my head.

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Please come back next week for Episode 10.

Find other participants in Tuesday Serial on Inspired by Real Life or Twitter.

Sleep the Night

Please note: This post includes sexual and violent content which some readers may find disturbing. This started as a longer piece that I edited down to under 1000 words. I think the feel of it still comes through. As always, you can let me know in the comments whether it works for you.

We grew up in a two-bedroom apartment so my sister Nikki and I shared a room. We even shared the same bed until I was twelve and she was ten. Then Mom started throwing a fit every day. “It just ain’t right. It ain’t healthy,” she spat at Dad. We couldn’t afford a bigger place and Dad wasn’t about to give up drinking beer and watching TV till all hours so I could sleep in the living room. Instead, he found an old pair of twin beds and put them on opposite sides of our room.

Nikki and I never understood what the big deal was. We couldn’t remember a time when we hadn’t curled up together to sleep and it made no sense to us that we suddenly needed to stop. And we didn’t really. Our parents would check that we were in our own beds but in the middle of the night Nikki would climb in with me. Amazingly, one of us would always hear when my parents were getting up so she was back in her bed again every morning.

Nikki lost her virginity when she was fourteen. I know because I was there. The boy’s name was Danny. He climbed in through the window to be with her. I could tell he was surprised that I was in the room, but when she took him by the hand and pulled him onto her bed he found it easy enough to ignore me. I just put my head under my pillow until they were done. When he left I asked if she was okay. She said yes and then asked if it was okay for her to sleep next to me for a while. It was the only time she ever asked. She kept her face turned away from me and I think she was crying a little bit. “I’ll always take care of you,” I told her.

Danny never said anything about us sharing a room, but he told anyone who would listen that he had slept with Nikki. He never came back. It was a couple months before Nikki invited another boy through the window. That one looked at me, shook his head and left right away. He did tell people about us sharing a room, but no one ever said anything to my face. There were lots of snickers and whistles behind our backs though. Then began a pretty steady stream of boys. Some boys she would see only once. Some she would continue to see for a few weeks. I never asked whether it was her choice or theirs when she moved on to the next.

The one I remember best from that time was Scott. The first time he snuck in he stared at me for a full minute and I thought he was going to bolt. It was pretty common knowledge around school by then that Nikki and I shared a room. Maybe he just didn’t believe it until he saw it for himself. Anyway, every time after that he brought his little sister Dawn with him. She was almost the same age as Nikki. I was nervous as hell the first couple times she got in bed with me. She would tongue kiss me and let me put my hands all over her before we actually did it. And that’s how I lost my virginity, screwing the little sister of the guy that was screwing my little sister. She seemed to be really into it, but when Scott stopped showing up so did Dawn.

Nikki started seeing Matt when she was sixteen. For the first time, she started sneaking out at night to be with him instead of him always coming into our room. I would never sleep a wink until she was back home. Sometimes she would stay in her own bed all night after being with him. I hated everything about him, but Nikki said he was really very sweet. I couldn’t see it. He was twenty-two years old, a two-bit hustler and small time drug dealer. When Nikki got pregnant she moved in with him. I finally had a room to myself but I couldn’t sleep the night all alone. I’d pace in tiny circles in the space between our beds until I finally dropped from exhaustion.

I still saw Nikki almost every day and she seemed happy enough. And then one day I saw bruises on her arm. She said she just bumped into a door, but it sure as hell looked to me like someone had grabbed her hard. The next week her left hand was all swollen and wrapped in a bandage. The week after that she was limping, but still she told me it was just an accident and not to worry. When I saw her with a black eye I wasn’t buying her bullshit any more. I went up to her place and found Matt sitting there with a beer in his hand. For a second I thought it was our Dad; he had the same kind of alcohol-glazed look in his eyes and a know-it-all smirk on his face. I had a baseball bat and the element of surprise.

It turned out to be pretty easy for everyone to believe his death was due to a drug deal gone bad. Mostly because no one gave a shit that he was dead anyway. Nikki and I alibied each other at a bar a couple miles away. Now we share an apartment. We’re fixing up the second bedroom as a nursery. Sometimes I put my hand on her belly and tell her and the baby, “I’ll always take care of you.” Nikki nestles under my arm with her head on my shoulder and once again I can finally sleep the night.

Rock the Baby – Episode 8

New episodes of Rock the Baby are posted each week. Read from the beginning here.

Lariat

Mr. Evans gave me a wink and a nod. I felt kind of bad that I wasn’t waiting around for the latest news, but this woman says she knows what caused all these problems. That’s gotta be worth something. Besides, she said she needs my help. What else could I do?

She was holding some kind of little steel case and I offered to carry it for her. She said no, let’s go. I told her my name is Ray as we walked to my parents’ house. Of course, that’s not really true. How do I explain to a woman named Gigi that I can’t pronounce the “jay” sound? What the hell do I call her? I got a little bit of a break on that. As she explained where she is from and where she wants to go she showed me her ID from some place called BokonoCorp. She has a PhD. She may not like me calling her “Doc,” but at least I can pronounce it.

We didn’t talk much more on the way home. She wouldn’t give me any details until after we were safely inside the house. Basically, she wants to go to BokonoCorp headquarters which, it turns out, is a few miles on the other side of my apartment. I’m not thrilled at the idea of walking back there, but I do know the way.

When we got to the house she asked if I had water. I told her about the water in the bathtub and that there were bottles of water to drink that weren’t cold of course. She asked me for a big mixing bowl. I pulled the biggest one I could find out of the kitchen cabinets. She explained she was going to dip a bowlful of water from the tub, use that to freshen up a bit, and then pour it down the toilet to flush it. I didn’t ask where she got her urban survival training.

While she went to clean up I pulled out the gas grill and checked the propane tank. Full. Good old dad even had another full tank on the shelf. Who does that? Anyway, it reminded me that I still don’t know where my parents are. I wonder if those people running around getting the news can pass the word around that I’m looking for them?

The freezer yielded some steaks and onion rings that were starting to thaw. I set them on the kitchen counter and pulled out my yo-yo while I waited for my guest. When she walked in the room looking even more beautiful [if that's possible] I asked her to tell me what caused all the electronics to stop working.

“I did,” she told me. She put that little steel case on the table. “With this.”

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Please come back next week for Episode 9.

Find other participants in Tuesday Serial on Inspired by Real Life or Twitter.

Germ of an Idea

In honor of all those teachers and students returning to classrooms this fall here is an update of a story I published on another site a couple years ago.

I’m wondering what it would be like if we saw our teachers more like we see our doctors… young children would receive some basic instruction in numbers and letters like inoculations. Beyond that families [if they can afford it] would choose an education-care provider with whom they schedule regular check-ups. That provider may prescribe any number of lessons or refer patients to specialists. There would be emergency rooms and critical-care facilities when an individual becomes acutely aware of an educational shortcoming and they would receive intensive remediation. Best of all [really!], employers would routinely provide ignorance insurance [Blue Cross/Blue Shield might develop a Yellow Pencil/Red Pen division] to underwrite the cost of continuing education.

Johnny arrives fifteen minutes early for his appointment. He fills out [well, mostly fills out and most of that illegibly] three pages of forms and then sits in the waiting room. Thirty minutes later he is ushered into an examination room where he is given a pop quiz by an EdTech [Educational Technician].

“You have ten minutes,” says the EdTech, as she writes the time, date, and her name [let's say... Ms. Amy] in neat, block letters on a dry-erase board in front of Johnny.

“Miss,” Johnny raises his hand, “I don’t have a pencil.”

Ms. Amy hands Johnny a sharp #2 pencil [for which he will be billed $5.00] and with a sigh and slight shake of her head makes a note on his chart [his PERMANENT record...].

Johnny bends over the quiz paper and answers most of the questions [again, mostly illegibly] and embellishes the page with stray doodles. At ten minutes [timed to the second, of course] Amy reaches for the paper. “Time’s up!”

“Miss, do you count off for spelling?”

“Only when it’s wrong. The teacher will be with you shortly.” Amy leaves, placing Johnny’s chart and quiz in a plastic bin on the wall.

Johnny stares blankly at the wall and chews idly on the pencil. A few minutes later the teacher [let's call her Dr. Brennan] enters.

“Good morning, Johnny! Please sit up straight.”

“Good morning, Dr. Brennan.”

She flips quickly through his chart, frowning at the pop quiz results and stealing a side-long glance at the pencil wedged again in his teeth. Johnny notices and guiltily drops the pencil to his lap.

“It’s not time for your regular check-up, Johnny. What’s up?”

“It’s the maths.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“It’s just all of it. I was looking at my bank statement last week…”

Problem with balance, Dr. Brennan notes in his chart.

“…and I was trying to subtract all the checks I wrote…”

Doesn’t know the difference.

“…and I just got all confused…”

Thank God he’s not multiplying — oops, that’s for another visit!

Dr. Brennan flips back a few pages in the chart. “I see we’ve treated you for this before.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“I gave you three sample problems and a workbook?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Did you finish them?”

“Well, mostly. But then I had to work overtime for a few days and my car broke down and I slept late and my Mom didn’t wake me up and –”

Dr. Brennan holds up a hand. “I get the picture. We can repeat the treatment, but it won’t do any good if you don’t complete it. I hesitate to send you to a specialist… since it wasn’t a failure of the treatment but your failure to follow instructions it falls under the pre-existing conditions exemption clause and your insurance won’t cover it.”

“How much will it cost?”

Test for comprehension of irony during follow-up she noted… “A private tutor can easily run $300 an hour; group sessions can be arranged for as little as $100 an hour, but there might be as many as six people in the group.”

“Six people at a time! How can one tutor help six people at a time?”

“Well, obviously you’ll get less individual attention, but they’ve been very successful even with severe cases. They are highly-trained professionals, after all”

“Doesn’t matter. I can’t afford either of those, especially if insurance isn’t going to cover it.”

There may be hope for you after all….

“Can I have another workbook?”

“Do you mean, ‘May I have another workbook, please?’”

“Yes, ma’am. May I have another workbook, please?”

“Promise me you’ll finish it and schedule a follow-up appointment in… let’s say two weeks.”

“I promise.”

“Okay, Johnny. Ms. Amy will be back in just a moment. She will give you the workbook and schedule your follow-up. And here…” she holds out a jar of candy.

“A lollipop. Thanks, Dr. Brennan!”

You can call it that. I call it a sucker…. “Bye, Johnny. See you in two weeks.”

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Rock the Baby – Episode 7

New episodes of Rock the Baby are posted each week. Read from the beginning here.

Flying Saucer

I was standing off to the side waiting on the news to arrive and practicing with my yo-yo. Suddenly there was a woman standing in front of me. The most beautiful woman I have ever seen up close. Maybe the most beautiful woman in the world — a strawberry blond, very pale complexion, but her eyes are the deepest blue. So deep I was falling into them. A blue I wanted nothing more at that moment than to stare at forever.

“Nice yo-yo,” she said looking at my blue Duncan Classic which was spinning down by my ankles. “Blue is my favorite color.” Then she looked at my face again, expectantly. I was falling deeper and deeper into those eyes. I wanted to say, “Exactly the color blue that your eyes are, that’s my favorite color.” I stared back, unable to articulate a single syllable for the longest time. The yo-yo stopped spinning. “Mine too,” I finally answered. I was in trouble.

I fumbled with getting the yo-yo rewound. Most of my wits had completely abandoned me, so I used the time to gather the few that were left. I asked her, “What do you think the aliens look like?” She smiled at me and I could feel my knees trembling. She leaned close to me and I thought I was going to fall right over. “Not aliens,” she whispered, “I know what caused this and I need your help.”

She put her hand on my shoulder. It had the paradoxical effect of keeping me from falling over and making me feel even weaker. Her eyes were so close I swore I felt the air stir when she blinked. The way I was raised, when someone needs help you give it to them. And I know it sounds old-fashioned, [or, you know, sexist] but if a woman asks for help you don’t even question why. I have a feeling those values are about to be severely tested.

She wanted to go someplace where we could talk. I told her we could walk to my parents’ house. Her eyes smiled into mine. “Your yo-yo stopped again.” Sure enough, it was dangling by my ankles again. And then, I couldn’t believe this, as we turned to go she said, “My name is Gigi.”

No freakin’ way.

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Please come back next week for Episode 8.

Find other participants in Tuesday Serial on Inspired by Real Life or Twitter.

Lycanthrope

your sense of scents
is too intense

you sent me away
for I will always smell of dog

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Rock the Baby – Episode 6

New episodes of Rock the Baby are posted each week. Read from the beginning here.

Around the Corner

I could hear my parent’s names. Someone was calling for them and hollering, “Heeellllllooooooo”? Slowly, the voice dragged me out of my slumber. I was still clutching a rock as I padded toward the back door. Then the voice turned cold and said, “Hold it right there.” I saw the barrel of a shotgun sticking in through the space where I had broken the window. I guess I should have covered that yesterday. Too late now. I froze and peered through the broken pane.

Note to self… do not bring a rock to a gun fight. The gun was pointing right at my head. At the opposite end I saw a shock of white hair and a milky eye that I recognized as belonging to my parent’s next door neighbor. I yelled, “Don’t shoot, Mr. Evans. It’s me, Ray. Do you know where my parents are?” Mr. Evans doesn’t always hear too good.

He withdrew the gun and I let him in the back door. He told me he didn’t know where my parents are. He was on his way to get the news when he saw the broken window. It’s nice to know that in my parent’s neighborhood neighbors still look out for each other. Had I taken a face full of buck shot I might not think it so nice.

I walked with him a few blocks. There was this group of people milling about on the corner. I recognized some of them and gave them the head nod of greeting. Old Mr. Evans was talking a mile a minute. I think he was really happy to have someone new to talk to. He explained that there were spots like this in pretty much every neighborhood now, spots where people gathered to share news. A few people would walk from one spot to another and back again. They would pass on any news they had and gather what they could to take back home.

I asked him how anyone knew where to go. I thought we would have to go to city hall or something to get official news. He laughed and laughed at that. The elected politicians, he said, were the first to abandon every neighborhood they had heard from so far. There were simply certain houses in every neighborhood where people naturally congregated. It didn’t take long to find them because everyone would be out on the front lawn. The network grew organically.

So far, we knew that the problems extended as far as anyone could walk in three days. This might really have been the end of the world. That’s pretty scary. But no one knows what caused this. Speculation runs the gamut from aliens to terrorists. Personally, I’m pulling for the aliens. It will make this notebook a lot more interesting. While we waited for news, I took out my yo-yo and wondered what aliens look like.

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Please come back next week for Episode 7, Flying Saucer.

Find other participants in Tuesday Serial on Inspired by Real Life or Twitter.

Au and C, meet H₂O

the willow weeps but not for me
unless they’re tears of joy
I rest in its shade
beside the pond and toss
a trinket toward the deepest water
Au and C, meet H₂O
tiny ripples race each other
to opposite banks
a chorus of frogs announce
the winner is me
when the water is still again
I leave with empty hands
but a full heart

Rock the Baby – Episode 5

New episodes of Rock the Baby are posted each week. Read from the beginning here.

Loop the Loop

I cleaned up the broken glass and then started pulling stuff out of the icebox. It wasn’t really cold, of course, after being shut off for a couple days but it wasn’t all spoiled yet either. I spent an hour stuffing my face and then lay on the couch. I quickly fell into a deep sleep.

When I woke up the sun was low in the sky. My body ached all over and I groaned like an old man when I stood up. Groggily, I staggered to the bathroom to take a dump. When I finished, I hit the flush valve out of habit. As I stared at my reflection in the mirror I suddenly realized that the toilet tank was refilling. I reached out and turned the faucet on the sink in front of me. Water! I hadn’t even tried the tap here.

I splashed it on my face and let it run down my chest. It was freakin’ wonderful! I cupped my hands and drank. I had no idea why I had no water in my apartment when it still worked here. I didn’t care. But now I was fully awake and realized this couldn’t last long. With no electricity the pumps wouldn’t be able to refill the water towers. It was only a matter of time before this would be all gone.

I allowed myself a quick shower and shave. Again, freakin’ wonderful. I toweled off and pulled on clean shorts. Then I plugged the drain and started letting the tub fill with water. Turns out, I was in the nick of time. When the tub was a little over half full the water slowed to a trickle and then stopped.

I went back to the kitchen and ate some more. Tomorrow I can pull out the gas grill and have a hot meal. Stuffed again I went back to the couch. I wondered some more about my parents. I’m worried that I don’t know where they are. Other than that though, I felt safer and more satisfied than I have since this whole ordeal started. Clutching a rock in one hand, I slept.

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Please come back next week for Episode 6, Around the Corner.

Find other participants in Tuesday Serial on Inspired by Real Life or Twitter.