12/31/12

The Right One
By Harry Noussias


One wouldn’t exactly call Melvin Twitmeyer cheap. It is not as though he wouldn’t spend money if needed, at least on the necessities of life. After all, one has to eat and pay the rent. It’s just that he is, oh how shall we say it - a collector.

Melvin collects money. One might even go one step further and say Melvin loves money. Perhaps you’re thinking, who doesn’t love money? Who wouldn’t want to be fabulously wealthy and be able to buy mansions, fancy cars and yachts? But, that is not loving money, not the way Melvin does. That’s only loving what money can buy. Melvin loves the money.

Every day Melvin counts his money - all of it. First thing in the morning he eagerly rushes to the bank and withdraws all that wonderful cash from his account. He counts it and later in the day he reluctantly and very sadly has to redeposit it back into his account. Melvin isn’t naïve. He knows the only truly safe place to keep his adorable currency is in the bank. But at least for a short while, each day he can indulge in his pleasure.

Melvin gets goose bumps at the very touch of the special paper that his precious bills are printed on. He likes to gaze with wide open eyes for hours at the amazing colors and designs among the various denominations. And, there is nothing like the smell of a new bill nearly hot off the press. As to the coins, there is that marvelous sound they make when stacking them. The sparkle of silver is quite hypnotic and alluring. The taste of the gold in those rare coins he keeps in his safety deposit box, well it’s just plan ecstasy. But, laying out dozens of one hundred dollar bills on the bed and rolling around on them – now that’s what it’s all about. At least that’s what it’s all about for Melvin. But, don’t get the wrong idea. It’s not all fun. There is also work. The coins must be washed in the dishwasher. Who knows who touched them? The paper money must have all the creases straightened out. That isn’t always easy. Still, to Melvin it is well worth it.

In another apartment, down the block from Melvin’s, lived Gertrude Spitt. Gertrude also has a fascination with money. From her apartment window she would investigate every inch of the sidewalk below with her binoculars. You never can tell when someone might drop some change. The very second that Gertrude would see a penny or nickel lying on the pavement she would hurriedly dash to its rescue. Gertrude would run the coins through the dishwasher. After all, who wants smelly nickels? Then she would separate the coins according to their wear pattern. The coins with the most wear would be place in a special box. This would keep them out of circulation for a while to give the other younger coins out there in the world a chance to catch up.

Yes, Gertrude was happy with her calling in life – rescuing abandoned and abused coins. Sometimes she could barely contain her joy and she would break out into song. Her favorite tune is Pennies From Heaven. She doesn’t mind that it is an old song. She just likes the words. She especially likes the part that says, “Every time it rains, it rains pennies from heaven”. She sometimes daydreams of nice shinning pennies, nickel and dimes falling from the sky. That would be great. It would be great for anyone. Oh, but wait. Some of the coins would be damaged when striking the pavement. Some might even fall into mud. Better daydream about something else. How about a handsome man coming into her life? Yeah, that would be good. But, he’d have to be the right one.

Melvin also would dream of someone coming into his life. She would have to be very special. She’d have to be the right one.

Of course, everyone knows where this is headed. It is inevitable. It is fate. It has been arranged by all the stars in the heavens. Destiny shall be served. Melvin and Gertrude must meet.

Well it happened one day. Melvin was walking down the street. He was returning from the drug store where he had purchased some cold medicine. Destiny had chosen this day to give Melvin a nagging cough and runny nose. While walking, he reached into his pocket for his handkerchief. When he pulled the handkerchief out of his pocket he also pulled out some coins. The coins hit the pavement with that unmistakable ding sound. Melvin began to panic. Where were his coins? He looked all around. How many did he drop? Where did they go? Sweat ran down his face. If only someone could help him.

Destiny had also chosen this moment for Gertrude to do her binocular work. She would be Melvin’s rescuer from above.

This was going to be some real romantic stuff. The next thing Melvin knew was that there was an angel standing there. She reached down into the gutter where the coins had fallen. She wiped the coins off on her dress and handed them to him. Melvin was entranced. It was love at first sight.

Some truly romantic stuff to be sure.

Anyway, they got to talking and one thing led to another and the next thing they knew Melvin was in Gertrude’s apartment. Gertrude ran his coins through the dish washer. This really impressed Melvin. She couldn’t help but notice the glee in his blood shot eyes.

Melvin tried hard not to cough or sneeze too much. Not only was there the possibility of giving Gertrude his cold, but there was also the possibility of contaminating the rescued coins in her special box.

Gertrude knew right then that this could lead to something good. She made Melvin a hot cup of tea. “Here, it’s good for your cold.” She poured the tea and also poured out all her compassion. Melvin was hooked. They spent the rest of the day just talking and enjoying each other’s company. After all, they had a lot in common.

As time went on they began to see each other more often. Gertrude now stared out of her window waiting for Melvin to come. It seems that the coin rescue was now placed on the back burner. Melvin spent a little less time counting his money. There was now another priority.

The relationship grew. They even took trips together. They went to visit the mint to see how dollar bills are made. They went to the Smithsonian Museum to see their ancient Greek coin exhibit. They visited a small Civil War museum to view the Confederate money, and were saddened that it no longer had spendable value.

But, their most romantic times were when they would stroll along the beach and gaze into the ocean wondering how many ships had sunk with all their gold on board.

Destiny decided to speed things up a little bit and in a very short time Melvin Twitmeyer and Gertrude Spitt found themselves at the altar saying, “I do”. It was a nice wedding. The organist played Pennies From Heaven.

What could be better? Melvin and Gertrude each found what they were looking for – the right one.

OK, now comes the hot and heavy stuff. On their honeymoon night they made passionate love, as all lovers do. But, with one minor difference. They did it on a pile of gold coins spread upon the bed.

Well there is not much more to add. Everything with Melvin and Gertrude is perfect. They are not like the rest of us. They will truly live happily ever after.

The end.

Oh, wait. There is one more thing. When they were done making love they ran the coins through the dishwasher. They would want you to know that. There, now it’s the end.


- - -
I have been a writer for several years. Most of my efforts have been in the nonfiction area. It is not very exciting to be sure, but the money is good. I thought I might try my hand at something different, something a bit more amusing with a touch on the romantic side.

12/30/12

Soul Bowl
By Eric Suhem


Milo worked at the bowling alley, troubleshooting problems with the ball-return machines, shelving the bowling balls at the end of the night, and performing various maintenance duties. Until a couple of weeks ago, he had been an accountant in the big city. Suddenly Milo quit his job at the accounting firm, left the city, and started working at the bowling alley in a non-descript town. Milo loved working at the bowling alley, as the crash of pins seemed to trigger various pleasant memories in his subconscious.

About six months ago, Milo had started slipping into strange bowling-related trances. When visiting a museum, he would enjoy contemplating the fire extinguisher on the museum wall, as it seemed to resemble a large bowling pin. The blackberries, plums, cherries, and tomatoes in still-life and landscape paintings also soon represented, to Milo, nothing but multi-colored bowling balls.

Milo decided to see a psychiatrist about his bowling obsession. On his first visit, while looking at the diplomas and certificates on the wall, Milo couldn’t help noticing the bowling trophies that were situated about the doctor’s office in a pattern that he found hostile and aggressive. The psychiatrist had launched into a pseudo-Freudian theory involving penis envy, indicating that bowling pins represented an unconscious compensation by Milo for his small endowment. Milo emphatically rejected this theory, and had stopped seeing the psychiatrist.

In his new job at the bowling alley, Milo answered his cell phone, which had a ring-tone of crashing bowling pins. It was his former boss from the accounting firm, Maura. “Milo, we need you back here at the firm, let’s talk tomorrow,” said Maura. Milo began to answer, but slipped into a pleasant reverie upon hearing the 16 lb. bowling balls roll along the maple wood. He clicked his cell phone off.

The next day, Maura approached Milo at the bowling alley as he was excavating a stuck Brunswick from a malfunctioning ball return machine. “Why Maura, what a surprise!” exclaimed Milo, knowing that she would appear sooner or later. “Let’s talk while I work,” said Milo as he completed toiling on the ball return machine, and proceeded to lie down on a bench in the bowling area, reaching underneath to tighten screws and hinges that had come loose.

Maura pulled up a green plastic chair, “Milo, I don’t understand why you left the office to work here…” started Maura, but her voice trailed off as she began to feel the hypnotic effect of the bowling alley: the crashing pins, the balls rolling on wood, the chatter throughout. Milo looked on knowingly as Maura slipped off into a bowling-induced trance, where images of her childhood in the suburbs drifted into her mind….There were aqua-marine swimming pools situated in the backyards of houses with pastel automobiles parked in front, rubber tires lodged against the heated summertime asphalt. 11-year old Maura and her friends were in a bowling league. The cold air conditioning at the bowling alley felt so good in the hot summer...she wanted to be there... Maura awoke refreshed hours later in the parking lot, as Milo had brought her outside for some fresh air.

Within days, Maura quit the accounting firm and got a job at the bowling alley where Milo worked. As she and Milo took a cigarette break out in the parking lot, a large family was walking back to their car from the sporting goods store, most of the children clad in Little League baseball uniforms, when one of the non-uniformed kids, an 11-year old girl named Marcia, felt drawn towards the bowling alley, in the path of Milo and Maura. “This is for me, I’m home,” said Marcia dreamily, as the parents looked on in alarm, but oddly yielding.

Maura and Milo reached for her hand, saying, “Come closer child, follow us.” And she did.


- - -
Eric Suhem lives in California and enjoys the qualities of his vegetable juicer.

12/29/12

Ditch
By Charles Caulkins

            “SOMEBODY GET US OUT OF HERE!” Mel wailed from the bottom of the hole. Her voice sounded loud in the dark, damp ditch, echoed off from the tall vertical drop they came in from earlier. Both of her feet were ankle deep in the mud below her, seeping in between her socks and toes after what seemed to be hours standing in the stuff.

            Standing next to her in the long, cramped space, Daniel frowned. “If you keep yelling like that, you’ll strain your voice.”

            “I don’t care!” Mel snapped. “I have to get out of this place! HELLOOOOO!”

            “Mel, calm down; the world isn’t going to end because you’re out of place for a few minutes. Someone will come looking for us, I know it.”

            “That was over…” she glanced up at the sky before snapping back at him. “I can’t even tell anymore! The sun’s already gone!” Mel pointed to the long narrow strip of light up top, where the blue sky was starting to dull and fade in color. By dusk, it would be yellow, and then eventually black.

“Soon it’ll set…” she started, but sighed before she could finish. She slumped back down into the murky ground filled with mud and grime. She had long since stopped caring about keeping her clothes clean; she had ruined them already by trying to climb the slippery surface.

“This is all your fault,” she murmured darkly.

            Daniel sighed. Granted, she was right; neither of them asked for this kind of predicament, let alone to be trapped in a murky hole together. They were just two young teens at summer camp, exploring a bit far out of the camp grounds for some adventure. Funny how things turned out…

            <><><>

            It happened just a week ago. One day during a summer camp hike, he took a side stroll from the usual route and came across a hole on the ground. It was dark, creepy, but big enough for him to crawl into. Using some of his hiking supplies like his rope and jump strap, he climbed down to investigate. Being a thirteen year old kid going through the initial stages of puberty, he expected something gross like a hive of swarming insects, or something cool like a treasure chest containing the best comic books people haven’t seen for years.

            What he didn’t expect was something beautiful and amazing.

            The hole he climbed down into was really a secret cave with a big open space, like the Bat Cave or something. Nearly the whole place was filled with water; blue, shimmering, soothingly refreshing water. He probably wouldn’t have noticed the place if not for the glowing rocks from below the water, giving the place a sort of feeling fit to only gods or something. It was amazing, spectacular, and he was the only one who knew about it! Though with a discovery so amazing and unreal, it needed to be told to someone, anyone! But who to tell about this underground lake?

            He thought about some friends, but most of them wouldn’t be interested in swimming; they mostly keep inside of their cabins and stations at Arts and Crafts rather than engage in activities like swimming; a swimming spot this great needed to be swum in, not just gossiped. Summer camp was ending soon too, so unless he found the right person, than this venture would be a pointless detour.

            And then it hit him; Melody Rainbow, the fifteen year old gold-medal champ of the swimming rally and canoe racing events. The mermaid with the black-hair cut short midway to her neck, who still managed to flap out like a whip when she pulled out her swimming cap. The modest camper who wore an ebon-colored body swimsuit, and managed to flaunt it better than most other girls would with exposed skin and string bikinis. The girl most likely to graduate as a candidate for the next Summer Olympics 10 km Marathon swimming event, and win for Gold.

            She needed to know this… if he could tell her anyway. Because really; an underground lake that only he knew about? It was the perfect plan to woo her, ask her out, and maybe, just maybe, see her in that slim, black one piece bathing suit again.

It was a long shot, and Mel wasn’t normally a girl easily impressed; she wouldn’t take any ordinary racing challenge unless there was a wager to the winner, for one. Didn’t matter whether she won or lost; she’s human after all, not perfect. She would be interested in anything swimming related, but only if there was something to gain out of it.

Daniel could play to that concerning the private swimming spot he found; he knew how bored she was already of their summer camp. The daily schedule was basically an hour of planned activities, followed by an hour of free time, jumping back and forth until night time. The major swimming events were already over, and no one wanted to challenge her and lose again. Only a handful of people could beat Melody Rainbow at swimming, and they all left early for different reasons. Randy had to study for a scholarship, Claire left for a national swimming contest she signed up for a month in advance, and Bo Bell was homesick. A lot of people missed Bo Bell. He was like their real-life version of Charlie Brown, since the first and last name sort of resonated with one another. Helps that he wasn’t as unlucky as that comic strip character too…

Anyway, Melody, or Mel as her friends called her, hadn’t swam in weeks after all that. Daniel wanted nothing more than to try and rekindle that for the last week or so they were here. So, using their hour of free time, he went off to ask her to see the lake with just him.

            Or rather the remaining half hour of free time… the second time around, until the afternoon. The first free period he had spent going over what kind of lines he would say to interest her into coming with him without blatantly stating his crush on her. When he realized that wouldn’t work out so well, he started thinking of ways to try to tell her he liked her. He ended up fumbling on his words repeatedly.

            What’s more, he wasn’t sure if he could fix his looks. He considered combing his brown unkempt hair, but they were going to go swimming anyway, if all went according to plan. Same went for attire too; all he needed was his trunks in the end. But what if she didn’t like how he looked in his trunks? Her competition usually included people with regular work-out routines and muscles. Daniel was by no means fat, but he had more body fat than muscle. He wasn’t competitive with sports or swimming, and compared to her, he’d look geeky.

            By the second free period, he mentally convinced himself to go over and ask her straight up, alone if possible. Walking down to one of the camp areas, she found her talking with one of her friends, Paula. He almost backed out again, but his mouth ran before his brain could override it. “Mel, could I talk to you about something? Alone?”

            The rather forwardness of his request caught both of them by surprise, and Daniel was worried that he worded his request wrong. After a few awkward seconds, Mel turned to her friend and said, “I’ll catch up later, Paula.”

            When Paula left, Mel turned and gauged the boy in front of her. “So what is it, uh…?”

            “Daniel,” he offered.

            “That’s right, the adventure nerd,” she said with no cruelty; just realization. Daniel wouldn’t have minded in any case; he went on a lot more hikes over the summer than her friends did.

            “Just thought I’d enjoy the scenery while I can I guess,” Daniel shrugged. Inwardly, he couldn’t believe his luck; she unknowingly gave him the perfect entry into talking about the swimming hole! “I managed to find a lot of cool stuff too.”

            “Oh? Like what?”

            “An underground lake,” he said.

            “A lake?” she blinked skeptically. “You’re lying.”

            “I’m not,” Daniel insisted. “It’s close by and we could walk there in just a few minutes.” He paused and thought about what he just said. “Well… maybe not a lake, but I found a big body of water to swim in at least.”

            “Wouldn’t the camp counselors have found this long before a student did?” she reasoned.

            “It was in a small hole in the ground. I was barely able to crawl in it.”

“Do you even know it’s clean? Or for that matter safe? It could be a natural reserve, or filled with piranhas or something.”

            Daniel had to admit she had a point, but he was too excited to share a great discovery with this cute, black haired, older girl and see her slender form in her bathing suit again to consider it too deeply. So what if the pathway was a bit rocky and steep? That’s what those hiking activities were for, right?

            “Don’t you at least want to see it?” he asked.

            “Who else knows about this ‘lake’?” Mel humored him.

            He decided to take a risk. “You were the first person I told about this.”

            She looked surprised, maybe flattered, at the comment. “Why’s that?”

            This is it, say you like her, say you like her. His mind ordered. But his mouth fumbled at end. “Because I like… swimming… and I thought you did too?”

            Smooth, he though.

            Mel just stared at him oddly. She then glanced at the sun up above, as if judging the time. If there was one other thing she had a knack for, it was being a living, human clock.

“Where did you say this lake was again?”

            <><><>

            They left to find the underground swimming spot the following day, after discussing that they wouldn’t have time to pull it off in that afternoon. Daniel willingly went with the compromise; anything to convince her to come along. The following day, they met during the first free period and left to find the cave.

            “Are we lost?” Mel asked after several minutes of walking. “I don’t think this is the usual path.”

            “I tend to wander out to different areas sometimes,” Daniel admitted. “More fun that way, you know?”

            As they passed an overturned log on the dirt road, Mel glanced up at the sun again. “Well, where’s this hole then? We’ve been at this for half an hour already.”

            Daniel looked around before pointing up. “I think… it’s over there.”

            The two of them climbed up a slope for a better vantage point and saw a dark chasm before them. “I think this is it,” Daniel admitted.

            “Are you sure? You said it was a ‘hole’.”

            “So?”

            She pointed down to the chasm. “That looks more like a ditch; there’s a long narrow furrow to the ground. See?”

            Daniel leaned over, noticing how long the gap was. “I could have sworn the swimming spot was here.”

            “Now it’s swimming spot? Not a lake?”

“It feels like a lake. Just wait until you see it!”

Mel leaned over as well. “Well, maybe you were just imaging thi-AHH!”

            “Mel! WHOA!”

            The dirt under Mel gave way and crumbled, allowing gravity to take over and pull her in. Daniel instinctively reached to catch her, but overstepped himself and fell in along with her. And that’s how they got stuck in a ditch.

            <><><>

            “HEEEEEEEELP! SOMEBODYYYYYY!” she called, but stopped short as she started coughing.

            “Told you,” Daniel said.

            “Shut up,” she hissed. “I can’t believe we wasted all that time doing nothing but getting stuck in a ditch! I never should have listened to you!”

            Daniel checked his watch, noting their time here was about to reach the fourth hour mark. “Look on the bright side; at least you’re not stuck here with someone you’d rather not spend your time with, right?”

            “Don’t even go there,” Mel glared.

            “Just a thought,” he said.

            The two of them sat uncomfortably in the ditch, sitting as far away from each other as possible. Sitting down in the narrow space forced their lower backs to seep down to the muddy water. Before long, Mel was shivering from the dirt and cold… and very close to crying.

            Her head huddled over her knees and under her arms, in a makeshift fetal position. Her entire body trembled as her breath hitched, trying to hold her voice back from crying out loud.

Daniel never felt so miserable in his life. He only wanted to spend time with Mel, but instead he ruined her day and trapped her in this stupid ditch. She wasn’t a beautiful mermaid; she was a dirty girl out of her element. And he caused it. Without thinking, he quickly scooted over to her and draped his arm over her shoulders. He figured she didn’t want a hug from him, but he didn’t want her to feel alone or cold in this.

            “I’m sorry,” Daniel began. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, but don’t worry. The world isn’t going to end if you’re not in time for a swimming race. Sometimes a change of pace is good once in a while, you know?”

            “You would know?” she asked. “Are you even okay with missing Arts and Crafts? You always like doing that.”

            Daniel thought for a moment before sighing. He was looking forward to learning in making his own papier-mâché boat in a rainbow color design, admittedly. “A little, but I like to think it was worth it. I got to spend some time with you after all.”

            “I’m not having a good time here, being stuck,” she sniffled.

            “Neither am I, especially because I made you cry. But at least we’re suffering together.”

            The next few minutes passed in silence and contemplation, the two of them sitting close together. It started getting dark, and even Daniel was starting to get worried. As they started to wonder what else to do, the ground below them shifted.

            Mel blinked. “Did you feel that?”

            “Feel what, exactly?” asked Daniel.

            Before either of them knew it, the mud and dirt wall behind them gave way to a deeper hole below them. They fell into it, screaming and clinging to one another in fear.

            Then, they splashed into water. Daniel quickly recognized it as the swimming spot he found before. He turned to the wet and surprised mermaid, grinning ear to ear as she stood in the shallow end. “See? I told you it would all work out!”

            “I guess you did,” Mel said. “It’s… beautiful.”

            “Like you,” he blurted out.

            She turned to him the moment he said it. “What was that?”

            “Uh, nothing,” Daniel said quickly. “But listen, Mel, I’m really sorry about what happened. If there’s anything-“

            She hushed him with a single finger touching his lips. “Let’s just forget about it and swim a bit, all right?”

            “Does that mean you’re taking up my swim offer?”

            She nodded slowly. “Only for today... only because I’m dirty. And just to be clear, I don’t want to do something like this ever again.”

            For some reason, Daniel could tell Mel was lying. She was smiling when she said that.

- - -
I am a college student currently on my third year (Junior) aiming for an English Writing Major and a Philosophy Minor. This piece I'm sharing is actually what I've worked on in Fiction Workshop class and was required to submit it to a magazine of sorts via Duotrope. Writing is a passion of mine, and I hope to become a full fledged author with my own selling stories in the future. Other hobbies include reading books and playing video games; both ample foods of thought for ideas. I also like Oranges as real food.

12/28/12

Without A Trace
By Stacy Maddox


Even though you are gone
I still hide you in my heart
Holding the memories safe
In the harbors of my soul
Only you bear the key
For unlocking the past
To a time when our love
Was not so far away

Wanting to have you close
Is the hardest part of all
Longing to feel your embrace
Around me again
I cry long into the night
Lost and lonely without you

Wanting to hear your voice
Whisper to me through my dreams
I awaken every morning
Hoping to watch you sleeping
Like I used to do
But you left our room
Without a trace
Except for a memory of what was.


- - -
Stacy Maddox lives, dreams and writes in the fast-paced city of Lawrence, KS. When she is not writing poems, songs and stories or taking photographs, she is tending her garden, cooking and spending time with her family and two children. She loves to soak up the sun by the river and feel the rush of water over her feet. Stacy has been published in Shades Of Expression by Gerl Publishing, The Medulla Project, Daily Love and Mused: The BellaOnline Literary Review. She has been passionate about poetry, photography, music, quotes and stories for over 30 years.

12/27/12

Boxes and Ladders
By Jerry Guarino

    Hannah could have had an easy life.  She could have spent her days with charitable causes or artistic pursuits.  She could have been free to write or paint.  If only she had chosen Richard or Ben.  Their devotion and money was the type of temptation that many women would be satisfied with, but Hannah was less conventional.

    A modern flower girl in looks and dress, with a contemporary liberal arts education, she had borrowed her parent’s idealism and combined it with her grandparent’s pragmatism.  She was everything an accomplished man might want as his mate, a partner with values, intelligence and beauty.

    But we all know that it isn’t the man who chooses the woman.  Richard didn’t know that.  Neither did Ben.  As successful as they were, there was one area of life, they couldn’t control.  Finding a mate.

    Richard was a financial analyst.  His rise from Harvard business school to a seven-figure income on Wall Street was typical of the privilege that comes from wealth.  His path was as sure as his parents had designed, laying out the ladders from a private grammar school to elite prep school to the Ivy League.  One ladder led to him to sailing camp on Martha’s Vineyard, another to meeting debutantes in cotillion balls and another to a summer job working at the stock exchange for family friends.  With his family connections, wealth and resources, it would have been surprising if he hadn’t been successful.  Like many in his social circle, he attributed his success to providence, while ignoring the more demanding requirements of responsibility that privilege may owe back to others.

        Ben was a brilliant software engineer.  Unlike Richard, Ben didn’t grow up surrounded by wealth and family connections.  His path was more pragmatic, hard work in public schools and an academic scholarship to a top public university to study computer science and engineering.  These EECS, as they were called, were pursued by the power companies in Silicon Valley, recruited almost as soon as they were admitted to school and followed until they graduated, with summer internships along the way.  Starting work two weeks after graduation for $140k, Ben launched a successful career in a short time.  Ben didn’t take his good fortune as fate.  He had compartmentalized his life into boxes, boxes for education, for work, for hobbies and even for people.  He even grouped his friends and family into an online program showing their relationships so he could understand his social world.

    David had been born to teachers in a small New England town outside Boston.  He lived comfortably but not lavishly.  He didn’t have Richard’s family connections or Ben’s engineering mind, but David was given freedom to follow his own path.  He took this freedom seriously, excelling in school and playing town soccer, without the anxiety or expectations of other parents.  This allowed David to find his way, in spite of his parent’s divorce when he was 14.  His inner strength persisted through a trip across country to live with his father, leaving his mother on the East coast.  This made his journey even more remarkable and admirable than either Richard or Ben’s life.  David could have put his considerable intellect and personality into making money, but he had an idealistic, almost hippy like temperament for public service.

    Although Richard used ladders and Ben used boxes, they both had one thing in common.  They were both about to fall in love with Hannah.  

All four of them met one evening at a benefit fundraiser for homeless healthcare in the Bay Area.  Richard was there looking for West coast financial connections.  Ben was there representing one of the tech companies, meeting investors.  David was there as a member of the coalition that distributed funds to free clinics in Oakland and San Francisco.  And Hannah.  Hannah was with the catering group, although she was as lovely and educated as any of the junior league women who organized these charitable benefits, there to find a wealthy husband for their continued lifestyle of leisure.  They too were ladder climbers, although their ultimate goal wasn’t the working world, but as the proper social family director, raising good children to continue the legacy.

    If you observed carefully, you could tell what line of work people were in.  Ben was dressed in a sports jacket, button down blue shirt, matching tie and khaki pants so typical of tech managers.  Richard had an Amosu suit, Eton shirt, Ferragamo tie, platinum cuff links, and Italian shoes, easily a $5000 outfit.  No secret who the women were tracking, Richard, not Ben.  David was virtually invisible, looking more like a graduate student than a key figure at the benefit.

    But Hannah noticed him.  “Who is that?” she asked her boss.  

    “That’s David Wilson.  He’s the project manager for the company distributing funds to the free clinics.”

    “Are you sure?  He isn’t dressed up, just a casual shirt and pants.”

    “That’s his way Hannah.  Very understated.  Look him up on Google and you’ll see.”

    “I might just do that.”

    “But if you want rich, there are plenty here to choose from.  But don’t get engaged too soon.  I’ve lost too many staff at these events already.”

    Hannah laughed.  “I’m not here to find a husband.  Just here to make some money while I figure out what to do with a degree in English literature.”

    “That’s not very reassuring dear,” said her boss.  “My last two girls were liberal arts major seeking their destiny and now they live in Atherton.  You will remember to have me cater your events when you get there, won’t you?”

    “Too isolated for me.  I’m more of a Berkeley girl,” said Hannah.

    “Yes, and the two girls in Atherton both went to Cal.”

    Ben was the first to notice Hannah in her white chef jacket.  “Excuse me.  Do you have any more of these shrimp puffs?”

    Hannah looked up.  “Sorry, I don’t know.  I’ll go into the kitchen and check.”

    “No wait” he said awkwardly.  “I don’t really want the shrimp puffs.”

    Hannah looked confused.  “All right.  Some other pastry perhaps?”

    Ben blushed.  “I just wanted to meet you.  I’m Ben.”

    “Thank you Ben, but I really shouldn’t be socializing with the guests.  May I ask why you wanted to talk to me?”

    Ben wiped away sweat from his brow, realizing this wasn’t going well.  “These charity women aren’t my type.  I’m more comfortable with regular people.”

    “Regular people?” said Hannah.

    “That’s not derogatory.  I’ve been analyzing relationships and it says that I would be suited with someone in the restaurant or catering field.”  Ben realized how lame that sounded.

    “A program told you to find a relationship with someone in the food industry?”

    “Actually, it was my own program.  I have these groups and assign everyone I meet into them, like boxes.  Seems the people I’m interested in all work in restaurants.”

    “You put people in boxes?”  Hannah put her tray in front of her body as she took a step back.

    “No, I don’t put people in boxes.  I put their traits, their qualities, aspects of their personality into boxes, then I quantify which ones would appeal to me most.”

    “So you put people in boxes?”

    Ben was crestfallen.  “Yes, I suppose so.  But it works for most parts of my life; shouldn’t it work for relationships?”

    “It was nice to meet you Ben.  I have to get back to work.”  Hannah made a beeline for the kitchen when Richard blocked her path.

    “Hi.”

    “May I help you sir?”

    “Call me Richard.”

    “All right Richard.  What would you like?”

    “I don’t usually do this but I couldn’t help notice how beautiful you are.”

    “I’m flattered Richard, but I am afraid you’re not my type.  Besides I have to work.  Sorry.”  She turned to walk away.

    “Not her type,” he muttered to himself.  “A common shop girl.  I don’t understand.”  As he walked away, several of the junior league girls went to consol him.

    Hannah came back from the kitchen and set out more food.  Then she felt a tap on her shoulder.  “Oh no...which one of these two is it now?”  She sighed and turned around.

    “Miss.  I just wanted to thank you.  Your service and professionalism has helped make this fundraiser a success.  Please thank the others for me.”  He turned to leave.

    “Wait.  You’re David Wilson.  Can you tell me more about your organization?”

    “Well, would you really like to know?  Don’t you have to work?”

    Hannah turned to see her boss, gesturing to her to go ahead.  “It’s my break.  Why don’t we go out on the balcony?”

***

    Hannah finished packing her belongings into the boxes.  Everything was ready to go, except for some things above the closet, under the high ceiling.  She couldn’t reach them from a chair.  “Honey, can you get these up here?”

    David looked at Hannah.  “Looks like we’re going to need a ladder.”   

Hannah smiled and put a finger to her cheek.  “I don’t have one, do you?”

    David smiled back at his new fiancé.  “Nope, never had the need for one.”

- - -
Jerry Guarino’s short stories have been published by dozens of magazines in the United States, Canada, Australia and Great Britain. His latest book, "50 Italian Pastries", is available on amazon.com and as a kindle ebook. Please visit his website at http://cafestories.net

12/26/12

Caress Of Light
By Bobbi Sinha-Morey


With an unexpected
grace irises float like
small worlds in your
open eyes and, like
something winged,
our fingers meet,
holding in air. The
caress of light is on
your cheek. Time has
wrapped us in a cocoon
of peaceful silence and
as stars usher in the
night I love lying beside
you listening to you
sleep. How gently the
darkness opens while
we clasp our hearts
together and dream.
In the morning when
we waken touch me
while the glow of the
daystar is still above
us.


- - -
I am a reviewer for the online magazine Specusphere and a poet. My poetry has appeared in places such as Orbis, Taproot Literary Review, Pirene's Fountain, and Bellowing Ark, among others. My latest book of poetry, Rain Song, is located at www.writewordsinc.com, and my website is http://bobbisinhamorey.wordpress.com.

12/25/12

At Last
By Amanda Firefox


Snow this year
snow at last
it has been
as many years since I've seen snow
as it has been
since I've seen you

you at last
you this year
we-- together
it has been
as many years since I've seen you
as it has been
since you've held me in your arms
since we've danced
spent all night awake
talking in soft light
drinking the steam of tea

Merry Christmas, my love.
Merry Christmas.

You and snow
and I
again
at last.


- - -
Amanda Firefox is a fiery little brunette who spends as much time at the beach as she can manage. She doesn't write much, but when she writes, it's almost always about her favorite subject: boys.

12/24/12

Snow Reminds Me of Love...
By Smita Anand Sriwastav


falling confetti of sublime winter
is a soft susurrus lacing
the frosty silence which envelopes
my soul away from the bustle
of preoccupied existence.

the proud verdant pines
of piquant sighs of freshness
are covered in snow-scoops
reminiscent of amply ladled
cones of vanilla ice-cream.

at a distance the once
lotus-stud lake of turquoise ripples
is a sapphire mirror of cotton-wool environs,
while the window -pane is
oft turned opaque by beads of frost
barely erased by rays of the sun
pouring lukewarm treacle.

it is yet early for the daffodils
to rise and smile in aureate delight from
their dormant bulbs quilted in snow,
and the squirrel siestas quietly
within her burrow of warmth dreaming
of watermelon flavored days
of the fragrant springtime.

and within the embrace of
this albescent quietude my soul
lovelorn and forlorn yearns for you
a warm cuddle before the blazing hearth,
sharing a coy blanket and aromatic cappuccino,
those deep eyes would suffice for
the quietened ripples of the azure lake,
and the lips like succulent raspberries
would more than make up for those
scarlet roses yet to bloom in zephyr's boudoir.

now the slate-blue skies of winter
reflect my gloom in the canvas of
faded, withering cornflower skies and clouds
frowning and grumbling above only
enhance my loneliness as I crave
for you to come back from
the banks of blooming narcissus
to forever befriend my solitude...


- - -
I am an M.B.B.S. doctor with a passion for poetry and literature. I have always expressed my innermost thoughts and sentiments through the medium of poetry. A feeling of inner tranquility and bliss captures my soul whenever I pen my verse. Nature has been the most inspiring force in molding the shape of my writings. I have published two books and have published poems in journals like the Rusty Nail, eFiction India, Pyrokinection, Jellyfish Whispers and Contemporary Literary Review India and one of my poems was published in a book called ‘Inspired by Tagore’ published by Sampad and British Council. I have written poetry all my life and aim to do so forever.

12/23/12

Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop
By Nicole Mormann


I know you wanted to see my face again
When you sat down in that café tonight
Sipping black tea under faded light
Admit it to me and I’ll admit it to you
Truth is I wanted to see your face again
I had to see you too

I had a feeling you would be there
But somehow I was surprised
When we met each other’s eyes
And you turned your gaze to the floor
Through you knew I would be there
In our favorite coffee store

And when I left, you didn’t say anything
Like “hi, hello, goodbye”
Nothing…why’d you even try?
Coming back to this place where we first met
And letting me leave without saying anything
Just watching in regret

It seems so stupid, I simply don’t understand
How after all that we’ve been through
You still can’t talk to me and I to you
So we go where we know the other will be
Even though its stupid and I can’t understand (you)
You can’t understand me

And though I walked back, wondering, thinking on this
A part of me was happy
I know this sounds kind of sappy
But I’m glad I saw you, it was actually quite nice
And when walking back, I thought of you
And hoped I’d see you twice


- - -

12/22/12

After Life
By Reina Archuleta

The ghosts came slowly at first.  It started with her husband four months after his death.  She had been sitting on the couch watching a documentary on the lifecycles of stars.  The raspy voice of the narrator had just begun speaking about the main sequence when she noticed him standing near the wooden rocking chair.  His hands were in his pockets, and his eyes were fixated on the public broadcasting program.  He didn’t even look at her until she cleared her throat, and then all he had for her was one word.

“Hey.”

Charlotte had become accustomed to life without Adam.  The late night crying, the ice cream binges, the marathons of their wedding video, the lack of desire to do anything but stay home and watch PBS.  Once he returned things fell back into their normal routine.  It was odd at first wearing something other than yoga pants, and no longer being able to sleep in the middle of the bed.  She once again had to deal with the hunting channel being on before she went to sleep, and all the windows remaining open through the night.  It was as if Adam had never left, yet the ease at which they fell back into routine was slightly terrifying.

Six years back, old Mrs. Peters had lost her husband to a tragic boating accident.  When he came back she threw a block party, which Mr. Peters was not delighted about at all.  He didn’t come back to socialize, he came back to drink beer and sit on his recliner.  Mr. Peters disappeared one year later, after Mrs. Peters passed away.  Although their story was relatively happy, not all stories were so pleasant.  One of Charlotte’s friends from college, Kyle, lost his wife two years ago.  When she came back the same euphoria surrounded them for a few years until Kyle found his wife sleeping with another man.  She filed for divorce and moved to Tijuana with her new living lover.  Charlotte had no fear of Adam cheating on her, yet if the only way for them to remain happy was for her to die in a year she wasn’t content with that either.

When Charlotte expressed these fears to Adam he burst out in laughter, and as he attempted to calm down he looked up at her and said, “You’re ridiculous Char, but that’s why I love you.”

The line between before and after Adam’s death began to become erased, with the only reminder that he was not alive being three bullet holes on his chest.  The first time Charlotte saw them was that first night as they were lying in bed.   The three holes were small and clean, and when she laid her head on his chest they smelled faintly of blood.  The edges felt smooth, and she couldn’t resist but wedge her pinky into one of them.  It was cold and soft, and the pressure against his skin was enough to wake him up from his unneeded slumber.  After that she couldn’t stop staring at them.  At night she memorized the circumference of each of the three wounds, and kissed each one before falling asleep

The second ghost showed up six months after Adam came back.  Adam had been mowing the backyard when a toothless man stumbled into the petunia patch.  Charlotte’s temper flared as she saw her flowers being stomped on by the elderly gentleman in calf length jeans. 

“Get off!  Get off!  Get off!”

She had sprinted from her seat on the patio right into the line of vision of the man, but once she was close enough she realized that he probably couldn’t see her because of his severe cataracts. 

“Adam!  Make him get out of the flower bed!” she turned to see her husband still mowing the lawn, as if ignoring the situation would just make it go away.

“I don’t know what you want me to do honey.”

“Get him out of the flower bed,” she repeated it, slowly and through gritted teeth.

“Look he’s gone,” Adam shrugged as Charlotte turned and noticed her crushed petunias minus one old man, “Problem solved.”

The next time the old man showed up was when Charlotte was taking a shower.  She stepped out to find him napping on the blue tile floor.  He had a pink towel draped over him and there were crumbs in his white beard.  She didn’t want to deal with him with no clothes on, but by the time she came back fully dressed he was gone.  Then the man started appearing in random places: stuck in a cabinet, behind the curtains, sleeping at the foot of their bed.  It took Adam chasing him through the dining room and pinning him down for them to finally figure out he was dead.

His name was Herbert, and he had apparently died somewhere between two weeks and two years ago.  He wasn’t sure; in fact he wasn’t sure about a lot of things. The only thing he knew for sure was that he was lost, and needed a place to stay.  Adam and Charlotte had never even wanted children, let alone an old man with a tendency to drool on himself.  They tried to explain to Herbert that they weren’t ready for that kind of commitment; it wasn’t him it was them.  Despite their best efforts, Herbert’s soul must have been connected with the home because he refused to leave.  The couple had no choice but to allow Herbert to stay, but under one condition: he would live in the backyard and stay away from the flower garden. 

After agreeing to house Herbert more ghosts began appearing.  Charlotte would find one staring at Adam as he slept, one drinking her coffee in the morning, one using her toothbrush.  The worst experience Charlotte had was when she found her dead mother-in-law replacing her wedding pictures with snapshots of Adam and an ex-girlfriend.  Luckily it was the first week of the afterlife book club, so Adam wasn’t home, and Charlotte chose not to mention the incident to him.  Eventually the ghosts became a problem, and the couple wasn’t ready to turn their home into a habitat for the dead.

“I found another one today,” Charlotte stated as she sat on the bathroom counter, watching Adam brush his teeth, “She was washing our windows.”

“Well that’s great; we now have a free maid.”

“You’re not funny,” she punched his shoulder, “I have no clue why they all insist on coming here.”

“Maybe they have nowhere else to go.”

That’s when they had an idea of putting ‘found ghost’ posters around town.  The calls came in waves, along with the grateful families who drove from all over to pick up their dead relatives.  Minivan after minivan carted away the ghosts who had made their way into the couple’s home.  It didn’t go unnoticed by those who remained that their families weren’t coming for them.  A few of the ghosts were adopted by families in the neighborhood, and those that weren’t spent their days in the backyard playing poker with Herbert.

It was a comfortable existence, and perhaps the ease of the situation blinded Charlotte to the changes occurring.  She failed to notice when the flowers on the front porch stopped being watered until they were all but dead.  A young ghost named Molly had taken over the responsibility of the plants surrounding the home.  It had been a responsibility Charlotte was slow to release to a dead teenager, but Molly proved herself worthy until the flowers withered. 

“Molly!” Charlotte pushed her hands into the large bushes in the front of her house, grasping to see if the teen was hiding in one of them.  She had already searched the home, the backyard, and most of the front yard so the only explanation was that Molly must be hiding.

“Honey, what are you doing?”

Charlotte pulled her hands out of the bush and let out a sigh, “Have you seen Molly?”

“No,” Adam ran a finger over a withered daisy, “But you think she was in that bush?”

“I can’t find her, and she’s stopped watering the plants.”

“Well she did lose her watering bucket.”

“Last week.  She could have asked me to go get another one.”

“I’m sure she’ll show up,” Adam assured her, like he always did, “Now come inside, you look like a crazy woman digging through our shrubbery.”

Molly never reappeared, and everything related to her vanished.  Adam convinced her that Molly had simply run away like a standard rebellious teenager.  Charlotte accepted this theory and reverted back to taking care of her own plants.  She didn’t begin questioning it until a month later when she received a call from a worried caretaker who hadn’t seen her ghost in days.

“No ma’am I’m sorry I haven’t seen…what did you say his name was again?”

“George.  He’s in his sixties and very sweet gentlemen.  He was wearing flannel the last time I saw him.”

“Oh,” Charlotte remembered the old man who used to get in constant fights with Herbert.  The two would play card games, and both accuse each other of cheating, “George never seemed like one to run away, but he only stayed with us for a few weeks before you came along.”

 “No, George wouldn’t have run away, so I suppose my suspicion is confirmed.  He must have moved on.”

“Excuse me?” Charlotte moved the phone from her left to right hand, holding it close to her ear, “Moved on?”

“He won’t be showing up anymore, I suppose he has no reason to be here.  Well thank you for your help dear and I may come by later this week to see your selection.  I got quite accustomed to having a ghost in the house.”

“Yeah stop on by, and I’m sorry about George.”

“Don’t be sorry, it was his time and who was I to stop it.”

The woman ended up stopping by later that week, and adopted two ghosts this time, just in case one moved on.  That phrase, moved on, it had been replaying in Charlotte’s head since the phone call.  It soon became a normal occurrence for the ghosts to complain of things going missing and while Charlotte worried, Adam ignored the ghost exodus.

Adam began spending more time with Charlotte, explaining things like oil changes, chainsaws, and the difference between a Philips and Frearson screwdriver.  Charlotte felt as if he was training her.  He made her change the oil in her car, and when a light went out he guided her on how to fix it.  During this time he began using her toothbrush after he couldn’t find his, and she noticed him wearing the same shirt numerous days in a row.  It was a slow, sinking feeling that crept into Charlotte’s being with the words ‘moved on’ repeating in her head.

“Why are they leaving us?” 

She asked as she rested her head on Adam’s chest, her fingers searching through the fabric for the bullet holes.  The questions had been keeping her awake at night, instilling an unknown fear inside of her.

“Who?” Adam yawned out of ritual, one of those living things he did to make Charlotte forget that his heart wasn’t beating.

“You,” she moved her hand up to touch the scruff on his neck that he would never be able to shave off, “You’re going to leave.  Just like the others.”

“Don’t be silly,” he chided as he turned and wrapped her up in his arms, “I’m never leaving you.  The others don’t have anyone here, that’s why they can leave.  As long as you’re alive, I’ll be with you.”

“Yeah,” she whispered as she buried her head into his chest, “You’re right.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Over the years Charlotte had become too comfortable with her husband and their dead houseguests.  The line between the dead and the living became blurred, so when the house became silent yet again she wasn’t sure what to do.  It took two years for all the ghosts to disappear.  She was happy to see some go, the destructive ones that would break her fine china and reorganize her living space.  Others she missed dearly, the ones she could have conversations with about what it was like after death, the ones that helped her with the menial tasks, and took her side in arguments against Adam.  Occasionally they would send her signs from beyond: a petunia that grew in the dead of winter, a dingy watering tin on the front porch, and finally a small bullet.

Adam left on a windy spring day.  Charlotte knew he was gone the moment she woke up alone, in the middle of the bed.  The first thing she did was put on some yoga pants and drink a cup of coffee.  She waited for a while, hoping Adam would walk through the backdoor smelling of freshly cut grass.  His face would be stained with sweat, and he would grin before kissing her and going to take a shower.  When she went back into her bedroom she found the small gift.  The bullet rolled in the palm of her hand, and as she held it between her fingers she noticed that it would make a hole the perfect size for her pinky.  She kept it on her bedside table, and on the nights when she became lonely she would grip it tightly until a small circle marked her hand.


- - -
My name is Reina Archuleta and I live in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I am currently attending the Universtiy of New Mexico. Thank you for your time and consideration.