4/30/12

Grandma's Rum Bath to Cure Baldness and Preserve Marriage
By Kathy Warnes


In the rough days on the frontier, rum was like death and taxes – everywhere. Grandma with six greats in front of it used to rub rum on the gums of her teething children and she swore that it eased their pain and sent them snoring into slumber. Grandma with six greats in front of it decided to use the rum cure to keep Grandpa with six greats in front of it from going bald.

"Tabitha, I'm starting to look like Deacon Jones," he said to Grandma one night after he tried to comb his hair. It had taken only two swipes of the comb and even they had finished early.

"Alexander, you are no longer a young man. It is fitting that you should lose your hairs."

"Tabitha, if I am losing my hairs, it is not fitting that I parade my loss in front of the entire town. I must wear a cap on my head. Will you make me a cap to hide my baldness?"

"Alexander, how will you hold a cap in place without any hair?

"Perhaps by strings tied around my ears or by wearing a hat 24 hours a day. There is a way to accomplish this, Tabitha."

"The best way to face the loss is to thrust your head into the world unadorned and unashamed," Grandma with six greats in front of her name told him.

Grandpa with six greats in front of his name pressed his lips together. He didn't say any more about his hair, but Grandma knew he was upset. She decided to help him. That night, she fixed an especially good meal‑venison stew, wild berries and apple pie. Then she poured a mug of the precious rum that was such a favored drink of the people with six greats in front of their names.

Grandpa yawned while he basked in front of the fire digesting his venison stew. By the time Grandma joined him there after settling the children in their beds in the loft, he was snoring peacefully. His head nestled on his chest like a hen brooding her nest.

"Now for the next step of my plan," Grandma whispered. Stealthily as an Indian creeping up on a colonist, Grandma crept over to the jug of rum that she kept in a dark corner of the cabin behind the broom. She poured about half a mug of rum and carried it carefully over to Grandpa.

"Alexander, are you sleeping?" she whispered.

Grandpa stirred and mumbled, but he didn't wake up.

Grandma prepared to carry out the next step of her plan. Carefully, she dipped her hand into the mug of rum and scooped some up in her cupped palm. Carefully, she drizzled the rum on grandpa's head. Carefully, she rubbed in the rum like she was rubbing homemade soft soap into lather.

"Mpph!" Grandpa said.

"It's all right, Alexander. Go back to sleep," Grandma said. "There, there." She stroked his forehead and he smiled, snored twice and went back to sleep.

Grandma watched Grandpa’s scalp like a cat a mouse hole. When great clumps of hair didn't sprout like daisies on the bald top of his head, she sighed.

"It will take another application," she said. She crossed over to the rum jug again.

A second application produced the same results and a strong, rummy smell permeated the room. Grandpa must have recognized the smell because a dreamy smile appeared on his face. He muttered, "Yes, I am at the Royal Eagle Tavern on the Pike Road. Yes, pretty maid. I will have another glass of your best ale. What a well turned‑out maid you are!"

When Grandma heard this speech, she spilled the rum she had cupped in her hand smack on top of Grandpa's head instead of rubbing it in. The rum trickled down into his eyes and all over the front of his face. This rum bath also woke him up.

"Why do I have rum trickling down my forehead?" he spluttered.

“And what else did you say to that bar maid?" Grandma with the six greats behind her name demanded.

“I said I love my Tabitha more than my hair!”

"Dame Ambridge said rum is a cure for baldness. I was going to cure you until you started talking to that barmaid. Now, go cure yourself!"

Grandpa was never able to entirely convince Grandma that there had been nothing between him and the barmaid but a glass of rum. Grandma was never able to entirely convince Grandpa that his rum bath hadn't cured his baldness. But they loved each other enough to keep arguing and keep trying!


- - -
I am a writer historian who enjoys writing fiction and non-fiction.

4/29/12

Still
By Virginia Young


I go to bed at night clutching my pillow and burying the right side of my face into its yielding softness – just the way I once rested against him, listening to every beat of his heart.

When I opened my eyes to look at his wonderful face, most often he would be looking at me, and then the sweet, kind of crooked little smile would stretch those beautiful lips and his grasp would become tighter. There was nothing so magical ever before him, and no one could ever take his place.



“Kim?”

I heard the soft voice vying for my attention, but my eyes were on the computer screen – I’d just received an email from the speaker we’d hoped to book for commencement.

“Kimmie?”

I turned from the screen and looked at Allison. I’d always thought what a nice young girl she was. Blonde curls embraced her oval face and those blue-green eyes seemed large and tuned into life. Obviously attractive to all the young men in the office, I’d noticed the look on Professor Danton’s face when he watched Allie moving about to make copies for him.

“Yes, Allie, what can I help you with?”

She smiled, seeming glad to have my attention.

“That student who wants to transfer to the college in London, I can’t find all his paperwork. Do you have it by any chance?”

I stood and reached across the desk next to me. “Here, Marian took the folder to check on his financial aid. When you’re through with it, you might put it back on her desk. Look,” I pointed to the screen, “we have an acceptance from the senator we wanted for our commencement speaker.”

“Wow,” Allie said as she read the well-known politician’s note. “He’s happy and proud to be chosen for our graduates. That’s fantastic, Kimmie. You’re so good at this.”

Allison smiled and started to walk toward her own receptionist desk then turned around and looked at me. “Hey, a few of us are going to the grille tonight for a burger and a few drinks. Want to come?”

“I can’t,” I said, no explanation, but the truth had been spoken – I couldn’t.

Allison gave me a perplexing and sad look, as if she didn’t know what else to say and knew not to beg.

I glanced at my calendar as Allison went back to her desk. I hated this date, two years exactly since the accident, but I wouldn’t and couldn’t survive if I admitted to its existence. I covered the calendar with papers I could have discarded.

I went back to work thanking the senator for his acceptance and added that a letter would arrive by mail giving him the details of time and transportation provided by the university. It was a good moment staring back at that screen knowing that another influential person would touch the hearts and minds of the graduates.



“Kim?”

I turned to see my boss standing next to me.

“Oh, hi, Helen. The senator agreed to be our guest speaker at graduation.” I smiled at her but did not see Helen’s somber face show anything more than concern.

“I know what this day means to you,” she said. “Can I help in any way? Would you like some company tonight for a drink or something?”

I pressed a couple of buttons on the computer and the screen went dark. Reaching into a side drawer of the desk for my purse, I looked up at her. “No, but thank you - I’m okay.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”



I walked out of the administration building and off campus until I found myself safely walking to our street, to our apartment, to our bed. I stood there and slipped out of my lightweight coat and shoes. I looked at his pillow and smiled as I unbuttoned my pale blue blouse and unzipped my navy blue skirt. My underclothes were discarded as a soft jersey nightdress to my knees covered my body and I knelt on the bed, crawling toward his pillow. He was there. He was waiting with that wonderful smile. I would lie down carefully next to him, my left arm embracing the pillow, my face against its softness. “I’m home,” I said and then I closed my eyes as I pulled the pillow gently closer molding it to me.


- - -

4/28/12

The Truth
By Angela Catley


I'm not happy anymore.
Okay.
That's all you've got to say?
I don't know.
Are you?
Am I what?
Happy.
I thought we were happy.
I'm sorry.
Me too.


- - -
Made in the Philippines, exported to the United States. Angela has a Bachelor's Degree in Psychology and spends her time working a full-time office job and enjoying her young adult life in sunny Orange County, California.

4/27/12

Nighttime Musings
By Juliette Mann


It wasn’t until last night that I realized
I’m tired of silence.
We tore this apart,
Or at least wore it down until it was full of holes.
And so I look at you and fall through the holes that
Expectations left in my heart
We had hope, hope that kept us going
Hope like that could keep you alive.
So it makes sense that now I want to die.
You’re hope gave me ground to stand on
Now I can’t walk without stumbling.
We had this floating thing inside us,
A cloud to float on,
A fog to hide our insecurities.
All that trust,
You burned it away.
But love, you’re not my sun.
Our fog only kept out my darkness.
I’m lost.
Speaking to you,
Loving you,
Only darkness drips from my lips;
Each searching word masked in resignation.
How can you be so sure in yourself,
Why can’t you be sure of me?
I’m tired of masking my darkness in fog,
Our holes want light.
But our love has worn out its welcome,
Our words go in circles around the truth of loss.
What are we still circling for?
Is our love some dead thing, being torn apart
By strangers who only crave its warmth?
To build it up anew welcomes failure,
For we have nothing to build it on.
Our ground has holes of disappointments
And resentment.
I’m wandering,
I can’t find you, love.
Your light is hard enough to see in all this darkness,
Why do you try to hide it?
It’s no coincidence that we love in the secret dark.
Our love needs your light.
I need your light.
And I’m not going to hide my yearning.
I don’t mean to say too much
But, love, you’re my only.
Even in this darkness,
Your thoughts give me courage.
I’ve got something to fight for.
Take your light and burn up this fog,
Or I’ll do it for you.
I’m standing outside your window
And I swear I’m burning brighter than that moon.
I’m not giving up, love,
Because I know that inside your light is a darkness
And it matches mine exactly.


- - -

4/26/12

I'll Find Love
By Linda M. Crate


you’ve touched my heart
now go away,
I don’t think I can stand another
word pointed as a stake to impale me;
I’m not some sordid vampire to kill —
I’ve always been a sensitive soul, sweet
as sugar until you beat me into the dust;
then my rage fanned to the surface in
flames as merciless as you, you claim that
you love me but that’s nothing but a
lie; you broke my branches years ago
to satisfy your greed and you mistook
confidence for an attitude, you try to
quash me beneath the boulders of your rage —
my wings will be unerring when they fly
far from the place soaring to the comfort
of love which sings her lilt far from here.


- - -
Linda Crate is a Pennsylvanian native born in Pittsburgh yet raised in the rural town of Conneautville. She has a Bachelor's in English-Literature from Edinboro University. Her poetry and short stories have been published in several magazines.

4/25/12

SUNDAY STATION
By Dean Bowman


Hear the falling rain

Filling my mind

With the scent

Of freshly cut roses

Smiling, so neatly together

As the train pulls away

You look ahead as I look back

Both reluctant in the failing light

Never really knowing

How we came to be

Or how I ever let you go


- - -
Japan-born Dean Bowman is a working designer, photographer and writer based in Denver, Colorado.

4/24/12

WHEN SHE BECOMES A BRIDE
By John Byrne


Sweet song of yearning, love brand new
The singer smooths our ride.
Our daughter sighs. “She sings it true
But when she is a bride

What novel thrills will then inspire
Such passion in her songs?
What sweet surprise will stoke the fires
That move her notes along?”

“Oh daughter, dear, hot passion’s fed
By going deep, not wide
And every morning since I wed
New beauty’s by my side.

And if I think there’s nothing new,
A glance will prove me wrong.
A sway, a smile, a ling’ring view
Can launch another song.

If she’s like us, she’ll find each day
Her love’s intensified
And passioned songs will flow her way
When she becomes a bride.”


- - -
live in Albany, Oregon with my wife and our daughter. I write short poems, short plays, and short stories. This short ballad arrived as a consequence of our daughter's remark at the end of a very popular love song.

4/23/12

For My Lover
By Shelby "Mahogany Wilson"

For my lover my heart is swollen with elation

Oozing with warm melodies

Pumping with inspiration

Dancing with joy

For my lover my life is a canvas of art

Painting with bold colors

Mosaic patterns

Deep under tones of passion

Swarming with creativity

For my lover my I’m living life to the fullest

Conquering every challenge

Stepping boldly into the unknown

Opening with every new exploration

Unveiling the best of me

For my lover I’m embracing all of me

- - -
Shelby Wilson is an local Alaskan performance poet. She is the Vice President of Black Feather P.O.E.T.S., an organization built on self empowerment through the expression of poetry. She has self published two books Broken Wings and Serinity.

4/22/12

This is the poem you never read
By Juliette Mann


It’s the song I never sang you,
The words I kept behind closed hopes.
This poem contains my shadowed secrets,
The ones I never showed you
The ones that never fit the puzzle of you and me.
It knows the words I could never sew together
This poem lets me slip through your fingers.
A long time ago we decided
We weren’t worth the broken time to figure out,
But still my secrets make us crumble.
Did you know?
I said, did you know.
Love, I’d rather land on my feet than fall forever.
This poem is for me, and so you’ll never see it.
This poem is for me, it’s become one of my secrets.
I wish I could bring it out into the sun
But for now I’ll hide it in my darkness
Your alleyways stink of poison and mistrust,
Your doubts have already infected me.
But these are the fears you’ll never hear me whisper
I am not strong.
You strength comes from your faith in yourself.
But I can’t have courage without a lion at my side.
I’m tired of trying to steal your assurance,
I can’t be you without finding more of myself to hide.
Someday I’ll find my strength.
Not in you but myself.
I’ll throw off my secrets
And bring them out into the light.
But for now, I’m still shrouded in uncertainty.
I still cling to you
And the bits of me that hang from your shoulders.
So until then: I’ll crouch in your shadow
While you make your own music.
Listen: you can hear mine in the background.
But you won’t listen.
These are my secrets.
And this is the poem you never read.


- - -

4/21/12

KNOWING ENUFF
By Slip Kid


Knowing Enuff has helped me for the most part
but this time I regress to Enuff broke my heart
Enuff you’ve been a friend
in the past sometimes disgraceful
but Enuff I didn’t want to know
that my wife’s been unfaithful
Better Enuff if you had just left me without
this knowledge divulged
I’m wrecked and spun out
Knowing Enuff I guess bitter sweet
He’ll be with me now forever
enough of Enuff there will be...
I feel short changed
of the loss of my love
I knew Enuff and got out
took Enuff and my stuff
so my ex and her lover
who sells used cars
will have enough each other
then Enuff will hit hard
So my dear friend Enuff
when they trade each other in
give more than Enuff pain
for their lust and their sins...
Now I know Enuff
finally both satisfied
but I can’t get Enuff
enough girls every night.......


- - -

4/20/12

The Trap of Attraction
By Jennifer E. Lee


Like butterflies dancing
My happiness fills the room
The sound of his voice
Ignites shocks
That run through my body
Every time I hear his name
Or hear him utter mine
“I love you!”
I want to proclaim
Yet cannot muster up the words
Our vibration
Exceeds the limits
The chemistry
Like fireworks
Is explosive
And when his eyes
Meet mine
The electricity sends
A shiver down my spine
A quiver I cannot control.


- - -
A native of Los Angeles, California, Jennifer E. Lee earned a Bachelor of Arts in Journalism from California State University and a Master of Arts in English from Northern Arizona University. She previously taught writing at Pennsylvania State University and currently teaches at Misericordia University in North East Pennsylvania, where she is also the Coordinator of Writing. Her poetry has appeared in selected literary magazines and anthologies.

4/19/12

Need
By Linda M. Crate


I need you with the same intensity
a land in drought needs a river to
fall from the sky; you persuade my
inhibitions to fall away, and the
naked truth of me doesn’t push you
away; yet sometimes I feel as if we’re
drifting apart like a bottle from the
sea — I’ve crashed on so many shores,
I don’t want to traverse them anymore —
the only place I want to be is nestled
in the crook of your arms, my lashes
brushing your cheeks as our lips meet;
you’re the only place that feels like
home and I’m not willing to lose you.


- - -
Linda Crate is a Pennsylvanian native born in Pittsburgh yet raised in the rural town of Conneautville. She has a Bachelor's in English-Literature from Edinboro University. Her poetry and short stories have been published in several magazines.

4/18/12

My Child
By David Frazier


Small children see things differently from adults
They live in a world all their own
Friends they have are invisible to others
Sometimes giants, dragons, or shiny knights

Dads and Moms care for you so much
You won't ever know the pain that they endure
Protecting you from things that are bad and cruel
Your safe, till you grow up to be someone of worth

Growing up is hard to do, my child
Leaving home, meeting new people, working jobs that don't fulfill
Live your life, have no regrets, my child
For I love you more than life itself.


- - -
I am a retired steelworker living in Northern Indiana with my wife Kathie. I have been writing since retiring in 2003. I have tried to write down as many short stories from my 30 year career as I could remember. I have tried to find the comedy in the dangerous environment of a steel mill. I have recently started writing poetry on a variety of subjects

4/17/12

My Only True Love
By John Laneri


Laura and I are in bed, listening to the sounds of classical music. We’ve made love once this morning, the intensity almost magical.

Ordinarily on a Wednesday, I would be at the country club working through a bucket of balls, enjoying the out of doors while I prepare for my afternoon round of golf.

After meeting Laura, I stopped playing golf.

It was a difficult decision at first, probably one of the hardest choices I've ever made. But, I soon realized that being with her brought the joy of intimacy back into my life.

She rolls close to me, her leg touching mine. “I love the way you indulge me.”

“Only because you're so amazing,” I reply smiling. “That's one of the reasons I love you.”

She laughs softly and settles her head into the pillow, her eyes turning to mine.” Did your wife like to be indulged?”

“Overly-indulged,” I reply quietly. “She spent everything... most of it on shopping. That's one of the reasons we divorced.”

Laura snuggles closer, her lips touching mine. “After we're married, you can indulge me by making love every minute of every day.”

“That would be a pleasure,” I reply, as I peck her lips with a simple kiss, wondering why she mentioned marriage.

Nonetheless, Laura is a wonderful person. She's only a few years younger than me. She’s petite, pleasantly attractive and very devoted to her children, who by the way, live charmed adult lives – thanks to her generosity.

She moves closer, and soon we come together with that same eagerness that began a few days after we met at a church social. At the time, she was busy ending a thirty year marriage to Charles, a wealthy but physically abusive man who drank heavily.

Since her divorce, we've lived together in her home, a large, comfortable house in the suburbs. She sees me as a loving, successful businessman with my own insurance agency. In turn, I satisfy her need for intimacy while enjoying both her sexual pleasures and a respectable part of her huge spousal support payment.

Rolling away, thoroughly spent, I leave her sprawled across the bed, basking in another mid-life afterglow, while I pad to the bathroom, wondering if I truly love the woman.

“Don’t take long,” she calls from the bedroom. “I want you again before I leave for the mall.”

Forcing myself not to hear the word, 'mall', I down another Viagra then run a comb through my hair, thankful for the wonders of modern medicine. Life can be so sweet.

On returning to bed, I notice her eyes closed, so I quietly slip beside her and let my thoughts drift. As always, they return to my prior love – the game of golf.

Deep in my heart, I continue to remember the friendships and the laughter, as well as the challenging pars and birdies – things that also brought joy and fulfillment to my life. For some reason, the sport continues to call me back, begging me to return to the pleasures I once knew.

Laura rolls against me, interrupting my thoughts. “I can’t wait to tell the children we're getting married. They’ll be so happy.”

Turning to her, I say, “Remember... if we get married, you lose your spousal support.”

“No, sweetheart,” she says softly, as she laps a leg over mine. “I'm saying, the children will be happy I have you.”

Turning to her, I ask, “What do you mean?”

“It's a tedious story,” she says, as she looks away, her eyes becoming misty, “But Charles lost everything in the real estate market. He has nothing, and I mean, nothing.”

Suddenly, my heart skips several irregular beats. “Can he recover?”

“It's doubtful. He's under investigation for fraud. People close to him say, he's going to prison, maybe for the rest of his life.” She wipes a tear away then snuggles closer. “It was a shock at first when the monthly support stopped.”

“But, without the payments, you'll have to curtail your shopping habits and quit supporting your children, maybe even sell the house.”

“I'm not concerned about the money,” she continues comfortably. “I have you. Now, we can be married. I'd love to plan another large wedding.”

“A large wedding!” I almost shout, as I push her leg away, my thoughts swirling with contradictions.

Sure, the sex is great, but golf is great too. And, best of all, it's uncomplicated.

She looks at me, her features expressing concern. “Is something wrong, dear? Your face is so flushed. Are you having a heart attack?”

Ignoring her, I calmly call the club to schedule a tee time, then head for the door, relieved to finally accept the fact that golf, even with its frustrations and challenges, is... and always will be, my only true love


- - -
John is a native born Texan living near Houston. His writing focuses on short stories and flash. Publications to his credit have appeared in several scientific journals as well as a number of internet blogs and short story print edition periodicals.

4/16/12

Meat Needs
By Gemma Illovsky


Another day of polishing meat to pictures of the ones that got away, the ones I wanted and lost. Another day of spreading thighs in my mind and taking over and over again the ones the wife hates, just because she hates them. I think about the soft, cool curves of flesh, the need, the scent, the sounds, the way each one might move under me, around me. I call out names, names not hers, names she doesn't hear because she's gone, chasing her insecurities on the swinging arms of an elliptical instead of enjoying life, enjoying marriage, enjoying me.

The meat of me quakes and shudders with each release, each imagined impregnation, each snaring of self in a web of impossible indecency. I need this. I need this. I think, but I never allow it, never allow it past my mind, no matter how much I may want it, no matter how real the fantasies of lusty lovemaking might blind me, bind me in the darkness of momentary bliss.

I think, I fantasize, but I never do. I never reach, touch.

For now.


- - -
Gemma is a student at UKY in Lexington. She has three dogs and a hamster named Amos.

4/15/12

COMB
By Ignatius Valentine Aloysius


We stayed in her room, because it was the right thing to do. That evening, I sat in a corner, wordless, attentive, and tired, as you were too; but you stood by her bedside instead with a comb in your hand, and you brushed her hair and made it pretty again, while she fed on oxygen and lay still in a prolonged sleep, her pale fingers just a few breaths away from giving up their trace on the pulse of this world. That was love, what you did for her. That was manifest love, and she must have understood it as the last enduring act of tenderness she would savor in the grand illumination that is beyond our sphere. She heard us in the room, you know; she heard us there with her, it’s true. She lingered and shared the pleasure of your comb, your intention, your heart, because the room became more peaceful than the underside of a dove’s velvet wings. Later that night, as we took our long, weary sleep elsewhere, love came for her in sweet light, and tapped its invitation on her life’s door.

~ for Barb


- - -
Ignatius Valentine Aloysius lives and breathes in Evanston, Illinois, and he writes to save his life. He also has a degree in English with a focus on creative writing from Vermont College in Montpelier, VT. His work has appeared in the Chicago Tribune, Gander Press Review, Six Sentences, and Suite 101.

4/14/12

An Apple From Tartarus
By Ashley Suzanne Musick


Like the apple bough
taunting Tantalus
you stand inches
from me.
Like the hunger
Tantalus felt upon
seeing the apples
the desire to touch
your flesh festers.
Like the apples of Tartarus,
you retreat, leaving
longing unappeased.


- - -
Ashley Suzanne Musick was born in Fountain Valley, California and raised in Anaheim. In 2010 she moved to Kern County, where she works as an Avon representative and writes fiction and poetry in her spare time.

4/13/12

the boy with the thorn in his side
By Kailey Boyd


on the outside, nobody'd ever known he was unhappy.
he had his mother's eyes, soft and blue,

reminded me of babies for some reason.
he used to pop in every now and then to give me the news,

gossip he'd heard at school that day,

the what-not.

i was real sick at the time, mama had to keep me hidden away sometimes,

ya know, i think she was a little ashamed seeing how it was a little her fault.

i didn't blame her for nothin' though.

anyways, he came and went as he pleased, nice boy he was.
used to wrap me up in a blanket and wheel me onto the porch so we could watch 
the cars and the rich folk with dogs jog right on by,
like they ain't never seen a girl with no hair
and a boy as handsome as he was.

we was a regular spectacle, a bonafide freak show,
and them people they always gonna talk,
but he told me that the only people that listen are 
the ones doin' the talkin', and that ain't us, so we ain't listenin'.

i didn't find out about his daddy until about a month after it happened,
for some reason people have a hard time telling someone who's dying that somebody died,
can you believe that?
he stopped comin' around so much after that,
figured it was 'cause a his mama (with the eyes)
needin' extra help round the house.

weeks, maybe even a month went by 'fore i saw him again,
 but he wasn't the same boy,
and i sure as hell wasn't the same girl.
he looked at me, with them eyes, as if he'd just lost the lottery.

ya know, he sat me down and told me that he couldn't be around me no more,
seeing as how i was dyin' and all. ( i thought that was pretty dumb, i may be dyin' but i ain't dead yet)
he held my hand in his, his was a little clammy, i think 'cause he was so sad and all.

we sat there for a few minutes, hand in hand, thinkin' bout life and death, and the johnny carson show.
now, he never said nothin', but i think he loved me.
i never got to find out the truth though.
he disappeared after that day, nobody heard from him, his mama was all outta sorts.
i think he left town, couldn't stand seein' people lookin' at him and me all the time,

the bonafide freakshow,
couldn't stand bein' round his broken mama.
doesn't really matter where he went off to,
he was gone just the same.
some days, when im sittin' on the porch, wrapped up in a blanket, waiting to die,

i feel his clammy hand holdin' mine.
you see, when you don't have much left to live for,

it's people like him that save you.


- - -
Kailey is a business student at Indiana University. She doesn't know much about anything, except that The Smiths and Wes Anderson are holy.

4/12/12

Three Aces
By Wayne Scheer


Toby Locke stood at his open living room window watching the mid-afternoon mist sizzle on his neighbor's roof. It created enough steam to make it look like the house was on fire. Welcome to an Atlanta summer, he thought. He walked through the house, opening the few windows that moved easily and turning on the overhead ceiling fans. He could fuss with the remaining windows, but it wasn't worth the effort. Letting in the humidity and the ninety-degree air wasn't going to cool down the house.

The air conditioner had stopped working. He called three different repairmen and the earliest any of them could come was in two days. He even spoke with a neighbor down the street to see if he knew an air conditioning man he might recommend. Calls were made, but no one was available.

So, Toby stripped down to a pair of shorts and made the best of it. "I'd wear less," he told Stella, his wife, when she called from work, "but the sight of me naked might scare the neighbor's dog."

"I feel guilty," she told him. "Me in my air conditioned office and you sweltering in the house. Do you want to bring a book and come here?"

"No, I'm fine. Besides, I don't want to be that close to work. I'm retired, after all."

"Rub it in, why don't you?" She laughed. "Only seven months, three weeks and four days to go for me, but who's counting?" Before getting off the phone, she reminded him to drink plenty of water.

"Yes, mother," he said.

Toby loved his wife. They'd been married for almost thirty-eight years and they still talked to each other on the phone a couple times a day and emailed each other sexy comments, like two adolescents. Although he was happy being alone during the day, he looked forward to her coming home at night. Come six o'clock, he felt like a puppy dog waiting at the door with his tongue hanging out.

He also loved his life. He had retired before he became bored with his accounting job and discovered he could paint. Not well enough to become rich and famous, but well enough to amuse himself and a few local gallery owners. He priced his work at just enough over the cost of paints, canvas, framing materials and commission to feel good whenever he got a call that one of his paintings sold. Of course, if he added the amount of time spent on the picture, he knew he would earn more working at McDonald's.

Through the years, he and Stella had their share of financial setbacks and health problems, but nothing they couldn't overcome. The bottom line, Toby always told Stella in his best accountant demeanor, is they had each other. Therefore, their assets always outnumbered their deficits.

When friends asked how he kept so positive, even after the near fatal automobile accident from which he still limped a bit, Toby had a ready-made reply. "If you're dealt three aces, how upset can you get if you don't draw a fourth one?"

Toby spent a good deal of time thinking about the self-contained world he had created. He led a sheltered, dull life, he knew. Although he had worked around people who made and risked their fortunes, that kind of life never appealed to him. All he ever wanted was a steady salary and set hours, so he knew when he'd be home every evening and how much money he had to live on.

He and Stella had traded adventure for routine, money for free time, and now that their hair was turning white and the extra pounds were accruing like interest in a 401K, they appreciated their choices more than ever.

Still, Toby thought, the house is hotter than anything Dante ever imagined. He turned on a floor and a ceiling fan in the guest bedroom that had been converted into a studio. He began painting. He had no idea what he would paint, but he knew he wanted to use cool colors--light blue, whites and light grays, maybe a soft green.

Part of his consciousness watched as he painted a large cube at the top of the canvas. With the aid of some light grays mixed with blues, the geometric shape became a melting ice cube. Painting quickly, he added heavily textured layers of paint to depict a sky and a beach filled with activity--people playing volleyball, swimming, dancing. In the corner of the beach, holding hands, were two tiny figures cooled by the melting ice cube. Three playing cards, all of them aces, were spread out on the sand in front of them.

Seeing that it was nearly six, Toby rushed to add some glittering yellows and oranges to the beach and some stark white splashes to the water. When he heard Stella at the front door, he put down his brushes and kissed her.

He let her complain about her day and ask about the day's mail and phone calls. While she got out of her clothes and into a shower, he cleaned his brushes.

"So what did you do today?" she asked.

"I painted an I-love-you picture." He showed her the canvas and she looked at him like the heat had fried his brain.

"Let's go out for dinner and I'll explain it to you," Toby said.


- - -
Wayne Scheer has been nominated for four Pushcart Prizes and a Best of the Net. He's published stories, poems and essays, in print and online, including Revealing Moments, a collection of flash stories, published by Thumbscrews Press, (http://issuu.com/pearnoir/docs/revealing_moments.) Wayne can be contacted at wvscheer@aol.com.

4/11/12

Remember
By Sandy Waters


Remember
    that angle
Between our faces as we
  L
      E
         A
            N
               E

  D

toward each other
                to kiss?

It’s one of the few things I do remember
    unlike your Smile
            Voice
                Scent that once was my own

And I catch myself thinking
        face tilted in the same angle

and knowing you are doing the same thing
                somewhere far away from me


- - -
Sandy Waters is a native Jersey Girl yet believes her future life rests soley on exotic islands. She is one, if not the only person in the world who hates cheese. Sloths and turtles are very close to her heart.

4/10/12

She came up out of the water...
By Michael Plesset


She came up out of the water, the big waves pushing her forward each time they came in, until she walked unsteadily up onto the sandy beach. She looked around as though lost, as though she’d been swimming and was far from where she started. She went up onto the dry sand, coughing from some of the water.

She looked confused, and he called over to her “Are you ok?”

She looked around a minute, then said “I don’t know where I am.” He stood up from where he was lying and went over. “Which way did you come from, when you went into the water?”

“I don’t know” she said.

“Is there someone I can call for you, I have my phone right here” he said.

“No, I’ll just rest a minute, then I’ll be ok.”

“Want to sit down?” he said, pointing to the big beach towel he had spread out on the sand. She didn’t answer but sat down. It was a hot day but she was shivering, so he asked if she wanted to use a towel he had, which she silently took and wrapped around herself.

“Won’t people be looking for you, and be worried about you, don’t you want to call somebody? If we tell the lifeguard they communicate with each other in case they’re looking for you.”

“No, please don’t, the lifeguards won’t be looking for me, I came from a boat. Don’t ask me about it, it’s complicated.”

“Ok, just let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“Thanks” was all she said.

After a while, even with the hot sun she was still shivering. “Look, can I get you some coffee or something?” he asked.

“I’ll be ok, I just swam a long way.”

“Ok, just let me know if I can be any help.”

She paused a minute, then said “Well, like I said it’s complicated, but when I left the boat I didn’t bring anything with me, so I don’t have any money or anything. If you could call me a cab I can take it from there.”

“Sure no problem. I was just going to leave anyway, so I can drop you someplace if that helps.”

She looked at him, as though evaluating him, then said “Yeah, ok, if you could, which way are you going?”

"Back down to Santa Monica, then in to West L.A."

“That’s fine, I’ll tell you where to drop me.”

They went to his car and started out. She was silent for a while, still wrapped in his towel, then suddenly said “Do you know who I am?”

“No, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before, why?”

“I’m in movies and on TV.”

“Sorry, I guess I didn’t …”

“That’s ok. Besides, it’s not as great as I thought it would be. I’m sick of supporting my boyfriend, my agent, my financial person and my relatives. On that boat they were all arguing about what I should do next and I wasn’t even in the conversation, I just wanted to get away, and I had a sudden urge to jump off and swim ashore.”

“Good thing you’re a really good swimmer.”

“I am, and it really felt good, even though it was a long hard swim I felt liberated and relaxed.”

“I guess that’s the kind of success lots of people wish for, but there’s a lot that comes with it that’s pretty difficult, problems people never think about.”

“Right, half the time I love all the attention and recognition, and the money, but half the time I wish I had normal relationships, people that just know me and like me for myself, people I could trust.”

“I can understand that,” he said, “I’ve always thought that being very good looking, especially for a woman, sounds great because they get all kinds of attention from men, but the trouble is they’re all interested for the wrong reason, because physical attraction isn’t the basis for a successful relationship. It’s the same kind of problem wealthy people have, not knowing who’s really their friend and who’s just attracted by the money. I guess you have both, the people attracted by how you look and the ones attracted by the money.”

“So what’s the answer?”

“In any kind of relationship all the things that people think are important don’t last – physical appearance is guaranteed to deteriorate, money comes and goes, common interests can change over time, the only thing that lasts is character things. It sounds really boring, but honesty, loyalty, being reliable, being thoughtful and considerate, if someone has those things when they’re young they’ll be that way when they’re old, and you appreciate them more and more as years go by. And, you can’t find out by looking at somebody, or in one or two dates, or by a computer matching you up.”

“You sound like you’re talking about a different planet than the people I’ve been surrounded by.”

She gave him directions to her house, and when they pulled up in front she said “Listen, as you might guess from the situation, I don’t exactly have any plans this evening, would you like to go get something to eat?”

“Ok”, he said, “but I’m buying, not you, which means we’re not going to some wildly expensive place the big stars go.”

“I invited you, how about we go dutch?”

“Deal, go put some clothes on. It’s up to you of course, but shouldn’t you call someone to tell them you’re ok, they might have the Coast Guard looking for you by now.”

“I know, I know, I’ve been putting it off because I didn’t know what I wanted to say.”

“How about starting with ‘You’re all fired, I’m going to run my own life from now on.’”

“That sounds about right, I’ll call when I get inside. Come in, I’ll just take a minute to put something on.”

She changed into some jeans and a shirt, was ready to go in a couple of minutes, and said “There’s a little Italian place about 5 minutes from here, how’s that?”

“Fine, let’s go.”

It was a noisy little neighborhood restaurant, and when they got seated and relaxed in the big red booths she said “Sometimes I feel like just giving up the whole show business thing.”

“But you really like the things you’re doing and the success that you’ve worked hard for, it’s just that entourage you have that’s the problem.”

“Yes, that’s true, how did you figure that out so quick?”

“I didn’t, I’m just reflecting back what I hear you saying. You mentioned a boyfriend, at least he must be an asset.”

“Well, he’s very talented and extremely good looking, but he’s the most self centered, selfish person I’ve ever met, absolutely 100%.”

“And you’re putting up with that because …?”

“Damn, you do ask hard questions.”

“Don’t feel bad, we all make some irrational choices, especially when it comes to romance.”

They noticed two young girls were standing next to their table, and when they looked up at them they very shyly asked her “Can we have your autograph?” “Sure,” she said, and wrote on the pieces of paper they brought. They giggled, blushed, both said “Thank you” and hurried away, flustered to be in her presence.

“This is beginning to sink in to me,” he said, “that must be really cool, at least for the first hundred times or so.”

“You want to know the truth” she said “it’s still cool, I’ll hate it if it stops. So, what kind of work do you do?”

“I’m a psychologist, a therapist.”

“Ahh, so I’ve been getting therapy all this time.” she said.

“No, not at all, this is probably just the first rational conversation you’ve had in a while.”

“I’m really appreciate the chance to talk like this, it’s a real relief from all the stress that was building up, everybody sounded perfectly reasonable, but I was getting pressured and pushed in too many directions.”

He looked around and said “I’m worried that this is some kind of reality show, hidden camera, it seems too unlikely, movie star rises out of the ocean and leaves her entourage to have dinner with me in a little neighborhood restaurant.”

“Here’s your assurance, I’m a real actress, I don’t do reality shows!”

“Yikes, sorry, of course not, my mistake.”

When they went back to her house he walked her to the door, and said “I really enjoyed meeting you, I sure hope it works out for you with that group that’s around you.”

“Thanks,” she said, “this was very nice, a real relief, I hope we can get together again, call me.”

“Ok, sure” he said.

“No really, I mean it, please do, give me your phone and I’ll put my number in.”

“Ok, but let me translate,” he said, “when I say I’ll call you it doesn’t mean maybe and maybe not, or there’s a 50 – 50 chance, it means that it’s 100% sure that I will.”

She smiled, “Right, in Hollywood-speak it means, well, actually now that I think about it doesn’t mean a damn thing.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” he said.

He did of course, and asked if she’d like to get together that night.

“Sorry, I’m going to a fancy movie premiere.”

“Going with the boyfriend you described?”

“Yes, he’s great at making public appearances, we look like such a dazzling couple, it’s just that when we’re together one on one he’s insufferable. I’m always in a terrible mood when I get home.”

“I’d tell you to call me when you get home but it will probably be really late.”

“No, this thing’s early evening, I’ll call you by 9 or 10 at the latest.”

When she called they talked for two hours, about nothing serious, where they grew up and went to school, what their families were like, failed romances from the past, and so on.

When they got together a few days later he said “I rented three of your movies and watched them.”

“Hey, that’s nice, I know you’re not a big movie fan.”

“Actually I like some of the ones that were made in the 1930’s, 40’s and 50’s.”

“So what did you think?”

“You’re really good, although I shouldn’t even give an opinion, you’re a professional in the business and I’m certainly not. But what I notice is that you can really play very different roles, a lot of actors and actresses always play basically the same character regardless of the story, think John Wayne for example, very strong character but always exactly the same. A lot of present day actors do that too, though I suppose it may get pushed on them if there’s a successful movie or two.”

“Well,” she said, “the industry isn’t as unimaginative as it might seem, if you’re going to invest $50 million or so you want to minimize the risk, so if something worked you make something else that’s not too different.”

Over the next few months they would get together and he’d help her with memorizing her lines for the next day, they talked on the phone when she was away on location, and they’d eat early when she had to be on a set first thing the next morning.

One evening when he had brought over some of their usual take out food, they were just sitting on the couch eating when he said, “I want to explain something important. I’m guessing that ever since you were a little girl, whenever anybody said they loved you, they talked about how beautiful you were, and as a result you grew up with the idea that to be loved you have to be beautiful. I sure do think you’re attractive, but a relationship based on that alone doesn’t last long. I love you, but it’s because of the person you are, the way you speak, that you’re intelligent, have a sense of humor, and I like how you treat me. I love to hear your voice on the phone, I think I’d love you even if we never met in person.”

“Wow, that’s really wonderful, and you’re so right about the beauty thing, that has been my way of relating with people as long as I can remember, and deep down I knew there’s something wrong with that. It hits me whenever I get fan mail from some character I’ve never met who’s seen me in movies and says he loves me and wants to marry me. Some guy I’ve never met!”

“So, can I have your autograph?” he said.

“What?!”

“Here” he said taking out a piece of paper.

“What’s this?”

“It’s an application for a marriage license, I filled in my part, just needs your autograph.”

“Wow … wow, so you’re proposing!”

“Yes, don’t tell me you haven’t at least thought about it.”

“Yes, I have some, it’s a big thing that takes time to get used to.”

“Look at it this way, you don’t have to adjust instantly, you’d have the next 50 years to get used to it. By the way, I’ve thought about the fact that you must have a ton of money from your work, so I think we should have a pre-nup.”

She answered “As far as that goes, I have a lot of trouble with some of my people, including my relatives, it would make that easier if everything was joint with both of us rather than just me.”

“Or you could tell them that’s how it is but still keep some things in just your name. But, that sounds like working out the details of a corporate merger, the big question is whether you love me and want to marry me.”

She was silent for a long minute.

“This can’t be good” he said softly.

“No, that’s not it, I do love you, I really do, it’s that this is the first time I’ve ever said that to anyone in my whole life. I’m not sure I even knew what that really means until now. In my family it’s well, complicated, and the definition in Hollywood-land matches the stories that fit into a two hour script, with a mandatory passionate sex scene.”

“Don’t feel rushed to make a decision, there’s no hurry, maybe I could have worked up to this more gradually, but I don’t know how. Maybe you want to talk to your family.”

“God no, they’d just be on the phone to my agent to get the publicist going. Maybe try to arrange an exclusive interview with somebody, and feel bad that I didn’t marry somebody high profile in the industry instead, to make a better publicity angle.”

“I guess the old custom of my asking them for their daughter’s hand isn’t the way to go.”

“Nope, this is the first decision that’s all mine, and I’m really happy about it. I don’t have to confer with anyone, the answer is yes.”


- - -
Michael Plesset did undergraduate and graduate work in mathematics, philosophy, sociology and English literature, and attended seminary at one time. He has published poetry, short fiction and non-fiction articles. He has worked in the space program and the computer industry, wrote material for a stand-up comedian, and has taught English to Chinese students for the last 10 years.

4/9/12

Told You So
By Alice Benson


She was four pounds of white fluff and attitude. Kevin felt ridiculous being on the other end of the leash as the puppy sniffed, jumped and tried to run in twelve directions at once. Where was this place anyway? Kevin frowned as he looked from the address on the paper in his hand to the numbers on the sides of the buildings.

I can’t believe I let Rebecca talk me into this, he thought. His little sister could usually talk him into anything, but this was ridiculous. It was beginning to feel like a high price to pay just for refusing to let her set him up on a blind date.

Rebecca claimed she had a girl who was perfect for him, but Kevin kept telling his sister that he wasn’t interested. Last year, his girlfriend fell in love with her karate instructor and broke up with Kevin three days before he was going to propose. He still had the ring. For several months, friends had been telling him that it was time to move on, but he wasn’t sure he was ready. Rebecca was the most persistent, and he was starting to feel guilty for refusing. When she had a work emergency and called to ask for his help, taking her dog to the groomer seemed to be an easy way to find his way back into her good graces. Only for Rebecca.

Now the puppy started yipping, adding to Kevin’s frustration. It wasn’t that he didn’t like dogs. Actually, he loved dogs. But this was not a dog, not really. This was an overgrown rat on a bad hair day. Kevin had a black lab. Now there was a dog. Big and strong, Max not only didn’t need a groomer, Kevin didn’t even own a dog brush.

Finally, he spotted the door, a pink poodle in a lavender bathtub filled with bubbles above the words “Debbie’s Dog Grooming.” Rolling his eyes, he pushed it open. Missy tried to go in the opposite direction, so Kevin leaned down to pick her up.

“Oh what a cutie!”

He lifted his head and found himself looking into the greenest eyes he had ever seen, sparkling like emeralds.

“Wizard of Oz,” he said without thinking.

“Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “Is that little dog Toto?”

Kevin laughed. Not only pretty, but funny too, he thought. As she continued to smile at him, he felt heat spread through his face, and he looked away.

“Are you Debbie?” he asked, hoping to move past the awkward moment.

The woman shook her head, causing ash blonde curls to fall in perfect waves over her shoulders. He couldn’t take his eyes off them.

“No, I’m Jessica. Debbie’s my mother. She had to run a quick errand, so I’m watching the shop until she gets back.”

Missy yipped, drawing Kevin’s attention. He set the puppy on the counter, and Jessica took a step backward. “My mother will be back any minute. Would you mind waiting?”

Kevin shook his head, and Jessica continued. “If you really have to leave, I could watch the puppy, but I’m not very good with these little dogs. I mean, they’re cute and all, but they’re so … so breakable. They don’t even seem like real dogs to me. Not like labs or boxers,” Jessica said. “If that makes sense?”

“Perfect sense,” Kevin said. They smiled at each other and this time, Jessica looked away first. Kevin saw pink creep up her cheeks until they matched his own.

“I have a one o’clock appointment for her to be groomed,” Kevin said. “I don’t mind waiting.”

Jessica looked at the computer screen. “You must be Rebecca Nichols,” she said, then looked at Kevin and laughed.

Music, he thought, symphonies, opera, rock and folk, all rolled into one beautiful sound. He’d never heard anything so mesmerizing.

“You must be Kevin,” Jessica said. “I know your sister. She’s quite devious these days.”

“You know Rebecca?”

Jessica laughed quietly, again sending Kevin into thoughts of symphonies. “Yes, I know your sister,” she said. “Actually, Rebecca has been badgering me to meet you for a couple months now, and I told her I was not interested in being set up.”

“You’re kidding,” Kevin said. “I’ve been telling her the same thing”

“She knew that I was going to be helping my mom out today, so I don’t think this is a strange coincidence,” Jessica said.

They were both quiet for a moment, looking into each others’ eyes. Kevin broke the silence. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time my little sister was right and I was wrong,” he said with a grin. “Are you free for lunch when your mother gets back?”

Jessica returned his smile. “I’d like that.”

Kevin knew he’d be hearing “I told you so” from Rebecca, and for the first time in his life, he couldn’t think of anything that would make him happier.


- - -
I discovered writing as a passion in the second half of my life. I’ve been studying fiction writing for the last six years. Recently, one of my stories was published in the inaugural issue of Lady Ink Magazine. A romance story was published on the Long and Short of It website, a mystery story in the Mysterical-E ezine, and a literary story was published on Annalemma.net.

4/8/12

Dating Joy
By Virginia Young

She sat at a card table on a folding chair next to an open window in her first floor apartment.  She had gleaming hardwood floors and almost no furniture because she knew what she wanted and simply couldn’t afford it yet.

She worked intently, shoving her long, straight dark hair behind her left ear.  With small steel prongs and flat ended tools, using both of her hands, pushing here and pulling there, she persuaded from clay a perfect little goat, horns and all.

The answering machine clicked on after a few annoying rings and she heard the voice of her friend.

“Hey, Juniper Joy, what are you doing?  Pick up, Joy, come on, I know you’re there.”

Joy hissed, threw a damp cloth over her goat and walked to the phone a few feet away.  There was no chair there, so she sat down, cross-legged, on the shiny floor.

“What, Leah?  I’m in the middle of a goat.”

“A what?”

“A goat - clay.  Anyway, what’s up?”

“I want you to come out and play tonight.”
“No, I can’t.  I’m busy.”

“Are you kidding?  No pun intended, but, are you serious?  Working on a goat?”

Joy moved the phone to her other ear.  “I enjoy it, Leah.  Remember?  I seem to recall you begging for the polar bear I made last week.  Besides, I need to do this, it’s my therapy and I can use the money too.”

Leah sighed.  “I know, really.  But all work and no play…”

“It’s play to me.”

“You need to come out tonight.  Come on, we’ll have a beer, that’s affordable, and we’ll have a good time.  A little honky-tonk music, a few laughs.  Talk about therapy!”

Joy looked at her watch.  “What time are you thinking?”

“Around eight.”

“It’s seven-fifteen.  I’m a mess.  I can’t make it by eight.  Where are you going anyway?  Bubba’s?”

“Oh stop.  What’s Bubba’s?  We’ll go to our usual, The Pitfall.  Come on, Mike said he’d meet us there and he might bring a friend.”

“Oh no you don’t!  I’m not getting set up again!  No.  No way.  I’m staying home with my five inch goat.”

Leah’s deep breath could be heard and Joy could imagine her friend’s exasperation showing in the rolling of her eyes.

“Come on, Joy.  We’ll have fun.  Take a shower and meet me there at eight.  Okay, eight-thirty.  Come on, you’re becoming an introvert.  It’s not healthy.”

“Are you really talking to me about health?  Let me see.  You eat burgers and fries.  I eat apples and tofu.”  Again, Joy could envision her best friend making a scrunched up face to tolerate the light-hearted truth.

“I know.  But you’re in need of social gracing.  Come on, go get ready.”

Joy scrambled to her feet and tugged at her sleeveless white blouse, smoothing her sage green shorts.  “What are you wearing?”

“Jeans and my new pink top.  But wear whatever makes you happy.”

“I’m happy nude.”

Leah laughed.  “I don’t care, come naked if you want to.  It’ll sure liven up the place.”

“I’ll figure something out to wear,” Joy said.  “But who’s this dude Mike might bring?  I’m not in the mood for that kind of torture, Leah, I mean it.  That last guy, Norman, what a creep!  He never took his cowboy hat and leather gloves off all night.  I still think he was hiding a fungus.”

Leah giggled.  “We all thought Norman was hiding a fungus, or something.  No more Normans,” she said, “I promise.”

“Yeah, but does Mike promise?  That’s what I want to know.”

“Yes,” Leah said, “we both promise, really.”

Joy took a shower and used the juice from real lemons in her hair.  She dressed in an ankle length brown skirt with orange flecks in the fabric, and a sleeveless burnt umber blouse.  Dark sandals, made from a synthetic material, no leather for her, cradled her slender feet.  With tiny gold acorn shaped earrings fastened in place, she brushed her long hair and decided that she was ready.

When she arrived at The Pitfall, Leah and Mike were sitting at the bar laughing, surrounded by three others, also laughing.  There was Patti, a girl Joy couldn’t stand and doubted had gone beyond third grade; she was with Gary, her long time beau.  And then there was a large, blonde-haired man with a mouthful of the biggest, whitest teeth she had ever seen, except for that visit to the aquarium when she studied the shark tank.  She nearly turned to leave.

“Juniper Joy!” Leah called to her.  “Come on over.  Meet Glen,” the skinny one, “and Bif,” the blond with the teeth.

Bif reached out to grasp and shake Joy’s hand.  Apparently he didn’t know that it should be the woman’s gesture to shake or not to shake.  “Mike told me all about you,” he said with a broad smile.

Joy half smiled and nodded.  She was definitely killing Mike.  “I’ll have a cold one,” she said to the bartender.

“I’ll get that for you,” Bif said with his luminous smile.

“No,” Joy said, “I’m all set.”  This guy, she thought, might assume he owned her for the night if he paid for her beer.  “Thanks anyway.”

“Let’s get a table where we can all sit and be comfy,” Leah said, and they moved to a darkened circle of wood in the corner.

“So,” Bif began as he pulled out a chair for Joy, “I heard you’re a librarian.  Does that mean we have to whisper?” he asked in a soft proud-of-himself voice, and then he laughed.

Joy shuddered inside and gave him a quick smile with closed lips.  “Good one,” she said and wondered how many more times in her life would she be asked that question.

Bif’s eyes grew almost brighter than his teeth.  “I’m impressed.  No librarian I ever knew looked like you.  Boy, I just might start checking out some books.”

And if only, she thought, you could do more than tear off the covers and eat the pages.

Leah and Mike, Patti, Gary and Glen all watched the pair and listened through the loud music.   At one point, Patti leaned toward Leah and Joy could half hear and half read the words from Patti’s red lips.  “Cool, it looks like we made a match with Joy and Bif.”

Leah smiled, took a sip of her beer and then folded her hands tightly into one impenetrable knot.

Three weeks later, with her window open to crisp early autumn air, Joy fashioned an eight or nine inch horse with her clay, adding the detail of an intricate braided mane.  The phone rang and she let the answering machine do what she’d intended it for.

“Juniper,” came Leah’s sweet voice, “it’s a gorgeous evening, the sun’s going down, let’s go out.  Pick up, Joy.  Come on.”

Joy scooted her folding chair back carefully so that she wouldn’t scratch the beautiful floors.  She loved her landlords, they were like the best ever grandparents, and they loved her as well.

“What now?  Atilla the Hun came back from the grave and needs a woman?”

Leah laughed.  “Oh come on, Bif wasn’t that bad, was he?”

Joy rolled her eyes.  “Worse.”

“Look, it’s not like I think you’re needy or anything, but it’s fun to have someone in your life.  I hadn’t met Bif before or I’d have known he wasn’t your type.  Sorry.  But listen, let’s just go for a walk and we can end up at The Pitfall for a beer, or just some coffee.  Come on, I need the walk in this terrific fresh air.”

Joy looked at her open window.  The evening was beautiful and she would love the walk.  “All right, a walk and coffee, that’s it.  You won’t have some weirdo lurking in the corner?”

“No weirdos.”

After an hour of chatting as they walked around their small town, they ended up at The Pitfall where they both ordered a beer, thirsty from their fast paced endeavor.

“Okay,” Leah said as they moved to a small, intimate table away from the juke box, “I need to talk to you about something and I don’t want you to get all upset.”

Joy squinted as she focused her attention on Leah.  Now what, she wondered.

“Don’t look at me that way,” Leah begged.

“Okay.  Don’t fix me up with anymore of the limp and ludicrous from your lonely list!”

Leah sighed and looked around the room, then back at Joy who was gulping down her beer.

“Look,” Leah said, “I know we haven’t found a good match for you yet, and I also know that you don’t really need any help, but I need you to do me this one favor.”

“I’m not for rent.”

“I’m not renting you.  Come on, Juniper, do me this favor.  Please, I’m desperate.”

Joy placed her empty glass down on the table.  “Desperate about what?  Explain.”

Leah put her half full glass down and then folded her arms on the table as she leaned forward.  “There’s this guy, Brian.  He’s twenty-eight, has a great accounting job with the state.  He’s dying to meet you and maybe go out with you.”

Joy looked at her friend.  “And why is that?  He doesn’t know me.”

“He’s seen you in here and he asked Mike about you.”

“I don’t get this at all.  How does any of this affect you?  What’s the favor?”

“Well,” Leah began, “this guy, Brian, he has a nineteen fifty-seven Ford in mint condition.  You know Mike, he wants that car so bad he can taste it.  He told me that if he can get this car at a good rate, we’ll go shopping for my diamond.  Brian will give Mike a bargain if he can get to you.”

Joy looked at Leah.  “You aren’t serious!  Maybe you need to have a talk with Mike.  I mean, come on Leah, the guy either wants to marry you or he doesn’t.  You’ve been together for what, five years now?”

Leah looked sheepishly at her friend.

“I don’t believe this.  You’re pimping me out for a retro car!”

Leah took a sip of her now warm beer.

“Say something,” Joy demanded.

“I’m sorry,” Leah said.

“You should be.”

The two girls sat there, one slightly angry, the other slightly scared.  They looked around the room.

“Are you mad at me?” Leah finally asked.

Joy looked directly into Leah’s eyes.  “Oh, should I be?”

Leah looked as if she might cry.  “I’d probably be mad at you,” she said.

They spent the next few minutes in silence. 

“Was there a time when I was supposed to meet this character?  A place?  What?”

“You’ll do it?” Leah asked with surprise in her voice and eyes.

“I don’t know.  Answer my questions.”

Leah squirmed in her seat.  “Okay.  He’s twenty-eight and has a good job.”

“You said that.”

“Oh.  Well. He’s smart and he’s decent.  He’d like to meet you here where both of you are on familiar ground.  Just have a beer or coffee at first, talk, get to know one another.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow evening around seven if that works for you.”

Joy looked away and then back again at Leah.  “Don’t do this to me again.”

“I won’t.”

Joy stood.  “I’m tired, I’m going home.”

“Okay,” Leah said, “but there’s just one thing.  Look for a guy dressed in brown.  All brown.  He loves brown.  Loves your brown hair, loved that brown outfit you wore , the one with the orange flecks in the skirt, loves brown.”

“Oh, good,” Joy said, and then she shoved her chair in and walked out of the bar and three blocks to her apartment.  She took a shower and changed into pale pink flannel pajamas and white socks.  She glanced down at herself and thought she looked like a blushing rabbit.  She went back to the card table and folding chair, turned on her lap top to check her emails, then resumed work on her clay horse.  At midnight, she rubbed her eyes, threw a damp cloth over the completed creature, and went to bed.

The next day was a library work day, typical, coping with a few cranky patrons and decisions concerning budget woes and overdue books and tapes.  Joy was not in the mood at all for the evening ahead that Leah had planned for her.

At six-thirty, she changed from her work clothes to jeans and a cranberry shirt.  She would wear anything but brown.  She decided against earrings, she had no interest in even attempting to interest this guy.  Brian.  Brown loving Brian.  What a nut.

When she walked into The Pitfall, she said hi to the bartender and then looked around.  There he was, decked out in brown.  A tan t-shirt showing its middle from a parted, brown zippered jacket.  At least it isn’t leather, she thought.  She watched him for a few minutes as he sipped a dark ale and read a folded over newspaper.  He didn’t look up.  She didn’t exist in his present world, which made her wonder just what this guy was made of.

She took a deep breath and walked over to his table where she plopped her large purse and pulled out a chair to sit down.  He looked across at her.  She looked at him.  “Well?”

His eyes were fastened on hers but he was silent.

Joy folded her arms across her chest.  “Okay, I’ll start.  I want you to know that I don’t appreciate this.  You giving Mike a deal on your car, getting me to meet with you, that’s a little strange and underhanded, don’t you think?”

He continued to look at her.

“Do you speak?  Come on.  You could at least offer me a cup of coffee.  A beer.”

He looked into her fiery eyes and then waved to the bartender.  “Could we get a beer over here, please?”

 “Why did you choose a beer?  I might have preferred a coffee.”

“You need a beer.”

Joy huffed and then the beer was placed before her.  She stared at it and then drank half of it in a few swift gulps.  She looked at him as she set the tall glass down on a coaster.

“So,” she said, “I heard you like brown.”

He looked at his jacket and down at his shoes.  “I guess I do,” he said.

“You know,” she began, “it’s pretty obvious that you have some peculiar tendencies.  Have you ever contemplated therapy?”

He smiled.  “Maybe I like having peculiar tendencies.”

He’s impossible, she thought and silently cursed Mike and Leah for asking this of her.  And then she silently cursed herself for agreeing to it.

Joy watched him looking up at the soccer game playing on the huge TV screen.  That inattention was insulting, but she had to admit, this guy, Brian, was one very good looking man, brown hair and all.  While she was studying his angular face, he suddenly turned back to look at her.

“So what’s your name?” he asked.

Joy half gurgled a response.  “You don’t know my name?”

He looked at her, not a glimpse of any emotion revealing his thoughts.  “Unfortunately, I’m not psychic.  But I could try to guess if you want.”

Joy frowned.  How, she wondered, could someone who looked so put together be so dense?  “I don’t like my name,” she said, “but it’s Joy.”

He placed his newspaper down on the table.  “What’s wrong with Joy?  It sounds perfectly fine to me.”

“I don’t like being an emotion, a feeling,” she said.

“Another beer?” he asked.

“No, no thanks.  But you were right, I needed the beer instead of more caffeine.  It hit the spot.”

He smiled and went back to watching the soccer game.

She watched him thinking how ridiculous this was.  Why was he wasting his and her time like this?

When he glanced back at her, she was staring at him.

He smiled.  “Are you okay?  Can I get you something else?  Would you like a sandwich or something?”

“No,” she said as she sat up straight, her back to the wooden chair.  “But I have to wonder, Brian, why you wanted to meet me when all you do is watch TV.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, come on.  What’s all this about?”

He looked at her then leaned forward.  “My name isn’t Brian.”

Joy’s body went rigid with an adrenalin rush.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean that my name isn’t Brian.”

“Well then, who are you?  Why did you carry on with me like this?  You’re wearing brown.  You’re not Brian?”

He smiled and shook his head no.

“Oh my ….”  Joy looked around at the other people in the bar.  Where was Brian?  The room was dimly lit, she saw no one in brown, no one alone.  “This is ridiculous,” she said, “who are you?”

He tilted his body to one side and reached for his wallet.  “Let me see,” he said, “well, my license says I’m James Cullen.  Jim.”

“Jim,” she said, “just Jim?”

He smiled as she looked at his license and then he put it away.  “Yup, just Jim.”

“So, you’re not an accountant for the state?”

“No.”

“Where’s Brian?”

He hesitated.  “Is this like where’s Waldo?’

Joy grimaced.  “Do you know Brian?”

“Afraid not.”

At that point, she looked around the room again, catching only a glance at a man in brown hastily leaving the bar. 

Joy put her hands over her face and moaned.  “This is awful.”

Jim chuckled.

“It’s not funny,” she said, and then found herself sitting there for the next hour explaining the entire situation and about half of her life.   There was the divorce of her parents when Joy was eleven - the forced sale of the home she’d grown up in.  There had been apartments and people she resented as part of her parents’ new lives, and a couple of more than disappointing romances of her own. Joy was left mourning the trust she’d once known. 

Jim studied her now somber face.  “I think you need a get-a-way,” he said, “a few days on Martha’s Vineyard.”

Joy listened.  “Why Martha’s Vineyard? I haven’t been out there in years.”

“Well then, it’s time.  I’ll show you around.  I live there, in Oak Bluffs, with a direct view to the harbor where the ferry comes in.”

“You live there?”

“Sure.  Why not?”

“I don’t know.  It just seems like a place to go for a few days.”

“That’s the invitation,” he said with a smile.

“But you live there.”

Jim nodded.  “Yes, I do.”

“What do you do there?”

“Other than enjoy every moment of it, I’m a photographer.  I do weddings, calendars, postcards, newspaper shots for a national press.  I capture life.”

Joy was silent.  She captured life too, she realized, in her clay sculptures.

“So,” he said as he looked into her eyes, “will you come out to my island?”

Joy looked at him and smiled as she heard herself reply, “Maybe.  Yes.”

“And you’ll stay,” he said with a completely serious voice and expression.

Joy looked down at her folded hands then up into his very appealing face.  “We’ll see,” she said.

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I write short stories, novels, and formerly wrote for two Massachusetts newspapers. I am also a painter, selling my work for almost twenty years in Quechee Vermont. It's all fun :>)