Another Saturday at Luigi's
By John Laneri
Luigi’s is a small, romantic restaurant featuring candlelight and good food. I live only a few blocks away in North Beach, and tonight, I’m meeting Maria.
While waiting, I order a bottle of wine, and soon, I see her step inside the door. She hurries to me. We embrace warmly, her body pressing mine. It's her way of saying that she's already feeling romantic.
Once seated, we catch up on the previous weeks, happy to be together. I tell her about my work collecting money for the family. She talks about her job at the bank, and soon, she begins to relate happy stories about her nieces and nephews, their schools and activities.
But then for no reason, I see her start fidgeting like a schoolgirl, her fingers rearranging the silverware – put the fork here, move the knife there. So, I begin to think that maybe she's not so interested, maybe she's troubled.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, concerned.
“I’m fine… just a number of confusing thoughts.”
"Like what?"
'Nothing important," she says, as her fingers return to the silverware.
Her words surprise me. She phoned only last night and said she wanted to see me – that she needed more romance. Now, I'm confused.
Nonetheless, Maria is a charming woman. Her hair is dark, and her eyes are as bright as the sunshine that radiates from her presence. The rest of her is natural – soft face, modest stature, a good all round look.
She’s fourth-generation like me. And like most Italians, our families go back – a few marriages here, lots of cousins there. We didn’t really didn’t get to know each other until we discovered sex in the sixth grade.
I pour her some wine. “Drink more vino. It helps to mellow the mood."
She takes another sip and smiles as her eyes regain their sparkle.
For the next hour, we make light chitchat while we work our way through the antipasto followed by an artichoke appetizer. Once we get to the pasta, she starts to talk about our times together – the weekends in the mountains, our days on the beach even my cousin’s wedding when we drank too much champagne and fell asleep in the bushes behind the church, our bodies curled into one.
Looking away, I watch the candlelight cast flickering shadows across our table. It’s supposed to be romantic, but for some reason, my thoughts keep turning to Maria.
I truly love her, and I don’t ever want to ever lose her. But, I also do not want to be married while my youth is still alive.
When we start on the veal, she says, "Being with you makes me so happy."
"And, I'm happy when I'm with you," I reply honestly. "I always am."
When we finish eating, I pour us more wine. She takes a sip then sighs deeply and slips off a shoe. We continue to bask while we finish the wine, our eyes directed to one another, her foot resting on my leg.
Soon, I see that look on her face – the one that tells me she’s beginning to have romantic thoughts.
“What are you thinking?” I ask quietly, hoping to move her along.
She takes another sip of wine, then says. "We rarely see each other. Don’t you want to be with me so we can share our lives together? I would like to start a family.”
“But, I’m too young to be married," I say. "We should wait another year... give our friendship more time to mature.”
Suddenly, her eyes flare, and before I can open my mouth, she gives my leg a shove and reaches for her purse. "I'll be old and gray by the time you're ready for me."
Under the table, I feel her foot searching for the shoe. “It’s getting late," she says, "Will you walk me to the door, so I can catch a taxi?”
“But, tomorrow is a Sunday. We can still go to my apartment like we always do. Then in the morning, we can read the newspaper in bed and eat biscotti with strong coffee. Have more fun. I’ll even make your favorite cappuccino.”
“You have your own life," she says. "I can't take away your freedom. If you truly love me, that's a decision you have to make.”
Reluctantly, my eyes return to the candle. Deep inside, I know what she says is true. I've known it for years.
"We’ve waited far too long." she continues softly. "The romance has been wonderful, but it's time for us to make a serious commitment to each other or go our separate ways."
Ashamed of myself, I look into her eyes, knowing that I have wasted our years together. Then gently, I tell her of my love, my words spoken with the truth and sincerity that only comes from the heart.
“I have always loved you too,” she whispers quietly.
I extend my hand.
She smiles and accepts it. I kiss her finger tips. And then, we get up from the table and walk to the door, our eyes searching one another, wondering if our love is real or just the romance inspired by another Saturday at Luigi's.
- - -
John is a native born Texan living near Houston. His writing focuses on short stories and flash. Publications to his credit can be found on the internet and in several print edition periodicals.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Monday, July 30, 2012
7/30/12
Carly
By Mike Berger
She came riding by on her battered bike every day after school. We lived half a block away, so I saw her almost every day. She had long brown hair that fluttered as she rode by. Her big brown eyes were huge and out of place in her skinny face. She was kinda cute in an odd kind of way.
In grade school, we had different home rooms and different lunch periods so our paths rarely crossed. That changed when we went to junior high, we had an English class together. She was now more than cute; she was quite pretty. I sat next to her and we often talked and exchanged notes. She had grown into her big brown eyes, and with her hair cut in a pixie, her eyes looked enormous. Better yet, she was developing lumps where she hadn't had them before.
With hormones coursing through my veins, I wanted to reach out and touch her but was afraid. I would often glance at her, and catch her glancing back. I wondered if she felt the same way I did. The following year, we had separate schedules and I would see her occasionally in the halls. I did have one encounter, once a month, the school held an afternoon dance. I asked her to dance; I wanted to put my cheek on hers but it was against the school rules. I felt a sharp sting when some other guy cut in, but felt great when she wrinkled her nose at me.
I lost track of her in high school as sports took up most of my time. I played football and tried out for track. Being a jock, I didn't want for female attention. I got calls several times a week, but for the most part, I wasn't interested. I earned a place on the track team as a sophomore running the low hurdles. I became
quite obsessed with myself after I won several meets.
My hurdle running earned me a scholarship to the local university. I worked out every day and with a knowledgeable coach, my time soon proved dramatically. As a freshman, I was one of the best in the conference. Carly was the last thing on my mind.
During the summer, I came home. I made special arrangements with the high school to use their track and hurdles. I found a sales job in a sports store in the mall. They
didn't start until 10 o'clock, so getting up early, I could practice for four hours before I went to work. While eating lunch at one of the outdoor tables, I felt a tug on my shoulder. Looking up I stared into her face. That look stole my breath; she was the most gorgeous thing I had ever seen. She said that she had seen me as she was walking by and wanted to stop to say hi. She explained that she was late for work and had to hurry off. I sat gawking unable to speak. She whirled around and disappeared into the crowd.
Asking the guys about her, they laughed and said take a number and wait in line. At home, I beat up on myself; I acted like a doof. She had come my way and all I could do was stare. The thrashing I gave myself was brutal. While I was verbally whacking
myself in the head, the telephone rang. My heart nearly jumped out of my body, it
was her. She apologized for being so abrupt, but she explained that she had a job in the bookstore and she was running late. Her boss was a jerk. She told me that she had been following my successes in the local newspaper. She wasn't doing anything special and wondered if I would be interested in getting together to catch up. I couldn't believe my ears; this must be a dream. We set a time and place where we would meet the following day there was a little lilt in her voice when she said
goodbye.
Sitting in my beanbag chair, I replayed our conversation in my mind. I took several
deep breaths and called my friend Alex. I asked him if he would bring a scoop shovel
and come to my house and scrape me off the ceiling.
- - -
By Mike Berger
She came riding by on her battered bike every day after school. We lived half a block away, so I saw her almost every day. She had long brown hair that fluttered as she rode by. Her big brown eyes were huge and out of place in her skinny face. She was kinda cute in an odd kind of way.
In grade school, we had different home rooms and different lunch periods so our paths rarely crossed. That changed when we went to junior high, we had an English class together. She was now more than cute; she was quite pretty. I sat next to her and we often talked and exchanged notes. She had grown into her big brown eyes, and with her hair cut in a pixie, her eyes looked enormous. Better yet, she was developing lumps where she hadn't had them before.
With hormones coursing through my veins, I wanted to reach out and touch her but was afraid. I would often glance at her, and catch her glancing back. I wondered if she felt the same way I did. The following year, we had separate schedules and I would see her occasionally in the halls. I did have one encounter, once a month, the school held an afternoon dance. I asked her to dance; I wanted to put my cheek on hers but it was against the school rules. I felt a sharp sting when some other guy cut in, but felt great when she wrinkled her nose at me.
I lost track of her in high school as sports took up most of my time. I played football and tried out for track. Being a jock, I didn't want for female attention. I got calls several times a week, but for the most part, I wasn't interested. I earned a place on the track team as a sophomore running the low hurdles. I became
quite obsessed with myself after I won several meets.
My hurdle running earned me a scholarship to the local university. I worked out every day and with a knowledgeable coach, my time soon proved dramatically. As a freshman, I was one of the best in the conference. Carly was the last thing on my mind.
During the summer, I came home. I made special arrangements with the high school to use their track and hurdles. I found a sales job in a sports store in the mall. They
didn't start until 10 o'clock, so getting up early, I could practice for four hours before I went to work. While eating lunch at one of the outdoor tables, I felt a tug on my shoulder. Looking up I stared into her face. That look stole my breath; she was the most gorgeous thing I had ever seen. She said that she had seen me as she was walking by and wanted to stop to say hi. She explained that she was late for work and had to hurry off. I sat gawking unable to speak. She whirled around and disappeared into the crowd.
Asking the guys about her, they laughed and said take a number and wait in line. At home, I beat up on myself; I acted like a doof. She had come my way and all I could do was stare. The thrashing I gave myself was brutal. While I was verbally whacking
myself in the head, the telephone rang. My heart nearly jumped out of my body, it
was her. She apologized for being so abrupt, but she explained that she had a job in the bookstore and she was running late. Her boss was a jerk. She told me that she had been following my successes in the local newspaper. She wasn't doing anything special and wondered if I would be interested in getting together to catch up. I couldn't believe my ears; this must be a dream. We set a time and place where we would meet the following day there was a little lilt in her voice when she said
goodbye.
Sitting in my beanbag chair, I replayed our conversation in my mind. I took several
deep breaths and called my friend Alex. I asked him if he would bring a scoop shovel
and come to my house and scrape me off the ceiling.
- - -
Sunday, July 29, 2012
7/29/12
Just a Coincidence
By Elliot Richard Dorfman
Harvey Coleman put on a new pair of black slacks and a spiffy matching sports’ shirt that he had carefully selected at a fashionable clothing store in Manhattan earlier that Saturday. He even got a new hair style that same afternoon to enhance his appearance. Yet, when seeing his reflection in the mirror over the bureau, he sighed with disappointment.
“Somehow you still look like a dork,” he mumbled to himself sadly. “What kind of normal woman would want to go out with a clod like you?”
Truthfully, this young man of 24 was nothing at all like the negative image he imagined himself to be. Five feet, ten inches, with thick brown hair and big green expressive eyes, he was as handsome as any guy would desire to be. His problem stemmed from the fact that he was too shy with women to initiate any kind of long-lasting relationship with them.
Without knocking, Chuck, his father, barged into the bedroom, not having any respect of his son’s privacy, despite the fact that Harvey was now a responsible adult who gave money to his family now that he made a good living as a civil engineer.
Chuck slapped his only child on the back.
“So what’s happening tonight, boy? Going out to another singles’ bar to meet some sweet pretty thing? See you got a new outfit and a cool haircut. Great idea! Now all that you’ve got to do is avoid acting like a wimp and not fall apart when you start talking to the opposite sex.”
The man laughed heartily, unaware that he was the main reason for his son’s low self esteem - constantly ridiculing Harvey ever since he was a child.
Fern, Chuck’s wife stuck her head in the doorway.
“Come on, honey, why don’t you leave the kid alone. You’re making Harvey nervous. Maybe tonight he’ll get the courage to speak up and not shy away.”
“I doubt that, Fern. Perhaps if you hadn’t been such an overprotective mother, our son wouldn’t have grown up to become some wuss.”
Fern moved to her son and made him flinch as she affectionately gave him a pinch on his cheek.
“Don’t call him wuss, Chucky. He’s simply an adorable, gentle soul, that’s all. Anyway, Harvey will always have his mommy to love him.”
Harvey grunted. Silently, he splashed on some cologne, then silently walked past his parents and left the house.
“It’s a good thing that I finally got the guts to get my own pad,” he said to himself, getting into his car. “Those parents of mine are suffocating me. I should have done it right after getting the job at the electronics lab after graduation last June.”
On Monday after signing the lease to that nice studio apartment near the park, he would break the news to Fern and Chuck. He certainly wasn’t relishing their reaction. As usual, they would probably disagree with him - especially since this meant their hold on him would be broken. He knew they would try persuading him to back out of the deal . . . But that wasn’t going to happen, not if he wanted to maintain his sanity and get the freedom that he rightfully deserved at his age.
It had rained before he reached the mall where Lancelot’s, a popular bar and grill, was located. Stepping out of his car, he slipped and fell onto the wet payment in the parking lot. For a second he was disoriented, but quickly regaining his composure, rose - brushed himself off - then went into the bar.
Lancelot’s catered to a young crowd and Harvey was hoping that tonight he might meet someone who would turn out to be the perfect match for him. In any case, this time Harvey was absolutely determined not to let his shyness get in the way of his goal. He realized that if he didn’t loosen up with the chicks soon, he was bound to remain a lonely bachelor all of his life - and that was something he defiantly did not want to happen.
It was still rather early, and not many people had arrived at Lancelot’s yet. He sat on a stool and ordered a drink. A few minutes later, an attractive blond hesitantly sat down next to him and gave him a glance but said nothing.
“Gee, she seems as shy as I am” he thought.
A few minutes past until he boldly got the guts to speak up.
“Hi, are you here all alone?”
The woman turned to him. Sadly she nodded her head and sighed.
“To be honest, yes. Usually I don’t come to places like this, but tonight I was fed up being alone in my apartment and having nothing to do but watch some boring television programs”
Harvey was surprised.
“I would think that such a pretty woman as you would be out every evening with some guy.”
The woman blushed. “That’s very nice of you to say. But despite the fact that I am a teacher and do plenty of talking, for some strange reason I become terribly shy when I go out on dates.”
Harvey perked up. “Is that so? I guess we have something in common because that’s my biggest problem too! By the way, I’m Harvey Coleman and you are?”
“Kelly Garner.”
Having broken the ice, the young couple felt more at ease and began conversing. Harvey bought her a gin and tonic and then they moved to a table in the corner and had dinner.
It turned out to be a delightful evening. The best Harvey ever remembered having. Escorting Kelly to her car in the parking lot a few hours later, she gave him t her telephone number and address. Then, without any of his usual trepidation, he kissed her and sparks flew.
“If you’re not busy tomorrow, let’s get together and have lunch,” Harvey suggested. “I know a swell French restaurant downtown. After that, perhaps we can catch a movie. I’ll pick you up at your house around noon.”
Kelly nodded and for the next few minutes they leaned against the car and embraced, shyness thrown to the wind.
Once home, Harvey was grateful that his parents were sleeping. Mercifully, he wasn’t going to get the third degree about what had happened that evening. Again, he was spared their inquisition in the morning since they had left for church before he had gotten up. When they returned later, their son was gone.
It was a beautiful, warm day, and Harvey was in a super mood. It was a twenty minute ride to where Kelly lived. He stopped in front of a cute little cottage on the corner of a shady street and rang the door bell. There was no response.
“Maybe the bell is broken,” he thought and tried knocking instead - still nothing.
Calling her on his cell phone, he got an automated message: “The number you have reached has been disconnected.”
It was then Harvey noticed a sign on the left side of the front entrance: “For sale.”
Disappointed and distraught, the man shook his head and drove off.
“She seemed like such a nice person,” he lamented. “Why would she do such a lousy thing like this to me? No doubt she’s having a good laugh now!”
Still, the one good thing that had come out of their meeting was that Harvey had finally broken through his shyness with the opposite sex. In addition, after moving into his new apartment, he felt more relaxed and gained a confidence in himself that was lacking before. Soon his social life was filled with lots of dates. Despite this, no lasting relationship developed. The problem seemed to be that he was always comparing every woman with Kelly. Of course this was a ridiculous thing to do, especially since he had only met her once - and truthfully, in the end had been played for a sap. Yet somehow, Harvey illogically rationalized that there had to be some good reason that Kelly had given him the wrong address and telephone number . . . after all, she did seem to like him.
During the next few months he tried calling Kelly again and again, but got the same results. Then one day when passing by the cottage, he noticed the “for sale” sign was gone. Excitedly, he went to the house and rang the bell. An impatient middle-aged man came to the entrance. When Harvey asked him if Kelly lived there, the man shook his head and slammed the door in his face.
Taking a cruise to Hawaii on his vacation six months later, he met Antoinette. She was cute and lots of fun to be with. When they arrived back in the city, they started going steady. Later that year, his mother, anxious for him to get married so she could have grandchildren, began calling him every day.
“So tell me, Harvey, when are you going to get engaged to Antoinette? A woman like that is not going to wait forever, ”
He cut the conversation short. “Mama, like I told you before, I’ll ask her when I’m good and ready!”
Hanging up the phone, Harvey was thankful that he had moved out of his parents’ house and no longer had to endure such harassment. However, soon it wasn’t only his mother that was becoming anxious. Antoinette was becoming annoyed why he hadn’t popped the question yet.
Actually, he didn’t want to get engaged yet - not as long as there was still a strong urge that he had see Kelly at least once more time. When he mentioned this to a few close friends, they suggested he see a psychologist before this obsession ruined his life.
“No psychologist is going to help me,” he responded with a big sigh. “I’ve just got to find her again in order to have some kind of closure. I know it sounds crazy since I only met Kelly once, but I’ve just got to know why she stood me up the next day.”
When more months passing by and Antoinette saw that Harvey wasn’t any closer to proposing, she gave him an ultimatum: “we either get engaged or break up.”
When Harvey hesitated, Antoinette shrugged, turned her back on him and walked out of his life forever.
Just about everyone he knew pounced on him:
“Harvey, you’re an idiot for letting such a catch as Antoinette slip out of your life! Stop living in a daydream and accept reality, you’ll never see that Kelly again. She probably wasn’t as nice as you thought, anyway.”
“ Maybe out of desperation you imagined her. Looks like you’re going to remain a bachelor after all!”
On and on they went - never giving him a break. He became so tense that one evening he decided to go back to Lancelot’s and get himself plastered.
Like when he met Kelly, the place was empty. Sitting down at the counter, Harvey was on his second round of Scotch when a woman sat next to him. He almost chocked when he realized it was Kelly! She looked so pretty and was wearing the same beige outfit as before.
“Kelly, it’s you!” he shouted.
Kelly gave him a look of surprise.
“Sorry, but I don’t seem to remember you.”
Harvey was taken aback.
“Oh, come on Kelly, don’t pretend you don’t remember me! We hit it off so well when we met here the last time. Why did you give me a wrong phone number and address? The next day I felt like such a fool when I couldn’t reach you.”
Kelly shook her head. “You must be mistaking me for someone else - although you did get my name right. Actually, I just recently moved to this city after getting a good teaching position.”
Harvey began feeling a headache coming on, then suddenly everything made sense. Could it be that he had somehow jumped a year ahead the last time he had met Kelly at Lancelot’s? As strange as it seemed, this would solve the mystery why he couldn’t contact her again after that night.
He was about to tell her his theory but suddenly stopped. Just how could he prove it? No, it would be best not to mention this to her - or anyone - not unless he wanted to be considered a loony!
“Let’s forget what I said and start all over. I’m Harvey Coleman.”
Just like when they met before, Harvey and Kelly had a wonderful evening and when he went to meet her the next day, to his relief, she was there. It didn’t take long before they became engaged and then married.
Kelly never understood why Harvey’s friends seemed so surprised when he first introduced her to them.
“Is this actually the elusive Kelly that you couldn’t stop talking about?”they asked, taking him aside.
“Let’s not go into it,” he grinned. “Consider it just a coincidence that she has the same name.”
- - -
Elliot Richard Dorfman taught acting, broadcasting, music, and history in the New York City School System for more than three decades. He was artistic director of the American Youth Repertory Company, Off Broadway and appeared and wrote for radio, television, and the theatre. Since the Fall of 2007, 107 of his short stories and several poems have been printed in 34 publications. For more detailed information got to: http://elrite.webs.com/home.htm
By Elliot Richard Dorfman
Harvey Coleman put on a new pair of black slacks and a spiffy matching sports’ shirt that he had carefully selected at a fashionable clothing store in Manhattan earlier that Saturday. He even got a new hair style that same afternoon to enhance his appearance. Yet, when seeing his reflection in the mirror over the bureau, he sighed with disappointment.
“Somehow you still look like a dork,” he mumbled to himself sadly. “What kind of normal woman would want to go out with a clod like you?”
Truthfully, this young man of 24 was nothing at all like the negative image he imagined himself to be. Five feet, ten inches, with thick brown hair and big green expressive eyes, he was as handsome as any guy would desire to be. His problem stemmed from the fact that he was too shy with women to initiate any kind of long-lasting relationship with them.
Without knocking, Chuck, his father, barged into the bedroom, not having any respect of his son’s privacy, despite the fact that Harvey was now a responsible adult who gave money to his family now that he made a good living as a civil engineer.
Chuck slapped his only child on the back.
“So what’s happening tonight, boy? Going out to another singles’ bar to meet some sweet pretty thing? See you got a new outfit and a cool haircut. Great idea! Now all that you’ve got to do is avoid acting like a wimp and not fall apart when you start talking to the opposite sex.”
The man laughed heartily, unaware that he was the main reason for his son’s low self esteem - constantly ridiculing Harvey ever since he was a child.
Fern, Chuck’s wife stuck her head in the doorway.
“Come on, honey, why don’t you leave the kid alone. You’re making Harvey nervous. Maybe tonight he’ll get the courage to speak up and not shy away.”
“I doubt that, Fern. Perhaps if you hadn’t been such an overprotective mother, our son wouldn’t have grown up to become some wuss.”
Fern moved to her son and made him flinch as she affectionately gave him a pinch on his cheek.
“Don’t call him wuss, Chucky. He’s simply an adorable, gentle soul, that’s all. Anyway, Harvey will always have his mommy to love him.”
Harvey grunted. Silently, he splashed on some cologne, then silently walked past his parents and left the house.
“It’s a good thing that I finally got the guts to get my own pad,” he said to himself, getting into his car. “Those parents of mine are suffocating me. I should have done it right after getting the job at the electronics lab after graduation last June.”
On Monday after signing the lease to that nice studio apartment near the park, he would break the news to Fern and Chuck. He certainly wasn’t relishing their reaction. As usual, they would probably disagree with him - especially since this meant their hold on him would be broken. He knew they would try persuading him to back out of the deal . . . But that wasn’t going to happen, not if he wanted to maintain his sanity and get the freedom that he rightfully deserved at his age.
***
It had rained before he reached the mall where Lancelot’s, a popular bar and grill, was located. Stepping out of his car, he slipped and fell onto the wet payment in the parking lot. For a second he was disoriented, but quickly regaining his composure, rose - brushed himself off - then went into the bar.
Lancelot’s catered to a young crowd and Harvey was hoping that tonight he might meet someone who would turn out to be the perfect match for him. In any case, this time Harvey was absolutely determined not to let his shyness get in the way of his goal. He realized that if he didn’t loosen up with the chicks soon, he was bound to remain a lonely bachelor all of his life - and that was something he defiantly did not want to happen.
It was still rather early, and not many people had arrived at Lancelot’s yet. He sat on a stool and ordered a drink. A few minutes later, an attractive blond hesitantly sat down next to him and gave him a glance but said nothing.
“Gee, she seems as shy as I am” he thought.
A few minutes past until he boldly got the guts to speak up.
“Hi, are you here all alone?”
The woman turned to him. Sadly she nodded her head and sighed.
“To be honest, yes. Usually I don’t come to places like this, but tonight I was fed up being alone in my apartment and having nothing to do but watch some boring television programs”
Harvey was surprised.
“I would think that such a pretty woman as you would be out every evening with some guy.”
The woman blushed. “That’s very nice of you to say. But despite the fact that I am a teacher and do plenty of talking, for some strange reason I become terribly shy when I go out on dates.”
Harvey perked up. “Is that so? I guess we have something in common because that’s my biggest problem too! By the way, I’m Harvey Coleman and you are?”
“Kelly Garner.”
Having broken the ice, the young couple felt more at ease and began conversing. Harvey bought her a gin and tonic and then they moved to a table in the corner and had dinner.
It turned out to be a delightful evening. The best Harvey ever remembered having. Escorting Kelly to her car in the parking lot a few hours later, she gave him t her telephone number and address. Then, without any of his usual trepidation, he kissed her and sparks flew.
“If you’re not busy tomorrow, let’s get together and have lunch,” Harvey suggested. “I know a swell French restaurant downtown. After that, perhaps we can catch a movie. I’ll pick you up at your house around noon.”
Kelly nodded and for the next few minutes they leaned against the car and embraced, shyness thrown to the wind.
***
Once home, Harvey was grateful that his parents were sleeping. Mercifully, he wasn’t going to get the third degree about what had happened that evening. Again, he was spared their inquisition in the morning since they had left for church before he had gotten up. When they returned later, their son was gone.
It was a beautiful, warm day, and Harvey was in a super mood. It was a twenty minute ride to where Kelly lived. He stopped in front of a cute little cottage on the corner of a shady street and rang the door bell. There was no response.
“Maybe the bell is broken,” he thought and tried knocking instead - still nothing.
Calling her on his cell phone, he got an automated message: “The number you have reached has been disconnected.”
It was then Harvey noticed a sign on the left side of the front entrance: “For sale.”
Disappointed and distraught, the man shook his head and drove off.
“She seemed like such a nice person,” he lamented. “Why would she do such a lousy thing like this to me? No doubt she’s having a good laugh now!”
Still, the one good thing that had come out of their meeting was that Harvey had finally broken through his shyness with the opposite sex. In addition, after moving into his new apartment, he felt more relaxed and gained a confidence in himself that was lacking before. Soon his social life was filled with lots of dates. Despite this, no lasting relationship developed. The problem seemed to be that he was always comparing every woman with Kelly. Of course this was a ridiculous thing to do, especially since he had only met her once - and truthfully, in the end had been played for a sap. Yet somehow, Harvey illogically rationalized that there had to be some good reason that Kelly had given him the wrong address and telephone number . . . after all, she did seem to like him.
During the next few months he tried calling Kelly again and again, but got the same results. Then one day when passing by the cottage, he noticed the “for sale” sign was gone. Excitedly, he went to the house and rang the bell. An impatient middle-aged man came to the entrance. When Harvey asked him if Kelly lived there, the man shook his head and slammed the door in his face.
Taking a cruise to Hawaii on his vacation six months later, he met Antoinette. She was cute and lots of fun to be with. When they arrived back in the city, they started going steady. Later that year, his mother, anxious for him to get married so she could have grandchildren, began calling him every day.
“So tell me, Harvey, when are you going to get engaged to Antoinette? A woman like that is not going to wait forever, ”
He cut the conversation short. “Mama, like I told you before, I’ll ask her when I’m good and ready!”
Hanging up the phone, Harvey was thankful that he had moved out of his parents’ house and no longer had to endure such harassment. However, soon it wasn’t only his mother that was becoming anxious. Antoinette was becoming annoyed why he hadn’t popped the question yet.
Actually, he didn’t want to get engaged yet - not as long as there was still a strong urge that he had see Kelly at least once more time. When he mentioned this to a few close friends, they suggested he see a psychologist before this obsession ruined his life.
“No psychologist is going to help me,” he responded with a big sigh. “I’ve just got to find her again in order to have some kind of closure. I know it sounds crazy since I only met Kelly once, but I’ve just got to know why she stood me up the next day.”
When more months passing by and Antoinette saw that Harvey wasn’t any closer to proposing, she gave him an ultimatum: “we either get engaged or break up.”
When Harvey hesitated, Antoinette shrugged, turned her back on him and walked out of his life forever.
Just about everyone he knew pounced on him:
“Harvey, you’re an idiot for letting such a catch as Antoinette slip out of your life! Stop living in a daydream and accept reality, you’ll never see that Kelly again. She probably wasn’t as nice as you thought, anyway.”
“ Maybe out of desperation you imagined her. Looks like you’re going to remain a bachelor after all!”
On and on they went - never giving him a break. He became so tense that one evening he decided to go back to Lancelot’s and get himself plastered.
Like when he met Kelly, the place was empty. Sitting down at the counter, Harvey was on his second round of Scotch when a woman sat next to him. He almost chocked when he realized it was Kelly! She looked so pretty and was wearing the same beige outfit as before.
“Kelly, it’s you!” he shouted.
Kelly gave him a look of surprise.
“Sorry, but I don’t seem to remember you.”
Harvey was taken aback.
“Oh, come on Kelly, don’t pretend you don’t remember me! We hit it off so well when we met here the last time. Why did you give me a wrong phone number and address? The next day I felt like such a fool when I couldn’t reach you.”
Kelly shook her head. “You must be mistaking me for someone else - although you did get my name right. Actually, I just recently moved to this city after getting a good teaching position.”
Harvey began feeling a headache coming on, then suddenly everything made sense. Could it be that he had somehow jumped a year ahead the last time he had met Kelly at Lancelot’s? As strange as it seemed, this would solve the mystery why he couldn’t contact her again after that night.
He was about to tell her his theory but suddenly stopped. Just how could he prove it? No, it would be best not to mention this to her - or anyone - not unless he wanted to be considered a loony!
“Let’s forget what I said and start all over. I’m Harvey Coleman.”
Just like when they met before, Harvey and Kelly had a wonderful evening and when he went to meet her the next day, to his relief, she was there. It didn’t take long before they became engaged and then married.
Kelly never understood why Harvey’s friends seemed so surprised when he first introduced her to them.
“Is this actually the elusive Kelly that you couldn’t stop talking about?”they asked, taking him aside.
“Let’s not go into it,” he grinned. “Consider it just a coincidence that she has the same name.”
- - -
Elliot Richard Dorfman taught acting, broadcasting, music, and history in the New York City School System for more than three decades. He was artistic director of the American Youth Repertory Company, Off Broadway and appeared and wrote for radio, television, and the theatre. Since the Fall of 2007, 107 of his short stories and several poems have been printed in 34 publications. For more detailed information got to: http://elrite.webs.com/home.htm
Saturday, July 28, 2012
7/28/12
The Vine Girl
By Jen DePoorter
Even at night, my thoughts flit back to you.
The seed grows in my head,
spreads vines throughout my body
and ends at my toes.
The vine is tangled in my chest,
wrapped around my rib cage,
and sprouting spring flowers.
But the vine strangles my heart,
throbbing and pulsating,
suffocating and withholding.
I am the vine girl.
- - -
I'm Jen DePoorter, a second year student at DePaul University. I am double majoring in English and Journalism, and I want to do is write.
By Jen DePoorter
Even at night, my thoughts flit back to you.
The seed grows in my head,
spreads vines throughout my body
and ends at my toes.
The vine is tangled in my chest,
wrapped around my rib cage,
and sprouting spring flowers.
But the vine strangles my heart,
throbbing and pulsating,
suffocating and withholding.
I am the vine girl.
- - -
I'm Jen DePoorter, a second year student at DePaul University. I am double majoring in English and Journalism, and I want to do is write.
Friday, July 27, 2012
7/27/12
Old Bar
By Walter William Safar
You always have to hold on to someone
When you're doing bad in life,
And right now I am holding on to the counter in the bar.
My fingers are sticking to the bottle
Like they used to stick to her naked body.
Some might not consider it an appropriate analogy,
But those who know how inebriating love can be,
Know that it can be stronger than liquor.
While the sweet rhythm of an old blues song
Caresses the hearts of nightbirds in a brotherly way,
A lady of the night blows a heart made of cigarette smoke
Into the face of a stately gentleman.
It is only here, in this old bar,
Where you can hide all of your trouble
In a heart-shaped cloud of cigarette smoke,
Because smoking is forbidden elsewhere,
In the name of people's health.
But tell me, friend,
What about freedom?...
Can a man no longer choose
How to perish
When destiny gives him black clothes to wear?
When abandoned by the woman
Who knew how to light the fire inside,
Stronger than the liquor
That so feverishly throws itself
Into the fiery paths of my entrails.
My eyes that used to be so clear
Are so blurred now,
Aimlessly wandering from face to face
Of the nightbirds whose eyes are just as lost.
We are bound by the threads of loves lost.
They say you can love every woman the way you loved
The first one,
But the first one inebriated me for good,
Just like the first glass of liquor did.
When my gaze wandered off into the street,
In the hope that I might see her,
Because people say that hope is the last to die,
I heard the velvety voice of a harlot:
"Don't be a fool, love,
You will never find lips more passionate
Than mine... Let's dance, love!..."
I know she has no love for me,
Just wishful eyes
That so ravishingly glow
In the demonic fires of passion.
There is no more will to dance in couples inside me,
Promises, hopes, caressing and tragedies
Vanished with that first love,
So pour me another one, bartender.
- - -
WALTER WILLIAM SAFAR was born on August 6th 1958 in Sherman-Texas . He is the author of a number of a significant number of prose works and novels, including "Leaden fog", "Chastity on sale", "In the flames of passion", "The price of life", "Above the clouds", "The infernal circle", "The scream", "The Devil’s Architect”, "Queen Elizabeth II", as well as a book of poems.
By Walter William Safar
You always have to hold on to someone
When you're doing bad in life,
And right now I am holding on to the counter in the bar.
My fingers are sticking to the bottle
Like they used to stick to her naked body.
Some might not consider it an appropriate analogy,
But those who know how inebriating love can be,
Know that it can be stronger than liquor.
While the sweet rhythm of an old blues song
Caresses the hearts of nightbirds in a brotherly way,
A lady of the night blows a heart made of cigarette smoke
Into the face of a stately gentleman.
It is only here, in this old bar,
Where you can hide all of your trouble
In a heart-shaped cloud of cigarette smoke,
Because smoking is forbidden elsewhere,
In the name of people's health.
But tell me, friend,
What about freedom?...
Can a man no longer choose
How to perish
When destiny gives him black clothes to wear?
When abandoned by the woman
Who knew how to light the fire inside,
Stronger than the liquor
That so feverishly throws itself
Into the fiery paths of my entrails.
My eyes that used to be so clear
Are so blurred now,
Aimlessly wandering from face to face
Of the nightbirds whose eyes are just as lost.
We are bound by the threads of loves lost.
They say you can love every woman the way you loved
The first one,
But the first one inebriated me for good,
Just like the first glass of liquor did.
When my gaze wandered off into the street,
In the hope that I might see her,
Because people say that hope is the last to die,
I heard the velvety voice of a harlot:
"Don't be a fool, love,
You will never find lips more passionate
Than mine... Let's dance, love!..."
I know she has no love for me,
Just wishful eyes
That so ravishingly glow
In the demonic fires of passion.
There is no more will to dance in couples inside me,
Promises, hopes, caressing and tragedies
Vanished with that first love,
So pour me another one, bartender.
- - -
WALTER WILLIAM SAFAR was born on August 6th 1958 in Sherman-Texas . He is the author of a number of a significant number of prose works and novels, including "Leaden fog", "Chastity on sale", "In the flames of passion", "The price of life", "Above the clouds", "The infernal circle", "The scream", "The Devil’s Architect”, "Queen Elizabeth II", as well as a book of poems.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
7/26/12
FALLING FOR CLIFF
By Allie Coker-Schwimmer
- - -
I discovered Daily Love via duotrope and wanted to submit a few poems. Currently, I am obtaining my MFA in Creative Writing from Queen's University of Charlotte and live with my husband in Durham, NC. Thank you for taking the time to consider my work.
By Allie Coker-Schwimmer
Boulder shoulders
Sky eyes
Sun-baked hair
Soothing presence
Gated walk
Joyous smile
Reassuring laugh
Sloppy handwriting
Calming voice
Determined heart
Free yet willing spirit
Clad in blues and greens and rainbow washes
Secure in self and all
Loaded up with love
Gentle touch of respect
- - -
I discovered Daily Love via duotrope and wanted to submit a few poems. Currently, I am obtaining my MFA in Creative Writing from Queen's University of Charlotte and live with my husband in Durham, NC. Thank you for taking the time to consider my work.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
7/25/12
The Unexpected Compliment
By Linda M. Crate
you're the unexpected compliment on a rainy
day to cut through the penetrating gloom
of the darkest dawn; you shimmer sun
star gold to brighten my darkest mood you've
made the topography of a smile remember the
corners of my face when I thought it was
doomed to remain a brook of misery, desolation
dotted these fields and birthed islands of the
bitterest discontent you took my dead blossoms and
filled my plains with brightly colored wildflowers.
- - -
Linda Crate is a Pennsylvanian native born in Pittsburgh, but she was raised in the rural town of Conneautville. She has recently moved to Fort Fairfield, ME. She attended and graduated from Edinboro University of Pennsylvania with a degree in English-Literature in 2009. She has a passion for writing that she has nurtured since the age of thirteen. Her poetry and short stories have appeared in a variety of magazines the latest of which includes: Nebo: A Literary Journal and Visceral Uterus.
By Linda M. Crate
you're the unexpected compliment on a rainy
day to cut through the penetrating gloom
of the darkest dawn; you shimmer sun
star gold to brighten my darkest mood you've
made the topography of a smile remember the
corners of my face when I thought it was
doomed to remain a brook of misery, desolation
dotted these fields and birthed islands of the
bitterest discontent you took my dead blossoms and
filled my plains with brightly colored wildflowers.
- - -
Linda Crate is a Pennsylvanian native born in Pittsburgh, but she was raised in the rural town of Conneautville. She has recently moved to Fort Fairfield, ME. She attended and graduated from Edinboro University of Pennsylvania with a degree in English-Literature in 2009. She has a passion for writing that she has nurtured since the age of thirteen. Her poetry and short stories have appeared in a variety of magazines the latest of which includes: Nebo: A Literary Journal and Visceral Uterus.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
7/24/12
Angel of the Valley
By Ceilidh Devine
This tale begins with a boy
He starts his day, by the river
At the bottom of the great valley
The river was one of sheer amazement
The roaring waves splashed, lashing at the rocks
Covering them in a white wash of water
The boy was brave to be fishing on this day
For the rain was pouring down
The heavy drops were causing the river to run at super flash speed
This was a terrible day to be down by the grand valley
He had to try and catch breakfast
Otherwise he would starve till supper
He edged towards the embankment
The noise of the river was that of sheer terror
The water was flowing with vengeance
As the boy stepped out to the rock just before him
The current was just too strong
The river wrapped around the boy
Carrying him fast towards the great rocks
His body crashed onto them
He was sure to be left for dead
Yet hope was watching over him
A girl who lived in the hilltops
Had come down to the river for water
She saw the boy’s body
Squashed between the rocks
She jumped onto one of the boulders
With all her strength, she pulled him free
Dragged him back to the embankment
She was sure he was gone
With a punch to the chest
The boy jerked up
Spurted, gasping for breath
The girl was so surprised
She ran into the forest growth
Before the boy could even think
He was sure, she was an angel
The angel of the valley
The tale that came to be known
The boy told the entire town’s folk
Of how an angel came to save him
The girl, sat for hours
Thinking of the boy
The look on his face
Would haunt her for eternity
Hours past with thoughts of the boy
She was pining to see his face once more
Every day the boy went to the river
Always looking for his saviour
Every morning he hoped
Every day he left full of woe
For his angel he never saw
Days became weeks,
Weeks onto months
Months turned to years
Never did the girl return to the river
The nights in the town had become one of a highlight
As for when the stars were out
A tune could be heard among the wind
Such a soft and delicate sound
The song was so enchanting
It carried magic through the air
The clear wisps of the wind
Pushing these beautiful sounds all around
The words were heard all through the town
The people began to sing
‘I look for you my love
I long to come and be there with you
To feel you, to hold you
To explode all my love onto you
To tell you, to show you
In the best possible way
I want to make you see all the love I behold
The only way I can, is by declaring my heart to you
That the love I have for you,
Is greater than the stars above
Is stronger them the moon’s shine
Is bigger than the sea’s bed
I saw you, and my love grew
I long to be with you
Forever in this great haste of true love
I shall come to you my dear, for I truly love you’
The girl would sit every night
Singing to the stars above
Her song was one of doubtless love
Her voice was carried down through the trees
The leaves would rustle
The wind pushing the notes down into the town
The boy who’s heart the girl was singing for
Never heard a single note
As this boy’s mind was over his angel
He had given up hope
Found himself a new saviour
A local girl from maple farm
Her graceful manner
Her beautiful smile could warm up winter
Bright pearl’s for eyes
His heart could love no other
The boy and the farmer’s daughter
Would joyfully play down by the river
Their love grew uncontrollable for each other
The boy held out his hand
Asked his love to be forever in his mind
With tear filled eyes she delightfully replied
Of course, my love, you are forever mine
The girl who sat up high above the valley
Her pondering, wondering
The wanting and the singing
Could not free her mind
Her love for the boy was true
She made way to go and declare
As the morning sun began to appear
The girl pranced down to the river
Humming her heart felt tune
The boy also headed towards the river at the bottom of the valley
First to approach was the boy carrying his spear
He heard a tune though the trees
So familiar, yet unknown
As he lured further towards the sound
A great flash of rain came fiercely down
This flash flood of water created a backwash of power
The force ripped the trees down as if it was a great fire
The ball of nature tore down the hilltops
Destroying all in its way
The girl turned her head and saw
Her love’s look, he was standing there
His stare, his proclaim of love
Was right there
The trees came hurling down the hill side
In a blink of an eye
Nature carried the girl away
Her body was led towards the great sea
The boy was stunned, he stood trembling with fear
He looked beneath and realised
He was standing upon the angel of the valleys rock
He had been saved
He was sure he had saw her between the trees
Where now stood a grand gorge of falling water
The sheer beauty of what had been created
This must be the angel’s creation
It was her making
As he turned to go and tell his tale
He heard a tune as like before
His heart awoke
His mind was clear
His love for the angel
Was now so dear...
Every night when the stars shine bright,
A song is heard in the town below the valley
If you look up at the sky and ask the angel of the valley,
You shall get your invite to see your true loves look
And your heart will play a tune that will guide you to your lovers’ soul.
- - -
I have been writing poetry since December 2011, I have had three poems published so far, before I was writing poetry, I was undertaking a BA honors Degree. I have dyslexia, words will not leave my mind, so I wrote them down and now I am a poet.
By Ceilidh Devine
This tale begins with a boy
He starts his day, by the river
At the bottom of the great valley
The river was one of sheer amazement
The roaring waves splashed, lashing at the rocks
Covering them in a white wash of water
The boy was brave to be fishing on this day
For the rain was pouring down
The heavy drops were causing the river to run at super flash speed
This was a terrible day to be down by the grand valley
He had to try and catch breakfast
Otherwise he would starve till supper
He edged towards the embankment
The noise of the river was that of sheer terror
The water was flowing with vengeance
As the boy stepped out to the rock just before him
The current was just too strong
The river wrapped around the boy
Carrying him fast towards the great rocks
His body crashed onto them
He was sure to be left for dead
Yet hope was watching over him
A girl who lived in the hilltops
Had come down to the river for water
She saw the boy’s body
Squashed between the rocks
She jumped onto one of the boulders
With all her strength, she pulled him free
Dragged him back to the embankment
She was sure he was gone
With a punch to the chest
The boy jerked up
Spurted, gasping for breath
The girl was so surprised
She ran into the forest growth
Before the boy could even think
He was sure, she was an angel
The angel of the valley
The tale that came to be known
The boy told the entire town’s folk
Of how an angel came to save him
The girl, sat for hours
Thinking of the boy
The look on his face
Would haunt her for eternity
Hours past with thoughts of the boy
She was pining to see his face once more
Every day the boy went to the river
Always looking for his saviour
Every morning he hoped
Every day he left full of woe
For his angel he never saw
Days became weeks,
Weeks onto months
Months turned to years
Never did the girl return to the river
The nights in the town had become one of a highlight
As for when the stars were out
A tune could be heard among the wind
Such a soft and delicate sound
The song was so enchanting
It carried magic through the air
The clear wisps of the wind
Pushing these beautiful sounds all around
The words were heard all through the town
The people began to sing
‘I look for you my love
I long to come and be there with you
To feel you, to hold you
To explode all my love onto you
To tell you, to show you
In the best possible way
I want to make you see all the love I behold
The only way I can, is by declaring my heart to you
That the love I have for you,
Is greater than the stars above
Is stronger them the moon’s shine
Is bigger than the sea’s bed
I saw you, and my love grew
I long to be with you
Forever in this great haste of true love
I shall come to you my dear, for I truly love you’
The girl would sit every night
Singing to the stars above
Her song was one of doubtless love
Her voice was carried down through the trees
The leaves would rustle
The wind pushing the notes down into the town
The boy who’s heart the girl was singing for
Never heard a single note
As this boy’s mind was over his angel
He had given up hope
Found himself a new saviour
A local girl from maple farm
Her graceful manner
Her beautiful smile could warm up winter
Bright pearl’s for eyes
His heart could love no other
The boy and the farmer’s daughter
Would joyfully play down by the river
Their love grew uncontrollable for each other
The boy held out his hand
Asked his love to be forever in his mind
With tear filled eyes she delightfully replied
Of course, my love, you are forever mine
The girl who sat up high above the valley
Her pondering, wondering
The wanting and the singing
Could not free her mind
Her love for the boy was true
She made way to go and declare
As the morning sun began to appear
The girl pranced down to the river
Humming her heart felt tune
The boy also headed towards the river at the bottom of the valley
First to approach was the boy carrying his spear
He heard a tune though the trees
So familiar, yet unknown
As he lured further towards the sound
A great flash of rain came fiercely down
This flash flood of water created a backwash of power
The force ripped the trees down as if it was a great fire
The ball of nature tore down the hilltops
Destroying all in its way
The girl turned her head and saw
Her love’s look, he was standing there
His stare, his proclaim of love
Was right there
The trees came hurling down the hill side
In a blink of an eye
Nature carried the girl away
Her body was led towards the great sea
The boy was stunned, he stood trembling with fear
He looked beneath and realised
He was standing upon the angel of the valleys rock
He had been saved
He was sure he had saw her between the trees
Where now stood a grand gorge of falling water
The sheer beauty of what had been created
This must be the angel’s creation
It was her making
As he turned to go and tell his tale
He heard a tune as like before
His heart awoke
His mind was clear
His love for the angel
Was now so dear...
Every night when the stars shine bright,
A song is heard in the town below the valley
If you look up at the sky and ask the angel of the valley,
You shall get your invite to see your true loves look
And your heart will play a tune that will guide you to your lovers’ soul.
- - -
I have been writing poetry since December 2011, I have had three poems published so far, before I was writing poetry, I was undertaking a BA honors Degree. I have dyslexia, words will not leave my mind, so I wrote them down and now I am a poet.
Monday, July 23, 2012
7/23/12
NEWBORN VERSE
By Walter William Safar
I could write a new verse today
About two roses
That we laid down onto the black soil
When we parted,
Perhaps even a poem
About the warm tears that were mutely sliding
Into the craddle of your wonderful soul.
I could call you loudly,
Without shame and boundaries,
Like a bird calls another bird,
But my throat is trapped by silence
Born to powerful solitude.
Yesterday, I loved you less than I do today,
And the living memories are proof of that,
Memories that are warmly flowing
Through the dreamy summer air,
Like blood is flowing through veins.
In the silence of this summer day I could write a poem
About our last dance below the old walnut tree,
From which the beautiful memories still emanate,
But the sun is still so cold without you,
Shining like gold:
Cold and deadly blinding.
When solitude tends to my heart with sadness,
All I have left are memories
To give birth to a verse
Like a wonderful child of hope.
While the present haunts me into the past,
I haunt my spirit towards the sun's golden cradle,
So it would become a blood brother to the newborn verse,
Because I might see you tomorrow
And read this poem to you.
- - -
WALTER WILLIAM SAFAR was born on August 6th 1958 in Sherman-Texas . He is the author of a number of a significant number of prose works and novels, including "Leaden fog", "Chastity on sale", "In the flames of passion", "The price of life", "Above the clouds", "The infernal circle", "The scream", "The Devil’s Architect”, "Queen Elizabeth II", as well as a book of poems.
By Walter William Safar
I could write a new verse today
About two roses
That we laid down onto the black soil
When we parted,
Perhaps even a poem
About the warm tears that were mutely sliding
Into the craddle of your wonderful soul.
I could call you loudly,
Without shame and boundaries,
Like a bird calls another bird,
But my throat is trapped by silence
Born to powerful solitude.
Yesterday, I loved you less than I do today,
And the living memories are proof of that,
Memories that are warmly flowing
Through the dreamy summer air,
Like blood is flowing through veins.
In the silence of this summer day I could write a poem
About our last dance below the old walnut tree,
From which the beautiful memories still emanate,
But the sun is still so cold without you,
Shining like gold:
Cold and deadly blinding.
When solitude tends to my heart with sadness,
All I have left are memories
To give birth to a verse
Like a wonderful child of hope.
While the present haunts me into the past,
I haunt my spirit towards the sun's golden cradle,
So it would become a blood brother to the newborn verse,
Because I might see you tomorrow
And read this poem to you.
- - -
WALTER WILLIAM SAFAR was born on August 6th 1958 in Sherman-Texas . He is the author of a number of a significant number of prose works and novels, including "Leaden fog", "Chastity on sale", "In the flames of passion", "The price of life", "Above the clouds", "The infernal circle", "The scream", "The Devil’s Architect”, "Queen Elizabeth II", as well as a book of poems.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
7/22/12
Family Interruptions
By Renella McNamara
Peter Brennan loved his family. That didn’t mean they didn’t annoy, frustrate, or make him want to beat his head against the wall. Thankfully, he was generally a quiet, unassuming kid unless absolutely necessary. His childhood had not been a fairy tale; his mother’s drinking and his father’s financial losses caused a lot of friction. Honestly, his extended family, which included his father’s 7 brothers and subsequent 25 cousins, helped him get through it. There were no secrets in the Brennan family. Not that they dealt with the problems in the best way possible or even dealt with them at all. But they were there, keeping their own upright.
At this family dinner, though, Peter was tired. Tired of the family politics and gossip. And especially tired of his grandmother’s attempts to set him up. In her eyes, Peter was the most eligible grandson. He was 6’5’’ with the classic Irish dark wavy hair and blue eye combo. He went to the Air Force Academy in Colorado and was top of his class. His grandmother’s only complaint was that he didn’t take advantage of his eligibility. Peter, again, was a quiet kid, never quite comfortable in his own skin or in his own family for that matter. His family was a loud, obnoxious, rambunctious group who liked to party. Maybe growing up with an alcoholic mother kept him wary of alcohol, of the center of the party. Maybe he was just more of an introvert than everyone else in his family. As a kid, he liked to stay in the background and when he hit his growth spurt, suddenly he was in the spotlight more than he would have liked.
However, all the speculation on how his childhood had affected him didn’t matter to Peter. He was just Peter Brennan and he liked who he was. But everyone else wanted to change him. It didn’t matter though. Peter was good at resisting and subtly redirecting their focus to something else.
As the family dinner dragged on, Peter blended more and more into the background, preferring to gaze upon the antics at the kids’ table. One of his younger cousins grinned manically as he drank the concoction he and 5 others had spent the last half hour creating by mixing everything edible in the room and giggling at every step. Peter shook his head in amusement as another cousin across the table’s laughter was cut short by the spewing of said concoction into his face. Cue the tears, Peter thought to himself before standing up and walking over. He blocked one of his aunts from intervening, lightly leading her back towards the party, “Hey, I got this. It’s normal kid stuff, no worries, Aunt Linda.”
She looked up at him, gratefully, “Thanks, Peter. You know you don’t have to sit at the kids table anymore.”
He smiled, “Yeah, I know. I fit in better over here.” She laughed and turned into her husband’s arms with surprise.
She looked at Peter with genial suspicion as her tipsy husband nuzzled her neck, “That was quite suave, Peter. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Peter blushed, tipped his hand, and walked swiftly away to deal with the now escalated drink incident. The two boys were yelling at each other, one still dripping while the other took swipes with a napkin at his tongue. “All right, all right. Guys, come on. Apologize. Both of you.” Grumbling their apologies, they scowled at Peter simultaneously and he had to smother a chuckle. Then he dipped his hand in one of the snickering cousins’ water glasses and flicked the water at both of them.
“Hey!” they ducked, giggling a little, no doubt thinking this gave them permission.
But before they could retaliate, his hands shot out, binding their hands together, “All right, now can you both agree that was funny? And that Charlie here spitting out that foul drink onto Sean was funny too?”
Charlie and Sean grinned sheepishly and reveled in their surrounding cousins’ corresponding laughter. Peter was forgotten as the tale was now retold to the group of girl cousins sitting a couple seats down. Peter didn’t mind, settling his long frame back into the chair and scanning the party.
Someone, no, a group had just arrived, which was odd because the entirety of the Brennan family was already there. Peter strained his neck, trying to see past the welcoming crowd surrounding the newcomers. Giving up, he leaned back, prepared to wait for everything to settle back down.
Then, he saw her. She appeared to be about his age, at least in college. Her long straight reddish brown hair flowed around her as she smiled politely at the strangers that were his family. Someone must have said something funny because her face bloomed with a smile that nearly blinded Peter.
He shook his head and realized he was standing, with a spoon in his hand for no apparent reason. Peter internally punched himself but placed the spoon neatly back on the table. His hand froze over the spoon as the desire to find her nearly overwhelmed him. He struggled to keep his gaze on his cousins but lost his control and searched the crowd anxiously. When he found her, he nearly stumbled back as the force of her green eyes met his but his body reverted to its frozen state. After what seemed an eternity, she broke the eye contact, responding to someone’s question.
The crowd seemed to drift from table to table as the newcomers were introduced. Peter walked in a daze to one of the older cousin tables and without tearing his eyes away from her, asked, “Who are they?”
“The Nolans. Remember Jack Nolan? Grandpa’s Marine buddy? And Tom? Uncle Timmy’s friend from high school?”
Peter vaguely remembered the stories and distantly recalled meeting the family: a mom, a dad, and 2 little girls. His mind was too fuzzy though, too full of her. Suddenly, she was walking towards him, shyly peeking at him and looking away quickly. Obviously she was confused as to why he was staring at her or not confused but embarrassed at how obvious he was being. The humiliation flooded through him. He blushed furiously and stared at his shoes as they approached.
His grandmother began the introductions, “Hey guys! This is the Nolan family and these are some of my older grandchildren.” She smiled benevolently at them like the matriarch she was, “This is Jack and Richie, they are Timmy’s boys along with Julie and Jerry over at that table. These are Kevin’s kids: Carrie and Kyle and Susie is at the other kids’ table…” Peter zoned out as his grandmother went down the list. He concentrated on his shoes, counting the stripes, trying to distract himself from embarrassing himself further.
“And this is Peter! He’s your age, Annaliese. His brothers, Edward, Jake, and Francis, are somewhere around here. Tommy, this is Patrick’s oldest boy,” his grandmother beamed at Peter, gesturing like Vanna White.
Peter grasped Tommy Nolan’s hand, shaking it firmly, “Hello, sir. I’ve heard many stories. It’s nice to put a face to the legend.”
Mr. Nolan chuckled, “That was a long time ago. I don’t think I could live up to it nowadays. This is my wife, Mary.”
Peter smiled, “Mrs. Nolan.”
“And these are our daughters, Elizabeth and Annaliese,” he smiled, looking back at the two girls behind him.
“Dad, it’s Anna,” she corrected and her cheeks reddened, “Sorry, I go by Anna now. He seems to be the only one who can’t remember that.”
Peter was frozen again as she addressed him but snapped out of it, looking at the other daughter, “You must be Elizabeth, then?”
She nodded and snarkily remarked, “Yeah, I don’t go by Liz. No one ever remembers that.” She was jauntily posed, a hip popped that nearly disguised her lengthy height.
Her mom gave her a look and then smiled at him, “Sorry Peter. My daughters are a bit overwhelmed by your family.”
Peter grinned, “I have experience with the feeling.” Anna smiled at him and his breath caught. God, he was such an idiot.
He realized his grandmother had noticed his insanity because she was smiling knowingly, “Did anyone tell you that Peter here is at the Air Force Academy? You’re a 4th year as well, right Anna?” His grandmother had never looked more devious.
Anna nodded, “Yes, I am. I’m actually considering the Air Force to help pay for medical school.”
Peter’s grandmother leaped at the opportunity, “Well, Peter can tell you all about the program. Why don’t you guys go and chat about it?” She led them over to an emptier table, shoving both of them into chairs, “Tommy, I still have to find Timmy for you! I can’t wait to hear the truth behind all the lies I heard back then.”
“Eh, I’m not sure you want to hear all that,” Mr. Nolan chuckled nervously and reluctantly followed the matriarch, eyeing Peter with apprehension.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the situation and headed towards the buffet table while grumbling, “Where’s the freaking bar?”
Peter fiddled with a spoon on the table before looking up at Anna. She observed him with an amused smile, “So. Your grandmother is quite a force.”
Instantly, Peter relaxed, grinning, “She knows what’s best for her brood.”
“And this conversation is what’s best for you?” Anna cocked her head playfully.
He blushed but still felt confident with her smiling at him, “Definitely. It was the leading away of your dad though that I’m grateful for. I know the stories.”
Anna laughed, “My dad is a scary one. Never fails to intimidate my dates.”
“I’m not looking forward to that,” Peter said. Panicking, he glanced at her, his boldness abruptly striking him with fear.
She raised an eyebrow, “So that’s where this is going? In that case, I’ll give you some pointers.”
Peter felt the relief rush through him. He realized he had leaned steadily closer to her as they had talked and his eyes were magnetically drawn to her mouth.
Before Peter could actually kiss her, Anna moved her head and whispered in his ear, her lips brushing against his skin, “Pointer number one. Don’t kiss me while my dad is watching.”
- - -
I am a 22 year old biomedical research technician on my way to medical school who devours books and wishes she could write masterpieces.
By Renella McNamara
Peter Brennan loved his family. That didn’t mean they didn’t annoy, frustrate, or make him want to beat his head against the wall. Thankfully, he was generally a quiet, unassuming kid unless absolutely necessary. His childhood had not been a fairy tale; his mother’s drinking and his father’s financial losses caused a lot of friction. Honestly, his extended family, which included his father’s 7 brothers and subsequent 25 cousins, helped him get through it. There were no secrets in the Brennan family. Not that they dealt with the problems in the best way possible or even dealt with them at all. But they were there, keeping their own upright.
At this family dinner, though, Peter was tired. Tired of the family politics and gossip. And especially tired of his grandmother’s attempts to set him up. In her eyes, Peter was the most eligible grandson. He was 6’5’’ with the classic Irish dark wavy hair and blue eye combo. He went to the Air Force Academy in Colorado and was top of his class. His grandmother’s only complaint was that he didn’t take advantage of his eligibility. Peter, again, was a quiet kid, never quite comfortable in his own skin or in his own family for that matter. His family was a loud, obnoxious, rambunctious group who liked to party. Maybe growing up with an alcoholic mother kept him wary of alcohol, of the center of the party. Maybe he was just more of an introvert than everyone else in his family. As a kid, he liked to stay in the background and when he hit his growth spurt, suddenly he was in the spotlight more than he would have liked.
However, all the speculation on how his childhood had affected him didn’t matter to Peter. He was just Peter Brennan and he liked who he was. But everyone else wanted to change him. It didn’t matter though. Peter was good at resisting and subtly redirecting their focus to something else.
As the family dinner dragged on, Peter blended more and more into the background, preferring to gaze upon the antics at the kids’ table. One of his younger cousins grinned manically as he drank the concoction he and 5 others had spent the last half hour creating by mixing everything edible in the room and giggling at every step. Peter shook his head in amusement as another cousin across the table’s laughter was cut short by the spewing of said concoction into his face. Cue the tears, Peter thought to himself before standing up and walking over. He blocked one of his aunts from intervening, lightly leading her back towards the party, “Hey, I got this. It’s normal kid stuff, no worries, Aunt Linda.”
She looked up at him, gratefully, “Thanks, Peter. You know you don’t have to sit at the kids table anymore.”
He smiled, “Yeah, I know. I fit in better over here.” She laughed and turned into her husband’s arms with surprise.
She looked at Peter with genial suspicion as her tipsy husband nuzzled her neck, “That was quite suave, Peter. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Peter blushed, tipped his hand, and walked swiftly away to deal with the now escalated drink incident. The two boys were yelling at each other, one still dripping while the other took swipes with a napkin at his tongue. “All right, all right. Guys, come on. Apologize. Both of you.” Grumbling their apologies, they scowled at Peter simultaneously and he had to smother a chuckle. Then he dipped his hand in one of the snickering cousins’ water glasses and flicked the water at both of them.
“Hey!” they ducked, giggling a little, no doubt thinking this gave them permission.
But before they could retaliate, his hands shot out, binding their hands together, “All right, now can you both agree that was funny? And that Charlie here spitting out that foul drink onto Sean was funny too?”
Charlie and Sean grinned sheepishly and reveled in their surrounding cousins’ corresponding laughter. Peter was forgotten as the tale was now retold to the group of girl cousins sitting a couple seats down. Peter didn’t mind, settling his long frame back into the chair and scanning the party.
Someone, no, a group had just arrived, which was odd because the entirety of the Brennan family was already there. Peter strained his neck, trying to see past the welcoming crowd surrounding the newcomers. Giving up, he leaned back, prepared to wait for everything to settle back down.
Then, he saw her. She appeared to be about his age, at least in college. Her long straight reddish brown hair flowed around her as she smiled politely at the strangers that were his family. Someone must have said something funny because her face bloomed with a smile that nearly blinded Peter.
He shook his head and realized he was standing, with a spoon in his hand for no apparent reason. Peter internally punched himself but placed the spoon neatly back on the table. His hand froze over the spoon as the desire to find her nearly overwhelmed him. He struggled to keep his gaze on his cousins but lost his control and searched the crowd anxiously. When he found her, he nearly stumbled back as the force of her green eyes met his but his body reverted to its frozen state. After what seemed an eternity, she broke the eye contact, responding to someone’s question.
The crowd seemed to drift from table to table as the newcomers were introduced. Peter walked in a daze to one of the older cousin tables and without tearing his eyes away from her, asked, “Who are they?”
“The Nolans. Remember Jack Nolan? Grandpa’s Marine buddy? And Tom? Uncle Timmy’s friend from high school?”
Peter vaguely remembered the stories and distantly recalled meeting the family: a mom, a dad, and 2 little girls. His mind was too fuzzy though, too full of her. Suddenly, she was walking towards him, shyly peeking at him and looking away quickly. Obviously she was confused as to why he was staring at her or not confused but embarrassed at how obvious he was being. The humiliation flooded through him. He blushed furiously and stared at his shoes as they approached.
His grandmother began the introductions, “Hey guys! This is the Nolan family and these are some of my older grandchildren.” She smiled benevolently at them like the matriarch she was, “This is Jack and Richie, they are Timmy’s boys along with Julie and Jerry over at that table. These are Kevin’s kids: Carrie and Kyle and Susie is at the other kids’ table…” Peter zoned out as his grandmother went down the list. He concentrated on his shoes, counting the stripes, trying to distract himself from embarrassing himself further.
“And this is Peter! He’s your age, Annaliese. His brothers, Edward, Jake, and Francis, are somewhere around here. Tommy, this is Patrick’s oldest boy,” his grandmother beamed at Peter, gesturing like Vanna White.
Peter grasped Tommy Nolan’s hand, shaking it firmly, “Hello, sir. I’ve heard many stories. It’s nice to put a face to the legend.”
Mr. Nolan chuckled, “That was a long time ago. I don’t think I could live up to it nowadays. This is my wife, Mary.”
Peter smiled, “Mrs. Nolan.”
“And these are our daughters, Elizabeth and Annaliese,” he smiled, looking back at the two girls behind him.
“Dad, it’s Anna,” she corrected and her cheeks reddened, “Sorry, I go by Anna now. He seems to be the only one who can’t remember that.”
Peter was frozen again as she addressed him but snapped out of it, looking at the other daughter, “You must be Elizabeth, then?”
She nodded and snarkily remarked, “Yeah, I don’t go by Liz. No one ever remembers that.” She was jauntily posed, a hip popped that nearly disguised her lengthy height.
Her mom gave her a look and then smiled at him, “Sorry Peter. My daughters are a bit overwhelmed by your family.”
Peter grinned, “I have experience with the feeling.” Anna smiled at him and his breath caught. God, he was such an idiot.
He realized his grandmother had noticed his insanity because she was smiling knowingly, “Did anyone tell you that Peter here is at the Air Force Academy? You’re a 4th year as well, right Anna?” His grandmother had never looked more devious.
Anna nodded, “Yes, I am. I’m actually considering the Air Force to help pay for medical school.”
Peter’s grandmother leaped at the opportunity, “Well, Peter can tell you all about the program. Why don’t you guys go and chat about it?” She led them over to an emptier table, shoving both of them into chairs, “Tommy, I still have to find Timmy for you! I can’t wait to hear the truth behind all the lies I heard back then.”
“Eh, I’m not sure you want to hear all that,” Mr. Nolan chuckled nervously and reluctantly followed the matriarch, eyeing Peter with apprehension.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the situation and headed towards the buffet table while grumbling, “Where’s the freaking bar?”
Peter fiddled with a spoon on the table before looking up at Anna. She observed him with an amused smile, “So. Your grandmother is quite a force.”
Instantly, Peter relaxed, grinning, “She knows what’s best for her brood.”
“And this conversation is what’s best for you?” Anna cocked her head playfully.
He blushed but still felt confident with her smiling at him, “Definitely. It was the leading away of your dad though that I’m grateful for. I know the stories.”
Anna laughed, “My dad is a scary one. Never fails to intimidate my dates.”
“I’m not looking forward to that,” Peter said. Panicking, he glanced at her, his boldness abruptly striking him with fear.
She raised an eyebrow, “So that’s where this is going? In that case, I’ll give you some pointers.”
Peter felt the relief rush through him. He realized he had leaned steadily closer to her as they had talked and his eyes were magnetically drawn to her mouth.
Before Peter could actually kiss her, Anna moved her head and whispered in his ear, her lips brushing against his skin, “Pointer number one. Don’t kiss me while my dad is watching.”
- - -
I am a 22 year old biomedical research technician on my way to medical school who devours books and wishes she could write masterpieces.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
7/21/12
A Good Marriage
By Jerry Guarino
A great donut (yes, this is how I spell it) is like a great marriage. Really. Let me explain. The best donuts have two components, not that a basic donut isn’t wonderful. Donuts should be filled with fruit, cream or other sweet ingredients. The outside of the donut is the protector, the guardian or in our analogy, the groom. The inside is the essence of the donut. Raspberry, Boston cream and apple fillings make the donut come alive, leave a lasting impression on the palate and provide the love, or the bride. The groom is a wonderful man, but most of the attention on the wedding day is paid to the bride. When you love a donut, it’s the filling that you remember, not the dough, as indispensable as it is.
There are two major donut franchises in the U.S., one great one you can find in 49 states and one not so great one in California (don’t ask me why you can’t get the best donuts in California, that’s another rant); back to our comparison between great donuts and great marriages.
My best friend from New Jersey invited me to his son’s wedding and it was a chance to celebrate their happiness as well as revisit one of my first loves, that donut (you know the name). My wife and I left the hotel to attend the rehearsal dinner. On our way we had to pass that donut shop (with a drive-thru lane now). “We’re stopping there for dessert,” I said to my wife.
“They will probably be serving dessert tonight” my California wife said, obviously unaware of the importance of first loves, be they soft and feminine or named Boston cream.
“I haven’t had one of these donuts in twenty years. We’re stopping.”
My best friend is Asian and so were most of the guests. I hadn’t seen his son since he was a child and now he had just graduated dental school. He was a solid professional, a protector. His fiancé was his perfect complement, a lovely Asian young professional woman, smart and practical, the sweet filling to his outer coating. I have no doubt that this couple, like a perfect donut, will endure and bring happiness to everyone they touch.
I expected a Chinese banquet but the rehearsal dinner was an Italian feast. “This is great,” I said to my wife.
“Really, wonderful” she said. “And so many choices. Did you try the eggplant?”
“Yes, but I’m going back for more of this chicken first.”
At this point I can tell you that the company was as wonderful as the food. To see my friend’s family, from all over the country (I’ll have to corner the Californians and tell them about the donut), were also well suited to each other. Husbands and wives, happily married, like the newlyweds will be. And the single friends, including my son, showed great promise for being happily married someday too. Thank goodness they invited a poor kid from Jersey to this event. After stuffing ourselves over three hours, I was ready to get my treat and head back to the hotel hot tub.
“Ready to go dear?” I said to my wife.
“You’re not still planning on getting a donut after that raspberry, ricotta cheesecake and the chocolate cannolo (yes, the singular of cannoli), are you?”
“Of course.”
“I can’t believe you have any room left.”
“Twenty years sweetheart. I’ll make room.” I told my son we would be back to pick him up as he was enjoying new friendships here.
My wife and I headed down the street and pulled into the drive-thru behind a half-dozen cars. This time of night, it wasn’t unusual to see a line; late night donuts are a favorite snack everywhere, and particularly in New Jersey. Passing the right side of the shop, I saw dozens of donuts neatly positioned in their cubicles behind the counter, romantically illuminated, like a bride on her wedding day. “It won’t be long now,” I said.
When it was my turn to order, I spoke clearly and concisely into the speaker. “Two Boston Cream donuts please.” My mouth was watering. I was a minute away from that sweet taste I had been away from for so long.
“No donuts” came the reply from the speaker.
I stared at the speaker then to my wife. Surely they didn’t understand. “Two Boston Cream donuts please.”
“No donuts” repeated the speaker. Have I crossed over to the twilight zone? This is what the shop is famous for. It’s called Dunkin Donuts for Pete’s sake (who is Pete anyway?). This line of cars can’t be here just for coffee at this time of night. I pulled out of the line and returned to the party. My best friend met me at the door.
“Hey, where did you go?”
“I went to get a couple of donuts to end this perfect meal, but they didn’t have any.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“I swear to you. They actually said No donuts.”
“Maybe they didn’t understand you.”
“I ordered twice. Same response. No donuts. I could see them in the case as we drove in. I saw the donuts.”
I felt like a groom being left at the altar. They can’t tarnish this perfect night. Thinking I may have indeed crossed into some surreal dimension, I decided to return to try once more. My son and wife in the car, we pulled into the drive-thru lane, again behind a half dozen cars and waited patiently as each one was served. Then I found myself in front of that speaker, now ominously looking back at me.
My wife shook her head. My son was stunned; his mouth was open as if to say WTF, a common phrase from his generation. I thought I should give it one more try.
“Two Boston Cream donuts please.”
“Right away sir.” The girl at the counter put two donuts into a bag and handed them to me. Order was restored to the universe. The wedding would go on and the couple would live happily ever after.
- - -
Jerry Guarino’s short stories have been published by dozens of magazines in the United States, Canada, Australia and Great Britain. His latest book, "40 Slices of Pizza" is available on amazon.com (http://amzn.to/HYYIxv) and as a kindle ebook (http://amzn.to/HXvIV9). Please visit his website at http://cafestories.net
By Jerry Guarino
A great donut (yes, this is how I spell it) is like a great marriage. Really. Let me explain. The best donuts have two components, not that a basic donut isn’t wonderful. Donuts should be filled with fruit, cream or other sweet ingredients. The outside of the donut is the protector, the guardian or in our analogy, the groom. The inside is the essence of the donut. Raspberry, Boston cream and apple fillings make the donut come alive, leave a lasting impression on the palate and provide the love, or the bride. The groom is a wonderful man, but most of the attention on the wedding day is paid to the bride. When you love a donut, it’s the filling that you remember, not the dough, as indispensable as it is.
There are two major donut franchises in the U.S., one great one you can find in 49 states and one not so great one in California (don’t ask me why you can’t get the best donuts in California, that’s another rant); back to our comparison between great donuts and great marriages.
My best friend from New Jersey invited me to his son’s wedding and it was a chance to celebrate their happiness as well as revisit one of my first loves, that donut (you know the name). My wife and I left the hotel to attend the rehearsal dinner. On our way we had to pass that donut shop (with a drive-thru lane now). “We’re stopping there for dessert,” I said to my wife.
“They will probably be serving dessert tonight” my California wife said, obviously unaware of the importance of first loves, be they soft and feminine or named Boston cream.
“I haven’t had one of these donuts in twenty years. We’re stopping.”
My best friend is Asian and so were most of the guests. I hadn’t seen his son since he was a child and now he had just graduated dental school. He was a solid professional, a protector. His fiancé was his perfect complement, a lovely Asian young professional woman, smart and practical, the sweet filling to his outer coating. I have no doubt that this couple, like a perfect donut, will endure and bring happiness to everyone they touch.
I expected a Chinese banquet but the rehearsal dinner was an Italian feast. “This is great,” I said to my wife.
“Really, wonderful” she said. “And so many choices. Did you try the eggplant?”
“Yes, but I’m going back for more of this chicken first.”
At this point I can tell you that the company was as wonderful as the food. To see my friend’s family, from all over the country (I’ll have to corner the Californians and tell them about the donut), were also well suited to each other. Husbands and wives, happily married, like the newlyweds will be. And the single friends, including my son, showed great promise for being happily married someday too. Thank goodness they invited a poor kid from Jersey to this event. After stuffing ourselves over three hours, I was ready to get my treat and head back to the hotel hot tub.
“Ready to go dear?” I said to my wife.
“You’re not still planning on getting a donut after that raspberry, ricotta cheesecake and the chocolate cannolo (yes, the singular of cannoli), are you?”
“Of course.”
“I can’t believe you have any room left.”
“Twenty years sweetheart. I’ll make room.” I told my son we would be back to pick him up as he was enjoying new friendships here.
My wife and I headed down the street and pulled into the drive-thru behind a half-dozen cars. This time of night, it wasn’t unusual to see a line; late night donuts are a favorite snack everywhere, and particularly in New Jersey. Passing the right side of the shop, I saw dozens of donuts neatly positioned in their cubicles behind the counter, romantically illuminated, like a bride on her wedding day. “It won’t be long now,” I said.
When it was my turn to order, I spoke clearly and concisely into the speaker. “Two Boston Cream donuts please.” My mouth was watering. I was a minute away from that sweet taste I had been away from for so long.
“No donuts” came the reply from the speaker.
I stared at the speaker then to my wife. Surely they didn’t understand. “Two Boston Cream donuts please.”
“No donuts” repeated the speaker. Have I crossed over to the twilight zone? This is what the shop is famous for. It’s called Dunkin Donuts for Pete’s sake (who is Pete anyway?). This line of cars can’t be here just for coffee at this time of night. I pulled out of the line and returned to the party. My best friend met me at the door.
“Hey, where did you go?”
“I went to get a couple of donuts to end this perfect meal, but they didn’t have any.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“I swear to you. They actually said No donuts.”
“Maybe they didn’t understand you.”
“I ordered twice. Same response. No donuts. I could see them in the case as we drove in. I saw the donuts.”
I felt like a groom being left at the altar. They can’t tarnish this perfect night. Thinking I may have indeed crossed into some surreal dimension, I decided to return to try once more. My son and wife in the car, we pulled into the drive-thru lane, again behind a half dozen cars and waited patiently as each one was served. Then I found myself in front of that speaker, now ominously looking back at me.
“Two Boston Cream donuts please.”
“No donuts” came the reply from the speaker.My wife shook her head. My son was stunned; his mouth was open as if to say WTF, a common phrase from his generation. I thought I should give it one more try.
“Two Boston Cream donuts please.”
“No donuts” came the reply from the speaker one more time. No explanation, no regret, just a matter of fact denial.
I drove back to the hotel, not entirely convinced that this wasn’t some evil omen for the couple’s wedding day. On a night when my wife and I should have been celebrating our love, I could only go straight to sleep, apologizing, but she understood.
“I’m sorry dear. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Argh.”
On the wedding day, I woke up early, knocked on the door where my son stayed and waited. He opened the door. “What’s up Dad?”
“We have to get a donut.” He understood. I had taken him to New Jersey on road trips when he was a little boy. He knew White Castle hamburgers, pizza from the Jersey shore and these donuts.
We drove to the shop. I decided to park and go inside. If I wasn’t going to get donuts, I wanted to know why.
“Two Boston Cream donuts please.” I had my fingers crossed behind my back.“Right away sir.” The girl at the counter put two donuts into a bag and handed them to me. Order was restored to the universe. The wedding would go on and the couple would live happily ever after.
- - -
Jerry Guarino’s short stories have been published by dozens of magazines in the United States, Canada, Australia and Great Britain. His latest book, "40 Slices of Pizza" is available on amazon.com (http://amzn.to/HYYIxv) and as a kindle ebook (http://amzn.to/HXvIV9). Please visit his website at http://cafestories.net
Friday, July 20, 2012
7/20/12
Sweet Dreams
By Patricia Crandall
- - -
By Patricia Crandall
Her grace
sits poised upon
an old oaken desk
inside an impressive chamber.
She recites poetry (her own)
to sweet faced,
apple cheek children.
Young eyes sparkle
at her tale
of the woodland
and her extraordinary beauty.
Ex tempore!
A beloved paramour
strides into the cobbled alcove
and leans his slender, impeccably dressed
countenance
against an ivory latticed wall,
entwined by ivy.
He listens enraptured
through a window set ajar
as she trills each consonant
perfectly
while Lilliputian mouths
form o’s in mimicry.
She smiles in coquetry,
sensing he is there.
He dreams of the night.
She, of the moment.
- - -
Thursday, July 19, 2012
7/19/12
Utopian Dreamer
By Sarah Hartman
I dream in color
with rich, glowing visions of you
like prismatic fantasies twisting
lyrical symphonies in my mind;
a kaleidoscope of utopian
dreamscapes that lead us on
journeys of breathtaking, heart-stopping,
majestic adventures that I wish I’d never
wake from…it makes me want to
fall in love.
- - -
Sarah Hartman’s primary passions in life are her two children. However, in her spare time she enjoys the beauty of writing poetry and photographing various states of nature. She can be contacted at sarah.hartman78@gmail.com.
By Sarah Hartman
I dream in color
with rich, glowing visions of you
like prismatic fantasies twisting
lyrical symphonies in my mind;
a kaleidoscope of utopian
dreamscapes that lead us on
journeys of breathtaking, heart-stopping,
majestic adventures that I wish I’d never
wake from…it makes me want to
fall in love.
- - -
Sarah Hartman’s primary passions in life are her two children. However, in her spare time she enjoys the beauty of writing poetry and photographing various states of nature. She can be contacted at sarah.hartman78@gmail.com.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
7/18/12
The Promise
By Susan E. Holle
- - -
Susan is a woman who has Cerebral Palsy. but doesn’t let her disability stand in the way of all of the things she wants to achieve. Susan graduated high school with honors and then went to Blinn Junior College and then went to Texas A&M University. She graduated in 2006 and now she is a video editor and writer.
By Susan E. Holle
Rodger cursed under his breath and wished he could get to the hospice faster.
“Please, come quick. I don't think Alyssa has much time left.” That was what his mother-in-law, Paula, said when she called. The words echoed in his head.
I knew I shouldn't have left her! Rodger hit the steering wheel. But she wanted me to get Aaron. He should have a chance to see his mother one last time.
He glanced at the rear-view mirror. His five-year-old son had closed his eyes, mouthing a prayer.
My poor Aaron. He has to grow up fast. So unfair.
Rodger's vision blurred, recalling the doctor’s words to Alyssa. “Your body has stopped responding to the treatments. There isn’t much left we can do except to keep you as pain-free as possible. I’m sorry.”
The past few months had been pure hell. Watching his wife in her weakened state had nearly killed him. It frustrated him knowing he couldn’t do anything but pray.
He ran a shaky hand down his face. How can I say goodbye to the woman I love? The one who helped me to love.
He glanced back at Aaron. At least a part of Alyssa will live on in our son.
He pulled into a parking space in front of the hospice and cut the engine. He helped Aaron out of the car, and they walked in together.
“Are you ready to see Mama?”
“Yeah, “ Aaron said. “Is Mama going to Heaven now?”
Rodger swallowed hard. “Yes, buddy, but she’ll be looking down on you.”
“Like a guarder angel?”
“That’s guardian angel. And yes, she will be yours.”
They headed down the hall to Alyssa’s room. When they reached it, Rodger saw Paula waiting for them and wiping her tears with a handkerchief. “Thank Heaven you’re here.”
“Thanks for calling.” Rodger rubbed his sweaty palm on his jeans, anxious to see Alyssa. “Is she awake?”
“Yes. Go on in.”
He took Aaron’s hand and went into Alyssa’s room. Lying in the bed she seemed so small and fragile, like she could shatter at any moment. Her chest rose and fell as she took shallow breaths.
Alyssa turned her head. “Rodger? Aaron?”
Rodger and Aaron walked to the bed and kissed her.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Rodger said.
“Hey, handsome.” She turned her attention to her son who was in the bed on his knees and caressed his cheek. “Hi, little man.”
Aaron threw his arms around her waist and cried. “Mama, please don’t go. I love you.”
As Alyssa held him she breathed his sweet scent. Rodger’s throat tightened, knowing it would be the last time.
“Baby, I don’t want to. I love you and your Daddy very much. I need you to know I’ll always be with you.”
“I know,” Aaron said. “You’ll be my guardian angel.”
“Yes.” She caressed his hair, tears welling up in her eyes. She smiled. “Aaron, could you go to Meemaw? I want to talk to your daddy.”
Aaron pouted for a moment, but then he scooted off the bed and sulked out of the room.
Rodger sat on the edge of the bed, took Alyssa’s hands in his and kissed them.
“I need you to do something for me,” she said.
He smiled, eyes glistening with tears. “Anything.”
“Don’t grieve for long. You’ll have Aaron to think about. I want you to promise me you’ll go on with your life and find love again.”
“I don’t know….”
Alyssa lifted her head, locking her gaze with his. “Please, promise.”
Rodger looked at their intertwined fingers and sucked in a deep breath. How can I promise when I’m not sure I’ll be able to love again? His gaze drifted back to her pleading eyes. She needs reassurance we’ll be okay. He nodded. “I promise.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Remember that I’ll always love you.”
Fifteen minutes later, Rodger’s heart clenched as Alyssa closed her eyes and took her last breath. Tears cascaded down his face. He bent and kissed her forehead, and whispered, “Goodbye, my love. You'll always be in my heart.”
After composing himself, Rodger rose and left the room. Aaron was crying in the arms of a brunette woman.
Rodger noticed she had a pair of wings with the medical staff symbol on her collar.
He drew his son to him, and turned toward the woman. “Hi, I’m Rodger. Where’s my mother-in-law?”
“She went to call her husband. I volunteered to stay with Aaron.”
“Well, thanks.”
“No problem,” she said, giving him a small smile. “I’m Jenna, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” She studied Rodger and Aaron’s faces. “I bet you’re hungry. I brought cookies, apple juice and coffee for the patients and their families. I can bring some to you.”
“I don’t want to bother you.”
“It’s no bother.” She scurried down the hall.
Rodger looked down at Aaron. "I think we’re going to be okay. God has already sent somebody to help us."
- - -
Susan is a woman who has Cerebral Palsy. but doesn’t let her disability stand in the way of all of the things she wants to achieve. Susan graduated high school with honors and then went to Blinn Junior College and then went to Texas A&M University. She graduated in 2006 and now she is a video editor and writer.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
7/17/12
You Let Me Fall
By Linda M. Crate
I almost believed you when you
said forever except it meant for
never; you let us corrode away
into some distant shore then used
the rocks to cut into me, wielding
a dagger when you should have taken
my hand in yours and whispered me
sweet nothings that could have saved us.
- - -
Linda Crate is a Pennsylvanian native born in Pittsburgh, but she was raised in the rural town of Conneautville. She has recently moved to Fort Fairfield, ME. She attended and graduated from Edinboro University of Pennsylvania with a degree in English-Literature in 2009. She has a passion for writing that she has nurtured since the age of thirteen. Her poetry and short stories have appeared in a variety of magazines the latest of which includes: Nebo: A Literary Journal and Visceral Uterus.
By Linda M. Crate
I almost believed you when you
said forever except it meant for
never; you let us corrode away
into some distant shore then used
the rocks to cut into me, wielding
a dagger when you should have taken
my hand in yours and whispered me
sweet nothings that could have saved us.
- - -
Linda Crate is a Pennsylvanian native born in Pittsburgh, but she was raised in the rural town of Conneautville. She has recently moved to Fort Fairfield, ME. She attended and graduated from Edinboro University of Pennsylvania with a degree in English-Literature in 2009. She has a passion for writing that she has nurtured since the age of thirteen. Her poetry and short stories have appeared in a variety of magazines the latest of which includes: Nebo: A Literary Journal and Visceral Uterus.
Monday, July 16, 2012
7/16/12
Monique
By Mike Berger
The lady is beautiful and elegant in every way, yet she is aloof and unattainable. Men buzz around her seeking her attention. They send her roses, diamonds, and pearls; she sends them back. They take her to the opera and the symphony. They wine and dine her at the most elegant restaurants. They send her poetry and whisper gentle words in her ear. She is immune to all their advances. Men are undeterred by her blasé attitude; they throw themselves at her feet.
All of those guys are clueless about how to treat an elegant lady. I learned that lesson the hard way. I dated her in high school, but she only had eyes for Ken. He was the captain of the football team, and he treated her like dirt. He was a pompous ass; he didn't have any deep feelings for Monique. He enjoyed the bragging rights of taking her out and manipulating her into his bed. It took her more than a year to dump him on his head.
After that she turned out to be quite lonely; she became quite surly and no fun to be around. Two years after graduation, I ran into her in the mall. She smiled at me and waved, my heart did a little flutter. Her smile was disarming, not at all what I had expected. I decided then and there to ask her out. She readily accepted my invitation. I told her to wear a warm blouse and Levi's there was no hesitation in her voice when she said, "Okay."
I put an extra coat of wax on my Harley and borrowed an extra helmet. She looked surprised when I handed her the helmet at her door. She jumped on the back of a Harley and put her arms around my chest. She asked where we were going. I told her that there was a zombie movie in town. She replied that I really knew how to impress a girl. I fired that Harley up and screeched away; I burned rubber halfway down the street. We went to the B movie, The Zombies from Planet Seven. Munching on popcorn, we laughed our way through the entire thing.
We ate burgers and fries at local greasy spoon. What the place lacked in ambiance is made up with the food. I told her that this little place served the best burger in town. We washed those burgers down with a bottle of Bud. On my bike we cruised the town; my old Harley shook and rattled when we reached a hundred miles an hour. Pulling up in front of her apartment, I didn't ask if I could to come in. I took her hand as she stood; I reached out and touched her cheek. She pulled back and her eyes got serious. Her voice trembled slightly as she explained her situation. After she broke up with Ken, she developed a deep distrust of men. She dated men to make them squirm. It became a game for her to see how each one tried to get her into their bed. She found little joy in the game. She told me that she was always interested in me; I was the only boy in school who realized she had a brain. We laughed a little. She said that we must take it slow as she would have to learn to trust again. I took her hand and squeezed it and told her I understood. Her face brightened and she told me that she hadn't had this much fun in years.
- - -
Mike Berger is an MFA, PhD. He writes poetry and short stories full time
He has been writing poetry for less than four years. His work appear in seventy-one journals. He has published two books of short stories and eight poetry chapbooks .He is a member of The Academy of American Poets.
By Mike Berger
The lady is beautiful and elegant in every way, yet she is aloof and unattainable. Men buzz around her seeking her attention. They send her roses, diamonds, and pearls; she sends them back. They take her to the opera and the symphony. They wine and dine her at the most elegant restaurants. They send her poetry and whisper gentle words in her ear. She is immune to all their advances. Men are undeterred by her blasé attitude; they throw themselves at her feet.
All of those guys are clueless about how to treat an elegant lady. I learned that lesson the hard way. I dated her in high school, but she only had eyes for Ken. He was the captain of the football team, and he treated her like dirt. He was a pompous ass; he didn't have any deep feelings for Monique. He enjoyed the bragging rights of taking her out and manipulating her into his bed. It took her more than a year to dump him on his head.
After that she turned out to be quite lonely; she became quite surly and no fun to be around. Two years after graduation, I ran into her in the mall. She smiled at me and waved, my heart did a little flutter. Her smile was disarming, not at all what I had expected. I decided then and there to ask her out. She readily accepted my invitation. I told her to wear a warm blouse and Levi's there was no hesitation in her voice when she said, "Okay."
I put an extra coat of wax on my Harley and borrowed an extra helmet. She looked surprised when I handed her the helmet at her door. She jumped on the back of a Harley and put her arms around my chest. She asked where we were going. I told her that there was a zombie movie in town. She replied that I really knew how to impress a girl. I fired that Harley up and screeched away; I burned rubber halfway down the street. We went to the B movie, The Zombies from Planet Seven. Munching on popcorn, we laughed our way through the entire thing.
We ate burgers and fries at local greasy spoon. What the place lacked in ambiance is made up with the food. I told her that this little place served the best burger in town. We washed those burgers down with a bottle of Bud. On my bike we cruised the town; my old Harley shook and rattled when we reached a hundred miles an hour. Pulling up in front of her apartment, I didn't ask if I could to come in. I took her hand as she stood; I reached out and touched her cheek. She pulled back and her eyes got serious. Her voice trembled slightly as she explained her situation. After she broke up with Ken, she developed a deep distrust of men. She dated men to make them squirm. It became a game for her to see how each one tried to get her into their bed. She found little joy in the game. She told me that she was always interested in me; I was the only boy in school who realized she had a brain. We laughed a little. She said that we must take it slow as she would have to learn to trust again. I took her hand and squeezed it and told her I understood. Her face brightened and she told me that she hadn't had this much fun in years.
- - -
Mike Berger is an MFA, PhD. He writes poetry and short stories full time
He has been writing poetry for less than four years. His work appear in seventy-one journals. He has published two books of short stories and eight poetry chapbooks .He is a member of The Academy of American Poets.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
7/15/12
Battle Dress
By John Conway
- - -
John Conway is a complex-litigation attorney and writes science-fiction, fantasy and romance stories. His recent work has appeared in Daily Love, Farther Stars Than These, Indigo Rising Magazine, Lark's Fiction Magazine, Static Movement, 365 Tomorrows and Bewildering Stories. He submitted two winning stories in the Writers Digest 80th Annual Writing Competition and was honored as the 2012 winner of the Yosemite Romance Writers Smooch contest. His website is www.jcconway.com.
By John Conway
At the break, Derek excused himself and fled the preliminary hearing to the windy marble sun deck at the end of the courthouse corridor. What a disaster. He needed the refuge of a peaceful view--patchy clouds, hazy mountains, a beautiful golf course bordered by a thick, green stand of maple and pine.
He inhaled.
It made no sense. He recalled their first meeting at Justin's. Carla impressed him. She was a natural beauty. No makeup. No pretenses. She had a confident, assertive exterior and a soft, warm center. They spoke into the night, confiding everything and anything--except work and his personal legal problems. It was the best he'd felt about a woman in a long time; maybe ever.
How could he have been so wrong?
Later that week, when she entered the deposition, dressed to kill, they'd both done a double take.
He read her thoughts like a billboard across her face: "You're that Derek?!"
His own thoughts had been something like, "You're her new attorney?!"
They composed themselves. No one caught on. The deposition proceeded.
That was when he learned she was a killer. She didn't care about the truth. She didn't care about right and wrong. She was a hired gun, and he was in the crosshairs.
Wasn't that a conflict? Shouldn't she have resigned? He didn't know. But they hadn't spoken since--until her cross-examination of him today.
What a nightmare.
The door swung open.
Oh, great.
Carla hesitated as she stepped onto the deck in her heels and tight dress. They locked gazes. Her chest heaved slightly. Then she walked to the other side of the small deck striking at her cell phone--bap, bap, bap.
Derek turned slightly away, vowing to disregard her stunning beauty. She seemed uneasy. Good. Not that it mattered.
She listened to messages, jotted a note and shoved her cell into her handbag.
He would say nothing.
Carla folded her arms and stared out over the view. "Nice day."
He swallowed. "For some, I suppose."
She turned her head. "It's not personal."
"You made me look like a liar."
She brushed a loose lock of black hair over her ear. "I point out inconsistencies."
He turned toward her. "I didn't lie. How do you justify doing that?"
She lifted an eyebrow. "It's called 'impeachment.' Your lawyer does it, too."
"Yeah, but--"
"We shouldn't be talking about this."
Derek glared, unsure what to think. It was all play acting to them. No personal responsibility. They represented their clients. They wore their roles like suits of armor, immune from truth, unaffected by right or wrong.
He wanted nothing to do with this world of amoral rules.
"And I didn't betray your confidence," she added in a softer tone.
For a beat, the warm, beautiful woman peeked through the attorney veneer.
"I know," he admitted. He didn't feel like giving her credit for that. He'd already demonized her. He didn't need to question that decision now. But she had indeed steered clear of his mother's suicide, and the years of guilt and regret, the rehab--everything he told her about that night when he thought he understood her. She could have used it. It would've strengthened her examination. But she refrained.
But did that matter? She was still ruthless. She treated him like a criminal, embarrassed him. Her every question oozed with accusation.
Maybe it wasn't betrayal. But it felt like it.
Carla's handbag buzzed.
"Time to get back," she said.
She took a step. He stood firm. "I'll be there in a minute," he said. He was in no hurry to return.
She gripped the handle and glanced inside. She seemed to pause for something, drawing a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Without looking directly at him, she said, "Derek ... we're not discussing this, but ... just be yourself."
"I don't even know--"
She cut him short with a flash of her intense, brown eyes.
His knees weakened.
"Just listen," she urged. "I will do my job. That's all it is. Don't let it get to you. The judge likes you. If you're you, you'll win. It will be over."
Her cheeks flushed. He fought the urge to touch her.
She twisted her mouth, turned and reentered the courthouse.
The door clunked shut. He frowned, staring at it.
Don't let it get to him?
Maybe a few minutes ago, when he believed he was wrong about her. But now he feared he'd been right. She was deep and sensuous and caring and warm, a gentle and loving soul hidden beneath a hard suit of armor.
Where did that leave him?
Blindsided by a wrecking ball, that's where.
Derek shook his head.
He yearned to heed her advice. But he couldn't. It did get to get to him. It spanned the depth and breadth of his being. More than she could ever know. And it would remain for a very long time.
- - -
John Conway is a complex-litigation attorney and writes science-fiction, fantasy and romance stories. His recent work has appeared in Daily Love, Farther Stars Than These, Indigo Rising Magazine, Lark's Fiction Magazine, Static Movement, 365 Tomorrows and Bewildering Stories. He submitted two winning stories in the Writers Digest 80th Annual Writing Competition and was honored as the 2012 winner of the Yosemite Romance Writers Smooch contest. His website is www.jcconway.com.
