"A Very Bad Story"

“You know, I’d pry have to say that out of all the 4’8”, 146 pd Daves in the world, I’m easily the best looking.” Dave reaches for his yellow generic toothbrush and begins scrubbing vigorously.  “Clean teeth are important , I always say, but that goes without saying. Whoops, I’ve gotten toothpaste in my black, bushy beard again.” Dave reaches for the towel, his first plan of action when an event such as this occurs.. He breathes a sigh as he cinches up his pants and leaves the bathroom. “ Time to start my day, noone else can start it for me. Or can they?” Dave experiences a momentary setback as he ponders the potentiality of such an idea. “Another person living my life for me, Ha ha, foolishness.” Dave closes his slightly rusted, almond green door behind him and starts his day.

             “I wonder if the stars are aligned today, this could have an impact on the time it takes me to get to my job which is just down the street and to the left.” Dave owns a shop which specializes in novels and tea. It’s called “Now that’s a novelty”. Dave begins quickening his pace, his heart begins beating more rapidly and he begins to perspire. Feeling short of breath, Dave sits down on an old 1950’s style park bench complete with vintage wood and begins thinking aloud. “Why do I feel this way? I haven’t felt this way since . . . Her!” Dave feels the 5 hairs on the back of neck stand on end as he turns around and is shocked to see his ex-girlfriend Chloris sitting on the bench next to him. “Dave, Dave Whytley, is that you?”, “Yes, yes it is” Dave answers resignedly. “Of all the park benches in the world and I have to sit on yours.” , “Now what kind of attitude is that, honestly, David. Thanks for reminding me why I broke up with you all those years ago on September 19, 2000.”, “You broke up with me! I broke up with you because you were, you were cheating on me with our couples counselor. I never did get my refund you know.”, “Oh boohoo, you didn’t get your money back. You would have just spent the money on your Mother anyways. Honestly, how many operations can one woman have.”, “You know I’m feeling better, I’m going to go to my job now. My job where people appreciate and need me. My job, where I’m not abused by an emotionally reclusive shrew.

And even if Sally is distant at times at least she’s going to therapy. At least she’s working on self actualization.”, “That’s just like you to bring Sally into it. Great, compare me to a Shrew, what do I care. At least I’m potty trained. And another thing . . . David?”, “What?”, “Is that a possum in your pants?”, “Now what kind of a stupid . . . Oh Good Heavens! It is. Shoo you, shoo.” Dave shakes the possum out of his pant leg and proceeds to sit down on the bench again. “How could you not recognize that there was a possum crawling up your leg?”, “Prosthetic leg. I lost mine at the fair. Orange County fair to be exact. Run away Ferris wheel. Cut it clean off.”, “ That’s horrible.”, “Oh it could’ve been worse. I was refunded for my ticket.”, ”Honestly Dave, I don’t understand you.”, “ I never asked you to understand me Chloris, just to love me.” Chloris begins to cry. “I told myself I wouldn’t cry. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to cry when you have a glass eye?”, “You have a glass eye?”, “You’re not the only Orange County fair casualty. Yep, Mine was a corn dog accident.  ‘Would you like fries with that?’ Yadda yadda yadda, I can’t see out of my left eye.”, “Your left eye was always my favorite.”, “Thank you. I always liked your left leg best.”

“Thank you. Well, let’s hope there are no more accidents in our future. Knock on wood!” Dave and Chloris share a laugh as they both tap on Dave’s prosthetic leg. Neither Dave or Chloris were prepared for the apocalypse that was to come.

            Dave is the first to notice something is wrong when he asks, “Does the ground seem like it’s opening up to you?”, “You mean in an emotional self-disclosure kind of  way?”, “No, more of a ‘I think we’re going to die if we don’t leave’ sort of way.”, “Well, leave it to us to sit on the only park bench that’s in the middle of an apocalypse. Well I guess my only regret was that I couldn’t be as faithful to you as you were to me. I mean it might be the whole ‘I’m going to die’ but I love you Dave Whytley.”, “And I you, Chloris I forgot your last name at the moment but I still love you. If we survive, let’s give it another go.”, “Really?”, “Yah, I mean it.”, “Wow, who’ve thought that  the earth opening up to swallow us whole would be the best thing to happen to our relationship. I love you Dave.”, “I love you Chloris.” Dave and Chloris share a heartfelt embrace and  breathe a sigh of relief as the director yells, “Cut!”.

"Late September From my Computer"

I want to go to sleep. It’s late, late September, I’m at my computer and all I can think about is going to bed. But as they say, writer’s write . . . and sleepers sleep. I used to sleep so well when I was a kid. I always preferred sleeping on the couch as opposed to my bed. I think the best part about the couch was that it was multi-functional. With the couch I could sleep on it, sit on it, and if inspiration struck, take off the cushions and build a little fort.

            Thinking about the little fort brings back so many memories. I’m putting each of the cushions through a rigorous screening process; only the best for my fort I would say. I’m making sure that the zippers face outward so as to provide the most comfortable arrangement within. I’m making a secret doorway and password so that no uninvited guests could come in; unlike my room where everyone and their Grandmother would come in and comment, “Oh, your room is so messy.” No one would tell me that my fort was messy, I wouldn’t let them. Besides, there are more important things than a clean room. I’m exercising my creativity.

            I would make it a point to interact with the outside world occasionally. If I wanted to get a message out I would send one of my parachute soldiers. My allowance could not provide me with a homing pigeon. I tried sending messages with the use of my hamster but they would always wind up at the bottom of his water dish. I would generally send my soldiers on missions to get peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Of those who came back, they had a pretty good success rate. My living room was a harsh and unforgiving terrain full of vacuum cleaners, dogs and pesky sisters. To compensate I bought the deluxe packs.

            Those were good days, I remember just lying on my beanbag reading a book, eating my PB&J sandwiches, drinking a cold glass of chocolate milk and thinking life is good. Life is still good of course, it’s just nice to remember when protection and privacy were as close as couch cushions. I remember when I didn’t have enough couch cushions to make a fort. I improvised and made a fort out of my mother’s throw pillows. Not as sturdy, I’ll grant that, but very light and airy. There was always the problem of reassembling my fort after it fell but I saw it as a chance to build an even better, sturdier fort. That would be the first and only time I would use duct tape on the couch cushions.

            My time in the fort was pretty solitary. I never played with the neighborhood kids. To be honest, I didn’t know there were any. I might have let them in my fort, if they were cool enough. Hmm, I’m remembering the last time I got to build my fort. The time before homework, maturity and height came into play. I had a peanut butter sandwich, a book and all my Ninja Turtles and Gi Joes by my side. I gave a final speech to everyone present concerning the changes that were to come, both the challenges and the opportunities that we would encounter. It was nice to have a fort, yes, but there was a whole living room, a whole world even, just waiting to be explored.

            It was with feelings of gratitude and remembrance that I put the cushions back on the couch. I put my parachute troopers back in their box, my book back on the bookshelf and my cup of chocolate milk in the sink. I waved goodbye to my action figures and thought one day we might meet again. At first I thought I’d sleep on my bed. I think tonight I’ll go sleep on the couch. 

"Getting Milk"

What was I getting again? Oh, there’s Jason. I haven’t seen him in a while. I’d like to stop and chat but I came here to get . . . Milk! I came here to get milk. I came here to get milk, cookies and a pineapple. I’ll just mosey on over to the produce section and check out their selection. Hmm, this pineapple looks good. Mom didn’t really give any specifics. I’ll just put this in my basket and proceed towards the milk. Milk, milk, mil - Are those cocktail weenies? I’ll just stop and have a few, pick up some complimentary napkins. No! I came here to get milk; I can have cocktail weenies after I’m done. On my way to get some mil – Is that free pizza? Ohh, be strong George, be strong. You know, I’m pretty proud of myself for – strawberry shortcakes! Oh, now that’s just not fair. I mean honestly, strawberry shortcakes! I guess just having one wouldn’t hurt, and besides I deserve something for saying no to those other culinary temptations. Mmm, this is so good; I could have another one. No, I’ve sat down long enough, I’ll just pick up some complimentary napkins and than I need to continue on. I’ve had my strawberry shortcakes; nothing can stop me now. Free gummy worms? Nope, keep walking. Ice cream floats? Nope, just a few more steps . . . and ah! I’ve got the milk. I’m not sure how good of a story this will be for class. It seems like it’s been pretty uneventful. Ah well, now to just place the milk in my basket next to the pineapple and see what’s next. Let’s see, oh good. Cookies!

            George pulled the list from his pocket and began the process of deciphering his handwriting. Let’s see, oh good! Cookies! George’s face lit up as he thought about the selection of cookies before him. He began drooling but caught himself, it’s a good thing I took some extra napkins. Boy it’s cold in this section.

George wiped his mouth, put the napkins back in his pocket and wondered, why are my pockets wet? George didn’t give much thought to his cold pockets, he reasoned, It’s probably just the condensation from the milk . . . which does feel unusually light. George was unaware that his milk was in fact leaking all over his pants, his mother’s pineapple and the newly cleaned grocery store floor. I think I’ll get the sugar cookies. The milk had now formed puddles around George’s feet. I really like sugar cookies. The milk slowly made it’s way through the aisle, presenting threats to customer’s stability as it seeped and flowed. The milk had already claimed one victim. Wow, that must have hurt. People really should watch where they’re goiiiiing! George stepped out into the milk and slipped. Where did all this milk come from? George thought. Oh No! It’s my milk! The mystery of George’s wet pockets, the surprising lightness of his milk, it all became clear as George counted one more victim in this accident; his cookies. Noooooo! George cried. The tears poured like milk from an open container.

 “No use crying over spilled milk.” A fellow customer commented. George did not appreciate the advice.

“It’s not the milk I’m crying over you idiot. It’s my cookies.”

“That’s how the cookie crumbles.” The customer said with a grin on his face. George thought, how do these people find me? Do I have a sign on my back that says talk to me I care what you think? That’s it. I’m just going to get up. Purchase my mother’s pineapple and go home. My pineapple’s all right isn’t it. Don’t tell me something happened to the pineapple?

“Excuse me, but is this your pineapple? There are pieces scattered all over the floor. You might want to pick them up.”

George was too tired to yell, cry or display any sort of emotion. He began walking over to the pineapple pieces picking them up one by one. All George could do at the moment was sigh.

"Yesterday"

“It makes me mad when I think about it. I can still hear the pop of the head coming off. I probably shouldn’t have reacted the way I did but . . .” Peter trailed off. “It was my favorite toy.” Dr. Morrissey looked at his notes and continued writing. “It might have been different,” Peter continued, “if my Ninja Turtle had multiple heads but there was just that one. Stupid Tommy.” 

Dr. Morrissey inquired, “Have you talked to Tommy since yesterday?” 

“No” Peter answered, “but my mom wants me to go over to his house and apologize. It’s not my fault though. Tommy started it. Just because he’s too poor to buy toys.” Dr. Morrissey looked at his watch. “Well Peter, I think we’ve had a good session. I’d like to talk more about Tommy next week.“ Peter replied, “Okay Dr. Morrissey. See you next week.” Dr. Morrissey said goodbye as Peter walked out of the office and met his mother in the waiting room.

“How’s it going, Petey? Do you feel better now that you’ve had a chance to talk about it?” Peter nodded his head and held his mother’s hand as they walked off to the car. Once in the car, Peter’s mother asked if he was ready to go over to Tommy’s and apologize. “A black eye is something that should be apologized for,” she added, “even if the other person started it.” Peter fidgeted around in his seat as he and his mother shared a bit of silence as they drove. Peter’s mother reminded him that it’s all right to be angry but it’s not right to get into fights, even if the teachers do allow it. Peter just stared out the window and looked at the cars passing by. Peter’s mother began to start another sentence but stopped when she realized they were at Tommy’s house. Peter’s mother patted him on the back and said, “Now be polite and apologize. I know you can do it.” Peter’s mother paused, “On second thought, I’ll just come with you.”

Peter’s mother assured him that Tommy would probably be expecting him as she had called Tommy’s mother the night before and set this all up. Peter knocked on the door and was greeted by Tommy’s mother.

“Tommy can’t come to the door right now,” his mother explained, “but he wanted you to have this.” Tommy’s mother handed Peter a brand new Ninja Turtle toy, just like the one that was broken. Peter flashed a smile and told Tommy’s mother thank you. “Oh don’t thank me,” Tommy’s mother replied, “thank Tommy. He paid for it with his allowance.” Peter’s mother told Tommy’s mother that that was so sweet and thoughtful and that she hoped Tommy and Peter could both be friends when they got back to school. Farewell pleasantries were exchanged amongst the three and Peter and his mother walked back to the car, waving goodbye to Tommy’s mother as they went.

Once in the car, Peter’s mother turned and told him that Tommy wasn’t such a bad guy and that it’s very responsible for a boy his age to replace an action figure with his own allowance money. Peter seemed not to care, he was just happy to have his Ninja Turtle, head and all. As he played with his new/old toy, Peter found a note in the Turtle’s knapsack. “This must be a note from Tommy.” Peter said. Peter’s mom encouraged him to read it out loud. “Alright“, Peter started, “It says, ‘you suck.” Peter and his mother both looked at each other with surprise. “My mom made me buy your stupid turtle with my money. And you better not tell anybody at school about this cause if you do I’m going to pop your head off and give your turtle the black eye. Loser.” “Well,” Peter’s mom replied, “I guess not everyone is what they seem.” “Nope,” said Peter, as he began composing his own letter of response. “ And besides, he spelled loser wrong.” Peter and his mother laughed as they thought about Tommy’s poor spelling skills. “It sounds like Tommy has a problem with anger,” said Peter‘s Mom. “Yah,” Peter replied, “I feel better about myself already.” As he said this the head of Peter‘s Ninja Turtle inexplicably fell off.