Random Ramblings

The Final Countdown

2012-10-06T08:30:00.001-07:00

I shuffle in off the bustling streets into a crowded noisy bar. This is the same bar I always visit after a grueling, tedious day of work. From the doorway I scan the crowd, noticing decorations; the confetti, the balloons, the streamers that greet the coming holiday and myself like the boisterous crowd of drinkers. I notice the regulars immediately but decide not to face them. It’s been one of those days. I slink between two young women exiting and snag the chair closest to me at the shiny stainless-steel bar. My shoulders slouch and I feel the bar seat on the small of my back. As if the chair is holding the weight of my day as well as myself, it lets out a long creak.

“Looks like another long one. I’ll get your regular.” I raise my hooded eyelids, hanging with exhaustion, and my eyes meet the backside of the lovely tall bartender we all call Angel. Usually that’s what she is to us, a light as the end of a dark grey tunnel we all associate with cubicles.

My gaze follows her. She reaches high to a shelf and grabs a bottle of gin, in a quick flash her hands fly to the small fridge below grabbing a jug of cooled grapefruit juice. Her hands work quickly and efficiently, almost as if they have small wings attached to each of her wrists. Men yell over the bar rudely for another round, she nods and says she will be only a moment. She manages to finish my drink flawlessly and slides it my direction. She gives me a sly wink and begins the next order. The crowds surrounding me scramble like ants on an anthill. I stay motionless, my Salty Dog in my right hand and a five in my other. The next time Angel comes around (and she always does) I’ll be ready for her.

“Ten!”

I look into my drink expectantly. Maybe a new career is in there, or a new life. That would be great.

“Nine!”

Day after day I come in here knowing not of my abilities outside the office. Lately it seems there hasn’t even been an evening in which I haven’t slumped over this shining, metallic oasis like The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

“Eight!”

I wish I had gargoyles to talk to.

“Seven!”

Someone or anyone outside of the office, outside of my everyday life to talk to would be great. Maybe I should get a dog. I’ve read studies that loneliness can be cured if you have a canine companion.

“Six!”

Where did I read that study? When’s the last time I even read anything, much less for fun?

“Five!”

When’s the last time I took a walk in the park? Or spent anytime outside of this bar?

“Four!”

My life is a mess and I’ve been on autopilot. Grapefruit pulp floats at the top of my drink. The crowd behind me grows in anticipated fervor.

“Three!”

“Two!”

I lift up my glass and nimbly slide the five underneath it. Without having ever taken a sip of my drink I swivel my chair around.

“One!”

I don’t think I need a drink this time. I’ve got it covered from here. It’s only a crutch.

I stand to my feet and begin squeezing through the sardined crowd.

“Happy New Year!”

Confetti and balloons that were once motionless gain kinetic energy and explode in the room, filling and covering now neglected drinks. I pass a woman who stops and catches my gaze. In an instant she takes her chilled hands and pulls my face to hers. The kiss is rushed and hectic, her soft lips against mine simultaneously lighten the weight on my back.

It’s the start of a new year. Maybe coming in this bar tonight wasn’t such a bad idea, but for other reasons that weren’t initially anticipated.

Coincidence

2012-07-01T22:33:00.000-07:00

“I’m telling you, the nation is controlled by little mice on exercise wheels!” His eyebrows do a little jig on his face like they have John Travolta's dance routine in Saturday Night Fever.

“What makes you so sure of that?” A six-year-old puts her hands on her hips and asks quizzically.

“How do you think electricity gets to you? Every time you turn on that nightlight the mice work overtime to make sure you can sleep at night!” The dad points at a horse nightlight across the pink pin-striped room. At the foot of the light bowed cats with mittens, dogs with bones, and more horse. Stuffed animals flow over the girl’s bedspread, the dam broke and it just couldn’t handle the compression of so much synthetic filling!

The little girl, in her one piece pajamas, begins tapping her foot in thought. With one hand still on her hips she brings the other to her chin where it rests thoughtfully. At the end of her tapping foot a white pompom bounces in excitement like a Jack Russell Terrier about to receive a treat.

All at once she stops. “I don’t believe you!” She’s the Cheshire Cat; her lips part to expose huge ivory piano keys. A giggle escapes her mouth.

“I’m your dad, Little One. Would I try and trick you into believing something that wasn’t true!” The dad smiles and walks from the doorway over to the child cemented like a statue in the center of the room. He picks her up and holds her close. She smells of flowers and dirt. She was probably playing in the garden earlier, he thinks to himself. He tucks a strand of dark brown hair behind her minute, delicately pointed elf ears and notices a smudge. You can always count on this girl to be outside!

“You were out in the garden today weren’t you!”

“How did you know that? Did Mommy tell you?” Her smile breaks like a wave and calmly reaches shore. Her face in no longer like the Cheshire Cat, just a curious cat.

“Yes she did!” He lied. He would hear all about it whether he had heard it from Mom or not.

“What were you’re adventures today? Did you find Mr. Wormy again? Or did you see Samuel the ladybug?”

Her eyes light up intensely like when a light bulb goes out, there is one last bright surge of energy before the darkness. “No! I made a new friend today!”

“Tell me about her!” The dad walks over to the bed, still holding the child. He sweeps the bed clear just enough to squeeze the girl under the comforter and in amongst the animals.

“It was a boy Daddy!”

“Oh excuse me, tell me about him!” He shoos a mouse with a piece of cheese away. It lands on the floor by the nightlight. He sits down replacing it, just right of the little girl securely tucked into her blankets.

“Well he was really fuzzy. And he had a pink nose. That’s my favorite color so I was happy! He made a noise that made me laugh. Mommy said it was a puppy. Since I’ve never seen one in real life I didn’t know what it was until Mommy told me! He had a tag and a bell on a necklace around his neck. Mommy said it was a collar like the one that Lucy has but bigger and especially for dogs. She said that dogs and cats are different and that this puppy wasn’t the same type of animal that Lucy is. I told her I already knew that because Mrs. Schermer at school is teaching us about animals. Mommy went inside for a bit because she said she needed to call the owner of the puppy on the telephone. I sat outside and played with him while she did! We’re friends now!” She speaks with pride on the last sentence.

“That’s good Sweetie! I’m glad you had a fun day! Now get all snug, it’s time for bed!” The dad tucks in side in again for good measure kisses the little girl on the forehead and begins to stand up. Right as he is about to turn the big light off in the room the little girl pipes up like a silent butterfly.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Little One?” He turns around and looks at her small little body outlined in the sheets. The inordinate amount of stuffed animals still parade around the little girl and her eyes mirror sleep.

“Do mice really run the world?” She yawns once; her piano keys make one last appearance before turning in from a long day of performing.

“That’s what I hear. Sweet dreams now.”

He turns the light off, and eases the door closed until just a crack remains. He glimpses once into the room before retiring for the night. He sees the stuffed animals congregating at the base of the nightlight; the mouse with the piece of cheese is sitting perfectly erect, facing him. He grins and begins walking down the hall.

The Hermit

2012-05-27T19:10:00.001-07:00

Before me are little pools of life. Each separate one is full of its own separate ecosystems. If I could be anything, I think, I would be a hermit crab. I have my home on my back and I go where the tides take me. I am as free as a bird in the sky. The possibilities are endless.

I pick up the one I have been eyeing. It has a brown shell that is practically purple, small red eyes, red antennae, both cheliped are drawn under its body, and the bright red walking legs protrude in front. He scurries to the edge of my spindly fingers and I rescue the fragile being before it plunges to its imminent death. The crab thanks me by climbing quickly back into its shell. I set it back into the center of my palm. One minute eye emerges from hiding, checking the security of the situation. Promptly it returns. I turn him upside down and look at the puzzle-piece figure that fits perfectly together in the dark shell.

I decide I’ve tortured him enough and slowly lower my palm into the tide pool. Sculpin scatter to the safety of the edges. The pool is covered in green anemones and algae. A cluster of blue muscles congregate in the farthest corner. The water reaches up to the center of my forearm. When I reach the bottom the once conservative crab erupts over the edge of my hand like a misty purple waterfall.

He’s gone in an instant to the refuge of an overhanging rock.

I wonder if our paths will ever cross again.

I stand up from my hunched down position. My knees pop and grown in disagreement and I move onto the next pool.

In the Park

2012-05-08T08:59:00.000-07:00

“I just don’t get it, honey!”A small athletic woman calmly states.

“What’s not to get?” Her significant other asks.

“I just don’t get how Jennifer could to that to me! Again!” The woman’s voice becomes shrill in a common characteristic associated with whining and gossip in a female’s conversation.

“Oh…” Any interest the man had before was lost. I listen intently as he pretends to.

“She always treats me like a used... A used, “She pauses in thought.

“A used what?”

“Hammer! She uses me like a hammer, only when she needs me!”

“I’ve never heard you mention tools in anything. Do you even know what a hammer is?” The guy blurted, somehow in the conversation his filter must have been removed.

The woman’s chin drops to a gaping cave and an evil glare spreads across her features like a burning wildfire. I continue to listen, not making a sound.

We are gathered in a pretty park in the center of the hustle and bustle of a surrounding city. I’ve always personally thought of this park as an oasis, a breath of fresh air, a break away from daily life. The trees above us sway in the warm summer breeze and birds cheep joyfully in the branches. The green leaves just recently left hibernation and extended their limbs in the sun. They cast moving shadows on the faces of the couple and I focus in on them as the conflict unfolds.

“You’re a jerk! I can’t believe you just said that to me, you’re so insensitive!” She pauses, then continues. “I’m leaving! I’m not going to sit here and pretend that I like being around you right now!”

“Wait, babe! I’m sorry, that’s not what I mean to say…” The woman gets up off of my bench seats and begins to stomp away. Her boyfriend promptly follows like some sick game of follow the leader.

The park is quiet again from the absence of the two, and I soak up the Zen. It’s the perfect temperature, the perfect day, and I’m sitting underneath the perfect tree.

A moment later a man comes and sits down. He’s alone. His clothes consist of a blue pinstripe button up shirt pulled loosely over a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. In his ears are loud headphones screaming lyrics to the outside world like they are trying to escape some sort of confined prison. He taps his foot loudly to the beat. I let out a subtle groan and the man looks down at me. He looks away quickly thinking nothing of my battered and used appearances.

He begins talking to himself, it appears. “Today was such a hard day. It’s nice to relax and be able to breathe for a minute.” I say nothing and sit in silence. It’s refreshing to be able to relate to someone and share the same understanding about a place, even if it’s a complete stranger.

After five short minutes he rises from my seats and walks away on the concrete path. It winds its way through this little paradise. I watch as he follows it like the Yellow Brick Road, then he disappears around a corner. Now I find myself alone yet again. I’m left to my own thoughts.

I have never left this park. I’ve stayed here dedicated to it through rain and snow. As you can imagine, I’ve observed crazy events in those thirty years. I’ve seen elaborate pranks, late night adventures to the swings fifteen feet away from me, weddings, summer parties, towering snowmen without the ability to smell, kids chasing grasshoppers… I’ve seen it all. Humans are curious beings, and the only reason I say this is because all the while I listen quietly without them knowing. I’m not a person myself, I am the bench they decide to sit on.

You can really learn about someone this way, all you have to do is listen.

Second Chances

2012-05-03T01:07:00.001-07:00

The rain is showering down upon my vulnerable head like meteors in late August on the West Coast. My hood is made of cotton, and serves no required purpose of keeping me dry. If I decided to use it, it would be drenched in a matter of seconds regardless. Putting it on is a waste.

The oil pools in the puddles collect on parts of the sidewalk, and as droplets interrupt the gatherings the curious rainbows shiver with excitement like they were about to embark on a wonderful adventure through the sewer. The asphalt smells hot, and exhausted from the usual constant traffic that the rain and absence of sunlight drove away.

Its later afternoon, the clock read 5:48 just before I left the apartment but it’s been more than an hour since. I should be heading home soon to become a part of society again and conform to the rules and guidelines everyone must follow. I’m not ready to leave yet, though. Sitting on the curb right here and right now feels right. I feel like I need to be here taking a deep breath and reflecting.

Reflecting on what? The fact that I’m unemployed as of yesterday? That I have unpaid bills from last month and I’m two months behind on both my rent and my car payment? What happened to me?

I give in and put my hood on. The rain immediately begins to wet it in a rhythmic beating. I put my head in my hands. A drop of water that had been accumulating in my drenched scalp now cascades down my forehead and I wipe it away like a drop of sweat. I feel like I amount to little and I’m lost. I don’t even know who I am.

I lift my hands from my face and look down the sidewalk that belongs to the curb I am currently perched on. In between the large slabs of concrete a few trees stand up on the ends near the road. Garbage litters the gutters, covering them like a blanket of snow.

About ten feet away a small body disappears into a nearby bush, too quickly for me to see but enough to attract my attention. I watch intently as a small corner of an ear appears and then a head attached to that ear.

Soon enough a small puppy of an unknown breed reveals itself. Its fur looks dirty and in need of maintenance. Dark brown splotches of hair randomly scatter its body, looking like it got into trouble with brown paint. The rest of its body is white with small black spots in between the bigger ones.

I pat my leg and coo. Unsure at first it backs away, but after a moment passes it slowly eases its body in my direction. After a little coaxing I have it at my side and I’m petting its head. For such a dirty little thing it is softer than a blanket of fleece.

“What are you doing here little guy? Where’s your home?” It looks up at me with those stereotypical, gleaming puppy eyes and I feel my heart melt a tad. “Where do you belong? Nowhere?” I know it can’t answer, but having a nonjudgmental being just here makes me feel like someone is listening. “Yeah me too. I don’t even know where I should be.” I scratch it behind one brown ear and it sits down comfortably next to me, sure now that I’m not here to harm it. The pitiful thing is soaked and I can’t help but feel bad for it.

“Everybody loves puppies, how come no one seems to love you? It’s not as if you’re not cute, because you clearly are!” It looks out into the empty street then returns its melancholy gaze back to me. “Every living thing deserves to belong somewhere. You look like you need more help than I do; you’re coming home with me.”

I scoop the shivering, dirty puppy into my arms and unzip my jacket. I hold it against my dry stomach then I stand up, zip my sweatshirt just below its neck, and take my first steps back home and into the real world filled with chaos.

“Just because I might not get a second chance doesn't mean that you shouldn't have one.”

Skipping Rocks

2012-05-01T09:23:00.001-07:00

There’s a natural made harbor in my hometown and it lives right along the coast. One side of this harbor is covered in rocks; they were placed there initially to protect the extension of land that reaches out into the sea. The other side is sand and pebbles. On a sunny day it is a wonderful place to observe. Children lift rocks and collect small crabs as they try to skitter away, games of tag on the sand are along the strip of beach, lunches are packed and carried along, and people just come to enjoy the sun or the relaxing sound of the waves. Me? I go here to skip rocks.

Today it’s sunny. I only skip when it’s nice weather. When it rains I’ll try to but last only about three or four minutes before the rain drives me back into my vehicle. I go here because it’s close to my home, on the beach side the waves are very gentle which makes it perfect for skipping, and the best rocks naturally inhabit this shore.

I scour a patch of outcropped rocks for the perfect tool, after it will go through close inspection. I discover a round one, pick it up in my hand, estimate its possibilities of success, and stick it into my pocket. I do the same for five others then I walk down to where the friendly waves happily greet the shore. I look down and my toes are speckled with sand. They look like some sort of bumpy reptile. I wriggle them and my brightly painted toenails wave at me.

A soft breeze sways my hair over my face and I tuck it behind my ears. The pieces that are too short to be restrained rebelliously return to nagging my face. I turn into the wind and force them to my will. As I turn I notice a figure walking this way. It’s normal to accidentally bump into strangers on days like today. The sun is out and people flock to the water like seagulls on a french-fry.

I find myself staring awkwardly at the figure. As it moves closer I realize that this figure is very attractive in the most appealing ways. The young man has distinguishing and rugged features, tousled black hair, and perfect teeth that beam in an open smile as he walks. He isn’t looking at me of course, he is admiring a bald eagle that just perched on a log sticking out of the water about fifteen feet away. In his claws the majestic male bird holds a small fish; it’s wriggling like an ant under a microscope. In an instant I watch as he swallows the creature whole then takes off again in flight. His shadow is an acrobatic plane; wheeling, twisting, and turning.

I look back to my approaching stranger. He’s looking at me and I quickly drop my gaze to the rock in hand. I feel its polished surface worn down from the waves, I decide to toss it. It skips six times across the water like it were on a trampoline and with a satisfying “PLOP” it sinks into the ocean to become a part of the never ending marine-life cycle.

I look back up and he’s still looking gazing at me. I flash him a quick smile.His board shorts and t-shirt play in the breeze and his hair flies about. Even in the midst of an outside force trying to wreck his flawless image, he still manages to hold it together with ease. I mentally take note of that ability.

In my attempt to gawk at him unnoticeably the space between us slims and I catch my breath. He’s seven feet away. I have no time to turn away and I don’t want to be rude.

He stops two feet from me, his smile still greeting me.

“Hi!”

Oh geez, can I even respond?

I squeak out a quick and raspy, “Hello.”

“I see you’re skipping rocks. That last one was pretty good!” His face lights up and his stunning green eyes twinkle. They are such a beautiful contrast to his black hair.

“Yeah… Thanks…” I look down and begin to pull out another rock from my pocket. “Do I know you?” I ask him quizzically.

“Nope, but that’s okay! Sometimes a smile is all it takes!” He grins.

A Quick Dip

2012-04-27T09:18:00.000-07:00

“Try and hold your breath for as long as you can!”

The teal water below the two boys glistens in the sun. A dragonfly zooms by and in a nearby tree a bird cheerfully tweets. It’s the epitome of summer. The temperature is a comfortable 82°, and the two are halfway down the center of a dock about to make a feverish dash to jump off of the end.

“I bet I can beat you to the end and hold my breath longer than you can,” The taller of the two confidently states! He places his hands on his hips for added justification.

“Betcha can’t!”

“On three I’ll prove it to you!” Both of them place their hands in the air and begin to count together.

“1…” One finger shoots up on both hands.

“2…” a second follows; the shorter of the two stifles a laugh.

“3!”

They take off in a steady sprint and jump off of the dock mimicking leaping frogs; one last heavy breath sounds from both of them before they touch the water. They land, sending up sprinkling reports as the water is displaced and abruptly interrupted.

Within seconds of disappearing they both return to the surface gasping.

“It’s soooo cold!” The taller one sputters.

“Ugh,” The shorter boy begins hysterically coughing. “It took my breath away! Did it do that to you too Sam?”

“Yeah!” They both doggy-paddle to the ladder on the dock extended into the water. Sam beats the other brother and climbs up.

“Alex, when we’re done later, wanna play catch?”

Alex grunts loudly as he struggles to pull himself out of the water.

After finally getting a foot up he says “Yeah, sure. I’ll only play if you play fair this time.” The foot he placed on the first rung of the ladder suddenly slips on the growing algae and he finds himself back in the water.

A loud, playful laugh erupts from atop the dock, “What’d you do that for?”

“I didn’t mean to! The step was slippery!”

“You’re clumsy!”

“Hey! At least I’m not weird!”

“Keep telling yourself that little bro!” A wide smile spreads across Sam’s face.

Alex attempts the ladder a second time, this one being successful. Breathing heavily, Alex collapses on the sun-warmed, wind-worn dock at their perfect summer lake cabin.

Every summer the boys and their parents come here to spend a month. It’s the stereotypical summer all kids grow up dreaming about. There are no worries, and not a care in the world. The most important thing about the lake cabin is that the house doesn’t require any homework.

Sam lies down on his stomach next to Alex in the mid-day sun. Water glistens on both of their bodies like tiny diamonds. From the shock of the water goose-bumps erupt on their skin like tiny volcanoes.

“That was so cold,” Sam wails!

“Yeah! We can call it a tie. Clearly I won though!” Alex puffs his cheeks slightly with pride.

“You did not!”

“Did to!”

The boys get quiet for a moment, the sound of minute waves lap under the dock and fill the silence. A very brief time passes and the boys exchange looks. Slowly a face-splitting grin breaks Alex’s face. His eyes sparkle, and he lifts his eyebrows. A drop of water drips down his cheek, leaving a small trail behind. Alex leans in, closing the gap between him and his brother. He hushes his voice to an almost inaudible whisper, lowers one eyebrow and says:

“Let’s do it again!”

The Desire to Appeal

2012-04-26T09:21:00.000-07:00

“Excuse me? Sir?” A blond-haired woman of twenty-two taps on the shoulder of a man. He turns around displaying an official looking nametag. He is wearing a dark blue polo; the collar is neatly folded and the top two buttons are undone revealing a mass of thick, curly, black hair. His nametag reads “TOM”.

Upon facing the woman his face mechanically lights up. A regular characteristic of cars-salesman upon any opportunity of gaining income is to force positive emotion. By no means does this woman look like she lacks money, so his appearance and façade is necessary if he wants a part of the sales.

The woman’s perfectly curled, blond locks hang lightly over her shoulders, her low-cut blouse and pencil skirt match a perfect color scheme and her Gucci purse is in her hand with her elbow bent. It rests in midair as if to say to her audience, “This woman has a lot of money, but doesn’t know how to spend it efficiently.” Covering her eyes were completely black sunglasses, not even a glitter of light off of her gaze could be seen. She seemed like an easy buy, but Tom would have to be cautious. She could very well be a knowledgeable buyer even though her first impression screams otherwise.

“Yes Ms. How can I be of service to you?”Looking into Tom’s eyes you can almost see the dollar signs get larger by the second. If his hopes for this woman to buy a car weren’t already obvious by his actions, his body began a nervous twitch. The only cars that they sold on this lot were expensive sports cars. No one showed up here unless they were serious. Every customer that arrived had to previously call and make an appointment to receive entry to the lot. With all of these special machines, precautions need to be taken.

“Tom your nametag says? Yes Tom… Ummm…” she removes her sunglasses places them in her purse revealing breathtakingly and bright green eyes. Intricately she twists a curl in her fingers. “I want to look at one of your vehicles to buy on your lot. Is it too much to ask for some assistance?” She flutters her long thick eyelashes. A small show of ivory leaks from behind her cherry-scarlet lips and she begins to chew a piece of gum that has been hiding.

“No problem at all! There is a 2012, white Koenigsegg Agera R in the front, and our newest edition is a black Lamborghini Gallardo.”

The woman looked quizzical for a moment then said, “No. I want the candy-apple-red Carrera GT in the back.”

“The one in the far left corner?” He walks over to the building’s large windows and motions for her to follow. “That one?” He points to it in the corner.

“Yes, that one.”

“Are you sure? It’s a convertible, and there are new Lambo-style doors on it, the butterfly ones. Some call them vertical… That doesn’t really seem like your style though.”It is too late; he has already said the wrong thing.

“My style? My style? Tell me Tom, what is my style!” She begins popping her gum loudly with rage.

“I’m so sorry to offend! I’ll grab the key now and you can take it for a drive!” He has no room to make any more mistakes. He races away from the window into his office and rips open a desk drawer. In a moment he returns holding a key with a tag and places it in her already extended and opened palm.

“Follow me, I have questions Tom,” She snarls!

Tom follows on her heels like a sad puppy out to the mechanical wonder. When they reach the vehicle she leans down and checks her lipstick in the side mirror then swings the door of the passenger side up and sets her purse on the seat. She promptly shuts it, then goes around to the driver’s side and slides into the red and black bucket seats. She closes the door and roars the machine to life. The windows are immediately rolled down, and the black sunglasses are back over her eyes.

“Are you already ready to take it for a drive,” he asks hesitantly. “Didn’t you have questions?” The sun glares off of the hood and onto her sunglasses, almost blinding Tom.

“Yeah. I do.” She looks down at the gas tank gauge and the miles accumulated. In perfect analog numbering it reads twenty-five.

“Tom I believe we have a baby on our hands!” A smirk crawls across her face. “My question is, how come you didn’t ask for any of my information before you so kindly lent me the keys?”

His face floods and an expression of shock and awe cover his features. He had forgotten. He assumed she had enough money and that she could be trusted. That was his mistake. She locks the doors, blows him a kiss and puts the car into gear.

“You can't do this!” Tom yells.

“Watch me sugar!” She accelerates violently off of the lot, with Tom hysterically chasing after.

She pulls onto the main road and lets out the clutch, giving it copious amounts of gas. She weaves in and out of other vehicles with jaw-dropped observers. “Now it’s time to be real here.” She peels the blond hair off revealing bone-straight auburn hair. “Oh, I have the desire to appeal because I have the desire to own beautiful things. You can’t blame a girl!” She lets out a hearty laugh. With her hair flying in the intense wind, she turns the radio on and familiar music floods her ears and masks the roar of the engine. “This isn’t a vehicle, it’s an animal. It needed to be freed!”

The woman’s knuckles are stretched white over the steering wheel, the smirk she had on her face returns. She drives her prize, not holding back her excitement of the crime she so successfully committed.

Expectations

2012-04-25T08:28:00.002-07:00

A fuzzy bumblebee sways to-and-fro, hovering above a violent red rhododendron. It lands daintily on the outside of the center and gracefully crawls inside of the chosen flower to take care of its business. It reemerges, dusted in yellow pollen and takes off to its next victim. The bee is a steady independent worker. It completes tasks efficiently and productively. The next flower quivers as it reemerges again and then it sways back in relief as the bee flies to the next.

He sits on a bench directly across from the activity watching different black, orange, and yellow workers compete in their disappearing acts.

“If only life were that simple,” he whispered aloud.

His eyes squint into focus on the insects and he leans forward resting his elbows on the tops of his knees he exhales loudly and inhales a large enough breath to make Michael Phelps envious.

“Why can’t life be like that… I know who I am, I know what I have to do, and I know what’s expected of me by others...”

He leans back again and relaxes against the back of the bench.

Alternate Reality

2012-04-24T20:23:00.002-07:00

A folded up paper sits quietly next to me. I open it. It reads:

"Think of the word alternate. What does it mean? What is its dictionary meaning? Now think of the word reality. Our own realities are events in our lives that we acknowledge. Reality is our personal perception of the world around us. Every single reality is different for each individual person. Now what is alternate reality?"

I neatly fold the piece of lined paper back into its original creases. What a concept. I think to myself.

The bus stop I’m waiting at takes me to work every morning. I walk two blocks here in rain, sleet, or snow. Today it is sunny, not a cloud in the sky. The station sits right near the corner of Pilot Street and Ramsey Boulevard. Ever since I got my current job I’ve been using this particular bench to spend part of my mornings. Colorful graffiti greets me to my right. It’s an extinct language, speaking in tongues but expressing its emotion and meaning through color. Below me are scattered cigarette filters and discarded pieces of gum in all hues. A filthy trashcan sits to my left, obviously unutilized. At a bus-stop in a busy bustling city this is the norm. A sad cracked flower box with wilted flowers is perched on top of the garbage can. It looks under watered and neglected. I look down the racing concrete strips that stretch far into the distance to see if the bus might be on time for a change. My watch reads 7:03 am; not a chance.

In a city like this what is an alternate reality? Green? Clean air? No pavement?

An elderly, friendly looking gentleman that arrives out of nowhere sits down next to me. His white moustache is curled up at the ends and mimics the corners of his mouth.

“Great weather today…” He looks to me and mumbles.

“Yes it is. A shame I don’t have the day off.”

“Mmm,” he paused. “Yes, that is a shame.”

I fold and refold the note, and then I open it and clumsily fumble with the corners. I read it again, then I return it to its original state and shove it quickly back into my pocket. On its way in, the paper crumples and makes an uncomfortable noise. He looks over and I avert my eyes. I can feel his gaze on me. I look up and our eyes meet. His wrinkled face screams comfort; his soft brown eyes sparkle with knowing and an intense sense of wisdom. His smile still a part of his personality he says, “What have you got there? You look a little thoughtful.”

“It’s just a note I discovered when I first sat down…” I trail off and sheepishly look away, almost ashamed to share.

“Not to be nosey, but I’m a little curious…” His gaze flashes at me.

I reach into my pocket and pull it out, his hand extends. There are creases on his hand telling me that he hasn’t worked an easy day in his life. He unfolds it gently and begins to read. After a moment he finishes and hands it back. I quickly crumple it back into my pocket, almost as if it were a secret note for my viewing only.

“Interesting,” his furry brows are knitted showing deep contemplation.

“What are your thoughts?” My personal confusion of the letter might be solved if I involve another mind. I ignore my inner voice telling me to keep quiet.

“It’s interesting,” he repeats. “Alternate reality for me would be a cubicle.” His features loosen and he looks to me for feedback.

“I think of green… Mountains… Birds… Flowers…” His face wipes blank and I wonder if I have said the wrong thing.

“Why?” He states with no adjustment in his voice.

“Well we essentially live in a concrete jungle here.” I look down to my shoes and the concrete for some sort of approval. I look back up and he’s looking down the street at the approaching bus. I continue.

“What do you think about the environmental crisis?”

The bus pulls up and we both stand to our feet. I follow him to the folding portal into the crammed public transportation vehicle. He begins to enter the bus and stops on the second stair. He turns around to face me. His face is crumpled with thought and abruptly and quite loudly he says, “I don’t!”

He turns around and disappears in the crowd of people standing closely together like a heavily populated forest.