Nice To Meet You

Not knowing where to go from here we stand
Idle like the record players we once thought were so
Cool until everyone else had one.
Each person passes by like a skeleton
Treading the pavement as we flesh out the details
Of our separate dystopian worlds. Sharing what we
Mostly read in literature. We both think we know
Everything about these creatures we
Examine by watching how they move.
They’re a world away from us, I say.
You say you don’t think so.
Or maybe I hear you wrong.
Under these lights everything is fucked. Who needs fiction?

Anti-Heroes

We could have had everything.
Under the lights in that moment
The world was ours.
All it needs is a hero and
We both think we have what it takes.
But proving it would be too predictable
And so we sit because that is what
Our favorite main characters would do.
We prefer to watch as the secondary figures
Walk by on their way to the rest of their lives
As we smoke each others’ cigarettes and
Wonder what the best way would be
To make sure that this whole scene
Falls apart according to plan.
Of course, we do not think we are
Bad people because of this.
Just because something isn’t the truth
Doesn’t mean it’s a lie.
And we know of no reason
Having what it takes
Means we should try.

The Bus to School

I stood at the bus stop four houses down the road from my own house. It was snowing this morning, slow-moving flurries that had covered the ground in the night. It was kind of pretty actually. Everything was always real quiet when it snowed. I guess a lot of people don’t go out unless they have school or work, but still. And it was morning, there was that.
“Hey, Sellors!” Jamal Allan called out to me. Tall, basketball star, probably a gang member—Jamal Allan doesn’t talk to me.
“It’s Sennors, actually,” I said.
“Oh my B, my B,” he said, coming over to me. “Hey, you do the History homework?”
“No dude, sorry,” I told him.
“Ah it’s cool. Thanks anyway, man.” Oh good, because I was really worried about not having my work for you to copy, I thought as he walked back to his two friends.
Behind Jamal there was a dark figure walking down the road towards us. I watched as it got closer, then realized it was a girl. A girl dressed entirely in black; black jeans, black winter boots, black leather jacket, black ushanka—you know, those Russian hats? Or at least, the ones people wear in movies when they want you to think they’re Russian? The girl had a lit cigarette in one hand and a Slurpee from 7-11 in the other. She could, of course, only be one person: my sister, Clair Sennors- 22 years old, college drop-out, living in my parents’ basement, working as an auto mechanic, and perfectly happy.
“What up baby bro?” she said, coming to stand next to me. Her tongue and lips were bright red from the Slurpee. The snow crunched beneath her feet.
“You know,” I told her, “most people drink coffee in the morning.”
“I’m not most people,” she said.
“Clearly, I mean, most people take the school bus to go to school.” I raised my eyebrows at her. She smiled.
“Yeah baby bro, I think you’re right. Most people.” It was still weird, being taller than her. For most of my life the seven year age difference meant she towered above me.
“Car wouldn’t start again?” I asked, looking for the bus, but only seeing a snow plow pass on a cross street two blocks down.
“Eh, didn’t even try,” she said. “You know Old Ed doesn’t do well with snow.” She took the cap off her Slurpee and caught some snowflakes in her cup, then stirred it up real fast and snapped the lid back in place. Old Ed was her car, and old it was. Really, really, old. And not in a cool way. More so in the way that made you fear for your life every time you got in it.
The bus came, bright and yellow, rumbling down the street at 7:05 sharp. It stopped and Jamal and his friends, Dom and Jordan got on, followed by Nina, a quiet freshman that I hadn’t heard speak not even once. Clair dropped her cigarette and stomped it out with the toe of her boot then climbed on board. I followed with a sigh.
“Hey Gene,” Clair said to the bus driver.
“Hiya Clair, darling! How ya doin’?” he said brightly.
“Great thanks,” I heard her say. You could just tell she was throwing him one of her warmest smiles. She looked completely out of place as she walked down the aisle and sat down in an empty seat. I sat down next to her.
Gene was decrepit. He probably would have driven our parents to school if they had lived on this road twenty years ago. Of course, he loved Clair, remembered her from when she was in school. One day she got on with me and he just beamed like he’d won the lottery, seeing her again. That’s how this whole mess with taking the bus with me got started.
Once we started moving Clair was talking again. “So guess what?” she asked.
“What?”
“I totally banged this guy that looked like Pete Townshend last night. You know, the guitarist for The Who?” I didn’t know. “But like, old school Pete Townshend, not sixty year old Pete Townshend. That would be weird.”
“Stop. I don’t want to hear this.” I told her. See, my sister had this thing for sleeping with people who looked like celebrities. I guess regular people didn’t do it for her anymore. Her number one life goal right now was to get all The Beatles. Including Ringo.
“Oh come on! If I can’t tell you who am I supposed to tell? Dad?”
“How about Sexaholics Anonymous?”
“Screw that. That’s for people who have too much sex. Me, I just have…interesting sex. And believe me, they don’t want the details.”
“Well neither do I!”
“No, really you do.” Really, I didn’t. “I met him at a bar, and Chris I swear to you, this guy even acted like Pete Townshend. He must have been his grandson or something because when he—” I put my hands over my ears. When I saw her stop talking I took my hands down slowly. “You’re no fun,” she said.
The bus rounded a corner and fish-tailed to the far side of the street. A few people gasped but no one really spoke on the bus in the morning and didn’t start now. It was so quiet. I wondered how many people were listening in on me and my sister’s conversation.
“Who’d you go to the bar with on a Tuesday night anyway?” I asked, lowering my voice and slowly changing the topic. She smiled mischievously.
“Grandpa,” she said.
“You’re kidding.” She shook her head no.
“Well,” she said, “it wasn’t previously planned or anything.”
“What does that mean?” She sucked on her straw for a while drinking the last of her Slurpee, indicated by the loud slurping sound it was now making.
“The bartender at Gunther’s called down to the house,” she explained, “said he thought the old man might need a ride home. Mom and Dad were in bed already and I thought, hell, I can get him. So I get to the bar and I figure I’ll just have a drink with Grandpa and he insisted on another and...well the night got away from me. And then, you know, there was Pete.”
“I don’t believe you. Forget Sexaholics, you need AA. Bring the old man with you while you’re at it.”
“Hey, Grandpa’s still got it. He was fine when I got there. Best wing man I ever had.”
“You know what’s bad? I can totally picture this,” I said to her, shaking my head.
“Yeah, yeah.” Clair turned to look out the window. We were nearing the village, where she would get off and go to work in the one and only auto body shop in town.
Really, it didn’t make much sense to me. The girl graduated sixth in her class, went away to school, and came back three months later telling everyone that, as it turns out, college wasn’t for her. So she gets a job as a receptionist at this mechanic’s place, and decides she doesn’t want to do that either. She wanted to work in the shop, on the cars. So Clair being Clair, the owner of the place finds himself completely wrapped around her finger and starts teaching her everything he knows. Now, apparently, she’s a pro. Hell, even Dad lets her work on his car.
“Hey Chris, you got two dollars for the bus?” Clair asked, turning back to me.
“No way. You have your own money.” Clair took out her wallet, opened it up, and stared into the fold. She showed it to me. Empty. “If you didn’t have any money then why did you buy the Slurpee?”
“Didn’t realize how much I spent at the bar until I went to pay for it. Guy behind me gave me a dollar. Kinda looked like Buddy Holly. Without the glasses.”
“All I have is my lunch money.” I reached into my pocket and gave her two crumpled up dollars.
“Nah, keep it. I’ll catch a ride home.”
“You sure? I think the school bus stops running after three…” She laughed.
“You’re funny,” she said. We neared Main Street and Clair stood up. “I’ll catch you later bro. Have fun in school, study hard, make good choices. Yada yada yada.” I stood up and let her out.
“Yeah, I’ll try.” She passed me and started walking towards the front. “Hey Clair?” She turned around. “You too. I mean, have a good day.” She pointed a finger at me and winked, then continued up the aisle.
When the bus stopped she stepped off with a quick “Thanks again Gene, you’re the best!” to which he replied, “No problem Clair, anytime!” and she was gone. I sat back down. The kids at the Main Street bus stop climbed on, not looking at all surprised. I stared out the window and watched my sister walk up the street. She pulled her hat down low on her head and stuck her hands in her pockets, immediately taking one out to wave to someone across the street. I was still watching her as the bus pulled away, taking me to school.

Homecoming

The science building was Jenna’s favorite place to stand and look idle. In reality, she was stalking everyone walking through the quad below through the wall-sized window next to the greenhouses.
“How about that one?” she said, “He’s pretty cute.”
Katherine nodded and murmured her agreement.
“Seriously, Katherine?! I was kidding. Cargo shorts and tube socks in the middle of February? Honestly…” She shook her head in typical Jenna fashion, the same way she did when she found out Katherine washed her whites and colors together. “There! That’s the one!” she cried, pointing to a tall, gangly boy with dark hair and a guitar slung across his back.
“Yeah, he’ll do,” Katherine said, trying to play along.
“A little enthusiasm would be nice, you know,” Jenna snapped. She turned to look at her friend and her face relaxed. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing. I’m just not really feeling this right now.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” she said. “We still have a few days before Operation Valentine goes into effect.” She looked down at the crowd, a small crease between her eyebrows and a frown on her face.
“Come on, we’ll be late for Lit,” Katherine told her, slinging her arm around Jenna’s shoulders, leading her away from the window.
They managed the stairs awkwardly around the surge of people heading the opposite direction. At the bottom of the stairwell was a short hallway that led to the door outside. Katherine pulled her jacket closed tighter against the winter chill. It was overcast and snowing—just enough to make you wonder if it was really just the wind playing with what was already on the ground. Leaning against the railed fence across the sidewalk was a man in a leather jacket, a sly smile on his face. A man Katherine knew. A man she hadn’t seen in eighteen months.
“Daniel,” she breathed and flew straight into his arms. Daniel, alive. Daniel, all in one piece. Daniel. Safe. With me, she thought.
“Hiya, sweetheart,” he said. His breath in her ear made her heart race wildly. Katherine was so happy she began to cry.
Dan lowered his head towards hers and her lips rushed up to meet his. They kissed passionately for several minutes, their lips never parting, fingertips pressed into each other’s backs. Katherine didn’t care who saw them or what they thought. Until she remembered Jenna.
“No freaking way,” her friend exclaimed. “Who the hell is this?”
Dan repositioned Katherine slightly, gently tugging at her waist so that she was standing beside him. “You must be Jenna,” he said to her. It wasn’t a question, just a statement of fact, but she answered anyway.
“Yeah…” she said.
“I’m Daniel Birch.” And with that he reached his hand out to shake hers. Jenna looked like she might as well be meeting the president. She stared at him, but offered her hand after a few seconds.
“Dan is my husband,” Katherine said as soon as their hands were back at their sides. Jenna’s eyebrows flew up.
“Shut up,” she said, “No way. How?”
Katherine looked back at Dan. She still couldn’t believe he was actually here. She wanted to be alone with him so she could memorize every inch of his face once again, without an audience.
“Jen, I’ll explain everything later okay? I promise.”
Jenna shook her head slowly, still in disbelief. There was something else there on her face as well. Katherine tried to pin-point the last time she had seen that face. Then she had it: Halloween last year, Billy Whatshisface making out with someone else. Jenna was hurt.
“Really,” she said to her, “I would have told you, I just…” Just what? Wasn’t sure if my secret agent husband was ever going to come back and didn’t want to worry you? Yeah right, she thought.
“It’s okay,” Jenna said with a shrug. “This is good news. At least now I know you’re not asexual. It makes a lot of sense actually.” God love her, Katherine thought.
She smiled and turned to Daniel. “Let’s go home,” she whispered.
He began tugging her along the walkway to the parking lot. She thought briefly about telling him that the house he knew wasn’t theirs anymore. She had sold it a month after he had left, after he had told her that this time might be longer. It had been lonely in the big house without him, so she moved onto campus into a room with a loveable, obnoxious girl she now calls her best friend. They’d hit it off from the start, and when he still hadn’t returned at the end of junior year, Katherine got an apartment with her. She thought about telling Dan all of this, but chances were he already knew. If he knew who Jenna was, he probably knew about a lot of things.
They walked up to a black motorcycle. Daniel handed Katherine her helmet as a group of boys ogled them with wide eyes and open mouths. Katherine guessed that had something to do with this particular motorcycle. The bike was shinier, newer than his last one. It did not have a logo on the side like his Ninja and she assumed that meant it was better. They hopped on and she wrapped her arms around his torso, hugging him tightly. He started the bike and flew out of the parking lot. The campus buildings passed by in a blur. Burying her head into his back, Katherine closed her eyes and took in the familiar scent of his worn jacket. She still could not believe he was back. It had been so long.
Dan slowed down when they reached town. Katherine couldn’t see his face but she imagined he was happy to be back on a bike again, driving fast just because he could. Daniel treated every vehicle as if it were an extension of his own body. He maneuvered side streets and highways with ease, moving fluidly between other cars in traffic. When they traveled, he spoke the native languages fluently—she’s yet to find one he doesn’t know. There wasn’t much he couldn’t do effortlessly. But his true talent was people. Daniel understood people in a way that most people couldn’t even understand themselves. He knew what made them tick, what made them feel good, what made them hurt others, what they would kill for, what they would die for. It was what made him really, really good at his job.
Sure enough, Dan pulled the motorcycle into the driveway of Katherine’s apartment. They jumped off and removed their helmets. His awaiting smile made Katherine’s whole body tingle. Her heart raced, skipping beats here and there from excitement and the shock of his presence. Nothing compared to the throbbing bliss coursing through her body as Daniel took her face in his hands and planted another slow kiss on her lips. He picked her up easily, cradling her body in his arms. They kissed all the way to the front door. Without hesitating, he entered the house.
“I know I locked that,” she said as he closed the front door.
“I know you did too,” he said, shooting her the devilish grin he reserved for occasions such as this when she called him out on doing something most normal people shouldn’t know how to do.
He went right to her room and placed her in the center of the bed. She put her arms around his neck and pulled him down on top of her. “I love you,” he said, “more than my own life.” He moved his kisses from her lips to her cheek, to her throat, to her collarbone. He removed her jacket. She helped him out of his own jacket and the simple gray t-shirt he had underneath. Katherine was as breathless as ever at his perfect body. They embraced with a passion they had not known for a year and half. Something awoke in Katherine that had otherwise been dead, and she knew why she did it—why he was worth the torment of waiting, not knowing if he would come back to her or what state he would be in if he did.
“Daniel, stop,” she said. He picked his head up from her neck and looked her in the eye. His deep brown eyes were like liquid, pouring right down into her heart. Fresh tears streamed down her face. “I really thought—” she stammered. A sob escaped her chest and she couldn’t continue. Dan sat up and pulled her onto his lap. Katherine leaned her head against his chest and cried. “I thought you died,” she managed.
“I told you I’d never leave you,” he said. His low voice reached deep down in his chest and was loud against her ear. His words made her angry.
“Well, it wouldn’t be something you could help now would it?” Katherine exclaimed. She cried some more and Dan was quiet. His slow, even breaths lay in complete opposition to her ragged ones. She gained control once again and continued. “Your presents stopped coming.” She lifted her head to look at his face. “The increases in my bank account, winning contests for things like free cars that I never entered, the random roses delivered to my doorstep… You never said it was you, but I knew. And when they stopped coming I thought you were gone.”
Dan took a slow breath and held it for a second before letting it out in a quick huff. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I shouldn’t have sent those things. I should have known I’d reach a point where it would be too dangerous and I’d have to stop. I didn’t think about what that would mean for you.”
“It’s just that you were gone for so long. How was I supposed to know? I mean, would I ever know for sure if you…” She couldn’t finish. The idea hurt too much. The whole time he was gone her family assumed, as always, that he was away on an archaeological expedition. Jenna hadn’t even known he existed, let alone that he was Katherine’s husband of three years. Their situation was a unique one. She had no idea what to do if he never came back. Who could she have talked to? Katherine knew that answer. It was no one. She could talk to no one.
She watched the sun peek through the clouds and dance against her curtains, throwing glimmering beams of light across the room. They sat in silence. Dan needn’t answer her questions; they’d been through this before. All he needed to know was that she still thought he was worth all of it. And there she was keeping him in suspense; no kinder was his wait than hers.
“I love you,” she said finally, “with all my heart and all my years.”
“It’s hard for you,” he said quietly. “I don’t know how I expect to leave you time after time and come home to find you waiting. It’s asking too much.” He scooted her gently off his lap and turned around to sit on the edge of the bed. She watched as he sat, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, hands folded. She took a half-hearted inventory of his body, satisfied with the results. Sometimes he came home with gashes, cuts on his hands, bruises on his ribs, a plaster cast on his arm. Not today. He really was okay. His back was mostly to her and she couldn’t think of anything except how wrong it felt. She rested her forehead between his shoulder blades and put her arms around his chest.
“Do you think my world is any more real without you in it?” Katherine asked. He turned to look over his shoulder. Her lips met his. He stared at her with a hunger in his eyes that she couldn’t resist.

The Worst Pain

“On a scale
Of One to Ten,
How bad does it hurt?
One being no pain,
Ten being the worst pain
You’ve ever felt.”
“Seven,” she said,
As the nurse nodded.
“Seven? Hmm…”
As if that was an apt description.
As if the nurse
Could know
How bad the worst pain was.
Fancy words like “bullet wound”
And “broken heart”
Came to mind.
But honestly,
Ten was Streptococcus B.
Not as bad, she thought.
Different, she thought.

She had eyes that really look at you—
Eyes they wanted to look at them.
Pretty,
Beautiful legs
They always wanted to touch.
Smooth hands always reaching further…
Those pretty eyes cry now.
It doesn’t mean much.
It does not make
The bad dreams go away
“Stop that whining,” she said,
“Dry your face.”
Monsters
Where she once was.
Mirrors show something else:
Prescription labels in her eyes.
They reflect in other people’s
Hardened faces.
As if they could know
How bad her pain was.

The Breakdown

Sometimes it's all too much.
I can't give you what you want.

Run, run, run around.
Swim about but do not drown.

One heart broken, one lesson learned.
A broken heart goes on to break another in return.

Everyone gets a lesson in How To Not Get Hurt.
Really it's a lesson in How To Put You First.

Then learn to shed the bitterness.
Let someone in who might hurt less.

Get ready for the end.
Watch that someone comprehend

That it's an endless circle
With many different ends.

They Took Away The Dog

Davey was a cute kid. He had dimples and wide, alert eyes. His clothes were always simple. He followed directions well. And he didn't do much to draw attention to himself.

Like most boys his age he wore cuts and bruises on his arms and legs. When asked where they came from, the other boys would shrug, but Davey had a story for each one. They ranged from ordinary excuses like skateboarding or jumping off retaining walls to escape giraffes or high-speed chases. Davey had a good imagination.

Draper Street was home to many children, but only one lived in the gray house, and that was Davey. The gray house had missing shingles and grass that reached your knees. Behind the house was a metal chain-link pen that housed a dog. Davey's dog. Pepperjack.

Both Davey and Pepperjack were rarely at the gray house. They roamed Draper Street, aways together. Davey never used a leash. Pepperjack followed him closely wherever he went. When the other kids would pick at Davey's dingy t-shirts or take his skateboard from him, Pepperjack would growl and bare his teeth until Davey said, "Easy boy, it's okay. They're just playing" and laugh it off until the kids moved on and Pepperjack went back to wagging his tail. When the two were together, Davey's bruises seemed a little lighter.

The residents of Draper Street did not like the gray house. They would work for hours, manicuring their perfect green lawns so they could look down the road at the gray house and shake their heads in disapproval. When the fighting and yelling started at the gray house they would hush whatever guests had gathered for the holiday B.B.Q. and listen to the latest dispute. When the flashing lights sped down the road they would congregate at their mailboxes and discuss the details of the events at the exciting, yet still embarrassing, gray house. Davey and Pepperjack would sit on the curb with their heads bowed. Their opinions on the matter were seldom given and rarely asked for.

Often the screaming was accompanied by growls and yelps as Pepperjack was led back to his pen for a few hours. On one of these days Mr. Harper called the animal shelter and three days later the flashing lights took Pepperjack away.

As the summer came to a close the neighborhood saw less and less of Davey. And his smile, like Pepperjack, had gone completely. The marks on his arms and neck seemed to grow darker under the shadow of the small boy's eyes that once held such light.

Pepperjack's new owners called him Rex. Rexy. They had to bring him back a week later. They had a baby. They said every time they went to touch the child, Rexy would growl and stand in their way. He was such a good dog, they said. It's a shame, they said.

The last time the residents of Draper Street saw Davey they were standing in their driveways, leaning on their mailboxes, sitting on their stoops. They watched as the ambulance drove slowly by, carrying Davey along with it. They said it was a broken neck. Must have fallen down the stairs. He was a good boy, they said. It's a shame, they said.

for when your life is falling apart

when your life falls apart
can i fall to pieces beside you?
will we just lay down on the ground
and let the seasons cover us up?
let the fall leaves turn us to mulch
and the winter snow make us invisible.
the weeds will grow over our bodies
from other people's springtime gardens.
and we will live on in the bellies
of sparrows that ate our fruit.
the best flowers will bloom from our chests
in the prettiest colors
and the sweetest flavors.
whole trees will grow from our broken pieces
and they will be the strongest.
so gracefully our limbs would stretch to the heavens
like ballerina hands
reaching out to their partners.
so majestic our trunks would be
like capsules
holding time and rings and beating hearts.
our leaves would be so vibrant
like the spark that lit the fires that burned us up.
people will touch our bark
and they will swear they feel a pulse there.
and no one would ever cut us down.
when we lay on the ground
on what was once soft grass
will you hold my hand?
as our tears flow like rivers
down into our hair
spread out around us
like the petals of a flower,
will you be scared?
when your life falls apart mine will too.
and i'll grow with you from our delicate pieces
into something stronger
but just as beautiful.

Skipping Class

Sometimes
You have to stay in bed all day
And study the face of the person sleeping next to you.
As you watch the sun change the color
Of the room every hour,
You listen to footsteps on floorboards
Of the apartments upstairs
And to the right of you.
They remind you that the world out there is still turning
While in here
The only things turning are your bodies
Under bed covers.
You examine the caterpillars
Crawling on the brow ridges evolution gave him,
Observe how the signs of age are replaced by youth
As he sleeps.
Count the pores,
And the number of hairs
Growing on his chin.
Breathe out,
Breathe in,
Try to synchronize.
Your legs, your arms, your hands
Hold each other.
Try to become one.
Erase the lines.
It's good to skip your morning classes
Sometimes.

To My New Girlfriend

I never saw your handwriting
Before today.
I never even knew
You wrote poetry.
I like the careful curve
Of your "S"
I see beauty there
Like the curve
Of your hip.
And the boxy way
You make your "Y"s
They remind me
Of your perfect teeth.

The letter that
You left me,
It doesn't rhyme.
Not the way most
Love poems do.
You wrote of feeling lost
And seeing opportunities
In tree trunks
When you drive.
I never even knew.

Your poem was beautiful
Like your smile.
And when you said good-bye
It broke my heart.
Tomorrow
I'll bury the pieces with you,
And keep this letter in my chest
Instead.
I'm sorry that you felt this way
Like you couldn't share your poetry
With me.
Your handwriting was beautiful
Like you.

Hope: The Eighth Deadly Sin

I counted the number of times you left when you should have stayed
I kept a tally on my wrist
And each time you came back you had a different face
We all regarded you with hesitation
And wondered at the contents of your chest

Would the blood that ran fresh down my forearm
Be enough to pump your cancerous heart back to health?
I’m bigger now than I was when I was four

Could the three of us fill the void inside your ribcage?
Would we do more this time than we did that day
When the flashing lights took you away while we were sledding?

We perfected the art of knowing when you were about to leave
It’s a skill you’d think you were born with
But I have mastered what others call instinct

Like that time you left on Prom day, riding your motorcycle in the rain
They wouldn’t tell me until after
But in all the pictures my eyes reflect my mother’s pain

The thing about this game is, even when you win, you lose
Each time you left you took pieces of us with you
Tokens of our appreciation that we hoped you’d look back on with affection

Sometimes I felt as if you’d taken my whole heart
I sat on the bathroom floor
Trying to fill the hole with something else

The next time you walk away
I’ll be ready
Maybe it won’t hurt so much when I add another tally to my wrist
And when you’re gone we’ll never say it
But we’ll all hope that we’re missed.

COMM 100

(My first attempt at Slam Poetry.)

I
Am an awkward person.

My brain works on a different frequency than most
Normal people.
I find myself translating conversations in my head
And most of the time
My translations
Are
Wrong

All the He said She said is just static to me.
Gossip cackles through the airwaves
Creating a high-pitched ringing in my ears that makes me feel
Uncomfortable
My train of thought chugs along the conversational railways
Like the express train to Penn
It doesn’t stop for people who say things they don’t mean or mean things they don’t say
It has no time for liars, deriders, or stereotype buyers.

Most of the time
“No pun intended”
Goes right over my head.

I came to school
To study the English language
But the handiest thing I’ve learned was
“Mind your Ps and Qs”
Originally referred
To brews.
What I learn in class
And what you speak in the Quad
Is as different as Yiddish
And Klingon.

Every so often though
I find myself standing in a spot where the signal comes in clear
And I’ll say,
“Can you hear me now?”
And someone will reply,
“Yes.”
It is then that I discover I am
An Engaging Conversationalist
A Cunning Linguist
And
I can find le mot juste every time.

But it’s rare.

So often am I wandering around on this whirlwind of words that
When strung together the way you do
Like
Totally
Fo’Sho’
Makes zero sense to me.
Forgive me for asking, but
What the hell are you on?
You so obvi lost me at the first deff and second totes.
Are you a moron?
Or is that a joke?

I feel like a foreigner that’s studying abroad
So the next time I say,
“I don’t understand you.”
Maybe you can just say,
“I feel that way too.”

And we can translate.

Muse

Muse

He drums to a beat in his head
On a drum that makes no sound
But still his hands move to the tune.
The noise in the room crowds the air around him
No expression fills his face
Alone in a room full of people
He looks it. Lonely.
Still he taps out rhythms
Whole orchestras in his mind.

Who am I to say he's lonely?
I called the music noise.
He looks uninterested, but interesting.
I look bored, and boring.
This does not surprise me.
His drumming attracts me like a tribal beat
Even in silence.
Does my pen attract him
Even though my words are a mystery?

I'm writing about you,
Silent Drummer across the aisle.
Are you writing that song for me,
The Writer?

Heaven

**This is a work in progress. I still have a lot I want to say here, but I'm taking my time. While I do that though, I was hoping to get some feedback. If you read this and you have anything to say, it would be appreciated.**

Dying

I pushed the last little white pill into my mouth, but it was unneccessary. I could already feel the pull of sleep at the corner of my eyes. I leaned over the sink and took a mouthful of water from the faucet. I left it running as I sank to the bathroom floor.
"Stop it!" he begged. "Throw it up! COME ON!"
"Pease," I said, mustering up some energy, "I'm tired." It was getting harder to speak. I rested my head against the tiled wall.
"You have to throw up!" the apparition continued. "Look, right here." He pointed at the toilet. "Come on sweetheart! Do it now!" But his efforts were fruitless. I could hardly move. I struggled to keep my eyes open, not wanting to let go of his perfect face below his rumpled brown hair.
"You don't...really...care. It's all in...my head," I breathed.
"You're wrong. I do care. Please stop this babe." His face was close to mine and I imagined I could feel his breath on my lips.
"You...would say...that."
"You never did understand, the part of me that's in your head is real. That's the part of me that will always care for you. I care for you." His soft voice broke, but he carried on, "Stop hurting yourself. I need to know that you exist. How can I live in a world where you don't?" His words crumpled the broken pieces of my heart to dust. I stared into his bright blue eyes, the color of the sky, and held them for as long as possible in my own. "Please," he tried once more. A single tear rolled down his cheek.
"Will you hold my hand...?" I felt a slight pressure in the palm of my hand. It didn't feel like flesh on flesh, but rather soul touching soul. I always imagined a soul was a small thing, residing mostly in your heart. But of course it could stretch all the way to my hand, it was big enough to carry all of my existance, wasn't it?
"I love you...." I told him, ".....Always." And with that I closed my eyes and fell asleep for the last time as he hummed softly in my ear.

Heaven

When I opened my eyes I felt as though I'd slept for days. I was no longer tired. Every part of me buzzed with energy. I waited for the despair and discomfort to set in, but I felt perfectly content. Someone had laid me in a bed, the biggest, most comfortable bed I'd ever encountered. I sat up and looked around. The room around me was entirely white, as was the bed covers and the furniture- two dressers and an armchair. The ceiling above me was two stories high. That was all I noticed, however, because the main attraction of the room was the wall I now faced. It was hardly a wall at all, but rather a huge window where a wall should have been. From one side of the room to the other, from floor to ceiling, one large pane of glass stretched crystal clear before me.
Outside the window there was a vast lawn that rolled gently down for what seemed like miles. The grass was a color green I'd never seen before: brighter, richer than i was used to, as if my eyes had been looking through a fog before today. It was early morning and the dew clung to the tips of the blades. This too was different. Instead of water, the droplets shone like little gems. They threw a million tiny rainbows across the room, bathing all the white surfaces in rays of color. It was beautiful.
I sat taking in the amazing sight, straining to see what lay beyond the lawn, but as far as I could tell it just kept going. Then I heard the laughter: a sound I would soon become very familiar with.
"Hello?" I called. The sound of my voice shocked me. Somewhere in the back of my head I realized that I expected to sound hoarse. Truth be told, I thought that I would be waking up in a hospital after throwing up or having my stomach pumped. I was glad to see that this was not the case. This was so much better.
I gave a start as five little heads popped up at the foot of the bed. A girl with black hair and black eyes, another with yellow culrs and green eyes, a boy with light brown hair and blue eyes, and two dark brown haired boys with identical pairs of brown eyes. I could not see their mouths, but I could tell that each one of them were smiling. "Hello," I said again, this time with a smile of my own. They all giggled. "What are your names?" I asked. They seemed to take this as an invitation, and all scampered up onto the bed with me.
"You mean you don't know?" The blue-eyed boy asked as he climbed up beside me. He was older than the others, eight or nine, and clearly the leader. His body was longer, more angular. I looked at the two little girls. The black haired girl was asian, her hair was thick and glossy, and her skin was pale white. She looked about four years old. She held the hand of the other little girl with the shoulder length blonde curls. She was smaller, maybe three. Her green eyes were wide with wonder and seemed to be the exact same color as the grass outside. The boys with the identical eyes were in fact identical twins. Their skin was darker, Indian, I guessed. Their hair was short while the blue-eyed boy's was kind of scruffy. He kneeled at my right side and was looking expectedly at me now. I was at a loss for words.
The girl with the yellow hair nudged her tiny head under my arm. Her curls were warm, as if she'd been sitting in the sun. I thought I could smell sun screen...and pineapple. "Umm," I started, "I'm sorry. Am I supposed to?"
"Well, you invited us here. We've been waiting for you. You slept for a while." A smile played at his lips like we shared some secret that I'd obviously forgotten.
"Really? How long?" I had no recollection of inviting anyone anywhere of course, but the idea that I'd been sleeping for an indefinite amount of time scared me.
The boy just shrugged his shoulders as if to say it didn't matter now. The semi-circle of children were all staring at me patiently. I realized, as my heart- for lack of a better word- lurched with recognition. It was love on their faces, love for me. I expected this feeling to go away with death: the physical tightening in my chest that had nothing to do, apparently, with having a body to feel it with. I couldn't stop smiling.
"Where am I?" I asked curiously. One of the twins handed me a photograph.

"Biz seni bulmaya geldik," he said.

"I'm sorry I don't--" I was about to tell him that I didn't understand, but I think I did. "Wait, what did you say?"
"We came to find you," he said in the foreign language, "'The place where the unloved will find love' they said."

I looked at the picture. It was of me. My favorite picture of myself, taken on a pier in Maine. I was spinning around and laughing. The strapless white eyelet dress I wore in the photo was the same one I wore now. I looked at the five faces, the rainbows dancing on their skin. The place where the unloved will find love. That made sense to me. In life, my greatest pleasure came from caring for those who were neglected, especially when it came to children. So this was my heaven.
I gathered all the kids up in my arms and squeezed. Delighted, they squeezed back.
"If this is truly my home, then of course you're all welcome." Their smiles grew wider than I would have thought possible. "I really don't know your names though..." They laughed and clambered out of the bed.
"Come on! You have to meet the others. They've been waiting too!" And they all ran from the room out a door to the right. I was slow to climb down from the cozy bed, but the blue-eyed boy waited for me. He took my hand in a tight grasp and headed for the door.
"There are others?" I asked.
"Oh yeah," he said, "There are lots."
As we walked down the hallway (white with ceilings three stories high, balconies from the upper floors visible from this one) I couldn't help thinking that the little boy beside me reminded me of someone else with blue eyes and light brown hair, and I was disappointed to learn that that part of me hadn't died as well... The part that hoped.

To Be Continued...

Fire in Winter

Karalyn walked beside me taking slow, deliberate steps. Her cautiousness was making me uneasy. Three years ago the sidewalk would not have been wide enough for her bouncing, dance-like motions. We were circling the pond at Berkshire Park. It was late afternoon but the sun was still high in the sky, a beautiful summer day. Karalyn wore a heavy black sweatshirt. I eyed it sadly. I tried to catch a glimpse of her face but her hair covered it like a veil, shielding her from the outside world. She was looking at the ground as she walked. I kept pace with her, taking a half step for every one of hers.
I was not used to this. I thought it would be…not the same, but similar. This was entirely new. I did not know the girl beside me. But I loved her. Yes, I definitely loved her. There was a time when I could admit this to her and she’d turn those warm brown eyes on me and say, “Well, of course you do! Where would we be if you didn’t?” And she’d press her lips to mine and the fire would spread through my veins, making me as warm as she. I don’t know why, or how, I ever let that Karalyn go. I’d spent the last three years regretting that decision, loving her from a distance as I watched other guys realize my mistake. One of them especially scared me, keeping his arm around her for over a year, making her happier than I ever did. Then he let her go; without regretting it, it seemed. That’s when she started to change.
I didn’t notice at first. I was too consumed with my first feeble attempt to win her back. She pushed me away, of course. So I took a seat again, watching the game from the bench. I watched longingly as some guys struck out and some hit home runs.
It’d been so long since I was actually with Karalyn. I now considered how real my feelings for her could be. I loved her, but to what extent? How could I love a Karalyn that no longer acted like Karalyn? Was it a person’s actions that you fell in love with, or their heart? Their mind? Their soul? Do you love a person’s smile, or how often they show it?
As if reading my mind, Karalyn looked up. Her worried eyes swam through the air until they found mine. Her lips curved upward, exposing her teeth. It was a smile, but it wasn’t right. It was…apologetic?
“I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?” she asked. “Avoiding the lines on the sidewalk.” She shook her head back and forth as she looked back down.
“Is that what you’re doing?” I tried to make my voice sound light, joking, but it came out all wrong.
“Mmm,” was all she said in response.
I scanned the horizon quickly, looking for something of interest. Then I spotted it.
“Look!” I said, pointing to a crane diving on the other side of the pond. Her head snapped up reflexively. She walked fearfully, like someone who was blind-folded walking dangerously close to a cliff. I placed my hand carefully on her left shoulder to guide her. I tried not to let myself get too worked up over the fact that I was actually touching her again. I resisted the urge to reach down and grab her hand, touch her skin. I didn’t want her to think she’d given me the wrong idea by accepting my invitation to this rendezvous. As she became entranced by the beauty of the bird her gait developed into a more natural stride. Evidence, I thought. Proof that my Karalyn was still in there. She could always appreciate beauty.
The crane was gone all too soon, but she didn’t put her head down right away. We strolled along for a few more minutes before she went back to watching the lines in the sidewalk. She stepped carefully over each one, and around all the cracks as well.
“Do you want to sit?” I asked as we passed an empty bench.
“Okay,” she said with the faintest tone of relief.
“So,” I said in an attempt to make conversation, “Are you happy to be home for the summer?”
“Kind of,” she answered glumly, which made me think she really meant “no.”
I waited for her to elaborate. When she didn’t I asked, “Home isn’t your favorite place, is it?” She looked at me, her expression blank. Behind her eyes I could see her asking herself whether or not she wanted to tell me the truth. She looked straight ahead again and took a deep breath.
“It’s…It’s not my least favorite place. I like being with my family and seeing my old friends. But there are too many…memories here, ya know?” I nodded. This was the most she’d said all day. “Not bad memories,” she continued, "Well, some bad, but the good ones are worse. They haunt this place. They haunt me.” Her voice broke on the last word. I realized with growing horror that she was scared. She slowed down her breathing, blinked twice, and looked at me. I think she wanted me to tell her she’s not crazy. Maybe she was just waiting for me to get up and walk away without a backward glance. Who knows?
“I can understand that,” I said thoughtfully. Whatever it was that she wanted to hear, this seemed to satisfy her. She smiled, but it didn’t touch her eyes. I watched her as she watched the pond. Something about her posture made me think she was anticipating another question.
This is how our online conversations often went these last few weeks. I started talking to her while she was still up at school. I would ask her general questions, to which she would offer one-word replies. I would keep asking anything I could think of until she gave in and gave me a real conversation. Even after that though, she would only speak in response to something I said.
Online, I tried to hold out until the awkwardness would force her to say something, but I never could hold out long enough- I thirsted to hear more of what she had to say. But now I had her, really here, sitting and breathing beside me. I wanted to hear her voice, of course, but this would be enough for now. I reclined slightly, stretching my legs out in front of me, and put my right arm on the back of the bench. If Karalyn leaned back it would look like my arm was around her. She looked so hopeless. Karalyn wasn’t supposed to look like this. Hope was something she always had an excess of. Hope, and faith, and love. Happy suited her better than sad.
It was different for me. Depression fit my bitter being like a coat in winter. I was naturally negative and skeptical. It took a while for people to notice the difference, and by the time they did I’d already resented them for not seeing it sooner. I pushed them away. I pushed her away. Karalyn’s sadness was so much more obvious. Depression engulfed her like…like a heavy black sweatshirt on a bright summer day.
She looked back at me suddenly, as if remembering I was there.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I zone out a lot. I’m not good at….conversation….these days.” It hurt me to see how hard she was trying, how careful her words were.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind silence.” It was true; I hated it when most people spoke. I found it annoying. Her voice, however, I could listen to forever. She looked relieved again. She nodded a few times and leaned back against the bench. I curled my arm to better fit the slump of her shoulders. I thought I saw her eyes tighten a bit when I did this, but I didn’t move my arm, and she didn’t move away.
We stared out at the pond again. The sun had finally started its descent. We squinted into the golden rays as people passed us by, blocking the sun at uneven intervals. With the cars out on the street and the birds and the people in the park, I was surprised that I heard what she said next.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“What for?”
“I don’t know exactly,” she said slowly. I thought back to one of our online conversations when she’d told me she felt “uninteresting” and I wondered if she thought of that now too.
“You don’t have to apologize to me. I’m not expecting anything from being with you Karalyn. I just know that I want to be. Here. With you.” I saw the first glimmer of hope in her eyes. It encouraged me to go on. “Or anywhere with you, really. As long as you’re there, it’s where I want to be. So don’t apologize.”
“Thank you for that.” She wasn’t smiling, but her features were happy, warm. She pushed the sleeves of her sweatshirt up to her elbows. I reached my left hand across my body and grabbed hers. The fire danced up my arm. Warmth spread throughout my body. At last, it didn’t feel like winter anymore.

Just When I Thought You Were The Last Person Who Could Surprise Me…

Just When I Thought You Were The Last Person Who Could Surprise Me...

You put your hand on my leg
In the back of your friend’s car.
I looked at you,
You were looking at me,
And from what I saw
You never stopped
The whole night long.

We played pool
In your basement.
I lost,
Like you said I would,
Because some things never change.
But a lot changes
In a year and a half.

Your hair is shorter now
As I lay beside you on the couch.
My hair isn’t blonde anymore.
Do you think I look smarter?
I was smarter then.
I broke up with you, didn’t I?
Why didn’t you invite me to that party?

You may be a fucking idiot
Now,
But I wouldn’t really know.
It’s been a long time.
Are we still the same,
Or are we doing this for a reason
This time around?

You’re holding me close
Upstairs in your bedroom.
You never did that before.
And I’m being fair to you.
It’s like we’re in a parallel universe
Where
We get it right this time.

I wouldn’t call this nothing
This thing that we’re doing that
We can’t stop smiling about.
Maybe just for one night
I can be happy
And you can care.
This is for real, isn’t it?

Your heart is beating
Inside of me.
I want to share this
With you.
I need you to feel
One of the most beautiful things
In my world.

Your arms are wrapped
Around me.
My hands seem to have found yours.
There is no mess
Of covers.
Hold on,
I only want to lock the door.

I’m shivering,
But I’m not cold.
I like that
You pulled the blanket up
Because
You thought I was lying.
I wasn’t, but it helped.

You feel at peace
Beside me.
I feel it too.
I guess your necklace
And my earrings
Don’t tell lies
This time.

I keep waiting
For this to not feel right.
You’re playing me.
Usually I’d be smart enough to see,
But I can’t find anything
Fake
Behind your eyes.

You want to know
What’s going through my head?
I couldn’t even tell you.
I have to go now.
I’m sorry to make you sleep alone.
Please put on your clothes;
You have to take me home.

If you say
“Good night”
Will the rest of the hours
Measure up?
If I say
“See you later”
Will I?

More 38 Carson Avenue

I came downstairs one day to find Max smoking with an unhealthy looking kid with poorly bleached dreadlocks. They sat on the living room floor in front of the couch. The whole downstairs smelt strongly of weed and the front door was wide open.
“Max! What the hell,” I shouted and shut the door.
“I wouldn’t do that…” Dreadlocks said slowly.
“Shhh, it’ll give him something to do,” Max said to him. Dreadlocks sniggered.
“What,” I asked them. They smiled up at me.
“Come Tekeylay,” Max said patting the floorboards beside him, “you worry too much.”
“I do not,” I said weakly, sitting down. “I worry the normal amount. You’re just…”
“Enlightened?” Dreadlocks offered through a breath of smoke. I shook my head. Max still smiled. He grabbed my arm and pulled me closer, throwing his own around my shoulders when I complied. He held the joint in his hand up to my lips. What the hell, I thought, and took a slow even drag.
“Yeahhh mannnn,” Dreadlocks sang.
Four minutes, and two hits later, the smoke alarm started going off. It took me a second to realize what it was, and then I looked to Max and Dreads. They both had their pointer fingers to their noses and big goofy grins on their faces. Oh, the front door. I get it now.
I stood up, waited for the vertigo, appreciated the vertigo, and got a bar stool from the kitchen. Max and his friend chuckled excitedly as I teetered dangerously on the stool top and reached for the alarm. I laughed too. Suddenly, me not being tall enough to reach was the funniest thing in the world. Until I fell over. Then that was the funniest thing.
I was very aware of the pain in my back, but I just didn’t care enough to feel it. Max and Dreads were hoarse with laughter.
“Did you see that?! Oh my God, that was the…ahhhh.” Dreads sighed, wiping tears from his eyes.
“Te-Keyyy-Layyy!” Max was yelling over the smoke alarm. I was still laughing when Tom walked in the front door.
“Kyle?” Was that concern I heard in his voice? He stood over me just long enough to see that I was laughing. “Jesus Kyle,” he said. He picked up the fallen stool and climbed up on it. He pulled the battery out effortlessly, which made us all laugh even harder.
“Kyle…” Tom said shaking his head.
“Why me? It was Max who-”
“You know better. Fuck, I sound like my father.” Tom walked over to the couch and leaned over to open the windows. “Put that out,” he told Max. Max carefully snubbed out the joint and put it back in the Ziploc bag he had.
“Alright Maximilian, I’m out,” Dreadlocks said, standing up.
“Catch ya later Trav,” Max said, engaging in a half high-five/half handshake with Dreads.
“Later Kyle. Keep it real,” Dreadlocks said to me and walked out the door.
Max was smiling at me. “Shut up,” I told him. I closed my eyes, still lying on the floor. When I opened them Max was standing over me.
“You have a very low tolerance Tekeylay.”
“I know.” He offered me his hand and pulled me to my feet.
“I’m hungry. You hungry?”
“Yeah.” I thought he would just start cooking, but he went to the coat rack by the front door and threw me my coat.
“Where are we going?”
Max smiled and walked out the door.

38 Carson Avenue

Part One

There are a lot of people here. Even by party standards this house is crowded. I’m sweating my balls off squeezing through people. Where is that jackass, Jared? We’re going to get another citation. There is hardly even air in here to breathe. Music is pounding away, loud and unrecognizable. Someone turned the bass up and it's rattling the window frames of our old house. We may only be renters, but I've come to love this house in a way. For one thing, it's huge. I don't know how five college juniors were lucky enough to get this house in the first place, but the landlord liked us enough to lease it to us again senior year, and we were more than happy to keep our home. I'd seen no other house in this small town with five decent sized rooms, a large living room, a modern kitchen (complete with bar top,) and a full wraparound porch. At least, not one that any college kids inhabited.
I finally spot Tom about five feet away. He’s looking down at the ground, completely disgusted. Tom is one of my more ill-tempered roommates, but right now he'll have to do, as he's the only one I can find. I try to weave in and out of people and end up working my way over to him slowly.
Tom looks like he may have been in good shape at one time, but has since lost some of his physique. It goes well with his redneck persona though. I mean, Tom's the type of guy you expect to have a beer gut and still look good in a t-shirt and stained jeans; which he does. He also has the advantage of being a head taller than everyone else, which I do not.
I stood at my full height so he could hear me, finally realizing why he's so repulsed. There is someone throwing up at our feet. Great.
“Hey," I shouted over the music, "Have you seen Jared?”
“This is out of control Kyle," he shouted back, grabbing a fistful of his reddish brown hair just above his forehead. "I got home an hour ago. An hour ago! And I came home to this! This is ridiculous!” Tom is pissed. Of course he’s pissed. If I didn’t help plan this mess, I’d be pissed too.
“I gotta find Jared. We need to get these people outta here.”
“Yeah. When you find him, tell him I’m going to break his neck!”
I continue working my way through the crowd, keeping as much to the wall as I can. All the while I'm thinking that I might kill Jared before Tom can get a hand on him. When he suggested having a party the first weekend after school started I said it was stupid. However, like always, I agreed to it anyway. Tom was fine with whatever we did as long as it interrupted his life as little as possible, and my other two roommates were happy either way.
Jared ran the show. When things were going well, we all denied it. But when things got fucked up, we were chickenshit. When something felt out of our hands, Jared had a hold on it. Jared could get these people out without getting decked, and he could sweet talk the cops without getting a summons. So where was he now?
I spotted Max, another of my roommates, clear across the room. He’s a close second to Jared in a crisis. He’s calm, and smart, and he knows what’s up with everyone and everything. It’s just that he’s…well, you’ll see.
“Max!” I’m only a foot away from him now, after much maneuvering. “Max,” I tried again. He looked straight ahead with a bemused look on his face, completely oblivious to me. There’s a full cup of beer in his hand. “MAX!” Still no reaction. I step into his line of vision and wait while his grey eyes focus on me.
“Te-key-lay! Here, have a beer!” He thrusts his cup at me and pats me on the shoulder. He makes to go around me, but I stop him. His dirty-blond hair is sticking out in every direction, as are the bristly hairs on his face that never seem to make it to a full beard, but never disappear with a clean shave either. To Max, a mess is a beautiful thing, disorder is interesting, and panic is not a feeling, but something to be observed.
“How come you have a cold beer?” The temperature of the cup he’s just handed me is oddly low for being in a house that stopped serving alcohol two hours ago.
“Why don't you ask our dear friend and roommate, Paul Moore? Now, if you'll excuse me.”
It’s only then that I notice Paul “less is” Moore, my fourth and final roommate, standing over Max’s right shoulder. Paul is short, shorter than me. He looks kind of scrawny at first, but when you look closer you can see the lean body of a runner. His quiet disposition, fair skin, and thin ashy blond hair give him a weak appearance, but he can outrun us all, and probably anyone else who tried.
“Where did he get this? Why is it cold?” Paul shrugged. “Paul!”
“Some kids had their own beer," he said slowly, "Max bet them that they couldn’t solve his riddle.”
“And then what?”
“And then they couldn’t solve his riddle,” he said flatly, as if to say, Duh Kyle!
I chased after Max, determined to bring him back to Earth.
“Max,” I said, grabbing his shoulder, “where is Jared?” His eyes were locked on a small girl with brown hair and brown eyes to match. Physically, she was his opposite. She stared right back at him and I thought, well, that’s that. I turned to continue looking for Jared without help, but Max began to speak.
“Mr. McCall ascended the stairs on the arm of a lovely blonde who had just finished her ninth cup of brew.”
“Shit!”
Max turned to face me. “You shouldn’t worry so much Tekeylay.”
“No? I suppose I should just find some blonde bombshell, cart her off to my room, and fuck her while a hundred people are congregated in my house, breaking my shit!” Max’s brow furrowed. He leaned over to whisper something in the brunette’s ear and she nodded. He took her hand and they walked away.
There was no hope then. Just wait for the cops to come and work overtime next week to pay for the ticket, or citation, or whatever it was this time. I sat down in our big armchair and watched some drunken girls taking pictures. I could feel something wet soaking through my jeans. Five, six, seven pictures later the girls turned around and after a second they put down their cups and headed for the door. The music was lowered until I couldn't hear it anymore. All around people were shrugging into sweatshirts and chugging down the last of their drinks. I watched as, one by one, they filed out. Max caught my eye and winked. He was still hand and hand with the small girl. I shook my head.
When everyone had left, Max walked out after them with that same girl. Paul started cleaning up, but I told him we’d do it tomorrow. There were cups and cans and bottles covering every flat surface. The wood floors were soaked in what could only be alcohol and...I grimaced...vomit. Tom climbed the stairs with a sigh, grumbling about something or other. It probably had to do with his room being right next to Jared’s. Paul followed him. I locked the back door and checked every room in the house for stragglers. I hesitated before locking the front door, thinking about Max. While searching the rooms I had found his keys. I decided to lock it anyway. Max is kind of like a stray dog. Sometimes he doesn’t come home at all, and there isn’t always a girl to take him in. I wonder where he goes on those nights...

Part Two

I got up relatively early the next morning to start the cleaning. I could smell bacon and a million other delicious things cooking downstairs. I got out of bed and looked out the window. Tom’s car was gone. He was probably picking up extra hours at work. He did that a lot. Tom isn’t happy unless he’s making money.
I walked over to the mirror on the back of my door. I stared directly into my dark brown eyes, thinking for many minutes. The guy who stared back at me had hair the exact same shade as my eyes. It was cut short enough these days that nothing could move it. I ran my fingers through it, watching every hair spring back into place. I sighed and grabbed a pair of sweatpants off the floor, pulling them up over my ridiculous Christmas-themed boxers. My sock drawer was empty so I grabbed a pair from the cuffs of a dirty pair of jeans. Better dirty socks than bare feet on the sticky living room floor. I'd have to add laundry to my list of things to do today. I stole another look in the mirror before heading downstairs.
Max was the one standing beside the stove. That didn’t surprise me. I sat down at the huge, wooden bar that separated the front door and the kitchen, swiping my arm along the surface to clear a space.
“Good morning, Mr. Romano,” Max said with a big, sunny smile. The gleam of his white teeth was almost too bright for my eyes to handle.
“Good morning, Mr. Schaefer.” I watched him jump around the kitchen for a few minutes from stove to counter, from counter to fridge, from fridge to stove. My head throbbed trying to keep up with him so I put it down on the bar. I listened to Max whistle away like a bird. A moment later he knocked on the bar top about an inch from my head. I looked up to find two small white pills and a glass of O.J. “Thanks,” I said.
We heard a creak on the stairs and I guessed it was Paul. It was Jared though, and the “lovely” blonde. She looked like she’d seen better days. Jared held the front door open for her. She looked insulted. Sometimes Jared can be a real asshole.
“Miss, would you like some breakfast?” Jared rolled his eyes at Max's offer. The girl smiled warmly at him though. She was rather pretty when she smiled.
“No,” she looked coldly at Jared, then back at Max, “thank you though. I really appreciate that.” And then she was gone.
“Morning boys,” Jared said, closing the door behind her, “I hope you all had as good a night as I did.” Max looked kind of troubled, but smiled at him. I nodded, sort of. He sat down at the bar and went on and on about his night. I tuned him out, knowing how much Jared liked his details. Then I remembered last night and how he disappeared.
“Hey, asshole! Way to leave us with a houseful of people! You totally broke the rules!” Jared looked taken back.
“Did not,” he said, “What rules?”
“The rule,” I explained, “that states that no man be left behind.”
“Max and Tom and Paul were there! Plus, you seemed to handle it alright. I don’t see any tickets around; no broken furniture either. Now that surprises me.” He laughed. I sighed. Whatever; no sense in being stressed out about it now. Max went back to his whistling. After a few minutes Jared left the bar and turned the T.V. on in the conjoined living room. I found myself hoping that the armchair was still wet.
Paul came downstairs just in time for breakfast, but said he wasn’t hungry. I watched in disbelief as he grabbed a powerbar and walked out the front door.
“There’s no way he just went out running,” I said, still astounded.
“Ah,” Max said, “young Paul is a mystery to us all.” You’re a mystery to us all, I thought. “Mr. McCall, will you be eating this morning?”
“Thanks, man. I’ll take it in here,” Jared called.
“Don’t,” I said to Max as he went to take it to him.
“Oh, I didn’t plan on it.” He smiled and placed the plate on the bar where Jared had been sitting. He took the dish towel from his shoulder and wiped his hands.
"So how was your night? You weren't locked out were you?"
"I had an extraordinary night," he replied, pausing dreamily with my plate in his hands, "And no, I didn't get locked out, thank you though." He placed the plate, overflowing with eggs, bacon, pancakes, and cut up cantaloupe in front of me.
"Geez, what’s the occasion?” Max just smiled. Jared shuffled in to grab his plate. He looked surprised as well, mumbled thanks, and went back to the armchair.
Max placed another plate next to me with slightly smaller portions.
“A slender girl, not very tall in height, with large, beautiful brown eyes and exquisite, golden brown hair will be walking in that door shortly," he said leaning across the bar and pointing at the front door. "When she does, I’d like you to offer her this food and be very nice to her. Do you understand?” No, not all.
“Yes, Mom.” Max gave one short nod and walked through the living room, out the back door. I looked over at Jared for an explanation. He looked just as clueless as me, but more retarded because he had a mouth full of food. He shrugged and went back to watching the T.V.
Sure enough, when I was halfway done with my breakfast, the small girl from the night before walked in. She just waltzed on in without knocking are even saying “hello” before stepping inside. She didn’t say anything when she was inside either. She just walked over to the coat rack and hung up a large sweatshirt I recognized as belonging to Max. She turned around quickly to walk out and I remembered my instructions.
“Hey, you want food?” She looked at me with zero expression on her round face. “This is for you,” I told her, indicating the plate next to me.
“Oh.” She danced over and climbed up on the bar stool. She ate slowly, chewing a lot between bites. I watched her for a minute, and then continued on my own meal. After a while I started to feel kind of awkward.

“So, uhh, I’m Kyle,” I said to her.
“Kyle,” she repeated, “That’s a nice name.”
“Umm...thanks?” More silence. “And your name is…?”
“Ordinary, like yours.” Thirty-seven chews later she said, “Better to call me by my last name, Devaney. Everybody else does.”
“Devaney… that’s…nice.” After that I gave up.
When I was done eating I took my plate to the sink and cleaned it off. Max had already cleaned up the cooking mess. There was still a whole lot of party mess that needed to be sorted out. When I turned back to the bar the small girl, Devaney, was gone. I never even heard the door close.
“Pretty weird girl, huh,” I asked Jared.
“Was she?” His empty plate sat on top of a layer of beer cans. He was watching some kind of game show.
“Didn’t you hear anything she said?”
“No, not really.”
I grabbed the tall garbage can from the corner of the room and changed the bag. It took four bag changes before all of the empty cans were cleared from the downstairs. Paul came back and started helping. Jared got up eventually and helped also. Between the three of us it went faster than I had originally thought. I went to the back door to take out the recycling and grab the mop and bucket. There was a barrier of T.V.s, amps, guitars, lamps, and all of our other valuables in the way. We always locked these things in Max’s room, (the only bedroom downstairs,) during parties. Max emerged from there now pushing the largest amp we had.
“Hey, help me with this, will you?” I helped him arrange all of our stuff in the living room. This was a pretty habitual process by now and took less than three minutes.
“I’m going to mop,” I told Max, who was carrying our rolled up living room rug. He offered to do it instead, having missed the initial clean-up, but I told him not to worry about it. After all, he made breakfast; not to mention almost all of our other meals.
By the time the house was cleaned, (every carpet unrolled, every surface washed, and every foul smell deodorized,) my hangover was gone. I settled down to enjoy a peaceful Sunday full of football, laundry, and last minute homework.

…To Be Continued…

Meeting the Family

I rang the doorbell at Wes’ house, as I do so often. Wes joked that he was going to have a key made for me. At least, I thought he’d been joking. You never could tell with Wesley, he was always so…sure.
Tiny feet thrummed on the other side of the door. The footfalls got louder as they got closer. It was Ever then, that would be greeting me this evening. The door flew open with such force that the little girl was nearly pulled away with it. Even if Wes did make me a key, I’d never use it. His little sister got too much joy out of answering the door. Ever bounced up and down on the heels of her bare feet. Her toenails were painted orange today. All two and a half feet of her were wrapped around my waist before I could cross the threshold. All the while she kept shouting, “Sam’s here!” over and over and over again at the top of her little lungs.
“I didn’t hear you ask who it was,” Emily’s voice called in from the kitchen.
“It’s okay, Mom, she was with me.” Wesley slid down the banister and kissed my cheek.
“I saw from the window!” Ever seemed hurt by the accusation. Wesley tugged lightly at a lock of her golden brown hair until she released me.
Wes pulled me by the waist into the kitchen. I had never been comfortable displaying my affection in front of a boyfriend’s parents before, but Wes’ parents were different. Nick and Emily were almost always connected in some way. It was as if all of their energy and passion came from each other. I’m not saying I would go at it with Wes on the living room couch, but I would stand with my arms around his waist while we talked to his mom. It was natural. And everyone in this house just did what came naturally.
“Sam, honey, it’s nice of you to come,” Emily said, blowing me a kiss. Her hands were covered in cheese and sauce, as were the hands of her younger son.
“Thank you for having me. Eli are you sure you don’t mind me being here?”
Eli pushed his overgrown bangs out of his eyes with his wrist to avoid getting sauce in his hair. The cinnamon curl just flopped back in place. He looked at me and said, “If he’s going to meet my family, he may as well meet everybody.” I smiled at him.
This was a big day for Eli; he had invited his first boyfriend over for dinner. Yes, boyfriend. At ten years old Eli knew exactly what interested him and exactly what didn’t. Girls were part of the latter. His parents never said things like “it’s just a phase” or “he’s just confused.” Eli being gay was just as accepted as Wesley being straight. Emily told me she knew the second he walked in from his first day of kindergarten and said, “Mom, I just met the most beautiful boy I have ever seen.” It was impossible for anyone to not love Eli. His confidence was magnetic.
“Shoot! I need to go get dressed! Mom, you got this?” Eli looked a little panicked.
“Yeah, I think I can handle it,” Emily said sarcastically.
“Dressed?” Wes’ chest vibrated against mine as he spoke. “You must really like this kid.”
“Shut up!” Eli called over his shoulder as he left the room. It was true though; Eli may be gay, but he was the farthest thing from flamboyant. He usually wore the same jeans that got steadily dirtier as the week went on, old band t-shirts of Wesley’s, and skateboarding shoes for as long as they lasted.
Emily rinsed her hands off and came closer to us. She spoke in a lowered voice. “I think he really does like this boy. I was going to make spaghetti, but E. insisted on lasagna.”
“And he sent Dad out to get a pie,” Wes added.
“Oh, I’m sure he just wants to impress the kid. What’s his name?”
Wes laughed. “Jamie! That’s the best part!” I looked at him and rolled my eyes.
“Says the boy whose girlfriend’s name is Sam,” I said smugly. Wesley thought about it for a second then smiled.
“We are fucked up.”
Emily gave him a disapproving look.
“This lasagna is going to be a while. Let’s hope Jamie doesn’t come hungry.” She paused for a moment. “Do you guys hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“Nothing, that’s the thing, where’s Ever?” And just like that she was off in search of the four year old child.
“Let’s go watch T.V.,” Wes suggested.
We curled up on the big, soft couch in the living room. I had no expectations of actually watching T.V. Wes changed the channel every three seconds and Ever would be making noise again soon enough, or asking me to paint her fingernails, none of which I minded.
Instead I looked at the family photo hanging above the mantle. It was a colorful picture, taken at some sort of outdoor gathering two years ago. I love this picture. Wes is standing on his tippy-toes so he’s the same height as his father, who has his arm around Wes’ shoulders. Eli is sitting on Nick’s shoulders. His hand rests on Wesley’s head. Emily is next to Nick, of course. She is holding his hand with the arm that is not holding Ever, who has one shoe on and one shoe off, naturally. They are all smiling, except Nick and Emily. They’re kissing.
Emily sat down at the large table with a glass of wine. She now wore a long, billowy white skirt with sandals and a beige blouse. We heard the garage door open, followed by someone walking in the door.
“Hey Dad,” Wes called over Ever’s excited cries. I shouted my own greeting when she had quieted down some.
“Hey kids,” he called to us. He went to Emily, dragging Ever along who was attached to his ankle.
“I’ll be right down, “he said, “I just want to change.”
“Better not,” Emily said warily.
“You’re kidding me?” They exchanged a look. “I got the pie; I’ll wear what I want. Where is the little tyrant anyway?” I doubted Nick would refuse to do anything Eli asked of him. He was wrapped around his finger.
“How ya doin’ Sam?” he asked me on his way to the stairs.
“Very well, thank you.”
It wasn’t long before Emily was joined again by her husband. They sat at the kitchen table with their ankles and fingers entwined. Both sat sipping wine, whispering together, laughing every so often. Ever was sprawled out on the carpet beside us putting on every piece of jewelry from her Pretty Pretty Princess game for the occasion. Farley, the big old sheepdog that had practically grown up with Wesley, was sporting the green and blue necklaces. Ever cooed to him softly.
We heard Eli’s bedroom door shut and turned our attention to the stairs.
“Lookin’ good bro,” Wes said.
“Really? You think?” I had never seen Eli so nervous before.
“Real sharp, E.,” I added encouragingly. He smiled. It might not have been “dressed up” but it was for Eli. He wore crisp, clean jeans, a bright green button down shirt, and new black Converse sneakers.
“Let us see,” Emily said excitedly. E. went into the kitchen, sticking the green ring that Ever offered him in his pocket when she wasn’t looking. At least he appeared to be a little more himself.
“You got the pie,” I heard him ask his dad as he helped with his shirt cuffs.
“Sure did,” Nick answered.
Just then the doorbell rang and Ever started running to answer it. Wesley grabbed the back of her shirt just in time and pulled her to his chest.
“Whoa, kid! Let Eli get it this time.” Ever nodded solemnly. Wes let her go and she crawled back over to Farley. Wes looked purposefully at the T.V. and I followed suit. We didn’t turn around until we heard E. say, “That’s my brother, Wesley, and his girlfriend, Sam. And that’s Ever, my sister. Guys, this is Jamie.”
“Nice to meet you Jamie,” Wes said, shaking his hand.
“It’s a pleasure,” I added.
Eli had a good taste in guys. Jamie was blonde and bronze, and exactly the same height as him. He had chocolate brown eyes that were warm and kind. He looked nervous. Why did anyone think that Eli would choose someone that wasn’t perfectly charming? E.’s own blue eyes couldn’t be separated from the boy. He pulled Jamie by the hand to the kitchen to meet his parents. I remembered the first time I met Nick and Emily. He won’t be nervous for much longer.
“Ugg, they match,” Wes groaned quietly in my ear, “Let’s go upstairs.”
We climbed the stairs as the two boys took our seats and prepared to play some sort of video game.

When we got to Wes’ room he lay down on his bed and pat the comforter at his side. I joined him, getting as close as possible to his body.
“Who was your first girlfriend,” I asked him. He lay on his back with his eyes closed. I couldn’t make out the song he was humming as he tapped out the drum beats lightly on my back. He smiled when I asked my question, but only answered when he had finished the chorus.
“Shelley Conlon. Why?”
“Shelley? Really? Hmm.” That surprised me. Before meeting me junior year, Wes had hooked up with half of the most popular girls in our grade. And Shelley was…well she was Shelley Conlon, the quiet girl that played in our high school’s band. I realized that that’s the only thing I really knew about her. She looks nice enough. “When was that,” I asked.
“Eighth grade,” then as an afterthought he added, “I still talk to her sometimes.”
“What?” I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous for a second.
“Relax, Sam. Shelley Conlon has nothing on you.” He smiled down at me and I did relax. A little. “Shell has third period free with me. She sits alone, so sometimes I sit with her. She’s really nice…and really lonely, ya know? So we talk.”
“About what?”
“It wouldn’t be right for me to tell you. They’re her secrets, not mine. But I promise you it has nothing to do with you and me.” He kissed me, and I understood. This is why I love him, I thought.
There was a knock on the door and Nick’s voice told us dinner was almost ready.
“Be right down,” we called in unison and laughed.

Dinner went well. Eli looked like he was going to burst with excitement when Jamie asked for seconds. Even Farley got some of the burnt rolls as we all stared at each other through a smoky haze. Wes called it exotic. Nick called it mystical. I called them crazy. Ever shocked us all with a proud display of eye shadow, lipstick, and blush on her face. Emily said that she looked very lovely, but could she please ask the next time she wanted to borrow make-up? Ever leaned in to Jamie and claimed that she wanted to look pretty for him. Jamie said it was a very nice thought, but he preferred a more natural look. No one missed that he looked at Eli after he said this. Wes was beside himself, turning his laughter into mock choking. Nick clapped him on the back.
After dinner Wesley and I joined Jamie and Eli for a few rounds of Mario Kart. Wes sat Ever down on his lap and gave her a wireless controller. He pointed to his screen and told her it was hers. She enjoyed beating us all as much as we enjoyed letting her think that she was beating us all. Jamie seemed reluctant to go when his mom came to pick him up, but Nick and Emily promised he could come back whenever he wanted. After he left, Eli was all but flying around the house on a cloud of happiness.
I left not long after Eli’s little boyfriend. I thanked Wes’ parents and Eli too, hugged Ever goodbye, and promised to be back tomorrow. Wesley walked me to my car. Twenty minutes later I climbed in and drove myself home.

Shower Seduction

Lying on our queen size bed I had a thought. I glanced at the clock beside me and winced. The odds were against me; she was running late. Granted, the kids were out the door, breakfast was made to perfection, and last night…well last night was amazing. Remembering last night made my current thought feel all the more attainable, and I had to try.
I stripped down on the way to our bathroom door, starting with my socks. The carpet was still as bouncy as the day it was installed. A miracle. How many times had we dragged our feet along this very path, from the bed to the bathroom, in the early mornings? Too many times. Too many times for the fibers beneath my toes to feel at all sensational. I’d have to commend her for choosing the Loop carpet when I wanted Saxony. But not now.
I stood outside the bathroom door with a hand on either side of the frame, listening. The sound of the shower was inviting, warm. It was made all the more alluring by the fact that I was bare as could be. The sudden splash of water falling in large droplets to the ground almost had me knocking down the door.
On turning the knob, I was surprised to find it locked. Who did she think would be walking in? With the kids off to school, there was only me. Was it out of habit, or did she anticipate such a move on my part? The odds were definitely against me if that were the case. I expected to use the element of surprise to entice the not-so-easily-enticed. The knob itself was not a problem. With a little pressure and a quick turn, the lock gave way.
I was greeted with a flood of humidity. The large mirror stretching across her sink and mine was completely fogged over. The glass shower door was foggy as well, except, by some stroke of fate, in one spot furthest from the streaming spout. Through that clear pane, with her back to me, stood the object of my affection. With her arms raised to her head her shoulder blades looked like the wings of an angel. The foam of her shampoo left a white trail along her spine that trickled straight down into the opaque portion of the glass.
She turned around and spotted me, startled at first, then annoyed. My face gave me away. “I can’t,” she said, “Not today.”
I was on the other side of the glass, under the warm water with her before she could say anything more. It smelled nice; like Girl Shower.
“Give me one good reason why not today,” I said, wiping the shampoo from her forehead with my thumbs before it could go in her eyes.
“There are a million reasons why not. Give me one good reason why we should.”
I shrugged. She was so cute when she was irritated. “Carpe diem?” How about, because you’re beautiful?
“We can seize the night,” she pleaded, “The day is for working.”
“Mmm,” I murmured against her throat, “I knew I should have been a male prostitute.”
She laughed, and whatever organs were behind my abdomen melted. Her eyes never left mine as she rinsed the shampoo from her hair. I absently stroked the long scar across her stomach. That was the most beautiful scar in the world. Forty-eight stitches. Forty-eight little reminders of the scariest, happiest day of my life. The day our twin children joined us in this world. Venus herself could not compare to the woman before me. Even the purple bruise-like marks under her eyes were pretty reminders of “seizing the night” and getting very little sleep.
We switched sides as she reached around for the conditioner. This placed me directly under the shower head, which felt nice, but made it harder to see her face.
“Did it occur to you that I take showers to get clean, not dirty?” Her bell-like voice rang out to me.
“The thought did cross my mind; especially when the door was locked.”
“The door was locked?” She sounded confused. So it was out of habit. The outlook was still bleak however, she had that set look on her face.
“It’s cold out there, baby, don’t send me away.” I tried pouting just a little bit. Experience told me she was partial to this face.
It seemed to work. She kissed my lips and then my chest and moved slowly…down. And then shock rippled through me as the water rapidly turned ice cold. I flung the shower door aside and tripped, scrambling out of the tub. My wife was crouched down, beside herself with laughter as I figured out that she was responsible for the temperature change. Even through the bitterness I thought this creature was beautiful with her hand over her mouth and her eyes shut tight, clutching the side of the tub and shaking with laughter.
I reached over and turned the knob back to warm so she wouldn’t freeze.
“That was cruel,” I said when she was a little more in control of herself.
“I’m sorry, hon. I didn’t think you’d…” And she was off laughing again. The tile floor was really cold, despite the warmth of the air. I stood up, as did she. Her eyes were apologetic as she observed me. I felt a little disoriented. She tossed me a towel.
“Saturday we can shower all…day…long,” she promised. Somewhere in the back of my mind I considered the water bill for such an occasion and I knew she had won.
“And until then?”
“Porn,” she said flatly. I snorted. That was a fruitless cause. Every time I tried I only ended up looking at pictures of her.
I wrapped the towel around my waist and left the bathroom. Let her take her shower. Let her keep her job. Let us keep our house…and our bed, (which was looking very warm in the cold room.) I reached down for my pants, but another hand beat me there. I spun around as soft arms circled my waist.
“I changed my mind.” She kissed me with such ferocity that I was barely able to get out my next words.
“Damn you, woman,” I grunted as we hit the mattress.
While lying there on our queen size bed I had a thought…The water is still running in the shower.
Oh, and, I love to love the woman in my arms.