John 12/13/2018 22:34:07 – Hey, honey. Do you need me to pick up anything else while I’m at the store?
Lira 12/13/2018 22:37:24 – Milk, tylenol, salt (for the steps). <3
John 12/13/2018 23:02:18 – On my way home. See you in a few.
Lira 12/13/2018 23:03:33 – Okay. Drive safe. (more…)
Hot pink post-it, found on fridge, 7am: Stop drinking my blood
Light blue post-it, found on fridge, 9pm: Gross, I would never!
Hot pink post-it, found on fridge, 10pm: I know it was you
Light blue post-it, found on fridge, 11pm: I don’t even drink blood
Hot pink post-it, found on bedroom door, 2am: Did you invite another one in? We talked about this!!
Light blue post-it, found on bedroom door, just before dawn: I’m not stupid. Maybe you invited them in.
Slightly singed hot pink post-it, found on bedroom door, 6:45am: You know I can’t do that (more…)
Jacob rummaged in between the couch cushions so loudly that Jennifer finally paused the TV and harrumphed.
“What are you even doing, Jake?”
“My pretzel fell down in there.”
“So? Get another one.”
“I don’t want another one. I want that one.” He rummaged some more. “I don’t get it. It should be right here.”
Jen sighed, stood up, and pulled the couch cushion off the couch.
The twins stood staring at the under-the-couch-cushion for a moment before exchanging a glance.
“Is that…?” Jen started.
“Hey look! It’s the remote Mom said I lost! It was right here the whole time!” Jake grabbed the remote and held it aloft in triumph, apparently forgetting the lost pretzel.
“It can’t be. We tore the couch apart looking for that thing.” Jen crossed her arms. “We didn’t get to watch TV for a week until the new remote came. There’s no way it was here the whole time.”
Jake shrugged, tossed the remote on the coffee table, then settled back down with his bowl of pretzels.
But Jen couldn’t settle. They’d lost that remote years ago. Two? Three? It was weird. How had it suddenly reappeared?
She picked up the found remote and put it in a drawer in her room. (more…)
On days where a field trip is required I always find a new dress in my closet.
Treasure will be found if you only get off your couch and dig for it beneath the cushions. 5 17 18 24 93
It was an oddly specific fortune cookie. But when one of the kids in my classroom gets an oddly specific fortune with their chow mein, it can only mean that it’s field trip day. The dress covered in springs and couch pillows makes sense now.
“Come on, kids! Everyone aboard the bus!”
No one ever asked about the bus. Not the school board. Not the administration. Not the other bus drivers.
“Not another field trip.”
“I thought we were going to learn long division this week.”
“Not again, Mrs. Frizzle,” the children whined.
“Hup to, hup to. Learning requires sacrifices from time to time,” I said, clapping my hands together.
The kids dutifully filed out to the bus and took their seats. The bus winked a headlight on me as I boarded behind them. I dropped into the driver’s seat and starting cranking things like I had any idea what I was doing.
The bus knew the way, though. The bus always knew the way. (more…)
“Why did you leave the moon rock where the baby could get it?”
“Mom! We’re out of apples,” Alexa yelled, head stuck deep in the refrigerator. She couldn’t keep the panic from her voice.
“Well, take a pear instead!”
Alexa rummaged through the fruit drawer again, hoping maybe one rolled behind something else.
“Alexa Dawn, don’t stand there with the refrigerator door open.”
“Mom. I need an apple.”
“I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t realize we were out. I’ll grab some when I go to the grocery store this weekend.”
“I need one for my lunch today.”
Alexa’s mom sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you. We have to leave for school in twenty minutes. I don’t have time to get you an apple right now.”
“But an apple a day keeps the doctor away.” Alexa grimaced at her mom’s nonplussed look.
“That’s just an expression, Alexa. I’m sure you’ll survive a day or two without an apple in your lunch.”
Easy for her mom to say. She didn’t have to deal with The Doctor at school. There would be a heavy price to pay if she didn’t give the bully an apple at lunch time. She could just hear the eighth grade girl taunting her. “An apple a day keeps the doctor away, little sevvie.” She usually made her watch her take every bite, but now and then she’d take one bite, then throw the rest away. (more…)
When I was born, I did not have a heart, so the Doctor fashioned one for me out of an apple. In return, every day for the rest of my life, I was to bring him an apple.
Until I was old enough to walk, mama delivered the apple to the Doctor, carrying me swaddled to her back so I received the credit. After I could walk, the burden fell on me. Every day, I would go into town, take a left at the dead tree, climb over the crumbling wall, and place an apple in his hand.
When it rained, I waded through mud. Every day, the mud grew thicker until the water began to pool on top of it. The standing water went from kissing my toes to tugging at my ankles, deeper and deeper each day. The rain would not let up. When it reached my waist and the only way out of the house was through a window, I begged mama to let me miss this one day, what could it hurt? My backside was on fire as I sat in the rowboat and paddled through the town, the roads hidden beneath the standing water.
I hated the Doctor. (more…)
Il Dottore never changed.
Il Dottore always strode into the amphitheater, dusty black robes swirling about him, never looking to right or left. He landed at the lectern like a swooping hawk, turned piercing eyes to survey the students seated in the tiers.
Il Dottore commanded silence with that glare and not one of the students assembled there dared break the stillness.
Il Dottore had a sonorous voice, deep and booming, which resonated as much in the hearer’s chest and bones as their ears.
Il Dottore’s words commanded an unwavering attention as he spoke, and afterwards, no student could remember exactly which words, which phrases, he had uttered, only their deep and sage meaning. (more…)
Eward Sullivan was dying.
“Isn’t there an herb?” asked Inga, his wife. “I’ve still got the silver chalice from my dowry. Money won’t be a problem.”
“No,” the grim faced valley physician told her over Eward’s head, as though he weren’t right there listening. “His heart’s just bad.”
“Nothing bad about my Eward’s heart,” she said rolling up her sleeves over her robust arms and rising haughtily. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we’ve got a real healer to see.”
She grabbed the handles of Eward’s wheelbarrow. Eward shrugged apology at the physician who shrugged in return as Inga pulled him out of the physician’s cottage, muttering. (more…)
Her name was Motorcycle Jack and I didn’t know whether I wanted to be her or to fuck her when we met.
“Motorcycles aren’t just machines. Motorcycles have a soul. They’re better than people.” That was her motto and I adopted it like the eleventh commandment the summer I worked the round-up, sitting beneath the stars on the dry plains listening to her wisdom. I was a hired hand, helping to bring in the car herds on an old paint they’d given me. That bike was a rust bucket, prone to problems no matter how I nursed the throttle. No faster than the cars we were bringing in, but I rode her with pride and a sore ass until we reached the plant.
2,000 hood of cars on their way to Detroit. Dumb beasts, on their way to be stripped for parts at the end of the line.
The days were long and the nights were short and uncomfortable. I would stare at the sky and wonder what the hell I was doing there. But there was money. There was the open road. And there was Jack.
We were deep into the trail when we spotted the Harley. Every head in the camp went up. Her engine thrummed as we strained for the sound of a road bell on her, but none came. A road bell meant she was lost and probably registered. Without one she was a wild Harley and she was beautiful.
Quick as a snake, I grabbed my rope and rushed my old jalopy to life. If I could rope myself a Harley I would be a true cowboy, destined for a life on the plains. Six other engines roared their full-throttled agreement beside me as everyone mounted up. The other hands weren’t riding borrowed rust buckets. Their engines didn’t backfire as they crested the hill. These were seasoned pros in pursuit.
Motorcycle Jack was in the lead, whooping and hollering as the wind picked up against us.
I was outclassed. As my tires slid in the muddy ruts the other bikes left behind, the Harley climbed the next hill like it was nothing but flat ground, unbothered by pedestrian worries like gravity and torque. She took the downhill like a river over a waterfall. She was grace incarnate. A creature born not to the plains, but placed here by some deity to show us all what freedom could be. In that moment, she was the only creature I loved more than Jack.
I pulled my bike up and watched Jack give chase. We cheered her on as each hand pulled up. It was clear she was the only one who had any chance of catching the Harley. I screamed until my throat was raw. I don’t even remember what the words were. My spirit soared with the Harley as Jack gave chase. (more…)