Super Short Stories Pt. II

The First Date

She waited at the small corner restaurant with jarring nerves. Arriving early to make a good impression she fidgeted constantly. Adjusting her skirt, her watch, and the silverware on the table as her eyes consistently darted to the front door. This wasn't her first dance, as the saying goes, but she hadn't been on a first date in over 3 years. It was hardly familiar territory but she tried to stay positive remembering encouraging words from friends.

Looking around the room made her feel better. She loved this old place. It was like traveling back in time. All the pictures on the wall were of family and friends of the old owner Sal. When he died he left the restaurant to his children, neither of whom wanted it. They sold to the current owner who, thankfully, didn't change much of anything. The rose colored walls reached up to the bright white decorative trim and red ceiling. Small ceiling fans churned the thick Italian cooking aroma throughout the dining room. A candle on the table, folded clothe napkins, and a single flower for each table completed the look. A person felt welcome sitting inside.

Sound filled the small space. The kitchen staff never minded making a little racket and customers were a buzz with conversation. The clanks and clangs of metal pots on metal burners, the hello's and goodbye's from those coming and going, and the exchanges between family and friends seemed to overpower the soft melodic crooners of the 50's and 60's playing in the background. It was a place that reflected a calm comfort and homey-realism that was hard to find. She knew suggesting coming here said something about her, and something about what she wanted in a partner.

Giving herself a few minutes being early gave her enough time for her mind to wander to her last relationship. It ended so badly, so coldly, that she prayed for it to be erased from memory. All the good times they shared were chased away by demons he invented, invited, and then let loose on her psyche. She had spent months trying to figure out what happened, then months more trying to convince herself that it wasn't her fault. She was left alone again to pick up the pieces.

When she decided it was time to move on he just appeared. Like a flash of lightening after the thunder of realization he was in her life. The timing scared her to death. She told herself time and again that it wasn't what it appeared to be. She told herself that it seemed all too simple and convenient for him to be real.

They met through friends. He seemed magnificent. Charming, polite with a ridiculously goofy sense of humor she became instantly smitten. She caught herself making up reasons to go out when she knew he'd be there. Regardless of how much house work was neglected, laundry ignored, or work prep that had to be completed before the morning she was picking out dangerously short skirts with matching tops. She went to bars and cookouts, late night dinners after movies, and even invited herself to a wedding reception. All to be close to him. To listen to him talk and see his smile. To hope that he would notice her noticing him. And then he did.

When he asked her for a first date it was one of the most romantic things that had ever happened to her. They were both out with separate groups of friends but on the same general side of town. Her rowdy bunch had taken over a small cocktail lounge just west of the river. It was a trendy place with great martinis and better bartenders that appreciated having joy-loving women purchasing vodka drinks in bulk. He was out with a calmer crowd hopping in the bar district east of the river. They visited the usual places, but as they left one on their way to the other he would message her. He told her each time where he was going and if she was still there. He said he would be stopping by and asked for her to wait for him. After a couple hours of trading messages he finally arrived.

When he walked through the door he made eye contact with her and walked straight towards her. It was different than times before. He didn't smile and he seemed convincingly determined to get to her. Like she was adrift at sea and he was her only hope for survival. He didn't exactly ignore everyone else, but they might as well had not been there. When he took her hand it seemed to naturally guide her away from the group and she was suddenly alone with him. They were close. He took her hand in his and rested them on his chest. He stared in her eyes and she back. His face was all that she could see. Their friends knew what was happening, the whole world knew what was happening, and in that moment nothing else really mattered. The bartenders filling orders, the hipsters singing along with the music, and the inane chatter all around her was drowned out by his face.

"How are you?" he asked.
"I'm good." she replied.
"Have you been having a good time?" he asked.
"Yea, we've been having a good time." she replied.
"I have a question for you." he said.

His eyes glanced away for a moment. Maybe a moment of hesitation or shyness from him, but it paled in comparison to her own. She felt she knew what he was going to say. It was what she hoped for and longed for but now that it was finally going to happen she was scared.

"Will you go out with me? Dinner? Just the two of us?" he finally asked.

Her reply caught in her throat. Her mind was spinning while she felt her blood pulsing through every vein in her body. The delay may have seemed minuscule compared to normal conversation or even in terms of scientific calculation. As if the time between a normal answer and her answer differed in such a small amount it'd be considered negligible, but in her mind it was cataclysmic. Her world had just stopped spinning.

"I will." she said softly.

Soon he was saying goodnight to their friends and walking out the door. Minutes passed before she was able to fully understand and put into context what had just happened to her. The following day after work they talked on the phone and made arrangements. A couple days after she finds herself aligning silverware on an already perfectly set table and moving her watch on her wrist for the hundredth time.

She pictured in her head what he'd be wearing. She pictured in her head his hair and bright smile greeting her. She pictured him drinking red wine and telling her silly jokes. How they would laugh together, stop, and then stare at each other awkwardly before one of them changes the subject. She imagined in her mind kissing him. Having his arms hold her close as their lips touched for the very first time. She felt flush as her eyes glanced up at the front door of the small corner restaurant. And then he walked inside.

Effect

I'm a person that is effected by my home environment. I need it a certain way. I need the things that I want/like in a certain place and order. If it isn't like that then I feel strange. I'm uncomfortable.

I moved some stuff around today and already feel better about it. There's a lot more for me to do. There's a closet and room to finish organizing. But I'm already seeing results.

Eventually I will have a house of my own. I will have a lot of room to have a lot of things just the way I like them. I'll have my furniture my way with my colors. I know what my office is going to look like. It'll be spectacular. Blues and reds with a very large desk that will hold my ideas, drawings, writings, and nick-knacks that every adult carries with them to remind themselves of days long gone. It'll be my refuge from a busy world where I can sit, drink a beer, and smoke a cigar. All my important decisions will be made at that desk. All my deep thoughts and choices pondered and decided.

Until then I'll make do here. My little apartment on the Eastside.

Super Short Stories Pt. I

The Bag Man

Jimmy Streets was born James T. Rollins on April 12, 1958. Of course no one who knew of Jimmy knew that. He told everyone his name was Jimmy Streets but most people just called him "The Bag Man". He carried around that bottle in a brown paper bag like priests carried bibles or insurance agents carried business cards. His breath reeked of booze, his clothes filthier than his mouth, and he never looked like he understood everything that was going on around him. But that was his life. Just wandering around aimlessly talking to strangers who didn't talk back and sleeping where ever he happened to fall down.

James Rollins was born the son of a machine factory worker named Cliff and a lady that did neighbors laundry for quarters named Phyllis. After Cliff got laid off in '72 he hit the bottle and would disappear for spells. Eventually he disappeared and never came back. Phyllis did what she could with what she had, which was never quite enough for her 3 kids. The small apartment they lived in gave way to a smaller one, and then eventually a single room she rented monthly from a run down motel. His siblings did odd jobs around the neighborhood, got into plenty of trouble, and eventually moved on to other things. James never really got around to doing nothin'. And now he's just Jimmy Streets: The Bag Man.

The south Dallas neighborhood that Jimmy grew up in hasn't changed much. Every new generation brings its own set of problems and turmoil. Violence escalates according to the newspapers and politicians, but that really those stories just sell newspapers and make for good rhetoric. The violence, the rules of the neighborhood, is1 as terrifying as it has ever been. People are scared just the same, whether ruled over by a bat or a gun. It makes little difference to the neighborhood folk, and none of it seems to bother Jimmy Streets as he stumbles from street to street.

The summer heat is intense. Everyone is out of their slummy bedrooms and living rooms. No one has air conditioning in Jimmy's neighborhood. A couple don't have electricity, not every month anyway. Jimmy started on his bottle of Night Train at 9am after gathering up enough change during the morning commute bum-line. Looking pathetic is something that comes easy to Jimmy Rollins, maybe the only thing that comes easy to him, and he always finds a way to come up with the scratch to get that next bottle. It's noon and the bottle is empty. He's stumbling down the sidewalk watching kids run around in the street. Seeing the pretty girls dressed in their attention-getters; short skirts, bikini tops, and wrap around shades. Wanting to be a part of the neighborhood that he helps to define, but finding nothing of himself around him.

Jimmy is a sideshow. A pathetic addition to the scenery as he tries to get the attention of people that don't want his. The men having conversations about the women, work they can't get, and repetitive complaints about the summer heat don't need nor want Jimmy's inclusion. He's shunned, boxed out as if a sports maneuver, finding himself pushed to the edge of the group and then behind it. Seeing a sea of turned backs and turned gazes. He's heard mumbling as he stumbles away to the next block and the next group of people who will shun him similarly. This event, a street play, happens again and again. Block after block Jimmy Streets is seen, heard, and then ignored. Block after block Jimmy Streets is less and less James T. Rollins.

That night Jimmy's mind is clearing as best it can. His headache is immense, but his stagger has straightened. His blood shot eyes can see clearer than before, and he's reminded again of where he is. More importantly he's reminded who he is - The Bag Man. He remembers his little sister Anita and how she looked up to him. She was his joy once. There was a time when making her laugh was his only priority. It wasn't school work or fretting about the next meal, but seeing that little girl smile that gave him freedom. They weren't poor or hungry in her laugh, but laying in sunshine on a green hill somewhere. Away from everything else that was bad. Free from a father that ran away and a tired depressed mother working to get by. Free from struggle and hardship. It was Anita's smile that reminded James Rollins that he was a man. That he was an older brother with responsibilities and he had to do whatever he could do to take care of that little girl. It's too bad that "whatever he could do" often times wasn't legal.

Arrested at 17 as a black man in south Dallas didn't lend to much leniency. He did 4 years for robbery and resisting arrest, an additional charge put to every suspect brought in with bruises in those days. By the time he got out Anita was gone. She married a boy from a few blocks down who had a job that made decent money. They were able to move out of the neighborhood and, since her grades were good enough from high school, she was able to enter community college. She was halfway to a degree in Literature and a teaching certificate. His older brother, Robert, had moved away to Indiana for work a year before he got arrested, eventually being able to afford to have his mother move out there with him on his union salary. James had worked to provide for his family and at the end of it all found he had no work and no family left. His bouts with drugs, alcohol, and crime continued for a few decades. He spent an additional 7 years in jail over the next 30 years of his life. James never found steady work, but always found a way to get the next fix or bottle. Sleeping in cars, abandoned buildings, and under overpasses was his bedroom. The streets his living room, and the sound from those streets his only entertainment.

On a clear hot night Jimmy Streets, The Bag Man, was sobering up as kids played in the streets. As his headache started to subside his only thought was gathering up the next bit of scratch to get another bottle. His last bottle with bag discarded hours ago had kept him in a haze all day. Now that the haze thinned he found himself wanting to cover up reality again. The darkness of night wasn't enough to hide the shame and hurt that followed him step for step. As he rounded the corner Jimmy saw a group of kids playing tag just like he use to with his brother and sister. Jimmy Streets also saw the car screaming around the corner. The driver, a young man, couldn't possibly see the kids darting between the parked cars.

The little girl with the bright smile never saw Jimmy Streets. She never knew he was there until she felt his hand on her shoulder. She had never seen him stumble along the sidewalk, slur his words, or smelled his stench. She didn't know how far he had fallen and how poorly he had lived his life. He grabbed her upper arm and pulled her away from the street. The momentum carried Jimmy to the middle of the street where he was met by the speeding car. After the car stopped Jimmy was seen several feet away bleeding from the head. Although the car itself didn't do deadly damage his head hitting the pavement was enough to kill Jimmy Streets after a few minutes. His final thoughts of the kids playing tag, of that little girl's bright smile, his sister Anita's smile, and the feeling of joy in making her laugh.

The local newspaper tells the story of James T. Rollins. It tells how he was born on April 12, 1958 to Cliff and Phyllis. How he's survived by a brother nearing retirement in Indiana and a sister whose teaching in Houston. It says that he saved the life of Regina Reddick, a 10 year old playing tag with her siblings and friends. The story says a lot about how deaths are up in the neighborhood, but gives a heartwarming spin on a local man that sacrificed himself to save the next generation. It says everything, except the truth. The truth that James T. Rollins died long ago in a city jail. That he was killed by alcoholism and drug abuse. That he succumbed to the lure of easy money and eventually stopped being James Rollins. He was Jimmy Streets: The Bag Man.

Insomnia

I haven't been sleeping very well. It's been happening for weeks. My brain is running at a thousand miles per minute and it won't stop. That isn't my only problem. It's just one of them. I've grown comfortable with this weird sense that nothing is going on. I don't necessarily feel bad about it, but that's kind of the weird thing. I don't feel bad about it. I should but I don't.

So here I sit at 330 in the morning not really doing anything, but not sleeping or tired either. I'm a stranger in my own head and body. I'm myself but I'm not. I'm all thing but nothing. I know that sounds like pyscho-babble bullshit, but that's the way I feel. Like I said... weird.

Otherwise things are fine. I'm exercising more. Getting off my duff, so to speak. I have friends that I enjoy a great deal and family is fantastic. There are even some girls I like. All of it is happening in this haze of whatever, but I'm strangely ok with that.

I don't know. I don't know why I'm posting it either. I want people to know I'm fine. I really do. I don't care what people think. I really don't. It's my life and I'll live it how I want. Smoking cigars and drinking beers seems like a fine use of my time as any other. Especially with how supposed intellectuals are fucking up things all around us I don't feel bad for being a dumb, southern, white boy that lives his life however he sees fit.

This is a life used or wasted as any other. I would hope for something more, but for now this will do. Right now I'm living by a simple mantra:

So be it.

Am I Suppose To Know?

How many times have you heard someone say 'I never thought I'd end up here...' or 'I didn't see my life going this way but...'. I feel bad for having no idea what I'm going to do with my life, but I think that's how its suppose to go. All those that have the right idea at 18 might all be wrong. They might be the ones that are 45 having a mid-life crisis and starting doing dangerous things to themselves to 'experiment' or 'explore'.

I have no clue. I have no clue what I'm suppose to do. I have no idea where my life is going. I have no idea what kind of woman I'm suppose to end up with or if I'm going to end up with one at all. I'm just floating around doing whatever comes to mind for whatever reason I think of at the time. And, for now, that's ok. Not because it is actually ok, but because that's all I've got right now.

I can't do more than what I'm currently capable. Sure it's nice to think so, but what if that's been my problem all along. I keep thinking about what I might or could be capable of, but this is what I've ended up doing. So maybe, right now, this is all I'm capable of doing.

It will change. It has to. I can't keep doing this forever, nor would I want to. But this nothingness that I find myself in now seems to be the only thing I'm capable of doing at the moment. Tomorrow may be different. Tomorrow I may experience some enlightenment and venture out into the world a new man. Maybe tomorrow I'll stay a new healthy habit, or convince myself of some direction. Every day is a maybe until it happens.

We are guaranteed nothing in this world. Salvation is not inherited. It isn't born to you. It is yours for the taking if you are willing to earn it, but it isn't given to anyone. This time of uncertainty and doubt might be my cross to bear for something wonderful to happen in my life. If I can believe that, then maybe it will happen. Why not? I don't have much else to do but believe... in something.

Like Sands Through The Hourglass...

...so are the days of my life. Time doesn't tick away. The vision of a cheap black and white clock on the wall like they use in schools and office buildings is completely wrong. It doesn't tick. There is no sound. There is no abrasive jolt to the next second. There is no rotation to the next minute or the next hour.

Time slips away. Time slips away like a floating object in the ocean. It does not jolt out of your hands and then bounce from moment to moment. It slips into the next moment. It floats to the next minute, the next hour, the next year, and the next decade. It is a tide that drifts you away, or more likely drifts away from you.

My last minute was lost. So was my last week and month. They have slipped away. They will never return. They do not come back to me. The flow is always pushing time out of reach. I can not swim to it. I can not catch up. I can not recapture.

In the News...

--Santa Barbara is on fire again. Why are we calling them 'wild fires'? Is it because of the speed they spread or because it's happening in the wilderness? Because if it is the latter then we should just call them fires. Its natures way of clearing the forest floor and allowing for the healthiest plants to grow. Just cause it burns up some homes in the process doesn't make it 'wild', especially since it happens every year. And why would you rebuild in a place that catches on fire every year? Its like choosing to rebuild a house in a flood plane in Florida thinking there could never be another hurricane. It's borderline retarded.

--The CDC is worried that the H1N1 flu has mutated and there may be an American version. I betcha it's got rims, a great sound system, and is in credit card debt up to its eyeballs.

--For some reason Oklahoma is trying to claim its sovereignty. Not sure how that's possible when 50% of the state is federally protected Indian Reservation. As a nation unto itself what would Oklahoma export? Boredom and football players? I'm not sure if that's something you should be basing a nations economy on. Actually the statute states the federal government should "cease and desist” mandates that are beyond the scope of its powers. Maybe Oklahoma can tell the federal government to stop sucking.

--Some banks are saying they need more money. Do you realize if we just divvied up the money used for stimulus and bailouts and just gave it back directly to citizens we'd be out of this. If I received a check for 10k there's no way I wouldn't get myself a new HD television and blow some money at a titty bar. There's just no way. And I'm not alone either. We'd all find a way to buy something that we felt we needed or were entitled to. Like seeing some titties.

--The Governor of Maine is going to allow gay marriage. I'm torn on this whole gay marriage thing. I can see the argument from both points of view and they both have merits. The part I don't get is why some gay people wanna sign up to give someone else eligibility to eventually take half their shit. Or is it assumed that legalizing gay marriage will also usher in a rush of gay pre-nups? They should think about it. Married people are a miserable lot these days. There's so much to worry about. House payments, kids college fund, male and female whores in numbers unseen before by any civilization in the galaxy. There are obstacles! Needless to say I think my plan of remaining fat and unattractive to women is working and I'll remain single in the near future.

--The 'best job in the world', the job that was advertised on the internet and consisted of watching a tropical island off of Australia, was won by a British man. That's a great idea! You don't have to worry about the guy getting scurvy and losing his teeth since his teeth will already be rotting. Genius. Who said tree-huggin' ecologists weren't practical?

--Microsoft has laid off thousands of workers and may be laying off more due to this financial crisis. Funny you'd a thought they would have laid off thousands for creating a shitty operating system!!!

And that's what's in the news.