I think it happened something like this… #6 - Boredom

#6 - Boredom

The guys grew tired of record stores, sporting goods, and watching girls. We ended up in a stationary shop. Wandered while the lone clerk reluctantly followed. I picked up a stapler, wove through the shelves, turned a corner, slid it behind some envelopes, and bolted.

The clerk met us at the exit. “I think you forgot to pay for that stapler.”

“What stapler?”

“The one you picked up.”

“You accusing us of stealing? Go ahead. Call the cops.” We smirked, shrugged, offered up our empty pockets.

He feigned looking, backed off. “Get out. Don’t come back!”

We laughed and walked away.

I think it happened something like this… #5 - Russell

Russell

His puffy red face and misshapen mouth were the result of beatings and non-existent teeth. 

He collected bottles and scavenged garbage while mumbling threats to imagined people. He’d pedal fast, bent over the frame of his rusty, crooked bike. Kids would chase and taunt, but never really tried to catch him. Nobody wanted the game to end.

We heard rumors that he lived in a shack near the market. Some older kids bragged to a wide-eyed audience that they sure showed him. “We broke in and trashed the bum’s place.”

I stayed clear of Russell, out of fear or pity.

Thirty-five

9.14.74 Connie & I were married. I wrote this poem in honor of our 35th anniversary 9.14.09. I'm re-posting it today, our 37th.

Thirty-five

Sometimes I wasn’t sure
we’d make it
sometimes I wasn’t sure
I wanted to

When we started
I assumed we’d get here
expected us to stay together
but had no clue what was ahead
or what it would take

It’s not a milestone,
like fifty
but well past twenty-five
people notice twenty-five and fifty
appears thirty-five
Iis no big deal,
at least
according to public opinion,


Memories made
and more forgotten
seasons of devotion
and trials of anxiety
grace remembered
and offenses forgiven
and much forgiven again

It is the choice we made
the path we’ve followed
and I would choose it again
I think I do
I hope we do
everyday

I think it happened something like this… #2 - A Wad of Bills

Story #2 in a series of 6 fiction 101entries (a story in 101 words or less) exploring growing up in the '60.

A Wad of Bills

Donny showed us the wad of bills, lots of bills. We followed him to the drug store lunch counter. Burgers, fries and sodas. Cherry for me. Whatever we wanted. He sweet-talked the waitress. She was maybe sixteen, but to us she was a woman. He offered to buy her presents. She refused. Time wore on and someone mentioned getting home for dinner. Donny promised more tomorrow.

After school, we anxiously waited for Donny, dreaming. Doug arrived. “Donny’s dead. He took that money from his dad’s wallet. He’s grounded forever.”

After mumbling and a few shrugs, we started a ball game instead.

a poem for my dad

My dad died on 8.1.97. I wrote this poem a decade later. I'm re-posting it on this day of memories and missing.

August 1, 2007

ten years gone

a decade

August 1, 1997

we were over the mountains at a hotel

waiting to get the kids from camp

I was planning to visit the next week

got the call

you were gone

all the things you don’t know

within days, OK a few months

I had a new job and car

Michael moved out (was in foster care)

we would have talked and you would have cared

I can’t believe you don’t know

I imagine you in your family room

sitting in your chair

(it’s upstairs in our guest room now)

your television and sound system

(big screens and theater sound are the rage,

I know you’d love it)

you’d put in some action movie

tell me “listen to this”

sound would overwhelm the room

it would be impressive

I want to hear you rant about the government

and the unending stupidity of people

I want to play Upwords

just the two of us

you keeping score

for little reason

because you would win

again