The Library wants to build an expansion.
The Y wants to build a pool.
There’s only money in this town to build one of them.
The Y got the jump on the Library, holding bake sales and dances.
The Library offered up naming rights. The Y’s donors called to ask that their checks not be deposited just yet.
Nobody was sure who called out who, but the next day, two directors faced each other on Main Street at high noon.
Donors lined the streets, placing bets and making pledges.
The pool got built. The Library expanded.
So did Boot Hill.
Category: My stories
Baldness
The first time I shaved my head, I had to wrap a towel around my head so I could sleep. My bare scalp against the pillow felt cool, but it felt weird.
The cat who slept on my pillow with me found my head fascinating. She licked my scalp for a while until I wrapped my head with the towel.
Now, beside the shock of seeing myself in the mirror, it’s not a strange feeling at all. Even when I run my hand along the bumps and stubble.
People say it looks great, and you can hardly see the sixes.
Freddy’s Fat
Freddy’s fat.
People called him Fat Freddy.
Well, not me. I called him Fred.
But others, they called him Fat Freddy behind his mile-wide back, and to his big fat face.
Nobody invited him anywhere.
So, Freddy shaved his head.
“Gonna call me Baldy now?” he said.
Nope. They still called him Fat Freddy.
So, Freddy took cooking classes for a year.
He got really good at cooking.
Now, people call him to invite him over for dinner.
“Come cook for us,” they say. “Come join us.”
But that’s not joining. That’s serving.
So, we go out for sushi together.
Hot Mess
I can’t believe he’s marrying her.
She’s such a hot mess. Total psycho.
What is he thinking?
And he’s got kids, too, right?
She can’t handle herself. How is she going to handle being a stepmother?
I wouldn’t trust my kids with her.
Why is he doing this?
Maybe it’s the “I don’t care if the chick I fuck will get my kids killed” gene?
Or “I’m a shitty father” gene.
He has it, passed it on to the kids, and it’ll get weeded out by natural selection.
Maybe we’ll get them a family burial plot as a wedding gift.
Mornings
Most mornings, I wake up early.
I start a cup of coffee, have some yogurt, and eat vitamin and fiber chews.
Then I get out my wireless headset so I can listen to my favorite podcasts.
At some point, Tinny jumps up on my shoulder and takes a nap. And I pet her.
I can type or text while my arm is around her. She doesn’t mind much.
The earlier, the better. More time to pet her. But at some point, I have to get up, shower, get dressed, and go to work.
She hates those goodbyes.
I do too.
They tell you their stories
The judge gave me community service.
So, I’m serving the community in the old folks home.
Cleaning bedpans, washing towels and sheets.
People who have nothing better to do than sit, wait, and pray.
They tell you their stories.
We met in school.
He had the coolest hat.
I’d just come back from the war.
Sometimes, it’s not so nice.
He drank.
He hit me.
He brought this on himself.
And now they wait. They feel guilty for needing to go home to shower. Or sleep.
I do too, because whatever they leave behind, I’m bringing to the pawn shop.
Italy?
Italy.
Tell me about Italy
Tell me everything you know about Italy.
The questioners walk from person to person in the mall, asking them about Italy.
Some knew things about Italy.
Some knew a lot.
But most people only knew that it was shaped like a boot. Or about Rome.
One person got confused and talked about Austria.
Another wanted help with a can opener.
“You’re left-handed,” I told him. “That’s a right-handed can opener.”
After we opened a few cans, he thanked me for the help.
“So about Italy…”
He smiled and walked away.
So, tell me about Italy.
Blackness
As I drove through the parking lot, I saw a black cat with yellow eyes and no collar streak from one car to the next.
I know that it wasn’t Bruwyn; he is gone forever. But Bruwyn was a feral kitten, and any black cat I see on the loose is probably a relative of his.
I parked, got out the cat treats, and poured a few out on the curb. Hissing and staring, the cat crept up and ate a few, then ran off again.
If I cannot have my lost son, at least I can honor his family.
Frozen
A long time ago, when I was working support for a small public television station, I got a call from secretary in Marketing who said that her computer was frozen.
“Did you reboot the machine?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “It’s frozen. Frozen solid.”
I put down the phone and ran back to the Marketing Department.
Sure enough, the caterers for a fundraiser had dropped off ice and champagne, and the ice had spilled out on to the floor
The computer was encased in ice.
We left it outside to thaw, and salvaged what we could from the hard drive.
Babe Ruth
I was there when Babe Ruth died.
Thin and frail, there in is bed.
He could barely speak. Barely breathe.
There were boxes of Cuban cigars piled up in the hall, unopened.
Cases of whiskey and bourbon and so much beer, stacked up in the garage.
He could barely speak. Barely breathe.
But he managed to say “Good to see you.”
And it was. It was good to see me.
“One last thing,” I said, and I set aside my scythe.
I got out a card, his rookie season card, and a pen.
He was too weak to sign it.