Back in college, the meal plan covered weekday breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
On weekends, there were just the noon brunches, and we were on our own for breakfast and dinner.
Most of us slept through breakfast, or we loaded up on beer at the tailgate parties for football games, but the truth is I never grew out of having milk and cereal.
Sometimes, it was corn flakes, but usually it was Lucky Charms.
Whatever the cereal, the cockroaches always found their way into the box.
Green clovers.
Blue Diamonds.
Yellow stars.
And brown insect corpses.
Yeah, they were magically disgusting.
Category: My stories
Poker
My cat Nardo would wait until I was covered up and almost asleep before reaching out slowly and poking me in the nose.
He’s gone now, and I miss him.
For the first few days, I’d hear him jumping up on the bed, or I’d think he was about to poke me in the nose.
Nope. Just a ghost.
When I broke my arm and took very strong opiate-based painkillers, I had vivid dreams, and I hoped I’d dream him.
Nope again.
But last night, our cat Bruwyn poked me in the nose. And that’ll have to do for now.
Delicious
While dirty, grimy starving children crawl in the alleys picking through garbage piles for food, El Presidente draws his silver sabre and slices a gigantic cake, his generals and wealthy friends standing around him and clapping.
The applause was so loud, nobody heard the screams inside the cake.
Except El Presidente himself, who saw the blood on his sword and smiled.
The CIA agent had tried to seduce him. And failed.
Uniformed servants bring out plates with slices from another cake.
El Presidente declines a piece, preferring to lick the bloody frosting from his sword.
And smiling even wider.
“Delicious.”
Stripey
Every day, a silver tabby jumps over our fence and walks up to our sliding glass door to ask for treats.
We call him “Stripey” and he’s really loud. He gets louder when we’re close to him.
Our two cats don’t mind that he comes to visit. They give him a wide berth as he eats from his pile of treats.
When he’s done, he usually wanders back to wherever he hangs out.
But right now, he’s laying outside the door, eyes half-closed.
Watching me watch him.
I won’t try to pet him, though. I’ll just let him sit peacefully.
Taps
Regulations state that every burial gets a bugler.
The problem is, the enemy took out Rogers and Menendez – the only two guys who play the bugle.
“Who knows anything about playing music?” shouts the company commander.
Washington stood up. “I scratched a bit in clubs.”
“Sit down!” shouts the commander. “Anybody else?”
I nudged Washington. “Think we can rig something up?”
He nodded.
And I stood up.
Washington and I rigged up a bugle to play a track out from a speaker in the bell.
And it worked great
Until it rained, and the damn thing shorted out the camp.
Daisy
Her name was Daisy, but she preferred roses.
Nobody asked her what flowers she liked, so everyone gave her daisies and she’d smile and thank them for the flowers.
When she’d get home, she’d give them to the old woman who lived on the third floor. Or if the old woman wasn’t there, Daisy just tossed them in the dumpster in the alley.
Then one day, a guy finally gave her roses and she was so thrilled, she had a stroke and collapsed.
Now she’s in the hospital completely unresponsive, a vase of daisies on the table by the bed.
The Tape
The nurse cut away my splint, unwrapped the bandages, and snipped out the stitches one by one.
Then she swabbed the incision before covering it with strips of tape and wrapping it with another bandage.
“You can stop wearing the bandage when the incision is healed,” she said. “The tape will fall off soon after that.”
And sure enough, the first scab-encrusted strip is coming loose right now.
I plan on putting it under my pillow for The Medical Waste Fairy.
I hope to get at least a quarter for it.
(But enough to pay my deductible would be better.)
My Battle
The hospital refuses to talk to my insurance company.
And despite cashing all up my premium checks, My insurance company refuses to talk to the hospital.
So, the bills keep arriving in the mail, with bigger numbers, printed in brighter red ink.
I throw them out, unopened.
As for the phone calls, I ask the collectors how their kids are or what they had for dinner last night.
They try to change the subject back to my medical bills.
Talk to the insurance company, I say. So, got plans for dinner?
They ask again.
I smile, laugh, and hang up.
in dreams
i’ve been taking vicodin for the pain in my broken elbow.
it causes intense dreams.
i’ve dreamed of dinosaurs and volcanoes and wars with laser guns.
and i’ve seen ghosts of so many friends long passed.
but not my boy, who died in february.
why can’t i dream of him, poking me in the nose with his paw as i try to sleep?
does he not want to see me again? why won’t he come back when i need him?
i put his yellow mouse under my pillow
just one dream.
i don’t even need to wake up from it.
Brace
I broke my elbow
One week in the hospital
One week rest
work release in hand
light duties only
welcome back
I sat down at my desk
A pillow to my left
To lay my braced left arm upon
And I wrote
And wrote
And wrote
after 7 hours work
I crawled home exhausted
took off the brace to
lay on my back on the sofa
arm on a pillow across my chest
slowly moving my wrist
and fingers
and i realized
this must be how it feels
after a long day
to take off your bra
and just breathe