Downtown.
Waiting for a bus.
Nobody around.
Except for a bum, pushing a grocery cart.
Don’t sit down. Don’t sit down.
He stops, sits down on the bench, and pulls out a bottle.
Shit.
“Empty,” he said, tossing it into the cart. “Make a wish.”
“I don’t believe in wishes,” I said. “You have to take matters into your own hands.”
I looked around, then down at my hands.
“Are you sure?” the bum asked.
I looked at the bus schedule. How much longer? Dammit, I wish-
The bum smiled at me.
“Wish granted.”
The bus arrived, I got on.
Tag: personal
Change Sucks
It’s funny how things change so quickly.
Long ago, Piper was my bedcat, although Edloe and Nardo had their turns on the bed.
When it was down to just Nardo, he was the respectful bedcat.
Then came Bruwyn the kitten. He attacked toes, tails.
Myst couldn’t decide what she wanted. Until Nardo was gone. And Bruwyn.
Tinny was a cuddly bedcat for a few weeks, but she’s gotten a bit cold. Now it’s Myst when she feels like it.
This story will publish in about two years. How will things be then?
I don’t know. I don’t want to know.
Whiny Myst
When Gina goes out of town, I babysit the cats.
Myst likes to go out to hunt and play every night, but I don’t like having to go out and look for a black cat in the dark.
If I don’t let her outside, she claws at the back window, shrieks, and whines.
It’s really annoying.
So, I let her out, and she plays for a few minutes.
And then comes back, whining to come in.
So, I open the door… and she runs off.
She does this repeatedly.
Until I grab her and keep her inside.
(She’s whining again.)
S as in Sam
Whenever some customer service representative asks me for my name, I spell it out and ask them to repeat it back to me.
When I tell them my middle initial, I always say “S as in Sam.”
“Oh, so your middle name is Sam?” asks the person on the other end of the line.
“No, it’s not,” I say.
After saying “S as in Sam” for all these years, I don’t remember what my middle name is. I just know it begins with S.
So, I looked it up on my birth certificate.
The document says “Sasinsam.”
My parents suck.
Mr. Tile
I sat in the tub and counted the square tiles around me.
Then, I imagined they were pixels on a screen, and I filled them in to make various low-resolution images.
The easiest was a pair of eyes and a smile. I named him Mr. Tile.
“Hello, Mr. Tile,” I said. “I’m enjoying my bath very much.”
Mr. Tile said nothing.
So, I closed my eyes and took a nap.
When I woke up, Mr. Tile was gone.
So was the bathroom. And my house.
Did a tornado hit? Did the place burn down?
Sadly, I couldn’t ask Mr. Tile.
The Hunter’s Christmas
Every Christmas, Nardo would pick up his toys one by one, howling his hunter’s howl, and put them under the tree with the presents.
Without him to hunt them now, his toys sit unused at the foot of the bed, on top of the chest we keep there.
I pick up a stuffed toy robin, walk into the living room, and place it under the tree.
I look at the robin sitting there, just like years before.
I’d say “Good boy!” and pet him, and he’d go back for more.
But it’s not the same.
Because I forgot to howl.
The Hat
I bought a deep green OREGON ballcap at the Portland Airport so I could blend in.
Nobody wears them here. It’s all hoodies for the locals.
Nobody uses umbrellas here. I guess it’s so people have both hands free to order coffee or apologize.
We went to a Trail Blazers game at the Rose Center, and that’s where I lost my hat.
It’s okay, though. Someone will find it, and it’s a one size fits all hat, so it will fit them perfectly.
If someone sees this story, please do not return the hat.
It’s not mine. It’s yours now.
Thank You Notes
When I was young, I got the crappiest gifts from my relatives.
Socks. Ugly sweaters. Inedible sugar-free candy.
You know, shit like that.
So, I never wrote thank you notes to them, because I wasn’t going to thank them for crappy gifts.
One year, my mother arranged for everyone to send me packages of thank you notes as gifts.
They were made from heavy stock paper.
Perfect for making paper airplanes.
They kept their shape, and flew longer than simple notebook or copy paper.
I’d have thanked them for the notes, but I used them all up making the airplanes.
The Long Distance Kiss Goodbye
The first time you needed help, I helped you.
And you thanked me.
But when I needed help, where were you?
“I’m busy,” you said.
Busy.
I got through it on my own, but it hurt. A lot.
You live, you learn.
And you remember these things.
Now you’re back, all bloody and begging for help again.
No.
Don’t spit in my face and tell me it’s a long-distance kiss, baby.
I know the difference.
And you know the difference.
It takes a lot of strength to put the past behind us.
I slowly close the door, and whisper “Goodbye.”
Fighting
I heard a scream through the wall.
My apartment neighbors are fighting again.
I put on my headphones.
As loud as the music is, I still hear the screams.
Should I go over there to see what they’re doing?
Nah.
Instead, I call the pizzeria down the street and order a pizza for them.
Yeah, this won’t help the situation at all.
Good.
The sooner they kill each other, the quicker I can get my friend to move in next door.
It’s a thousand bucks for a referral.
Maybe I shouldn’t do this…
I call again.
Ten pizzas.
That’ll work!