Confessions of An Airplane Neurotic

Being on airplanes freak me out. Not because I am afraid of heights. No. That's not it at all. It's just the strangest things take place 30,000 feet above ground. My mind starts racing a mile a minute and I get awfully neurotic. It's not natural for humans to be up that high.

The worst thing that can happen is that you are assigned to the middle seat. It's probably the closest to Hell you can get because you are confined to looking at the sad little head rest in front of you because you can't look out the window because then the person who is actually sitting next to the window will think you are staring at them forcing them to look at their sad little head rest or stare out into the clouds. And you don't want to look at the person sitting in the aisle seat because that would force them to look down at the aisle and the aisle lights could blind them. That would just be down right rude. I wouldn't want the guilt of causing someone's blindness on my head, would you? I don't think so. I already have enough to answer for when I arrive at the pearly gates.

I had to sit in the middle seat one time as I was flying home from some point across the Pacific Ocean. A 12-year old Asian girl sat next to me. She had the honor of the aisle seat. Oh, the aisle seat. You, lucky, lucky girl. Did you request that precious jewel or was Fate just on your side that day? When the angels colluded to give you a 14-hour plane ride of comfort and relaxation while the drones of Hades plotted my demise? Sleep on, little girl, enjoy the gentle touch of Destiny's palm while you can.

The freedom to get up whenever you want without having the imposition of tapping the person next to you on the shoulder and putting on puppy dog eyes, pouting your lips, and nodding your head towards the back of the plane and giving a "Sorry, buddy, but can't you see I really gotta go #1" sorta look. I wonder if everyone is as edgy as I get when I am on the plane. I hate having to go to the bathroom on planes because it's like getting up in the middle of the crescendo of a symphony or something like that. Maybe like getting up in the middle of a crazy cool action movie and the hero is blasting away at the bad guys or in the middle of a crazy sexy love scene where you realize these two people really should be together...or maybe getting up in the middle of your sister's wedding where the best man is giving his toast and you scream out, "I think I have to pee!! But don't mind me...keep going." I'm just neurotic. I sat in place for God knows how long and I kept saying to myself, "Come on, lightweight, you only have 7 more hours to go. Your bladder can handle that." But of course, I cannot. It's just not humanly possible, people.

Back to sitting next to this 12-year old Asian girl. She has conveniently fallen asleep and I contemplate how long she'll be taking a nap until I can go to the bathroom. I hate waking up people especially strangers. Because how many other occasions would you have to wake up a stranger? Only on an airplane when you have to go to the bathroom and maybe the next morning after a hard night of clubbing and tequila shots.

Oh, here comes the stewardess with the refreshment cart. Oh, if I go to the restroom, I'll miss her and I won't have the courage to ask her for a drink on my own because I'm sure she'll cast me a look that says, "You should have been in your seat, Miss Apples. You'll just have to wait until the next round of refreshments." And I've never been one of those people to push the "Request for Personal Service" button. That tiny ding that goes off and you think, "What does that loser want? Can't you leave the flight attendants alone. They work hard enough. All that pointing and coffee pouring, don't you know."

So I stay. Oh, what do I want to drink? What do I want to drink? This is always a big decision because you always want to get your money's worth so that means alcohol or fruit juice. But you don't want to be the lush with a tray table full of tiny vodka bottles and a glazed look in your eye as you become the airplane booze bum. When the flight attendant asks whether you want chicken or beef you get into a fist fight with her because your alcoholic veins want a thin crust pizza with pepperoni and extra olives. That would be a scene for sure.

"Chicken or Beef?"

"Pizza!! I want pizza...pepperoni and olives, don't you know?"

"I'm sorry Miss Apples but your choices are chicken and beef."

"I thought I told you I'm going to have the thin crust pizza, lady! Perk up your ears!"

"Miss Apples, calm down. I'm going to have to give you the chicken then."

"What the hell? I'm the customer! I want pizza! I can smell it baking back there. You attendants just want it all for yourselves, you selfish bastards!!"

So fruit juice then? But that seems so kindergarten. So you want soda? But then sometimes they don't give you the whole can and pour you half from the can and save it for the next poor soul who wants Diet Pepsi too. So water? But that seems like such a waste. You can get water anytime. Get a 7 up. Or a ginger ale. That sounds fancy...like a mature adult of drinking age who knows their boundaries.

"What drink can I get for you, ma'am?"

"Ginger ale please."

"Oh I'm sorry we're out of ginger ale."

Dammit!! Foiled again. I'll never fly this airline ever again! Ok, quick-- think!

"Umm..ok...7 up."

Dammit, no!! You should have gotten an apple juice. 7 up is too fizzy.

So now here I am with a cup full of fizzy soda and I still have to go to the restroom but now I have to finish the fizzy soda before I can get up. And since when do they start giving us pretzels instead of peanuts!! Look at the situations you put yourself in!! Goddammit!!

Five minutes. Ten minutes. Thirty minutes. Ok, I have to go. I shake her once. Shame on you. I shake her twice. Shame on me. Nothing. I swear I nearly rip this girl's arm off but she still doesn't respond. What, did she take a bottle of sleeping pills or something? Worse yet, maybe she's narcoleptic. How sad. Now I feel sorry for being upset at a person with a physical disorder. But now I can tell people I met a 12-year old narcoleptic. Stop making jokes, you have a bladder situation on your hands.

I look over to the old man sitting in the window seat. I expect some look of sympathy...some expression of condolences because surely he had to have noticed my attempts to shake off Mr. Sandman's dust from this girl. But he gave me a quick glance and looked back down at his Skymall catalogue. Maybe he thought I was looking out the window and was startled to see my eyes meet his. What a cad. So what else was I left to do. I unbuckle my seat belt and climb over this girl. How embarassing. I felt like everyone was watching me. As if I was the in-flight entertainment.

"Look, honey, put on your headphones. The movie is starting. Oh its that one with the narcoleptic who always sits in the aisle seat and makes the person sitting next to her dreadfully uncomfortable. The best part is whether or not the person climbing over the narcoleptic's bladder explodes as she's crawling over the girl only to find out that one bathroom is clogged up and the other already has three people waiting in line for it!! What a comedy. Oscar gold for sure!!"

Anyhow, I make it to the tiny restroom and do my business. It embarassingly takes a few minutes for me to figure out how to flush and when I step out, the old lady waiting after me gives me an irritated look as if I stunk up the bathroom. Come on, lady, that smell was already there!! Blame the fat man in G21 who ordered the rubbery beef stroganoff, not me!!

Hopefully, I would have thought the 12-year old Asian girl had awoken or at least shifted in her sleep. I tapped her on the shoulder. I shook her shoulder. I wanted to slap her or maybe pour some hot tea in her lap but then that would make me the wrong one. That's the paradox of this situation and of society. Come on, a smoking gun doesn't give you all the details....

So once again I have to climb over her and I am hoping my bladder can last the final hours of this trip. Was the destination Texas or Purgatory, I forget?

I buckle my seatbelt and give a sigh of relief. I shake off those last few moments and decide to have a nice read of my anthology in peace and solace.

Oh great, now the sleepy bear awakes from hibernation. The girl shifts. She opens her eyes. Draws her knees up to her chest and turns in her seat. And the next thing I know, she has wedged her toes under my thighs for warmth.

Where am I? Is this happening? Who is this child who thinks she can use me as some kind of human heater? Do I look like a pair of socks? She continues sleeping and I don't know what to do. Obviously if I try to wake her, she won't respond. This truly is hell.

At least she doesn't have long toe nails and is wearing socks. And now, its easier for me to pass by her if I need to go to the restroom because I don't have to crawl over her legs. See, I'm not that pessimistic.....only 6 more hours to go....

Waiting for Julia

I woke up this morning and found a note from my girlfriend. It read "Went to buy milk. Be back soon." I smiled. That must mean Julia is going to make pancakes. Goddamn I love that girl. Was today Sunday? Because she only makes me big breakfasts on Sundays...mmm...but wait today is Tuesday.

Daily ritual. Get out of bed. Brush my teeth and wash my face. Hop in the shower and wash away the recesses of yesterday. Julia bought me this neato shower radio. She knows that I love to listen to NPR in the morning. It makes me feel extra smart. The insecurity in me is palpable but Julia lets me be who I am and she makes me feel like I'm king of the world. How did a fellow like me end up with a goddess like her? Life is good, I tell ya. Hmm...I feel extra clean today. Maybe its that new soap Julia bought for me. Smells like peaches.

The shower radio clock says its 8:34 A.M.

Clean my ears with q-tips and wrap the towel around my waist. I listen to the sounds of the apartment. I hear no one. I don't even hear someone trying not to make a sound. Because sometimes those are even louder. Is Julia hiding? She must be back from buying milk by now. The corner store is only a block over. Or did Mr. Lee say he was closing down for remodeling? I guess she had to take my bike all the way to Turner Street. What a hassle. All because she loves me so much to make pancakes on a.....Tuesday?

I sit in my flannel boxers and white T-shirt and make some coffee. The paper is already on the table. The sun shines through and I can see that its going to be a good day. Marshall called me and said I didn't have to go into work until 11:30. What a guy. "We all work hard and you've been working extra hard. Come into work late tomorrow, son. How's that little lady of yours? Man, she's a firecracker." Marshall's great. I've worked at GridIron, Inc for five years now. Maybe this Christmas, I will get that bonus I've been waiting for so long. Just maybe.

Where's Julia? I hope things are ok. Oh man, I hope nothing happened to her. I shake my head. What a doof. She's a big girl. She can take care of herself. Should I call her? No, because if I do then that's when she'll stroll through the door and I don't want to seem needy...what a doof.

I put on a pot of coffee and try to remember if Julia preferred the French Vanilla or the Columbian roast. Maybe the French Vanilla.

She'll be here any moment.

I look out the window and can see Mr. Lee sweeping the outside of his shop. I chuckle.

The phone rings and I let the machine get it.

"Uhh...Eric. Are you there? It's Julia. I wanted to know when I can come pick up my things. Its going to be weird so maybe I should just come by when you're not there. I'll leave the key when I'm done. Hope things are ok with you....remember...this was for the best. I'm sorry."

I listen to the words but they wash over me and are taken away by the waves of my mind. When's Julia coming back to make those pancakes? The beep weighs on my mind as if something important had taken place. I shrug. Life is great. I have a great job, a great girlfriend...life couldn't be better.

I wonder when Julia will be back with the milk to make pancakes. I'm getting hungry.

Three Musketeers 

Comptine D'un Autre Ete-L'apres

(Intermission)
Sitting by my window
Listen
As the slice of music
Cuts into me.
And you cross my mind.

Big Shoe, Small Shoe

(Continuation of Brik-A-Brak)

Officer Nip sat at his desk. The investigation found the girl's purse on the roof of the Bonn's Bagel Factory. And it laid there on his desk in a plastic bag. It had been opened and her ID cards were placed in separate smaller bags.

Mona Mingh. 23 years old. Brown eyes. Black hair. Organ donor.

Nip wondered what she was thinking as she fell to the hard concrete street. Did she scream? Did she land with a hard thump, crack, or maybe thud? Did she feel the icy, cold hands of gravity grip her slender waist and slam her mortal body against its chest? He liked to imagine her falling slowly...like a curly lock of hair shorn off at the barber shop..lightly floating to the ground but then swept away.

**************************************************

Froggie walked into the police station with sweaty palms. He tried to visualize this as another acting audition. Be the boyfriend who loved his girlfriend. Be the guy who breaks down when he realizes his love is gone. Be the man that Mona deserved.

Dammit. No, not that last one, man. She was a bitch, remember?

Froggie wished he could cut out his conscience with a knife and tuck it away in his pocket just for awhile until he was able to leave this cold police station.

"Hi, I'm here to talk to the police. They said something happened to my girl."

**************************************************

Nip looked at the 5'6 guy who sat in the chair before him. This guy was with that girl? Ok, whatever.

He explained how Mona had died (at least what they thought at that point in time. She was still awaiting an autopsy).

Froggie kept his eyes blank.

"Was Mona under any pressure? Was she the suicidal type? Sir, did you talk to her at all that day?"

Froggie tried to find the right tone. Sad? Confused? Upset? Maybe a combination...

"I talked to her that morning. She said she couldn't have lunch with me because she had other plans. I dunno with who. Have you talked to her parents? Do they know?"

Dammit, don't shift the blame to the parents. You look guilty now, you stupid fuck.

"She didn't tell you what plans she had. With who?"

Froggie felt something inside him bubbling up. What was this? A whole slideshow of his time with Mona flashed in his mind. What had he done? What he done?! The heat ran up his spine and reached his face and he felt like he was going to explode. He burst into tears on Nip's desk. "Oh my god, she's gone. She's gone! What am I going to do?"

*********************************************************

"Can I have two sausage mcmuffins and three egg mcmuffins and five hashbrowns and uhh...three orange juices."

"Thank you sir, pull up to the window."

BoBo drove up, paid, and grabbed the bag of food.

Kuno sighed. "Froggie is going to fuck up. He's gonna fuck all of us over."

Bobo shook his head. "It'll be ok. I think maybe..---Hey is that Lara?"

Lara was walking drinking a chocolate milk and seemed unaware of the world around her.

"Lara!" Bobo pulled up beside her. "Get in, we're having breakfast. We have some stuff to tell you. Come on, get in."

To be continued...........

Squeeze Back, Grandma

In the dimness of the nightlight by my feet from the corner, I could see the shadows of my grandmother's face as she lay in bed. It cast an eerie yellow glow throughout the room. Her cheeks seemed hollow. I pictured her as a young woman with high cheekbones swept with apple blush. Her long black silky hair in a conservative bun. But her red lips displayed an intriguing playfulness. Oh how beautiful, she is, they would all say. Now her face was matte'ed with age and lines. The windburns of life experience creased deeply into her forehead. Her hair was thin and grey almost like dry rice sticks. She had been sleeping for quite some time now. Her eyes were closed and I longed to see through them. What do you see, grandma, what do you see?

I had been at the hospital everyday for the past week and the doctors said it would be soon until...

So, tonight, I would stay for her. Tonight I would stay.

The IV drip hung limply and the heart monitor jumped with a droning beep. I laid my head on the papery sheets and held her tiny hand. Everything about my grandmother was tiny, from her lively eyes that disappeared when she smiled to her size 4 feet.

For as long as I can remember, my grandmother and I had never had a real conversation. She spoke only Chinese and Vietnamese and I could only speak English fluently. Being born in America and my parents, who were always at work, didn't leave much room for language lessons. I could understand bits and pieces and maybe say a sentence or two in reply to her conversations, but for the most part, her words fell upon my ignorant ears. It's not that I didn't want to know my mother tongue, it’s just...well, my excuses could fill a basket (no time, laziness, capitalist America and its TV, or worst of all, apathy) and we'd still be left at square one.

So my relationship with her was one of blood. It was as if when we were together, we occupied some neutral space during war times where there was an underlying feel of something bigger around us, but we pretended like it was just made out of sand. You are my grandmother and I am your granddaughter. Nothing more, nothing less.

She would cook lovely foods for us though. Greasy chicken wings hot off the pan and rice was her usual. (Gosh, did grandma cook again? There's grease all over the kitchen floor. *sigh* This is the third time I've had to mop this week...) And then there were the green onion pancakes and red wine chicken for birthdays. Did I ever tell you how much I liked your cooking, grandma? Because I do. Maybe when we get out of here you can teach me all your recipes...

When she had gotten really sick two years ago, it was a family debacle trying to figure out where she would stay to recover. It was hard because everyone had their own lives and things going on. In times like these, people always seem to fall short of their familial responsibilities.

My oldest uncle had too many people in his house. "I have three families living in my home right now! There's just no room. I'm sorry."

My youngest uncle in Leander shook his head. "No, no, no, we're too far away from everyone else. She should be closer to you guys. It would be too risky to drive her all the way out here in the first place."

Cousin Quoc and Ming didn't want to take her either. "Ming just got married and since me and my wife both work, there wouldn't be anyone to take care of her during the day. That's not safe."

And my own parents also worked during the day and wouldn't have time. And with my little sister and baby brother still young, there would be too much going on for grandma to have a stable environment.

And so she was put into her own little apartment, centrally located between all her sons and relatives. They hired a nurse to look after her. And we could all visit her at our own convenience...

She wasn't improving and so they transferred her to a nursing home which I was always uncomfortable going to because it always felt like there was a thickness to the air. Made it hard for you to breathe. We would visit her on weekends. My siblings and I stood there smiling and nodding at my grandmother as she talked in Chinese to my parents. It was like we were deaf children waiting for someone to give us some sign of what was going on.

I would imagine what they were saying--

Grandma: Oh really? The little one has teeth now? Oh that's great. Is he talking yet?

Parents: Oh yea they grow up so fast. Are you sure you're comfortable here? Is it too cold? We could get you another blanket.

Grandma: Oh it’s fine. I just wish there were more people to talk to. My room mate just watches the television. And it’s all trash, this American TV programming. They don't have one Chinese channel here. How rude. Where are Quoc and Ming? They were supposed to come yesterday.

Grandma: Are the kids hungry? I can't eat this American hospital food. What's this wiggly red block? Jel...jell....jello? Only in America....

And then the spell would be broken and my parents and I would wave and leave and I could breathe again.

And just recently they transferred her from the nursing home to the hospital...

Oh, grandma. I wondered if she had many stories and secrets she wished she could tell me throughout all these years. So many things to teach me. All the times I came home from school when I was young and she would be there eating bread and lotus seeds. She would make me a plate of food and we would sit in silence. All those hours of silence that could have been filled with stories!! Tell me about the time you first fell in love, grandma. Or tell me how it was like moving from China to Vietnam. Was learning the language hard? Tell me about it. Tell me how Dad was like when he was little. Was he bad? But nothing came from my lips except sincere smiles and empty hopes.

Do you hear my silent screams to know you, grandma? It runs through my veins and fills my bones, grandma. Can you feel how they shake through me and try to get to you..? My deepest regrets...the time lost between us.

I realized I had started crying. I held onto my grandma's small palm and hoped she could hear my thoughts, that maybe, just maybe, times of high emotion can transcend speech and just flow from one person to another.

I'm so sorry grandma. I'm so sorry I couldn't talk to you like I wanted to. I'm sorry I never tried harder to learn Chinese. It wasn't my intention. I wanted to know you. I wanted to learn how to cook from you. I'm sorry every time I didn't eat all the grains from my rice bowl or eat my chicken bones clean. I'm sorry I never was able to know how hard it was for you to come to America. I try to remember the bits and pieces I've picked up. (You were with Uncle Pak...and you were in a boat...so scared.....I can sort of remember...trying so hard...oh no...it's slipping away...) I'm so sorry I can't remember...so sorry for not paying attention. I'm so sorry every time I said mean things about you behind your back because I knew you didn't understand me. I'm sorry for all the resentment I held towards you because I couldn't go ride bikes or play with my friends because you wanted me to stay by your side. You were just worried about me, I know that now. I'm so sorry its' been so hard for you while you've been sick. But I hope you know we all love you. We all do. In our own way. But don't go yet, grandma, stay a bit longer...I promise I'll change. I'll learn. It's too soon...

And for a split second, I thought I felt my grandma squeeze back. But it was my imagination. I let go of her hand to wipe my tears away. I fell asleep on the chair beside her until morning.

Yellow Birthday Cake Dress

My earliest childhood memories are of me being in my mother's convenience store when I was about 5 years old. I was a small child with the standard haircut for 5-year old Chinese girls: a straight chin-length cut with one and half inch bangs. I cringe now at the thought of it.

At that time, that convenient store was my mother's life and so it genetically became mine as well. I didn't mind then because I wasn't old enough to do anything but I do recall filling up the soda machines when they were low and me and my sister would imagine we were scanning the sodas like at the grocery store scanners at the register as we passed them to each other.

I do remember being on loss prevention patrol though. That wasn't as fun as filling up the sodas because I was self conscience and didn't like people not liking me and of course they can tell I'm watching them needlessly so that would make them not like me. Oh, mom, do I have to? But off I would go, my little 5-year old body in green overalls and ponytails standing there in the middle of the store, the eyes and ears of the whole operation. If you wanna steal anything, buster, ya gotta get past me, ya hear! Go ahead and try. Make my day...

So there I stood with my back to the wall watching a group of teenagers that had come in from after school. That after school bunch can get rowdy, I tell ya what. They were looking at the wide selection of candy because our store did have the best offering of candy in the entire metropolitan area. Then one black girl turned around and saw me watching them.

"Look at that little girl watching us, who do she think she is?"
"She think we stealing!"
"What's she gonna do if we do?"
"Man, that's messed up. If I wanted to steal something, I'd shove this in her face and run out the door!"

The last girl who spoke picked up a candy bar and came up to me. She waved it in my face. I could remember feeling the plastic brush across my nose. Was I scared that she would kill me with this candy bar? Maybe, I was only 5 and many things can kill a 5-year old's spirit. The girl then proceeded to pretend to run out the door, but nonchalantly walked back up to the counter and paid for the chocolate.

The bastard children walked out laughing, the jangling door chimes echoing behind them.

I didn't resume breathing until they were long gone across the street and into the field. I looked at my mom but she was busy with other customers.

The burning tears welled up in my throat.

"Mom, I'm gonna go to the bathroom."

She smiled and said ok absent-mindedly. "Is this all for you today, Mr. Parish?"

I sat in the back room for two hours before anyone came looking for me.

My mother was one of those ladies who considered their human babies to be novel dolls to be dressed up in whatever fancy they pleased. One day as I sat quietly on the orange plaid chair staring at the customers as they went by, I found myself in a yellow birthday cake dress. It was a fluffy lemon yellow meringue of a dress. Layers and layers of scratchy lace and ribbon. I even think there were tiny yellow roses embroidered on the collar.

But to my 5-year old mind, this was elegant. I didn't know any better. I was used to my mother's home-made creations that were made from thin, ugly colored material (usually avacado green or a flat burgundy). So this store-bought beauty was the highlight of my day.

I remember feeling much like a barbie doll. I had a whole collection of those. But how could I look like the barbies? I looked at Barbie #1 with the glossy blonde hair and long legs and look back at my stumpy 5-year old trunks. Glancing over at Barbie #2, I wasn't any closer to physical looks with her amber waves and hefty bosom. Ok, so a five year old's imagination can override reaity. That's the beauty of that age, no?

Then I remember how that sunny day dampened into a grey, rainy mess. A customer, I cannot recollect if it was a man or a woman, but that doesn't matter, comes up to the counter to purchase their can sodas and cigarillos and looks at me. They smile and look back at my mother ringing up their total purchase. "Is that a boy or a girl?"

I stare wide eyed with embarassment and can feel my face getting hot as the blood rushes to my cheeks. I pop off the chair and run to the back kitchen to hide from the spectators who couldn't decipher my gender. How horrifying!! To be on cloud nine, feeling like Princess Lemon Meringue and then knocked down to an androgynous dwarf dressed in yellow rags.

For Christ sakes, I was five years old in a fluffy yellow dress not a one month old infant. My ego scarred, I looked around at the familiar back room that had been my sanctuary for many occasions. I wondered how long it would take for that ignorant customer to realize their folly and then come crawling back on their hands and knees asking for forgiveness. I would sit in my throne as they groveled at my feet and look away. "Off with his head."

But of course that didn't happen and I lived to see many more days that would force me to that back room of my mother's store. I'm much wiser now in my adulthood and with a thicker skin. And my mom no longer dresses me so that's good. It just makes me realize how silly people are when they talk to children. I still see my mom behind that same counter with the same manual cash register asking Mr. Parish, "Is that going to be all for you today?"

All the Sunflowers

In a far off land, where things are simpler and time seems to stand still, sits two old men in plastic lawn chairs in a vast field of sunflowers. Nothing surrounding them except wide eyed yellow buds and their own thoughts.

There they sit.

They are senior citizens. The one dressed in brown slacks is 76 while his elder, 80, sits placidly in a grey pinstriped suit.

"Today seems extra special, don't you think?" 76 asks in a husky voice.

80 smiles at him and pulls the head of a sunflower stalk closer to him so he can smell the pungent aroma. "You're right, 76. I think today is extra special."

A lady bug lands on 80's forehead. "You see that. This lady bug thinks its extra special too since she decided to land on my wrinkled forehead. " He gives a chuckle as the scuttling of the ladybugs legs tickle his skin. She creeps between his eyes and crosses the bridge of his nose and then flutters off.

"Do you remember the first day we sat in this lovely field of sunflowers, 76?"

76 sighs and searches the realms of his mind. "We've always sat in this field, have we not?"

80 smiles. "Correct, my good man. You are correct."

They sit in placid silence. The breeze causes the sea of sunflowers to sway in unison like the waves of the ocean.

"I remember when I brought Lora here. She thought it was the most amazing place in the world. And it is. It's a shame she had to leave so soon." 76 looks off and a tear rolls down his cheek.

"Oh, 76. There are people who touch our lives who we hold on to. We hold on to them in reality physically but their emotional presence touches us, penetrates our soul and that never leaves us and that is both a blessing and a curse."

"What do you miss most, 80?"

"So many things. I miss the smell of my mother's cooking. I miss the throaty voice of Michelle singing in that little Paris cafe. I miss the smell of the ocean and the feel of the broken seashells under my feet. I miss the kisses of my woman on the back of my neck."

76 rocks in his plastic chair. The metal legs have become rusty. "We should get rocking chairs. Those are fun. Who gave us these nonsense plastic things. It doesn't match with the sunflowers."

"It is of your own doing. Don't complain. This place is beyond complaints."

The sun is a bright golden coin in the impossibly clear blue sky. It's rays warm the men's faces and tenderly bronzes their tone.

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like to be in a field of roses, 80?"

"Roses?" 80 shifts in his chair. "What for? Roses are for hopeless romantics. For those ideal fools. Sunflowers are real. Roses carry unfounded expectations that never come through. Sunflowers are real. The only real thing."

"How do you know? This could all be a dream and tomorrow we could wake up and find ourselves sleeping in a bed of rose petals. I think they smell nice. How do we know what's real and not?"

"You're nonsensical. I know they're real, these sunflowers. And that's what makes them my reality."

76 thinks and is satisfied with his friend's answer.

80 remembers a time when he was in Paris at a nightclub he can no longer remember the name of. He would go there every evening to smoke cigarettes and have a coffee after a long day of work and meetings. Two lovers, the same ones or a different pair, would sit in the corner kissing unaware of the public around them. At first he would be envious of their romance, but then Phillipe would stumble onto the stage and introduce tonight's entertainment, Michelle. This impossible beauty would emerge from the backdrop in some fantastic dress that would cause all the men to blush. She'd clear her throat and start her heart wrenching ballad. After her last song, she would sweep across the audience and make small talk with them but right before Michelle could get to 80's table, he would pay for his bill and leave. He always remembered her raven hair that flowed down her back and the perfume that trailed behind her....

"80? 80? Did you hear me?"

80 broke from his reminiscent daydream and remembered the sunflowers.

"Did you hear me?"

80 shook his head.

76 repeated, "Do you think it's going to rain?"

80 looked into the crystal clear sky without a hint of grey and no trace of cloud.

"Maybe, 76. If we're lucky.... just maybe."

Brik-A-Brak

Three shadows hovered in the moonlight in the alleyway next to Bonn's Bagel Factory.

The red and blue police lights were causing a disorienting display that seemed to bring much undue attention to a sensitive situation. In tragedy, things should be kept quiet and respectful. But in reality, we turn tragedy into spectacle and nothing good can come from that. The media was on the scene in seconds and the area seemed flooded with curious yet apathetic onlookers.

The excess flapping yellow CAUTION tape tied around the telephone pole, drew lines on the black concrete as if writing this case in invisible ink.

The two policemen looked at the victim. The body was contorted--a cracked shell of who she used to be. Her hair was silky black and her eyes were wide open. Apart from the greyish-blue her skin had become, she was quite attractive. There wasn't as much blood as expected. All internal. Like many of life's pains, but for her, it served fatal.

Officer Lee sighed and walked over to the car to check on the status of the much-needed ambulance. His partner, Officer Nip, couldn't peel his eyes off of the thing before him. He'd never seen anything like it before. It would seem at first as if this were an open and shut suicide case: female, mid-twenties, jumped from the roof of the bagel factory. But something looked off about it all.

Officer Lee walked up to Officer Nip. "Hey, Charlie, Jon is going to be here in a few to take her in. He's not doing too bad nowadays. But damn, how can you ever get used to doing autopsies. All that blood...fluids...dead skin...yuck. I just don't get it." Ambulance sirens wailed in the distance.

Charlie Nip nodded and was still left speechless. A boiling feeling of dread seemed to bubble in the pit of his stomach. "Fuck..." He ran over to the trashcans in the alley and vomited his dinner away.

The three shadows from the alleyway made a flighty exit, confident their goal had been reached.

**************
"I don't understand. I saw her yesterday for lunch. She was fine." Froggie gave a nervous chuckle and held onto the phone tight until his knuckles turned white.

"Mmm-hmm. Alright. I'll be right down. Thank you." He hung up and looked over at the two pairs of eyes baring down on him.

Kuno and Bo-Bo sat on the couch. Bo-Bo got up and crossed his arms across his chest. "Well, what did they say?"

"They want me down at the station to identify her body. Her parents are away somewhere in the Caribbean and can't get in contact with them. Shit. I don't think I can go through with this."

Kuno peeled his 6-foot frame from where he sat and put his hands on Froggie's shoulders. "Come on, bitch, you can get through this. You knew this is what would happen. Just make like the pussy-bitch you are and go cry for your dead girlfriend. They won't bat an eye at you."

The three pulled in front of the police station. Froggie sat in the back, head down.

Bo-Bo shook Froggie's shoulder, "Come on, identify the bitch, and get the hell outta there. We're gonna go grab some breakfast sandwiches. You want Canadian bacon or sausage? Don't do anything stupid. Fuck off, call us when you're done. "

Froggie climbed out of the backseat and watched as his two best friends drove away.

*******************

In a way, our minds try to deceive us by twisting our conscience out of blame. As if we were slathered in olive oil, not allowing anything to stick to us....but it still leaves you standing there, a gross oily mess.

Lara stood in front of her manager at the Gump's Corner Store. She smacked her gum annoyingly and just waited...waited for the firing to begin.

"......we pride ourselves for integrity and conviction. If our employees aren't loyal, how do you expect our customers to be?...."

Lara apathetically nodded. Just fire, me! Fire me, goddamit!

".........and we here at Gump's try to gather a good group of workers that embody our spirit and enthusiasm for our products..."

Her eyes were literally going to fall out of their sockets if her manager didn't hurry up. Yes, I drank the bottle of chocolate milk without paying for it! Fire me!, she thought.

".......Look Lara, you're one of our better employees so you've put me in a very compromising position. I've thought this thing up and down....

Lara's mind wandered. She wondered if her manager knew his nose hairs had become so overgrown it looked like birds had started a nest in his nostrils.

A middle aged woman walked in the store (Lara liked to guess what they'd buy before they came to the counter) She thought...umm...pack a gum, liter of Diet Coke and a pack of condoms. Lara watched as the woman went to refill her birth control prescription and bought a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Damn, so close.

Lara wondered what Froggie and the other guys were doing...maybe watching a flick or eating chili fries.

"........And the holidays are coming up so we're going to need the help. And then Jeremy said he was going to have to transfer from full-time to part-time...."

She couldn't take it any longer. "Look, Bert, I quit. Thanks." Lara grabbed a bottle of chocolate milk without paying for it and walked out the store, never looking back.

To be continued......

Excerpt

This is an excerpt of Graham Greene's novel "The End of the Affair." Great writer, great book, great movie. Just thought this little piece was really inspiring and truly captures what it feels like when you can't really express your feelings to the one you love...

June 12, 1944
Sometimes I get so tired of trying to convince him that I love him and shall love him for ever. I know he is afraid of that desert which would be around him if our love were to end, but he can't realise that I feel exactly the same. What he says aloud, I say to myself silently and write it here. What can one build in the desert? Sometimes after a day when we have made love many times, I wonder whether it isn't possible to come to an end of sex, and I know that he is wondering too and is afraid of that point where the desert begins. What do we do in the desert if we lose each other? How does one go on living after that?

The excrutiating agony of love....--Apples Signing Off

The Family