Fake Persona

Lips

Wed, 12 Jun 2013 11:46:38 -0400

We stared hungrily at each other. Would this happen or not? I wanted to make the first move, but I hung back, shy.

The air was thick with sexual frustration.

His cat, Rumpelstiltskin, was purring in between us while we fucked in each other’s minds.

We laughed at our awkwardness and his cat left the room startled.

I looked down at my hands, examining my fingers, wondering if I should say something.

“I…” We both said and laughed again. I raised my hand to go first.

“I…like you.” I said, staring at his eyes for a little too long. Then his mouth and then his hands. I wanted to lean over and kiss him, but the build up was making it impossible.

It was so quiet in the room, but so loud in my head. Just do it. Just do it. Just do it.

So I did it.

I crawled over to him, across his bed, filling the space between us. He looked nervous but excited.

I’d been waiting too long for this not to see it through. I wanted him. I wanted his lips. I wanted his hands. I wanted his weight on top of me.

It wasn’t tidy. It wasn’t the kind of kiss you’d see in a movie. It was sloppy. It was begging. It was real.

It was intense.

I couldn’t keep up the pace, so I slowed down, wanting everything to go just right. I kissed him slowly, sucking on his bottom lip. My hand lingering on the collar of his shirt. His hand on my hip following my lead. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the moment of our lips touching, tasting his breath and filling the air with uncontrolled lust.

I wasn’t patient though and I could only just kiss him for so long. I removed my shirt, exposing a newly bought lace bra, that I had been dreaming about rubbing against his bare chest.

He transferred his weight on top of me, kissing me deeply, his hands in my hair. I was lost again in those lips. I couldn’t think of anything else. My mind entirely filled with him.

Maybe this was more than like.

Missed Connections

Wed, 12 Jun 2013 11:43:25 -0400

I sit next to her at the bar. She seems friendly, chatting up the bartender. I’m having an a-ha moment with a poem I’ve been writing in my head. I scribble it onto a napkin, but before I can pocket it, she says hello.

“Oh hey,” I say, not very good at talking to strangers, especially sober. I look her in the eyes, noting she has particularly fantastic hair.

“Whatcha got there?” she says, gesturing at the napkin with her beer glass.

“Oh this? Just something I was writing.” I say, covering the napkin, so she can’t read it.

“Oh, that’s cool. I write sometimes when I’m motivated. Mostly, I’m here. They close, so you know, I gotta go home sometimes.”

“Yeah, I know how it is.”

Not knowing what to say next, I order the cheapest drink on the menu. I grab a book from my backpack and push down my nervousness into the words on the page. I make myself disappear. No longer in the bar. I’m a strong confident woman living on a farm in a war torn country surviving but just barely. No time to fall in love, but she can’t help herself. She’s only human. Love just happens.

Twenty-five pages later, I’m nearly done with my first beer. I look over but she’s gone.

Love is fleeting.

I wonder if I’d imagined the whole thing like the movie playing in my head while I read.

A napkin doodle is sitting on her empty chair mocking me. It’s a cat. She was real.

I pocket the napkin and curse my inability to make the first move, second move or any moves other than the tireless scribbles that seem to get me nowhere. Quietly, I put my book away. Feeling more alone than ever, I walk out of the bar.

I feel that drink more than I should, stumbling but still level-headed. She’s outside smoking a cigarette, laughing with a group of friends.

I dig my hands in my pocket, shrug and say it wasn’t meant to be as I walk out into the night.

Blonde

Wed, 12 Jun 2013 11:41:02 -0400

Ramona was a brunette, but longed for blonde hair. The kind that made other women jealous. She wanted to be a walking shampoo advertisement. She wanted to look so good that she looked photoshopped.

Her hairstylist, Henrique, had a weak handshake but offered her a giant glass of red wine. She sipped slowly but talked quickly as he transformed her into her best self.

She’d been dreaming about this for about five years, so the waiting was excruciating. Her leg nervously shook as she read last month’s Vogue, but she could barely concentrate on the words. She flipped the pages imagining what she would look like at her big reveal.

Her heart raced as she thanked Henrique with a hug. The process took hours, but she walked out feeling like a superhero.

She arrived at the restaurant, ten minutes early and asked for a table in the back. Her boyfriend arrived ten minutes late and without even noticing her new hair, flagged the waiter down for a cocktail.

Ramona sipped her red wine but said nothing at all. She stared at his eyes as they followed a waitress in the distance. More than buzzed, she slipped out of her seat, flipped her new blonde hair in her boyfriend’s direction and headed to the door, not thinking twice about walking away forever.

New hair or not, she certainly felt more powerful.

Outside the restaurant, she wanted to cry, but instead she walked away, her hair bouncing as she hurried down the crowded sidewalk. She bumped shoulders, turned heads that she didn’t notice and walked the fifteen floors of her apartment building right to the roof.

Her mind raced as she thought about plunging till her death. She couldn’t do it. Instead, she opened her arms and let herself go, caught by the wind, she realized that not only did her new hair give her newly found confidence, she could fly.

She flew back to the restaurant, perched in heels like a gargoyle, she waited till her boyfriend emerged with the waitress. Giggling and kissing like teenage lovers, she swooped down, frightening the new couple and spit in their faces before they could see her.

All she could hear were their frantic cries as she flew away laughing into the night.

The Paycheck

Wed, 12 Jun 2013 11:28:58 -0400

Any day that starts with a telephone call is a bad one.

Today was my bad day.

The phone rang while I slurped my rainbow-colored cereal milk. Startled, I dribbled all over my nightgown.

“Dammit. Hello?”

“Oh hey, Karla. Am I bothering you?”

I wanted to say, “Of course you’re bothering me, it’s 8am” but instead I went with, “No. Is something wrong?”

My sister only called me when something was wrong. Her usual morning began at 1pm, so maybe she had been up all night partying and this was a drunk dial.

“Oh, no. I just wanted to say hello.”

“Well, I’m in the middle of breakfast, so if you don’t mind…”

“Spike is dead.” She sobbed.

Spike was her hamster. Her goddamn stupid hamster. It was 8am and I didn’t care about Spike this early in the morning. In fact, I didn’t care much about my sister or any of my other relatives this early in the morning. My last boyfriend made the mistake of bringing me breakfast in bed and the next day, I broke up with him.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear. Can I call you back?”

She sniffled a yes and I hung up with no intention of calling her. Let Mom deal with it.

And with that the guilty thoughts started to pour in about how I was a terrible sister, daughter and girlfriend. I couldn’t deal with them right now, so I just shoved them on the floor with the rest of my dirty laundry, mouse traps and unopened mail.

I was going to be late for work, but I didn’t really care that much. I was almost always on the verge of being fired, but my boss was trying to sleep with me and the more leg I showed, the more I could get away with.

————————————————————-

“You’re late again, Karla.” Rudy said as I sat down at my desk. “I don’t even care about the excuse. Come to my office.”

I rolled my eyes and followed Rudy to his office. I sat down, crossed and uncrossed my legs and did a little shimmy that shook my breasts a little. I tried to wink — failed midway — but saved it by rubbing my eye and staring straight at him like I might just crawl across his desk provocatively once I got this eyelash thing straightened out.

“Karla, I’ve heard some complaints about you.”

I had been stealing food from the office fridge for over two months, so it was about time that caught up with me.

“Oh yeah, like what?” I said, in my husky sex kitten voice. I coughed a little like it sounded like I had a cold.

“Do you have a cold?”

“Oh, allergies, yes, must be.” I said, shaking my shoulders again and flipping my hair over my shoulder like a Pantene commercial.

“Oh, I see. Well, you’ve been late everyday this week and you’ve been seen stealing food from the company fridge.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry about being late, Rudy. I am. I’m just dealing with some personal stuff. My sister…died.”

“What? Are you okay? You shouldn’t even be here.”

“I mean, her hamster died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“…and someone ate my lunch and I was just…trying to get that person back…but double. Don’t you believe in karma, Rudy?”

“Oh, you should have come to me instead of doing that. You know you can tell me anything, Karla.”

Rudy was staring at my legs over his desk.

I could tell he wasn’t looking at my face or my chest or maybe it was the giant motivational cat poster he had on his back wall. I really hoped I turned him on more than a cat poster.

“So, are you gonna fire me?”

“Oh, heavens no! We need you, Karla.”

That’s right. You need me, Rudy. Remember that!

“I just…wanted to let you know…but don’t worry about it. This will stay between us. So sorry to hear about your sister’s…er…hamster.”

“Yeah, it was a devastating loss, we were really close.”

“Oh yeah, sorry to hear about that again. Remember if you need anything, I’m here for you.”

“Yeah, thank you,” I sniffed, letting a stray tear fall down my cheek. What a bozo.

I walked out of his office like I was modeling Versace on the runway. I’d waggle my buns to keep this job. I’d never find anywhere else that would tolerate my nonsense.

————————————————————-

I wasn’t even sure what my title was anymore. I used most of my time to write short stories. When I wasn’t writing fiction, I was writing various memos about all of the broken appliances around the department. I wasn’t sure, but I might have been the official liaison between the higher-ups and janitors.

Most of my company emails were about clogged toilets and broken lightbulbs. The other ones were crude pick-up lines from the various men around the office that thought they were being witty. I shrugged it off like everything about this job. As long as I kept getting a paycheck, I didn’t care what I did.

One day I spent decorating the entire office in Cinco de Mayo decorations and it wasn’t even May. I was just being festive and no one even seemed to notice.

Even when I was being weird, I wasn’t being noticed. I could be sitting at my desk naked and everyone would walk by like I was doing a good job. No one ever talked shit to my face, but Rudy knew it all. He was the good guy boss that everyone was buddies with and frankly, I wasn’t happy sharing him.

I didn’t like Rudy, but it didn’t matter. I wanted to fuck with his world so badly that instead of getting fired, I’d get a raise. I’d get paid to leave this place.

Tribeca

Wed, 12 Jun 2013 11:20:00 -0400

Her name was Tribeca and for awhile I thought she was the one.

She was 10 years older than me with long blonde hair and the kind of blue eyes that reminded me of the wishing wells I’d throw pennies into as a kid wishing for this very woman.

And here she was.

She wasn’t just good looking.

In the end, I cared much more about the kinds of conversations we shared and how at night, when I’d walk home from her apartment, how I missed her voice and how I wish I had recorded it to listen to later.

The kinds of creepy thoughts you start to have when you become infatuated with someone. The thoughts you have before you really know someone.

The only problem with Tribeca was that she didn’t love me. She loved horses and I was a goddamn dog.

Left alone to rot in an alley behind her house and only thanks to the kindness of a stranger, I found my true love, Stephanie.

She smelled of sapphires and fed me the choicest of meats.

Stephanie was my one. Stephanie was my only.

Yours

Mon, 03 Jun 2013 14:52:57 -0400

When you look at me, I see the want in your eyes. I’m simultaneously drawn in by your raunchy behavior but disgusted by your lust. I want to push you away and take you right there.

The problem being that I can never be yours.

I’m merely a dark chocolate bar in the candy aisle of a grocery store. You’ll buy me, eat me and then forget about me in about five minutes.

I’ve never felt more satisfied and more miserable in my life.

Friendlys

Tue, 21 May 2013 17:03:15 -0400

I never thought two best friends could turn into something more. That those sideways glances would turn into afternoon kisses.

I never wanted you more than after I knew you.

All of those conversations a rehearsal for what would happen later.

Time stood still as our clothes came off, the room smelling of sweat and sex, my lipstick on your neck.

I can barely look at you in the eye, but when I close my eyes, my mind conjures up the very images that are taking place. I can’t fight it. My body and my brain are focused on never letting you go.

I crumple beneath the passion. The longing so deep, I can barely breathe. Tiny puffs of air escape between my lips before your mouth is on mine again.

Your weight on me reminding me that this is not a dream. That sometimes you don’t even have to ask. That things just happen like a movie. It wasn’t written in the original script, but a few rewrites later and here we are now.

In bed.

I’m exhausted. Smiling. My body tingling with pleasure. We look into each other’s eyes and it’s not awkward. It’s just time standing still.

You put your arms around me and pull me in close to you. Still warm and sweaty, but I don’t mind. I feel your heart steadying.

This tender embrace, much more than a friendly hug, reminds me why I liked you so much in the first place.

I Write for You

Mon, 20 May 2013 12:21:33 -0400

When I write, I write for you.

The you changes sometimes, but it’s always you. You know who you are. You, not you, but you.

The beautiful one. The ugly one. The plain one. The hurt one. The confident one. The sad one. The happy one. The boring one.

I write for you.

Did you notice?

I wrote about that inside joke once. Did you get it?

Did it turn you on? That one part. The sexy part. I wrote it for you.

Yeah, you!

Did you get excited?

I get excited when I write.

Sometimes I’m sad and lonely, but then I write for you and cheer myself up. I write for you because you’re not here.

I write to you as you sit next to me on the sofa.

Did you notice the click-clack of my keyboard as I wrote for you? Did it keep you up at night? I like to write at night.

And in the morning.

And in the evening.

And in libraries and cafes and in the shower and on the bus.

I write for you.

I hope you liked it.

Cheap

Tue, 14 May 2013 13:18:00 -0400

The ghosts lived inside her head.

It wasn’t the TV, her computer monitor or a dripping faucet. The silence brought the whooos and aaaahs of an ethereal entity. Her doctor could not explain it.

“There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Can you look again?”

“I can look again and again, but I’ll find nothing.”

She huffed and felt thankful for health insurance.

At night, she couldn’t sleep. The moaning kept her awake. Every time she turned on the TV the noises would compensate — louder and louder — till she reached for a bottle of ibuprofen.

“Please stop!” she shouted at the voices.

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?” They moaned in return.

“Oh, hello…” she said, shocked. “Why are you haunting my head?”

“We’re not. We’re alive. We live here.”

“Why me?”

“We like you, my dear.”

“Why here?”

“Oh, it’s ever so comfortable.”

“I can’t think with all of that noise going on in there. Can you stop?”

“Oh dear, it’ll be a couple more weeks. We’re doing a few repairs.”

“Repairs?”

“Yes, this house is old.”

“House?”

“Have you had your ears checked recently? Yes, this is our old ancestral home that’s been sitting vacant for years.”

“So all of those moans were just machines?”

“Some of them, yes. Some of them are the ghosts that haunt this house.”

“So what are you gonna do?”

Then all at once the voices said, “Ghostbusters…”

Sandwich

Mon, 13 May 2013 19:00:20 -0400

In line at the grocery store, the beep-beep-beep lulls me into a daydream. My feet shuffle from side to side because I want to be anywhere but in this line, but I need butter, cheese and bread. Need. What do I really need? I think about just walking away, but then I start thinking about the grilled cheese I wanted to make, so I stick it out. I wait-wait-wait and listen to that headache-inducing beep-beep-beep. I shuffle. I sing along to the pop hits of 2002 while the cashier calls for a price check. I look at the woman behind me and we share a sympathetic smile with each other and shrug our shoulders.

It’s too late to change lines.

Every single one moving faster than this one.

But I think of that buttery bread toasted just right and the ooey-gooey cheese burning my tongue. The sting of painful pleasure. How, if only this line would move, I could be home making the sandwich of my dreams.

Finally, finally, it’s my turn.

Beep-beep-beep.

Change exchanged, canvas tote filled and I get to my car and realize I forgot the pickles.

Shout

Tue, 07 May 2013 19:58:41 -0400

You are beautiful. I don’t say it enough, but you are beautiful. Every night when I’m in that quiet place that exists in my head — I close my eyes and your face is there reminding me that the world isn’t that bad. It’s not bad because you make it glow with your kind words, encouragement and gentle nature.

And even though I am reckless and mean and want to spit fire, you console me with your blue eyes and hold my hand, even though I’m throwing hadoukens at your stomach. You calm that spirit in me. You look past the person I pretend to be — to the very center of my heart and you rip it out and hold it in front of me.

You show me how to live.

You tug me along and whisper sweet nothings. You make me such a girl for you. You make me feel strong instead of sour. You make me feel like I belong in this world instead of me versus them. It is us and no one else matters.

It’s not a video game.

There is no them.

There is only us.

And each time I look in your eyes. Those beautiful, kind eyes, I know that I have fallen for the right person. The person that will accept me for who I am and make me better even when I’m the most rotten, lousy and terrible person on the planet.

And for that — you are a superhero.

And for that — I’m the villain.

And together — we’re love.

The Package

Tue, 30 Apr 2013 13:28:30 -0400

It arrived on my doorstep a little after noon. I wasn’t expecting anything, but packages hardly hold the same value they did when I was in college. It was probably some stale cookies from my grandmother. She was always trying to send me things to make me feel bad for not calling her more often.

No return address.

Uh oh.

My first instinct was to call the police. Unfortunately, we lived in a world where anything out of the ordinary was suspicious. Sometimes a package was just a package or a bucket just a bucket.

I shrugged my shoulders and figured at 40, I had lived long enough to take a little risk. My will had been written long ago and if someone wished ill will towards me, I’d give them props for making the ultimate effort.

The opening didn’t come easy to me.

I decided to have a last meal.

The ultimate guilty pleasure meal, so if my face was ripped apart by the mystery package, I wouldn’t be too depressed by my lack of lips.

I decided to swing by my favorite fast food places. I got a personal pan from Pizza Hut, some chicken McNuggets, a whopper and 12 tacos from Taco Bell. I was too sick to finish my cherry limeade, but I figured just showing up was enough for me. I always appreciated the neon sign more than the food anyways.

Too bloated and nauseated to deal with the package, I took a nap.

Four hours later, I awoke, rested and greasy with a fever.

I cursed my bad luck and flipped off the package.

“It’s your fault. Look what you’ve done.”

I couldn’t procrastinate much longer, so I took to unwrapping the brown paper, cutting the tape with my house key and dumping an incredible amount of Styrofoam peanuts on the floor.

Out dropped a plastic-packaged pair of jeans and a packing slip.

Then it hit me, I’d made a late night order on eBay for a pair of vintage jeans.

I laughed, sloshing the food around in my stomach, and cried as I remembered what I’d done.

So much for growing wiser.

____________________________________

(inspired by this writing prompt)

C

Fri, 26 Apr 2013 12:52:23 -0400

His face appeared to me in a dream. Long and weeping like the moon. I wanted to console him, but instead I wake up sobbing.

There’s nothing in my room but shadows.

I close my eyes but behind my eyelids is his face. I can’t shake him. The butterflies dance in my stomach. The sweet relief when I open my eyes and he’s gone again.

Night after night, he’s there waiting for me.

He sings to me a haunting tune about cookies and the moon. I can’t get away from this furry monster. His guilt-stricken voice echoing out his remorse for eating the moon.

How can I tell him that it wasn’t the moon at all?

It really was a cookie.

A giant space cookie.

Thank you, Monster, you saved us all from certain doom.

Nothing is Safe in the Dark

Tue, 23 Apr 2013 14:27:33 -0400

You whisper secrets to the trees, held tightly in their trunks,
rooting into the ground till they mingle with the moles. They dance
among the carrots, turnips and groundhogs.

But nothing is safe in the dark.

Blood oaths exchanged, the moles sell your deepest thoughts to the
snakes and rabbits. Burrowing deep into their hidey-holes but having
too much to drink, speak a little too loudly to their spouses.
Mischievous and tipsy, the alpacas overhear something they
shouldn’t, spreading the news into the wind. The kangaroos make a fast
buck selling your story to an obnoxious celebrity gossip news source.
The spiders add a bit of flare before letting it out onto the Web. By
the time it gets back to you, unrecognizable and misconstrued, you’re
over it.

Part the Clouds

Wed, 17 Apr 2013 16:21:20 -0400

He looked up into the sunless sky and cursed the clouds for the darkness that shadowed his morning. He kicked an empty soda can down the street, hands in pockets and muttered nonsensical words under his breath.

Weeks of planning ruined by the weather. There was nothing he could do now, because the wheels were already in motion. His legs were eager to get there, but his guts danced with nervousness.

He looked into the sky again, whistling a jolly tune that he didn’t know the name of, smiled at the neighborhood kids and the clouds parted as he began to dance.

The butterflies flying out of his stomach like musical notes.

The blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds like a painting worthy of a museum wall.

His frown nothing more than a wisp of stress long forgotten and as he arrived at the train station twenty minutes early for her arrival, he thanked Mother Nature for holding out a bit longer.

Till he mustered the courage to finally say hello to the girl that made his coffee every morning.

She smiled, dismissed his dollars and took his number.

He knew today was going to be a very good day.

24 haiku in 24 hours!

Tue, 09 Apr 2013 13:39:10 -0400

chisel:

Go read the insanity!

GREEN TEA HAIKU

Hey, I’m challenging myself to write 24 brand new, original haiku in 24 hours. Updated every hour from noon, April 9. If you like my short stories, you’ll probably like my shorter poems. Thanks for reading!

Blackbird

Tue, 09 Apr 2013 13:35:12 -0400

Karen sat at her computer, watching the birds fly by her window. She had something to do, but no matter how hard she tried, the something wasn’t happening.

The something was due tomorrow at 9am. Too early for her but everyone else seemed to make it there on time.

Her retinas burned thinking of the bright sunshine of the early morning hours. Tired and groggy, she cursed the California sunshine and wanted nothing more than to live in a sleepy New England cabin.

She typed a few words knowing they made no sense, but as the afternoon turned to evening, she knew she’d have to turn in something or face flunking her senior year.

Her teacher’s nearly purple complexion yelling at her face, pieces of food flying out of her lips, sticking to her glasses. There was no way she could risk repeating it all over again.

Her words nothing more than nonsense connected by periods and commas. She was citing total bullshit. She started to describe the scene outside her window. The eerie silence, the one star that she could see that was obscured by her favorite creepy tree and the man clawing at her window.

Her heart raced as his face appeared out of nowhere, withered and worn, he looked like her favorite dog-eared comic book. She kept typing and the more she did, the more he came alive. Watching her but nothing more.

She wanted to yell, but her mother would scold her for waking up the baby and her father would hit her for no other reason than she wasn’t his favorite.

He fogged up the window with his breath.

She wrote about his yellow teeth, long fingers and balding scalp.

She blinked but he was still there. She closed her eyes, wishing him away and just like that, she awoke in a puddle of drool with an empty white screen and no reason to even bother anymore.

She’d failed.

So she walked to school forty-five minutes later with a typed version of last night.

Crossing her fingers that it would be enough to save her from him.

Whatever

Mon, 08 Apr 2013 12:34:39 -0400

William and Samuel had been going out for three months, but Samuel always kept an eye out for someone new. It wasn’t that he didn’t like William, he had often said I love you without lying, but there were so many men and he always doubted his decisions.

William was always rolling his eyes and letting out exasperated sighs. “What are you doing, Sammy?”

“Please don’t call me that, okay?”

“Whatever,” William said, rolling his eyes again. “Are you checking that guy out? Aren’t I good enough for you?”

“Yes and yes.”

“Well, I’m not keen on sharing, so you’d better make up your mind.” William would say, sashaying away. Samuel rather enjoyed watching William slink away in his pink silk pajamas. He had bought them for his “girlfriend” on recommendation from the salesgirl at Macy’s. They were a perfect fit.

The thing about William is that he was imperfect. It wasn’t an ordinary human flaw, but many that kept piling up forcing Samuel to rent out several storage lockers.

“Why are you wearing your pajamas out in public?”

“You didn’t stop me? Plus, they’re comfortable, Sammy.”

It’s true that no one batted at eye in William’s direction anymore. He was no longer unusual. He was just weird. His weird was the usual.

“Why can’t you be normal?”

“Samuel, I’m normal for me. I thought you liked my pajamas.”

“Yes, I love them very much when you wear them for me in my own house. It’s something we do together. It’s not for everyone.”

“Well, you certainly seem to be interested in everyone lately, so I thought why bother?”

“I’m sorry, I’m distracted.”

William rolled his eyes again and drank his orange juice. William refused to drink anything but mimosas. He wardrobe was like a cartoon characters. He had one pair of pink pajamas but everything else was black stretch pants, black and white striped shirts and berets. People often referred to him as the “mime.” Samuel was not pleased. Even when he called his friends out on it, no one apologized.

“Guys, he’s my boyfriend. Stop it!”

“But haven’t you noticed?”

“Yes, of course, I’ve noticed!” Samuel shouted. “Everyone has flaws.”

“They’re not just flaws. We’d forgive that, but now he’s wearing his pajamas in public and…”

“Stop it. Just stop it. William is unusual.”

“No, he’s just weird.”

“He’s mine and that’s fine.” He’d waved his hand in the air to dismiss his friends and walked away.

Because of that, he no longer had many close friends.

In fact, Samuel often looked in awe at the other men having dinner with company. Why couldn’t he be more like them? Why couldn’t we just fit in?

Then it occurred to him that he should stop trying so hard. He’d just do whatever he felt like.

“Samuel, why are you wearing my clothes?”

“Why not? I like them.”

“Because you look like a fucking mime!”

Samuel bowed and said, “I go by Sammy now.”

————————————————————————————

Three weeks later, William was sitting at a table surrounded by his friends.

“I don’t know what happened to Samuel. He just went off the deep end. He wouldn’t stop dressing like a mime in public. It was pathetic. Look at him sitting all alone crying into his mimosa. It’s unbearable.”

Everyone nodded, causing their berets to shift on their heads, and they held up their glasses in silent toast to their crazy ex-friend, Samuel.

Crush

Tue, 02 Apr 2013 12:54:24 -0400

The problem with falling for your friends is that you never know what to do next. Usually it happens out of nowhere. Casually over dinner. Accidentally touching hands at the mall. Helping them with their homework.

Those everyday things that you overlook but start to add up.

One by one you start to notice all of these great things about them.

The color of their eyes, the smell of their detergent and their choice in footwear.

It happens slowly over time. Subconsciously. Then boom.

TNT!

It explodes in your lap and suddenly you’re nervous.

What do you wear? What do you say? What do you do?

Suddenly you’re awkward and always saying the wrong things.

You want to make them laugh, but instead you stumble over your words and spill soda in your lap.

It works because they’re laughing. At you. But you take it.

And they help you clean up your mess and call you stupid and sometimes give you a hug.

THISCLOSE and you’re hypnotized by their shampoo.

You want to touch their hair all the time.

You lock eyes longer than usual.

You think about them when you’re all alone.

All alone in your empty house.

You think about calling them.

You think about kissing them and what that first kiss would be like and if it would live up to your expectations.

You suddenly find yourself invested in their favorite activities. The things you thought were lame before are suddenly interesting.

They make them interesting.

They’re interesting.

You can’t stop fantasizing about the what ifs and what nows.

They show up occasionally in your sexiest dreams.

It was hot.

You want to tell your friend about your hot dream.

You don’t.

You meet them after school with their favorite donut and a coffee.

You listen as they tell you all about So And So and how they kissed in the library.

You listen because you’re still their friend.

You plot out how to get So And So out of the picture.

You spend nights on why So And So isn’t good for your friend.

It’s irrational the amount of time you think about So And So.

You start to think about So And So more than your friend.

So you back up, close your eyes and think about Jennifer Lawrence.

And strategize your plan to Hollywood instead.

Love Letters

Tue, 26 Mar 2013 12:10:06 -0400

Never, ever write a love letter was the only advice my mother ever gave me.

I was six and couldn’t understand what I did wrong.

“What is this?” Mom asked, shaking a folded piece of construction paper under my nose.

I dragged my foot across the ground and started counting the squares
on the linoleum.

“Kenneth William Rogers, are you listening?”

“It’s a letter to Cindy.”

Mom opened the letter and I didn’t protest. It said I like you. Actually, I didn’t know how to spell, so it was just a bunch of hearts and the letter U. It was up to interpretation really.

“Is this a love letter?”

I shook my head yes.

“Never ever write a love letter! They’ll only get you in trouble.”

She crumpled the letter and threw it away.

My heart plummeted along with it. Cindy would never know my true feelings.

For years, I was cursed as the best friend. Middle school came and went and high school was a new beginning, but those words of advice echoed in my head.

Was Mom right?

I couldn’t see how a woman that wore jeans way past her belly button could ever be right about anything. She could make a mean meatloaf and her homemade Mac ‘N Cheese had won her an award, but she didn’t know anything about love.

My mom was a professional singleton.

The last time I had seen my father was the year the advice was thrown at me. He had walked out with not even a word. Years later, I’d find out he was shagging his secretary. The office cliche and I was ashamed of his behavior on behalf of all nice dudes everywhere.

A woman scorned for sure, but my Mom’s love life had nothing to do with mine.

I was my own man.

I wasn’t my father.

I wasn’t scum.

I was the good guy.

I wasn’t a hero, a jock or even all that good looking, but I could write.

The amount of love letters I had written in my notebook over the years was nearing 100.

They were usually to no one in particular. Sometimes there was a girl I liked and she’d end up in the notebook. We’d stay friends but in my head, we were steaming up the windows of my 1997 Dodge Ford.

Love letters were my girlfriend.

The very sad truth.

I was tired of pen and paper.

Too shy to admit anything. I held it in for so long, I didn’t know how to let it out. I didn’t know how to make my fantasy life a reality. It seemed so easy in the movies. Lloyd holding up the boombox. A chance meeting in Montauk. The unlikely pair attending a funeral. Testicular cancer sob stories.

Then Cindy showed up again.

Junior year, I was 17 and far too old to not even have had a first kiss.

Of course, in my notebook, I was a professional at this point.

The amount of girls I had tongue wrestled with was far too many.

I didn’t care about adding notches to my bed post
.
I just wanted one kiss and even if she slapped me, I’d die humiliated, but happy.

Cindy remembered me.

We’d sit together in the cafeteria cracking each other up.

We were kids again.

Nearly legal adults, but we didn’t care when people stared at our
homemade dream catchers, fortune tellers and coloring books.

I found myself turning to my notebook. Reinventing that first ever love letter.

Heart heart heart heart U. XOXOXOXOXO KEN

I almost went through with it, but instead of sticking it in her locker, I put it in my back pocket.

Four days later, I’d join her at the park, sitting on a swing. She was quiet.

She pulled out a crumpled piece of construction paper.

Where did she find it?

My note. My love letter. How dare she?

“Was this for me?”

I stared down at the wood chips bracing myself for the worst.

“I’m sorry. It was just a bit…”

“I like you too.”

My heart pounded so fast, I was sure it was going to rip a hole
through my shirt. Sweat pouring down my face, I felt hot and red.

I leaned over to kiss her, but she was gone.

Her swing squeaked as I watched her pink sneakers walk off into the
distance. My mother’s advice echoing in my head.