Mirage

It felt like being in a crowded parking lot when someone way up ahead is waiting for that choice spot. No one can move in or out. Or forward.

Only we were in the desert, not in a parking lot. There were no cars around. Not even a road. Scrub, dust and old rock, filled our view all the way to the pass leading to Mirage, our destination.

Oh yeah, it was stifling hot.

The three of us walked steadily, but we made no discernible progress. We were on a hot, dusty treadmill.

Avery and Joe were my companions. We had water, extra shoes, sunblock and our purpose – a package to deliver.

Joe makes a great companion. But he reminded me of walking on the beach with a five-year-old, who keeps a good pace unless they see a shell or shiny object revealed by the receding surf. Keeping him on task was a task in itself.

And he talked non-stop about returning to his favorite city, Summit. He pointed to it in the distance but I couldn’t see it. At our altitude, it should have been obvious. Joe described its alabaster walls rising into golden sunlight and shady trees laden with delicious fruit. He indicated a bright spot at the base of the mountain to the right of our pass. It looked less a city than a yellowish stain on the surrounding rock.

I told him we would visit if we had time.

Avery also spoke without pause, about his brilliant sapphire city. A city only he could see. He pointed to it, but we saw only sun-baked rock and not a sapphire in sight. His description made us yearn for this oasis filled with soaring towers and vast rolling parks.

On the far side of the pass lay Mirage, obscured by clouds. Isn’t a mirage something seen which isn’t there? Why name something you can’t see, Mirage? I kept that thought to myself.

We walked all day in the relentless sun. At dusk, we set camp in a dry gulch. We still had plenty of water but dug down to see if we could find more. We found very dry dust.

“Are you sure we should be here? What about flash floods?”

“It’s summer, Joe. It doesn’t rain in the desert, come summer.”

“But what about all those lightning flashes over in the mountains?”

“Heat lightning. No rain.”

Then Avery asked, “What about snakes?”

“Sit up and watch for them. Or climb something high, so they won’t sneak up on you.”

“Like those rocks?”

“Sure.”

Joe said, “Don’t listen to him, Avery. They live in the rocks.”

Neither Avery nor Joe seemed happy with my answer. There weren’t many alternatives.  I didn’t bring up scorpions.

We set up the tent and sat around the campfire until late. Avery pointed into the darkness. We could see the glowing eyes of coyotes watching us.

“How do you know they’re coyotes?”

“Wait a bit, Joe. They’ll be yipping at the moon.”

“Those glowing eyes creep me out. Sure they’re not spirits?”

“It’s from the fire.”

“But the fire flickers. Their eyes just glow, steady.”

A shot rang out. I threw something at Avery. “Damn it, Avery! Stow it. You want to kill someone?”

Avery holstered his pistol. “I didn’t even scare them. Think they’re spirits.”

“Do that again and you’ll join them.”

“They’re spirits…”

“No reason to shoot at them then. Guns can’t kill spirits, and coyotes aren’t worth spending bullets on.”

The next morning, Joe’s city hardly took us out of our way. Only Summit no longer existed. Barely ruins. No stone atop another. Yet there remained a certain beauty like the shattered bits of a Christmas ornament.

Dust and scrub hid shards of what might have been, like bone fragments strewn about. Foundation outlines emerged in places, like calcified shadows. The city was long since gone. Sun and distance had played a trick on our hopeful eyes.

We continued onward with only Joe looking back in bewilderment.

Avery pestered us about visiting Sapphire. At best, it would be out of our way and delay us. I couldn’t see it. I wanted to get to Mirage.

Avery said he saw it, but it receded as we approached. Then even Avery admitted it was gone. We never did find it. We could discover no sign of it on high ground nor in the glens. Avery’s brilliant city existed only in words.

Finally, Joe, who was sympathetic to the search, called it quits.

“This is pointless. Let’s go.”

Avery resisted. “But it was here. I saw it.”

“It’s not here now.”

“Let’s camp here. We’ll make it to Mirage in the morning.”

We set camp but the wind picked up and sent sparks flying.

“The last thing we need is a wildfire.” We doused the fire and ate our dinner cold, in the dark. No glowing eyes watched from the distance.

I dreamed a great black cat nuzzled me like its own. It could have swallowed me whole. I was completely at its mercy. But it licked me like a cub. Vulnerable terror dissolved into peaceful surrender.

The coyotes woke me. They sounded like crying babies. I lay in the great silent darkness, awake yet still comforted. We were in the great, benign wilderness.

On the third day, we arrived in Mirage. We left at dawn and descended through the pass into the fog. We never saw the sun.

Mirage could have been named almost anything. ‘Dismal’ came to mind as we surveyed the tiny harbor in the muted light. Decrepit boats rose and fell as small swells sleep-walked to the shore. Despite the activity, it all felt stagnant.

Expecting a mansion, we found a modest house on a quiet street. The door opened at our knock and we were shown into the owner’s living room. It felt good to sit.

We never knew our host’s name. He entered with his assistant and nodded to us when we stood. He sat behind what looked like a vintage kitchen table.

I produced the package. The assistant opened it with a small knife. He removed the wrapping paper and placed the decorated wooden box on the table where our host admired it.

He pulled it open, smiled and sighed.

“I love these,” he said as he tipped the box and poured hundreds of gold coins across the table.

Wide-eyed, Joe and Avery exchanged glances with me. Our host picked up three coins and offered one to each of us. Then he picked up a coin and deftly pulled the foil covering away to reveal a chocolate interior.

We were silent as our host gleefully ate his ‘coin’.

He gestured at us. “Eat! Eat! Don’t you like them?”

We dutifully unwrapped and ate our chocolates.

The assistant brought tea. We drank greedily. We couldn’t thank him enough.

Our host stood, prompted by a signal from his assistant. He thanked us profusely and left the room. That was it.

“I’ll show you the door.” We followed the assistant to the front door where he produced a cloth flour sack. “This is for you. Thank you for your troubles.”

Once outside, Joe and Avery pressed me to look into the sack.

“That’s it? What’s our payment? Kumquats?”

“Just so it’s not chocolate coins…”

I pulled out a gold coin, bit it and announced we were not fools. Joe and Avery cheered and slapped each other’s backs in congratulations.

Darkness joined the gloom as we walked back into town. We found a hotel in which we could eat and count our reward. The ordeal of our journey receded with rest and sustenance.

I slept long and deep.

Mirage held little of interest for us. We checked out of our rooms and replenished our supplies at a local hardware.

Joe and Avery were free to go their way. But we decided unanimously on our next course of action. We returned the way we came.

Once back to Summit, we set camp. In the morning, Joe and Avery began selecting the best stones. I scouted the hills for trees we could cut for lumber.

We began to build.

From a Balloon

Greta watched the world go by. And yet there it remained.

In her ninety years, she couldn’t understand how the human race continued to exist. Everyone lived through chance encounters, like molecules of air colliding with each other. Yet somehow, things got built. Babies were born. Civilizations rose and fell and were replaced by newer, better, shinier civilizations. How did all this happen?

Greta spent most of her life alone. Even when married, she had felt alone. Was that her fault? Or is that just how things are? The demands made upon her outweighed the benefits received. At least that is how she saw it.

Every day she sat in the park and pondered; how the hell did I get here?

She remembered the days of the blitz in London. She came home from school one day to discover her building and her family gone. Blown to bits by Nazi bombs. Social workers put her with other kids on a bus out of London to safety. She remembered watching the distant smoke rise. And the military observation balloons suspended far overhead.

Those balloons became a model for how she saw things, tethered to earth yet disconnected from everything. She fantasized cutting their cables and setting them free. Did they shoot ten year-olds for being spies?

They brought her to a farm and put her to work. In exchange for her labor, she received room and board. After the war, distant cousins in America took her in. She always felt a barely tolerated guest who had over-stayed. But she had nowhere else to go. Once grown, she and they lost their tenuous connection. She went her way.

It occurred to her that other people had connections to each other, which she did not. Greta felt they must.

Life felt like she rode alone on a train which passed other trains occupied by passengers also surrounded by solitude. Destinations unknown.

Nowadays, she sat in the park watching people. Many, especially children, spent their precious time sitting, swiping away on their smart phones. No real connections there. Yet, someone provided these devices. Someone built them, marketed them, and empowered them to fill the time. Who were those people? Did they have deep connections to those surrounding them?

Young couples strolled by, laughing and talking. The man laid his hand on the woman’s waist. Guiding her where? The woman smiled broadly at him and laughed.

But Greta could see distance in their eyes. She saw they were desperate to connect, unaware connection is a myth. Commercials on TV promise connection if only you buy their product. Greta bought lots of things but never felt connected.

Summing up her life, Greta would say it boiled down to people getting what they could. There might be fair exchanges. Of course, one gets the sandwich in exchange for its price. But she saw nothing more, nothing deeper.

A tree grows and then drops its leaves.

The puddle evaporates, and then it rains. The system seems to work. It always had.

But Greta wanted more. Even though she knew the myth of human connection, something within her craved it. What would it be like?

Who invented this myth? How would anyone conceive of it in the first place, if it were mere fantasy? Just to sell products meant to satisfy a gnawing, but imaginary hunger?

A ball rolled to a stop at Greta’s feet. A young boy ran toward her from a clutch of others. Greta instinctively stepped on the ball to keep him from taking it.

The boy stopped short, surprised. Grownups don’t act like that.

“May I have my ball back?”

“It’s mine. It came to me.”

“Billy accidentally hit it too hard. I couldn’t catch it.” The boy pointed back to the others who watched.

“Billy will learn his lesson, won’t he?”

“Maybe…” The boy struggled to understand. “Please? May I have it back?”

“What will you give me?”

“I don’t have anything. Oh, wait. Do you want some gum?” He reached into his pocket.

“Keep your gum.”

Greta nudged the ball toward him with her foot. “There you go.”

The boy picked it up and threw it toward his friends. He turned back to Greta. “Thanks. What’s your name?”

“Greta. And yours?”

“Thomas.”

“Nice to meet you, Thomas.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“Why would you want to talk to me?”

Under his breath Thomas said, “Kids are kind of boring.”

Greta bit her tongue. “But why talk to me?”

“You’re alone. I thought you might like some company.”

“What would you like to talk about, Thomas?”

“I don’t know. Grown-ups have good stories.”

“They do?”

“Kids don’t know anything. Grown-ups know a lot.”

“So you want me to entertain you?”

“If you want. Or teach me. Or just pass the time.”

“You want to take my time, then.”

“Only if you want. I’ll give you mine.”

“A fair trade then.” Thomas nodded. “Come sit. What would you like to hear about?”

Thomas crawled onto the bench. He thought for a moment. “Tell me about when you were a kid.”

“Now that is a topic… Let’s see. I remember going into the country when I was about your age. There were these giant balloons up in the sky. Big enough for people to ride.”

“Wow!”

“They were attached to the ground with long, uhm… ropes. Yes, ropes.”

“Like giant kites?”

“Well they were balloons. With men up in them. And they could see way off into the distance.”

“That’s cool.”

“I always wished I could go up in one and fly away.”

“Where would you go?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Someplace away from… away from all the fighting.”

“They were fighting when you were young? I mean, when you were my age?”

“I think there has always been fighting, Thomas.”

“Oh…” Thomas looked down. “But if there is fighting all over, where would you go?”

Greta paused. She didn’t know how to answer this.

“I guess I’d just keep going up, then.”

“All the way to heaven?”

“Heaven?”

“You know. Where God lives?”

“Oh that place. I don’t know… I doubt if they would let me in there.”

“Why? Were you bad?”

Greta smiled at Thomas. “I may not have been so bad, Thomas. But I’m not so sure I am always so good either. I hear it’s pretty exclusive.”

“Oh… My Mom said that isn’t how it works.”

“Really? What does she say?”

“Well, she says people get it backwards.”

“How so?”

“She says, being ‘good enough’ is like trying to buy your way in. If that’s true, then only the rich would get in. Do you think only the rich get in?”

“I hope not.”

“She says it isn’t how good we are, but how good God is.”

“I don’t know…”

“Once I was bad. For something stupid.”

“Oh come now…”

“I didn’t hurt anyone, exactly, but Charlie, over there, he told me how we could sneak into the movie. But we got caught.”

“Oops.”

“A big whoops.”

“What happened?”

“The usher guy took us to the manager. And he told us he was calling the cops.”

“He could do that.”

“I know. I wouldn’t blame him. But I sweated Mom and Dad finding out, big time.”

“I would hope so.”

“So we apologized and said it wouldn’t happen again.”

“And?”

“He made us sweat for a while. But then he gave us free passes, if we promised never to try to sneak in again. We only missed the previews.”

“So, are you telling me, you can’t sneak into heaven? You can only buy a ticket?”

“No. Uhm… Well, what my Mom said, he gave us a pass. And our being good came out of our getting the pass. Not the other way around.”

“Your Mom sounds very wise.”

“Of course, she gave me extra chores…”

Greta laughed. Thomas sat for a minute.

Then he said, “You kind of tricked me, Greta.”

“I did?”

“You were going to tell me about when you were a kid. But you got me talking about getting caught.”

“I did, didn’t I? But your adventures are much more entertaining than mine. I promise.”

“I should go now. You mind if we talk again?”

“I would like that. I sit here pretty much every day.”

“I know. I’ve seen you.”

Thomas stood and thanked Greta for the conversation. He shook her hand, made a little bow and ran off to join his friends.

Greta watched him go. She felt light. Like she had been riding a balloon.

 

 

 

Kiss Hello, Kiss Goodbye

“Welcome to paradise, Sam! Want a beer?”

Samantha stood over Greg who sipped his beer by the campfire. “What are you doing?”

“Camping.” He grinned up at her. The afternoon sun gave her a halo. “How about a marshmallow?”

“You didn’t say anything about camping.”

“Surprise!”

“I don’t like camping.”

“You used to camp with your family all the time.”

“’Used to…’ Do you understand past tense?”

Greg poked the fire.

Samantha caught his attention. “I didn’t pack for camping. I don’t like sleeping in the dirt. I don’t like bugs. I like my privacy. I like a hot shower…”

“I get it. I thought it would allow us to reconnect… to bond.”

“That’s the trouble with long-distance relationships. Even when we communicate, there’s no communication.”

“So what do you want to do?”

“I drove all the way up here. I’m tired. I’ll get a room. I thought we were going to a restaurant. ‘Bonding’ at a restaurant sounds like fun.”

“But…”

“You can visit me there.” She pointed to the nearby motel. “You can even cancel this.” Samantha indicated Greg’s camp site.

“But I want to camp.”

“So camp.” They looked at each other. “What’s for dinner?”

“I’m barbecuing hamburgers…”

“Okay…”

Samantha took a beer from Greg’s cooler and walked over to the motel across the way. The place looked dingy but would have to do. She entered the motel office and paid for a room.

Then she strode to her pick-up truck and pulled her drag-along luggage off of the hay bale and out of the truck bed. Samantha walked straight to her room and closed the door.

After throwing her drag-along onto the bed, Samantha pulled the curtain back and looked out the window. Greg sat by his tent, waving to her with a big smile on his face.

She straightened the curtain. “Alpine Village, my butt,” she said to herself. “Tents? Anyone heard of buildings? Are all the caves taken?”

She flopped onto the bed and waved the remote toward the TV set. It flickered on to reveal a game show in progress. She wished she could have that much fun. Samantha flipped the channels several times and then clicked it off.

In a little while, she returned to Greg’s campsite.

He smiled and then stood. They embraced.

“I miss you,” Samantha said into Greg’s shoulder.

“Sorry about the mix up. I mean it.”

Samantha looked into his face. “It’ll be like when we were dating. You can be my ‘gentleman caller’.”

“And we can cuddle the night away.”

“But not in the dirt.”

“It’ll work out. When do you want to eat?”

After the burgers, Samantha finished her beer and announced, “That is the best burger ever, Greg. How did you do it?”

“It’s the wonderful surroundings, and of course, the amazing company.”

“Oh pshaw!”

Greg stirred the fire and sparks sailed through the deepening gloom. A night bird called. He moved closer to Samantha.

“All the way here I thought about how great to be together again.”

“Yeah. This is great. Since you did dinner, I’ll make breakfast. My room has a kitchenette. How do you like your eggs?”

“Over easy. The motel store opens early.”

Samantha slapped her leg. “Man! Another thing I hate about camping…”

“I brought bug spray.”

Samantha looked at Greg with mixed emotions. “That stuff acts like a giant bug billboard saying ‘Chow’s on! Come and get it!’”

“Step into my tent, then…”

“…Said the spider…”

“It’s cozy.”

“Alright, but you know I’m not staying.”

“I know.”

Greg held the tent flap aside for Samantha. “Welcome…”

Samantha was surprised at how clean and spacious Greg had it. “…and it has a floor! We don’t have to worry about camels sticking their noses in…”

“I promise, no camels.”

Greg crawled to his pack. “But I did bring this for insurance.” He pulled a pistol out and held it up for Samantha to see.

She blinked. “What’s that? A twenty-two?”

“Smith and Wesson…”

“In case a squirrel attacks us?”

“Or a bear.”

“Put it away, Greg. You’re only going to piss a bear off with that.”

“Meaning?”

“A friend of mine got shot five times with one of those, by his woman.”

“You’re kidding.”

“And then he drove himself to the hospital.”

Greg looked at his weapon and sighted along the barrel with his arm extended. Samantha reached out and guided his aim toward the ground.

“And anyway, you don’t want to shoot that around here. Eighty percent of the other campers have you out gunned.”

“Really?”

“The bear would be using you for cover.”

“Right…” Greg put his pistol back into the pack and zipped it shut. “You want another beer?”

“I’m good.”

Greg opened the tent flap and crouched to exit. He froze, ducked back into the tent and zipped the flap. He whispered, “Bear!”

“Cut it out, Greg…”

“Sam! No, really!”

“Bears are another thing I hate about camping…”

“Shhhhh!” Greg made a chopping gesture.

Samantha got serious. She crawled to his pack and grabbed his .22.

Greg looked at her with panic in his eyes. “What are you doing, Sam? I thought…”

“But I know how to use it. Shhh!”

They sat in the center of the tent. Greg pulled the sleeping bag over their shoulders and held her close. Samantha checked to make sure the pistol was loaded and primed.

Samantha whispered, “They just want food. We’ll be okay.” She put her finger to her pursed lips.

A hulking shadow fell on the tent. They could hear the bear move through the camp, knocking things over and smashing the cooler.

They heard other campers banging on pots. The bear moved off. After a minute, Samantha and Greg looked at each other.

“That was close.”

Greg moved to embrace Samantha. She said, “Wait…”

“What?”

Samantha held up the pistol for Greg to see, and then placed it on the tent floor and pushed it away with her foot. Then she kissed him. It had been a long time coming.

Samantha looked at Greg in the dim light. “You want to go to my room?”

“You think it’s safe?”

“Probably.”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

They giggled and crawled to the tent flap. Greg looked out and then nodded back toward Samantha.

Later, snuggling in bed, they talked about the past, people they knew and how things had changed. Greg wondered if they would ever be together again.

“It’s priorities, Greg. I need my degree. One year more.”

Greg stretched and pulled the covers away.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to the tent.”

“No…”

“You need a good night’s sleep and I need to clean up the mess. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“I’d sleep better with you here.” Samantha patted the bed.  Greg kissed her and made to tuck her in. Disappointed, Samantha turned onto her side and returned to sleep.

Greg knocked on her door early.

“Go away!”

“I brought fixin’s!”

“I don’t care. I need to get ready.”

“I’ll fix breakfast while you do your thing.”

Samantha opened the door a crack and slammed the bathroom door behind her.

Greg made do and watched cartoons until Samantha came out.

“Breakfast is served.”

“I was supposed to cook.”

“Don’t sweat it. Ready for our hike?”

“I guess.”

“You look great. We’ll have fun.”

“I guess.”

They set out walking briskly, breath visible in the chill. Dew hung from the pine needles. The sun warmed their faces. Birds fluttered about.

They sang together and talked about everything. Laughter came easily. They took lots of pictures. They felt no urgency but to be together.

Samantha didn’t notice the climb until she saw the valley below. Someone on the trail offered to shoot a picture of them. No bears intruded.

Samantha sat on a log and faced the sun with her eyes shut.

Greg stood by. “We’re almost there.”

“Where?”

“You have to come and see. No rush.”

Samantha sunned herself a moment longer and then sprang up. She ran up the trail into the trees, leaving Greg to catch up.

“Come on, slow poke!”

“Cheater!”

Samantha came around a stone outcropping and stopped short. She turned to Greg with tears in her eyes. “It’s so beautiful!”

The sound of the waterfall echoed down the canyon. Mist drifted through sun beams. A crow chuckled.

Greg took Samantha by the hand. “Come on!”

He led the way down the rocky embankment to the pool under the falls. People came, took pictures and went their way. Greg and Samantha stood in awe.

Samantha slipped off her shoes and waded into the pool. She shivered with delight. “It’s cold! But delicious!”

Greg sat on a stump to unlace his boots. A splash of water landed on his head. He looked to the source of giggling.

“I can’t believe you would do that.”

“It was an accident.”

“You really want to start this? You?”

“I couldn’t help it.”

Greg stepped into the water. Laughing, Samantha tried to put distance between them but slipped on a rock and went down with a scream.

Greg got to her as fast as possible. “These rocks are murder! Are you alright?”

“I’m wet!”

“Yes, I see that. And no one more deserving…” Greg offered Samantha his hand. She stood and lunged at him with a roar, embracing him with fierce laughter.

“Now I’m all wet!” Greg gave Samantha a bear hug and lifted her out of the water.

They couldn’t speak for their laughter. They made their way back to the little beach. Greg put on his boots.

Samantha started to shiver. “I’m freezing!”

“Let’s walk.”

They climbed the trail hand in hand. Samantha turned for one last look at the falls.

She said, “This is our waterfall, Greg. I’ll remember it every time I take a good hot shower.”

Around the bend they were back into sunshine.

“That’s better.”

“Keep moving. You’ll warm up.”

They came to a fork in the trail. Greg indicated the upward path.

Samantha protested. “I’m cold Greg. Shouldn’t we head down?”

“You don’t want to miss this. I promise.”

“Is it warm?”

“You’ll love it.”

After a short climb, the trail entered a tunnel of flowered branches arching overhead. Sunlight filtered through and birds tweeted.

Greg smiled at Samantha as they walked. She took his hand.

“When you’re right, you’re right. Thanks.”

They came out of the tunnel and could see the campground below. Samantha pulled Greg’s hand and they stopped.

“This turned out to be a wonderful surprise, Greg. Thank you for everything.” They kissed.

“Let’s get you into that hot shower. Dress for a nice dinner.”

“Really? Hot damn!”

They ran together back to the camp.

Samantha came out of her room when Greg honked his horn. She walked around his new EV and got in.

“We can take my truck. Will this thing make it?”

“It’s all charged up. Very reliable.”

“I just hope we don’t get caught in a snow storm. I’d hate to freeze to death while fighting global warming.”

“It’s August, Sam. Not gonna happen.”

“That a promise?”

Greg nodded.

They got to the restaurant without incident. It was no five star, but it looked clean and had a wine list.

A real candle burned in the center of the table. Samantha thought of making another ‘global warming’ joke, but skipped it. And she liked a candle light dinner.

Greg felt good. The hike invigorated him. But he detected a shift in mood from Samantha.

“Everything okay?”

“This is great.”

“The shower meet specifications?”

“The shower was heavenly. The perfect capper to our amazing hike. Where did you find this place?”

“Some friends at work told me about it. A ‘must do adventure’.”

They ordered salads and wine. The conversation lagged though.

“When do classes start?”

“End of the month. Before Labor Day.”

“Home stretch…”

Their food arrived. They ate in silence for too long.

Then they both spoke at once. Greg let Samantha go first.

“Sorry I’m in a bit of a mood.”

“What’s up?”

“I’m just sad that we… the weekend is ending so soon…”

“But it’s been so great…”

Samantha raised her napkin to her eyes and held it there. She reached for Greg’s hand and almost tipped a water glass.

“Sorry. I didn’t realize how much I missed you… til we got together.”

“I’ve been going crazy without you, Sam. This was heaven. I’m so glad you made the effort to meet.”

“Me too.” Samantha dabbed her eyes again. A sip of wine turned into a gulp. Then two. She raised her empty glass. “Salute!”

Greg raised his hand to his forehead to make a mock military gesture. They both laughed.

After the food was gone, they held hands. They still didn’t talk but the mood had warmed.

After dinner, Greg pulled up next to Samantha’s truck. They walked to her room in silence.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“If you want. I need to get up early.”

“I want to be with you always.”

They went in and held each other in deep slumber.

Samantha awoke before her alarm. She sat up, sensing something outside. Samantha moved to the window and peered out.

An elk stood in the bed of her truck, eating from the hay bale. It was gigantic.

Samantha rushed to Greg, signaled to him for silence and led him to the window.

“Look at that! That’s the biggest dog I’ve ever seen!…”

“If I can just sneak it into my dorm room…”

Greg tried to control himself. He asked, “What’s his name?”

Samantha stifled a groan. “Elke, of course. What would you expect?”

Weak from laughter, they fell back onto the bed. And there they lay, kissing until the sun rose.

Saying good-bye was the toughest.

Dogs!

“Excuse me. I couldn’t help overhearing you mention the location of the bookstore. Would you repeat that for me?”

The elderly man approached me on the busy sidewalk. A small dog stood at the end of the leash he held. I could be in Timbuktu and some other tourist would single me out to ask, ‘Where’s the Casbah?’

I told him the location which I had mentioned to my wife, Jill. I turned to continue on my way.

Only, the dog had wandered into my path. It squealed in pain as I pitched over it.

How many thoughts sail through one’s mind in a moment? ‘Don’t crush the dog! We’ll never get lunch,’ is what I thought as I fell on my face. My route to the earth was clear. I stretched my arms out and eased myself down. It had been a long while since I’d seen the world from a dog’s eye view.

Jill screamed. Suddenly there was a crowd. I pulled myself up to my knees. Nothing hurt.

I called out, “Is the dog okay?” Someone affirmed it. The dog approached, sniffed me and licked me. I stood, shook myself off and mopped my face. Jill hugged me and asked, “What happened? Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. I was assisting this gentleman with directions when his dog stuck its paw out and tripped me.” No one laughed.  The look I gave the guy, singed his eyebrows.

Since I was neither bleeding nor looking for fisticuffs, the crowd dispersed to more promising distractions. Jill and I continued to search for our lunch.

We were exploring one of the Gulf Coast, Florida keys on a giant round-about. Lots of tourists. Lots of retired. People around here are so rich, even the dogs have fur coats. Spanish colonial architecture and weathered statues of conquistadors draped with hibiscus were the dominant motif. Sixty stores selling shells and mermaid paraphernalia, but we couldn’t find a descent lunch.

We were starving and it was affecting our moods. The fall didn’t improve mine.

Jill caressed my back. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Nothing feels out of place. I’ll be a bit sore, but I think I’m fine. How about this?” I pointed to a Spanish styled restaurant, with a giant awning over a crowded patio. The smell of food was enticing. A line of people awaited seating. They were all holding dogs.

“You can tell the quality of place you’re eating by the dogs. Only the very best breeds. No mutts here.”

Jill said nothing, but indicated the woman ahead of us, holding the tiniest poodle ever. It appeared to be hanging on our every word.

“I rest my case. Where I come from, they won’t let you in without a tie. Here, it seems a dog is required attire. You think they’ll rent us one?”

Again, Jill said nothing.

“That dog’s haircut probably cost more than mine,” I said.

“By a factor of ten would be my guess. Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

I glanced at my disheveled reflection in a window and smoothed my hair down. “Thanks.”

We finally got seated and had a pretty good meal. For dessert, Jill offered me two aspirin, which I took.

A few tables over, two dogs barked viciously. Fighting for the check, no doubt.

Is there anywhere you cannot take a dog anymore? Hospitals probably let them into operating rooms if they promise to keep those little masks on. But cat houses. You probably can’t feel welcome bringing a dog to a cat house.

After eating, we walked out to the beach, which we heard was world class. Beaches always seem bleak to me. And in that regard, this beach was perfection. The sun was bright. The sand was white. A perfect formula for a steep descent into deep despair.

However, I wanted to show off the new qi gong stance I’d learned. I was warming up when we spotted it. Across the flats, a woman released her pit bull, to run free. Of course, it ran toward us at full clip. Jill moved behind me.

A train of thoughts coursed through my brain while I tracked this dog’s approach.

Jill is nervous around pit bulls. They don’t have the best reputation. Why would anyone choose a pit bull, known for its intimidating qualities, and when letting it run free, be mystified when everyone in biting distance isn’t thrilled?

In no time at all, the beast got to us, started sniffing us and wagging its stubby tail.

I called out, “Do you mind controlling your dog? They make me nervous.”

The woman was unimpressed. Her only response was, “This is a leash free beach, you know.”

Of course, leashes can be very restricting, especially for vicious dogs, known for killing small children and elderly women.  I felt my blood pressure rising.

“I’m not joking. I got bitten once. Would you like to see the scar?”

“It is legal to let the dog run free here.” Apparently, dogs have the right to vote in this state. They are a large constituency.

“But doesn’t that suggest the heightened need for owners to control their dogs? Isn’t that a basic expectation? For people not to fear for their lives, while innocently walking on the beach?” I struggled to control my rising panic.

She rolled her eyes. As she connected the dog to the leash, she repeated her dog’s rights.

Suppressing a scream, “Thank you for controlling your dog.”

The woman didn’t like my tone. I repeated my thanks, more vehemently.

The woman had leashed her dog. She wanted the last word. She repeated her dog’s legal rights.

Back and forth we went, a duet with no harmony. Each time she spoke, I repeated my thanks. But, the words had no meaning. Rage was the only message I could deliver. “Thank you!” barked with every ounce of loathing I could squeeze from each syllable.

Each of us stepped up the volume, responding, each in turn.

Jill held her ears. The gulls held their ears.

Then Jill yelled to no one in particular, “STOP!” And everything went silent. I think even the waves stopped churning. Who knew Jill could yell so loud?

“Let’s go.” I walked away from the woman and her ridiculous dog. Jill caught up to me.

“What about your qi gong?”

“I’ll show you later. I can’t right now.”

When people hear, ‘She’s my anchor’ some think that’s an insult, as if she holds them back, like the old ‘ball and chain’. Ask any sailor if an anchor is mere dead weight. When I say that about Jill, it is with highest praise. She kept me off the rocks, so many times. She’s my anchor.

After that, every time we saw a dog, Jill would pat my arm to ‘calm me down’. It could be about eight ounces of canine hair ball and she’d whisper soothing words. She’s a riot, that Jill.

We got away from the melt down. The heavy breeze and walking restored my sanity.

Then I saw a clutch of people walking toward us from down the beach. Who would expect to meet their favorite poet and recording artist, D. B. Smooth, on a Gulf Coast beach? His several body guards were intimidating, but I couldn’t resist the opportunity to yell out a greeting hoping the eminent rapper might throw me a bone.

“Hey D. B.!”

The poet met my gaze, pleased anyone recognized him. He smiled and nodded toward me. D. B. gestured to his assistant to let us approach.

“Be it bark or ark, you float me to the flowers.” That was my favorite of his many immortal lines. I offered it to establish my bonafides. When he smiled at the homage, I asked for his autograph and offered a paper and pen I always have handy for such eventualities. He graciously complied.

Unfortunately, the pen leaked. D.B. made a joke and then signed the paper, ‘Leakily yours, D. B. Smooth.’ Then, with a laugh, he handed the smudged paper and pen back to me. There was even one of his finger prints by his signature. How’s that for authentic?

I apologized and offered my handkerchief to wipe his hands, but his assistant waved me off. He had already produced some hand cleanser and a clean cloth from some hidden repository. I’d hate for that nice suit to get ink on it.

Jill and I watched them walk down the beach. What serendipity!

I told Jill, “If that pit bull hadn’t interrupted us, we never would have run into D. B. What are the odds?”

Jill could only agree. “Nothing bad, but it’s used to the good.”

“You know, it isn’t the dogs.”

“But those owners are impossible.”

 

Remember When the World Ended?

Victor shook Nancy awake.

She wasn’t happy about it. “What! What are you doing?”

“It’s late. We have to go.”

“I was sleeping. Do you know what time it is?” She returned to her pillow.

Victor shook her again. “I told you we need to go. I told you about it yesterday. Remember? The world? It’s ending? You don’t want to miss it, do ya?”

“Again? Can’t it just end without me? I’ll watch it on the news.” Most of this was mumbled into her pillow.

“Baby, it doesn’t work like that. This is a one shot deal.”

Nancy lay still but Victor could tell something was happening. Suddenly she sat up with a fierce look on her face. Victor had to step back to keep from bumping heads.

She looked at him with a scowl. “This is my day to sleep in, Vic. Don’t jerk my chain.”

“I wouldn’t do that, baby. This is going to be big.”

“How big?”

“Uhm, big as the world? Like, big as the end of the world?”

“I didn’t see anything about it on Facebook.”

“Trust me. They didn’t want everyone to know. Avoid the panic and all.”

Nancy thought for a moment and decided it wasn’t worth a fight.

“So. What’s the deal?”

“The deal is I’m going to take us on a picnic where we can watch the whole thing go down.”

“A picnic? I like picnics. There going to be ants?”

“We can sit in the car, if you want. Everything’s ready. Let’s get a move on.”

“Give me a few. I need a shower.”

“Baby, we don’t have time for a shower. Didn’t you hear me? The world is going to end.”

“Don’t baby me, Vic. You’re trippin’ if you think home girl goes anywhere without a shower.”

“Well then, get to it. What’s your ETA?”

“About the time it takes to take a shower and put on makeup.”

“Oh man! The world is ending and you’re putting on mascara? You’re so beautiful! You don’t need make-up.”

“Don’t you want me to look nice for St. Peter?”

Victor burst out laughing. “Well that’s the spirit, Babe. If you’re planning to meet him, then clean yourself up as good as you can.”

They both laughed and Nancy ran to the bath.

Victor made good use of his time, checking the maps, cash reserves, blankets and cooler in the back, sunglasses… you name it. This was going to be the daytrip to end daytrips.

When Nancy came out to the car, she looked great.

Victor told her so and then asked, “Did you lock up?”

Nancy gave him one of her looks. “Didn’t you say the world was ending? Are you planning on coming back?”

Victor hesitated and then Nancy started laughing and jabbed Victor in the ribs.

“Yes. I locked up. Just in case, you know?”

“Right.”

Victor backed the car down the drive. He stopped and put it into drive.

Nancy said, “So, where are we going?”

“I have a place up the mountain with a good view. We can see for a hundred miles.”

“But I like the beach.”

“You won’t be able to see it from the beach.”

“Why not? It’s happening all over the world, isn’t it?”

“Look, Nancy. I planned it. You’d still be sleeping if I hadn’t kicked you out of bed. Let’s just go according to the plan. Okay?”

“Can we stop on the way? I need a skin crème.”

“You can do without, this once. You think skin crème will make a difference when the world ends?”

Nancy looked at Victor for a moment. Then she said, “Do you want to explain to St. Peter why we didn’t stop?”

Victor relented. “Okay. The world won’t end if you stop for your face paste. Where is it?”

He pulled into the lot and Nancy hopped out. “I’ll be quick.” And she ran into the pharmacy. Victor stayed in the car and tapped his foot, listening to music. He couldn’t believe she returned before the second song ended.

Nancy slammed the door. “Got it. What’re you waiting for? Let’s go.”

They hit the road. Traffic was decent on the freeway and they made good time. Then Victor turned off where the 2 heads into the mountains.

“Do you know where we’re going? We’re not lost, are we?”

“No. We’re not lost. You can check the map, in the back, if you want. There’s cold drinks too. Can you grab me one?”

Nancy rummaged around in the back for a minute. She put a cold soda in the divider for Victor.

“So, what time does this all take place?”

“I’m not exactly sure. We’ll play it by ear.”

“So, is this supposed to be ‘The End’? Or is it like, the end ‘as we know it’?”

“Good question. The way I heard it, it is supposed to be ‘The End’. Or as insiders call it, ‘The Big End’.”

Nancy cracked up. “As opposed to ‘the small end’?”

“Well, you know. Different than what the survivalists are always prepping for. I mean, if it’s the end of the world, what exactly are you expecting to survive?”

“If I run into one of them, I will ask them that very thing.”

“Not that it will matter, after today.”

“What experts call, ‘moot’.”

“I’ve never heard a ‘mooter point’ than that.”

“Me neither.”

They drove for a while and Nancy looked out at the changing view. They sang along with some of their favorite songs.

“Oh, Vic. Can we pull out here? I want a picture.”

Victor pulled onto the turn out. “We’re almost there, Babe.”

“I know. But this is beautiful. You can see the ocean from here.”

“Wait ‘til you see it from where we’re going.”

Victor got out with Nancy and she took a picture. Then she gave him the smart phone and had him take a shot of her in the foreground with the vista behind her.

“You want one?”

“I’m good. Let’s go.”

They drove a little while with the music playing softly.

Nancy looked at Victor. “Are you angry with me?”

“No Babe. I just don’t want to miss it.”

“Seems like with something like this, you can’t miss it even if you want to.”

“You might be right. I just have it planned and want it to be perfect.”

“Vic, we’re together. Isn’t that perfect?”

“We are, Babe. We are.”

They drove a little further and Victor pulled off.

“Wow! It is beautiful. So what happens now?”

Victor looked at his watch and shook his head.

“Hard to know. These things are mysterious. I guess it’s safe to say, we didn’t miss it yet. You hungry?”

“Getting there. I want a picture.” Nancy got out and walked to the edge of the lookout. She shaded her eyes from the sun. “Is that Catalina?” Victor nodded. Then Nancy said, “It might be clouding up.”

“I don’t think so.”

“No, look. There’s a little cloud over there. It’s small but it’s growing.”

They watched the cloud as it grew larger. It became darker and the sky became grey. A gloom settled over them.

“Is this it? I’m cold.”

“You want to sit in the car?”

“Maybe.” She pulled her jacket around her. “Hold me.”

Victor pulled Nancy close. It was getting cold. Cars on the highway passed by with their lights on.

Nancy was shivering. She started to cry.

Victor felt bad. “I’m sorry, Babe. We drove all this way. For nothing. Let’s go.”

“No. Just hold me. I’m scared. I’m freezing.”

“Let’s sit in the car, then.”

“No. If this is it. I want us holding each other.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

They held each other and Nancy cried into Victor’s chest for a long time. After a while, the wind lightened and a calm settled in. Nancy looked over Victor’s shoulder. And then around.

“I’m still here.”

“Me too.”

“Was that it?”

“I don’t know.”

“What will happen if we drive back down?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s eat and see what happens.”

They walked back to the car, hand in hand. Victor pulled tuna sandwiches, chips and some other snacks from the cooler.

“Want some wine?”

“Of course! Set ‘em up.”

Victor poured them each a dixie cup of wine and they toasted each other.

“Here’s to the end of the world, Nancy. No one I’d rather be with.”

“That would be ‘The Big End,’ if you don’t mind.”

“That’s the ending of choice, after all.”

“Damn straight.”

They watched out the windshield as it got darker. But the wind calmed. The food was gone. Victor gathered the trash and took it to the waste barrel.

When he got back in, Nancy looked at him.

“This didn’t exactly play out as advertised, did it?” Victor looked down. “What gave you the idea the world was ending?”

“I had a feeling…”

“A feeling?”

“You know…”

She smiled. “Here, I wore my best pearly gates shoes. All for nothing.”

“I got us here, but Pete didn’t show.”

“His timing always was…”

“Iffy?”

“That’ll do.”

Victor looked at his watch. “Actually, it’s not that late. If we head down now, maybe we can catch the sunset.”

“At the beach?”

“Of course.”

“Let’s roll!”

They drove down the hill and got below the clouds. The world appeared to be intact. Music filled the silence. They got to the freeway and hit a slow spot, but then got past it. It looked like they might get there before dark.

Nancy turned the music down and touched Victor’s arm.

“Hey Vic.” He glanced at her and turned back to the windy road. “As ends of the world go, that was pretty good. Thanks.”

“Well, next time…”

“Next time we’ll…”

“…go to the beach.”

“Amen! Daddy! Said like my lover man. Drive on!”

And on they drove until they ran out of highway.

Free Fall

“You’re breaking up. I can’t hear you.”

There was a pause. The gap between transmissions.

“Yes. Breaking up. How about now? Can you hear me?”

Jason thought, ‘you can get used to the gaps, but keeping the thread of a conversation going is maddening.’

“Yes. I hear you. It’s the static. These head phones. I put in for replacements, months ago.”

“It’s not the headphones. It’s you. You don’t listen.”

“You knew what you signed on for.”

“You promised me the moon.”

“So, I gave you the stars.”

“And to think people used to complain about long distance relationships.”

“At least you know where I am.”

Jason looked at the translucent image of Ena, projected on the visor of his helmet. It was vivid. She was right there. And, he could see Venus through the port, over her shoulder. He thought, ‘Corning sure has come a long way since they were making glass casseroles.’

During the gap, Jason thought about his current situation. Interplanetary flight sounds glamorous to the uninitiated. But the mechanical system and army of workers needed to support the effort is massive. All to maintain him and his peers in what amounted to a tedious desk job at zero G. He loved the silence. Jason was an astronaut.

They put sensors in his suit to monitor his health. But he knew those sensors served primarily to assess if he, a human module, needed switching out, like a failing transistor. And like all things, humans reached their limits. They all failed eventually.

‘Here we are, at the pinnacle of civilization and also, losing our humanity. Why are humans needed for this job, anyway?’ Jason wondered. ‘Why aren’t robots advanced enough to master such mundane tasks?’

Despite the tedium of long hours spent logging data, Jason’s real job was to be intuitive enough to foresee problems before they manifested. Intuition was something programmers still failed to create in AI.

Ena spoke, “You there?”

Jason couldn’t help himself. “How’s Chip?”

“Don’t call him that.”

“Isn’t he a robot?”

“He’s my valuable assistant. He’s not just a computer chip.”

“I’m sure his assistance is invaluable.”

“He’s present. Anyway, this isn’t about him. It’s about us. You. We no longer travel in the same orbit.”

 

Ena touched Jason’s hand. “Earth to Jason… Are you there? What are you thinking?”

Jason looked into her beautiful eyes. Venus became a spherical lamp hanging from the ceiling over her shoulder. He looked away. Trying to regain his balance, he stared at his dark coffee. He loved gazing into her eyes. But they draw him in and his vertigo accelerates.

“When did this place turn into an airport terminal? When we used to come here, wasn’t it dark and quiet and intimate?”

“This is an airport terminal. You’re seeing me off. I’m leaving you.”

“But… I guess I don’t understand.”

“I can’t understand you,” she said. “Are we are living on different planets? Seriously, I cannot stand the distance anymore.”

“So you leave? You’re the one adding distance.”

“Round and round we go. I need a break, Jason.”

“You always talked about getting closer.”

“Boarding that plane is the inevitable result of you tipping that row of dominoes, let me think… years ago?”

Unintelligible announcements punctuated the general din of the terminal. ‘Where are all these people going?’ he wondered. ‘Can’t they just go home and let us have some peace?’

Jason struggled for something to say.

“Remember when we used to play with… can you believe we called them smart phones?”

“It’s a wonder we learned to talk at all.” Ena let him draw her in. She still loved him. But the endless, ‘what if’ exhausted her.

“We had rich dreams then.”

“Remember our school tour of JPL? We got lost together.  I thought we were going to get arrested.”

Jason laughed, “’Got lost,’ as in accidentally, on purpose. I was on a mission.”

“I’ll never forget opening that mysterious door. Everything had signs, warnings… symbols. Everything was locked.”

Jason said it dramatically, “I tried them all. They were all secure. Except for that one blank door. “

“What was it? Like a lab? Or a computer server room?”

“I didn’t know enough then, to say. But they were sure mad when they found us.”

“I was terrified.”

“Not as terrified as when we flew off in that contraption I built.”

“You are the expert at combining ecstasy and joy with sheer terror. You should bottle it, or patent it. Or something.”

“I was amazed a girl would be interested in such geeky stuff.”

“I was amazed we landed safely.” Ena looked at him intently. “You still don’t know? It was you I was interested in.”

“All I could think about was space travel.”

“Excuse me? You’re still obsessed.”

“I guess my rocket ship never came in.”

“You did alright though.”

Jason shook his head. “I settled.”

“Jason, what would you do differently? What could you do?”

“I wanted to be an astronaut.”

“You do know, it’s almost easier to become president.”

“But I faltered. I played it safe.”

“Do you blame me?” That was her biggest fear.

“No. They were my decisions.” Jason hated it, but he knew the truth.

“You have to live. Your vertigo…”

“Damn thing.”

“You gave it a shot.”

“Nothing worked out for me. And now you are bailing.”

“Not true, Jason. You know what they say about cynics?”

‘Here it comes,’ he thought. ‘She always does this.’ “I’m not a cynic.”

“Perhaps, but you’ll do until the real thing comes along.”

“Alright, what do ‘they’ say?”

“Cynics always expect the worst. And when something good does happen, they can’t find joy in that happy surprise, either. There is no room for it.”

“I don’t know…”

“I’ve seen it my whole life. There was no success you couldn’t overcome.”

“Am I that bad?”

“Do I have to remind you where we are, right now?”

Jason looked around and took it all in. People rushing to get somewhere. Always in transit. Never lighting.

“Right. We were great together, though. How did we lose it? Can we find it again?”

“I don’t know. I’ve always said, ‘I don’t know why not.’ At least we’re not arguing. You didn’t win me with negativity. It wasn’t always sour.”

“That letter sunk me.”

“Again, with the letter. It didn’t have to. You have a career. You moved on. Except you didn’t.”

“I always tinkered. Never followed through. Was it really due to me? Is there no hope left?”

“That is the question you need to answer. Left to me, you think I’m nagging.”

“I lost my bearings. Need to get my head out of the stars.”

“Still could. How many inventions did you lock up in the garage? Someone would buy those wings. People love that crazy stuff.”

“Crazy?”

“Well, I guarantee I won’t ride them again.”

“I’ll dig them out. Redo the drawings and specs.”

“Why not?”

Jason looked at his empty cup. Ena’s question really drew the line. Why not? Two simple words, but with vast implications. He stood.

“Let’s walk. I think better, when I walk.”

Ena watched Jason take in the river of humanity trudging from one loading gate to another. It was too much. He saw there was nowhere to go. He sat again.

“Thanks Ena. It took this, taking you to the airport to shake me out of my funk. I gotta be losing it.”

“You’re not. You’re depressed.”

“You think I need help?”

“You don’t talk to me. You might want to talk to someone. That’s your call.”

“What if I did both?”

“I wouldn’t complain.”

Jason met her gaze and a wave of dizziness engulfed him.

“But, your flight.”

“Yes. My flight.”

“You are going to think I’m nuts, but this is all so sudden.”

“You’re an over-night sensation. Years in the making.”

“But you’re leaving.”

“Jason, everything takes time. This is hard. Depression settles in. Like breaking a habit, you have to actively resist.”

Jason felt himself shrinking. He looked her in the eye and was drawn in. He felt himself floating, spinning. No up or down. Endless falling.

Ena’s face darkened. She turned away.

Through the static, Jason heard, “You are right. Why leave you? You left me years ago.”

Ena’s image fragmented into video noise on the helmet visor. Jason checked controls on the board and realized, ‘Oh, I’ve entered radio silence because of the orbit.’

He was surprised at how much time had passed. He made a notation in the log. Day dreaming seemed such a waste.

‘That is a conversation we never had,’ Jason said, thinking back over his reverie. He reminded himself again, to resist negative thoughts.

He watched Venus float by, outside the port. Almost within reach.

‘Such a beautiful planet,’ he thought. ‘I wish I could share it with Ena.’

Princess Denime and the Poor, Wandering Minstrel

Princess Denime couldn’t make up her mind. Or, so people thought. She wanted to marry. But she thought no one good enough.

It wasn’t for lack of attention. The line of men seeking her hand grew longer every day.

People joked, her habit of shuttling from one suitor to another and on, was inherited from her grand-father, a weaver.

Some would call it a blessing. Others, a curse. But what the people didn’t know, and Denime herself didn’t know, she could never marry someone who didn’t love her, for herself. She was a princess, after all. Many sought her hand for the title, and the power that hand bestowed.

Then, there was the problem of her name, Denime. Those few who knew it, thought Denime to be a thoroughly common name for a princess.

Her father loved Denime. He could not bear that she was disrespected. So the King forbade her name being said aloud. He decreed she only be addressed by her title, Princess. Or else.

As well intentioned this may have been, it only served to isolate the Princess and make her more lonely.

How did a princess get the name of a cloth used to make clothes for workers? Denime’s mother entered society and married the king because of the fortune her father made, by manufacturing that lowly fabric.

~

Jacquard was a minstrel by trade. He had a beautiful voice and played the mandolin. But he was so poor, his mandolin only had one string. Of course, Jacquard couldn’t play chords, so extra strings just got in the way. He made beautiful music with his one stringed mandolin.

Jacquard loved Princess Denime. He didn’t want power. He didn’t want wealth. He didn’t even want a full set of strings for his mandolin. He only wanted to make Princess Denime happy. But he didn’t even know her name.

They first met at a great celebration, the Princess’ birthday party.

Jacquard presented himself at the gate as one of the court musicians. He had a nimble tongue and fooled the guards. They even gave him an escort into the party.

Jacquard’s escort, Jules, pulled his sleeve. “I tell you sir, you are very charming. But under no circumstance, ever call the Princess by her name. The King has outlawed it. Address her only as Princess.”

Jacquard asked, “But what is her true name?”

The escort laughed, “Wouldn’t you like to know? Now go. Play well.”

The Princess’ mentor, Lady Germaine, told her she would meet her future husband at this party. The Princess scanned the crowd from her throne. She spotted Jacquard weaving his way through the throng, singing and playing his one stringed mandolin. She laughed at the sight, but she gave him no more thought.

Later, while greeting guests, she came face to face with Jacquard. He made sure to be in her path. The princess was amused at his worn clothes.

“Tell me, sir, how came you to be at my party?”

Jacquard bowed deeply. “I only wish to honor your highness on the happy anniversary of your birth.”

“Surely, you are an upstart. You play alone, and not with my court musicians.” She stifled a laugh. “And look at your mandolin. It has only one string.”

“Tis true, Mi’lady. You observe me well. I have but one string. And I sing but one song. That song is sung only for you. It is called, ‘My Princess, My True Love’.”

Jacquard broke into his song and the crowd fell silent on hearing its beautiful melody. When he finished, they clapped and cheered.

The Princess was impressed. “You sing well, sir, and play beautifully. Imagine what you could do with more strings.”

Jaquard could answer nothing to her challenge.

Then, the Princess laughed with the sound of tinkling crystal and said, “Your song is of love, but sung to a title?” Their eyes met.

“Dear Princess, ours will be one of the great love stories in history.”

The Princess smiled at this. “How many talents have you, sir?” She turned to her ladies. “Note, he lies even more beautifully, than he sings.” They all laughed at this.

Jacquard looked down, shamed. He could only bow humbly at this. The Princess laughed warmly, and moved on.

The Princess was lonely, but couldn’t see Jacquard for who he truly was. It was as if a wall of glass stood between them, masking his true character from her. She could see him vaguely, but because of her station and training, mainly saw her own reflection. After all, it was beautiful.

Jacquard managed several additional encounters with the Princess, but they were maddeningly brief. And with her ladies in waiting and other attendants standing by, there was no privacy in which he could woo her. The Princess was witty and appeared to be entertained by Jacquard. But he sensed he was no more than a playful diversion and not one the Princess took seriously.

And why should she? He was, as they say, of mean estate. Which is a kind way of saying, of no estate at all. Actually, for Jaquard, to be of mean estate would be a step up.

Then, the news on everyone’s lips was about the Princess becoming engaged to be married. Though Jacquard saw this as a severe setback, he did not entertain thoughts of defeat.

But Jacquard did not see the Princess after that. It was time to move on. Jacquard took a job overseas, teaching music. He hoped to make the one stringed mandolin into a cultural force.

However, before leaving for his new position, Jacquard stopped in the servant’s quarters below the palace, to say farewell. He had become friendly with a few of the staff, like his friend Jules. They enjoyed his company and he theirs.

While there, he heard two maids joking about a package which had arrived for the Princess. The messenger, not knowing her name was forbidden, announced his delivery for Princess Denime. The maids found this hilarious. Jacquard found it invaluable.

Time passed. Jacquard heard rumors of delays in the marriage. Conflicting reports stated they had married, or not. Or that the fiancé had died in a hunting accident. Nothing was for certain. It no longer concerned him.

Jacquard resigned himself to finding his fortune, if not true love, in his adopted country. He did well and lived modestly. He did, however, make time to send the Princess a birthday greeting every year. He did not hear back.

Years went by. Jacquard read in a paper the Princess was still unmarried. This inspired him to send the Princess an anonymous gift. He sent her a spool, like one might find holding thread on a loom. Only this spool was no ordinary implement of the workplace, but made of gold and decorated with fine jewels. Jacquard went to considerable trouble ensuring it could not be traced back to him.

He also sent the Princess his usual card filled with birthday greetings.

Then Jacquard waited. He went about his business and tried to forget.

One day, he received an envelope sealed in wax by the Princess herself! Inside was a hand written letter bidding him, come to her palace in haste.

Jacquard made quick plans and suspended his classes for the foreseeable future. He took the first boat on the most direct route possible.

A servant and carriage awaited Jacquard at the quay when he landed. It took him directly to the palace for an audience with the Princess.

The carriage pulled up to the main entrance of the palace. Jacquard was escorted into the main drawing room by Jules. He waited for what seemed an hour.

Jacquard gazed out the window at the fine garden filled with flowers. And then he heard a door open. The Princess stood there, surrounded by many others. Jacquard strode forward and greeted the Princess with a bow.

The Princess’ eyes shone at seeing Jacquard, but she tried to feign indifference. She signaled for him to approach, which Jacquard did. He felt ready to explode with anticipation.

When within an arm’s reach of each other, the Princess pulled something from beneath her shawl. It was a ball of twine. She offered it to Jacquard, saying, “I thought of you the other day. And your poor mandolin with the single string. Do you think this might help you?”

Jacquard hardly knew what to say. He looked into the Princess’ eyes and saw her humor and warmth.

He took the ball of twine from her hand and bowed deeply. Then he said, “My deepest thanks. I will put it to good use, Princess Denime.”

At that moment, the ever present wall of glass shattered. Only it wasn’t glass but ice. And of a sudden, it melted like a frozen waterfall, at once thawed and become liquid. It was a deluge and they were overcome with the flood. The water was warm.

Denime found her way to the surface. She gasped for air and looked around. A few strokes away, she saw Jacquard also fighting the waves. He called to her and held his mandolin up for her to see.

Denime swam to Jacquard and together they held to the mandolin like a tiny life boat. They looked at each other and burst into laughter. Around them servants and furniture floated in disarray. The windows of the room burst out and soon they were standing back on the floor, wet, but no worse for wear.

Servants rushed in with towels and blankets. Everyone remarked at what a strange occurrence that was. Then the room went silent as they saw Denime and Jacquard gazing into each other’s eyes.

Denime laughed quietly, “You saved my life.”

Jacquard asked, “With my one stringed mandolin?”

“No, silly. By calling me by my name. By seeing the real me.”

He reached for her and she took his hand. He pulled her to him and they kissed.

Denime and Jacquard were married the next day. And they lived a long, happy life together.

For the rest of their lives, they could not hear a sniffle or a sneeze without remembering their wedding, constantly interrupted by the sounds of noses blowing. One would always ask the other, “Were they crying from happiness? Or just getting over colds caused by the flood?”

Photo Finish

The photo haunts Tom. Who is the woman standing on the tropical beach with his wife? And why does Tania deny knowing her?

Her name is Molly. Molly Treacher. He found her wallet in the bank parking lot. Inside, facing her ID was the picture of her and Tania standing together with Diamondhead behind them.

Tom looked up as Molly approached him.

“That’s mine.”

“Yes. I was going to turn it into the lost and found.”

“No need. Here I am.”

Tom handed it to her. She turned away.

“Excuse me? The woman in the picture with you? She’s my wife.”

Molly stopped. “I doubt it.”

“She’s Tania. How do you know her?”

Molly looked around nervously, “Excuse me? Are you stalking me?”

“No. I just wondered.”

“I need to go now.” Molly turned away. Tom watched her walk into the bank.

Over dinner, Tom asks Tania about Molly. She denies any knowledge of her.

“Maybe she’s married. Molly Treacher? You were in Waikiki together? When were you in Hawaii?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell, Mr. Pavlov.”

“Perhaps if you saw her.”

“I’m not looking for a friend, Tom. Why are you pushing this? I said, I don’t know her.”

“I saw the photo of you together on the beach.”

“Sorry, can’t help you.”

Tom sat on the front porch, reviewing the day. People walk through the twilight. No one seems to know anyone else. Isolated souls passing by. Where is everyone going?

He feels like he entered a parallel universe. By asking a simple question, he unwittingly entered a realm where secrets are kept and questions cannot be asked. It didn’t add up. Married for ten years, he realizes he really doesn’t know his own wife.

The next day, Tom acts. He finds Molly’s phone number and calls her. Before she can protest, he invites her for dinner with Tania and himself.

She hesitates and then asks, “May I bring Mercer, my husband?”

“Your husband? Of course.”

Then she asks him, “And Tania is cool with this?”

“She will be.”

He exchanges information with her. They will meet at a restaurant, so if things sour, they can leave at will.

Tania balks. She accuses Tom of working behind her back. Of conspiring with strangers.

He counters with the fact that she is not being honest about this. He has no expectations. But he wants her to be open with him. He tells her he loves her. He apologizes for forcing her hand but he needs to see this through.

Driving to the restaurant, Tania continues expressing her doubts.

“I hope you know what you are getting us into. You don’t know these people.”

“Well, I don’t. But you do. How bad could it be? It is one evening. No great loss.”

“You hope.”

The initial meeting seems especially awkward to Tom. Tania and Molly are cordial and guarded. Mercer takes center stage and presumes his judgement is final. His aggressive grasp of Tom’s hand pulls Tom off balance. As does his comment, “You’re shorter than I expected.”

Tom smiles at this jab and resists the temptation to point out Mercer’s premature baldness. Instead, he feels silly for responding with, “Yes, but my feet reach the ground.”

Tom wonders why, if Mercer is as superior as he presents, he feels the need to compensate. Tom kicks himself for striving to impress this overbearing fool.

Their first drinks arrive and Mercer raises his glass, specifically to Tania, “You are beautiful as ever, my dear.”

Tania responds with, “And you are just as tall.”

Mercer turns to Tom, “She has the most exquisite laugh, don’t you think? If I could bottle it, I’d be a millionaire.”

All eyes are on Tom as he turns to Tania, “Actually, it’s in stores now, isn’t it? Look for it. ‘Tania LOL’.”

Tania smiles.

Tom understands, not only the women, but Mercer and Tania knew each other, long before he and Tania met. Being the odd one out, Tom tries to observe without injecting himself further.

The conversation stays on the shallow end for too long, Tom thinks. What are they afraid of? They touch lightly on current events, with only a whiff of politics thrown in to test the waters. Mercer holds court and makes broad declarations on topics important only to himself.

Molly and Tania sit demurely, enduring a return to the familiar. Tania catches herself tapping her fingers nervously. She looks at Tom and puts her hands in her lap. He smiles at her, but she looks away.

Tom hopes to see Tania with fresh eyes. Who cares if Mercer made a killing in the market, last December?

Molly tries to draw Tom into the conversation “Is your work going well?”

“Yes, I’ve been so busy. I wish we could get away more. Have you traveled anywhere interesting this year?”

Meals are ordered and Mercer makes sure the waitress knows he wants separate checks for the couples.

Tom excuses himself and heads to the restrooms. Mercer stands. “I’m going to the bar. Anyone need anything?” Tom asks him for another Scotch on the rocks. Mercer rolls his eyes.

Tania and Molly look at each other and smile uncomfortably.

Molly speaks, “I know this wasn’t your idea, Tan…”

Tania brushes it off. “We are about due. Don’t you think?”

“I want to tell you I’m sorry…”

“Nothing to apologize for, Molly. We all make choices.”

“Actually, I wasn’t trying to apologize. I mean, I’m sorry I ended up with Mercer.”

This brings them both much needed laughter, followed by a decade worth of unshed tears.

Tania composes herself. “Now you made my make-up run. That was rude.” They laugh again. Then she looks at Molly in earnest. “I think we both know now, one shouldn’t toss away a good friendship over a crush.”

When the men return, the atmosphere is noticeably lighter. The women share stories about their travels.

“…And the Na’ Pali coast? Snorkeling in the caves at low tide?”

“That was unbelievable! What did we name the sea turtle who came to visit every afternoon?”

“Uhm… Tony!”

“Right, Tony! Who would expect a four hundred pound turtle to be so cute?”

Mercer tries to refocus the conversation back to himself.

Tom interjects, “Let her finish. I want to hear the story.”

But he has so much to say on population distribution among the islands and their annual rainfall. The others exchange glances to the drone of Mercer’s voice.

Dinner plates are cleared. Coffee sipped. Dessert rejected.

Tom feels the evening worked out alright after all.

After a moment’s pause, Mercer raises his glass. “I think we are due for a toast. To the one who got away…”

Then Mercer and Tania both say, “…Me.”

Mercer looks at Tania with surprise, “What do you mean, ‘you’?”

She put her hand on Tom’s. “Yes, me. Tom is the best thing ever happened to me.”

When No One is Looking

Cruising along at a cool 100 mph, Brian was making good time. ’24 Hours from Tulsa’ played low on the radio. But Brian wasn’t going to Tulsa. Nowhere near it.

Brian wasn’t sure where he would end up, but Oklahoma wasn’t even on the list.

He was testing the system for long haul driving, learned from an old trucker friend. “Down a couple of those Black Beauties with a beer and go to sleep. In a couple hours, when you wake up, you’ll be really awake to hi-ball it out of there.”

It seemed to be working. He’d been driving for hours. Hadn’t stopped and didn’t intend to until he needed gas. Maybe not even then.

It was just him, the radio, and that steady hum of his Mustang engine harmonizing with the hum of his brain.

He had just come up with ‘Brian’s Law’. You’ve heard of Murphy’s Law. Well, Brian’s Law states, ‘Don’t swerve, even on a straight highway, at 100 miles per hour, even for armadillos.’ It was a simple choice between the sickening thump into your floorboards, like when you run over a football, or doing a flaming cartwheel down the highway and into the ditch.

“Who would even debate that,” Brian mused. The cartwheel might be spectacular but you only do it once.

There may be implications to this law, beyond the immediate fate of an armadillo. Armadillos may not even be the most important part of the law. This law may be a sub-corollary to one of Newton’s Laws of Motion. Brian was too busy, just now, to research that. He was trying to anticipate the trajectory needed to avoid random armadillos on this straight Texas highway. Despite his brain being in overdrive, Brian was currently working with a severe deficit of information and knew next to nothing about calculus.

He hadn’t seen another car for what seemed like hours. “Where am I? What time is it?” Brian did a short riff of the ‘Twilight Zone’ theme music.

Brian was also having a long running discussion with himself that ran in ever faster circles, with variations, like, “They’re after me. Are they after me? Who’s they? I don’t know. You know. Seems like everyone, lately. Maybe, except Evie. She barely asked me not to go. Because, she was glad to see me go. No surprise.”

‘Six Days on the Road’ was playing now. Why is there so much damned distance?

He didn’t want to leave. But Evie… Well, Evie. She sits at that unmoving pivot point on which the whole universe turns. All motion was relative in Evie’s universe.

And then Jimbo made himself pretty clear. Humor had long left the room when he said, “You mess with me, you will surely die.” Even though he was smiling when he said it, his voice was razor thin. Brian wasn’t convinced of the truth of that statement though. He told himself, “I will not surely die.” But he was pretty sure Jimbo believed it. The jury was out and left no forwarding address.

Anyway, at the rate he was traveling, in six days he could probably make it to Alaska and back. Not that Alaska held any interest for him. But it would put some distance between him and Jimbo’s threats to his well-being. Not that Alaska doesn’t have its own brand of Jimbos.

“Do not pass Go. And do not, under any circumstances, collect $200.” Brian considered getting a tattoo saying that. It would take considerable time to read everything he thought of inscribing on himself. But he never got around to it. The poor ink jockey would be half way through and Brian would change his mind on the wording or the font or, oh, I don’t know. So Brian remained a blank slate, at least in regards to tattoos.

“So, are you driving away? Or driving toward? You’re in a hurry. To die? To live? But where are you going? How will you know when you get there?” That was an alternate litany that came around on rotation every few minutes. And Brian was getting tired of that tune.

Brian tried to shake it off. He sang, “Oh, Lord, give me a sign.” The highway continued, long and straight and dark. No lights anywhere. Where is everyone? It was warm and humid. Brian felt the air, blanket thick. He could see the wake, lit by his tail lights in the rearview mirror.

Then he saw it, about a mile off. It glowed red and looked suspended between Heaven and earth. A stop sign.

A stop sign? This isn’t what Brian had in mind. “Not a stop sign!”

Stop? For what? There’s nothing out here. No traffic. Has anyone even used this road before? There’s nothing but crops. What does anyone even grow in this God forsaken countryside?”

“I’m not stopping. No one can stop me. You can‘t make me stop. You want me to just stop? For no reason? You can’t stop me with a sign. There’s no one around.”

Brian gripped the wheel in determination. His teeth clenched.

“Just who am I answering to? What? The Mayor appoints a public works engineer, who assigns (a-signs!) his brother-in-law to install these things. He’s just storing this in case he needs it for an emergency stop. ‘Go out to the intersection of Donkey Squat Boulevard and Nowhere Street. We need that sign, toot sweet.’ I have to stop because he had no place to store it?”

Brian felt at one with his engine. His voice matched the rising rpms.

“Who would care if I didn’t stop? Who would know? What if a fire truck screams by just as I enter the intersection? Or an Easter Parade? A kid on a tricycle? Nobody but me and the devil. And the devil ain’t stopping. Neither am I. No future in stopping. Jam on through. No one in sight.”

The sign got closer.

“Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil at the crossroads. Is this that crossroads?  No stop sign there, I bet. Stop that bottle, said the stopper. Stop ‘til you drop. This is stop sign Russian roulette. Stop the world. I wanna get off. Can stop on a dime, I want to. Would it have stopped Evie? Not likely. She’s unstoppable.”

The sign did not waver.

“Is stopping an admission of failure? Or a new beginning? If we never stop, can we ever start? Nothing really ever stops. Even when stopped, everything incessantly quivers with energy. Perception is everything. A pendulum stops sixty times per minute. It is only by movie film stopping twenty-four times per second that the illusion of greater motion is created. Breaking: man arrested for lack of rest.”

Brian could read the letters on the sign. S.T.O.P. He slipped into neutral. Just the sound of wind and tires on rough pavement with the low throb of his idling engine as counterpoint.

“I’ll just coast from here to the coaster. The California roll, not just sushi anymore.”

He downshifted and the engine revved loudly. The sign approached. Brake.

The Mustang hit gravel and lost traction. Brian pumped the brakes and held his course. The car crunched and halted as he came abreast of the sign. The impassive, red command, peppered with bullet holes.

A moth flew by, glowing incandescent in the Mustang’s headlights. The erratic trails it left looked like a signature. But whose?

Brian was alone in the vast darkness, surrounded by the oasis created by his headlights. A small pool, with the sign and himself its only occupants.

Brian trembled. How many hours since he’d just sat? “Tell me. How did the balance of the universe shift when that little messenger danced away, rather than becoming just another windshield splat?”

“I just saved your life,” Brian called after the moth. The cicadas sang their chorus. The engine idled a rumbling bass line. “Okay. I stopped. Happy now? What was all the excitement about? Can I go now?”

Through the gloom, Brian’s eyes adjusted and saw the road did not continue through the intersection, but formed a ‘T’. A rusted hulk was partially visible, down in the ditch beyond the road. To continue, he needed to turn to the left or right.

“Perhaps your message has already been received.” Brian called out the window, “Thanks, buddy!”

Brian put the Mustang into first gear. He eased into the intersection and pulled a U-turn, wheels fishtailing in the gravel as he headed back the way he came.

New Year’s at the Blue Coyote

Dan drove by the Bull & Bunyan Brewing Company. The micro-brewery was closing and its customers were gathered on the sidewalk or making their way to vehicles. Through the big window, he could see the large mural of Paul Bunyan and Babe, the blue ox, toasting each other with gargantuan mugs of frothy beer.

Dan thought to himself, “Welcome to Hipsterville…” He had a small financial interest in the micro-brewery, more for a hobby than as an income mainstay. It was nice to see it thriving though. And, he was happy those in charge didn’t appear to need his assistance tonight.

A police car idled half a block away. Plumes of exhaust from its tail pipe hung in the air.

Dan parked his truck and walked to the entrance of the Blue Coyote Burgers. Reminiscent of the dancing Kokopelli god, a trickster coyote, in blue neon, frolicked overhead while holding a gigantic hamburger. A cluster of smokers puffed or vaped their own cloud, outside the doorway. The crowd was growing by the minute. Quarter after midnight, light snow was falling.

Dressed in sweats and an old parka, Dan stood out amidst the party goers, gathered for their first meal of the New Year and to extend the revelry as long as possible. He was obviously there only for the food.

Several people greeted him with nods or raised flasks. Dan was well known in town.

He got in the order line behind a man, also out of place. He was obviously not a local. In this weather, the stranger’s tailored jacket and loafers made as much sense as a Ferrari in a demolition derby.

The stranger looked about, seeing things fresh. His gaze lighted on Dan and his face became a big smile.

“Dan? Excuse me. Are you Dan Jensen?”

The man looked familiar but Dan couldn’t place him. “Yes, I’m Dan. And you…?”

“You don’t remember me?”

“Oh, my God! Eddie Arntsen! What’s it been? Ten, twenty years?”

“At least. I’m in town for the holidays.” Eddie extended his arms. “Lots of changes!”

“Yeah. Some locals took over a failed franchise and juiced it up. The town was dying and then some new blood came in. Did you check out the Bunyan and Bull?”

“A micro-brewery in place of the old Astro Theater? I’m glad they kept the naked goddesses flying around the ceiling.”

“Sexy constellations. Gotta respect our classical heritage, after all.”

They laughed. The line moved forward and Dan clapped Eddie on the back.

“What’re you up for? I’m buying.”

“Let’s see… what’s a California burger?”

“You know. Burger, lettuce, tomato…”

“That makes it a California?”

“It is the traditional recipe in lieu of a salad. Gotta get your veggies.”

“But no avocado?”

“You crazy left-coasters will stop at nothing. Where will it end?”

“But they have avocado toast.”

“Does anyone really eat that stuff?”

“Gotta get with the times, my friend.” They stepped up to the cashier. “Oh… I’ll ring in the new year with a double California. And a large coke.”

Dan ordered the same with a large fries. He paid and they found a table. When the food arrived, Eddie pulled his ‘sneaky drinker’ flask out and fortified their cokes with rum.

Biting into his burger, Eddie groaned with pleasure. “You’re right. Nothing like a California burger. This is great!”

Having grown up together, they caught up on the essentials in the verbal short hand common to old friends. Long ago, Eddie escaped the old home town to hit the big time in Los Angeles.

“What’s a line producer? In brief, we babysit the production, eyes on the ground, so the investors actually get a movie delivered to them. Keep all the money from flying up someone’s nose.”

Eddie waxed eloquent about his tax deductible travels to twenty-three countries sandwiched between his two divorces. A life of never-look-back adventure. And, being a recognized expert in his niche, Eddie was proud of his ‘small contribution to the nation’s cultural well-being’. He’s writing off this trip, doing some location scouting for a project up, outside of Duluth.

Dan never left town. Not even the house he grew up in. In high school, he helped in his Dad’s hardware store and took the helm when Dan Sr. wanted a permanent fishing holiday.

“We tried expanding. But when the economy shrank, we cut our losses. The home store has never done better, though. And we added self-storage units in the lot next to us.”

A moment’s lapse in the conversation betrayed Eddie’s distraction. Dan raised his coke in a toast. “Listen to us old math whizzes, talking shop. Here’s to a prosperous new year, for us both.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Eddie looked around, eyes darting.

“College kids,” Dan observed. “The college is a magnet for them, from all over. The town’s actually grown. I’m not cramping your style, am I?”

“No. Sorry. You ever see any of the old crowd?”

“They’re around. Mostly home tonight, with family and all, I expect. The serious drinkers were at Shorty’s tonight.”

“You’re kidding. Shorty’s is still open? Was that place decrepit when we were kids? Or was it just the drunks who hung out there?”

“It hasn’t changed. Only our esteemed peers are its denizens nowadays. I think some of them have grown roots. Booley inherited his Dad’s stool. Remember Booley?”

“That doofus… You remember exploring down at the train yard? What a hoot.”

“The derelict refrigerators?”

“There must have been thirty of them. We were lucky those monsters didn’t roll down on top of us.”

“Post war construction. They weighed a ton. Probably only ten of them, but…”

“Yeah. We let what’s his name out. He got locked in one of them?”

“Jimmy.”

“Yeah, Jimmy! What ever happened to him?”

“You were around… He died.”

“Ohhh, right. That was terrible.”

“No surprise, when you think about it.”

“You’re right. If it wasn’t one thing…”

“He was a walking heart attack, my Dad used to say.”

“What happened to his sister?”

“Janey?”

“My first love. She was sweet.”

“Still is. We’ve been married now, what, twenty-three years.”

“You married Janey? You gotta be kidding! You?”

Dan raised his coke. “Me and Janey.”

“You stole her away from me.”

“I think she’d say she chose me.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Maybe if you hadn’t left town, my friend…” Dan smiled at Eddie’s drifting attention. “Where do you live in L.A?”

Eddie focused, “Got a small place in Malibu. Nice view. Pool.”

“Must be hot and cold, running bikinis?”

“Yeah, well… I’m hardly there. You’ll have to come out and party.”

“We’ve been talking about taking a trip. Maybe visit our daughter near Chicago.”

“How many kids?”

“Two. A grandkid is due in March.”

Eddie offered to freshen Dan’s drink but Dan waved him off.

“Come on, Dan. You bought dinner.”

“Just a splash, then.” Dan watched Eddie do the honors and then raised his hand. “That’s good. No point in a dry toast.”

They raised their drinks once more, and drank.

The crowd was winding down. Eddie wiped his mouth with finality and crushed all the greasy papers into a ball. “It looks like you’ve done alright for yourself, Dan. You did the whole Norman Rockwell thing, to a tee.”

Dan chuckled at Eddie’s summing of his life. “I don’t remember it being all cute caricatures. But if I had to live inside a cartoon, Rockwell was one of the best. I’d pick that over Plato’s cave…”

“Plato’s cave?”

“You know, staring at a wall?”

“Oh, right! I thought you were talking about a club, in Frisco, I went to once.”

“Since you’re in town, you’ll have to come to dinner. Janey would love to see you.”

“Actually, sorry, I’m outta here tomorrow. Business.”

“No problem. Where are you staying?”

“My sister’s. She gave me her couch for the week. I think she’ll be happy when I clear out.”

“Say hello. Pam right? She comes into the store once in a while.”

“I will.” Eddie fumbled with his wallet. “Here’s my card. Let me know when you come out to the coast.”

Dan looked at the card and slipped it into his shirt pocket. “I will.”

“Be sure to give me some notice, though. I never know when I’m on a plane somewhere.”

“Of course. You never get tired, living out of a suitcase?”

Eddie shrugged indifference.

They looked at each other. It was time to go. Dan followed Eddie out. It was snowing hard now. Dan’s truck was white with it.

“You walking? Can I drop you?”

“No. I’m just around the corner. Haven’t seen snow in a while. Not the real stuff.”

They shook hands. Eddie initiated a fist bump. “Happy New Year, bro.” Eddie turned and walked into the swirling night.

Dan watched his old friend for a few moments, until a blast of wind hit his face. He pulled his coat close and turned to open his truck.

Looking into the sky, Dan caught a snowflake and touched his tongue to it. He smiled. “Still tastes the same.”