Guilt Trips and Cadillacs

My grandmother was driving an ancient Cadillac in the Waldbaum’s shopping center today. This wouldn’t be considered monumental if not for the fact that she’s been dead for fifteen years.

I might not have noticed, had she not begun to pull out of her space except that my car was behind hers when she began her maneuver. Naturally, I honked my horn, but she ignored both the sound and sight of my car behind hers. She would have succeeded in t-boning my car had I not hit the gas. After parking my car, I noticed the Caddy was still working hard at unparking. The car backed up over a curb, nearly scoring a strike by knocking over a mother and her stroller.

I had to see the driver so I could imprint the face onto my brain cells and avoid any future confrontation. Okay, let’s be honest, I was reasonably sure an old person was driving and I wanted confirmation.

The face that quickly glanced in my direction as she attempted to avoid oncoming traffic belonged to my long dead grandmother The ditzy, mindless, self-absorbed granny who I knew best through too many guilt trips.

I recognized the mottled, deeply tan skin that hung loosely from her face, the rooster comb of wattle around her neck, and the stark, purple pink lipstick that mocked her mouth. What struck me as odd was the fact that she was driving at all. Granny never bothered to get a driver’s license, preferring to be chauffeured by whomever she could corral into offering.

My brothers and I used to refer to those excursions as guilt trips. It was the penance we were forced to pay for passing our driving tests. Sure you can have a car, as long as you take Granny wherever she needs to go. The dread I felt in those days was deep. I had waited until my final semester of high school before signing up for driver’s ed, trying to minimize the lifespan of my guilt trip obligations. I figured shlepping her for two active summer months before starting school couldn’t be overwhelmingly horrible. Boy was I wrong.

That July and August was my own personal hell. My brothers bailed. They had all taken their turns at the wheel, so they made sure they were out of sight and out of mind. As a result, my wheels would on perpetual call for the old harpy with the cigarette habit and the rampant hypochondria that required near daily doctor visits to keep in check.

It seemed like Granny was incapable of making an appointment for first thing in the morning or the end of the day. No, Granny liked mid day appointments; that enabled her to ruin both my morning and afternoon on the perfect beach days that were strewn together that summer. It was as if the gods had conspired to make my life perfectly awful.

The doctor visits were the worst. She’d chain smoke on the drive over, trying to calm her nerves, with her window cracked a mere inch. “Too much fresh air is unhealthy,” she would proclaim, coughing up ping pong ball lougeys and spitting them into the handkerchief she stashed an inch or two up her right hand sleeve. I would push the green trees closer to where she sat, but after one trip with Granny, they smelled like Kent cigarette butts instead of fake pine.

By the time we reached the doctor’s, I would have a contact buzz from the nicotine that stained the windshield of my 1979 Nova a lovely shade of amber. She’d have a cigarette in the hallway before entering the office, and then she’d sit, coughing and hacking until finally the nurses took pity on me and whisked her into the examination rooms.

During the time she was gone, I would scout the other old folks, wondering if I would be able to pull off a swap without anyone notice. No such luck. She would eventually come shuffling out the middle door, complaining about anything and everything as she reached for her cigarettes. The fastest I ever saw her move was invariably in the minutes following her visits, as she raced for the chance to suck great clouds of grey smoke deep into her lungs.

Ironically, it wasn’t the smoke that killed her. No, that would have been too easy. But it was the cigarettes. A year or two after the summer of my personal hell, Granny had raced to the parking lot following one of her forays to the podiatrist. She loved that they would cut her toenails for her – sometimes she brought nail polish with her and would try and convince the foot doc to paint her toesies a shade of pink and purple that matched her lipstick. Anyway, she was in such a hurry that she neglected to look before entering the roadway and a tractor trailer hauling cartons of cigarettes flattened her in an instant. My oldest brother had been stuck driving her on that guilt trip. Fred told me he couldn’t talk to the truck driver because tears of laughter were rolling down his face. In his head, he heard the words “free at last” repeating over and over.

I wonder what Granny was doing in that Caddy. I’ve been thankful for years that her guilt trips don’t extend past the grave. But every time I see someone ask for a cartoon of cigarettes, I smile just a little.

By: Lauren J. Walter July 13, 2009

SWEET EMO

She chuckled every time she got into her van as she wondered why she still had that damn license plate on its rear. Why she hadn’t just traded it in years ago? Her husband and kids assumed it was because she loved the song (which she did) but that wasn’t the reason behind it. Some mornings when Tiffany was at her whiniest, complaining about her closet filled with brightly colored Abecrombie and Juicy Couture outfits, Linda dreamed of dropping the bomb. But she never did.

It was already a lifetime ago, a lifetime long before marriage and kids. It was a part of her, like the long closed up piercing on her eyebrow that she tells her friends was earned in a brutal fall years earlier. Other than the license plate and that scar, there were no witnesses to her youthful indiscretions. She had moved far away, tossed away all the photographic evidence. Once she had decided to accept the role of Mrs. Martin Chase, she had given it all she had, willingly releasing the hold the past once had on her.

Mrs. Martin Chase, hah, what a joke that had turned out to be. Married to the richest family in the region should have been a blessing. Never again having to worry about money or creditors, letting someone else be responsible for her happiness. Martin had seemed like a godsend at the time.

They had met when she interviewed for a secretarial job at the Company. She had come dressed for the part – no black nailpolish or lipstick, her outfit subdued but had once been fashionable. Linda had been scheduled to meet with someone from Human Resources, but Martin had spotted her as she exited her black VW bug.

“Nice plates! I love that song!”

Linda had looked at him oddly, trying to figure out what song he was talking about. It hit her quickly, ‘Sweet Emotion.’

“Um, yeah, great song.”

He had reached out his hand to shake hers, holding it a little too long for her comfort.

“I’m Marty Chase, I run this place since dad retired last year. I know I look too young to be running a fifty million a year company, but dad trained me well.” He looked her over, his eyes lingering over the swell of her breast, “You must be the girl they sent to fill Sandi’s spot.”

“I’m not sure. I’m Linda, I’m here to interview for an executive secretary spot.”

“Yup, that would be the one. I’m not sure it would be suitable for someone as special as you.”

Linda’s heart dropped, she was counting on this job. The bill collectors were at the door and if she didn’t start bringing home a decent salary, they’d repossess her car and most of her life. “I’m not that special,” she remembers answering.

He chuckled. “I’m joking with you. I think you’d be a perfect fit and will be sure to tell Holly that on one condition.”

She looked at him confused, “what condition?”

“Dinner with me tonight. I’ve been looking for someone like you for a long time.”

She had gotten the job, gone to dinner with Marty. Three months later, she had given up the job for a better position, that of Mrs. Martin Chase. Her new job entailed looking good, dressing right, entertaining Marty and his colleagues and keeping her husband happy. It wasn’t an intellectual challenge, but it beat worrying about bills.

Sometimes, she wondered what her high school friends would think of her life now – money, leisure, a fifteen year old princess and a ten year old jock. She read her hometown paper on line, no one there knew how to find her. Even is she showed up, they’d never recognize her without the black shoe polish black hair and the studded leather collar she used to wear to classes. Those were the days, she sighed, thinking about those amazing Jawbreaker shows. Her record collection, her combat boots and her piercings had all been sacrificed to the duel alter of conformity and marrying money. The only remnant of that life was her treasured license plate.

Now that she thought about it, the only thing funnier than appearing at the reunion would be to explain to her husband and kids that her license plate meant exactly what it said, SWEET EMO.

She got into her van, and slid in her special cd, cranked The Smiths to eleven and took off for her carpool duties.

By: Lauren J. Walter May 25, 2009

The Rain

The rain hits the deck with enough force to splash the water that’s already insisted on making the red wood its home. Each spray, smaller drops are displaced, creating a constantly moving, shifting surface.

The wind blows the rain against the windows, creating an odd echo throughout the house. The leaves rustle with each blast; those too weak to stand tight find a new home ‘neath the outdoor furniture.

The lightening reflects off the puddles, making the shock of jagged electricity even more unexpected. The beauty of a sky lit by lightening is one thing; it is wholly disconcerting to watch it dance across the back porch.

As the downpour finally draws to an end, the forest is enveloped in mist; a veritable dreamland for all those mysterious creatures that reside in the haze. The fog rises, making the tops of the maples purely speculative.

The air smells of damp wood, pollen and just a hint of animal. Inhale carefully, you might be able to determine its species.

The sun begins to set and the world outside is bathed in a lavender luminescence. Lower into the sky, the lavender deepens into a velvety violet that softens all around it. The greens turn almost black against the night. The stars are buried beneath the blanket of deep purple, leaving nothing but ink in its wake.

By: Lauren J. Walter May 24, 2009

The Rebound Guy

Danny moved closer, leaning in for a kiss. Hovering for a fraction of a second just a millimeter from her mouth, summoning up the courage to finally make his move. In that moment, she leaned in and met his lips. Their first kiss was now history, and he leaned back, basking in its glory. His eyes crinkled happily around the edges, his mouth curled up into a satisfied smile. She liked him; Renee Mustane had kissed him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, feeling the warmth of her body next to him. Few things can boost a man’s confidence like that first kiss from a beautiful woman. In that instant, the world becomes Technicolor and all things possible.

Renee beamed as well. Amazing how little it takes to make a man believe he’s the one. Danny was a sweet enough soul, with his chubby belly and shiny bald head. The way he smiled at her and the corners of his eyes echoed the curve on his lips made her willing to take a chance with him. Spending the evening with Danny had almost made her forget Joe. Almost. But not entirely. She knew it would be a long time before she would ever fully trust a man after that debacle. Danny seemed a safe place to start.

They stood like that for what could have been an eternity, acclimating to the change in their relationship. She leaned against him, looking up, counting the crinkles alongside his eye. He nuzzled her cheek. Renee liked the contrast of his warm breath on the left side of her face and the chill on the right. Somehow, it seemed perfectly symmetrical and indicative of how a good relationship should be. Warm and cool. Too much warmth and it cooks the passion out. Too much cool and the passion frosts over. A giggle escaped Renee when she recognized she had equated love to alchemy.

Renee’s laughter was like catnip to Danny’s soul. He was making this gorgeous creature happy and it made his spirit soar. It had been far too long since he had believed himself capable of making himself happy, let alone anyone else. Yet this dark haired, blue eyed stunner was enjoying his company and better yet, his kisses. Perhaps he’d been underestimating himself all these years. He held her closed and scored another kiss, no longer heavy with the trepidation of the first. Renee kissed back and they stood together, time suspended, tongues entwined. She leaned into him, making sure Danny was aware of her interest. He held her closer, keeping her warm as their kiss surpassed her expectations.

They finally drew back for air. Renee was astounded by the intensity of their connection. Danny was her rebound guy. The filler. The chubby guy she picked because she knew he would never hurt her – the plump ones were always far too thrilled to be in the company of a hot woman to ever dump them. Yet the way he gazed at her made her heart leap. It was a look of ardor that she had never before experienced but had always hoped existed. Suddenly, Renee wanted Danny as much more than just a rebound.

Danny realized he was still holding onto her hand, and brought it to his lips, like all those suave guys he had studied in the movies. He watched her closely, wanting to understand every nuance that flashed like lightening bugs over her face. She laced her fingers into his, broadcasting her joy with this surprising man. She pulled on him gently, rising to her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Let’s go inside.”

Danny noticed a woman standing nearby. A cool blonde who he was reasonably sure he’d examined closely in a lingerie ad in the latest issue of People while sitting waiting for a client. He remembered the ad had forced him to ask for the men’s room key before the meeting could start. The blonde was appraising him, checking him out! Their eyes met, and she bestowed a beckoning smile on him. He looked at the stunning brunette holding his hand, then at the actual blonde goddess. Holy shit. They both wanted him. The blonde gestured to him, his new found confidence allowed him to be drawn easily into her web.

Stumbling over his words, Danny gently untangled his fingers from hers, “Renee, honey, I’m going to need a raincheck…”

By:  Lauren J. Walter  May 6, 2009

The Fiftieth

Today was Henry’s fiftieth birthday. He was thrilled beyond words. Not. He hated birthdays as a rule, particularly the big ones that involved decade changes. They were just another concrete demonstration of how life had passed him by.

This birthday had already been a nightmare. His wife, Elsa, had thrown him a surprise party. The surprise was that it was all about her and her likes, and nothing about his. The event was everything he feared, loathed and despised –fancy food, fancy people, and fancy outfits. Everything pretentious and overdone. After twenty plus years, Henry would have liked one goddamn birthday in his style, a couple of friends, jeans, and burgers in the backyard. But Elsa hated his friends and his style, so fancy shmancy it was. Nothing like the joy of a joyless celebration.

Joyless seemed to define Henry’s life more and more. Each passing year, found him greyer and duller. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been happy and that kept him up nights. Twenty years ago, he gave up a job he loved to satisfy Elsa, but neither of them had been satisfied since. Sometimes he wanted to talk about it, but that wasn’t a conversation he could share with Elsa. Anything involving real concepts and feelings had long been banned between them. His marriage seemed to be teetering on the edge of the abyss, and Henry no longer cared.

Henry walked out of the apartment towards the train station. The umbrella he had opened as he walked outside seemed to be serving as a vehicle for water to run down his back instead of protecting him from the onslaught. Within minutes, he was soaked, despite his desperate efforts to stay dry. It seemed somewhat apropos, the unyielding rain matched his unyielding sadness.

Henry crossed the street as the light changed and was splattered by an asshole in a Hummer. As Henry turned to give him the finger, his left foot landed in a puddle deep enough to soak both his shoe and foot to the bone. Unfuckingbelievable. He stepped onto the curb, and shook his foot, attempting to shed some of the water, when he glimpsed the train coming into the station. He cursed and ran down the stairs, trying his best not to fall and break his neck.

Huffing and puffing, he entered the train with the crowd, closing his umbrella carefully. He was astounded to find a seat on the aisle, something good had finally happened. He got as comfortable as his soaked clothing would allow, and rested his umbrella between his dripping legs. It was then he noticed his seat mate. She was stunning. Vibrant. Everyone else on the train was in the same or similar shades of black and grey, but she, well, she was in technicolor. He smiled, not knowing what else to do and she nodded back. The rules of train etiquette limited their contact to that. He tried not to stare at her, but she was intoxicating, and he had been sober for way too long.

Henry tried to find a conversation starter, but his tongue seemed glued to the roof of his mouth. Then he noticed her book. Dear god, could it be? The goddess was reading his book. A book that had been out of print for over twenty years.

“Excuse me miss.” She looked at him with displeasure, bothered by the interruption.

“That book, are you enjoying it?” She looked at him curiously, and a bit indignantly.

“It’s reasonably good. Something a bit different.”

“Where did you find it? It’s been out of print for 20 years?”

“My mom gave it to me. She used to date the author.” Henry felt his heart stop in its tracks.

“She did? Your mom…is her name Annie?” He could feel the train pulling into a station. She closed the book and looked at him closely, “How did you know that?”

“Because I wrote that book.”

“Daddy?”

Henry stared at her aghast, grabbed his umbrella and fled the train.

Happy Birthday indeed.

By:  Lauren J. Walter  August 17, 2007

The Perfect Strike

“No. I can’t do it. I’m already late,” Stan yelled before he slammed the door shut and raced to his car. Even in his rush, his BIG STAN license plate made him smile for just a brief second. It was a beautiful night, so the top of his Mustang was down and the cool night air surrounded him. Adjusting himself in the driver’s seat, he checked the rear view mirror. All clear, Stan shifted into reverse and rolled out of the driveway.

Shifting into first, he sang “bowling night, bowling night” to the Flintstones’ theme song, forcing the words to fit into the tune. He pushed down on the accelerator, only seven minutes left before the semis start, got to get there.

He flew past the stop sign, not even bothering to pause. Stan remembered when they installed the stop sign on Maple, absolute waste of tax dollars and a shining example of over governing. He shook it off and thought about rolling his ball down the lane. He relaxed; that’s makes the rest of the week bearable. Watching his ball slam against those painted wooden pins gave him a release that made sex seem dull. Sometimes he wondered whether his wife suspected that he got a bigger splash from a strike than from their bi-weekly tumble. Those encounters were so predictable, so monotonous, so boring. He wished Anne didn’t enjoy it so much, so he could stick with his porn and Joanie the office receptionist. Discovering Joanie considered blow jobs neither sex nor cheating had been one of the greatest moments of his life.

The parking lot was already packed. He maneuvered his Mustang into a space far from the front entrance and jumped out, bowling bag in hand. Stan caressed the shiny blue bag, pleased with the way the sparkling white words ‘Big Stan’ popped. When his old bag began begun shredding, Anne had surprised him with this beauty and it served him well. Amazingly, she had managed to match the exact color of his ball. It was a work of art.

Stan squared his shoulders and put an extra bounce in his step. So much of the game was mental, his entry had to have just the right amount of swagger. So he strode into the lanes, awaiting the welcome cry from his team. Sure enough, the yell of “Stan” reverberated through across the lanes. He smiled and lifted his hand to high five Bud.

“What took you so long? You’re not gonna have a chance for a practice frame.”

“It’s me Bud, when have I ever needed a practice frame?”

“This is the semi-finals Stan, don’t get cocky.”

“I’m not cocky, just honest. I don’t need a practice frame, just a practice beer.”

Bud chuckled and reached for the pitcher and a clean glass. He poured the amber fluid into the glass with a practiced hand so that there was just the right amount of white foam floating on the top. Stan watched admiringly, “you really have the touch.”

“Years of practice,” Bud responded.

Downing the beer quickly, Stan motioned for a refill. Raising an eyebrow, Bud began pouring,

“Rough day Big Stan?”

“They’re all rough days lately. Thank god for beer and bowling night.”

Bud poured himself half a glass and clinked it against Stan’s, “To bowling night and beer! Now get your ball out and let’s kick some ass.”

Downing his second beer as quickly as the first, Stan banged the glass down onto the table. Wiping his mouth with the back of his left hand, he picked up his bowling bag. Stan bounced down the three steps leading to the lanes, a broad smile plastered across his face. He took his usual seat on the curved couches that surrounded the scoring table and unzipped his bag. Slowly, reverently, he removed his ball. There was nothing Stan loved more than the metallic blue of the Cobalt Meance. Carefully, he wiped its surface with the soft rag he kept in the bag, inspecting it for any imperfections. Finding none, he rose to his feet and walked to the ball return, placing the Cobalt Menace in its favorite location – farthest from the return. He stopped to gaze down the lane, making sure it recognized its master. Then Stan walked back to his seat, “Let’s get ‘em rolling.”

The semis were best of one, so tonight really mattered. Stan was always the last bowler for his team, and tonight, the boys were in good form. His four bowling bros all landed either strikes or spares, while there adversary had one open frame thanks to a nasty split that refused to go down. Stan took his mark, Cobalt Menace poised right below his chin. “Focus” he thought to himself, staring down the one pin. With that he took three mighty steps and lofted the ball down the lane. Boom! The pins flew and he was off to a perfect start.

By the third frame, he was working on a turkey and aimed true. His teammates rose to their feet as the ball knocked down all the pins. “Stan!!!” they chanted. Thanks in large part to his magic ball, they were ahead by nine pins. High fives all around.

Stan sat down, ready for his frame four beer. He had the beer/bowl ratio down to a science – one beer every four frames, joined together with a pre-tenth toast. Bud poured him a cold one, and Stan drank it right down.

“We can do this Stan, just stay on track. Stay focused. We need you to be on your best.”

“I’m always on my best, Bud. Always.”

At the end of the eighth frame, Bud was in the zone, totally and completely. Seven strikes. One right after the other. He was riding on Cloud Nine. The team was ahead five pins, thanks in large part to Big Stan’s parade of strikes. A perfect game had never come his way before. Three hundred was in sight. He sat down and reached for his beer. His hand shook just enough for a splash of beer to hit his jeans. Stan told himself to steady as he lifted the glass to his lips and swallowed. Three more balls with three more strikes and this night would go down in infamy. He would finally get his 300 t-shirt, the one he’d been dreaming of since he was a kid playing bumper ball.

Sure enough, frame nine, strike. Both teams erupted in cheers. It was now bigger than the semis. It was all about the next ball. Bud had Stan’s beer waiting, and Stan held it carefully, not wanting anyone to see the fear and excitement that coursed through his body.

Frame ten. The gap between the two teams had narrowed. Stan’s team was ahead by only one pin, and it was Stan’s turn to roll. The entire house had quieted, everyone was focused on Stan’s quest for perfection. He held his hand over the fan, trying to make the sweat disappear along with the nerves. He picked up the Cobalt Menace and held it close to his chin, whispering to the ball, “c’mon baby. We can do this.” Focused, he took three strides and let it loose, watching as it lofted down the alley, coming down about ten feet from the foul line, straight and true. Sure enough, it crashed into the one pin, causing the rest of the pins to bow down to his might. The entire house erupted into applause and whistles. Stan didn’t hear anything. One more. One more. Just one more. Please.

He held his hand over the fan once again, waiting for his ball to ride the rail back to the holding pen. Picking it up, he steadied it, whispering “now.” Three strides, boom. It was over. Perfection was finally his. Finally. Even better, it secured the guys place in the finals. They were all moving on.

Stan returned to the bench, as back slaps and high fives surrounded him. This was his night. He wanted to remember every second. Someone handed him an ice cold pitcher, and he drank straight from the lip to celebrate. He couldn’t stop smiling. Finally.

Twenty minutes later, he stumbled out to the parking lot and walked to his car. He put the bag holding the Cobalt Menace safely in the back seat, patting it once more as thanks. Turning the key in the ignition, Big Stan put the car into reverse and was on his way.

As he drove, he told himself, “three hundred. I’m perfect. Absolutely perfect.” Once again, he blew by the stop sign on the corner of Maple and Pinetree this time colliding with a bright blue Hummer. The force of the impact lofted the Cobalt Menace into the air, and it came to stop against the back of Big Stan’s head.

Strike.

By: Lauren J. Walter March 23, 2009

Emma Invisible

Once upon a time. Wouldn’t it be nice if all of life started out, “once upon a time,” she mused. And shouldn’t life have repeated points where everyone gets to live happily ever after? Lately, she seemed to be getting all the lousy beginnings, middles and ends.

“You there, is the report done?” Emma looked up, startled by the sound of her boss’s voice over her head. “Uh, no sir, almost. I just need to finish the last paragraph and proof it for you.” He stared at her. Emma could feel the laser beams that replicated his eyes cutting her to shreds. His words came out slowly, each syllable clearly enunciated. “I need the report now. Actually, I needed it ten minutes ago. And here you sit, daydreaming on my dime.”

She interrupted, practically stuttering, “I wasn’t daydreaming, just trying to reread the report with a clear head.”

“Nice try Emma. But if that report is not on my desk, proofed and perfect in six minutes, my dime will no longer be your dime. Understand?” Emma tried to withhold the fear from her voice; she could not afford to lose another job, “Yes Mr. Perks. I understand.”

She looked down at her keyboard as she tried to make her fingers coordinate with the words scrawled across the page. His eyes continued to lace into her; she briefly looked up, hoping he would leave her to finish her work. Their eyes met and his fierce blue eyes bitch slapped her pale amber ones. Immediately breaking contact, she looked back down to the final paragraph. Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she struggled to stay focused.

Report typed, she printed a hard copy, waiting anxiously for the pages to print. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Perks was still there. Damn, she wondered, why is he riding me like this? I work harder than Grace over in the other cubicle. And my work is good. Why is he picking on me?

Looking over at the clock, Emma discovered she only had three minutes left to make sure the report was perfect. Of course, her ability to read was hampered by the sound of Perks wheezing breath not more than five feet from her desk. The pages shook in her hand as she tried to make sure everything was just right. The clock hand clicked to the nine with a thump almost as loud as her heart beat. Taking a deep breath in, she closed her eyes and tried to calm down. The report was done. Perks was right there, it would all be fine.

Perks nasal voice interrupted her thinking, “Disappearing again, Emma? I don’t think that’s necessary. Just hand me the damn report and take your lunch now. With a little luck, you’ll have a job to come back afterwards.” His footsteps sounded like jackboots, even muffled against the thick blue carpeting.

“Why does this kind of thing always happen to me?” she wondered. Removing her lunch and pocketbook from the bottom drawer, she reached for her heavy winter coat. The coat was at least one size too small and she struggled to get it on. Another lunch hour spent sitting in her car. Why do I let him scare me so? Why don’t I ever stand up for myself and demand enough money to actually eat my lunch somewhere other than the front seat of my car once and a while?

The best sound of her day was invariably the zipper of her lunchbox, opening to the goodies that helped her manage. Between the potato chips, the thick sandwich spread heavily with mayo, the Mountain Dew, and the king sized bag of m&ms she stashed for the long afternoon, she could find the strength to get through this hellacious day. She closed her eyes, luxuriating in the sound of the salty chip crunching in her mouth, quickly taking a bite of her sandwich so the texture would mix in with the softness of the white bread. “Once upon a time” she thought. If only she could escape that easily from the prison of her job, her car and her body. Once upon a time.

She felt a trickle of mayo ooze out the side of her mouth, and she quickly wiped it away. At least for the moment, here in the safety of her car, she was invisible. And invisible was almost better than happily ever after.

By: Lauren J. Walter January 12, 2009

The Confidence Game

Danny moved closer, leaning in for a kiss. Hovering for a fraction of a second just a millimeter from her mouth, summoning up the courage to finally make his move. In that moment, she leaned in and met his lips. Their first kiss was now history, and he leaned back, basking in its glory. His eyes crinkled happily around the edges, his mouth curled up into a satisfied smile. She liked him; Renee Mustane had kissed him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, feeling the warmth of her body next to him. Few things can boost a man’s confidence like that first kiss from a beautiful woman. In that instant, the world becomes Technicolor and all things possible.

Renee beamed as well. Amazing how little it takes to make a man believe he was the one. Danny was a sweet enough soul, with his chubby belly and shiny bald head. The way he smiled at her and the corners of his eyes echoed the curve on his lips made her willing to take a chance with him. Spending the evening with Danny had almost made her forget Joe. Almost. But not entirely. She knew it would be a long time before she would ever fully trust a man after that debacle. Danny seemed a safe place to start.

They stood like that for what could have been an eternity, acclimating to the change in their relationship. She leaned against him, looking up, counting the crinkles alongside his eye. He nuzzled her cheek. Renee liked the contrast of his warm breath on the left side of her face and the chill on the right. Somehow, it seemed perfectly symmetrical and indicative of how a good relationship should be. Warm and cool. Too much warmth and it cooks the passion out. Too much cool and the passion frosts over. A giggle escaped Renee when she recognized she had equated love to alchemy.

Renee’s laughter was like catnip to Danny’s soul. He was making this gorgeous creature happy and it made his spirit soar. It had been far too long since he had believed himself capable of making himself happy, let alone anyone else. Yet this dark haired, blue eyed stunner was enjoying his company and better yet, his kisses. Perhaps he’d been underestimating himself all these years. He held her closed and scored another kiss, no longer heavy with the trepidation of the first. Renee kissed back and they stood together, time suspended, tongues entwined. She leaned into him, making sure Danny was aware of her interest. He held her closer, keeping her warm as their kiss surpassed her expectations.

They finally drew back for air. Renee was astounded by the intensity of their connection. Danny was her rebound guy. The filler. The chubby guy she picked because she knew he would never hurt her – the plump ones were always far to thrilled to be in the company of a hot woman to ever dump them. Yet the way he gazed at her made her heart leap. It was a look of ardor that she had never before experienced but had always hoped existed. Suddenly, Renee wanted Danny as much more than just a rebound.

Danny realized he was still holding onto her hand, and brought it to his lips, like all those suave guys he had studied in the movies. He watched her closely, wanting to understand every nuance that flashed like lightening bugs over her face. She laced her fingers into his, broadcasting her joy with this surprising man. She pulled on him gently, rising to her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Let’s go inside.”

Danny noticed a woman standing nearby. A cool blonde who he was reasonably sure he’d examined closely in a lingerie ad in the latest issue of People while sitting waiting for a client. He remembered the ad had forced him to ask for the men’s room key before the meeting could start. The blonde was appraising him, checking him out! Their eyes met, and she bestowed a beckoning smile on him. He looked at the stunning brunette holding his hand, then at the actual blonde goddess. Holy shit. They both wanted him. The blonde gestured to him, his new found confidence allowed him to be drawn easily into her web.

Stumbling over his words, Danny gently untangled his fingers from hers, “Renee, honey, I’m going to need a raincheck…”

By: Lauren J. Walter, December 28, 2008

The Song Remains The Same

Sadie couldn’t remember how it ended. She remembered the why, but not the how. Sadie and Larry had been a summer fling; a brief, soaring adventure of shared tenderness and exploration. Learning about each other and finding ways to excite each other. All new and strange and feverish. But Sadie had always known it was not a forever, just a for the moment.

When it ended (and it had ended), she was already involved with another. She couldn’t recall how or why it had ended. Sadie wished she had the answers to that one, but she didn’t. They were long gone. What were once memories were now just traces of scattered thoughts, crumpled and dusty in the corners of her mind.

It had been decades since she last thought of either of them. All so long ago that the specifics no longer mattered, at least not to her. Had he not sought out her brother on FaceBook, these whispers of smoke would never have filled the room. She doubted she’d have been able to recall his name independently. But when he friended her brother, it was like a blinking neon sign to alert Sadie to Larry’s resurrection. She suspected it would hurt him to know that she had been thinking about the other; about Sean and all those memories they had created jointly.

Sean. Why had she been so willing to let him out of her life? So long ago, yet just like yesterday. He had saved her from solitude and isolation; back before her path was clear. Platonically, they had flourished. Urging each other on to greater heights and challenges. Together, they were balanced, yin and yang, in complement.

That summer. That long ago summer that changed everything and nothing. She had tried to break free, first with Jon. She had dreamed of Jon, with his musician’s hands and somnolent eyes. Jon had wanted more than she was able to give, so she settled for Larry. He had been Sadie’s second choice. The substitute. But it hadn’t worked. With Larry, she knew she could set the pace and the limits, something Jon had controlled before. She felt safe, but she wanted more than safe. She wanted the dynamite of Jon with the safety of Larry. Most of all, she wanted the harmony of Sean.

One night, so long ago that the memory was like a sparkler fleeting throwing light on a dark summer’s night, Sadie and Sean had transcended their yin and yang. That night everything changed in a heartbeat, in a great bonfire of passion. It felt so right that there could be no other choice. That was the why. But the how remained lost in the fog of time.

FaceBook had Sadie thinking about her past. As she sifted through the photographs of her youth, memories bubbled forth. Long forgotten moments mixed with newly experienced events. The gap between now and then seemed smaller than ever before.

Sadie had ignored Larry’s reemergence. She had no real interest in replaying the past, at least not with him. Yet Larry continued to appear in strange ways, making repression impossible. She came across a photo that stunned her. There stood Sadie, Larry, Sean, and Jon at the end of that distant summer. Smiling, interacting, all except Sadie unaware of the layers. In that row, the drama of her youth lined up. All those various shadings and degrees of choices that could only became clear by closing the door tightly.

How she wished she could replay that summer. Yet deep in her heart, she knew the resolution would remain the same.

By: Lauren J. Walter, December 20, 2008

Just A Little Snip

This is an excerpt from my work-in-progress, Near the Beginning.  It’s a modern day version of the stories of Abe, Ike and Jake (you may remember them from your bible studies as Abraham, Isaac and Jacob).  This excerpt takes place right after Abe’s wife, Sari, has given birth to their son, Ike.

Sari and Ike were kept overnight at the hospital and sent home the next morning with glowing reports from all the doctors. Abe was on cloud nine, bragging to all about his beautiful new son. “Yup, even without ovaries, Sari gave birth to a perfect boy. God gave me super sperm! My son Ike is the most amazing child to ever grace this planet.” He spent the days preening, sharing the news with everyone he met. At the end of the week, Abe joined an acolyte at the gym; after their workout, he took a long shower, gloating about his impregnating skills.

She took another long snort from the Angel’s wings. “Damn, this stuff is good! We need to party like this more often. Just because we hang in heaven, doesn’t mean we can’t have a good time. We need to create more holidays where Angel Dust is on the menu. C’mon Cherie, you’re up next.” God inhaled deeply from Cherie’s wings. When she finally lifted her head, multi-colored sparkles covered her face. Those sparkles kept the angels floating high and gave God massive giggle fits when she inhaled deeply. Gold loved that Angel Dust was a totally and instantly renewable resource. It was so exciting to find out which angel provoked each type of giggle.

Mendy looked down at the scene in Columbus. “Hey God, Abe’s at it again. Gloating about knocking up Sari.” Mendy checked it out again and gasped, “Look at what’s going on in that shower!” God peered down just in time to see Abe compare the size of his schlong with the other guys. She shook her head, “Men, they never learn, do they? It’s all about dick size with them. Big cock, micro cock, cock cock cock cock cock. I’m so sick of listening to the men bitching and moaning and bragging about those damn things. BeeBee, what was I thinking when I gave humans those ridiculously silly body parts?”

“It was right after we had that big Angel Dust fiesta. Remember, you swore you could dust fifty angels in fifty minutes? Damn, you were flying high. It was the night you created humans. That wacky reproductive plan you put in place caused us all to laugh so hard that our tears created the Baltic Sea.”

“It was pretty funny to give them those innies and outies for sex and waste management. I could have made that whole childbirth thing a lot easier. I was so pissed off at Eve that day that I got back at her by making her push eight pound infants out of her hoo ha and then created that whole Summer’s Eve douche line. Every time I hear Summer’s Eve, I feel a bit of joy thinking of her embarrassment.” God shook her head, “Damn, I really can be vengeful, can’t I?” The angels chuckled, “It’s not like they don’t deserve a dose of vengeance every now and again.”

God snorted another angel then chuckled evilly, “I have a genius idea. An idea that will put Abe back in his place. A way to see if Abe truly believes or whether he’s in it for the glory.” God paused for dramatic effect as the angels stared at her expectantly. “I’m going to have Abe and all his male followers get clipped.”

“Get clipped?” BeeBee asked.

“Yup. I’m going to make them chop off the tip of their dicks. That’ll shut them up for a while.”

The angels flittered for a moment, buzzing about the plan. Within seconds, heaven was filled with uproarious laughter that sounded like a freak thunder storm down on earth. “Fabulous plan” “Awesome idea.” “That’ll shut then up for a while.”

God smiled so broadly that the world was bathed in a beautiful light.

That night, as Abe tucked in his week old son, God spoke to him. “Yo, Abe, I’ve got to talk to you about solidifying our arrangement.”

“Of course God, whatever you wish. I think our arrangement is pretty darn solid. You speak, I listen and relay your message to all the folks down here.”

“It’s a start Abe, but you see, I’ve made your life easier, given you a son, and made sure that you are safe from harm. I need something from you, something that requires more than just a handshake.”

“Whatever you want God, I’ll do it.”

“Good. Here’s the deal. Tomorrow, I want you and all your male followers to take a knife and cut off the foreskin of your penises. Is it penises or penisi? I’m never sure on that one. I recommend that you pick one of you to do all the cutting, after all practice makes perfect. From the oldest to the youngest, all members get trimmed.”

Abe had taken a seat on the rocking chair next to Ike’s cradle. His face was ashen white, and he struggled to spit out the words, “You want the men to have the tips of their penis cut off?”

“It’s not really the tip of their penis, it’s the foreskin, just an extra little hoodie I designed because I thought it looked cool. You don’t need it. It just collects dirt and grime and disease. Plus, I don’t want you to have it. I want my followers to have something that physically differentiates them from the rest of the world.”

“Can’t we just get tattoos that say ‘one god’ or something like that?”

“Abe, how many times I have told you not to argue with me over things like this.”

“You’ve never told me to hack off my cock before. Oops. I mean penis. Sorry God.”

“Abe, I’ve heard the word cock before, along with pecker, member, schlong, wiener, one eyed monster and joystick. Whatever you call it, my order remains the same. Are you in or out?”

Abe’s voice shook as he answered God, “Of course I’m in. But please tell me, is this a one time shearing?”

“Nope. From now on, every male who belongs to our tribe will have this procedure. How old is Ike?”

“One week old.”

“Okay, so from now on, when a male infant is eight days old, his foreskin will be clipped.” God turned to the Angels, who were doing their best to suppress their laughter, “Angels, we need a good word for this process, what do you think it should be called? Clipping is just too casual.”

BeeBee offered up, “foreskinectomy”

The angels shook their heads no.

Mendy shouted, “Tippling”

“No,” God responded, “Sounds too much like someone who’s drinking.”

Cherie thought for an extra minute before offering, “Cock Blocking.”

The other angels instantly rejected that, “You’re not blocking the cock, just circumventing the original design.”

God looked at her angels, “Oooh, that’s a good word. You may be onto something, how about we call it circumcision?”

“That sounds just pretentious enough to work.”

Nodding, God spoke to Abe, “Tomorrow, all the males will be circumcised to demonstrate their commitment to our covenant. And eight days after the birth of new males, they will be circumcised. You know, you could probably turn it into a party, serve up some bagels and lox. Good excuse for a celebration!”

Quietly, Abe asked. “So all my male posse get circumcised tomorrow. What exactly do we get in return?”

“You will be the start of a great nation. You will be my chosen people.”

“As you wish my God, it will be done,” Abe answered.

God added, “Good luck tomorrow. Make sure you have plenty of Tylenol on hand, Vicodin would probably be a good too. Thanks Abe. Chat at ya soon.”

She watched as Abe rocked back and forth in his chair, cupping his package as if to protect it from the anticipated slice. She said to her angels, “We’ll see who compares what in the shower from now on! Do you guys know how much I love being God? It is just too much fun!.”

The angels smiled and offered up their wings so God could take another snort before calling it a day.

By:  Lauren J. Walter  December 9, 2008