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