Ain't a Little Girl

The Words:

stamp, mug, buick, white, devil, chicago, cold, girl, night, black, crossroads

**
Papa,

Buick or no, I am going. I'm sick of having no crossroads to pick from. I ain't a little girl anymore. I'm tired of this cold farm where the damn horses can't take a dump at night because they're scared the devil's gonna take them. I don't need no one to show me my way to Chicago. I'll make it fine. Then again, maybe it might not be Chicago. You can check the stamp on the next letter to guess where it's coming from. I left something for you at the bottom of Momma's black and white checkered mug. Keep it for me.

I'll come back one day.

Janine

PS: Tell Wald he can eat dung.

Can It Down

The Words:

big block, funny, midget, fast, popeye the sailor man, pippy, long, stocking, oscar, chico, the man

**

Mama was a midget in my world. She had a habit of wearing long, silky stockings that made the girls at the restaurant titter. "Pippy! oh Pippy!" they would smirk.

"Goddamn The Man!" she would mutter funnily under her breath, "He left me nothing put a pile of these things."

Mama had a habit of doing that too. Blaming The Man. He was originally Oscar, my father, maybe. But I don't really know. I remember he would call me chico, like I belonged somehow. But I didn't.

The giant of the Big Block was what they started calling me after I turned 5. And to the women at the restaurant I was "Popeye!! Popeye the sailor man!!" Titters.

I was and am and will always be the opener of cans.

Sentenced

The Words:

bouncy, cat, bowl, fish, ate, six, claw, food, box, sleep, tight

**

"Sleep tight, bouncy cat who ate 6 of my live fish out of the bowl with a claw, and tipped the food box with bones."

Cliche

The Words:

sky, rain, radio, cold, flowers, cat, soda, blanket, lock, light, child

**

It was very cliche, shaped like a jukebox with lights running across the top. I remember opening it in the garden, on my favorite picnic blanket, rain whispering cold warnings in the afternoon sky. The cat was a kitten then and loved batting my mothers flowers. Light headed tulips especially.

But even that sounds so cliche... a child opening her birthday present on a spring day. But none of this is far from the truth. There was soda and cake. There were kisses and hugs. There was pink confetti and party hats. And there was the radio.

The radio is the only thing I have left of that memory. And old cat, who loved to lock herself in the basement cabinet.

And the paint is peeling off of it because of the condensation...

Riddle

The Words:

sky, water, ground, mountain, valley, ocean, river, desert, jungle, top, bottom

**

Call me a jungle, a

mountain, an ocean of

desert. Tell me

and I'll reach the top

of the valley, the

bottom of the sky.

Drill me for your well

of water, your hidden

river, your lost precious

stones.

For the ground

belongs to me.

Ride

The Words:

motorcycle, air, clouds, wind, trees, road, speed, home, cow, bird, rock

**

We hit 145 mph. I was clinging to him, the speed streaming past me in ribbons. Ribbons of cows and rocks and trees and birds. All floating together. All making up the wind. My neck jerked back and I laughed because the clouds were still. Still as they always were. What a road they would make!

I decided this was it. Home was plunging through the air at 145 mph on a motorcycle.

And to fear nothing of it.

White Grass

The Words:

Clock, Car, Pole, Horse, Fence, Piston, Rifle, Saw, Hockey, Paint, Bank

**

The paint slopped and there was nothing he could do about it. He expected to hear her wail from her window. Mrs. Murdok with her century old knees would have seen it all. He waited a moment with his eyes scrunched tight. No sound. Slowly coming down the ladder which he had dared to balance against the pole, he balanced the can and the saw meticulously, wondering less this time about the hockey game he was missing.

Why hadn't she yelled?

Making a note to oil the creaking hinges a long with the piston of her car, he mumbled as his back snapped. The word "old" floated in front of him and he brushed it away. He was still writing a theses. Winding the grandfather clock on his way up the stairs, he wondered if she had fallen again.

But why wasn't she yelling?

If Mrs. Murdok was a horse, she'd be the frisky one who would jump fences even if she didn't know how. A rifle pointed at her would make her laugh, and no one at the bank argued with her demands. He chuckled to himself, remembering how those tie adorned gentlemen had flinched at her waving cane.

He stopped halfway up. No sound.

He turned around, his his feet matching the pulse. She was gone! Gone! He reached for the phone. He would have to call the ambulance, the police, the--

"Young man, don't you DARE runaway from me! And don't you for a SECOND think that I didn't see that paint stain my grass. You are going to have to clean that, I tell you! Now get your chicken arse back here and help me up!"

More

The Words:

Bird, Grass, Shirt, Book, Calendar, Pipe, House, You, Gingham, Troll, Fish

**

"Wow."

"Yeah. See that house? Em took three days to do the grass around it..."

"My god. Is that a troll?"

"A friendly one. But that black bird, the one behind the big story book? It's evil. Or so Em says."

"And she has a calendar too."

"Mmhmm. Crosses off each day like she's waiting for something."

"I am in awe. I mean, look at that pipe and that fish. Look how real that shirt looks..."

"It's a gingham shirt. See the patterns?"

"I see an artist..."

The room was still for a moment as both women stood examining the wall. The air shifted and both looked behind to see the tiny four year old with her hands on her hips.

"You are a bad Mommy..."

"Emily..."

"My wall is PRIVATE."

"Em... this is--"

"I don't care. Get out."

"Emily, she's your PRIVATE teacher."

"I don't need a private teacher."

"You don't?"

"No."

"What do you need then."

"More wall."

Accord

The Words:

Chevy, Ford, Olds, Buick, oh, yeah, last, but, not, least, Pontiac

**

"Dad, buy the Accord."

"I ain't buying anything Chinese."

"It's the best deal."

"This country was better without them."

"Dad, it's just a car."

"Yeah? Then let me get the Pontiac. Or the Buick. Even an Olds would at least get me to pint B from A."

"But none of them as environmentally conscious as th--"

"Don't feed me all that junk about global warming. Them Chinese are causing half of it."

"Not really. Forget it. Last chance Dad. Are you going to get the Accord?"

"Oh, go to hell with that Accord of yours. Ford or Chevy or none. I ain't bowing to Asia."

Millisecond

The Words:

drive, work, skateboard, van, chair, carpet, oil, tape, bolt, desk, light.

**

When you set light to oil, you don't guess whether it burns. It burns. A bolted door means no entry, and a chair means your knees will bend to sit on it. There is nothing about tape that tells you it was pasted to tear things apart, and carpet is always quieter when landing a desk on it than wood.

But when you're driving a van to work and see a skateboard flying your way, you can only hope that your life isn't changed in a millisecond.

Dog Accident

The Words:

cheese, dog, jaguar, pencil, jukebox, hemi, pontiac, popcorn, clipper, shifter, ambulance

**

The ambulance wailed. He opened his eyes and decided that he was in one after all.

Dog. Stupid dog. I should have killed the dog, he thought.

Mart hurried through the hidden flap, crushing littered prpcorn under his four legs.

"Rad... hey Rad! I think I just killed a guy..."

Rad was the largest mutt of the batch. He stood lazily, and if it weren't for the fact that all of them were pencil thin, he might have been somewhat handsome.

"Killed?"

Pawing nervously at old cheese stuck on the cracked floor, Mart fumbled "Umm, yeah... He... I... I was crossing the road and heis pontiac came by faster than I thought it would... and he slammed the brakes and I ... froze... and he hit the pole instead."

"You froze. YOU froze. What are you, hemi-daft? Good going Mart..."

"Rad I--"

"Shut up. Jaguar, you and Shifter, find out where the ambulance is. Rest of you, scram."

"Rad, I'm so--"

"Let's cut the crap. If you killed the man, you're out of the Jukebox. If you didn't, good for you Mart. Those bastards have killed enough of us."

"Dammit Rad, it was his fau--"

"That's not what the K-9 shepards are gonna to ask. That's not what I asked either. Now, scram. Jaguar will find you at sunrise. And watch out for The Clipper."

Helmets

The Words:

onion, watch, helmet, lips, corrugate, lies, triumph, native, train, boot, junk

**

Tonight I sit up till the midnight train. But then, I am not really watching it. I'm just out booting the junk in my head. The corrugate packages of lies. The guilty triumphs. The filthy grime of tolerance, so native now to my mental canals that I don't know what I have left to scrub it all clean.

And when it passes, I let the scent of the onions it was carrying hit my lips. I go to lick them, and laugh. So fickle. So damn fickle, this mind of mine.

I wonder why helmets were ever invented.

Fishy

Colorado, Rocky Mountains, log cabin, lake, creek, moose, elk, fireplace, meadow, aspen tree, & pine tree.

**

When Jill had kissed the aspen tree, my knees had gone watery. She had loved this place. The meadow and the log cabin. The elk head and lying on moose fur near the fire place. Tracing her sleeping form with my eyes in the morning sun had dimmed the Rocky Mountains.

But Jill was gone.

"Daddy, is that a Christmas tree? Why are there so may Christmas trees?"

Luke. My son. Our son. Always asking questions.

"Luke, they are called pine trees, not Christmas trees."

"But you didn't answer my question!!"

And I didn't care to either. Luke only liked questions.

When I parked by the lake and drew out the poles, he jumped around me a little, ripping off his shoes and tugging on his little rubber boots.

"Daddy, did Momma like fishing too?"

"Yes, she did."

"Daddy, will I catch a BIG fishy?"

"Yes, you can try!"

"Daddy, will--"

"Luke, grab those hooks and follow me."

Sometimes, you had to interrupt. At the creek, he walked slowly, his blond head bent down as he looked at where his feet were placed.

"Daddy, is this scary?"

"No, Luke. Just be careful."

And so we stood there. My three year old and I. In the middle of Colorado. I caught my first one and reeled it in, the flapping making Luke nervous. His eyes went wide as I slit it open.

"You okay Luke?"

He nodded feverently. Maybe my sister had been right. Maybe he was too young for this. I busied myself again with tying another hook. He watched me, and took a step away to give me space to stand by him again.

And then the tears came. Sliding down his sweet chin.

"Luke!"

I held him, and the little boy sobbed.

"Luke! Lukey, whats wrong? Are you scared? Did something happen?"

He peered up with his nose red. Red, just like Jill's used to get when she wept.

"But Daddy, why did Momma like killing the fishy!?"

Overstocking

The Words:

guns, bombs, love, hate, war, life, death, babies, people, alpha, omega

**

It was like guns were out and bombs were about to explode. I swallowed and coughed it out again. There was no room left. You'd think women were marked with Omega in this culture, the lowest-ranked wolves in a pack, but looking at the anxious faces outside my father's tiny shop, the alpha in me trembled.

They were here for a war. It was with genuine love these women had chatted it up on their phones, spreading the stink of trouble. They had babies to raise, and enemies to hate. But everyone had heard. And everyone wanted to win.

A barrel of oil was going to cost 4 times as much next week. And it would stick there.

Life would mean carrying home 70 pounds of rice. Death would mean carrying less than 20. When the door clicked open, I held my breath to savor that one moment of silence.

Then people crashed.

I sat that evening, sipping my spiced lemonade, still trying to wrap my mind around it all when I heard my mother spitting into the phone,

"What!? You only got 10!? Oh you poor, poor soul! We have 80 lying in our garage... I know! It's a miracle we own that shop..."

I dropped my glass and let the drink spread.

"Vinny! What are you DOING!?"

"Polishing your floors."

And with her jaw hanging open at me, I left.

The E.R. Volunteer

The Words:

swoosh, distantly heard, blossom, flapping in the wind, fun, renewal, hearts, cell phone, portrait of the artist, atmospheric, soporific

**

I am not the type of man who distantly heard some secret and now holds it safely wrapped up between my hearts chambers. Secrets are hardly soporific. They swoosh even when you think silence is true. But they look at me funny now, all these people who love me. They love me because I belong to them, because there are no renewals when a mother holds her child to her warm breasts.

But she didn’t love me like that, her. She came like a blossom flapping in the wind of coincidence, and stuck on my shirt somehow. She knocked and let herself in, a neat bun collecting her long, black hair back. It made me want to laugh a little, that glowing face with huge eyes and beautiful lips and the grandma style bun. And when she asked if I wanted a straw to sip my Seven-Up, I nodded.

Because what did she know?

She couldn’t know. She couldn’t know that for years now, I had watched them disappear in bulbous lumps. She couldn’t know about the fight my mother and father had before getting here, about no insurance, no ID’s, no records. She couldn’t know the dreams I had been having, of IV’s, and blood, and closing my eyes for a long, long, long time.

So I nodded, for fun. And she brought it, straw and all to my lips. And I couldn’t open them. They were gone. Sealed.

She put the can down, her eyes traveling around my face and neck, sad, devastated.

“How long has is been since you’ve eaten?”

I shrugged. 3 days, I wanted to tell her.

She left and came back with a blanket. She covered my parents, sleeping there on the hard chairs. They were tired. And they didn’t know a silver of English. She came up, her nose an inch away.

“May I touch them?”

I could tell she was afraid. Afraid of the atmospheric tension that might explode if I took it all wrong.

I nodded.

She touched my forehead first, fingers slowly falling down the bridge of my nose, then rising again to stencil in my eyebrows. With both palms, she held my cheeks and suddenly, mine were meshed with hers.

Gentle. Crude. Pure. Diseased. Sweet. Tasteless. Tender. Hardened.

Lips.

When she looked at me again, I was crying. For her. For me. For lips.

But they look at me funny now, all these people who love me. Confused, sad, unknowing. Like looking at a portrait of the artist and wondering why the nose was too long when in life it was perfect. But they are watching me go away as I press speed dial 2 on the cell phone of life to replay that one last kiss.

I close my eyes, and smile.

Lipless.

A Girl Knows

The Words:

airplane, cheesecake, energy, girl, school, hospital, cat, hand, bed, blanket

**

"How do you expect me to know that you like cheesecake?"

"Yet, I know that your cat has a particular spot on your bed and that you like a glass of orange juice first thing in the morning."

"You're a girl."

"Oh, and that's supposed to be your lame excuse for everything."

"It isn't lame. It's the truth. An airplane flies. A hand touches. A girl knows."

"I wonder why people flunk out of schools that teach and die in hospitals which heal."

"And I wonder why you waste so much energy knowing things about me instead of just telling me what you want from me."

"Forget it. Just forget it."

"Does this mean I win?"

"I have to tell you THAT too?"

"A girl always knows."

Rewritten

The Words:

good as gold, paradise, enchanted, sing-a-long, happiness, create, lovely, cottage, literature, river, rejoice

**

"Think this. Pastoral scene. An enchanted cottage. A lovely bank by the river."

"Oh cut it out... do you really have to do this--"

"Shh. Just LISTEN. Put a girl with an evil mother. Have her find an enchanted cottage. Create a paradise she is trying to reach. Insert complications--"

"Come on Jason... I am not going to rewrite Cinderella. What else do you want me to twist? Have little trolls rejoice and sing-a-long instead of mice--"

"You DON'T understand. You're in the PUBLISHING world now. You have to keep WRITING. One book doesn't secure you. More. You need two more. As brilliant a piece of literature as your first, and you're good as gold. I promise."

"Promise... ha. You can't promise happiness."

"I never did."

"I guess it's always about money, isn't it?"

"Only if you think about it too much."

Addiction

Kim's nose broke her fall, A pairing knife accident gone worse, the human torch was denied a bank loan, my shoes are wet, Nutella is addictive, I am going to jog that off, 1 2 3 4..., a dog's wet nose, Fading black jacket, cough cough, ...5 6 7 8.

**

My shoes are wet. Shoes are supposed to be wet sometimes, but I am not supposed to know. I am not supposed to feel it. Just like I am not supposed to feel a donut disappear the instance I think "I am going to jog it off." But things are addictive. Nutella is addictive. A dog's wet nose on your cheek is addictive. Dance counts starting from ...5, 6, 7, 8 and silently continuing to 1, 2, 3, 4... is addictive.

Watching a pairing knife accident gone wrong on Top Chef is addictive. Or Kim's nose breaking her fall on the Kardashians. Or quoting Burgundy's "The human torch was denied a bank loan" for attention. Addictive.

But it's overused, addiction. It's manipulated and trashed. It's the faded black coat that everyone wears and the *cough, cough* a grandmother falsifies after someone utters "whore."

It's all shameless sham.

And my shoes are still wet.

Atlas

The Words:

shy, cellar, with a vengeance, abandon, elated, benevolence, tulips, atlas, footsteps, destroy, gently

**

When I miss, I miss with a vengeance. Benevolence abandons me and I am left grinding my heels in irritation. My conscious isn't shy of it... I'd destroy without guilt if I wasn't too busy listening for footsteps. Tulips are like me. They blossom gently and float in elated love until they find that the wind of spring is gone. Then they melt.

I melt.

Such is the atlas of my ego: you'll find me in the cellar if I am not on the roof.

Left Behind

The Words:

lemon, victory, tattoo, mustang, rugby, flitter, crow, pink, jazz, bourbon, Remington

**

You left your Remington. And your mustang.

You left tattoos of your lips on my wine glasses, your lemons in the fridge. Yes, lemons. Lemons you would squeeze into a late night bourbon with your favorite jazz number playing after all the rugby boys had finished flittering around like teenage girls going crazy after something cute, celebrating victory.

You left your pink tie. And your stupid crow cawing in the backyard.

I don't want them, boy.

I don't want you.

Lovage

The Words:

Serendipity, Paradox, Serenade, Senility, Calcification, Paraphernalia, Obnoxious, Paradigm, Rendezvous, Lovage, Merticulous

**

"What's a ren-dez-vous?"

The child looking up at me is the obnoxious one.

"It's a French word you don't need to understand right now. Right now, young man, you're supposed to be sitting in your seat and coloring."

He shrugs as if I am nothing of import, but he goes back to his seat. I sighed a little in relief. I don't know why I am here...

I went to college thinking it would do me good, thinking it might be the door to some sort of serendipity. I was a decent student, if you count an undergrad theses on the paradox of Dr. Faustus being a paradigm of the thirst for knowledge and the sold soul decent, and I wanted to go on.

But I carry paraphernalia. I carry too much. Life came like a blasting serenade and left me with a mother's senility, a debt which even my meticulousness would never be repaid in this life, and a brother whose self-pity was like calcification in pots.

I feel a tug on my sleeve and look down to see obnoxious again.

"What is lovage?"

"Lovage?"

"Yeah."

"I think you made that word up!"

"No. I don't think so! I think you have too much of it!"

And with that he goes back to his desk.

Lovage.

Of all things a child could notice in me...

To Forget

The Words:

Panoramic, Kaleidoscope, Meander, Flabbergast, Circumvent, Curiosity, Turquoise, Oceanic, Neanderthal, Multiplicity, Duplicity

**

When I used to get scared, I'd think about the kaleidoscope my real father one gave me. Inside there was turquoise and bright pink, with oceanic gray circumventing everything. The order within the chaos left me flabbergasted. As I grew older and forgot about fear, my meandering curiosity led me to the canyons.

Panoramic bliss it was.

As I slid and bounced down the wall, red dust clinging to my fingers, I thought about the Neanderthal... how time was a simple essence to him, how the difference between multiplicity and duplicity didn't really matter. When I reached the bottom and looked up and turned in circles, I remembered my real father again.

The world was a sheet of memories.

And I was diving into it.

Vestibule

The Words:

belay, marmot, woolly bear, pinnacle, pulpit, frigid, breathtaking, cairn, vestibule, dew, moonlight.

**

In the moonlight the shadow of the cairn was a monolith of its own, the pinnacle a dewy patch of moss a couple of feet away from my toes. It was frigid and I was wishing I had tamed the woolly bear cub I had seen this spring... being in a cave against it's fur would have solved my frozen form. My marmot sniffed at my neck. I didn't name it anything. It was not my place to name it. A pulpit was required for that. I murmured into the night... being alone does that to you sometimes. It gives you a sense of realism, hearing your voice in the silence of nature.

"Belayyyyyyyyyy" I called to the breathtaking moon.

It would be 8 months tomorrow.

Unmatched

The Words:

bird, truck, cloud, chair, glue, bandage, chocolate, orange, door, bed, golf

**

Some people are like things. Simple, and definite, as easily placed as a chair in the sixth slot of a dining table. As sure as birds disappearing into a cloud, as promising as finding a truck on a road. And when you flip through photographs, they have the same face, the same glued-on smile staring back, perhaps a bandage to some deep, raw mess. Or maybe they think "chocolate" when they pose.

But the day the orange came into my hand instead of my usual apple, and the door had been missing to shut, and my mother left my bed unmade, I realized that even things were uncertain.

A golf ball has one, tiny, unmatched shape on the surface.

But no one looks.

Every Inch

The Words:

palette, koi pond, turkey, yellow, micromanage, toucan, scissors, lollipop, dirt, sunshine, heirloom

**

You would think koi ponds were the norm around here, but no. They don't have heirlooms hanging on the walls, nor a particularly picky palette when it comes to clothes. In fact, they might have generalized everything. Sunshine might mean yellow. Dirt, brown. But what do I know?

I was sitting at a "Toucan's Cafe," wondering the mundane sort of wondering people do. Like, should I get turkey or chicken? But I was alone, and I was allowed to be voicelessly boring, and I was doing just that until a pair of toddlers come waddling over to my knees.

My first thought was to pull out my scissors and cut the strand of loose yarn hanging from one of their sweaters. Things like that bug me. My second thought was to take the lollipops out of their sticky hands and replace them with carrots. I am sure as a child, candy was marvelous. But right now, it was plain nuisance. They were both staring at me, eyes wide and mischevious.

Before I could smile, the mother came rushing, ushering them away, kindly bowing an apology and returning my privacy. There was now a fingerprint on my pants. Without resisting myself, I pulled out my instant stain remover and rubbed it gone.

Yes, it true. I do micromange my life.

Every inch.

Mending Fences

The Words:

cowgirl riding hard, calves jumping, horses galloping, sunset, juniper berries, acorn in the oaks, horse tails, leather smell, saddle squeak, water down the creek, frogs croaking

**

In the long run, everyone forgot that this was once the ranch that had given birth to hard riding cowgirls. It had been fine with long fields of jumping calves and thoroughbreds lined up for breeding season. Once upon a time it was probably mustang territory, horses galloping in grand sunsets, chewing off juniper berries when they could find them.

Lena was the last of her generation and she was left to mending fences. It didn't bother her much, having only one horse tail to brush each dawn, no cows to herd and a rooster to keep happy. The smell of leather never did please her, and saddle squeaks were unheard of. She would rather let it all fall back to the earth, sitting peacefully all the while, counting acorns falling from the oaks, watching water flow down the creek or listen for frog croaks.

It was the day Kathy came trudging into her life with her stick horse and pregnant mother that Lena realized she had any care in the world at all.

Casual Affair

The Words:

absurd, love, friendship, beauty, whimsical, chocolate, daffodils, affair, loneliness, want, desire

**

And then there was the spring of daffodils, where she and I would whimsically waste afternoons over absurd notions. Propped up on an elbow she would talk, on and on, about desires and wants. About love and friendship. About chocolate and loneliness.

"Do you think, Andre, that you'll find the things you find beautiful today still beautiful 20 years from now?"

"Well, that depends."

"Well, take... this meadow. Will it still be beautiful to you 20 years from now if it were to remain unchanged?"

"But nothing remains unchanged."

"But what if it did?"

"Then you and I would never leave this moment."

"But I am talking about beauty, Andre. Will I still be beautiful to you in 20 years?"

"That depends."

"On MY beauty?"

"No. On my perception of it."

"How flattering."

She laid her head on my chest, quietly breathing with me.

"Andre?"

"Mmm?"

"What are we?"

"A casual affair."

She laughed like the wind was born to carry it far and wide.

Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall...

The Words:

pink, monkey, funny, bubble-shooter, dangerous, mirror, gum, bacteria, tacos, waves, spicy

**

"Story! Story! Story!"

There were 5 children jumping up and down in monkey patterned pj's on my daughter's pink bed. I might as well advise you now: NEVER have a sleepover of five year olds. Dangerous business.

"Story! Story! Story! Story!"

I shut the bedroom door and raised my arms, "Alright princesses... settle down... sit! ALL of you!"

It's a miracle what tone of voice does to little humans.

"Now, Marla, spit out your gum. And Katie, let's get that wand put away. Andie, no more bubbles... the bubble-shooter doesn't belong IN the house... Gracie, stop biting your nails... you're eating bacteria!"

They all busied themselves for a moment, reluctantly obeying my stern orders. When they were all sitting on the bed again, I started their demanded for story.

"A frog and a turtle lived near the shore of a HUGE lake. Like all friends do, Frog and Turtle were arguing."

"Why does it have to be Frog and Turtle? Why can't they have names?"

Cheeky, funny little May.

"Oh? Alright, name them!"

"Freddie the Frog!" yelled one.

"Todd the Turtle!" yelled another.

"So be it... Freddie the Frog and Todd the Turtle were arguing about the lake. Todd liked waves, and Freddie didn't. So they wer--"

"This story is BORING." My daughter said. The nerve.

"Yeahhhh!" the others chimed in.

I wasn't surprised. It was just like this with the tacos I had made... one girl claimed it spicy, they all agreed and left half of it on their plates. Was I like this when I was five?

"Tell us a story about mirrors and dragons and princes and sword fights!"

"Yeah!"

I stood up, went to the bookshelf, pulled out Snow White and handed it to my lovely, miss-know-it-all daughter.

"Here you go Birthday Girl! Read it for all of us!"

She looked down at the book, rubbed her eye and said,

"I think I am tired now Mommy."

Who's the fairest one of all?

Always

The Words:

coffee, twilight, rain, purple, fuzzy slippers, owl, city, lights, taxi, walk

**

She sat thinking, almost ridiculing the comfortable arch of her chair with her straight back. Her coffee was cold and the rain pattering on the window was no music to her. She sighed at the clock and dumped the taro cupcakes into the waste basket. Purple cupcakes. Oh, the ridiculous fuss! The utter banality of girls who still gloated over fuzzy slippers and that utterly mundane Twilight. She went to the white board and erased another red task.

This was her life, one grant written after another.

Walking slowly, she counted the reflections of light posts in the water. She thought about getting a taxi, but it occurred to her that sitting all day wasn't healthy. So she walked. A figure was some feet ahead, book bag slung on one shoulder. How attractive, she thought. At the corner, they waited for the light to change.

"You're a night owl too, huh?" He said.

She didn't look at him. She didn't have to. "Always have been, always will be."

He grabbed her suddenly and she felt herself against the wall. She tensed and looked at the face staring into hers. He half smiled, and let her go.

"You could have been dead in a second." He whispered. "And yet you speak of always so confidently..."

She couldn't move. The light changed and he left her, standing. After a few minutes, she went back to her office, slammed herself into the chair and held her head. She looked up and saw the copy of Twilight on the desk, waiting.

She laughed and picked it up.

And didn't put it down till the end.

Soap

The Words:

Fuck you, Stupid, Shit, Ass hole, Damn, What the heck, Dumb ass, Idiot, Bastard, Bitch, Pervert

**

My grandmother was a catholic. She was one of those who never realized that her bastard son was The Jose. To her, he was the only child that kept her in a nice, frilly room in a large home filled with children who could speak the language and a lovely Mexican wife.

She was standing outside in the hallway one day, holding my young hand. She stood up erect, her hair and pearls gleaming in the light. She was listening.

"What the heck. That damn bitch never came back Jose! The last time I saw her, she was pole dancing for that pervert Carlos. Then, as planned, I left at midnight and waited stupidly for an HOUR. An HOUR Jose. Smoking a shitty cigar. And she never came."

By this time, my grandmother had sealed my ears. But I nudged my head a little and I could still hear.

"And you're telling me who the idiot is?" My father had a voice that made you tremble sometimes.

"Fine! FINE. I was a dumb ass for waiting that long..."

"Asshole. Don't boost your ego in front of me. You lost her, you lost business. You messed the deal up. You're not getting a penny. Is that understood?"

My grandmother gasped. She told me to wait there and went to the hallway bathroom. She came back carrying something just as the other man said,

"Fuck you, Jose."

And before anything else could happen, the door was flung open and my grandmother stood before two grown men in high-class suits.

"Mama what do yo--"

"Jose Antonio Domingo! Go wash your FILTHY mouth!"

She threw the soap at him, turned, grabbed my hand and rushed off down the hallway. I peeked back and learned from the startled faces watching us go that my grandmother would be more powerful than The Jose could ever imagine being.