DADDEO

i just gave my dad the address to here. I love him. He is such a good person. I mean even if he wasnt my dad id think so. I really like that his heart is open. I know that anything he can do for me he would. I know that hes there for me. I really am lucky to have him in my life. We arent perfect, but who is. And what other dad would pay for 3 tows? hes what he is. and i love that about him. I dont know of any other place i can go where I can feel welcome and not judged and not asked a million questions. I appreciate his frankness and his privacy. I only hope other gals dad's are as mine is. again im lucky that my dad is who he is.

2 in the mo

Im just sitting here. it is 2 am. or a little after. I tried watching tv and going on pogo. they both just made me do other things. i am thinking of making bacon. isnt that weird. jason and i fought again. i just want to be ok. i dont want to be dealing with this extra stuff. its like the computer and then this. its a little to dramatic. i dont know what to do about it except jsut support jason. i know abotu anger and rage. and i feel i cant judge him on it. it just makes me freak out. in the moment im just wanting to leave. who wouldnt. its not like violence is a stranger to us. just something that we usually share. or know. i dont know. im here murphy trying to eat our food. hes so lame. and gretta is sleeping in the way comfy place that is the dogs bed. i made it so great. i want to sleep with them. im beingnegative more thatn i usually do. i guess becuase im hurt or its an excuse im not sure. im just letting it go. mean he was really upset and is that enough for me to say hey ok its cool im here. i dont know. shuld i accept things becuase i can dish out really starnge things? thats what my dad says. but hes no expert on anything. i mean are my shortcomings allowing jason to be rude to me? i mean do i have to accept his stuff becyase he may accepts ome of mine? they are not the sa,e to me. . they are not alike. i mean i can see if we had the exact problems......but this is so differnt. i hate this. i hate defending. i hatre making excuses and making him seen ok. bacon here i come. its cooking now. about 3 peices. man im a fat pig with a propensity towards sloth and procrastination. jason probably will wake up becuase im making a high sound food.

Sneezy Morning

I am sitting here thinking. Oh man. Again. Its the morning time and my fears have followed me here. For some reason I couldnt do anything after Jason left this morning. I tried going back to sleep but that was futile. I get so sleepy on the couch. I dont know why I just dont sleep on the couch like I used to. I know better. I have to call this assesment place to see if I can come in after my lawyer appt tomorrow. I hope I can. But I'm not sure. I guess I can call right now since I am talking about it and wont forget in this moment. Till you said forever. I cant find my wallet. Ugh. Thats lame becuase i think the info is in it. OK it wasnt but that still sucks that I cant find it. I called and left a message. Funny I am calling the drug and alcohol assement feeling crazy. hmmm do you think i have a problem. It is almost ironic in a tragic way. i think i want to eat some pasta roni or some rice a roni.

Home

Jason is making a dumbass of himself. He said he wanted to clean today. So he is. I told him I would do a few things but didn't feel like doing anything. He said he was ok with me just watching but I know he isnt. I just dont want to do anything just like any other day. His cleaning doesnt inspire me to clean. Nothing does. He asked me what he should do with the stuff in the hallway so I told him and he freaks out that I said we shouldnt put it in storage. He says I am bitching at him. So he says to just go in my room and leave him alone. I went to my computer and shut up. Now he says Im annoying him here. Just sitting quietly. He asked me to put his clothes in the dryer and he just did it himself. So I dont know what that is about. I told him id do it. Whatever. People always never trust me. It is always the same. I do things my own way and its not fast enough or good enough for anyone. I am sorry but I cant be who he wants me to be. I knew hed be an asshole if he cleaned. Thats why I didnt want him cleaning. He has never cleaned and just did it. Now he is talking to me again. Why? I guess I should listen. Jesus he is diluted. He wont shut up. He is really lame. He doenst know what he wants. I can't just sit here and be quiet when hes being an idiot. I guess thats what he wants me to be. a quiet little girl. Someone he doenst have to listen to that he can just use and do whatever he wants. I am not porn. I do talk and have feelings. Opinions that he cant seem to deal with. He always has to bring in the worst things and all of the things that might hurt me or make me mad or make me look bad. Icant just jump up when he wants me to. espically if he tells me to just relax or leave and shut up. When i do that he is still all bent out of shape. He says its always about me. But he is the one who makes at all about me. He never deals with his own crap. Its always my feelign and my crap. Never does he think maybe hes being dumb. I am the one who is crazy and needs to change. All I am doing is writing. And he cant take me jsut sitting while he plays martyr. Oh Lord almighty he is cleaning....what a perfect specimen of man. He just shines because he cleans once every 6 months. whew i cant compare to him. he is a god. im drinking. he even said earlier that maybe i should drink so i am less uncomfortalbe. and then now he brings up how hes so hurt by me drinking. god. pick a story and stick with it. please pick something that you beleive in. make a decision what the heck you feel. cuz lord knows i have no idea. i get so many stories...its all confusing. and quite frankly annoying as heck. oh now hes done cleaning. he put some boxes away and cleaned some cans up. gee hes a cleaning marvel. i do more than that when i clean and that is more often. oh yeah but i dont work and he works 2 jobs as he reminds me so much. so his cleaning counts for gods work. i forgot he is so much more special and everything he does counts ten fold. then im the one being an ass. i know if i ask him for the keys hell say no. that im acting crazy that we have no gas that some other excuse.....anything but ok here you go. the asshole, the controlling asshole. i dont know why im here. love.....ha....what a joke. who woulda thought love would keep me anywhere. well also my lack of motivcation and lack of money and lack of a car keeps me here too. asshole.

Jeff

“Cassi put your clothes on please! Get out of the water and put your clothes on.” Jeff yelled from the sandy beach.
“Whooooo! I gotta swiiiim! Wait for the clothes Jefffffffffffy!” I yell back to Jeff, slurring my words as I flail about in the Folsom Lake water.
“Come on, we need to go. Just walk to me and we will get you dressed.” He pleaded.
“I loooooooooooove the water!” The alcohol was taking great affect now. I attempted to start walking towards Jeff.
“There you go, just keep doing that.”
“The water is making me fall, Jeff!” I yelled up to him as I fell over and over again.
“Just walk right to me, and I’ll wrap this towel around you, ok?” He held out a big white towel, he was but three feet from me.
“I tired!” I plopped down into the shallow water, sinking slightly into the sand.
“Cassi, you are so close just a little more, come on!” He already has his dry clothes and shoes on and did not intend on getting wet again.
“Kay, sheeeeeesh. I’ll come.” I crawled towards him slowly, my hands disappearing in the dark silty sand.
“There you go, ok up now, good good.” He lifted me into the towel as I got close to him.
“Jefffff, thank you for you being you know a person that is good and you.” I mumbled to Jeff as we walked to my clothes.
“Shhh. Let’s just get you dressed and home ok?” He handed me my shirt.
“Kay, Jeff.” I put my shirt on, while he handed me my pants.
“Be careful.” He said as I fell back on the sand one leg in my jeans the other out.
“Heeeheeee!” I giggled. I quickly put the other leg in.
“Cassi, ok lets walk now. Get up and lets go to the car.” He put his hand out for me to grab.
“Jeffffff!” I yelled at his head.
“Cassi, shhhh! Let’s just get to the car. We can talk then, ok?” He said quietly to me. His grip on me tightened as we headed up the hill to the car.


I yelped out in pain as the edge of the paper slid underneath my skin. The blood seeped out just above the rim of the small cut. I was looking through old pictures. I never was one to keep my pictures organized, although I had been planning to do it for a long time. I sucked on my finger and came across a picture of him. I hadn’t thought of him in quite a long time. I stared at the Polaroid for a few minutes, just remembering how nice he was to me. I wondered if he ever thought about me. I took my finger out of my mouth. I wondered if he only remembered the weird/bad/lame things about me. I shook my head and looked at my finger. It was now soggy and had those wrinkles on it like when you take a long bath. I put the picture down on my bed, his face covered slightly by my white comforter. I moved it. A lot of my friends had told me just to forget about him; to just move on. I really didn’t want to. I wanted him to be nice to me again. I wanted to be nice to him. I always knew that I could be there for him, but never quite was. I wondered if he knew that. I ran my finger over the picture. A small smear of blood ran across his face. I quickly wiped it away onto my white comforter.


Why do we do this to each other? We can connect in such a way, but not know it. Our hearts can feel it, but our brains refuse to let us enjoy it. I have met so many incredible people in my short time on Earth, and I know that I will meet so many more, and out of all of them I know, really know, about 2 of them. Maybe it is just me. But then why do you see close-knit friends in groups of two and three. We give ourselves to no one. We are selfish in that respect. It is the most frustrating thing. If we can just open ourselves to the possibility of knowing someone, maybe connection can be more than just Starbuck’s coffee and talk of the weather. So many times there has been a person in my life who I would want to know, want to talk to, want to know what makes them tick, want to have them know exactly what I need when I got a bad grade on a test, want to have a serious connection with. And I let something like differences of opinion on abortion make me loathe them. I let something like my own fears drive them away. Who will ever win? Fear will.


I remember being scared when I was little. I used to be scared of monsters in my closet and flesh-eating bugs under my bed. Those were such raw fears. You knew what you were scared of; you were scared of being eaten, or being dragged to some monster land to be made a slave. These were real fears. When you were a kid these were real fears. As we grow older those fears dissipate and new ones come about. Some left over from child hood traumas and environments and some with real roots. The fear that your car will get keyed when you are parked outside the check cash place in San Jose is a real fear, just as the one of the flesh-eating bugs under you bed when you were a kid. These fears are real and tangible. They have proper roots that were planted correctly. Having a fear of someone knowing that you need help, or that you can’t sleep at night is a fear that is not grounded. These fears are the ones that keep us apart. These are the fears that make us so worried about keeping them unknown and secret. This in itself becomes a fear. Having our ungrounded fears known. I didn’t want to be scared of him. No, scared pertaining to him.


I got up from my bed and decided to call him. I brought the picture with me. I stared at his eyes. They were talking to me. They were asking why I had abandoned him. They told me to talk to him. They asked my why didn’t I help him when he needed it. I couldn’t answer his hazel-green eyes. They were so green. Sometimes the green was so strong that I couldn’t do anything but look and look. The picture was coming alive in my hands. He was crawling around in the little box of a Polaroid. His hair, his mouth, his cheeks, they were all becoming 3-d.
“Jeff, I really want to know you, you know this right?” I asked the picture as if it would talk back to me. I waited for him to respond. I reached the hallway and continued down it. The picture in my hand felt warm. I stared again at his warm face.
The picture was taken at a birthday party of mine. It was one of those How To Host A Mystery parties. I played the weird vampire host. He didn’t participate, but just watched from the couch. I think he was a little embarrassed to be doing all that acting in front of everyone. This is why he wasn’t in costume in the Polaroid. I had said to him after the party that he looked like a sad model in the picture with his powerful hazel eyes. His eyes were always first to be hurt. Even if he said he was fine, his eyes couldn’t lie.
I made it to the phone in the kitchen. I glanced again at the picture. He urged me to call. He asked me to call. I rubbed the smooth surface with my thumb. I swore that heat was coming off of the little Polaroid.
“Jeff, stop messing with me.” I said directly to the picture.
He seemed to smile back as if to tell me to stop messing with myself and to call him. He was always ready to do anything. I could ask him if he wanted to drive to New York for the weekend and he’d already have the car warmed up. So, I knew even now after all that had happened; he would still be up for anything. I wasn’t worried about that at all, I knew he would meet me again to have fun. What I was worried about was his eyes. His honest eyes.

“Hello.” Jeff answered his cell phone.
“Hi Jeff. This is Cassi.” I said slowly.
“Hey! How are you?”
“I am doing ok. You? How have you been?”
“I have been working too much, but I am too ok, I guess.”
“That sucks. You still working at Larkspur Landing?” I asked.
“Yeah still there, but I really hate it. I’m really thinking of quitting.” He said sounding a little distracted.
“Really?”
“Yeah. But so, what’s up?”
“Oh, I was just wondering if you wanted to get together. I am going to be in town and thought that we could have lunch or something.”
“Yeah, that sounds cool. Just give me a call when you get into town.”
“Ok. I will. See you then. Bye Jeff.”
“Bye.”


We met at his work. He was dressed in his sharp work clothes. Tie and all. Shiny shoes. We exchanged hugs and greetings. It was great. We ate at Denny’s near his work. We talked a lot there and it felt nice. I was starting to remember why I liked him so much. We decided to go to Reno. Drive to Reno and play in the snow. We drove to his house so he could change. It was nice seeing him again. At his house I couldn’t stop staring at all of the things in his room. He was changing in the bathroom. There were pictures everywhere. I stupidly was looking for one of me, but I knew that was a bad idea. It would only make me feel bad. I hadn’t been a part of his life for a while now and these pictures were of new fun events. I sat on his bed and felt a little sad that I wasn’t a part of his exuberant existence anymore. I stopped myself from analyzing his room and just decided to enjoy the night. We got in his truck and drove up I-80. We talked and listened to music. We took exits that were too snowy to drive on, causing his truck to slide around. We laughed after first being scared. We found a little local Inn that had snow covered cars and trees. We parked and made snow angels in the soft untouched snow. We ran and did that slidey thing on the road besides the Inn. It was 3am and we were playing like we were little kids at noon. We walked down an embankment and found a clearing. The snow was beautiful falling in the dark. We made a really horrible snowman and threw snowballs at each other in the clearing. I was having a really fun time. And I knew he was too. We drove back to Folsom, where my car was parked, listening to music and talking.



I was backing out of the parking space I had left my car in while we went to Reno. He drove past me in his truck that I always called purple, but he insisted it was grey. I saw him head out to the exit of the parking lot. I was staring at his truck. I could not help but laugh at the purple truck. It rolled around the corners and bounced over speed bumps. It looked like one of those trucks like on that video game, Off Road. I was now far behind him. Hew as going much faster than I.
That’s how it always seemed. Everyone was ahead of me in a purple truck. A cute purple truck. It was like he was saying whoo hoo, here I go, watch as I zoom home. I don’t exactly know why I was feeling like this. I think it was the fact that I could be a great friend with him, but I seemed to always stay a little behind. And I always feel like the person who I am trying to get to know is mocking me as I step back. I know this to be a stupid fear. But I can’t stop thinking it.
I sped up a little maybe to catch up to him, but I didn’t. He drove away, breaking at the stoplight to exit the parking lot. His purple truck bouncing cartoon like, and saying “neener, neener, neener” to my drab silver/tan accord.

I drove the rest of the way home not really thinking of anything. I turned onto the right streets and went the right speed almost robot like the hour and a half it took me to drive home. I reached home without event. I changed my clothes and headed to bed. For two days I couldn’t stop thinking about how much fun I had in the snow. Even thought we were wearing the wrong clothes, even though my hands were freezing, I had a blast. I took two midterms. I washed the dogs. I watched Six Feet Under on HBO. All this time, I couldn’t help but wonder if Jeff was ok. Was he ok with me? I want to be the one of the first people he tells things to. I wasn’t as afraid anymore, and I wanted him to know this. I sat at my computer writing the first part of this story, the scene part. I wondered if he would mind me writing about him. I think he might be touched. I know he would be touched. I should call him and ask though, and then I can talk to him too. Ask him about work, that guy, and about his neice. Ask him.


“Hello.” A deep voice said, not that of Jeff.
“Hello, Jeff?” I said knowing it was him doing a strange voice.
“Who is this?” He said still in a weird voice.
“This is Cassi, Jeff you are a dork.” I could hear loud noises in the background, like he was at a club or a concert.
“Hey, what are you doing?” He used his normal voice.
“Nothing, I just wanted to say hi. Where are you it’s really loud?” I asked.
“Where are you?” He said all weirdly.
“I am here at my house. Jeff, why are you so weird?” The noises in the background were strange cheering sounds, or maybe singing. I couldn’t tell.
“I’m just here at a restaurant.” He said and he sounded distracted yet again.
“Ok, so I just wanted to say hi and stuff.” I said, kind of regretting calling to tell him about this lame story.
“Hi! So is that all you called for?” He loudly said.
“Um. I used your name…in this story. And I just wanted to let you know.” I said, realizing that I sounded so strange. I wanted to just hang up and write another story or change the name or something.
“What, you used my name? You are using me?” He said. He emphasized the word, used, to make a lude joke.
I laughed before speaking. I wanted to forget I said anything. “So…” I said thinking he would forget what I said.
“What are you saying? You used my name? And you want my permission. Can I read it?” He said fast.
“Yeah, I just wanted to let you know. Now I feel stupid for saying anything.” I was feeling really dorky.
“Don’t feel stupid. E-mal it to me and let me read it. Call me at work tomorrow.” He said, kind of reassuringly. But my brain was still feeling really horrible about bringing this story up. He is going to read it and think what? He’ll think that I’m in love with him. That I’m all obsessed or something. He’ll give it to his friends to read. He will laugh and think I am weird.
“Ok, I will send it to you.” I said not really letting him know how I now felt about it.
“Ok, talk to you tomorrow then when I am at work.” He said, the noises in the background still loud and music like.“Ok, bye.” I said. I hung up my cell phone. I was thinking that I am going to have to send it to him now and he will read this story that I seemed to make a big deal about. This is exactly what I am talking about. This is an ungrounded fear. What am I afraid of? I am afraid of maybe opening up to him. Maybe showing something of myself than just my humor. Fear is a crippling thing. Especially when you don’t know what you are afraid of, and there are no flesh-eating bugs anywhere in sight.

Cassiopia

Cassiopia...
My name sounds like water.

Ca ca ca ca raining onto icy mountain tops
Sssiiii streaming down in smooth rivers
Oooo filling into large clear glacial pools
Pi pi pi trickling and meltingsoftly
Aaaaa into the mouths of life

Cassiopia...

Reversal

Character
by Taslima Nasrin

You're a girl
and you'd better not forget
that when you step over the threshold of your house
men will look askance at you.
When you keep on walking down the lane
men will follow you and whistle.
When you cross the lane and step onto the main road
men will revile you and call you a loose woman.

Character Flaw
by Cassiopia Recend

You're a boy
and you'd better remember
that when you step over the fence of your house
people will look expectingly at you.
When you keep on trodding down the street
people will follow you and make sure you go.
When you don't cross the street and walk onto the main road
people will revile you and call you a weak man.

Single Nutrition

This is finals week. I have a Nutrition class to study for. The final falls on this Thursday at 8:30pm. Now that you have that background information I can go on with the rest of my narration. Personal Nutrition, fourth edition by Marie A. Boyle sits on the couch next to me. The corner rests neatly between the back of the couch and my back pocket. I can feel the corner digging a little into my butt. I was thinking of moving it away, but then I thought that if it sits there jabbing me it will probably keep me motivated to finish this.
I just finished reading the last chapter that I have to study for. Food Safety and the Global Food Supply. Chapter 11. Let's see so if I go by the exercise I need to answer a few questions about this work.
What I remember about reading this work first was the pompousness of the title. And all through the chapter I could not stop thinking about that title. It still is with me. Just now when I was writing the title in the paragraph before, I was still struck by the pompous nature of it.
My response to the work has not changed much. I have read pretty much all the chapters the same way. In that oh-god-I-have-to-remember-this-stuff-I-hope-it-is-fun-and-not-boring. At least I had the different name of the chapter to amuse me this time.
How has this made me see the world differently? Well it made me a little frightened of fast food places, like when I watch one of those 20/20 undercover reports on a restaurant. I learned about how to store beans in the refrigerator. So I guess from a bean storage perspective it did change the way I see the world.
And as for what it looked like. Well take your normal 80 dollar book and that is exactly what mine looks like. Big. Overpriced. Author's name the same size as the title. Oh this book has an ok cover. When you think nutrition...you think oranges. Well I do anyway. On the cover there are oranges on a plate, a purple plate. Royal, dont you think?
All right that is the end of the narration to one work that I have read. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. With minimal emotional investment. Farewell.

Sunflower Seeds

You know you aren’t supposed to eat things before you go to bed. They say it gives you weird dreams. Gives you gas. Makes you bloated. Causes you to gain weight. And of course crumbs.
This is what I have heard all my life. I love sunflower seeds. I need then before I go to bed. When I was younger I had bed time stories, now I have books and my lovely seeds. It is a comfort to put one in my mouth and suck the salty goodness off before cracking it in between my teeth to liberate the tiny well-deserved seed. It not only gives me something to snack on, but it gives me something to do while I read away the hours. Without my seeds, I would probably bite my nails too much or yell a lot. Neither of those are viable options at bed time, so my seeds will stay.
So ha....to they who say I shouldn't eat them before I go to bed. No gas, no bloating. Seeds are forever apart of me as the salt is apart of the delicious concoction that is the sunflower seed.

I am Lemur

Upon seeing the video was amused, during the video I found myself learning much more about ring-tailed lemurs than I thought that I would, and after seeing the video I realized that through my initial amusement and then my new come knowledge I wanted to know more about not just what lemurs did but what they felt, so this past weekend I really got to know what it feels like to be a lemur.
I woke up in the orange-glow morning and yawned and stretched and I was a lemur: I had a long tail, I had long back legs, I had fur all over my body, and most of all I had an overwhelming urge to sunbathe. I climbed out of my bed and my prosimian brain started to forget what a bed was as I began to search for a tree to do my morning sunbathing in. I had trouble with the doorknob, but I found a tree in the area outside, climbed up with my little hands and feet and sat for a spat while the sun beat down on my cat-sized body, feeling not only safe under the sun, but I also feeling renewed and ready to face the day.
I began to wonder where the rest of my lemur-family was, but my tummy started to tell me to eat, so I climbed down and my mind began to change my Sunnyvale duplex into the lush landscape of the island of Madagascar, where there were Tamarind trees! I now had my eyes set upon the sweet sticky tamarind that lay on the ground; I ate until I saw other ring-tailed lemurs, whom I knew to be my family. I heard the singing of the males, and I knew what the song meant: that the song was of lemur unity, he was singing the song of possession and I knew it. This was ours: this tree, these sweet tamarinds and as far as I could smell, was ours and I felt a sense of belonging like never before.
We all climbed down the tree one by one, each wrapping our clawless hands around the thick branches and we all knew the order and I knew that I wasn't a high-ranking female, and I would never think otherwise. There were females below me too, some even with babies and couldn't help but feel superior to these females and couldn't help but feel inferior to the females above in status. It was something that was familiar to my now vague human mind, that was know forgetting my house, my human companions, paper, pencils, Earth. I knew my place, much like humans take roles in society, but, somehow, I felt that this worked better in my new lemur surroundings; we continued to the cool leaf/grass covered ground to snack some more.
We then found a nice cool spot and just hung out for a while, while the young lemurs played and chased each other around the low trees, there mothers looking on. I sat with a male lemur and picked all the little bugs and other goodies from his coat and I was surprised at how cathartic this was, after all, we were just basically combing each others hair, I could barely remember a comb. All I could think of and remember is that these are key moments in our family, like eating dinner with the family at the end of the day, this time was to strengthen the fibers of the lemurs that I shared this space with. The playing of youngsters, the grooming, the hanging around: it was all played a part in this group, in which I could feel a definite respect and love when my male lemur friend pulled a bug from my fur and chomped on it.
There was a noise from the far end of the area and all of the lemurs' tails went straight up into the air. I knew this to be a warning sign, so I took a break from bug munching to see what was happening, looking over at the movement to the groups left. There, bounding from a high tree was a white furry animal that could only hop on its hind legs to get around so it came fast, lunging from one branch to the next. We stared with curiosity, eyes keeping close contact, as the white fur went by because we knew that these white furry animals were of no harm, and just watched as they passed. My human brain took me back to a time when I would have known the name of this animal. But all we need, that is seem to already know, to know is that they aren’t going to eat our food or harm our young, this no name, but curious looks. I feel pure curiosity when seeing the white leaping animal.
The end of the day rolls around and it is time to retire my furry head, but we eat, a mixture of left over tamarind and leaf buds, a little bit before sleeping. I fall asleep knowing that I will be safe in my family of lemurs, knowing that I will wake tomorrow and have the security of that Tamarind tree to bathe in. I will wake knowing that I will always have sweet tamarind to eat, and will wake with the comfort of Madagascar, and, most of all, I will wake knowing that I am a lemur that feels nothing but things that will get me to the next day. My human mind takes me back to a time when classroom learning and textbooks were the ways to grow up, causing me to stir in my sleep and start to remember the uncertainties of my mind. I wake, a little blurry and light headed, thinking of how much I learned from the lemurs: belonging, rank, respect, love, curiosity and security. If a ring-tailed lemur can convey, respect and teach it, why then is it so hard for the likes of Hominidae to grasp these things harmoniously. My weekend was well spent, and I hope that I don’t forget everything about my day as a lemur as quick as I usually forget my day as a human.

Ecstasy

FIRST-PART…forbidden story
Drugs.
I never thought I would try them. I made it through high school not even thinking about them. I hung out with people that cared about school and college not drugs. So I assumed I would never touch anything. I graduated in 1998, here it is 2002. It has been four years. Four years since I walked across the stage from confused to knowing all, right?
Wrong. Very horribly completely out of my mind wrong. I won’t go into detail, but I was wrong. One would think, hey four years, that means college graduation. After a faulty year at UC Davis I went on a 2-year binge of work/community college/depression/move back home/work some more/move/move/move/move. I moved a lot. I was so unhappy and confused as to what I wanted to do and who I was.
I moved in with one of my good friends in the bay area and I am staying put. No moving. I am finishing up school and working on writing. Which is something that I hope to make a career out of. We will see. But the important thing is that I finally found some key things out and am here where I type. I am happy for the most part. I still am finding myself. But I think everyone is still finding themselves. I think that is what life is about: finding and finding yourself. A friend of mine from school gave me a little baggie one day. His name was Sonny. I only knew him from parties and he was always the one who was drunk or high or something or other. I had a car so he asked me for rides home a lot. He lived close to me. He is a nice guy sometimes when he is sober, but for the most part he is a little selfish and rude. But I don’t like seeing people hurt themselves, so I came to know him driving him to various parties and then driving him home. I learned how to make Sonny stop rambling incoherently and how to carry his 175 pound frame to keep him from falling.
Back to the baggie. He told me to look at it when I had time. I was late for a class so I stuffed it in my change-ridden pocket and ran towards my biology lab. That night I got home late, calorie formulas running amuck in my head. I pulled out the days goodies form my pocket and threw it all on my dresser. I forgot about the baggie.
Weeks went by and I did my thing as usual not thinking of the baggie that kinda mixed in with the numerous Safeway receipts and the endless change. Then one day I was doing my every-once-and-a-while change roundup. I saw the baggie and remembered Sonny giving it to me. I looked at the contents real close but couldn’t really tell what was inside so I untied the stubborn knot. I emptied the contents into my cupped hand and saw 3 and a half pills. I smelled them and they didn’t really have a smell. Even though I was curious I knew they were from Sonny and Sonny is strange. I put them back and decided to ask Sonny what they were when I saw him next. I still hadn’t seen him since he gave me the bag.
About two days later I got a phone call. A very strange phone call. I picked up my cell phone.
“Hello.”
“Hi is this Cassi?”
“Who is this?” I hate it when people ask if that question. If they are calling my cell then they know that it is me.
“This is a friend of Sonny’s. I was wondering if you enjpyed the alligators.”
“What?” I was annoyed by the call at this time.
“Did you enjoy the alligators? There is plenty where that came from.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about. Tell Sonny to not give my number out.”
“E. Did you try the E?” He stressed the letter E like a stoner might. My brother is a stoner so I am allowed to have that opinion.
“E? I am sorry, who is this?”
“My name is Brad. E is Ecstasy.”
“Ecstasy? Like the drug?”
He laughed at my naïve remark. “Yes the drug. So you didn’t try then?”
“No, Brad.” I all of a sudden realized what Brad was talking about. Ecstasy was the name of those 3 and a half pills on my dresser. Sonny had given me Ecstasy to try. Brad was calling to see if I wanted more.
“Ok. Well when you do, give me a call. You want more, trust me.”
“Why did you say alligators?”
“These pills are alligators, it’s the batch name. I had snowflakes last time.”
“Oh.”
Brad laughed some more at me. “Anyway, call me anytime. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Ok, bye.” I said as he clicked on the other end.
I was a little stunned by the conversation and a little embarrassed. I felt like a nerd. I didn’t know anything about alligators or E or whatever. And there they were sitting on my dresser mingling with the receipts.
I called a friend Jeff, who I had been getting back in touch with. We lived together briefly and went to high school together. We had lost touch, and had just begun to talk more. I asked him if he wanted to try Ecstasy with me. I don’t know why I asked. I trusted him and knew that he to shared the need to experience.
To make things brief, we decided to try it together. I didn’t want the baggie to go to waste. I was scared at first thinking about it. What if I die, what if I become addicted. Little kid things like that, but I thought what they heck, you only live once right?
So we tried it one day not knowing anything about it. We sat around waiting to feel something. We both had no idea what to expect. We both got discouraged and started heading back to the car. We had walked to a little rocky beach near a damn. On the way back Jeff said that he was feeling something. I just thought he was feeling hopeful and was ready to go home.
We sat on his tailgate while he smoked a cigarette. We talked about the failing of the alligators while one and a half still sat in my pocket. I said maybe they were just lame pills and Sonny was playing a trick on me. Sonny would do something like that. As we were discussing this I got up and my limbs felt heavy and tingly. My ears were plugged and my voice sounded far away. I felt like I was floating and falling at the same time. I forgot that I was talking and just stared at the ground, finding it amazing. I felt so wonderful. I realized that Ecstasy was now flowing through my blood and was reeking its havoc on my body.
Jeff was also experiencing the same wonderful feeling. I cannot put words to the feeling that I had that night. It was everything warm you ever felt and everything soft you ever touched. It was the feeling of swimming through deep water and flying through high altitudes. It was everything you could remember of nice and nothing you could remember of bad. It made you see your insides and want to see others insides. I felt a closeness to Jeff that I have never felt with anyone. It was as if we were floating in each other’s souls. For three or so hours we experienced empathy to the highest degree. It was amazing to give it a very unjust word. Since that night, we have planned on maybe trying it more times. I enjoyed it because I was with Jeff. I would not do it ever without him. It would feel wrong. It is a Jeff thing. Jeff and I have never been closer. I can talk to him now about anything. Including drugs. I thought I would never try drugs. I still don’t think I ever will. I am only experiencing alligators.

SECOND PART…Fiction Forbidden story
Drugs. I never thought I would try them.
The lights were mixing with the atmosphere. Brightness seemed overwhelming. Everything was pretty. My tree friend hugged me as I hugged him back. Jeff’s hair felt so nice. It was wet and a little sticky. It made my hands tingle like I was touching a thousands coils of electricity.
Jeff was with me and I was so glad. He had on a Spiderman outfit. It looked good on him even before tonight. The tight fit made him seem a thousand times taller. Now standing there sitting in the tree. He was there perched in the tree in all his glory. I don’t think I would give so much credit and mention to the tree had it been any other normal night. This was heaven. About two weeks earlier I got a phone call. A very strange phone call. I picked up my cell phone.
“Hello.”
“Hi is this Cassi?”
“Who is this?” I hate it when people ask if that question. If they are calling my cell then they know that it is me.
“This is a friend of Sonny’s. I was wondering if you enjoyed the alligators.”
“What?” I was annoyed by the call at this time.
“Did you enjoy the alligators? There is plenty where that came from.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about. Tell Sonny to not give my number out.”
“E. Did you try the E?” He stressed the letter E like a stoner might. My brother is a stoner so I am allowed to have that opinion.
“E? I am sorry, who is this?”
“My name is Brad. E is Ecstasy.”
“Ecstasy? Like the drug?”
He laughed at my naïve remark. “Yes the drug. So you didn’t try then?”
“No, Brad.” I all of a sudden realized what Brad was talking about. Ecstasy was the name of those 3 and a half pills on my dresser. Sonny had given me Ecstasy to try. Brad was calling to see if I wanted more.
“Ok. Well when you do, give me a call. You want more, trust me.”
“Why did you say alligators?”
“These pills are alligators, it’s the batch name. I had snowflakes last time.”
“Oh.”
Brad laughed some more at me. “Anyway, call me anytime. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Ok, bye.” I said as he clicked on the other end.
I knew that Brad was referring to a baggie I received about two weeks prior from a friend who liked to party way too much. I forgot about the bag until that phone call.
I called a friend Jeff, who I had been getting back in touch with. We lived together briefly and went to high school together. We had lost touch, and had just begun to talk more. I told him if he wanted to try Ecstasy with me. I don’t know why I asked. I trusted him and knew that he too shared the need to experience.
So we tried it one day not knowing anything about it. We sat around waiting to feel something. We both had no idea what to expect. We both got discouraged and started heading back to the car. We had walked to a little rocky beach near a damn. There were all these strange sounds and strange animals living there. I heard that this damn was the sight of many a biological experiment back in the day. On the way back Jeff said that he was feeling something. I just thought he was feeling leftover bad vibes from the old time experiments and was ready to go home.
We sat on his tailgate while he smoked a cigarette. I noticed how the light bounced off of Jeff’s Spiderman outfit. He had bought it before we came at a store in Old Sacramento called Evangeline’s. I told him that he has got to wear it. He obliged and looked pretty hot. We talked about the failing of the alligators while one and a half still sat in my pocket.
So here we are dancing wonderfully in our tree. Sparkling and splattering of silver and green. The moonlight and the starlight hurt my eyes if I looked too long. I find solace in Jeff’s welcoming and oh so kind bright eyes. His eyes say things to me that no one has ever told me. They have secrets. I am queen of the night. The breeze hugs my heart and whispers into my ear “Requiem!” I realize that the whisper is not a whisper at all but Jeff screaming at me from across the tree.
I laugh and my breath is one with my lungs. My lungs escape and float around for a while before they tire and retreat back to my body. I embrace the air and fly to Jeff who is busy lighting another cigarette.
We sit together like we have never before. Two wandering souls finding a perch. Perfect like no other night-ever.
Drugs. I really never thought I would try them. Requiem? Indeed.

THIRD PART…telling of how I wrote the story.
I sat for a total of around 5 hours in front of the computer trying to think of a forbidden story. Hopeless drafts and really lame first paragraphs came out of those 5 hours. I could not think of something that I could not write. Strange. Not being able to think of something that you never could write. It is almost comical.
I was thinking of things about my family but I have written countless stories about them. I was thinking of so many things. I think that I made a list of forbidden things and most of them I have written about. I write about so many things that this was such a difficult assignment. I write when I find something tough. I write when I need clarity. I write when I want something out of a moment. So I seem to have covered a lot of ground during these writing moments. A friend of mine from high school told me that I should write about Ecstasy. I told him that I don’t want to and that it was weird to write about it for a class. I was thinking that it was inappropriate and crude. Forbidden? Ah-ha! I had my paper.
Jeff also called me and told me that he wrote a little thing on our experience. I told him to email it to me. He did and his story was the backbone and inspiration to my story here.
I sat at my computer with Jeff’s one page account right on the word page with me. I typed and looked and typed and looked. It was as if I was using not only my words but his also. We told this story. We wrote it.

FOUTH PART…combination of the three parts.
I read an email from my friend, Jeff. It was a story he had read to me the night before. I was reading it again hoping to find some inspiration for a paper I was supposed to write about something forbidden. The email went like this:

“A few months ago Cassi and I tried something neither of us have ever done before, Ecstasy. Ecstasy is a drug which...(put definition later)
I was hesitant to take it at first, after all I had heard stories of the bad that could happen, but I figured what the hell, you only live once, right? We tried it, not really knowing anything about this drug, and waited for it to kick in. It eventually came, and it was one of the greatest feelings I have ever had.
I grew up in a household where everything bad was wrong and I only knew of what the "right" thing to do was. My dad was a Highway Patrolman and my mom was a teacher. Of course my dad never let anything bad come into the house and my friends were not the type who would go out in the night to cause trouble. I guess you could say I was in the "good crowd", whatever that’s supposed to mean. For a moment in my life I believed I was truly happy. Boy, was I stupid.
It wasn’t until my senior year in high school when my "perfect world" bubble popped. I’m not sure exactly how it hit me, but when it did, it knocked me down hard. I suddenly realized that my life made no sense, I was very confused, and I was unhappy. It was definitely not the way I wanted to end high school. My "friends" suddenly stopped talking to me, I broke up with my girlfriend of 11 months, and I was about to graduate in a month. Life couldn’t have been any worse.
It’s been about 4 years now and nothing much has changed in my life. My life still doesn’t make sense and I am still unhappy. I wanted to try drugs because I heard it makes your problems go away and you forget about everything that’s wrong in your life for just a moment. For those few hours, life changes somehow. It stimulates your mind and let’s you be who you are inside for just a moment. It brings out the you inside and you feel more alive. From my experience, I have realized that I could be so much more and it truly is changing my life.
Cassi and I have never been so close to each other before, and our friendship has grown tremendously. I am very thankful that we have become good friends and I hope we remain this way forever. I can’t believe something so bad can make something so good.”

I read this again and I was really moved by Jeff’s sentiment. I decided that, yes, I was going to write my paper on Ecstasy. I was really nervous writing it. Just because it was for a class and I was always so used to being the good person in class or anywhere for that matter. That is what forbidden things are made of right? My paper had to be on a forbidden something. So I wrote away.

SEE PART ONE…and INSERT PART TWO.
I sit here now writing the last paragraph of my paper. I am thinking of calling Jeff and seeing what he is up to. He is supposed to be seeing Spiderman tonight. It came out today. I’ll wait a little later to call him. I wonder if he wore he Spiderman outfit to the movie. I wonder if he remembers screaming requiem at me. I wonder if he even knows what requiem means. Drugs. Say no to drugs kids. Seriously, I never thought I would try them. You might say I forbade myself to ever try them. And look at me now writing an English paper at 11:15pm on the subject. Drugs.

stand by me

Corey Feldman's face shown on the 24 inch TV. I told John, my younger brother, that this was the fifth time he had seen Stand By Me. He didn't seem to care. He just continued on watching it pretty unaffected by my comment. I walked passed him sitting in the old ratty chair, making sure to slow down when I was in between him and the TV. He threw the remote at me as I passed. I just picked up the remote and switched the TV off as I ran to the couch where my little sister lay sleeping under one of those knitted blankets that had all the holes in it. I never got those blankets. John didn't flinch as the TV zapped off. I watched him as I snuggled up next to Jess under the holy blanket. She was only 4 years old so she just accepted my intrusive move, and slid a little over for me. John got up from the chair, which squeaked in protest. He slowly walked over to the couch. I held the remote firmly in my hand under the blanket. You could see it through the holes. He stopped right in front of the couch so his thighs touched the edge of the cushions. I asked him what he wanted. He nodded his head and told me that he doesn't need the remote or the TV to really watch Stand By Me. I said that he was weird and pretended to fall asleep, laying my head on Jess's head and snoring exaggeratedly. When I opened my eyes he had disappeared from the room. I got up disturbing Jess once again. She asked me what I was doing. I told her that we are playing hide and go seek and that we are gonna find John. Her blonde hair fell over her smile as she sat up. She exclaimed that she loved hide a seek, as she called it. She yawned and asked me what I was waiting for and grabbed the bottom of my shirt helping me along. I called John's name out. Jess said shhhh spitting a little as she said it, and told me that that is cheating and if he says what to me that we will know where he is. I had forgot that I had told her we were playing hide and seek. I had the remote in my hand still and set it on the kitchen counter as we passed the refrigerator. Jess was looking in all the cabinets and under the table. She was saying that she knows all the good spots to hide in this house. I was just following her waiting to see what John was up to and I knew he wasn't a part of this hide and seek game that Jess and I were playing. Jess told me to start helping her look and that we shouild split up. I told her that she is a smart girl and headed upstairs. I could hear the openeing and closing of various doors and cupboards as I stomped up the stiars. Jess loves hide and seek way to much. I assumed that John went to his oh so dear room. He spent a lot of time in there over the past year. He had just turned 12 so I thought it was some boy needing to be alone puberty thing. I hadn't even seen the inside of his room in quite a while, and everytime I got close he would throw something at me or yell at me for invading his privacy. We got along much better as younger kids. I was 15 and he was 12. We didn't have much in common anymore except for Jess. She was the always a mediator. We both played with her and loved her. Just as we were playing hide and seek now. Just a twisted version of it where the hider doesnt know he is being seeked. I got to his door and, of course, it was closed. I knocked and said his name. I heard Jess yell no cheating with her sweet voice. I put my ear to the white door and listened for him. I said his name again quieter this time so Jess wouldn't accuse me of cheating again. I heard some rustling so I knew he was in there. I heard Jess running up the stairs. She saw me when she got to the top of the stairs down the hall and said my name as if she was my mother. Jess said hey you just standing there! She pointed her finger as she ran towards me and said I have been doing all the work while you just stand here looking like a goober. I told her that I think he is in here and pointed to the white door. She said well lets go in. Jess pushed open the door but it stopped about an inch after opening. John, Jess yelled, let us in, no fair you can't block a hiding space! Am I the only one who doesn't cheat in this game. She laughed at her own joke and told me to help her push the door. We both planned to pushed on the count of Jess's well thought 3. She counted one, two, and threeeeeeeee! We heaved against the door but it didn't budge. Our mom came from downstairs and asked us what we were up to. Jess said that we were playing a real unfair game of hide and seek and pointed like I did before to the white now an inch open door. My mom said to leave John alone. Mom, Jess whined, we are playing a game! My mom told Jess to stop whining then called out John's name. When he didn't respond she knocked on the door and attempted to push the door open. I told her that something was blocking it from opening further. She yelled a little sterner this time and told John to open the door now. When nothing happened my mom looked a little puzzled. Jess giggled and said that maybe he is really in the bathroom and we are calling to the wrong room. I grabbed her and hugged her with one hand and asked my mom if she even has been in his room lately. My mom looked flustered and began to pound the door. John! Let me in this is not funny anymore. She was yelling pretty loudly and Jess gripped me a little tighter with her small hands. After about ten poundings the door gave way. It flung open and whatever was holding it there also flung away from the door and made a loud crashing noise. We watched as the door slowly bounced back. My mother stormed into the room looking ready to really give it to my brother. He would be grounded forever I was guessing. When she was about 5 feet in her mad face immediately turned into a look of horror. Her put her hands up to her face and was looking around everywhere with that look on her face, like she was going to puke. Mom? I asked. Go get your dad, go get him, your dad. She was talking to Jess. Jess started to ask why, but my mom said to just go. I asked my mom what was going on as I was walking into the room. I saw piles of clothes and dirty dishes on the floor and had to kinda maneuver around them to reach my mom half way into the room. Then I saw it; I saw what my mom was looking at. My brother was in the corner on the left side of his disheveled room facing the wall. He had a thick marker in his hand and was writing on the wall. I looked around at the walls. It looked like tons and tons of black writing all over the walls. Even the ceiling was covered. Millions of millions of words were scribbled all over. You couldn't see the white walls anymore, just in small areas, like the corners of the room. I told John to stop it. It seemed as if he was deaf or had no idea that we were there. I looked back at my mom and she just looked the same: her hands up at her face. I wish she would just puke already. Just then my dad ran into the room with Jess behind him looking confused. He saw right away what was going on and told my mom to call Doctor Shill. I wondered who doctor Shill was but I knew that I would not get an answer from any of my parents. My mom brushed passed me and told me to take Jess to the park. My dad was trying to get to my brother, wading through all the weird stuff he had on the floor. My dad told me to leave right now. As I was grabbing Jess my brother turned around and smiled at me. He said I told you. It kinda freaked me out so I just pulled Jess from the dank room. As I walked by the scribbled lining the way to the door I caught a word in the mess. It read "Stand". As I walked to the park with my little sister gripping my hand I was feeling like maybe I should have never turned the TV off.

Fumbling Blue

The drugs took hold of his body soon after he ingested about 45 of the prescribed little blue diet pills. Nate's heart began to beat faster than he had ever felt it beat. It was as if tiny fists were pounding on his chest from the inside. Sweat poured from each overloaded pore. His eyes began to ache, like a headache but with more throbbing. He felt the need to read the pill container even though his head was aching.
Ephedrexine, 250mg. Take one pill before every meal and at bedtime. Nate slowly read to himself through the tears and sweat covering his eyes. He had given his girlfriend a hard time about getting these pills. She never took them because she got pregnant soon after. He said that they were dangerous to be taking with the baby on the way. Nate was always concerned with her health. He always wanted to protect her and keep he out of danger. He was experiencing their danger firsthand now.
Nate threw the little orange plastic cylinder across his room. It flew by posters of Radiohead, and a Van Gogh. It landed atop his desk with a loud crash as it flew into a can of empty soda causing it to tumble aimlessly across the desk. A little drop of stale soda plipped out and made a home on an old Dominoe's napkin. Nate and his girlfriend had eaten Dominoe's two nights earlier, before she had to go to the hospital.
Nate breathed out a loud breath warbled with saliva. Strings of his spit hung inbetween his dry lips. He didn't know what he was doing. He ran his shaky fingers through his sweat-laden hair. His motion caused sweat to squeeze down his neck and temples. Nate paced around clothes and bags on the floor very aware of how wet he was getting.
Nate wished he would just die. He wished the drugs would hurry up. He was feeling only a dizzying hyper state. He sat on his unmade bed and pulled his legs up under him. Sitting indian style, Nate started crying. His body started to convulse. And he didn't think it was from the crying. He tried to steady his hands but they were out of control shaking, and his heart felt like it was going to jump out of his chest, dying before Nate did. Nate thought that was unfair. Just like it was unfair for his girlfriend to be sitting in the hospital.
Nate didn't mean to push her. He didn't want to push her. Nate covered his eyes. His body was now under the drug’s control. He could barely keep his limbs still, they wre shaking so badly. His back and neck felt tense, and he wondered if he'd even be able to stand back up.
He craned his neck to make sure that the note he had written two hours earlier was still there. It was sitting in front of his alarm clock, the red letters giving the small yellow paper an eerie devilish glow about it. Nate was relieved to see it there. He couldn't imagine leaving his girlfriend without her knowing that he loved her.
He did love her. He loved the little baby inside of her too. He loved her so much. He loved her too much. His love caused him to push her when she wouldn't tell him where she was the night before. His love caused her to fall down the small steps out of the hallway. His love caused that little life to be bled out of her. He loved her too much to see her face again.
His heart began to do things he thought that hearts shouldn’t do. Skipping and beating out of sync. And he was so hot. Nate grabbed his chest thinking he ought to. One last painful beat and Nate would have had held two lives in his hands. His fumbling hands.

MAMOSEK

The phone was heard ringing from even Bradford’s offset apartment of the Mamosek Inn. He ran the Inn now for over ten years and had been living in the apartment for nine years. The Mamosek Inn shared the name with the small town that he had been living in since he was born to two English born immigrants who moved here to start a new life. They had decided to move here after their only son was born.
Bradford Theodore Wilshire was born 36 years ago in the small hill laden town of Mamosek. He was a screaming baby: screaming coming out and forever screaming until he was old enough to start speaking coherent words. Even then he was louder than the average child. At the age of 3 months Bradford started to gain weight, and not the average weight gain. His mother had to stop breast-feeding him because of his weight. His chubby mouth would grasp her nipple and pull until she could not take it any more.
From that point on Bradford had everything he wanted, because his mother felt guilty about not breast-feeding him for the full amount of time. Bradford had all the ice cream and cheesecake he could get his fat little hands on. His father was never around, he had a business job so he traveled to England almost every week. So it was pretty much Bradford, his mother, and all the fatty foods he could ever want until the age of 13.
Bradford was called many a name at school for being so large. And he wasn’t large in the normal sense either. He was short, but seemed to be puffy not fat. His skin seemed to be expanded at the bone. But for the most part he was called fat. When he turned 13, he noticed that he was not losing any weight but getting more and more puffy. His mother took him to the doctor a soon as Bradford expressed dissatisfaction.
The doctor concluded that Bradford had an allergic reaction to lactic acid. Anything with milk in it, Bradford would swell up to three times his size. The doctor also said that enough of this acid at one time could kill him and it was a wonder that he wasn’t already dead. After this appointment Bradford never ate another food item with lactic acid in it. His body went back to a normal unswelled shape as soon as he stopped eating the cheese, the ice cream, and the cream cheese.
From then on he was a model patient from a dieticians standpoint. He kept his body in tip-top shape, even though it retained a lot of the puffiness from his lactic-acid-over-eating childhood. He still was not satisfied with his body even then, but he kept every other aspect of his self in order. This is where his obsession started with being in order, with having everything just how he liked it, with making sure that no one detail was out of place.
He awoke to the phone on about the 7th ring, cursing his staff for not picking it up. He glanced at his bedside clock and it read 3:23am. Where was his night manager, he thought to himself as he rustled out of bed. He ran to his door leading out to the hallway into the front office, grabbing his robe while he passed the hook on the back of the door.
“Quincy,” he whisper screamed out of the cracked door. “Where are you, get the phone!”
Quincy, the night manager at the Mamosek Inn, was nowhere to be seen. Bradford began to shake out of a combination of anger and the cold marble tiled floor beneath his bare feet. He walked slowly towards the phone, being that he did no want a guest to see him in this pajama state. He picked up the phone and ducked like he was walking under a low tree branch as to make it difficult for anyone to see him through the small window facing the dark street outside. “This is Bradford of the Mamosek Inn, how can I help you this morning,” his chipper-friendly voice showed no sign of the sleepiness now ravaging his body.
“Um, hey, is Quincy there?” A woman asked.
“Quincy is not here at the moment, but I’m sure I can find a way to help you Ma’am.”
“Actually I wanted to speak to Quincy, he should be there, and I talked to him about 15 minutes ago.”
Bradford was becoming rapidly annoyed. He had a strict policy about personal phone calls, and he was beginning to think that this was just that. “Ma’am, if you can explain your situation I am sure I can sort out the issue or question at hand. I am the owner here, so no worries about that. So what is it I can help you with?”
“Oh, well this is his girlfriend, I just wanted to talk to him that’s all. So you are the owner, huh? The big boss.” She emphasized big a little too much, and Bradford knew that she knew about his allergy. “Quincy always has stories. There is no issue really, unless you wanted to help me figure out where we are going to have breakfast when he gets off.” She giggled at her own joke.
Bradford did not laugh, but his stern voice interrupted her, “I will let Quincy know that you called. Thank you for calling the Mamosek Inn.” Bradford hung up the phone before the girl could say goodbye. Just then Quincy came from the other side of the lobby, where the bathrooms were located. Bradford locked his eyes on Quincy fixing the meanest stare he could muster up.
Quincy looked confused, “Why are you up, Mr. Wilshire.” His voice was unsure and careful.
“How many times have we had meetings where I explicitly listed appropriate behavior?” Quincy opened his mouth to defend himself, but Bradford put a dismissive hand up. “How many times have I said to you directly to your face, Quincy, that there will be no personal phone calls?” Bradford’s eyes were set on Quincy’s forehead, which was turning red. “Under no circumstance will I let devious behavior go unnoticed. I did not get this far in life without strict rules and regulations for not only my employees, but for myself. I will not compromise my integrity nor the Inn’s integrity for this lack of respect.” Bradford realized that he was in his robe still and went behind the door leading back to his apartment. “Quincy, you know the repercussions. We will speak of this in the morning.” Bradford’s voice was trailing off as he walked down the hall to retire to his bed.
Out in the lobby, Quincy felt like a child. He slammed his hand down on the smooth desk, causing the computer monitor to shake. “Fuck him,” he said under his breath. “Someone puts 7 years of their life into this crappy Inn, and all I get is shit. Who does he think he is, anyway? He is a damn shame, that’s what he is.” Quincy was trembling and he suddenly was inspired. He was sick of paperwork in double triplicate. He was sick of being treated like an incompetent child. He was sick of Bradford Theodore Wiltshire’s elitist attitude. He had no choice really. Quincy picked up the black phone and dialed his girlfriend while Bradford slept in his bed.
About four hours later, Bradford woke up. He walked over to his two-door closet, and pulled out the three hangers closest to the right wall. One hanger for his pressed black suit pants. One hanger for his white button up dress shirt and attached tie, already pre-chose. And one hanger for a black suit jacket smelling of fresh laundry detergent, the kind that boasts an odor of summer. Bradford hung the clothes on a special hook next to his full-length mirror. He fiddled with his watch, which was sitting on a side table next to the mirror. He had his aforementioned watch, cologne, wallet, cufflinks, and a little grooming brush set just so on the table. He then disrobed and headed towards his bathroom. He turned the knob labeled “H” 2/3 of a rotation and, turned the knob labeled “C” 1/3 of a rotation. The steam began to fill the 5 by 5 room. He flossed while he waited for the water to become the perfect combination of hot and cold. Satisfied with his grime free teeth and water temperature, he stepped into the shower. Little did he know that this would be his last shower.
While Bradford was sleeping someone had replaced his clear, all natural glycerin soap with a bar of silky milk extract soap, which was supposed to ultra moisturize your skin. Bradford scrubbed away. The white, milky bubbles quietly assaulted his pores. They entered and made a brutal home right under his skin. Bradford rinsed and finished his shower. While he was getting dressed, Bradford noticed that his skin was a tad puffy and red. He noted to himself that he must not scrub so hard.
Bradford went down the hall towards the lobby, ready to talk to Quincy. Quincy was on the phone. Bradford decided that he would wait to talk to him after he finished his morning paper and bagel in the Mamosek Inn dining room. Joel, the headwaiter for the morning came over and handed him the day’s newspaper, The Mamosek Memoir, and a whole-wheat bagel on a new plate from a set that Bradford recently picked out and ordered from the Inn Masters of America Official Catalogue. “Thank you Joel, good morning.” Bradford noticed that his shiny shoes felt a little tight. And his watch, he had to put it on a notch above where he usually put it. He shrugged. Bradford opened the front page and grabbed his brown bagel, bringing it to his freshly flossed teeth.
Someone had replaced his whole-bagel with a lactose/calcium enriched dough baked bagel. These bagels were popular with women faced with calcium loss. Bradford continued to chew and swallow each lactic acid pumped piece. The acid went right to work. His skin immediately began to swell. Bradford screamed out, dropping the insipid bagel. He ran out of the dining room, behind the lobby desk, and through the door that led to his apartment. Quincy, now off the phone, watched his boss streak past him.
In his bathroom, Bradford gagged up the bagel. He could feel his body growing and growing. He frantically grabbed his toothpaste and toothbrush. He squeezed four times the recommended pea sized amount onto the rigid bristles of his toothbrush, and shoved it into his swollen mouth. Someone had replaced his regular cavity fighting toothpaste with a protein paste, which has a main ingredient of milk. Bradford immediately tasted the bitter sting of the lactic acid and spit it out. He ripped his jacket and shirt off because of his enlarged arms and chest. It was getting harder to breath for Bradford.
Bradford heard people come into his apartment, but he couldn’t focus on anything but getting air and his growing body. He remembered his emergency antihistamines that would bring the swelling down. He fumbled with the latch on the medicine cabinet. He saw his reflection, it was that of his childhood. He saw that fat kid, that swollen beyond recognition kid. He closed his eyes trying not to cry, and opened the cabinet. His fat hands had trouble grabbing and opening the prescription pill container. He opened it with his teeth.
Someone had replaced the small antihistamine pills with hard crystallized lactose tablets, used in calorie studies. Bradford poured all of the potentially deadly pill-warriors down his throat. He could hear Quincy, Joel and a woman. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he was sure they were not handling it as he would: calm and collected. He knew that his body could not take much more. He was just waiting for the antihistamines to take affect. Right then he heard a loud pop. Hew looked down and his belt had snapped. His belly was bulging, so he threw off his pants.
“Call my doctor, call my doctor!” Bradford was yelling as he waddled to the water dispenser in the hallway. He needed to wash the pills down, maybe they weren’t taking effect because they weren’t all the way down his fat throat. Joel ran to the phone, while Quincy stepped aside, his eyes wide with an almost awe like gaze. Bradford grabbed the little cone shaped paper cup and held it under the blue tap. He pulled up on the tap and watched through blurry swelled vision. He hurriedly tipped the cool liquid filled cone to his engorged lips.
Someone had replaced the Alhambra water, delivered every other week, with 2% homogenized, and pasteurized milk. He gulped the down the cup, and returned it to the tap again. He got half way through the second cup, but soon spat out the white liquid all over the wall. He grasped his heart and yelled, “Oh my god, please keep my files in order…” Bradford fell to the ground with a large crash, knocking over the water turned milk dispenser with him. The milk splashed around his body and made milky pools around his massive arms and legs. He lay motionless. Lactic acid had killed him.

Olive You

“I’ll have a dry Martini with two olives,” Greg said flatly, not looking up at the bartender.
The bartender quickly moved to start up the order, leaving a thin layer of his Eternity cologne hanging in the air. Greg sniffed. It was a Tuesday night and not many people canvassed the dive bar on the dark corner of 2nd and Charles. Greg always had taken amusement in the bar’s dopey, but fitting name, 2nd Dive. Tonight it seemed anything but amusing.
Greg had not been here in over 2 years. And he had not taken a drink in even longer. He was still wearing his suit from the funeral. The woman for whom he had given up drinking for, who had given him light in his dark life, the woman who he was going to marry, the woman who made him laugh until his face hurt was dead. Laura had died instantly as the plane hit the water. She was flying to Sacramento for good, deciding a week earlier to make the final move into Greg’s apartment.
The bartender slid the Martini in front of Greg. Greg didn’t look up when the bartender handed him a napkin. Greg noticed there was a tiny crack in the bottom of the Martini glass. It ran from the left side of the flat bottom to the middle of the neck. He wondered if it could break in his hand. He wondered what the shards of glass would feel like slicing through his skin. He remembered when Laura had cut her finger on a picture frame. She had told Greg to get her a band-aid as cool as ever. Greg remembered feeling panicked and was thinking of calling an ambulance. He had always been a dramatic person. She had told Greg, “it is only a nick on my finger, it won’t kill me.”
Greg took a sip of his drink, the alcohol taking a welcoming journey home down his throat. He shut his eyes as a warm sensation tickled at his forehead. He hadn’t felt that tickle in a long time now, and his body did not forget it. He took another drink, his eyes still closed. Greg could almost feel each molecule of alcohol travel into his skin, warming as it went. He started to hum to himself.
“You ok,” said the bartender quietly.
Greg snapped his eyes open and for the first time met the bartender’s eyes. “I’ll take another Martini, I’ll be sitting at that table. Greg motioned to a dingy table shrouded in dank light, furthest away from the bar. The bartender smiled and went to make Greg’s Martini.
Greg walked to the table, remembering everything good about alcohol and nothing bad. He sat with his back facing the bar. As he set his drink down the bartender sat the other one down before quickly walking away. Greg was grateful for the bartender’s unintrusiveness. He took the last sip of his first Martini and glanced at the second. He noted that this glass did not don the crack as the first one. His thoughts were back to Laura.
It would not kill her. She had always had these ways of making things seem so easy. To her, life was fun. Greg longed to feel the way about life as she did. He thought he did too as he got closer and closer to her in the past two years. Greg sucked the two olives off of the woody toothpick and chewed as if he was eating something much tougher. His teeth smashed together in between the bits of olive and minced pimento. Laura had told him that his teeth would fall out of his head if he didn’t stop chewing like that. Greg chewed even harder.
The only thing that Laura was not easygoing about was his drinking. They had met at a bar, had dates at bars, and one time even had sex in a bar. It wasn’t until Greg had spent the night at a hospital twice in one week for binge drinking that Laura decided to talk to Greg about it. After weeks of turmoil and shared screams, Laura finally had told Greg that she was going back to London where her parents were. When she had been getting the last of her stuff from Greg’s apartment, her plane leaving in just two hours, Greg had tried one last attempt to win her back. “Baby, its just alcohol, it won’t kill me. Stay please stay,” Greg had pleaded with her.
“That is just it Greg, it will,” she blandly said as she had headed out of Greg’s life.
Greg shut his eyes once again while he sipped. He breathed and at the same time wished that he didn’t have the privilege of doing so. Laura didn’t. His throat felt dry despite the liquid he was feeding it. He felt drunk now even though he had only had one and a half Martini’s. Greg took another sip welcoming haze that was unfolding in his brain. He wanted to forget Laura.
After quitting drinking, Laura and him had talked on the phone every day. She had visited and they had laughed. Greg couldn’t believe that he had stopped drinking and was just in awe of the loving stabilizing power Laura had over him. He had everything he needed. Laura had planned to move permanently to Sacramento into Greg’s apartment.
The funeral seemed years ago to Greg as he sipped the last bit of his drink. The crack in the first glass caught his eye once again. He stared at it as if it might offer something to say to him. He remembered Laura and her cut finger. Through the blanket of drunk Greg realized why he had quit drinking. Laura had taught him that it isn’t the cut fingers that kill a person, it’s the way you go about fixing the cut finger that can kill you.
Greg stood up and shook a little. He was attempting to shake the two Martini’s that he had just finished. He vowed right then that he would never touch a drink again. Life isn’t worth dying over he thought to himself as he lifted the two olives clinging to the toothpick to his mouth. He sucked the first one off and chewed as he walked to the bar to pay his tab.
He mouthed the last Martini-doused olive and gave it a suck. Instead of sliding off the toothpick, the olive stayed put, allowing the red pimento to lunge into Greg’s throat and down his windpipe, blocking the precious air that Greg just minutes ago bitterly breathed. Greg stood there not breathing, the bartender with his back to him did not notice. Greg’s mind raced as oxygen retreated. He thought about alcohol and picture frames. He thought of cracked Martini glasses and amusing bar names. He mostly thought of Laura’s finger. He fell with a thud, his toothpick tink-tinking as his head met with the floor. Greg’s last thought was, “it won’t kill you.” The bartender turned away from his cash register and saw his only customer huddled on the floor, a pool of dark liquid slowly inching away from his head. Years later 2nd Dive would finally paint over the blood stained cement floor.

SAFEWAY

There are two things that I cannot stand about shopping: the people and the decisions. The people I could sometimes get around, shopping late or just listening to a Walkman. But, the decisions were always there, always haunting my head, and never leaving. They would sit dormant in my times of TV watching or reading, and then spring to dirty life as I stepped into the grocery store. This is where my tale begins. It was close to midnight about two days ago.
I walked from my car, reading the ominous red Safeway sign off in the parking lot distance. I started to envision the rows and rows of intimidating choices. I was very nervous now. The air stung my face as I walked steadily towards the luminous doors. I always sing a song to myself when I am approaching any store, to soothe my nerves. This particular night I was humming, because I did not know all the words to that new song by Vanessa Carlton. I had heard it on the radio on the drive over. It has a pretty catchy melody.
I reached the sidewalk and headed towards the cart well. I always hated choosing carts. It was usually impossible to find one that lacked the loud “whoob, whoob, whoob” wheel, or the equally disturbing mystery goo on the handle, or the trademark veering off into shelves quality. After searching I found one that was suitable.
My stomach gave a little punch at my insides as I walked towards the door. Right as I walked through the door a huge blast of stale air assaulted my face, blowing my hair all around the circumference of my head. I would give anyone a hundred bucks if they can tell me the purpose of this annoying gust.
In front of me stood a new Mountain Dew display. Bright colors and flashy names came flying at my retinas. They hit me with force that I had never felt before. I flew back about ten feet, causing me to kick my chosen cart with my left foot. My cart went rolling into the display. I watched, from the cold waxy tile, my cart attack the new display. I smiled a little.
The 12 packs of Mountain dew that were stacked so nicely just minutes before were now scattered along the floor. Some of the twelve packs were ripped open and the green cans were still rolling around. One of the cans was wedged under my cart and was squirting soda. As I lifted myself up, I really had to stifle laughter.
A woman from the left in a white and blue polo shirt came running. She must have worked here. I saw her a soon as she made her move. I had an epiphany just then. Why was I spending so much energy and going through so much stress on my shopping trips. I really didn’t need to be shopping the way I was. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of this earlier in my shopping career. Why had I waited so long was the question that was running through my head over and over as the Safeway woman jogged closer and closer to me.
The Safeway woman was about ten feet from me when I dove to the ground, seeking shelter on the opposite side of my cart and the half destroyed wall of the Mountain Dew twelve packs. I grabbed the spewing can from underneath the cart and put my finger over the hole that was letting the soda escape. I crouched even lower and held my weapon ready for the Safeway woman.
“Ma’am, are you alright?” The Safeway woman said in a shaky voice, unsure as to why I was on the floor.
I remained quiet.
“Ma’am?”
I could feel my breath shooting out through my tense lips and the soda was leaking onto my curled fingers.
“Are you ok? Can I help you with anything Ma’am?” The Safeway woman spoke louder now, as if I didn’t hear here the first time.
I jumped up from behind my make shift barrack. I held out my soda can and spoke in tight words, “Can you help me? Ha! Can you help me? You can help me alrighty.” The woman looked confused and she stepped back a few feet. She obviously saw my weapon and knew that she had better not do anything stupid. “You can definitely help me Miss Safeway.” I said in a sarcastic tone, although I wasn’t sarcastic at all.
“Ma’am, let me call the manager, I am sure he can help you.” She now was speaking in a tone like the teachers in 3rd grade would speak to the kids eating paste. Her eyes were focused on not me, but everything else it seemed. She continued to step back.
“Ohhh, Miss Safeway,” I sing-songed while waving the dripping can out in front of me. “Either you come here and stand by me, or you are gonna get a mouth full of soda.” I let a little soda squirt from the finger-blocked hole. It landed just inches away from her right hand. She let out a little wheeze of air as the soda grazed her hand. She pulled her hand to her chest, cradling it like a crying baby. She walked towards me slowly.
As she came close to me I grabbed her arm and twirled her around so I had my arm around her midsection and the can of soda up to her jugular. She didn’t really struggle at all. She knew what she was up against. I was a woman with determination now in her eyes. I had no intention of making a shopping decision again, and this Safeway woman was just the cog to put my whole gear-plan into action.
“Call your manager!” I yelled into her ear from behind. The soda was still dripping, and it was now sitting in little droplets on the Safeway woman’s hair sprayed hair. “Now, call him now!”
“Ok, just don’t hurt me…”
“Do it!” I shook her violently as I said these two words.
“Ok.” She cleared her throat. “Jim, we need some help on the main aisle!” She yelled towards the checkout stands, her voice clearly showing her fear.
I saw a short man, with a vest on come running towards us. He was supposed to look professional, but he looked pretty stupid with his vest and Safeway shirt on underneath, the white sleeves sticking out of the vest sleeves. I wondered if I should tell him or not. I decided to keep it to myself as he stopped in front of the mess of soda and cardboard, his eyes scanning everything before landing on me and his Safeway associate, who was trapped in my tight grasp.
“What in the world is going on here?” He asked astounded. He was looking at the Safeway woman and not me.
“Hey, Mister Vest Man,” He turned his eyes up towards mine. “Yeah. Talk to me. She will do you no good right now.” I motioned towards her with my elbow of the arm that was holding the ready to explode soda can.
“Ok, now lets just calm down.” He put his hands out in front of him and motioned like the referees do in football when there is a first down.
“Vest, let’s just talk business. I have an offer. You have a respected employee who I have in my hands that I am sure you want to stay unharmed. So let’s just talk business, ok?”
“Ok, what do you want?” He still had his hands out in front of him.
“Safeway, the epitome of grocery. The all-powerful, money hungry, pigs of the industry. You give us choices like they are a privilege! You gloat with your shelves upon shelves of packaged foods. You horrify us with your huge array of potato chips. With your giant amounts of pickles! And for god’s sake, who needs so many kinds of peas!” I was shaking the can of soda like it was my fist. “All I want is one definitive, good product as my choice. This is all that I ever wanted from Safeway.” I let my head fall onto the shoulder of my hostage.
“Ok, Ma’am. Look I don’t know what you would like to happen here, but can I have the soda can? Can you just stop shaking it around?” The Vest Man said to me, still with his referee hands.
I lifted my head off of the Safeway woman’s shoulder and glared at the Vest man. “You want me to give you this?” I nodded my head at the fizzy soda can. My finger was white where I had it over the hole. “Ha! You must think I’m stupid or something. Just do me a favor and listen to me carefully.” I leaned closer to the Vest man. I could hear the Safeway woman breathing rapidly and the soda can quietly spritzing soda onto my finger.
“What do you want me to do, Ma’am?” The Vest man said quickly. He finally put his hands down to his side.
“I want you to take this list,” I grabbed a crumpled piece of paper out of my front pocket and handed it to the Vest man. He took it with his chubby hand and looked down at it. “I want you to go get me each item on the list. Get me ONE item for each listed thing. Get me a quality product and not one that is expensive, not one that is crappy. I will be here waiting with Safeway woman here. Got that?” I shook the can and pressed it to the woman’s neck.
“Um yes. Ok. I got it. Do you have a money limit or – “
“No no no!” I violently shook my head no as I interrupted the Vest man. “Just go get ONE item! Quality not price is all I am asking for! Go now!” I yelled so loud that the other checkout workers glanced over.
“It’s okay, go back to work.” The Vest man said to them as he walked away after grabbing my cart.
I stood waiting for him to return. I let the Safeway woman go. “Just sit here.” I pointed to the floor by the Mountain Dew wall. I stared out the door, glad that it was late at night. There were no people coming in or out. I glanced at the big clock with no numbers on the wall above the florist section. It read 12:15. It had seemed a whole lot longer than just 15 minutes since my run in with the wind at the automatic door.
The Vest man returned after about 20 minutes with a collection of various items. “Here you are, quality not price. And one item only. I hope you will be satisfied.” He said as he nudged the basket, wanting me to look in.
I looked quickly. “That will be fine. Now let’s pay for it and I will be out of your hair Mister Vest Man.” I grabbed the Safeway woman from the floor and walked to the checkout lane. The Vest man went behind the checkout and scanned each item. Glee was escaping my body. I couldn’t believe that in 15 minutes my shopping was done stress free. I hadn’t made any decisions whatsoever. I was grinning like a clown.
“The total comes to $53.29.” The Vest man said to me wondering if I was planning on paying. The woman shifted in my arms.
I cocked my head and let the Safeway woman go. She walked a little ways away, unsure of my motives. “You forgot to charge me for the soda.” I held out the soda can, my finger still pressed up against the hole.
“Oh…” He said tentatively. He pushed a button to make the total disappear.
“I’ll just scan it if you don’t mind, I don’t want soda all over your nice vest.” I ran the soda’s bar code over the scanner and heard the familiar beep. “Ok what is my total now?”
“$54.34.”
I grabbed some bills out of my pocket and handed him three twenties. He gave me change while the Safeway woman bagged my lovely already chosen groceries. She piled them into my cart making sure not to smash anything delicate. “Thank you,” I said to the Safeway woman and the Vest man.
“Ok, Ma’am, have a good night.” The Vest man said to me waving as I pushed my cart towards the doors.
I walked through the doors wind blowing the plastic bags in my cart around. I let out a long breath thinking of the happiness I felt. I had never felt like this after a night of shopping. I let my finger off of the Mountain Dew can hole and the soda went spewing all over the parking lot. An outpouring of soda left the can just as my emotions of relief spilled from my body. I threw the can aside when it was finished. It tinkled against the ground and I watched as it rolled backwards towards the store. I caught a glimpse of the red Safeway sign. Ominous? Never more!

Food Fighting

“Surrender!” I yelled from across the kitchen. The two eggs that were perched on the counter next to the stove were dragging a small sized frying pan closer and closer to the already glowing orange burner. I couldn’t do anything to stop them. All I could do was sit and watch what was happening; my feet unable to move. They began to spill butter into the pan, smiling at my obvious look of displeasure upon my face. It made hissing noises as it hit the sleek pan. My terror mixed with my distaste for eggs was making it impossible to just walk over to the eggs and stop them. So I watched in horror as the two eggs took off each other’s gleaming shells. Each shed its shell and slipped into the bubbling spa-like pan. I watched as their once opaque flesh singed into dense, opal essence, slabs of fried egg. I needed to puke. Imagining the smug eggs sliding down my throat was enough to make me faint...
I was at Olive Garden, eating yummy food. I often dream ofOlive Garden. The best food at Olive Garden, possibly the world, is their breadsticks. They have these golden brown markings running down their length, that taste of toasted garlic and butter. You can order this Alfredo sauce to dip them in. It is heaven. It has orgasm causing ingredients. Sorry, it just gets me going thinking about it. Just thinking about shoving one of those white sauce covered sticks into my mouth gets me drooling.
The drool slipped innocently from the girl’s lips and onto the cool skin of the avocado inside the open brown bag. She had fallen asleep 22 minutes earlier just as she was about to cut the waiting vegetable in half. She wanted to eat it for lunch. She had come home especially from her can-counting job just to eat the avocado. She bought it two days before from a roadside produce market. They boasted 3 avocados for a dollar, and other low low low prices for quality produce. So she came home to eat her avocado on her half hour lunch break. She took out her Ginsu knife of her white drawer full of other miscellaneous knives. She removed the avocado from the crinkly brown bag and set it on the stale onion scented cutting board. She gripped the contour handle of her beloved knife and made a go for the naive avocado. The avocado hadn’t known what was coming; it just stood unaware of everything except for the large wooden pit in its succulent center. Little did the avocado know...the girl was about to be overcome with an uncontrollable urge to sleep. She came crashing down atop the soft avocado. She slept through the rest of her can-counting shift.
Peaches, the corner whore, downshifted. The gears squealed in protest. She had not driven a stick in years, and she had never quite learned the art of shifting. Sitting in the passenger seat was 50 pounds of 98% hamburger. Peaches glanced at the defrosting ground beef as she pulled into the Fast and Easy liquor mart. After she grabbed some condoms and a slurpee, she was off to her next customer. She was to meet him at a hotel in the next town over, which made it impossible to get there by city roads, she would have to venture out onto the jam-packed interstate. She grabbed a 3-pack of Trojan lubricated, and filled a waxy drink cup with red-flavored slurpee. She returned to the car and stared at the hamburger. "Here goes...” she sighed. Peaches then began to unwrap each of the trays of hamburger and glopped the contents on the seat. The juice began to collect in the crease of the leather upholstery. After discarding the cellophane wrappers and Styrofoam, Peaches began to knead the hamburger like dough. She smushed and smashed and squished the cold hamburger, each time stepping back, making faces like that of an art critic. The lump of hamburger began to take shape: head, arms, torso, legs. After 35 minutes, Peaches was satisfied with her work. She got into the driver's side and sped off, the gears squealing again. You could see her getting onto the interstate from the parking lot, and then immediately cutting across 4 lanes of traffic to the free flowing carpool lane. Peaches and her hamburger passenger drove away passing all that dreadful traffic. I awoke to the nasty smell of eggs, burning eggs. I pulled myself from the linoleum and rubbed my eyes. I saw the pan of black eggs. I wasn’t afraid anymore. They were dead. I threw the pan into the sink and laughed exaggeratedly. I went to the refrigerator and pulled out a doggy bag from the night before. There was steak in that bag. I popped it into the microwave and pushed the timer to cook for 2 minutes. Grabbing a fork from the drawer below, I inhaled the sweet smell of beef. It cleared my nose of any remnants of egg stench. Steaming and sizzling I pulled the steak out. I sat and ate the steak right there over the sink, making sure to mock the blackened putrid eggs every chance I got. I never offered the dead eggs anything.
I felt sorry for a second right after I finished my steak, when I was rinsing my fork off. Then I remembered the smug looks they gave me, so I simply scraped them off the pan and washed them down the drain. I flipped the garbage disposal switch as my steak did happy cartwheels in my belly. I really love steak.

The Herd and the Heeded

In a little town with lots of hills there was a small cottage next to a small field with a pen full of goats. (Imagine a picture of a bright cottage in the middle of a vegetable patch.) The cottage had lots of tiny flowers and green vines growing all over. I was quite a sight compared to the drab scenery of the brown and tan fields. In this cottage lived Peaches the fox. She was proud of her pretty cottage, her field full of vegetables, and her goats.
One day Peaches noticed that all of her goats were running all over the field. They had gotten out of their pen and were eating and trampling on all of her carrots and lettuce. (Insert picture of goats running amuck.) She ran as fast as she could out of her cottage and into the field. Peaches went right into the middle of all the goats. She put both her hands on her hips and yelled as loud as she could, “Goats, get back in your pen!!”
The goats made no sounds but the sounds of their chewing and stomping. She looked around and rumpled her brow. All of her beautiful vegetables were being ruined. She tried once more and yelled again louder than before. This time she put her hands on either side of her mouth to amplify the sound. “Goats, I say, get back into your pen at this instant!!” She yelled so loud that the hills shook a little.
The goats continued eating and stomping. Peaches blew a sharp breath out of her nose and ran back to her cottage. When she reached she looked back at her field and started to cry. She saw all her goats ruining all of her hard work. She sat down on a little patch of flowers on the side of the walkway to her pretty cottage. She put her head down and sobbed into her lap.
Miss Starr the Tortoise was walking down the lane and heard crying up ahead. He was curious as to where it was coming from and when he rounded the corner he saw Peaches the fox crying in front of her colorful cottage. Miss Starr asked Peaches why she was crying.
“All of my goats won’t get back into there pen and they are ruining my field.”
“I can try if you like, Peaches.”
“The won’t listen to me, Miss Starr, they just want to eat and stomp.” Peaches sobbed more and more.
“Peaches let me try and you will see.” Misses Starr walked into the field and went to the misbehaving goats. He put both of his hands up in the air and said real stern like a teacher, “In to the Pen now!”
The goats just ate and stomped. Misses Starr looked puzzled and then went to Peaches and started crying with her. They sat on the little patch of flowers and cried for the goats. They both looked up when they heard a small but squeaky voice ask what they were crying about.
Misses Starr answered to Malaika the mouse, “All of Peaches’ goats will not go back into the pen and they are eating and stomping all of her vegetables.” Peaches sniffed and looked at the goats.
“Should I try and get them back into the pen?” Malaika the mouse squeaked.
“They only eat and stomp, but you can try.” Peaches sobbed more.
Malaika went to the field and started jumping on her tiny legs and saying real loud with her squeaky voice, “Goats! Get back into your pen! Goats, get back!” Her voice was so squeaky that the flowers on the cottage gave a leap. The goats did nothing but eat and stomp.
Malaika went to the little patch of flowers and sat with the others and started to cry. They sat and cried together not knowing what to do next when all of a sudden a little fly hovered right by them.
“What are you all crying about?” Asked Jewel the fly.
Malaika the mouse told her that the goats would not get back into their pen.
“Maybe I can get them back in?” Buzzed Jewel.
The three of them laughed and told Jewel that she has much to small of a voice to get them back into the pen.
“I can try.” Jewel said and buzzed off to the field. The others watched and started crying more knowing that the little fly would not be able to get all those goats back into the pen. They would just eat and stomp forever.
Jewel went to one of the goats and buzzed real quiet in his ear, “Will you go back into you pen, please?” Just then all of the goats started running towards the pen. Every last one of them.