How We Lived, How We Live, And How We Want To Live Next (By Jason AND Mary)

So...we're officially in the market for a new house. Well, a house, period. We've been living in the same three-story townhouse since we got married almost eight-and-a-half years ago. We went with our real estate agent (Ida Lynn Stox, if you're wondering) to take a look at a couple of houses just outside of Robersonville last night. Why Robersonville, you ask? Well, my wife Mary teaches at the middle school there, and has done so for the past five years. She really likes the school, but she's getting pretty tired of the long commute (about 35 minutes one-way from where we currently live) -- especially after a crazy-long day (sometimes she's there for 12 hours or more, depending on what's going on after school). Plus, we're just both tired of the apartment-style living (even though we're homeowners and not renters).

We were sitting here talking about what we did and didn't like about the houses we saw, and what we'd like to have in a new house. The one major change for our next place is that we'll almost certainly be living in the country. Our townhouse is right on the edge of the city, and everything's close and super-convenient -- except where Mary works, that is. For those of you who don't know us (or maybe you know us, and don't know us that well), Mary and I grew up very differently. It's complicated, so I'll let you read it in our own words...


MARY:  In my early years I grew up in the country outside of an extremely small North Carolina town called Parkton. The first house I remember living in was the "Blue House." I lived there for the first five years of my life until my parents divorced, although I only remember little snippets. When my dad remarried, we went to live with my stepmom and her kids in Eastover, North Carolina, while they planned for and built a log house across the road from the Blue House. My stepmom's house was kinda big, and had a really big yard. Once the log house was mostly complete, we moved in. I had my own room in the new house, even though there now six kids. At first, my room had walls and insulation, but no sheet rock. I was used to playing outside in a pine forest with only one neighbor close enough to see. There were no other kids nearby, so I just played with my sisters. My grandma lived down the road and my dad had a herd of cows he raised as a hobby. My grandma was big into gardening and flowers, and so her old farmhouse had an awesome yard. When I was in the sixth grade, we went to live with our mom in Louisville, Kentucky. It was my first time living in an apartment and also my first time living in a big city. We lived in the "Seminary Village" which was the housing projects for the Southern Baptist seminary. I made friends with all the kids that lived in the apartments and we played on the playgrounds. We lived in Louisville for about a year, then moved to New Port Richey, Florida, where we lived in the parsonage next to the church where my stepfather was the minister of education and youth. There were no neighbors nearby, but we were in the middle of town, so shopping was really convenient. The beach was only a mile and a half away, so we went often. We lived there a year and a half before moving to a duplex in Fayetteville, North Carolina. We stayed there for nine months, and I had lots of neighborhood friends. The duplex was next-door to Snyder Memorial Baptist Church and I was at church all the time. There was a neighborhood park where I would meet friends, and we would go for runs. Then my stepdad got a pastorate job in Dubois, Wyoming. We lived in the parsonage, a trailer with an addition, which was in a residential area. The neighborhood had only one paved road. I had one friend who lived within walking distance. I walked to school and to my part-time job at the gas station/ice cream shop. Because I lived in town, I had a lot of freedom as a ninth grader. It was a beautiful setting with mountains in the distance, but there wasn't really much to do there. No shopping malls, no theater, no skating rink, no bowling alley -- nothing! When Mom and my stepdad split up, we moved to Greenville, North Carolina. We had to move into my grandparents' two-bedroom apartment where Mom and all three of us girls had to share one room. It was super-cramped, no privacy whatsoever, but kinda cool because we had a pool. Then Mom got an apartment across from the projects on B's Barbeque Road, but it wasn't safe to play outside, and as a sophomore in high school, I was too cool to play anyway. My only school friend lived in Farmville, where I went to high school. When Mom saved up enough money, she bought a house in Farmville in a mixed neighborhood -- sort of on the wrong side of the tracks, but it wasn't scary. At least Farmville had fast-food restaurants and a Food Lion, and my friend had a car so she would pick me up. I spent my years before marriage (and in college) living in apartments around Greenville, sometimes with roommates, sometimes by myself, and one year in the dorms. We bought our current townhouse before we got married, and I lived here by myself for about a month. I liked this townhouse better than the other places we looked at, because it has trees out front, birds and squirrels, a fireplace, and a unique third-story bonus room. We also have a big patio compared to most apartment-style houses. When I think back to the coolest, most memorable houses I've ever been in, they usually are in the country, and they either have awesome views of mountains or it's nothing but nature out the windows. I get a sense of peace and inspiration from trees and birds and flowers and animals, so I think I'm leaning towards a place in the country, or at least in a more isolated, "foresty" area.

JASON:  My story's not quite so interesting. From the time I was born to the time we got married (twenty-five years later), I lived in the same place, a double-wide house just outside of Winterville, North Carolina. We didn't live in a neighborhood by any stretch of the imagination. Our road was almost exactly a mile long, and on either side of it you'd have a house then a crop field, a house, a crop field, a pig farm, a house, etc. We had neighbors on either side of us, but we weren't really close with them. We basically just coexisted with them, generally peacefully. I was an only child, and there weren't really any kids to play with on my road, so I spent a lot of time indoors entertaining myself. When on the rare occasion that the neighbors' grandchildren would come to visit them and would come to our door and invite me to play, I would usually decline their offers, preferring to play by myself than with "strangers." (I didn't yet get it, that strangers are only strangers till you get to know them. I like to think I've progressed a little bit since then.) More often than not, my adventurous, fun-loving grandma -- who lived directly behind me and my parents on the same lot -- was my play partner. Every few weeks or so, my aunt and uncle would come to visit Grandma, and they had two kids very close to my age (one older and one younger than me). My cousin Michael and I would often play inventive games of Hide And Seek, War, and the like in the overgrown brush of my grandma's back yard. I liked living in the country for the most part -- it was quiet, nobody really bothered you. But being an only kid, it was also a bit lonely. We did most of our "living" -- school, church, work, groceries, shopping, etc. -- in town (Greenville) which was a good ten minutes away; so that could occasionally be inconvenient. But since I didn't know any different, I never really thought much about it. After we got married, I moved into the townhouse we had bought together, where Mary was already living. And here we still are. I like living in the city for some reasons -- convenience to grocery stores, shopping, and restaurants, short drive to work, etc. -- and don't like it for other reasons -- the noise of ambulances, fire engines, and police cars; the intimidating proximity of apartment-style living; and fear of crime (nothing's actually happened to us since we've been here, but I can't shake my paranoia). Like Mary, I'm ready for a change.


So we made a "Pros And Cons Of Living In The Country" list. Now we just have to figure out what's most important to us. Here's what we came up with. Feel free to put your two cents' worth in if you're for or against country living, and/or if you can speak from experience to help us out.

PROS:
Quiet/Peaceful
Wildlife/Nature
More Privacy
Can Play Music As Loud As We Want
Don't Have To Deal With As Much Traffic
We Can Get A Lot More House For Our Money
We Could Have A Garden/Lawn
We Can See The Stars
No Intrusive Homeowner's Association (With Excessive Rules)
We Could Get A Dog (But Don't Tell The Cats!)

CONS:
No Quick Trips To The Grocery Store
No Fast Food Runs
No Pizza Delivery
Longer Response Time In The Event Of An Emergency
Longer Commute To Work For One Or Both Of Us
We Have To Mow Our Own Lawn
Roads/Utilities Take Longer To Get Cleared/Repaired After A Storm Or Natural Disaster
Slow Or Limited Internet Access

Per Your Suggestion #1: "Buddy, The Balloon, & The Birthday Dance"

Today's blog post is the first in what I hope will be a long series of posts entitled "Per Your Suggestion." Last week on my Facebook page, I asked whomever would participate for some writing prompts. They could give me something as simple as an interesting word, a possible title, a fragment of an idea, or a fully fleshed-out story outline. I received several very interesting responses, many of which I hope to use to write a story and/or a blog post in the coming weeks. Some of the prompts may end up being a traditional blog post (Things I Find Fascinating, random thoughts, etc.) while others may end up becoming a story, like this one did.

This short story was suggested by my friend Racheal Rankin Hoaglan, and is based on a childhood experience of hers. She gave me the title "Buddy, The Balloon, & The Birthday Dance," and told me only that it involved a cat with a balloon attached to its collar. That's all I knew before writing this, and that's all I know after writing it. The rest of the story is completely from my imagination. I have no idea how close or how far this story is from the actual experience from Racheal's childhood, but I just went with it. 

Racheal, if you're reading this, I hope you like it. I decided to make you and your sister actual characters in the story, although the characters as written may or may not accurately represent the real you or her. If you want me to change their names now or at any point, just let me know and I'll be happy to do so. Also, since I've never met your parents, it should be noted that my representation of them as characters in this story is entirely fictional.

Enjoy!

For no reason in particular, Buddy the Cat was in a festive mood. So he didn't protest at all when little Racheal tied her balloon string to his collar. Buddy didn't really understand what purpose balloons were supposed to serve, but the gesture seemed to make Racheal happy – and anything that made the little girl happy pleased Buddy as well. He looked up at Racheal and purred heartily. The deep, motor-like sound of his purr was simple enough for Buddy to produce, yet was remarkably effective at bringing joy to his favorite person. When little Racheal squeezed him with delight in response, Buddy grunted grumpily – almost a growl, but not quite – hugging wasn't his favorite thing to do. Fortunately, it was a quick hug and seconds later Racheal was headed back toward the patio.

Something interesting was going on today. Racheal's dad was at the grill cooking hamburgers where he'd been for the past hour, while her mom was setting the patio table with brightly colored napkins and plates, and even chasing down Racheal and her sister to place funny pointed hats on their heads. Buddy didn't understand what all the fuss was about; he just hoped that Racheal's dad would give him a bite or two of the delicious-smelling hamburgers. Maybe he'd even "accidentally" drop a whole burger, which Buddy would quickly snap up and carry away to his favorite spot under the holly bush at the side of the house.

As Buddy was daydreaming about how juicy and scrumptious those hamburgers must be, he suddenly felt a strange sensation. He felt lighter somehow, almost as if he was walking on air. Buddy looked down at his forepaws and was shocked to see that the grass beneath his feet had moved. It was farther away than it had been just a second before! Panicked, Buddy swiveled his head left, then right, then back left again. There was no mistaking it now – he had left the ground, and was floating at least three feet above the lawn. Frantically, Buddy propelled all four legs forward as if to run away from his dilemma, but it was to no avail. He was flying!

Just then, he heard a shriek from the patio area. It was Racheal's sister, Rebecca – she looked a lot like her twin sister, but Buddy could always tell the difference between them. Rebecca had seen Buddy lift up off the ground and was shouting, "Mom! Mom! Look at Buddy!" Racheal turned from her spot at the table where she'd been eating potato chips and screamed in horror: "Buddy! Buddy!"

Buddy was continuing to flail about when a sudden breeze lifted the balloon – and Buddy – even higher into the air. By this time, Racheal's mom and dad were sprinting across the lawn to where Buddy was hovering, with a spatula (her dad) and candles (her mom) still clutched tightly in their hands.

Racheal's dad started swatting at the air with the spatula, just below where Buddy was floating. Buddy wasn't sure what exactly this would have accomplished if the spatula actually made contact with his body, other than causing him a bit of pain; but he assumed the kindly man was trying his best to bring Buddy back down to the ground. Meanwhile, Racheal's mom simply looked lost. Gazing at the candles in her hand, the mom realized that they'd be of little help to her or Buddy, so she tossed them away and just started screaming – which was as good a response as any, Buddy supposed.

Racheal and Rebecca had also rushed to the scene of Buddy's ascension and were now standing directly underneath him, squealing loudly but not happily. Slightly nauseated, Buddy hoped he wouldn't throw up on the little girls, especially not Racheal, his favorite person in the world. He tried to steady himself and come up with a plan as to how to get himself back down to earth; but Buddy was a cat, and logical thinking did not come naturally to cats.

Buddy began swishing his tail back and forth rapidly, trying to somehow shift his equilibrium and cause himself to descend gradually, if not fall suddenly, back onto the lawn. The tail swishing seemed to be tipping him slightly backward, so he decided to continue with it and add to that the paw flailing. For some reason, his efforts caused the little girls to laugh – Buddy wondered if he looked as stupid as he felt.

A brief gust of wind flung Buddy forward another yard or so, but when he looked down he was sure the ground was a bit closer now. Racheal's dad rushed forward and once again extended the spatula out toward Buddy. This time the spatula was close enough that Buddy could grab onto it with his front claws. Its slick surfaces didn't give Buddy much purchase, but apparently it was just enough. Racheal's dad brought the spatula down carefully with Buddy clinging onto it for dear life. A second later, Buddy fell into the waiting arms of Racheal's dad.

Racheal and Rebecca clapped excitedly at the sight, and made their way over to them. Their dad gently placed Buddy back down onto the lawn and held him firmly while their mom untied the balloon from around his collar. Racheal reached Buddy first, and greeted him with a full-body hug, squeezing twice as hard as before. Buddy grunted again, thinking he had been through quite enough, thank you very much, without having to deal with another unwanted hug. But he realized the hug made Racheal happy and so he grudgingly purred to let her know he wasn't upset with her.

"Oh, Buddy, I'm so glad you're all right! I thought you were going to fly up to outer space!" Racheal said, laughing nervously. Then she hugged him again. Buddy extended his front claws as a warning, and Racheal got the hint and quickly put him down. Rebecca came over and stroked Buddy's back while Racheal scratched him under his chin. His purr came easily this time.

A minute later, the two little girls walked back to the patio, leaving Buddy behind to recuperate from his harrowing ordeal. They hugged their dad for saving Buddy – the dad didn't seem to mind it as much as Buddy did – and Racheal beckoned the much taller man to bend down so she could whisper something in his ear. Buddy's hearing was excellent, but he didn't understand English (not much at least) so he was unaware of the surprise he was about to receive.

Racheal's dad nodded at her, stood up, and turned back toward the grill. "Buddy!" Racheal called. His ears perked up – this was the tone of voice Racheal used when she was going to give him a treat.  He waited a second longer to make sure he had heard correctly. "Buddy!" she cried again, louder this time. He ran toward her in fewer steps than seemed possible, especially given the stress he'd just endured.

"I have a surprise for you!" Racheal teased, both hands tucked behind her back. Buddy looked up at her expectantly and meowed. She pulled her hands back suddenly, and in one of them she held an entire hamburger patty! Buddy meowed again, more insistent this time.

"But first you have to do the birthday dance again," Racheal said. What is a birthday dance? thought Buddy. For that matter, what is a birthday? "You know, the birthday dance, like you did up in the air?"

Buddy stared at her, uncomprehending, simply wanting that juicy hamburger and nothing more. He meowed again, but Racheal did not lower the hamburger where he could reach it.

"Come on, Buddy, do the birthday dance!" said Racheal, and Rebecca echoed, "Yeah, do the birthday dance!"

Confused, Buddy decided that whatever the girls were talking about didn't matter nearly as much as sinking his teeth into that delectable hamburger. Buddy stood up on his hind legs and batted at the air just below where Racheal was now holding out the hamburger toward him. But the tasty treat was just out of Buddy's reach. An idea suddenly occurring to him, Buddy leaped into the air at least a foot off the ground, legs flailing in all directions like a dog catching a frisbee (although Buddy would probably resent that comparison). At the pinnacle of his jump, Buddy snagged the burger out of Racheal's hand and, of course, landed squarely on his feet.

"He did it! He did it! Buddy did the birthday dance!" the girls giggled as one. Their parents put a hand on each of the girls' shoulders and laughed along with them.

But Buddy saw none of this. He didn't know what a birthday dance was, or how he had apparently performed it as the girls had requested, and frankly he didn't care. All Buddy cared about was the hot, juicy piece of meat dangling from his mouth. He ran quickly to his favorite spot underneath the holly bush, the burger in tow the whole way. 

Buddy chomped down every meaty morsel of the hamburger – purring the whole time – before settling in for a nice afternoon nap. All in all, the day could have gone a lot worse...

If you have any ideas for a story you'd like me to write, comment on this post or get at me on Facebook and I'll do my best to come up with something interesting. Till next time...

Things I Find Fascinating: Ridiculously Long Words And Their Meanings

Any of you who regularly read this blog will attest to the fact that I am avid lover of words. Words of all shapes, sizes, and even languages. As many words as I am familiar with and use regularly, there are thousands more that I've never heard of and never used. I'm always happy to come across a new word, learn its meaning, and then attempt to work it into general conversation or perhaps one of my writings.

The words that follow are certainly new and fun words, but I don't know if I'll ever use them in conversation or in print. Mainly because they're almost without exception unpronounceable and incredibly bulky. They are the ten most ridiculously long words I could find. Hope you'll enjoy learning about them as much as I did...


1)  Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis:  This 45-letter beauty is believed to be the longest word listed in a major dictionary. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis is a technical term used to describe "a lung disease caused by the inhalation of very fine silica dust, causing inflammation in the lungs." The word was invented in 1935 by Everett M. Smith, president of the National Puzzlers' League, at its annual meeting.

2)  Pseudopseudohypoparathyroidism:  This 30-letter word describes an inherited disorder in which the individual has the phenotypic appearance of pseudohypoparathyroidism (24 letters) type 1a, but is biochemically normal. If you've ever heard of Albright hereditary osteodystrophy (I know I sure haven't),  pseudopseudohypoparathyroidism is sometimes considered a variant of that. Did you get all that? Me neither! Moving on...

3)  Antidisestablishmentarianism:  I became familiar with this word when I was just a child, and was fascinated by its exceptional length. Couldn't have told you a thing about what it meant, though. Thanks to the wonderful World Wide Web, now I can. This 28-letter word is a term which refers to a political position originating in 19th-century Britain in opposition to proposals for the disestablishment of the Church of England – in other words, antidisestablishmentarians (26 letters) were not in favor of removing the Anglican Church's status as the state church of England, Ireland, and Wales. The Church's establishment was ultimately maintained in England, but in Ireland the Church of Ireland (Anglican) was disestablished in 1871. In Wales, four Church of England dioceses were disestablished in 1920, subsequently becoming the Church in Wales. The question of disestablishment of the Church of England is still current, often tied with the position of the English monarch as "Supreme Governor" of the Church.

4)  Floccinaucinihilipilification:  This 29-letter monstrosity is a word meaning "the act or habit of describing or regarding something as unimportant, of having no value, or being worthless." (One could make a floccinaucinihilipilification regarding this blog post, I suppose.) Have you ever seen that movie Master And Commander with Russell Crowe? I haven't, but apparently it's based on a book of the same title by Patrick O'Brian – a book which includes the following quote: "There is a systematic floccinaucinihilipilification of all other aspects of existence that angers me." Seeing as nobody talks like this in real life, I'm betting that Mr. O'Brian was just trying to impress the ladies with his mad wordsmith skills. And I'd bet money it didn't work, either.

5)  Honorificabilitudinitatibus:  This 27-word mouthful is taken directly from the Latin, and can be translated as "the state of being able to achieve honors." The word is mentioned by the character Costard in Act V, Scene I of William Shakespeare's Love's Labour's Lost. Honorificabilitudinitatibus is regarded as the longest word in the English language featuring alternating consonants and vowels. How cool is that?

6)  Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious:  This 34-letter nonsense word was invented as part of a song by the same name which originally appeared in the 1964 Disney musical Mary Poppins. If you've seen the movie more than once, the chorus of this song is probably playing on repeat in your head right now, just like it is in mine. Sorry about that. According to the film, the word is defined as "something to say when you have nothing to say."  (Which, ironically, could also describe today's blog post.)

7)  Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia:  When you're looking for really long words, you can't go wrong with a good ol' phobia. This 29-letter word is used to describe the fear of the number "666", also called the Number of the Beast in Revelation 13:18 in the Bible. Notable hexakosioihexekontahexaphobiacs include Nancy and Ronald Reagan who, in 1979, when moving to the Bel-Air neighborhood of Los Angeles, had their new house's address changed from 666 St. Cloud Road to 668 St. Cloud Road. Also, the Dutch Christian organization Stichting Opwekking (translated Revival Foundation) skipped the number 666 when assembling their songbook "because of the sensitivity amongst people." My own grandmother once refused to pay a store clerk the $6.66 she owed them out of fear of the number. She paid them $6.67 instead and told them to keep the change.

8)  Friggatriskaidekaphobia:  Speaking of phobias, this 23-letter word is used to describe the fear of Friday the 13th. Apparently, superstition regarding this arbitrary day began as early as the 19th century (and not the 1980's with all those "Jason" movies). Many theories have been proposed about the origin of the superstition. However, most think the reason that Friday the 13th is considered a phobia-worthy event is due to an amalgamation of two older superstitions – that thirteen is an unlucky number (which goes all the way back to Biblical days) and that Friday is an unlucky day (which goes at least as far back as the 14th century, as it was mentioned in Geoffrey Chaucer's Canterbury Tales).

9)  Deinstitutionalization:  This 22-letter word – probably not that uncommon especially when compared to others in this list – is a term used to describe the process of replacing long-stay psychiatric hospitals with less-isolated community mental health service for those diagnosed with a mental disorder or developmental disability. Okay, this one's boring. Moving on...

10)  Sesquipedalianism:  The shortest word in this bunch, nonetheless this 18-letter doozy describes a linguistic style that involves the use of long words. Which is basically why I picked it to add to this list. Sesquipedalianism might also be characterized as polysyllabic holophrastic verbalism – but I refuse to call it that. Because sesquipedalianism sounds way cooler. Various motivations drive the sesquipedalian, including: lexical precision (sure, why not?); to demonstrate the benefits of erudition (I know I've always benefited from erudition); and to disempower intellectual challenge (disempower to the people!). I don't know what most of that means – sounds like a load of codswallop to me. But that doesn't stop me from loving the word sesquipedalianism!

Maybe next time – if I think you're ready for them – I'll introduce you to some ridiculously-long-but-awesomely-named places, like Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg (in Webster, Massachusetts), or Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllanty-siliogogogoch (a village in Wales), or Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauota-mateaturipukakapikimaungahoronukupokaiwhenuakitnatahu (a hill in New Zealand), or maybe even Tweebuffelsmeteenskootmorsdoodgeskietfontein (a farm in South Africa). But for now, I'll just let you recuperate from these ten...



(Thank you, Wikipedia.org, for the bulk of the information regarding the history of these words.)

Flash Fiction: "Awkward Silence"

I know what you're thinking – not another fiction piece! This guy is getting to be a drag! Well, if that's true, I'm sorry. I can't help it. I'm a writer. I write. And lately new ideas are bouncing around in my head so fast that if I don't write them immediately they'll be gone forever. This short piece stemmed from a recent brainstorming session where my goal was to try and think of an interesting title for each letter of the alphabet. "Awkward Silence" was the first one I came up with. True crime shows (I've been watching lots of them lately) inspired the theme of the story. Oftentimes after a serious criminal is caught (especially a serial killer), friends and families will remark that the accused person had seemed so normal, so harmless, and that they can't believe he or she could possibly be guilty of whatever they're supposed to have done. In some cases, these guys (speaking generally, of course there are female criminals too) have wives and kids who never had a clue what their husband or father had been doing, sometimes for decades, without being discovered. When they do find out, the truth must be devastating. This is how I imagined one such revelation might occur...

AWKWARD SILENCE

       You understand what I mean by this. It's that break in the conversation when you don't know what to say and the person you're talking with doesn't know what to say, and so you've reached an impasse.

       You mentioned something in passing that made the other person uncomfortable, something that struck a nerve. Now the person has asked you a question you're not willing to answer; and while you ponder how best to respond or whether to deftly change the subject, there it is: that awkward silence.

       You used to take pride in being a great conversationalist, but you've done things you're not proud of and now you're guarded. Your usually tactful approach to interpersonal communication has briefly fallen by the wayside in the wake of a single careless comment. You quickly revert to self-preservation mode.

       Someone must speak eventually, and you'd like to be the one to break the silence, but not at the risk of exposing who you truly are. There would be consequences; there are always consequences. So you wait.

       The other person sighs deeply, equally hesitant to proceed but unwilling to let the conversation die out entirely. You sense what comes next.

       The person poses a new question, much more direct than the last. The truth will set you free – free from the burden of living a lie perhaps, but freedom is relative. Reputation is priceless, and if you answer you'll lose it in a second.

       You think the best answer might be to ask another question, turn the tables, put the ball back in their court. Yet you know you won't get off that easy. This is it, the moment you've been dreading, when the sound of the other shoe dropping sets off an avalanche of shame.

       There will be consequences. There could even be jail time. You thought no one would ever find out, but someone is about to learn the awful truth. One someone at least.

       Then it hits you: the secret doesn't ever have to leave this room. It may be revealed, certainly, but the power to make sure it isn't propagated lies solely in your hands. You can quell the maelstrom before it even begins.

       Though in so doing, you would be responsible for yet another crime, another life, one more secret. This one would be worse than before, because this person – she impatiently awaits your reply – is your soulmate. The one who should be able to trust you the most. The one whose confidence in you ought to be absolute.

       But you broke that trust long ago, and though she doesn't know for certain, she clearly suspects it. Any and everything you ever did or didn't do is now called into question. She waits for an answer.

       You look into her eyes – you've always loved her eyes, so blue, like the ocean – and realize what you aren't capable of doing. The truth spills out in fragments. Sentences are too difficult, as tears choke every word. You confess everything, from the beginning.

       You love her too much to persist in deceiving her. She has a right to know, and to deal with the consequences, with or without you beside her. When you have said all there is to say, burying your face in your hands as though it helps, she rests her soft fingertips on your shoulder. You look up to see her smiling face, her head nodding in naive approval at the end of your long-withheld silence.

       You tell her that everything will be fine, no matter what happens, and she nods once more. This will be your final lie, because you know that nothing will ever be fine again.

       Perhaps she will start a new life, in a new place, as though she never knew you at all. Maybe she will change her name. Or maybe she will visit you every week without fail wherever you end up going. But you won't hold your breath for that to happen.

       She parts her lips as if to speak, but hesitates. You try to think of something to say that's worth anything at all, but come up empty. And there it is again: that awkward silence.

       The next word spoken seals your fate, and hers.
       Go.

Flash Fiction: "She"

    Often when I write a story, I have no idea ahead of time where it's headed. I'm not the kind of author who sees the beginning, middle, and end of a story before beginning the writing process. I simply start writing and see what happens. Sometimes nothing happens, and I am forced to scrap the piece. Sometimes the story takes an all-too-familiar turn, and I begin to doubt myself – is it too much like something that's already written (perhaps something I've even read), is it too predictable, is it too boring? Sometimes it is one of these things, and I have to willfully change the course of the story. And sometimes the piece takes an unexpected turn, often in a darker direction, and I am surprised by it. Such is the case with "She".

 

    I don't always agree with the actions and choices of my characters, but I almost always find them interesting. This story involves a desperate young lady, facing a bleak future, who decides to end her own life. The only question in her mind is how to do it. This tragic story is not intended to glorify or endorse suicide in any way; but rather to make the reader think and feel and empathize. I won't say "Enjoy it!" because it's not enjoyable. It's sad. But I hope you'll read it anyway....

 

 

 

"SHE"

    She dries her eyes with a Kleenex doused in lighter fluid or baby urine or some other undesirable, and ponders her choices.

    The last time she tried she was only eleven years old. Her feeble attempt had ended in a broken arm and bruised pelvis, but was otherwise unsuccessful.

    There are so many ways to die, not one better than another, and she must choose.

    She could open up her veins and let out the bad things, along with all the blood, and pass slowly.

    She could borrow a gun, cherish the taste, and let it explode inside her head.

    She could take pills – that wouldn’t be so bad. She’s taken so many of them for the sickness all these years. It wouldn’t be as quick, but there also wouldn’t be much pain.

    She wishes she could ask her friends what to do, but they are all gone now. The sickness has taken them all, one at a time, over far too short a span, and they can’t help her anymore. She wonders if any of them ever had the same thoughts, and is certain that they did.

    She wishes there was another way; she doesn’t want to have to do it. But it’s probably too late. After all, she’s already infected her eyes with whatever disgusting fluid had soiled the Kleenex she’d picked up off the street. She might even be going blind at this moment.

    If only her father were here, he would have an answer for her. Undoubtedly, he would say that she was doing the wrong thing, that she had too much to live for, that there were always options. But fathers are supposed to say these things, aren't they?

    Her father must realize that every other potential solution has been exhausted long before this moment. If he were honest, she thinks, he would tell her to go through with it – and quickly. But her father is at home watching ESPN.
  
    She thinks of her mother, that disgusting witch who bore her seventeen years earlier. She thinks of the many times she has walked in on her mother in the throes of passion with someone other than her father.

    How many times upon being discovered her mother had not even bothered to cover her filthy body as she approached her daughter with a faux-maternal smile that seemed to say, It's okay, sweetie, Mommy's just having a little fun.

    Maybe she will take pills. Surely there are over-the-counter painkillers that, when taken in large quantities, will effectively kill all the pain, along with the sickness.

    She starts to cry again. She tells herself that these are hopeful tears, in anticipation of a better life beyond this one. But she knows that they are tears of bitterness and fear all wrapped up together.

    She feels the knot in her stomach shift slightly as a wave of nausea passes over her again. She hates being sick all the time. She's too young to feel this ancient.

    Children, even teenage children, aren't supposed to die this way. But she has been dying for a long time now. The sickness went away for a while, and she was well. But even then, she’d dreaded each new day, afraid that the pain would return, and with it the disease.

    She knows that it will eventually take her anyway. But she's tired of waiting. She wants to hasten the inevitable. Fixing her jaw resolutely, she takes her first step toward forever. It’s a short walk to the 24-hour pharmacy, and she heads in that direction, seeking closure.

This Day In History

1279 – A Mongolian victory in the Battle of Yamen ends the Song Dynasty in China. Having lasted for 319 years to that point, the Song Dynasty was notable for being the first government in world history to issue paper money as currency. This dynasty also saw the first known use of gunpowder, as well as the first discernment of true north using a compass.

1649 – The House of Commons of England passes an act abolishing the House of Lords, declaring it "useless and dangerous to the people of England." Oliver Cromwell was pretty much ruling the roost at the time as Lord Protector of England. When the monarchy was restored twelve years later, the House of Lords assembled again and returned to its former position as the more powerful chamber of Parliament – a position it would occupy until the 19th century.

1687 – Explorer Robert Cavelier de La Salle, searching for the mouth of the Mississippi River, is murdered by his own men. La Salle also explored the Great Lakes region of the United States and Canada, as well as the Gulf of Mexico, claiming the entire Mississippi River basin for France. La Salle's final expedition was plagued by pirates, hostile Indians, and poor navigation. On this day in 1687, the 36 remaining men (out of the original 300) mutinied and La Salle was slain. Ironically, the remaining colonists were overtaken and promptly killed by Karankawa Indians the very next year.

1863 – The SS Georgiana, said to have been the most powerful Confederate cruiser, is destroyed on her maiden voyage with a cargo of munitions, medicines, and merchandise then valued at over $1,000,000. The wreck of the scuttled and burned Georgiana was discovered in 1965, ironically also on March 19th, and still lies in the shallow waters of the harbor in Charleston, South Carolina.

1865 – The Battle of Bentonville begins in Bentonville, North Carolina, near the town of Four Oaks. This Civil War battle lasted for two days until Confederate forces retreated. A month later, Confederate General Joseph E. Johnston would surrender to Union General William T. Sherman right around the same time that General Robert E. Lee surrendered to General Ulysses S. Grant, ending the war.

1895 – Auguste and Louis Lumiére record their first footage using their newly patented cinematograph. This early film camera also doubled as a film projector and developer. The film was called Sortie de l'usine Lumiére de Lyon and was first publicly screened at L'Eden, the world's first and oldest cinéma, located in La Ciotat in southeastern France.

1918 – The U.S. Congress establishes time zones and approves daylight saving time. Before that, I suppose, the current time was deemed to be exactly the same everywhere; and nobody never got to spring forward in the spring or fall back in the fall.

1931 – Gambling is legalized in Nevada. And the rest is history....

1932 – The Sydney Harbour Bridge is opened. This bridge, located in Sydney, Australia, is currently the world's widest long-span bridge, the fifth longest spanning-arch bridge in the world, and the tallest steel arch bridge in the world. Impressive!

1941 – The Tuskegee Airmen, the first all-black unit of the Army Air Corp, is activated.

1954 – Joey Giardello knocks out Willie Tory in the seventh round at Madison Square Garden in the first televised prize boxing fight to be broadcast in color. Which basically means that viewers got to see blood in its actual color for the first time on television.

1958 – The Monarch Underwear Company fire in Manhattan leaves 24 dead, 15 injured, and countless others tragically underdressed. Okay, that was horrible, and I apologize. Moving on...

1966 – Texas Western becomes the first college basketball team to win the Final Four with an all-black starting lineup. I wonder how many racist basketball fans refused to put them in their winning brackets that year....

1978 – I was born. Big whoop.

1979 – The U.S. House of Representatives begins broadcasting its day-to-day business via the cable television network C-SPAN. I wonder if anyone has broken the news to the representatives yet – you know, that no one has ever watched a single hour of their day-to-day business because it's so boring it makes your eyes bleed.

1987 – Televangelist Jim Bakker resigns as head of the PTL Club due to a brewing sex scandal. Bakker hands over control to Jerry Falwell. Not the first time a "preacher" has fallen, making a laughingstock of himself and all Christians in the eyes of some, but definitely one of the most memorable in recent history.

2003 – President George W. Bush orders the start of war against Iraq. I'm not getting into the politics of this one – it's just not my thing. Obviously, some good things have come out of this decision (an evil man was taken out of power) and some bad things have happened as a result (many brave soldiers and some innocent people have perished).


BIRTHDAYS:
David Livingstone, Scottish missionary and explorer  (1813)
Wyatt Earp, American marshal  (1929)
William Jennings Bryan, American statesman  (1860)
Irving Wallace, American novelist  (1916)
Richie Ashburn, major league baseball player  (1927)
Philip Roth, American author  (1933)
Ursula Andress, Swiss actress  (1936)
Sirhan Sirhan, assassin of Robert F. Kennedy  (1944)
Glenn Close, American actress  (1947)
Bruce Willis, American actor  (1955)
Andy Reid, Philadelphia Eagles football coach  (1958)
Hedo Turkoglu, Turkish-born NBA basketball player  (1979)
Clayton Kershaw, Los Angeles Dodgers baseball player  (1988)




All information courtesy of the good folks at Wikipedia.org.

Poems For Your Perusal: Even More Alpha Poetry

As soon as you get back

Please give me a call

I need to hear your voice

I haven't cried lately.

Being weird

Is an art form

It doesn't happen

By accident

It doesn't happen

Suddenly

It is cultivated

Through years

And years of practice.

Could it be?

Am I actually happy?

I think I am

And it's all your fault.

Thank you.

Daily toils

And constant struggles

Thankfully

You've got my back.

Even I can see that

Some people should never be

Allowed to love each other.

It's bad for the universe.

Fill 'er up

I'll take all I can afford.

Better yet

Half a tank is quite enough

I don't want to seem greedy

Or go broke.

Good grief

Was there ever such a thing?

If so then

It exists in the ability

To move on

And move forward

Without ever forgetting.

How is it that

We ended up here

In a desert

When the map said

We were headed

For the stars.

I'm not here right now

Try me again later

I may return

If I miss what I've lost.

Join for free

We won't spam you.

Well, maybe just a little.

After all

We're not running

A charity here.

The best things in life

Have price tags.

Kind of like

We never left

But different

Because we did.

Long time coming

Easy going

Life is short.

May I have this dance?

I promise not

To step on your toes

More than twice

Per measure.

Not only that

But I can

Pat my head

Rub my belly

Hop on one leg

And say the alphabet

– backwards! –

While thinking of you.

What does that say

About us? 

On my way to the store

I realized I forgot

Why I was going

In the first place.

I know I need something

But I guess I just don't care.

Piece of cake, he says

Easy for him to say

He knows what he's doing

And I write poetry

Not exactly

Apples and oranges.

Quiet in the library

There are books

Dreaming of becoming

Made-for-TV movies

Waiting to be ruined

And you wouldn't want

To disturb their slumber.

Roundabout way

Of saying that

I think you're special

When all I have to do

Is say you're special.

Why do I have to

Make things complicated?

Stay a while

Kick your feet back

Pretend like you live here

We don't mind

But don't forget

You're a visitor.

Two days ago

I liked you

Then I realized

I don't know

Who you are

So I clicked again

And just like that

The relationship

Changed.

Up the creek

A sudden downpour

No oars in sight

Badly mended holes

Leaking faster now.

This is going to be

A really bad day!

Very, very much

Immensely

Intensely

Passionately

With all my heart

You fill in the rest.

Wait a minute

Or a lifetime.

Don't worry

I'm not going anywhere

Unless you are.

Xenophobic

Aren't you?

Just because they

Don't speak like you do

Don't look like you do

Don't hate like you do

Doesn't mean that

You're any better.

Yes, it's true

I did say that.

And I'm not sorry.

I was once

But I forgave myself.

Zero chance that I'll ever decide

That you are worth returning to.

I saw where things were headed

And I wasn't even in the picture.

Just because things have changed

Doesn't mean my mind has.