Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

You happy?

It was one of those smirks that boils the blood. It was the look of satisfaction that we’ve all seen on someone else’s face, when they have just purchased Boardwalk, after having owned Park Place for the entire game. You both know the game is over; from here, it will be a slow, tedious march toward defeat.

While some people like to “rub it in” and others try to “soften the blow” my own empathy often went too far the other direction. I always felt guilty in victory; “go ahead and take the money, take the trophy, I cannot live with myself to see you sad.” “Here, I just won a game of checkers, whip my back with a knotted vacuum cord.” Nice guys finish last, indeed, but neurotic, guilt-ridden masochists finish with tire tracks, sneakily designed to break the backs of both players.

I think that is what enraged me most. How could this woman actually do this? How could she live with herself? Why couldn’t I destroy people? Why couldn’t I have broken up with her when I first noticed how she treated waitresses? How could anyone be so callous? The judge had just proclaimed the Child Support amount after she produced document after document, like a chimp picking bugs off of a mate, to jack it up. “I just want to see what this number looks like” she said.

The smirk took place just outside the courtroom. Our divorce was final. She stepped away to call her “special friend” as she referred to him. I tried to swallow. A bone-dry chicken egg on an escalator going up blocked my pipe.

She made her way toward the stairs with a near skip. I turned the other direction. “Aren’t you going to sign the papers?” she asked. “’I’ll come back this week. I can’t stand being in the same building as you.” “Fine.”

I went outside and lit a cigarette. The feeling of not having a home had never been more near. Waiting until 40 to start smoking (in hindsight, a hidden attempt at suicide) was stupid move # 43,667; # 1 was, without question, marrying her.

Nearly 20 years ago we had stood in front of a Justice of the Peace in a small studio apartment. The marriage license, (that she had pulled a hamstring obtaining), the TV remote and 9 empty beer bottles witnessed an exchange of vows that included some non-sense like “richer or poorer…sickness and health … till death do you part.”

We kissed, hugged and watched baseball. She was enthralled with sports while we courted; hated them once the champagne cork hit the floor.

For the duration of the relationship, there was an uneasy feeling of the door being open, just a crack. Mistrust could faintly be tasted on the wind of a giggle or the flip of the hair. I don’t know if it was the way she coyly flirted with my younger brother, the backhanded sarcasm in front of friends, or the seemingly calculated lack of physical contact; the ground shifted day to day, year to year.
While I was a blindfolded bull in a tire store, her every move was subtle.

I bumbled and stammered, snorted and kicked, stacks of clues bounced around me; she could dodge every claim with another excuse, all roads to her destination.

She led with a perfumed leash and a crop made of fire. We went around the car loans and vacations, up to the big house and big mortgage, jumped over the fence of her Master’s degree and fed at the trough of my small inheritance until she was fully supplied with jeans, shoes and treadmills.

Once the kids could look after themselves, she “needed attention from other men.” The blindfold dropped with my knees knocking; on a precipice, looking down at a mid-life ravine.

She waved goodbye from the back of a 32 year old plumber’s motorcycle, with that sam, unforgettable smirk on her face.

Creative 15 a day

Wherever you go, there you are ..or so they say ..

and so I've been all over since the split... but truthfully ... I haven't been anywhere. I'm never wholly where I am these days ...as my heart and soul are there with my family ... in my house.

I have no vehicle. I've owned a car since the age of 17, until now.

Walking, I fantasize that they will pull up ..and invite me in ..and unite the family once again. I always reach my destination without that happening.

Pizza boxes, undwear and paperwork litter the floor. I haven't eaten for 24 hours. I havn't watched television in 24 days. I havn't been able to breathe in 24 months.

If I smile, it is to appease the other face in front of me. If I speak it is to appease other ears. If I live much longer, it is to appease a God that seems afar.

I was an idealist, now I'm a skeptic. I was a father, now I'm a deadbeat. I was savior, now I'm a shadow.

I'll be creative. I'll make something up. But not today... not today...

Bedbugs

While watching a “prestigious” meeting taking place at Georgetown University on television, I realize that even the most ornate decorations, the backslapping and fine shoes, the cathedral ceiling and columns, equate to nothing more than a bedbugs nest in the presence of eternity.

Does God, like me, just lay down at night and say, “go ahead and feast.”

If I stick my nose out of this hole, all I will see is another snake swallowing a mouse, or an ant carrying a death. I’m as jaded as 46 years will endure.

I pray that I somehow remember our true childhood nature. That I could find even the spent rind of happiness let alone the full fruit. My last 300 bucks won’t buy anything that can save me.

I worry to write at a time like this, all that will be penned is an ending. The intro was hopeful, the body was a delusional letdown, and now the ending… the ending is not going to have a twist. There is no creativity that can make this inevitable tragedy crack a smile.

Unless I can simply be happy for and forgiving of the bedbugs; “Go ahead and feast… Go ahead and feast.”

Untitled

Sitting near the lake ..clean air ... I haven't been out in weeks ...

I know you guys are over on the other side ..living ...

If I were to fall asleep and dream of flying .. would you let me over?

Memories of voices "hey Dad" ... "c'mon" "I love you" ... have echoed so many times the silver silence has absorbed them ... never to be heard by these ears again...

If I think of you...... the pain in my throat .. brings tears ... I could flood this land if I wanted ..

I know that Ive let you down .... you won't know until you are much older ..

Right now I'm just another stranger crying by the lake ..... I can only hope youll be ok .... Im sorry

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