Son of Spittin wrote:This story as quoted to his mother, Spittin in the Wind:
Entry:
"I wish I was a doorway, but I'm just a little boy. I'd be open all the time and never alive. My mommy loves me, my daddy loves me, my sister loves me. But I wish I was a doorway, even though I'm just a little boy."
Heh, I love it. Please give Son of Spittin my compliments (he my remember Gunther from Look Park), I think it's time to start him on Charles Bukowski.
"I wish I was a doorway, but I'm just a little boy. I'd be open all the time and never alive. My mommy loves me, my daddy loves me, my sister loves me. But I wish I was a doorway, even though I'm just a little boy."
Sounds like the beginning of the Great American Novel. Who knows . . .someday we may hear that Spittin, Junior won the Pulitzer.
Will O'Ban
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
He tucked her in, brushed the hair away from her face, kissed her cheek, and said, “2 a.m. Kookamonga. I’ll be here.” She smiled through her sleepiness. “I can do it, daddy. I know I can.” He gave her another kiss, turned the light off, and stood at the door watching sleep overtake her, aching with his own tiredness. For weeks now he had not been sleeping well; the harder he tried, the worse it got. So when he saw a chance to actually be useful in the middle of the night—a reason to stay awake—he seized it.
“She asleep?” his wife asked, as she loaded the last few dishes into the dishwasher. “Out like a light,” he said. He hesitated, but then, standing behind her, he put his arms around her waist and drew her to him gently and kissed the back of her neck. She stiffened slightly. “You know I have an early meeting, sweetie.” “I know, Julie,” he said. “It’s okay.” She turned around and smiled at him. “Try to get some sleep,” she said. “You could set the alarm to make sure you wake Rosie.” “Naw, that’s okay. I’ll just stay awake.”
The night deepened. He sat in the living room, his thoughts looping restlessly, tightening their hold as the hours passed: the clients, that twinge in his chest, Kathryn’s fragrance when she enters his office, her hair. But at 2 he got up and went into Rosie’s room. He leaned over and whispered their code in her ear, “Kookamonga!” Her eyes struggled to open. He lifted the cover and felt the sheet: wet and warm. Rosie turned away from him and started to cry. “I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.” “It’s okay, Rosie. We’ll try earlier tomorrow. Let’s get you some dry sheets now.”
After the cleanup, Rosie asked if he would hold her until she got sleepy again. So he sat with her, in the dark living room, his arms surrounding her small thin body, her head against his chest. “You still love me?” Whether or not he remembered hearing them himself, the words came easily to him: “Rosie, there’s nothing you can ever do that would make me stop loving you, ever.” He could feel her relax, and then hear her soft rhythmic breathing. He rested his head on hers, took a long deep breath, and slept.
~~~~~
"There weren't no 'G' on that truck. What'd it say?"
" 'G'! The sign said 'G'."
"There ain't no word called 'G'. What was the word?"
"How should I know what the word was?! There was a 'G' in it!"
"Well, I don't believe you. If there was a 'G' in it, you'd be able to say what the word was."
"Joe's Java."
"There ain't no 'G' in 'Joe's Java'. . . Jerk!!"
"Who you callin' a 'jerk', you old buzzard!"
"You is who. You old cheat."
"I ain't no cheat!"
"Every time we play this game you cheat."
"I don't cheat. I just don't have on the correct glasses is all."
"You never have on the correct glasses, you old cheat."
"Well, that's a dang good thing for you then, ain't it? Cause if I did have on the correct glasses I wouldn't have missed that 'B' that you said was a 'D'!"
"Your problem ain't that you need better glasses. Your problem's that you can't read!!"
"I can read as good as the next man. Give me somethin to read and I'll show you how to read it."
"Ok. What's that billboard say?"
"What billboard?"
"What billboard?!! That huge thing on the other side of the street!"
"Which words you want me to read for you?"
"I'm not tellin you what it says . . . you tell me what it says."
"Why? You can't read or somethin?"
"I can read just fine. Stop changin the subject and just read what it says."
"Joe's Java."
"The billboard says, 'Joe's Java'?'"
"That's right."
"HA!!! That proves you can't read. It says 'SHOP AT WILSON'S FURNITURE EMPORIUM' in letters as big as a bus."
"You wanted me to read that? Hell, any idiot could read that. . . I thought you meant the fine print at the bottom that says, '. . . and enjoy a cup of Joe's Java.'"
"There ain't no fine print at the bottom!!!"
"Just shows you need glasses."
Will O'Ban
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
Driving down the road in the fog, she missed the turnoff to the motel. After settling in at a different motel across town, she went downtown, finding the theatre where the concert was that night. She had driven 150 miles to see her favorite performer, it wouldn’t do to not find the theatre after all that!
After the wonderful show, she spoke with the musician. He had invited all the audience to meet the performers at a tavern afterwards. Not knowing where the place was, she hesitated to commit herself – until a woman who had been seated next to her during the show offered to show her how to get there.
At the tavern, she sat at the same table with her idol. Eating off the same plate, listening to him give an interview to her new acquaintance (who, it turned out, was a reporter for the local paper), she learned that his son was along on the tour with him. The son sat at the table too, mentioning how devoted he was to his mother.
The singer talked on, his voice flowing over her in comforting waves. She talked a bit, telling him how long she had been a fan – over 30 years – but mostly she zoned out, listening to him, just floating along on his accent. A few words came through – wife, ex-wife, children – and she thought of her own husband and child at home.
Walking out to the car with the singer, she was not totally surprised to be kissed, but surprised herself by not going across the street to his motel room to continue the evening.
Lying in her lonely bed in her motel room across town, she hardly slept. The next morning she drove home.
Days later, she called her idol on his cell phone to apologize. He said he wasn’t angry, and asked when she would come to another concert. They talked for a bit, then he had to go. She was relived. He had not banned her from his shows. She had not cheated on her husband. All was well with the world. And maybe next time . . .
Tell us something.: I used to be a regular then I took up the bassoon. Bassoons don't have a lot of chiff. Not really, I have always been a drummer, and my C&F years were when I was a little tired of the drums. Now I'm back playing drums. I mist the C&F years, though.
