To my friend Radhika
I’m very sorry that I did not send you a card on your birthday. I started working on something artistic for you a week before your birthday, but a series of unfortunate circumstances delayed me from mailing your birthday card and my enclosed drawing to you.
I was traveling to the post office with your card, having every intention of mailing it to you, but my car broke down on the way. Fortunately, a passing motorist noticed my predicament and stopped to help. He courteously asked me if I needed a ride and I gladly accepted his offer. Unfortunately, he was on his way to spend the day at the beach, so I never got to the post office.
When we arrived at an empty parking lot by the shore, he got out of the car and walked around back to open the trunk. I watched him take out a pair of roller blades, lace them up, and roll away with neither wave nor goodbye. So, there I was, left alone on the pavement with only your card for company. Being March, it was cold and there was no one around to ask for help. There weren’t even any other cars in the parking lot. But, I did see a boat moored to the dock.
As I walked toward the boat, the captain saw me coming and he waved to me in a friendly manner. I approached him and asked if he could help me find a way to get back home. Fortunately, he was just about to cast off and he said he could bring me to the next port where I could catch a bus home. I thought to myself, “This isn’t going to be the fastest way home”, but I had no other choice. Unfortunately, once out to sea, we were caught in a fierce storm with enormous swells and the boat capsized.
I was able to hold your card above water as I paddled to stay afloat. The storm eventually blew over and I was able to find a piece of wood to cling to. The captain and his first mate were nowhere to be found1. While I floated, waiting for rescue, I passed the time pondering unpleasant things like sharks, sea monsters, and poisonous jellyfish. I was hoping that a search plane would fly over and save me, along with your card. I never did see a search plane, but I did see a whale.
Actually, the whale saw me first. He2 rose from the briny deep and swallowed me3 whole. Fortunately, I was able to keep your card dry as I slid down his gullet into inky blackness. Unfortunately, he was just about to go back underwater, which would certainly drown me and probably spell the end to your birthday card as well. Kneeling in despair, I noticed what could only be a circle of sunlight at my feet. I looked up to see blue sky. Quickly, I scrambled up what could only be his blowhole. I was able to thrust my hand (with the card) and upper arm out of the blowhole seconds before the great mammal submerged. Having no way to gulp in air, my captor was unable to return to the depths, saving me for the moment.
Dale was mad that I had forced him to swim on the surface4. He cruised along for quite a while and my hand was starting to hurt from clutching your card so tight. I managed to squeeze my arm up to the shoulder out of the blowhole, and then my head. As you can imagine, the smell was awful5.
Eventually, I wriggled my whole top half out of the marine behemoth, leaving my legs dangling below. We were traveling very fast. It looked to me that Dale was at least 300 feet long6 from tip to tail. Fortunately, we were heading in the direction of shore. I saw land ahead, and lights. I wiggled some more, hoping to slither out into the ocean and swim to shore. Unfortunately, Dale realized I could now be blown out of his blowhole. So, one explosive snort later, up and out I went. I soared, flapping my arms like a seagull and screaming like a little girl until I splashed into the water, feet first. I frantically swam for the surface.
I was able to reach to the surface just before my lungs ran out of air and I was very relieved. I couldn’t blame Dale. He was probably very relieved himself. I had learned you should always be polite so, not knowing what to say under these circumstance, I said “Gesundheit”, even though he couldn’t hear me7.
With a start, I realized that I no longer had your card. I desperately looked around me, hoping to find it floating nearby. Fortunately, I looked up and saw it, flipping and floating down from the sky. I was able to catch it before it hit the water. I had saved it. I was only a couple of hundred feet from shore so I knew I would be able to swim to safety, find a post office, and mail your card to you. Unfortunately, just then, a pelican flew by and snatched the card from my hand. I swam as fast I could to shore, following the thief.
When I dragged myself out of the surf, I looked around for the pelican, but it was to no avail. It was getting dark now and I was afraid I’d never find it or your card. I was wet, tired, and I had idea where I was. I walked toward lights coming from buildings nearby, hoping to find a police station where I could report being robbed by a pelican. The first building I came to was an all-night doughnut shop that luckily accepted my wet money, and very graciously I might add. While I sat in a booth eating my doughnut and drinking my hot chocolate, I told my story to the people that were sitting around me. There was Jack and his common-law wife Charlotte, Shelley, an elderly ex-exterminator with a frighteningly loud and disgustingly productive cough, a musician named Twist, and Sergei, an employee who was taking a break from mopping the floor. They agreed to help me by forming a search party to find the filthy card-thieving aquatic bird, so off we went.
Out of nowhere, a large mob of people formed equipped with torches, lanterns, and totally unnecessary pitchforks8 screaming for vengeance9. Fortunately, we didn’t have to look for very long because we found the pelican fast asleep on a pile of envelopes10 in a wooded area very close to the doughnut shop. I was glad that we hadn’t been forced to use the pitchforks. Unfortunately, the filthy card-thieving aquatic bird had pooped all over the pile. I grabbed a lantern from the nearest pitchfork-wielding maniac and searched the pile carefully.
Your card was only slightly damaged. You couldn’t even tell that it had been inside a whale or under a pelican. I wiped the envelope on the pelican’s back and held it up triumphantly. The mob went wild. Many grabbed envelopes themselves and held them up, imitating me. That turned out to be not so smart. Some of the envelopes were really messy11 and some caught fire because the people held them too close to their torches. I decided not to wait for the mob to disperse. I dropped my lantern and snuck away into the dark with your card hoping to leave this town by catching the next bus home as soon as possible.
I was exhausted at this point, which may have led to what happened next. Still in damp clothes, the first thing I did was look for any clothing store that was still open for business. Fortunately, I found one and I bought new clothes. Like I said, I was really tired, so I didn’t pay close attention to the sizes or the style. I was finally warm and dry again. Unfortunately, it was a women’s clothing store and I had mistakenly bought denim capris, an embroidered tank top, and some strappy sandals. I didn’t even notice until I sat down on the bus next to a woman with the same outfit. At that point I didn’t really care. It was cold on the bus and I really regretted not buying that Hannah Montana jean jacket. Regardless, I was so tired that I couldn’t stay awake anyway.
The bus took me home while I slept. Well, eventually I got home. I know I must have purchased a bus ticket, but my memory is very hazy on the exact details of how I did just that.
The man at the bus station must have had a lot of wax in his ears because I’m sure that I asked for a ticket to Springfield, Massachusetts12. But he must have thought I said Springly, Arkansas because when I woke up many hours later, that’s where the bus had stopped. The bus driver tapped me on the shoulder and told me to get off the bus. He also suggested finding some men’s clothing.
I had no luggage, but I still had my credit card and I still had your birthday card. I took his advice and found a men’s clothing store. My fellow customers cast a few disapproving looks my way and I believe the clerk may have made a tsking sound before accepting my credit card. I felt like a new man when I left Manley For Men13.
I found a pay phone and called my house. Fortunately, someone answered and I didn’t have to leave a long message. When I told my wife where I was and what had happened to me, she couldn’t believe it. She said, “I didn’t know you were gone. I thought you were at work.”
I said, “For two days? Didn’t you miss me?”
She only hesitated for a second and then said, “Of course we missed you.”
I told her I’d be home soon. She said, “Take your time. Love you. Bye”.
Unfortunately, although there were buses arriving every hour, the next bus scheduled to leave Springly was not for two days, after the annual Spring Bus Drivers of America convention.
I was stuck there for two days before I could get out. I had to stay at the Manley Hotel downtown14 which only had one room free. The woman at the front desk told me it was haunted and that I’d have to share it with the ghost of Zachariah Manley who had died in a tragic shaving accident as he slept. But it wasn’t all bad. I was able to watch the Bus Demolition Derby, the Springly Creek Yellow School Bus Jump15, and a remarkably close-fought doughnut eating contest won by a very skinny bus driver from Alabama. I also heard the story of the bitter feud between the Manleys and the Springleys and that there was a truce for the duration of the convention16.
Eventually, I got on the road17 and headed for home. Fortunately, the man sitting to my left across the aisle had excellent hygiene, a sparkling personality, and dozens of fascinating stories to pass the time. What a guy. Unfortunately, the man to my right was not as pleasant. First of all, he smelled like a blowhole. Secondly, he didn’t have one nice thing to say to me the whole trip. And the worst part was, I’m not kidding, I swear he got up to go the bathroom fifteen times. That’s thirty times he passed by me. I think I passed out three or four times from the smell.
When I finally did get home, I called my wife from the bus station to pick me up. She asked me, “Are you at MassMutual?”
I said, “No, honey. I’m at the bus station. I was gone for a week. Remember?”
“Oh yeah. Welcome home,” she said. She picked my up a few hours later and we drove home. It felt so good to be back. I asked her to stop at the post office so I could mail this to you. I hope you like it. Again, I’m very sorry about being late, but as I’m sure you’ll agree, I have a good excuse.
At least I hope so.
Your good friend Mark
1 They were later found by another fishing boat whose captain had enough sense not to go out to sea into the teeth of a storm.
2 Or she. I couldn’t tell. From now on, I’ll just refer to Dale as a he. Interesting story; I named him Dale after a pet squirrel that used to live in a tree outside my bedroom window. Actually, Dale (the squirrel) wasn’t really a pet. He was more of an acquaintance.
3 I think it was by accident. We never got a chance to discuss his motivation.
4 I have to assume that he was mad. I would have been.
5 On second thought, I wouldn’t try to imagine it if I were you.
6 This would make Dale the longest creature ever to swim the seas. But my vision isn’t the best and my state of mind at the time was iffy. Don’t take my word for it.
7 Whales don’t have ears.
8 I don’t even know where they got the pitchforks. Who sells pitchforks these days?
9 I guess this pelican had made a lot of enemies in this town.
10 Curiously, all of the envelopes were similar in size to the one which held your birthday card, although of different colors.
11 Again, you’d be better off not imagining it.
12 Where else?
13 I found the name odd, but who am I to judge?
14 There is a Manley Hotel on the outskirts too, but it’s more of a Bed and Breakfast Inn and I don’t like breakfast
15 This is not what you think. No one jumps over a Yellow School Bus. It’s named poorly. It’s actually a contest where Yellow School Bus drivers attempt to jump over Springley Creek. Apparently, no one has ever jumped Springly Creek successfully in a Yellow School Bus. The driver that came closest to accomplishing the feat was one Tommy Wobbleton from Cherry Hill, New Jersey. The front wheels of his bus landed on the opposite side but stuck in the mud, causing the rest of the bus to fold up like an accordion.
16 It all started long ago when the town was incorporated. As you can imagine, some of the townsfolk have a very strident opinion that the town should be named Manley, Arkansas
17 I was on a bus. The bus was on the road.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Thursday, September 24, 2009
The Pelican
A boy stood at the end of a small rock jetty, fishing. Beside him was a small pail. The late afternoon sky was gray and the air was growing colder. Between casts of his small rod, the boy's shoulders trembled as he cried freely, shivering in a gathering mist. Above him soared a pelican. Around and around, the bird circled the boy, watching. With a tiny tilt of his wings he angled toward the rocks and the boy. He lit beside the pail and looked inside. He waddled in front of the boy who, to this point, had taken no notice of his presence.
“Hello, Small Man. I see you fish."
"I fish also."
"I will be fishing for my dinner very soon."
"You have caught three already. You must leave some for me."
“Do you not speak? Can you not hear me?”
The boy continued to sob quietly. He reeled in his line again and recast.
“You do not need to cry. The ocean is salty enough."
"Perhaps you should tell me why you cry."
"I would like to listen to your story, but listening makes me hungry. May I?”
The boy reached down with his right hand and pulled a fish from his pail, holding it up. He remained silent, staring at his line. The pelican swallowed the fish whole and counted the waves waiting for the boy to speak. Finally, the boy looked down at the bird.
"Me and my Grandpa used to go everywhere together, but now he tells me that he doesn’t always feel good anymore. Dad says he's getting very sick. He can’t drive me to ballgames anymore. He doesn’t wrestle with me anymore. Sometimes he forgets things. This morning he couldn’t remember my name.”
The tears started again.
“Getting old is not easy. I know. Soon will come the day that I will make my last dive. Could I have another?”
The boy held up another fish. The pelican gulped greedily. “Go on.”
“I’m scared.”
“If you are afraid he will not be with you much longer, why do you fish alone?"
The boy blinked and strained his eyes to stop the tears as he considered the question. He stared far out to sea, where the clouds touched the water. He remembered his grandfather's sailing lessons and the afternoons sailing the bounding main in his small boat pretending to be pirates. He remembered his first baseball game with his father and grandfather and how beautiful and green the grass was. He remembered looking up at both of them as they cheered, wanting to grow up to be just like them. He remembered every secret gift that his grandfather had given him and every hug that had made him feel so safe and warm and happy.
"Think how lonely he must feel. You should be with him now. I would be happier if I had a friend like you with me all of the time. I spend my all my days alone now. Are you going to eat that?” the pelican asked, pointing a wing at the last fish.
The boy fed him again. “You're right. I shouldn't be afraid. He needs me." The boy picked up his now empty pail and smiled at the pelican.
"I should go now. Do you talk to everyone?”
“I have never had the desire to speak before. Will you come back here again tomorrow? Listening is hungry work, but I find that fishing is harder.”
“Then I will come back tomorrow, if you need me to.”
“I would like that. Do not forget your fishing stick, Small Man."
"I won't. Who knows? Maybe, Grandpa can join us."
“Hello, Small Man. I see you fish."
"I fish also."
"I will be fishing for my dinner very soon."
"You have caught three already. You must leave some for me."
“Do you not speak? Can you not hear me?”
The boy continued to sob quietly. He reeled in his line again and recast.
“You do not need to cry. The ocean is salty enough."
"Perhaps you should tell me why you cry."
"I would like to listen to your story, but listening makes me hungry. May I?”
The boy reached down with his right hand and pulled a fish from his pail, holding it up. He remained silent, staring at his line. The pelican swallowed the fish whole and counted the waves waiting for the boy to speak. Finally, the boy looked down at the bird.
"Me and my Grandpa used to go everywhere together, but now he tells me that he doesn’t always feel good anymore. Dad says he's getting very sick. He can’t drive me to ballgames anymore. He doesn’t wrestle with me anymore. Sometimes he forgets things. This morning he couldn’t remember my name.”
The tears started again.
“Getting old is not easy. I know. Soon will come the day that I will make my last dive. Could I have another?”
The boy held up another fish. The pelican gulped greedily. “Go on.”
“I’m scared.”
“If you are afraid he will not be with you much longer, why do you fish alone?"
The boy blinked and strained his eyes to stop the tears as he considered the question. He stared far out to sea, where the clouds touched the water. He remembered his grandfather's sailing lessons and the afternoons sailing the bounding main in his small boat pretending to be pirates. He remembered his first baseball game with his father and grandfather and how beautiful and green the grass was. He remembered looking up at both of them as they cheered, wanting to grow up to be just like them. He remembered every secret gift that his grandfather had given him and every hug that had made him feel so safe and warm and happy.
"Think how lonely he must feel. You should be with him now. I would be happier if I had a friend like you with me all of the time. I spend my all my days alone now. Are you going to eat that?” the pelican asked, pointing a wing at the last fish.
The boy fed him again. “You're right. I shouldn't be afraid. He needs me." The boy picked up his now empty pail and smiled at the pelican.
"I should go now. Do you talk to everyone?”
“I have never had the desire to speak before. Will you come back here again tomorrow? Listening is hungry work, but I find that fishing is harder.”
“Then I will come back tomorrow, if you need me to.”
“I would like that. Do not forget your fishing stick, Small Man."
"I won't. Who knows? Maybe, Grandpa can join us."
Saturday, July 11, 2009
A Longer, But Nevertheless Short Story
The touch of a breeze prodded him toward wakefulness. He resisted, preferring to remain comfortable and oblivious to the real world. Despite his best efforts to ignore it, the breeze insisted on rousing him. One by one, his senses turned against him. The cool breeze tickled his bare back inducing a shiver, a marked difference from the sultry heat of the Grecian summer day. He took a deep breath and filled his lungs with night air, tasting and smelling the sea. The couple had spent the afternoon of the last full day of their vacation making slow, deeply satisfying love. He smiled, reveling in the feeling of relaxation and contentment that filled his heart and mind.
Fully awake now, he rolled over to find her missing from their bed. Eyes adjusting to the darkness of the hotel room, he found the candles extinguished. The light of a full moon entered through the French doors, which lead to the balcony. Silhouetted in soft, glorious moonlight was his reason for living. There was a woman’s body in all its lush and delicious glory. Her naked form triggered memories of sensations that he had never known before and sparked feelings that charged his soul with the fulfillment of pure and exquisite happiness.
He watched her for some time, admiring the curves and contours that never failed to ignite his passion. The aura of light provided by the moon outlined his love as she leaned against the door’s frame.
“Breathtaking,” he said.
She agreed, nodding without turning. “It’s so beautiful here.”
The breeze returned to lift the curtains and he silently thanked whichever Greek goddess controlled the wind, for granting him the opportunity to experience such an ethereal and matchless vision of his own goddess. He stretched and rose from the bed. Padding across the floor, he encircled her body in his arms and kissed her shoulder. She leaned back into his chest and purred. As usual, the contact burned them. She spun to look up into his eyes and he inclined his head for a kiss. Noticing a tear on her freckled cheek, he paused. He held her face in his hands and tenderly kissed her lips.
“What’s wrong? How can you be crying, when I am so happy?”
“I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to go back to my job and I don’t want to go back to our house. I want to stay here with you and eat, sleep, and make love until we grow old.”
Her eyes sparkled, searching his own for confirmation of the understanding of her seriousness. He recognized the sadness in her voice and tried to give her what she wanted.
“This has been the most amazing experience of my life. I don’t want it to end either. I don’t want to think about going home tonight.”
She walked to the balcony’s rail and looked out over the town. He sensed that he had not said the right thing. He joined her, held her hand, and together they listened to the sounds of the nightlife below them. The pulse of the nightclub on the corner drew their attention. A small crowd milled outside on the street. Blessed with the energy of youth and unburdened with responsibility, they reveled in each other; a gang of happy rebels drinking in their freedom and singing to the moon.
The couple had found that the disco was one of a very few establishments open after hours. The working people of Tsalikos made their living off the Aegean. It seemed the whole of the adult population was involved in the catch or the sale of the sea’s bounty. As a tourist destination, the village lacked many of the amenities and attractions that drew travelers. There was no beach to speak of. The nightlife was sparse, except on the weekends. Yet, they had fallen in love with the pace and simplicity. It was a welcome respite from the stress and weariness that came, part and parcel, with the vibrancy and energy of their New York lifestyle.
They had found the people to be universally friendly. The language barrier, which was a concern when they arrived, proved to be a small matter. Everywhere they went, they received a lesson in Greek. He took notes, when possible, of the phrases they learned and the names of the townspeople. They were obviously foreigners, being the only inhabitants with fair skin. But, due entirely to her openly friendly manner and her natural charm, they were treated like long-lost relatives. As they walked through town every day, it was as if she had a magical aura that drew out the goodness from everyone they met to add to her own and then reflected it back.
Every day, a different woman would take his hand and berate him, all the while pointing at her. Their meaning was unmistakable. He must devote the rest of his life to making her happy. The men would tell him, sometimes in broken English, that he would be a fool not marry her. He too, was caught under her spell and he agreed totally and enthusiastically with everyone they met. The town had captivated them.
A couple in the street below shouted goodbye to their friends and began to walk up the street toward the lovers’ hotel. They watched the couple approach, holding hands, deep in conversation. They stopped, kissed once quickly and broke up; as if afraid that someone would catch them. The woman began to walk away, but the man held his ground and her hand, pulling her close again. This time the kiss was long and thorough. The pair above watched the younger couple’s kissing grow more and more passionate.
Inexplicably, the man broke the embrace and looked up directly at the lovers. The woman followed his gaze upward. The young couple waved to them, seeming not to care that another couple was spying on their private moment; and nude no less. The young man called up to them. The only word that the man recognized was happy. He called back down in English, “Yes, yes, very happy.” The young couple laughed and waved once more. They were on their way once more.
“What was he saying?” she asked.
“All that I understood was happy. I told him we were very happy. We are, aren’t we?” She spun in his arms, not wanting to break contact.
She looked worried, “I feel like this is the end of something. We are going to go home tomorrow and we’ll never feel this way again. If we come back for a week or two weeks next year, we’ll be trying so hard to re-live it, it won’t be real. I can’t explain it.”
“I understand what you’re saying.”
“You say you understand, but it doesn’t seem to bother you. I’m terrified. How can you be so casual about it?” She shrugged his hands off her shoulders and her green eyes flashed, challenging him.
Suddenly, he remembered that he was naked and the breeze, no longer his ally, chilled him. She paused, waiting for a response. He remained silent, amazed at how fast a blissful evening together had turned into acrimony. She turned on her heel and left the balcony leaving him to search his feelings for an answer.
His sometimes blasé attitude was a source of extreme frustration for her. She was a woman of intense emotion that gave unconditionally to the relationship. She knew in her heart that he was passionately, deeply in love with her. But, it seemed to her that he still had not reached the point where he thought of himself no longer as a man in love, but as half of one being, as part of something greater than a couple sharing a bed and a home. She knew what was possible. Her heart told her that it was inside him. She had already committed her heart and it frustrated her, waiting for him to break through whatever barrier kept him from sharing in the ultimate surrender that comes with true love.
She walked to the bathroom and began to draw a bath. As she eased herself into the tub, she worried that he would never be able to match the intensity of her feelings. It was rare to find a man that could recognize his feelings, let alone express them. After two years together, she had hoped he would open up, but perhaps she expected too much. She smiled, despite these thoughts, reminding herself how he had grown so much already. The hot water helped to calm her. She closed her eyes. He did have so many excellent qualities. Not the least of which was his talent to give her so much pleasure. He never frustrated her in that regard. She thought to herself, “I do love that man.”
Left alone, gazing out toward the sea, he decided to give her space. The moon was huge, painting a shining streak on the water pointing directly toward him, a luminous accusing finger. He knew what bothered her. They had quarreled before about his lack of emotion. In the times that required him to speak about his feelings for her, he always froze or said the wrong thing entirely. His awkward silences when she needed honesty and sensitivity bothered him as well. Here he had a woman that could make him happier than he had ever been in his life with a smile or a touch of her hand and he held something back. He was a mature, intelligent man, but he still did not know everything about himself. Why couldn’t he find the piece inside himself that would complete the man she deserved?
He went back inside and dragged a chair out to the balcony. Sitting, he put his head in his hands and sighed. The day had started out so well. They had woken up in the late morning. They had no plans. After a small breakfast and a strong coffee for her at the hotel, they took to the streets, hand in hand. They stopped at the market to say hello to the woman who sold hand-made jewelry as they had done every day since buying one of her pieces. She kissed and hugged them both and beamed like it was their wedding day and she was the proud mother of the bride.
……………….
They had decided to make an effort to traverse the town saying their goodbyes to all of their new relatives. By lunchtime, they had kissed dozens of aunts and uncles, sisters and brothers. He again wondered at her gift for bringing joy to everyone she met. They stopped on the pier and he sat on a bench while she walked toward the water and flirted with a boat full of fishermen, recently returned from the sea. She wore a thin sun dress and he was pleased, and not at all surprised, to find the sun shining through her dress revealing every curve of her body. His desire for her was so strong and his faith in her devotion to him so absolute that he laughed as she twirled for the fishermen, teasing them. They had completely abandoned their business and were obviously desperately pleading for her attention. She shook her finger to say no, turned her back and sashayed back to him on the bench, sitting on his lap. The sailors whistled and shouted good-naturedly as she kissed him. He loved her for her playfulness, for her thoughtfulness, and for her power to drive him wild with desire.
He stood up with her in his arms and carried her away. She waved one more time to her victims and nuzzled his neck with her lips. He carried her for a long way along the dock to the restaurant where they had eaten their first night in town. As was the case with all restaurants in Tsalikos, the specialty of the house was seafood. In contrast to their first experience there, there were only a few tables occupied. They were seated at a table near a window. They ordered a grilled fish dish that came with a Greek salad, cheese and bread. A young waiter returned with their food and pulled up a chair.
“You are American,” he said to the man. “But, you,” as he turned to her, “are definitely not from America. I would guess you were from Heaven.”
She laughed and nodded, “That is remarkable. What gave it away?”
“Your unearthly beauty, of course. A woman more beautiful than any Greek woman must be an angel.”
She smiled at the compliment. “I admit that Greek women are very attractive, but they can’t compare with the angels. I have to admit to you that I’m no angel though. Ask him.”
Ignoring the man, the waiter said, “I will concede because my judgment is so powerfully affected by your beauty.”
The man decided to make his presence known. He held up his glass and said, “More wine, please, before our food gets cold.” The waiter turned his head to glance at him only for a moment before returning his gaze to her.
She added, “I’d like some more water also.” After the waiter left, embarrassed, she scolded him playfully. “That was not necessary. He was only flirting.”
“I’m not bothered by the flirting. I really wanted more wine. You must hear how beautiful you are from me more than enough. He was too young for you anyway.”
She smiled and began to eat. For a time, they ate in silence. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world,” he said. “I just thought I’d say it one more time in case you had forgotten.”
“Now I have heard it enough for today. Eat your fish so we can go home.”
The young waiter did not return with the water and the wine, but an older gentleman did. His accent was heavier, but he spoke English quite well. “Your wine, sir.” He filled their water glasses as well. I want to apologize for my son’s behavior. He believes himself to be a world-class playboy. May I sit?”
“Please do. Tell me how you speak English so well,” said the man. “We haven’t heard it spoken by many here in Tsalikos.”
“I learned when I was in the Navy. I grew up here, but I spent time in many ports for many years. The Americans always told the most interesting stories. I love a good story. My son went to university in Kentucky and now he fancies himself a world traveler. He also reads too many romance novels. Do you like the fish?”
She said, “It’s wonderful. Are you the chef as well?”
“My wife is our chef. I am not allowed to cook. It is my job to make the customers welcome. If you would give me a good review, I would consider it a great favor,” he asked, bowing.
The man assured him, “Your job is secure. Let your wife know that we feel as welcome as we would feel in my own mother’s house.”
“Enjoy your lunch now, please. We have bothered you enough. Eat.” He left them alone.
It was past two now and there were no other diners left in the restaurant. The couple finished their lunch over pleasant conversation with an undertone of sadness. They avoided the topic of returning home, but it hovered around them, threatening to ruin a glorious day.
At that time, the whole family emerged from the back. The father held a bottle in his hand and the chef carried a tray with five glasses. The son cleared the table without saying a word. “May I present my wife and the owner of this establishment, Maria?” The couple rose and the man shook her hand.
“Thank you for a wonderful meal”, he said.
“You will have dessert and a drink with us, please?” she asked.
“We would be glad to,” replied the woman, reaching for hand. “What are we drinking to?”
“We drink to Greece. We drink to family and we drink to new friends. Spiros, pour please.” Instead of shaking her hand the mother hugged the woman. She turned to the man and pointed to his lover, “This one is well built. I hope you stay in shape. She will wear you out.”
“Dmitri!” she shouted. “Bring out the cake. And stop sulking. You couldn’t handle this one anyway.”
They all laughed and eventually Dmitri joined them carrying a small cake cut in slices. Spiros pulled up a chair for his wife and they all sat around a table with full glasses of ouzo in front of them. For two hours they shared stories of the Greek Navy, of America, of the history of Tsalikos, and of the world around them. They talked about politics, religion, and fishing. After the second bottle of ouzo was finished, it was time to prepare the restaurant for the dinner crowd. The couple stood up, somewhat shakily, and hugged everyone goodbye.
Maria whispered something in the woman’s ear and she nodded conspiratorially in agreement. Giving the man a knowing look she blew him a kiss before disappearing back into the kitchen. Spiros held his shoulders with strong hands and kissed both his cheeks. “Live well, my friend.” He shook the man’s hand and then put his arm around Dmitri, “We must go back to work now, Mr. Hefner. Say goodbye to the nice Americans.”
Dmitri shook the man’s hand and kissed hers. “It is said that the Trojan War was fought over a woman. Helen was an ugly crone compared to you. If all women in America are as beautiful as you, I will kiss my parents goodbye this afternoon and sail tonight.”
She accepted his compliments gracefully, “I believe that you would have no problem finding a woman in America. You are very charming and also very young. But, I have a feeling that the women of Tsalikos would never let you leave.”
Dmitri bowed once again. “I have met my perfect match.” He turned to the man. “You are the luckiest man in Greece.”
He laughed and replied, “I feel so sorry for you. I can’t let you take her from me though. I love her too much.”
From the kitchen they heard Maria shout out for her son and he immediately ran to her call. Spiros put one arm around each of them and ushered them out the door. “It’s 4:30 in the afternoon. You have better things to do.” He winked at them and returned inside.
They blinked in the late afternoon sun and it took them some time to decide on a direction to go. He held her face in his hands and kissed her full lips. Their tongues danced and the street may have been spinning slightly. He broke the kiss and said, “I think it’s time we went home. I feel the need to worship at the feet of my angel.”
“Maybe she will grant you favor if you please her. Lead on. I will follow you wherever you go.”
He took her hand and led her up the street toward the hills and their hotel. She took off her sandals and carried them in her hand. He could not keep his hands off her as they hurried through the streets. When they reached the hotel, he picked her up and carried her up the stairs to their room. She opened the door with her free hand and closed it behind them.
Once inside he released her gently onto the bed. She beckoned for him to lie on top of her. Instead he stood and retrieved a bottle of water. He stood next to the bed and handed her the bottle. “Drink. You won’t be going anywhere for a while.” He was true to his word. The rest of the afternoon was spent making love until they mutually agreed to sleep, but only for an hour or two. Neither was eager for their last day in Greece to end.
……………….
He came into the bathroom while she lay with her eyes closed. Taking the shampoo in his hand he knelt beside the tub. He touched her shoulder and she lifted her head. “Slide under for a second,” he told her. She submerged her head and then rose again from the water allowing him to work the soap into her hair. His fingers massaged her scalp and she began to hum. Her titian hair was what had first attracted her to him and he loved to run his fingers through it. She was only to glad to allow him the pleasure. It was a very sensual experience for her as well. When he was finished, she held her breath and submerged once again. He ran his fingers through her hair one last time under water to rinse and then she rose from the bath like Venus. He helped her step out and he stepped right in. She took a towel and began to dry, watching his muscular body as he washed. Everything was so perfect, so natural right now. Did he feel it too?
She left, returning to the balcony after donning an emerald green silk robe. He followed soon after wearing only a towel. “I’ve been thinking.” He took her hands. Her robe was unsashed and he hesitated, staring at her olive skin in contrast with the robe. Teasing him, she said “You cannot resist me. It is useless to try”.
“I couldn’t agree more,” he laughed. “I don’t want to resist. I have an idea. I’ve been racking my brain asking myself what was wrong with me. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me and everything should be perfect. I need to make a change.”
She waited for him to continue. She pressed against him, loving the heat of his body on her skin. “What is your idea, love?”
He held her shoulders at arm’s length, breaking the contact of their bodies. “Tomorrow, we should leave.” She looked down. He had broken the mood and disappointed her yet again.
“I say we go home, quit our jobs, sell everything we have and come back here to live. We’ll have to learn a little more Greek, of course. We can travel. See the world. We can make love all over Europe. I want to grow old here with you. I’ve never been happier or more peaceful than I am right now. If you don’t want to live here, we can live somewhere else. You decide.”
She looked up at him and poked her finger in his chest. “Are you serious? Tell me. Is this really what you want to do?”
He poked her back. “You tell me. Do you want to give up our life, our family, and our friends in the States and settle here permanently?”
She pushed him back into the chair. “I want one thing. You have to promise that you will make me the happiest woman in the world and fulfill my every desire.”
“It will be my life’s mission. I promise.”
Fully awake now, he rolled over to find her missing from their bed. Eyes adjusting to the darkness of the hotel room, he found the candles extinguished. The light of a full moon entered through the French doors, which lead to the balcony. Silhouetted in soft, glorious moonlight was his reason for living. There was a woman’s body in all its lush and delicious glory. Her naked form triggered memories of sensations that he had never known before and sparked feelings that charged his soul with the fulfillment of pure and exquisite happiness.
He watched her for some time, admiring the curves and contours that never failed to ignite his passion. The aura of light provided by the moon outlined his love as she leaned against the door’s frame.
“Breathtaking,” he said.
She agreed, nodding without turning. “It’s so beautiful here.”
The breeze returned to lift the curtains and he silently thanked whichever Greek goddess controlled the wind, for granting him the opportunity to experience such an ethereal and matchless vision of his own goddess. He stretched and rose from the bed. Padding across the floor, he encircled her body in his arms and kissed her shoulder. She leaned back into his chest and purred. As usual, the contact burned them. She spun to look up into his eyes and he inclined his head for a kiss. Noticing a tear on her freckled cheek, he paused. He held her face in his hands and tenderly kissed her lips.
“What’s wrong? How can you be crying, when I am so happy?”
“I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to go back to my job and I don’t want to go back to our house. I want to stay here with you and eat, sleep, and make love until we grow old.”
Her eyes sparkled, searching his own for confirmation of the understanding of her seriousness. He recognized the sadness in her voice and tried to give her what she wanted.
“This has been the most amazing experience of my life. I don’t want it to end either. I don’t want to think about going home tonight.”
She walked to the balcony’s rail and looked out over the town. He sensed that he had not said the right thing. He joined her, held her hand, and together they listened to the sounds of the nightlife below them. The pulse of the nightclub on the corner drew their attention. A small crowd milled outside on the street. Blessed with the energy of youth and unburdened with responsibility, they reveled in each other; a gang of happy rebels drinking in their freedom and singing to the moon.
The couple had found that the disco was one of a very few establishments open after hours. The working people of Tsalikos made their living off the Aegean. It seemed the whole of the adult population was involved in the catch or the sale of the sea’s bounty. As a tourist destination, the village lacked many of the amenities and attractions that drew travelers. There was no beach to speak of. The nightlife was sparse, except on the weekends. Yet, they had fallen in love with the pace and simplicity. It was a welcome respite from the stress and weariness that came, part and parcel, with the vibrancy and energy of their New York lifestyle.
They had found the people to be universally friendly. The language barrier, which was a concern when they arrived, proved to be a small matter. Everywhere they went, they received a lesson in Greek. He took notes, when possible, of the phrases they learned and the names of the townspeople. They were obviously foreigners, being the only inhabitants with fair skin. But, due entirely to her openly friendly manner and her natural charm, they were treated like long-lost relatives. As they walked through town every day, it was as if she had a magical aura that drew out the goodness from everyone they met to add to her own and then reflected it back.
Every day, a different woman would take his hand and berate him, all the while pointing at her. Their meaning was unmistakable. He must devote the rest of his life to making her happy. The men would tell him, sometimes in broken English, that he would be a fool not marry her. He too, was caught under her spell and he agreed totally and enthusiastically with everyone they met. The town had captivated them.
A couple in the street below shouted goodbye to their friends and began to walk up the street toward the lovers’ hotel. They watched the couple approach, holding hands, deep in conversation. They stopped, kissed once quickly and broke up; as if afraid that someone would catch them. The woman began to walk away, but the man held his ground and her hand, pulling her close again. This time the kiss was long and thorough. The pair above watched the younger couple’s kissing grow more and more passionate.
Inexplicably, the man broke the embrace and looked up directly at the lovers. The woman followed his gaze upward. The young couple waved to them, seeming not to care that another couple was spying on their private moment; and nude no less. The young man called up to them. The only word that the man recognized was happy. He called back down in English, “Yes, yes, very happy.” The young couple laughed and waved once more. They were on their way once more.
“What was he saying?” she asked.
“All that I understood was happy. I told him we were very happy. We are, aren’t we?” She spun in his arms, not wanting to break contact.
She looked worried, “I feel like this is the end of something. We are going to go home tomorrow and we’ll never feel this way again. If we come back for a week or two weeks next year, we’ll be trying so hard to re-live it, it won’t be real. I can’t explain it.”
“I understand what you’re saying.”
“You say you understand, but it doesn’t seem to bother you. I’m terrified. How can you be so casual about it?” She shrugged his hands off her shoulders and her green eyes flashed, challenging him.
Suddenly, he remembered that he was naked and the breeze, no longer his ally, chilled him. She paused, waiting for a response. He remained silent, amazed at how fast a blissful evening together had turned into acrimony. She turned on her heel and left the balcony leaving him to search his feelings for an answer.
His sometimes blasé attitude was a source of extreme frustration for her. She was a woman of intense emotion that gave unconditionally to the relationship. She knew in her heart that he was passionately, deeply in love with her. But, it seemed to her that he still had not reached the point where he thought of himself no longer as a man in love, but as half of one being, as part of something greater than a couple sharing a bed and a home. She knew what was possible. Her heart told her that it was inside him. She had already committed her heart and it frustrated her, waiting for him to break through whatever barrier kept him from sharing in the ultimate surrender that comes with true love.
She walked to the bathroom and began to draw a bath. As she eased herself into the tub, she worried that he would never be able to match the intensity of her feelings. It was rare to find a man that could recognize his feelings, let alone express them. After two years together, she had hoped he would open up, but perhaps she expected too much. She smiled, despite these thoughts, reminding herself how he had grown so much already. The hot water helped to calm her. She closed her eyes. He did have so many excellent qualities. Not the least of which was his talent to give her so much pleasure. He never frustrated her in that regard. She thought to herself, “I do love that man.”
Left alone, gazing out toward the sea, he decided to give her space. The moon was huge, painting a shining streak on the water pointing directly toward him, a luminous accusing finger. He knew what bothered her. They had quarreled before about his lack of emotion. In the times that required him to speak about his feelings for her, he always froze or said the wrong thing entirely. His awkward silences when she needed honesty and sensitivity bothered him as well. Here he had a woman that could make him happier than he had ever been in his life with a smile or a touch of her hand and he held something back. He was a mature, intelligent man, but he still did not know everything about himself. Why couldn’t he find the piece inside himself that would complete the man she deserved?
He went back inside and dragged a chair out to the balcony. Sitting, he put his head in his hands and sighed. The day had started out so well. They had woken up in the late morning. They had no plans. After a small breakfast and a strong coffee for her at the hotel, they took to the streets, hand in hand. They stopped at the market to say hello to the woman who sold hand-made jewelry as they had done every day since buying one of her pieces. She kissed and hugged them both and beamed like it was their wedding day and she was the proud mother of the bride.
……………….
They had decided to make an effort to traverse the town saying their goodbyes to all of their new relatives. By lunchtime, they had kissed dozens of aunts and uncles, sisters and brothers. He again wondered at her gift for bringing joy to everyone she met. They stopped on the pier and he sat on a bench while she walked toward the water and flirted with a boat full of fishermen, recently returned from the sea. She wore a thin sun dress and he was pleased, and not at all surprised, to find the sun shining through her dress revealing every curve of her body. His desire for her was so strong and his faith in her devotion to him so absolute that he laughed as she twirled for the fishermen, teasing them. They had completely abandoned their business and were obviously desperately pleading for her attention. She shook her finger to say no, turned her back and sashayed back to him on the bench, sitting on his lap. The sailors whistled and shouted good-naturedly as she kissed him. He loved her for her playfulness, for her thoughtfulness, and for her power to drive him wild with desire.
He stood up with her in his arms and carried her away. She waved one more time to her victims and nuzzled his neck with her lips. He carried her for a long way along the dock to the restaurant where they had eaten their first night in town. As was the case with all restaurants in Tsalikos, the specialty of the house was seafood. In contrast to their first experience there, there were only a few tables occupied. They were seated at a table near a window. They ordered a grilled fish dish that came with a Greek salad, cheese and bread. A young waiter returned with their food and pulled up a chair.
“You are American,” he said to the man. “But, you,” as he turned to her, “are definitely not from America. I would guess you were from Heaven.”
She laughed and nodded, “That is remarkable. What gave it away?”
“Your unearthly beauty, of course. A woman more beautiful than any Greek woman must be an angel.”
She smiled at the compliment. “I admit that Greek women are very attractive, but they can’t compare with the angels. I have to admit to you that I’m no angel though. Ask him.”
Ignoring the man, the waiter said, “I will concede because my judgment is so powerfully affected by your beauty.”
The man decided to make his presence known. He held up his glass and said, “More wine, please, before our food gets cold.” The waiter turned his head to glance at him only for a moment before returning his gaze to her.
She added, “I’d like some more water also.” After the waiter left, embarrassed, she scolded him playfully. “That was not necessary. He was only flirting.”
“I’m not bothered by the flirting. I really wanted more wine. You must hear how beautiful you are from me more than enough. He was too young for you anyway.”
She smiled and began to eat. For a time, they ate in silence. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world,” he said. “I just thought I’d say it one more time in case you had forgotten.”
“Now I have heard it enough for today. Eat your fish so we can go home.”
The young waiter did not return with the water and the wine, but an older gentleman did. His accent was heavier, but he spoke English quite well. “Your wine, sir.” He filled their water glasses as well. I want to apologize for my son’s behavior. He believes himself to be a world-class playboy. May I sit?”
“Please do. Tell me how you speak English so well,” said the man. “We haven’t heard it spoken by many here in Tsalikos.”
“I learned when I was in the Navy. I grew up here, but I spent time in many ports for many years. The Americans always told the most interesting stories. I love a good story. My son went to university in Kentucky and now he fancies himself a world traveler. He also reads too many romance novels. Do you like the fish?”
She said, “It’s wonderful. Are you the chef as well?”
“My wife is our chef. I am not allowed to cook. It is my job to make the customers welcome. If you would give me a good review, I would consider it a great favor,” he asked, bowing.
The man assured him, “Your job is secure. Let your wife know that we feel as welcome as we would feel in my own mother’s house.”
“Enjoy your lunch now, please. We have bothered you enough. Eat.” He left them alone.
It was past two now and there were no other diners left in the restaurant. The couple finished their lunch over pleasant conversation with an undertone of sadness. They avoided the topic of returning home, but it hovered around them, threatening to ruin a glorious day.
At that time, the whole family emerged from the back. The father held a bottle in his hand and the chef carried a tray with five glasses. The son cleared the table without saying a word. “May I present my wife and the owner of this establishment, Maria?” The couple rose and the man shook her hand.
“Thank you for a wonderful meal”, he said.
“You will have dessert and a drink with us, please?” she asked.
“We would be glad to,” replied the woman, reaching for hand. “What are we drinking to?”
“We drink to Greece. We drink to family and we drink to new friends. Spiros, pour please.” Instead of shaking her hand the mother hugged the woman. She turned to the man and pointed to his lover, “This one is well built. I hope you stay in shape. She will wear you out.”
“Dmitri!” she shouted. “Bring out the cake. And stop sulking. You couldn’t handle this one anyway.”
They all laughed and eventually Dmitri joined them carrying a small cake cut in slices. Spiros pulled up a chair for his wife and they all sat around a table with full glasses of ouzo in front of them. For two hours they shared stories of the Greek Navy, of America, of the history of Tsalikos, and of the world around them. They talked about politics, religion, and fishing. After the second bottle of ouzo was finished, it was time to prepare the restaurant for the dinner crowd. The couple stood up, somewhat shakily, and hugged everyone goodbye.
Maria whispered something in the woman’s ear and she nodded conspiratorially in agreement. Giving the man a knowing look she blew him a kiss before disappearing back into the kitchen. Spiros held his shoulders with strong hands and kissed both his cheeks. “Live well, my friend.” He shook the man’s hand and then put his arm around Dmitri, “We must go back to work now, Mr. Hefner. Say goodbye to the nice Americans.”
Dmitri shook the man’s hand and kissed hers. “It is said that the Trojan War was fought over a woman. Helen was an ugly crone compared to you. If all women in America are as beautiful as you, I will kiss my parents goodbye this afternoon and sail tonight.”
She accepted his compliments gracefully, “I believe that you would have no problem finding a woman in America. You are very charming and also very young. But, I have a feeling that the women of Tsalikos would never let you leave.”
Dmitri bowed once again. “I have met my perfect match.” He turned to the man. “You are the luckiest man in Greece.”
He laughed and replied, “I feel so sorry for you. I can’t let you take her from me though. I love her too much.”
From the kitchen they heard Maria shout out for her son and he immediately ran to her call. Spiros put one arm around each of them and ushered them out the door. “It’s 4:30 in the afternoon. You have better things to do.” He winked at them and returned inside.
They blinked in the late afternoon sun and it took them some time to decide on a direction to go. He held her face in his hands and kissed her full lips. Their tongues danced and the street may have been spinning slightly. He broke the kiss and said, “I think it’s time we went home. I feel the need to worship at the feet of my angel.”
“Maybe she will grant you favor if you please her. Lead on. I will follow you wherever you go.”
He took her hand and led her up the street toward the hills and their hotel. She took off her sandals and carried them in her hand. He could not keep his hands off her as they hurried through the streets. When they reached the hotel, he picked her up and carried her up the stairs to their room. She opened the door with her free hand and closed it behind them.
Once inside he released her gently onto the bed. She beckoned for him to lie on top of her. Instead he stood and retrieved a bottle of water. He stood next to the bed and handed her the bottle. “Drink. You won’t be going anywhere for a while.” He was true to his word. The rest of the afternoon was spent making love until they mutually agreed to sleep, but only for an hour or two. Neither was eager for their last day in Greece to end.
……………….
He came into the bathroom while she lay with her eyes closed. Taking the shampoo in his hand he knelt beside the tub. He touched her shoulder and she lifted her head. “Slide under for a second,” he told her. She submerged her head and then rose again from the water allowing him to work the soap into her hair. His fingers massaged her scalp and she began to hum. Her titian hair was what had first attracted her to him and he loved to run his fingers through it. She was only to glad to allow him the pleasure. It was a very sensual experience for her as well. When he was finished, she held her breath and submerged once again. He ran his fingers through her hair one last time under water to rinse and then she rose from the bath like Venus. He helped her step out and he stepped right in. She took a towel and began to dry, watching his muscular body as he washed. Everything was so perfect, so natural right now. Did he feel it too?
She left, returning to the balcony after donning an emerald green silk robe. He followed soon after wearing only a towel. “I’ve been thinking.” He took her hands. Her robe was unsashed and he hesitated, staring at her olive skin in contrast with the robe. Teasing him, she said “You cannot resist me. It is useless to try”.
“I couldn’t agree more,” he laughed. “I don’t want to resist. I have an idea. I’ve been racking my brain asking myself what was wrong with me. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me and everything should be perfect. I need to make a change.”
She waited for him to continue. She pressed against him, loving the heat of his body on her skin. “What is your idea, love?”
He held her shoulders at arm’s length, breaking the contact of their bodies. “Tomorrow, we should leave.” She looked down. He had broken the mood and disappointed her yet again.
“I say we go home, quit our jobs, sell everything we have and come back here to live. We’ll have to learn a little more Greek, of course. We can travel. See the world. We can make love all over Europe. I want to grow old here with you. I’ve never been happier or more peaceful than I am right now. If you don’t want to live here, we can live somewhere else. You decide.”
She looked up at him and poked her finger in his chest. “Are you serious? Tell me. Is this really what you want to do?”
He poked her back. “You tell me. Do you want to give up our life, our family, and our friends in the States and settle here permanently?”
She pushed him back into the chair. “I want one thing. You have to promise that you will make me the happiest woman in the world and fulfill my every desire.”
“It will be my life’s mission. I promise.”
A Very Short Story
Ace struggled with a dilemma. The easiest option, for him, would result in a small amount of remorse, but have the benefit of a few dollars in his pocket. Unfortunately, in his estimation, the rest of the residents of his apartment building would probably find the resulting homelessness and total loss of their personal property distressing, to say the least.
There was no financial advantage to option B unless Mr. Haynes had some cash stored in an easily discovered location. Other drawbacks were a very small chance of injury to his person and some physical exertion on his part. The good news was that, for almost everyone involved, life would go on as normal, he and his blackmailing landlord being the only exceptions. Both options carried the risk of prosecution under the law, but Ace was already familiar with that burden on his soul.
The night had not brought any respite from the sweltering heat that had steamed the city all day. He was supposed to be uptown at Mr. Haynes’ apartment to get the money he needed for supplies. Ace didn’t like appointments. It was now 11:30. He sat clad in boxer shorts, tee shirt and athletic socks on the only piece of furniture in the only room of his squalid apartment, a red reclining chair. In the darkness, he turned the questions over in his mind. He decided to put off his meeting until the morning. Raising the footrest, he made his bed. Next door, Mrs. Feeney turned off her TV. The toilet flushed moments later. He was left with only the usual sounds of traffic and the whirr of the ceiling fan for company.
The rising of the sun wasn’t going eliminate the risk that his secret might be exposed. The longer he waited the greater the chance that someone would find out about his sins. The landlord had explained that if Ace followed through with his instructions, neither of them would have any reason to turn the other in. Life would go on for them in a perfect balance of guilt and mistrust. It sounded reasonable at the time.
Five minutes passed slowly. Ace reached down and pulled up on the lever of the chair. He said aloud to himself, “Option B it is. Why put it off till morning?” He rose to find his pants. After hopping into his jeans, he stepped into his sneakers, twisting his heels into place. He walked into the kitchenette, reached into the toaster oven and pulled out his gun. Despite the heat, he took a jacket to hide his weapon and left his apartment.
There was no financial advantage to option B unless Mr. Haynes had some cash stored in an easily discovered location. Other drawbacks were a very small chance of injury to his person and some physical exertion on his part. The good news was that, for almost everyone involved, life would go on as normal, he and his blackmailing landlord being the only exceptions. Both options carried the risk of prosecution under the law, but Ace was already familiar with that burden on his soul.
The night had not brought any respite from the sweltering heat that had steamed the city all day. He was supposed to be uptown at Mr. Haynes’ apartment to get the money he needed for supplies. Ace didn’t like appointments. It was now 11:30. He sat clad in boxer shorts, tee shirt and athletic socks on the only piece of furniture in the only room of his squalid apartment, a red reclining chair. In the darkness, he turned the questions over in his mind. He decided to put off his meeting until the morning. Raising the footrest, he made his bed. Next door, Mrs. Feeney turned off her TV. The toilet flushed moments later. He was left with only the usual sounds of traffic and the whirr of the ceiling fan for company.
The rising of the sun wasn’t going eliminate the risk that his secret might be exposed. The longer he waited the greater the chance that someone would find out about his sins. The landlord had explained that if Ace followed through with his instructions, neither of them would have any reason to turn the other in. Life would go on for them in a perfect balance of guilt and mistrust. It sounded reasonable at the time.
Five minutes passed slowly. Ace reached down and pulled up on the lever of the chair. He said aloud to himself, “Option B it is. Why put it off till morning?” He rose to find his pants. After hopping into his jeans, he stepped into his sneakers, twisting his heels into place. He walked into the kitchenette, reached into the toaster oven and pulled out his gun. Despite the heat, he took a jacket to hide his weapon and left his apartment.
Graduation Ramblings
Graduation time has rolled around again. My oldest graduates next year, but I know many of the young men and women leaving Agawam High School for the last time next month. I’d like to wish them all well and good luck wherever life takes them.
Thirty-one years ago, I spoke for the AHS class of 1978 at our graduation as President of the National Honor Society. I remember very little about the speech itself. I had put almost one half-derriere of effort into its crafting and Mrs. Hamilton our Senior advisor, upon reading it, sighed and shook her head. She handed it back to me, holding it between her thumb and index finger like a dirty rag of dubious liquidity. She said something like, “That was excruciating, Mark. Simply dreadful.”
Of the ceremony, I recall my name being called and then quickly scurrying back to my seat, but nothing in between. I sincerely regret letting that moment go by with nothing to show for it. Such is the way of many momentous occasions in life. They can pass by before you know it. Too often, we think of the most appropriate thing to say long after the historic has become history. That’s the point of this letter.
My motto is, “Leave it to the professionals”, so I’ve learned to steal from other wordsmiths when I want to illustrate a point. Two songs spring to mind when I think about what High School graduation, and coming of age, is all about. Carlos Santana wrote a song in 1971 called Everything Is Coming Our Way. I interpret the lyrics as a call to join together and celebrate the possibilities of what youth offers. I hope to put off most of what’s coming my way, but you have a responsibility to yourself to seize whatever possibility you want and find out where you can take it.
The other song was written by Mike Scott of an Irish band, the Waterboys, in 1985. This Is the Sea is about the journey we all take in life and how we spend too much time focusing on the daily grind of here and now. We’re all traveling downriver and it seems we concentrate our attention on one bank or the other or upstream at where we’ve been. Most of us float along and enjoy the scenery, but some of us are smart enough to look downstream, steering to avoid the obstacles. We deal with limitations that we impose on ourselves. The message of the song is that we’re all going to be bound by the banks of the river until we reach the limitless sea; hopefully before we’re too old to enjoy it. Ignore Mike’s mixed metaphor in the last verse.
Now I hear there’s a train
Its coming on down the line
It’s yours if you hurry
You’ve got still enough time
And you don’t need no ticket
And you don’t pay no fee
Because that was the river
And this is the sea.
I realize that going back to songs of the Seventies and Eighties for a sentiment relevant to the 2009 Graduating Class is a stretch. I have to assume that today’s popular music contains inspirational messages as well. Please forgive me if I go with what I know. My advice is to set sail. Explore the world and yourself. Just be ready for everything’s that’s coming your way. Agawam will be here when you get back. It never changes.
Anyway, that’s what I meant to say a few years ago. Bon voyage.
Thirty-one years ago, I spoke for the AHS class of 1978 at our graduation as President of the National Honor Society. I remember very little about the speech itself. I had put almost one half-derriere of effort into its crafting and Mrs. Hamilton our Senior advisor, upon reading it, sighed and shook her head. She handed it back to me, holding it between her thumb and index finger like a dirty rag of dubious liquidity. She said something like, “That was excruciating, Mark. Simply dreadful.”
Of the ceremony, I recall my name being called and then quickly scurrying back to my seat, but nothing in between. I sincerely regret letting that moment go by with nothing to show for it. Such is the way of many momentous occasions in life. They can pass by before you know it. Too often, we think of the most appropriate thing to say long after the historic has become history. That’s the point of this letter.
My motto is, “Leave it to the professionals”, so I’ve learned to steal from other wordsmiths when I want to illustrate a point. Two songs spring to mind when I think about what High School graduation, and coming of age, is all about. Carlos Santana wrote a song in 1971 called Everything Is Coming Our Way. I interpret the lyrics as a call to join together and celebrate the possibilities of what youth offers. I hope to put off most of what’s coming my way, but you have a responsibility to yourself to seize whatever possibility you want and find out where you can take it.
The other song was written by Mike Scott of an Irish band, the Waterboys, in 1985. This Is the Sea is about the journey we all take in life and how we spend too much time focusing on the daily grind of here and now. We’re all traveling downriver and it seems we concentrate our attention on one bank or the other or upstream at where we’ve been. Most of us float along and enjoy the scenery, but some of us are smart enough to look downstream, steering to avoid the obstacles. We deal with limitations that we impose on ourselves. The message of the song is that we’re all going to be bound by the banks of the river until we reach the limitless sea; hopefully before we’re too old to enjoy it. Ignore Mike’s mixed metaphor in the last verse.
Now I hear there’s a train
Its coming on down the line
It’s yours if you hurry
You’ve got still enough time
And you don’t need no ticket
And you don’t pay no fee
Because that was the river
And this is the sea.
I realize that going back to songs of the Seventies and Eighties for a sentiment relevant to the 2009 Graduating Class is a stretch. I have to assume that today’s popular music contains inspirational messages as well. Please forgive me if I go with what I know. My advice is to set sail. Explore the world and yourself. Just be ready for everything’s that’s coming your way. Agawam will be here when you get back. It never changes.
Anyway, that’s what I meant to say a few years ago. Bon voyage.
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