Fiction Saturday – Continued
Chapter Two
Beverly knew that Dominic would try to find her. He couldn’t let his wife walk out on him. It just wasn’t done. When he discovered the empty safe in the closet he would go berserk. That was all the cash he had in the world.
To find her he would have to get help. He wasn’t smart enough to do it on his own. But she also knew to whom he would go for that help.
WE WATCHED A MOVIE TODAY. My wife, the lovely and healing up nicely, Dawn, and I turned on Netflix or Amazon Prime, or one of the other 7,375 online places you can find movies, and we watched, “Concussion.” It is a film that probably should fall into the category of “Docu-Drama,” rather than a straight “drama based – on” movie.
If you haven’t seen it I would urge you to do so. Will Smith is the lead and he has grown up and into a very fine actor. Alec Baldwin and Albert Brooks (of all people) are in the supporting cast.
A FEW DAYS AGO I got into a discussion with an acquaintance about what it is like doing a play in “The Round.”
Theater in the Round is where the stage and the actors are completely surrounded by the audience. There is no formal stage separation with the audience sitting “out there” beyond the footlights. Such an arrangement can create problems for both the performers and the audience members.
EVERY MORNING WHEN I VENTURE OUT into the wilds of St. Arbucks I make a point of switching on my phone. I log into the St. Arbucks server just in case I need to go online. There might be a call to settle a dispute among the Usual Suspects – “The correct answer is ‘Have Gun, Will Travel’.”
WHEN WE WERE CHILDREN we all had fantasies about what we wanted to be when we “grew up.” I wanted to be a cowboy. Dawn wanted to be a Playwright – a rather precocious child. My brother wanted to be a baseball player. In one of my father’s high school yearbooks he listed that his career ambition was to become a “Traveling Silk Stocking Salesman.” I’m sure his mother was thrilled when she saw that. He ended up as a Roofer.
SOME WEEKS ARE BETTER THAN OTHERS. This is not a week I could classify as one of the “better” weeks.
We have had some nasty weather lately that has brought down some tree limbs. I still have volumes to learn about how to properly do a Ponytail. My wife, the lovely and seriously Southpaw, Dawn, is still dealing with the discomfort and frustration of a broken left arm – and we’ve had two members of the church pass away.
This week is one we would just as soon forget, but life won’t let us do that.
You have to stand up and deal with it as it comes. You can deal with it well, or you can deal with it poorly, but you can’t pretend it isn’t there. It is what it is.
Fiction Saturday – Chapter One – Continued
She forgot her ringing ears and ran for the hallway door. He watched her run. There was no need to chase her.
“You can’t outrun a bullet, Beverly.”
Dominic got up from the bed and lurched down the hallway after his wife. He had a deadly coldness in his unsteady step. She was running toward the front door. He raised the chromed pistol and aimed at the back of her head.
As the hammer fell toward the brass cartridge, Beverly dove to her right, into the kitchen. The lump of lead tore into and through the wall into the kitchen. It passed two inches above her head, and dug its way into the refrigerator door.
She screamed, and from the tone, Dominic knew that he had missed.
I’M GOOD AT GROCERY SHOPPING. I’M NOT GOOD AT DANCING.
Everybody has those little slices of life where they excel and others where they stink like the next morning in a fraternity house. No matter how hard we try to master a certain skill it evades us.
For example:
ONE OF THE THINGS I LIKE about going into St. Arbucks for coffee in the morning is that I never know what I’m going to see.
“St. Arbucks is like a box of Forrest Gumps.”
One day it’s filled with tourists just passing through. The next it is an invasion of college athletes in town for a game. Then yet another day and the place is converted into a Daycare Center for stir-crazy, caffeine deficient Mommies and their little children of Beelzebub.
ABOUT SIX OR EIGHT MONTHS AGO I began getting snail mail, E-mail, and text messages from my local Toyota dealer telling me it was time to bring in our car for its 25,000 mile check-up. Because the car had only about 16,000 miles on it at the time I really didn’t pay much attention to their communications.
They didn’t like that.
THE SUN IS SHINING. THE SKY IS BLUE. THE SIGNS ARE ON EVERY POLE.
The other morning while driving the short distance to St. Arbucks I saw four large signs tacked to poles and trees.
“Huge Rummage Sale Today!”
THIS MORNING DOWN AT ST. ARBUCKS the Usual Suspects were deep in conversation. The Heavily Caffeinated Philosophers were arguing about which fast-food chain had the most stores. One said it was McDonalds, another suggested KFC. At least they weren’t discussing something trivial.
Fiction Saturday – “And Pull The Hole In After You” – Chapter One
Chapter One
The paperboy heard the screams all the way from the street. It still bothered him. He knew what was going on. Everybody on Patascat Circle knew. The Deltinos were fighting again.
He’d heard them the first day he’d delivered there. His older brother, Mike, heard them when this was his route. Both boys had seen the Deltinos with swollen lips and black eyes. Mike told him not to say anything, to pretend he didn’t notice. Pretend, just like the rest of Patascat Circle.
I WISH THAT WE COULD HAVE PINCH HITTERS IN REAL LIFE. Just like in Baseball. Wouldn’t it be great if, when a situation arises that you know you won’t handle well, you could send in someone else to deal with it?
For Example –
You’ve been working long and hard on a project and you’re just spent, wiped out – then word comes down that you have to make a detailed presentation to your boss’s boss – in 10 minutes.
“Time out! It looks like someone is coming in to pinch hit.”
Oh, yeah, I like this concept.
WHENEVER WE FLY TO TEXAS we have to go through either Houston or Dallas. Given the choice we’d rather deal with the airport in Houston – mainly because Dallas is the complete and utter Ground Zero for ineptitude, confusion and “No Way To Run A Railroad.”
That doesn’t mean that everything in Houston is sweetness and light. It is just like most other major airports: a mess.
A LITTLE DRIZZLE NEVER HURT ANYBODY. This year on the 4th of July, the day for fireworks and celebration, we had low clouds and misty rain here in Terre Haute (That’s French for, “Has anybody seen my thumb?”).
The larger civic displays were postponed a day or more, hoping for clear skies. The rain, however, didn’t slow down the individual, beer-fueled, ad hoc, displays.
It seems that every year, rain or shine, there are countless people who think that they are qualified to fire off skyrockets and assorted quasi-military grade explosives in their backyards. The more alcohol consumed – the bigger the show.
IT LOOKS LIKE THAT OLD LOTTERY FEVER has hit again in Terre Haute (That’s French for, “No matter what I do it won’t scratch off.”).
The “Mega-Millions” jackpot is about to cross a mathematical minefield. As of a few days ago the top prize will be more than half a billion dollars. Of course, that is before taxes. After all of the various governmental zombies have taken their cut the net will be about $19.95.
“But wait! There’s more!”
IS THERE NO END TO THE “GAME OF THRONES?”
I think it has been going on since before the invention of Television.
My wife, the lovely and Plotline Coordinating, Dawn, and I have been periodically binge watching “Game of Thrones” for years and I have come to realize something:
It doesn’t matter if I miss some episodes, fall asleep, or leave the room while it is on because there is absolutely no continuity to the story – or stories. Plots start, develop, and then disappear in a puff of Dragon fire, never to be seen again.
Fiction Saturday – The Henway Chronicles – Finale.
If you want to see somebody who is anybody at Wilma’s All-Nite Café (Just a knife’s throw from the Embarcadero.) you’ll have to wait until the Moon is high and the Moral Threshold is low.
It was close to 3 AM when I brought Hank O’Hare into Wilma’s. I didn’t need to help him find the door this time. Ever since he got his new eyeglasses from the Optometrist Hank had been like a kid in a Candy Shop. In fact, he told me that he had stopped into a Candy Shop just to enjoy the view. He could see the shapes and colors clearly for the first time since he’d lost his real specs and started buying replacements at the Dollar Store.
I was bringing Hank there to have a face-to-face with Lech Ontario to end their decades long feud over a cow. I figured Ontario would be there, if Wilma hadn’t thrown him out with the trash.
I AGREED TO BE A DELEGATE TO THIS ANNUAL MEETING. I’ve done it before, but this year it has been a real chore. I’m talking about two main reasons that are important to me – and I don’t think I’m alone on this.
These business meeting sessions begin at 10:30 AM – in and of itself not bad, but why is there no coffee available? Is that too much to ask?
I am a severe coffee aficionado and if I don’t get my coffee, people could be in danger. Give me some coffee and I’m sure we can work it all out without bloodshed.
Down the Hall on Your Left 