What The Story Is About

I walk into the coffee shop.  A man stands sweeping the same spot over and over again.  A couple at a nearby table argue quietly, hate in their eyes.  Another man sits in the corner mumbling to himself as he drinks his coffee.  A woman sits at the other end with her laptop and papers spread across the table.  The girl behind the counter gives me a fake smile and asks what she can get for me.

"Small coffee, that's all," I say.  The girl fills a cup and hands it to me.

"One dollar please," she says, her smile long since faded.  I hand her the money.  She puts it in her cash drawer and walks away without another word.

I walk to a table and notice how dirty the floors are.  The table has crumbs on it and is sticky as though it has not been washed in a while.  I am disgusted.  I hate this place, yet I come here every day.

And in walks the reason.  She's a tall brunette, about my age, maybe a year or two younger, but she carries herself like an older woman.  She walks with dignity and grace.  She's dressed just as attractively as ever.  A pair of plain black heels, black leggings that cling to her gorgeous legs, showing off her shapely body.  She wears a long dark gray sweater with a turtle neck and long sleeves.  It goes low, covering her front and rear, giving her a modest appearance, yet it is tight enough to not be what I would say is over-modest.  Her hair is pinned up in a bun in the back, a few curly strands hanging down on the sides.  She smiles at me as she approaches the counter to order her drink.  When she gets it she comes over and sits down next to me, eyeing the table with disgust as much as I.

"How are you?" I ask.

"Good, and you?"  she returns.

"I'm fine Ashley, thank you for asking."  I am being cautious.  I am even surprised she still wants to see me after our last meeting.  "What would you like to talk about today?"

"I don't know...I've sort of been thinking about.....I don't know, maybe meeting in your office?"

"Well I never said we couldn't.  Are you getting tired of this dump?"  She laughs and nods slightly.  The girl behind the counter shoots me a nasty look and goes back to doing whatever she's doing behind the counter.

"I want more privacy...I mean, last time everyone was looking at us and stuff...I didn't like that."

"Me neither Ashley.  I'm glad you agreed to meet again though...I think we're finally making some progress...last meeting's incident was...good, I think.  It shows that we hit a nerve, you might say.  We found something...if you want we should keep talking about your childhood, high school and such...that seems to be where your trouble really started for you."  She is eyeing me as if deciding whether to start screaming at me again, or maybe to cry, or maybe to just talk calmly, as she usually does.  I try to hide the sadness I feel in my heart.  My dear friend, that I've known for eight years has become a patient.

I started counseling four years ago and had been doing an excellent job at it.  It was my successful career, and I enjoyed it.  Helping others was my juice that kept me going.  It was what made life worth living to me.  So I did it.  But when my good friend Ashley had come to me last year, opening up to me a whole side of her I'd never even known had existed, it had put a strain not only on our friendship, but on my life.  I had met Ashley in community college and we had been friends since, even when we went to different schools after.  It was hard, being such good friends with someone, and then finding out so much more, so much more that you wish wasn't there.  It wasn't all at once.  In fact it was probably more my fault.  Because when we had met up for lunch last year I asked her about the cuts on her wrist.  She said they were nothing, and I decided to not push her.  After all, I didn't expect a grown woman to be cutting.  But when she came to me a week later, her wrist cut open and bleeding, I knew there was no avoiding it.  I had to get involved.  Don't get me wrong, I was more than happy to be involved and help her, but what was difficult was that our friendship sort of seemed to stop.  We were no longer friends, but a doctor and his patient.  It was as if I was with a whole different person.  Over months and months of talking about whatever she wanted to, I finally began trying to touch on the topic of her childhood.  She had never ever discussed her family, or anything about high school years and earlier.  If her past was ever brought up, she was always good at changing the subject somehow.  But when I pressed her on it the last time we met, she had become angry.  She began yelling at me, and stormed from the coffee shop, the whole place watching the scene unfold.  I had sat there for a few minutes staring at the table, trying to think of how better to handle the situation.  I had waited a week, and when she hadn't called I called her.  She picked up and agreed to talk, and now we are here.

"I'm scared Monty...I know what it is...but I'm scared to tell you."

"You know you can tell me anything Ash," I take her hand in mine.  This is the first time I have touched her like this in the past year.  I don't know why I do it, but it feels natural, and she seems to respond to it.  She smiles at me and tears begin to form in her eyes.

"Not here..."  she says.

"We can go to the office then," I say.  All my other patients met me in my office, but Ash had never wanted to for some reason, but she never said why.

"No...maybe...you're house?"  she asks with pleading eyes.  I've never taken a patient to my house, or even told any of them where I live.  But Ashley already knows where I live, and she is after all my friend.

"Alright, we can do that," I say.

As we get up to leave a man in a dark hooded sweatshirt comes in.  He pulls a gun and points it at the coffee girl, demanding cash.  He turns to me and Ashley.  I instinctively step in front of her.  The man takes it as a threat and shoots.  The bullet enters my chest, but I feel nothing.  I hear Ashley scream, another gun shot.  More screaming occurs, and I feel a body fall beside me.  Ashley takes my hand and I give it a squeeze before letting go and using my remaining strength to rush at the man.  I tackle him to the ground and wrestle  the gun from his hand.  Before I pass out I manage to pull the trigger, the gun pointing towards the man's heart.

This Is Probably The Longest Title I Have Ever Had For One Of My Blogs

I bet you actually clicked it to see what it was about.  Well hey, I would too, don't feel bad.  Truth is, it isn't about anything, because I can't think of anything to write about.  So I did this, because I wanted to write at least something.

In Charge

Jim stood smoking a cigarette on the corner of the street, leaning casually against a light post.  He wore jeans, some old dirty brown boots, a t-shirt, and a cracked and faded leather jacket.  He had aviators on and a bandanna that covered his face.  He wore a .44 revolver in a holster at his hip.  Two duffle bags sat on either side of him.  The street was empty, save for the few empty cars parked on the side of streets.  Jim looked down at his watch.  It was time.  He dropped his still burning and smoking cigarette on the ground, picked up the bags and walked across the street to the bank.  As he stepped onto the sidewalk a van pulled up right on time, and three men jumped out from the back.  Each man carried a bag.  One man was armed with a shotgun, another with a sub-machine gun, and the last man with a semi-automatic pistol.  The four of them rushed into he bank.  While the other three men rounded everyone up, Jim approached the clerk at the main desk and set the two duffle bags on the counter.  He pointed his .44 right in the man's face.

"Fill the bags now, and do it quickly," he said.  The clerk hurriedly began stuffing stacks of cash into the bags.

Behind him a woman began screaming hysterically.  She would not stop.

"Shut her up damn it," said Jim.

"SHUT UP!"  shouted the man with the pistol.  "I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP."  She would not stop.

"Shut her up NOW!"  shouted Jim, "and give me your bags, we need to get moving."  The man with the shogun threw Jim the other bags.

"SHUT UP!" the man with the pistol was still shouting.  Finally he kicked her over then shot her.

"Damn it dude," said the man with the machine gun, "why don't you call the fuckin' cops yourself?"

Jim was still making sure the clerk was filling the bags with cash.    Once he was finished Jim told them to grab the bags and get moving.  He shot the clerk in the head.

"You, finish up here," he said motioning to the man with the machine gun.  The man nodded.  He turned and shot the rest of the people then ran out and got into the van.  The van driver pressed down the gas and began driving away just as two cop cars came screeching around the corner.  Then the chase began.  Jim opened one side of the back door and grabbing the machine gun began firing at the police.  The police fired back.

"Shit, we're fucked man, we ain't gettin' outta this now!" said the driver.

"Keep driving!" shouted Jim.  The man with the shotgun leaned out the front driver side window and began shooting as well.  When his shotgun was out of ammo he reached into his pocket and pulled out a grenade.  He pulled the pin and threw it right at the front police car.  The grenade broke through the glass and landed in the car.  The cop car exploded and the other car in the back ran into it, spun out and hit another car parked on the street, causing a massive pile up to happen.

"Good one!" said Jim smiling at the man.

They drove away out into the desert, only stopping once they were a good ways away from the town.  They pulled off into a small valley area that used to be a mining facility.  It had been shut down years ago due to a radiation leak, but they were pretty sure it was safe to be down there now.  They were hidden from view and no one would ever come looking for them there.  The five of them got out of the van and began shaking hand and patting each other on the back.

"You all did great," said Jim, "especially you buddy."  He ruffled the driver's hair.  The driver was young, n more than eighteen.  But Jim didn't care.  He stepped back from them all, smiling, then pulled his .44 and quickly shot them all down dead.  He nodded his head and then holstered his gun.  Whistling a merry tune he loaded up the guns and the cash into the second car they had waiting for them there, an SUV, and climbed in and began driving away.

Still whistling he pulled into a gas station a few miles down the road to fill up and grab a few snacks.  He was still dressed the same except he had taken his bandanna off his face.  He pulled up t the pump and stepped out of the car.  It was not uncommon for people to be wearing guns on their hips, so when he walked into the store the middle aged man at the counter smiled and nodded at him.  Jim walked to the drink section and and stared at the different drinks through the glass for a minute.  Finally he opened the case and grabbed a bottle of cola and then walked over to the rack of snacks.  He stood there for another minute.  He grabbed a bag of peanut butter crackers and then approached the counter.  He set his snacks on the counter and pulled out his wallet, taking out a fifty dollar bill.  He set it on the counter.

"What ever is left put on the pump for gas," Jim said in a bored voice.  He felt sluggish.  He almost felt sick.

"Alrighty then," said the store owner with a a smile.  "Alright so it's $2.15 for the cola and crackers, so that leaves $47.85 for the pump."  He began typing the numbers into the machine.  "Did you hear about the bank robbery in Minnot?  It's only about thirty miles up north there.  Bunch of people got murdered in it.  It was just on the radio, the guys were headed down this way in a van.  I'm ready if they show up here."  He nodded towards the corner where a shotgun was leaning against the wall, and he patted his hip where he was holstering a pistol.  "I won't let them get out of here without a fight."

"It's amazing how quickly news gets around," said Jim flatly.

"Oh I know, modern technology is pretty amazing," the man said.  "Alrighty, well here you are, your receipt and the pump is already."  The man handed the paper to Jim happily.  Jim didn't take it, he just kept staring at the owner.  "Um...is everything alright, sir?"

"Why do you think those guys did it?  Why do you think they robbed that bank and murdered those people?"

"Well...I expect it was for the money."

"Yeah, that's what I thought you'd say."  Jim pulled his gun and shot the store owner in the head.  He smiled and walked out to the pump.  He filled the tank and walked back into the store.  he picked up a basket this time and filled it with more food and some water bottles.  "Thank you kindly," he said to the dead owner as he left.  He climbed into the SUV and began driving.

He thought about the gas station owner's answer to his question.  His answer was wrong.  It wasn't about the money.  The money was a perk.  What it really was about was control.  Jim had organized his team, roped them in with lies about sharing the cash.  They helped him get away, then he killed them.  It was the first time Jim and been in control of anything.  It was first time he had felt powerful.  It had been the first time he had felt like he had done something that would make him a man.  Now people would respect him.  Now he could treat people like shit, and people would be too scared to do anything about it.  He was in charge now.

* * *

"So tell us what happened," said the police officer to the homeless man.

"Well, I done see the car drivin' up the road, and so I think, I'll ask for a ride.  But as he drivin' up dat jackrabbit come runnin' 'cross the road, and dat guy just, he just swerve his car to not hit it, but he lose control and go flyin' off da road into dat tree."

The cops had found the crashed SUV and Jim Burnson's dead body inside the day after the bank robbery.  The homeless man had seen the whole thing and was more than happy to tell anyone who would listen what had happened.  They had found the other robbers' bodies and the van at the old mining site, as well as the dead gas station owner.

"He crashed trying not to hit a rabbit," said one of the cops with a small laugh.

"I know right?  He kills all those people but dies trying to to kill a damn rabbit," said the other cop.  They stood staring at the wreck shaking their heads.

"People are crazy," said the first cop.

"You can say that again," the second cop said with a chuckle looking at the homeless man waving his arms around, telling and showing a paramedic what had happened.

I'm Not Alive

I would love to see the sun
To feel it warm my skin
I would love to jump and run
I would love to feel the wind
Rush through my hair, across my face
See the clouds in the sky
See the stars and moon at night
I would do anything to remember her name
Or anyone's name at all
I would love to see their faces
It would make m happy to just see someone
Or maybe even something, anything at all
But this is not possible
I will never see anything
I will never feel anything again
Because I'm not alive.

The Girl On The Bus

I stood at my stop waiting to take the bus home as usual.  It pulled up to the stop and I got on, marching towards my usual seat at the back of the bus.  She was sitting in my seat next to the window, legs crossed on the seat and staring out the window.  I sat down next to her and the bus began moving.  I looked over at her.  She was wearing faded tan jeans, and a white tank top that was frayed at the edges.  Her feet were bare and she had a bracelet on her right ankle.  She had bracelets on her wrists, and her hands were gently tapping her legs as though she was playing the piano.  She had long, thick brown hair that blew in the wind and she wore a slight smile on her face, her eyes closed.  She was attractive, in fact she was beautiful.  But as I watched her something else attracted me to her, it made me fall in love with her, in a matter of minutes.  I can't explain what it was.  Like a spell of some sort, I knew that I had to meet her.  I dropped my wallet, sort of tossed it towards her.  She noticed and bent over to pick it up.

"Oh thanks," I say leaning forward to take it from her, almost too eagerly.

"No problem," she says turning back towards the window.

"I'm Ethan," I say to her, trying to not let what sad conversation we had had die away.  She seems slightly surprised, but tells me her name as well.

"I'm Tesla," she says with a dazzling smile.  Her teeth and white and straight, perfect.

"Nice to meet you Tesla," I say, "That's a pretty awesome name!"  She laughs.

"Thank you, the name Ethan is pretty cool too.  It sound like, old fashioned westernish...you know?"  We both laugh.

"Yeah I guess it does, that's cool then.  I like old western times."

"What kind of music do you like?" she asks, motioning towards my MP3 player and headphones sitting in my lap.

"Oh," I say, "anything really, but I really like metal.  What about you?"

"Classical, piano music," she says closing her eyes and smiling.  "Oh I love it."

"Do you play the piano?"

"I do, when I can.  I don't own one, so I usually take the bus once a week downtown and play the pianos in music stores and such.  I taught myself everything I know, all on pianos not my own."  She laughs slightly.

"That's pretty impressive."

"I suppose...what about you?  Do you play any instruments?"

"Yeah, I play guitar and bass, mess around with the ukulele a bit, I sing too...I used to play piano but I sort of gave up on that.... regrettably.  I should have stuck with it."

"Well that's impressive, you play multiple instruments."

"Haha, well I guess, but I'm not that great at them, no better than the average-Joe.  There's plenty of better musicians out there."

"I bet there are.  There is always someone better than you at some point.  Even if you become the best, someone will eventually get better and become the new best."

"Yeah..."

We are quiet for a moment, listening to the roar of the bus as it makes its way up the hill.

"What are you up to tonight?" she asks.

"Just heading home from work," I say.  "You?"

"Just heading home from playing the piano, haha.  Where do you get off at?"

"Two stops from here."

"Me too!  I take the old canyon road home."

"Same!  We can walk together, at least part way."

"Cool."  She smiles at me again.  I feel warm and peaceful, and I don't even know why.  The bus approaches our stop, so I pull the cord to signal to the driver, and she stops the bus.  Me and Tesla exit, and begin walking.

"So, do you have a girlfriend?" she asks me. "Just curious."

"No, not really...do you have a boyfriend?"

"Nope.  What does 'not really' mean?"

"Well...No, I don't have a girlfriend."

"Ah."  She seems to be getting closer, but it must be just me.  "Have you ever had a girlfriend before?"  She asks.

"Nope, you had a boyfriend?"

"One, well...not really...I mean, we grew up together.  He died a few years ago though."

"Oh...I'm sorry."

"Well, shit happens."  Her mood had changed.  Se went from playful and happy to somber, and she slowed down as well.  "Have you ever kissed a girl?"  She stops and looks at me.

"Erm...yeah, a few, but not in a while. Haha. Why?"

She smiles at me mischievously and moves close to me.  She looks straight into my eyes.  "Kiss me."  She says.  I don't know how to react.  We're so close together, our lips only a couple inches apart.  So I kiss her.  Our lips meet, our eyes close, and we kiss for what feels like hours.  When we break apart we are both smiling.

"This is my road," she says nodding to a side road across the street.

"Do you have to go?"  I ask.  I don't know this girl, but I just kissed her...and there is something about her...I don't want to say goodbye.

"I should go...my parents will worry...and I'm sure yours will too."

"Yeah...well maybe we'll see each other again?"

"I hope so."  She smiles at me before turning and running lightly and swiftly down the road, disappearing around a corner.

I keep on smiling as I walk home.

The Valley

Deep in a forest lay a deep valley

There were rocks, broken bones

There lay bodies of the fallen, and burnt stones

Deep in the badlands, the wolves did rally

Marking their prey, marking their tally

To turn the fire towards their friends

Liars and thieves their words end

But behold, they would fall before the valley

The sun begins to shine and break,

Through the clouds, the storm approaching,

Crashes into light and bleeds in the sky

Horror! Horror! they cry for their sake

But it is too late, the win they are holding

Crush the bloody mass, the light will defy.

Friends

"Well I don't know what to tell you Matt," said Jim swishing the beer around in his mug.  They sat on bar stools at the bar counter, and were finishing up their first glasses of bear, soon to start on their seconds.

"She won't answer her phone at all...I don't know what to do man," Matt sighed.  He felt ashamed.

"Maybe you should try just going home?" suggested Jim.

"No, she told me she'd call the cops if I came back..."  Matt grumbled as he sipped his beer.

"Well I just don't know what to tell you man,"  Jim repeated.

Matt and his wife, Amanda, had been arguing.  They'd been married for three years now.  The first two years had been awesome, magical, and completely fairy-tale.  They both had great jobs, and loved each other, but things changed a year ago.  For some reason they began fighting, a lot; usually about stupid things that they never remembered.  So now they both still had great jobs, but their marriage was less than fantastic.  Last night, things had gotten out of hand.  Matt had gotten home from work, and made dinner for himself, but none for Amanda.  He had thought she would be getting back late from the hospital, and being as tired as he was decided to not make her any food.  She had gotten back just as he was finishing his dinner, and seeing that he had not made any for her as he usually did, she was upset.  So thus the argument started.  Matt didn't know why or how he had gotten so angry, but he did remember yelling, screaming at the top of his lungs, then steeping towards her and smacking her across the cheek.  She had stepped back and stared at him in surprise as tear filled her eyes and began rolling down her cheeks.  He had backed away from her, appalled at himself.  She had told him to get out, and that if he came back she would call the cops.  He had grabbed his keys and a jacket, got into his truck and driven away.  He drove to Jim's house, and Jim's wife Clair said it would be good for them to go out and talk.  Jim and Clair were always happy, and even if they did argue it was always quietly and calmly talked out.  Matt admired them for this, and wished that he could be as cool as Jim.  So here they sat at the bar, talking, drinking beer, trying to figure out what Matt should do.

"What if she won't take me back?" Matt asked sadly.

"Naw man, just give her some space, " replied Jim, "I bet you anything Clair is talking with her right now.  She'll cool down and you guys will talk it out, it'll be fine man...I don't know...just wait it out.  Women can be very forgiving, trust me.  Clair's forgiven me for some really crappy stuff: Amanda will come around, don't worry.  But Matt, I swear if you ever hit her again I'll beat the shit out of you."

"That sounds like a good deal, Jim," said Matt with a smile, but he knew Jim wasn't joking, and neither was he.  He was glad they were friends.

Fragrance

I woke up early, as usual, gathered my things and walked down to the bus stop.  I waited for about fifteen minutes, and then right on time the bus pulled up.  I climbed on, showed my pass, and then I took my usual seat at the back of the bus.  The other regulars were already on there, as usual. An elderly woman who was always sleeping, so I had never talked to her, and then a large black man who always had a smile on his face and was sure to say good morning to everyone who got on.  We had our routine exchange of courtesies as I walked by him and then I sat down and prepared for the long ride ahead.  My bus ride took about an hour, with one stop over at the main Transit Station in the downtown area, towards the end of my trip.  So I had some time to take a quick nap, which is what I usually did.

Now the funny thing is that my bus driver, Tom, was not in the bus today.  That was the first unusual thing.  When I asked, the less-than cheerful replacement said that Tom had called in sick.  Me and Tom had never been close, just the usual nod of the head, sometimes we'd go as far as to say good morning to each other, if we were in good moods.  But Tom was a great driver, and I didn't like having a stranger at the wheel of the bus.

The second unusual thing about that day was that I was wide awake.  Usually I had no problem falling asleep on the bus and napping the whole way, but today I couldn't even keep my eyes closed for a few seconds.  I felt uneasy, but for no apparent reason.  We made our routine stops, picking up more regulars all the way, and the occasional odd-ball.

Then the third unusual thing happened.  One regular that had been riding the bus as long as I had was not at her stop.  Tina, was her name.  She and I had been riding this bus together for ever.  We always sat next to each other, sometimes having conversation if I wasn't asleep.  We worked in the same hospital downtown.  She was a nurse and I was a janitor, but we'd both agreed we did our part to keep society safe.  But she was not there.  I didn't know her that well, we only hung out on the bus, but for some reason  felt offended she was not there.  Why hadn't she told.  Of course that was silly, she had no way of contacting me, and maybe she was sick or something.  Still, on the one day I couldn't fall asleep of course Tina was absent.  Now I had no one to talk to.

Then came the fourth and final unusual happening of the morning, though definitely the most significant.  We stopped at one of the stops and a young man dressed all in black, carrying a large and heavy looking duffle bag climbed on.  He had slip on shoes, black jeans, a black T-shirt with some brand name on it, and a big black jacket.  He paid for his ticket and then looked around the bus, choosing to sit right at the front.  The bus driver hadn't even started driving before the young man had sat down, unzipped his bag and pulled out a gun.  It was some sort of automatic handgun, not a revolver.  And it must have held a lot of ammo in the magazine because he managed to shoot everyone on the bus at least once, and there were about a dozen of us, not including the driver  The driver was first to go, the kid shot him in the head.  The doors had closed so no one could get out.  The kid turned and just started shooting at everyone.  The poor old lady had barely woken up before she was killed, and the big black man, well, somehow he managed to die smiling still.  Being at the back of the bus I was one of the last to get shot.  It all happened so fast, but at the same time, that moment when the kid turned the gun on me...time seemed to slow.

I remembered things.  Random things from my life.  They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die, they're right.  But it's not like you think.  You don't see a ton of images from your life...you have memories, random ones that don't seem to have much significance at first.   One memory was of me sitting at the top of a tree, and my father waving at me as he left for work.  Another was years later, in high school, I was sitting at the edge of the pool for swim practice and the popular girl, Jenny Mingle, walked by me, her hand brushed against my head.  I had always wondered if it was on purpose or on accident.  The last memory that I had was of only two nights ago.  Me and my brother (whom I shared an apartment with) were sitting watching TV, and he asked me "What are we doing for dinner tomorrow?"

Then the bullet entered my chest.  It seemed to hurt so bad that I felt no pain at all, or something weird like that.  I lay still and watched as the kid then pulled another gun from his bag, a smaller one, a revolver this time. I thought maybe he was going to make sure everyone was dead, but then he put the gun to his head and shot himself.  Then I blacked out.


I awoke a couple of days later in the hospital, my hospital.  Tina was there, smiling at me.

"Hey you, how're you feeling?"  she asked.

"Great...just great..." I blinked and looked around the room.  Gosh, I had never realized how dreary and dull our rooms were.  My chest was sore.  "Did anyone else make it?"  Tina's smile faded.

"No," she said, "there was a man who was still alive, but he died in the E.R.  No one else survived."

"Why'd I survive?" I asked blankly.

"You got lucky I guess, me too, I was sick that day and didn't go to work, otherwise I'd probably be dead too."

"This world is so awful Tina, it's just awful.  Why would a kid murder a dozen people and then kill himself.  What the hell is up with that?  It's just awful Tina, plain and simply awful."

"I agree Ted, I agree."

We both sat thoughtfully for a moment.  Then I noticed something.

"Tina," I said, "what a lovely fragrance you have on."

Hold On To What You Have Before You Lose It

Thomas and Joy had met when they were seventeen years old.  They had been at a party with friends and had never seen each other before, but that one day changed their lives forever.  It was sort of cliche maybe, a little silly, but it was true.  They started officially dating a year later, but everyone knew it was going to happen.  Thomas's friends constantly teased him about his "woman," and Joy's friends persistently asked how things were between her and "that guy."  They liked each other from the start, they both knew it, but they had no idea the ride they were in for.  They had been together for four years now.  It was their first relationship for bot of them, and the problems they ran into were not easy to resolve, but they always did.  It was a learning process for them both, but they learned, most of the time, the hard way.

Thomas was driving home from work.  His music was loud, and he was staring straight ahead, mulling it all over in his head.  He and Joy had had a huge fight, about something stupid that he couldn't even remember.  This was what bothered him the most.  She'd gotten mad at him for something and instead trying to just settle things he'd gotten mad right back.  It had ended with both of them yelling that they didn't want to see each other anymore.  They'd fought before, but never this bad.  Mostly it was an argument that would end with them being either only slightly upset with each other or not upset at all, and they're always talk the next day and things would be fine.  But it had been three days since he had heard from her.  The first day had gone by, and he was still too mad to worry.  The second day came around and he called.  She hadn't answered, so he left a message, and she had still not responded.  He called her again, left another message, and tried again a half an hour later.  He was worried, not even she could ignore someone that long, it wasn't her.  As he was driving his phone rang.  He moved so fast to answer it that he almost swerved off the road.  The caller ID was from Joy's house number.  She didn't usually call him from that, but at least she was calling.

"Hello?  Joy?" he answered.

"This is Richard, Thomas," said Joy's father on the phone.

"Oh, hello Mr. Oreman," said Thomas feeling guilty.  Joy's father calling him couldn't be a good thing.  He had never called Thomas before.  "What's going on?"

"Thomas...Joy's had an accident," said her father.  "She was hit by car while she was walking yesterday.  I would have called sooner but I just never got the chance.  She was out for a while but she just woke up a few hours ago.  You should go down to the hospital.  She's going to be alright, but she's been asking for you.  I just got home but I'll be back down later."

Thomas listened, guilt rising, fear rising.  He tried to hold back tears as he said "I'm coming right now, thank you."  Joy's father hung up and Thomas let the tears fall.  He wasn't much a crier, but this made him angry.  He looked around, and seeing nobody did a quite illegal u-turn and started heading towards the hospital.  What a jerk he had been.  Being angry and she had been hit by a car, he should have called her house sooner.  She could have died, and the last thing he had said to her was, "I'm done talking, I'm leaving alright, I don't want to see you anymore."  She had screamed "FINE!" at him as he walked out the door, slamming it behind.  Oh gosh, it was so immature, so childish.  How could he have acted like that?  He stopped by a grocery store and ran in.  He grabbed the nicest bunch of flowers he found and brought them to the register.

"Buying flowers this late at night?" the large woman at the counter said with a laugh and a smile, "someone must've screwed up."  She winked at Thomas as she scanned them.

"Oh yeah..." said Thomas.  He was no longer crying, but he couldn't bring himself to smile, and the hot anger he felt toward himself still burned like coals inside of him.

"Twenty-nine, ninety-nine is your total, sir," said the lady.

Thomas grabbed a bag of Skittles and handed them to the clerk as well.  "These too," he said.  Skittles were Joy's favorite candy.

"Thirty-one, O-seven," she chuckled.

Thomas swiped his card, grabbed the flowers and Skittles and ran out of the store and back to his car.  Fifteen minutes later he was pulling into the hospital parking lot.  He got out, and it was all he could do to not sprint into the lobby.  He went to the front desk.

"I'm here to see Joy, Joy Oreman," he said.

"Alright...Oreman, O...O...O....Ah, Oreman, here we are," said the nurse behind the counter.  She pulled out a sticker.  "Your name?"

"Thomas," he replied.  Gosh, this lady sure was taking her time.  She scribbled his name on the sticker and handed it to him.

"She's in room 108.  Down the hall to your left," said the nurse.  Thomas put the sticker on his shirt and then walked briskly down the hall.

The door to Joy's room was slightly opened, so he knocked gently before entering.  Joy's mother appeared at the door and pushed him out, closing the door behind him.  She gave him a hug and smiled at him.

"She's going to be happy to see you.  But listen, Joy is very upset right now.  Her face is a little messed up to be frank, and she's very embarrassed about it.  The doctor said everything will heal just fine and she'll be as good as new, maybe a couple of scars here and there, but Joy seems to think she is permanently ruined or something."

"I don't care what she looks like Mrs. Oreman," said Thomas.  Mrs.  Oreman smiled and nodded.

"She's lucky to have you Thomas," said Mrs. Oreman.  "I'm going to go grab a bite to eat from the cafeteria, while you two talk."  She walked away down the hall.

Thomas walked into the room.  Joy was laying in the bed staring at the wall.  Her face was bruised and cut badly.  Thomas felt nothing but pity for her.  It was true, he didn't care what she looked like, she was still beautiful to him.  But as soon as she saw him she burst into tears.

"Don't look at me," she said as she buried her face in her hand.  Thomas sat on the bed and put his arm around her, setting the flowers and Skittles on the bedside table.

"Hey," he said trying to look her in the eyes,"hey look at me Joy."  She looked up, still sobbing.

"I can't stop looking at you, because looking at you reminds me that you're still here...I could have lost you...I don't ever want to stop looking at you, I want to know you're here."  She laughed and wrapped her arms around him.  "Here, this is for you."  He handed her the flowers and Skittles.

"Oh my gosh, thank you, Thomas!" she said kissing him on the cheek.  "I'm so sorry for everything I said, I didn't mean it."

"Me too, I'm sorry...gosh it was so silly!  And then this...I was worried sick about you, you weren't returning my calls...I...I'm just so sorry for everything too babe, I was an idiot."

"Yes, yes you were," she said laugh, "but so was I.  We both were, let's just forget it...gosh I don't even remember what we fought about!"  He laughed.

"Yeah me neither!  Oh Joy, I love you so much, I'm never leaving you, ever ever ever ever ever again."  He kissed her gently.

"I love you too Thomas," she said holding him.  "And I won't leave either, never ever.  We have each other, let's keep it that way."

"Agreed."

They sat holding each other for a long while, happy to be with each other, knowing that they were safe together.  Her parents came in later and they spent the rest of the time just talking and having a good time, late into the night.  Mrs. Oreman was staying the night, so Thomas and Mr Oreman said goodnight and began walking out to the parking lot together.

"Mr. Oreman," said Thomas.

"Yes?"

"I've got a question for you."

"Go for it."

"Sir...after tonight, after what happened...I realized something.  I mean...I've always known that I love Joy, but after this I realized it's a lot more than just saying I love her...I have to show it...and, well...I do love her, a lot.  And...I want to marry your daughter, sir."

Mr. Oreman smiled.  "Come on, let's get some coffee, we'll talk."

The Little Things

I started smoking when I was nine years old.  About a week after my ninth birthday actually.  My dad had decided to leave my mom, packed up his things and left the house.  Apart from trying to comprehend what was happening myself and explaining it to my five year old sister I was particularly...stressed.  I found the pack of cigarettes in my dad's top dresser drawer as I rummaged through it for keepsakes.  I had gotten along well with my dad, in fact our family had been fine, or so I thought.  I never did learn what had made my dad leave.  The pack was half gone.  I had seen him smoke only on occasion, he tried to not smoke in front of us.  But I had seen enough to know the process.  I stuff the pack into my pocket, as well as a few pennies from another drawer and went to my room.  I his the pack and waited a few days to see if my mom would somehow know I had it.  She was good at knowing things, somehow.  So once I was sure it was safe I took the pack, grabbed some matches from the kitchen cupboard and went for a walk.  I went on some old horse trails that no one ever used anymore, except to do things that they didn't want other's seeing.  But there was no one there when I went.  I lit the cigarette and inhaled the smoke.  I began to choke.  After coughing for a minute I took a few deep breaths and tried again.  And that day I became a smoker.  I found ways to get cigarettes over the years until I was eighteen.

On that day I also became a nihilist.

I struggled with life from that day forward.  School was hell, pure hell.  I was bullied constantly any way anyone could possibly find.  I simply would hide it, pretend I didn't care, act like it didn't matter.  Really, it didn't matter.  I mean, I never liked getting shoved against a wall and punched in the gut, but once it was over, it was over.  It didn't matter.  On occasion I'd get fired up and fight back, and when I did I won.  I think what made people keep bullying me is that they knew I rarely fought back.  Some of the kids stopped once they got a taste of my rebellion.  On one occasion a couple of jocks decided to literally mug me in the hallway.  They beat me up and forcefully took my wallet and the money I had in it.  It wasn't that fact that I had lost the money that angered me so much, but the fact that it was my dad's wallet.  This pissed me off.  And I reacted.  I was not tall, but I was muscular, with a wide chest and thick arms.  I often thought I resembled a gorilla to some extent, though I had been fortunate to have decent looks from my mom's side.  Anyway, I grabbed one of the jocks by the neck and swung him into the other, knocking them both to the ground.  I picked up my wallet and pocketed it before approaching my fallen foes.  I grabbed one and slammed him as hard as I could against the floor.  His head made a loud cracking noise as it hit the linoleum floor.  The other jock was about to get up but kicked him in the stomach, then stepped on his throat and held my foot there until he almost passed out.  Then I ran away.  This was probably the most violent I had ever been, even to this day.  I almost scared myself.

I'm not sure what kept me from suicide.  I thought about it a few times.  I guess that fact that my little sister had no one else to look, since my mom was always working.  Life seemed totally pointless, but I played that sick game of life all the way.  I went to school studied, got good grades (mostly A's with the occasional B in some stupid class like Sex Ed where they taught us how to have sex safely, while still enjoying it, or some crap like that).  When I got my first job at a fast food burger place at sixteen I worked my butt off and saved my money so I could buy a car and eventually a laptop for college, and for college itself.  I worked, and worked, and worked some more, and still found time to help my little sister with whatever.  My mom always told me she was proud of how hard I worked, and how great a big brother I was.  Sometimes I was almost proud of myself, but then I was always reminded that it was all pointless in the long run.  I guess I didn't just shoot myself because as stupid as it all seemed, I figured, so many other people do it, I guess I should just deal with it to.  So I did.  I dealt with it.  Smoking the whole time.  I smoked a whole pack in a day once, but that was one day in the summer when I was fifteen and had nothing else to do but smoke and read some corny adventure novel.  But I generally tried to make a pack last me the whole week, for finances' sake.  I loved smoking.  I don't know why exactly, I mean the high I got from it eventually wore off, but I guess just the taste and the act of smoking helped relax me.  I was addicted for sure, but I didn't care, because I liked it.

So I made it through high school and all the crap that came with it, and when I was eighteen started going to a small community college close to home.  My first semester there was when I met Beth.  We were in the same history class together.  The first day, our less-than-enthusiastic teacher told everyone to find a friend.  I was sitting in the back of the room, like I had always done in high school, and no one else was around me.  Then there was Beth, beautiful stunning, head-turning Beth, sitting in the front of the class.  She got right up and walked over to me and sat down next to me with all her books.

"I'm going to sit here, I can hear better from back here I think," she said.  Then she handed me a small paper with her name and number on it.  I didn't have a cell phone, so I gave her my name and e-mail address.

We always sat in the back of our history class together, and it sort of became a tradition half-way through the semester for us to eat lunch together in the cafeteria afterwards.  We never talked personal stuff, it was always this or that; movies, music, books, games sometimes.  She had four brothers, two younger and two older who were all gamers, and insisted that she know about video games.  I didn't know much about them, since I had no way to play them.  on occasion I watched gameplay videos online, just get a taste, but that was it.  Her family was well to do, and she always seemed to have food for me.  She'd pull a bag of chips, or a couple of granola bars from her bag and toss them to me saying "I wasn't going to eat them anyway."  Somehow she seemed to know that I never had food.  Maybe because I never bought lunch, and though I never told my mom, I refused to take food from home because my mom could barely afford to feed us.  What food I did eat was usually any kind of fast food scraps I could scrounge up from the burger place.  I manged though, and Beth's seemingly constant supply of snacks was a major blessing.  The only I used my money for that wasn't required were my cigarettes.  Those little things.  I look back and just try not to think about how much money I spent on them.

I got a different job when I was nineteen as a bank teller.  It payed much better, and I finally was able to start saving money again, instead of spending it all on school, my car, and gas.  It wasn't much, but it was more than before.  By the time I was twenty I had saved up a few thousand dollars.  This was also when i decided to go to the doctors.  I knew I wasn't exactly healthy, considering I smoked all the time and didn't eat very well.  The only thing I did that was healthy was sleep, and go for a five mile run every day.  But lately it had been getting harder, I was having a tough time breathing.  I knew the answer.  I had to stop smoking.  But the doctor was kind enough to inform me that not smoking anymore would not accomplish anything.  The cancer had been around too long, and there was nothing they could do now.  It was too late.  But like everything else I didn't care...at first.

Me and Beth had been together for two years, well as friends.  Officially as boyfriend and girlfriend, it had been a year.  my mom adored Beth, and my little sister did as well.  Beth's family liked me as well, though I could tell her father was not exactly happy that I was of such a low class, with almost no money.  But he had allowed us to date because Beth had convinced him of how hard a worker I was, and that sometimes it's not about money or social class or anything, but about what a person has on the inside.  I thought that was all sort of cliche, but it was sweet how she stuck up for me.  Plus we were allowed to date.  And it wasn't a lie, I was a hard worker, and had promised Beth, and later her dad that I would work my finger to the bones to keep us together.

So now I had cancer.  Twenty years old, and dying.  The doctor had said I had maybe another year if I was lucky.  I never told Beth about my smoking, and either she never smelled the smoke on me, or she turned a blind eye to it.  Either way, my smoking was never something we talked about.  But now we had to.  I walked to a payphone outside the doctor's office and pushed in the change and dialed Beth's number.  As the phone rang I remembered the past year, how wonderful it had been.  Even the problems that we had had, the little arguments that occasionally happened, all of it was outshone by countless good times.  The time we spent at the little coffee shop on the corner, the movies we saw together, the restaurants we ate at.  All of it added up to the best year of my life.  We had even recently started brushing the idea of marriage in the near future.  But not anymore.

She picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Beth?"

"Hey!" she said happily, "how are you?"

"Beth...I love you."