"Your Guide to Alternative Energy" ©KRS2008

Your Guide to Alternative Energy

This interactive allows the user to learn about alternative energy sources and gives them the option to either learn the basics or learn as much as possible about the topic. It focuses on home and transportation alternatives as well as information on future technology. Whether the user ‘believes’ in global warming or not, they will learn the environmental and monetary benefits of “Going Green,” as well as becoming knowledgeable on the plethora of possibilities available to them. This is important because however one looks at the situation, environmentally, financially, or otherwise – the fact of the matter is that the fossil fuels that we depend on are quickly running out and it is better to prepare for this shortage before finding oneself, in essence, screwed with the situation.

Once the user enters the program they are greeted with a screen rich in color. The background is of a group of houses, row upon row into the horizon on the right. There is a field with windmills (as a home energy alternative) located on the right. Between these two elements is a long road that winds off into the horizon. From that point in the horizon emerges a Toyota Prius; the horn honks twice and two tiny people run up to the car. The driver exits and addresses the user. She introduces herself and the others as green gurus, each knowledgeable in their own area of green. The driver is Gracy the Green Vehicle Guru, Gabe is the Green Energy Guru, and Gavin is the Green Home Guru (or Green Appliance Guru). The user is then given the option to learn or to play.


If the user chooses to learn, Gabe and Gavin run back to their houses. Gracy then describes the importance of alternative energy and advices the user to select one of the three groups by clicking on the house, the windmills, or the car. Gracy then quickly adds that the Gurus can also be clicked for help.

If the car is clicked, Gracy hops in the car and drives off the page. The background is ripped from the screen, trailing behind the car. It is replaced by a circle of cars parked on a field with the houses and windmills far in the background. Each car represents the different options available in alternative energy vehicles. The first of which is located at the center of the screen in the foreground and it’s information and classification is located beneath the vehicle. Gracy steps out of the central car and explains to the user that when they move the cursor to the right of the center car, the vehicles rotate counter clockwise, the farther right they place their cursor, the faster the cars rotate. The same applies for when the user moves their cursor to the left of the vehicle, this time cars rotating in a clockwise direction. As she explains this, the cars rotate with her direction as an example. Gracy then tells the user that they can click on the cars for more information, and again on the windmills and house. Gracy also explains that, as always, she can be clicked for help.

If the user clicks on the vehicle the others dissolve and the screen moves up vertically. Information about that type of vehicle is pulled up with the screen. The information included is as follows. Definition of the technology used, an animation depicting how this technology operates the motor and drive systems, reviews on the technology, Quick facts on the pros and cons of that particular technology, costs, where to find these vehicles, FAQs, and links for more information. If the vehicle is clicked again, the page moves back down and the user is taken back to the circle of cars.

When the user clicks on the windmills, the picture enlarges on a bare part of the field. A house pops up; smoke billows out of the chimney. Night quickly falls, and a giant cartoon hand sweeps down from the clouds, touches the house (which turns the lights off) and plugs the chimney with a bit of cloud, ripped from above. It then slams a windmill in its place, slaps solar panels on the house, places a smart car in the driveway, and throws a pond in front of the house. The hand then snaps its fingers, and disappears back into the clouds above. Once the fingers are snapped, night turns to day and tiny people run out of the house jumping and laughing. When the user moves initially moves the cursor the people jerk their heads in the direction of the cursor and quickly run into the house screaming. Gabe then runs up from the windmill and addresses the user, identifying the new clickable objects, the windmill, pond, and solar panels. He also reminds the user that the house and car are interactive and that that he is available for help.

When the user clicks on the house, a cartoon hand emerges from the clouds, rips off the roof, and view moves from the side of the house to above. The people inside scream and scramble for cover. The user is then dropped into the center of the home and has a variety of clickable objects to choose from yet again. Gavin crawls in through the window and tells the user about green appliances, which glow as he talks. Gavin, also informs the user that clicking the front door of the house will take them to the previous screen. He also reminds the user that he is available if help is needed. The user then moves the cursor to the object of their choice and clicks it to learn more, or clicks on the front door to return to the last screen.

If the user chooses to play then they are taken to a green shop where they create a character and then create green lives for their characters. They earn points by building energy efficient homes, developing a green fleet, or by creating green communities and businesses through a series of trials. Once done, the user may store their homes, fleets, and communities on the website and add them to the interactive home screen. When they’ve earned enough points, the user becomes an official Guru in that area. Once a Guru, the user’s character is added to a list of user gurus that rotates each time someone loads the home interactive screen (ie. Completeing a fleet replaces Gracy. A home, Gavin, and successfully creating a green community or business allows the users guru to replace Gabe).

In this method, the user learns that there is a multitude of options when it comes to living Green and is given a bit of insight into the topic. The user also get to have fun while they learn, and this interactive website also encourages room for growth. If users take to this and the information is moderated properly the amount of information that could exist on this topic is endless.

"Peace" ©KRS2008

FADE IN

MONTAGE
Birds chirping, Sunny day.

EXT. ELEMANTARY PLAYGROUND – DAY

Children sitting in a circle making dandelion jewelry and giggling. Teacher relaxing in lawn chair.

EXT. STREET – DAY

Two cars collide at an intersection and the drivers emerge from their vehicles and seeing that each person is not injured they hug.

EXT. COURT – DAY

Doors chained. Building over run by plants. Children playing in the shade provided by the building.

EXT. GUNSTORE – DAY

Large closed sign across window, paper aged from sun.

INT. HOSPITAL – DAY

Humming of instruments. ER doctors aimlessly wandering around the building. Some have popsicles.

EXT. POLICE STATION – DAY

Uniformed officers outside playing basketball and laughing. Their firearms strewn about on the ground near the hoop.

INT. BOARDROOM – DAY

Executives and common workers alike, sitting in a circle playing duck-duck goose.


EXT. WAR – DAY

Soldiers run up to first front, guns in hand. Each side meets at the middle and suddenly drops their weapons pat the other side on the back, sit down, and talk.

FADE OUT

FADE IN

EXT-SPRING-DAY

Recognizable world leaders sit in a circle on the lawn.
Dressed in business attire. All are barefoot and have their shirts either off or rolled up. Those wearing pants have them rolled up to their knees. One male member of the group has a flower in his ear. A large white board erected to the side of the circle is attended to by an intern with multi colored markers in hand.

Large gestures and facial expressions suggest an easy going atmosphere in which all are free to discuss what concerns them at length.

One official stands and addresses the group. The others listen intently.

INTERCUT images of human strife, bombs, wars, fires, people crying, etc.

CUT BACK TO GROUP

The group falls silent after the man speaks. Then explode into discussion.

The man with the flower in his ear stands and suggests a solution

INTERCUT ANIMATION

Expresses the mans idea of change.

A woman near the board interrupts him to express her dissatisfaction to his idea, and how she thinks it will end up.

The animation now follows her story. The animation changes in style and intensity as she expresses her version of events. It then continues with the mans animation.

CUT BACK TO GROUP
The group is again silent and another woman stands to present her idea.

INTERCUT ANIMATION

The beginning of the womans idea for change is expressed.

FADE OUT

Room 24A ©KRS

**NOTE** I have horrible Spanish language skills (my English is pretty horrible as well, but that's another matter), please keep this in mind - I apologize before hand! Thanks!***

FADE IN:


EXT. GRAND RAPIDS COURTHOUSE – DAY

Rain drizzles down the railings of the courthouse steps. A man in a suit stands outside of the door under an umbrella smoking a cigarette.

BAILIFF(OS)
(Booming male voice)
Case number 04-SC-556 Hudington Bank vs. Robert and Amalia Rodriguez.

INT. GRAND RAPIDS COURTROOM – DAY

The courtroom is packed with people. All seats are taken and many people are forced to stand. Many are leaning against walls. Each person or group of people is there for a different hearing being held that day. A grumpy young man dressed in ill-fitting slacks and a button down shirt places his elbow on the side of a galley bench to prop his head up. The woman next to him offers her seat to a pregnant woman.

The JUDGE, an irritated, middle class, middle aged, white male, sits at the bench. He repeatedly sighs and grumbles to himself ****

ROBERT and AMALIA sit next to the pregnant woman with JAVIER at their side. Robert and Amalia are an elderly Hispanic couple, neither of whom understands English. Javier, a middle aged friend of the couple, knows some English.

JAVIER
(Hurriedly, to the Rodriguezs)
Es hora para que ud. suba allí.

Dressed in their Sunday best, Robert and Amalia stand and make their way to the defendant counsel table, forcing the pregnant woman and three others to file out of the bench to let them by.

Dressed in suits and ties, FRANK, the Hudington Bank Official, and the bank’s TWO LAWYERS sit at the plaintiff counsel table. Frank also has multiple gold bracelets and rings as well as a diamond plated gold watch.

JUDGE
(Buddy-buddy, to Frank)
Hey Frank. That was a great game on Sunday. I never thought you’d beat me!...

Robert and Amalia approach the defendant counsel table. The judge turns his attention to the defendants and frowns.

(Exasperated)
…What brings you here today Frank?
FRANK
(Indignant)
Your Honor, the Defendants have not paid their mortgage for the last two months and we’re here to acquire the funds or the house.

JUDGE
(Belittlingly)
Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez, you are in court today regarding the recent non - payment of your mortgage. If you are unable to acquire the owed amount at the end of thirty days your home will be seized.

Robert and Amalia stare blankly at the Judge.

JUDGE
Do you understand?

Robert, confused, turns to Javier in the galley.

JAVIAR
Ud. no tiene el dinero…

JUDGE
Who are you?

Javier stands.
JAVIAR
(To the Judge)
I am Javier. Their friend.

JUDGE
Do they speak English?

JAVIAR
No, they not good with English very well. I help...

JUDGE
(Cuts him off)
Okay, you’re their translator. Come up here and tell them what I just said.

Javier, like Robert and Amalia, makes his way to the defendant’s table. The judge lets out a deep SIGH while he waits.

JAVIAR
El hombre dice que ud. no tiene el dinero así estan tomando su casa.


JUDGE
Do they understand?

JAVIAR
Yes.

JUDGE
(Condescendingly)
No, ask them if they understand.

JAVIAR
¿ Entiende ?

Robert and Amalia slowly nod yes.

JAVIAR
Yes.

JUDGE
Good. See you back here in thirty days…

Judge hits his gavel.

..Next case!

FADE OUT

Made in the USA ©KRS 2008

FADE IN:

EXT. SUBURB IN AMERICA – DAY

A man works on his Ford Mustang in his driveway. “America the Beautiful,” plays on the radio. Children are laughing and playing in their front lawns. The wind blows heavily through wind chimes. A four year old girl, EMILY, excitedly propels herself down the street on a bright, red tricycle toward her mother, BONNIE. EMILY reaches her mother. BONNIE screams in delight.

TITLE: “Anyplace, MI July 4, 2008 4:30pm”

INSERT – CLOSE ON MAKER OF TRIKE – “MADE IN PAKISTAN”

EXT. STREET IN PAKISTAN – DAY

People run down the street in horror screaming. The wind heavily blows after them, chasing them with dust.

TITLE: “Karachi, Pakistan July 4, 2008 4:30pm”

An eight-year-old boy, AAMIR, with bleeding feet, runs exhaustedly with the group toward his mother, NADIMAH. Aamir is almost to his mother when a gunshot pierces through the chaotic scene. Aamir, shot in the head, falls limply at Nadimah’s feet. Nadimah screams and sobs in dismay.

INSERT – CLOSE ON MAKER OF GUN – MADE IN U.S.A.

CUT TO BLACK

“America the Beautiful,” abruptly to FG. The screen is filled with a US flag.


CHOIR (OS):
O beautiful for heroes proved
In liberating strife…

TEXT: “The United States, the Largest Arms Exporter in the World.”

..Who more than self their country loved
And mercy more than life!


FADE OUT

FADE MUSIC OUT

Intersex Rights ©KRS 2008

FADE IN

INT. HOSPITAL – NIGHT

WOMAN giving birth. FATHER of child standing next to her holding her hand. Close up on couple holding hands. Woman screams and crushes Fathers hand. Man screams with her.

Baby cries. NURSE holds child , perplexed, he motions the DR. over. After a brief exchange. Nurse rushes child out of the room.


INT. HOSPITAL – MORNING

Couple sits in waiting room both equally distressed. People come in and out of waiting room as the couple sits for hours waiting.

INT. HOSPITAL - DAY

Dr. enters waiting room. Mother is asleep on Fathers shoulder. Father looks up and Woman is jostled awake. Dr. uses large hand gestures and couple look more and more confused as the Dr. explains. Dr. rushes couple out of door.

INT. HOSPITAL – NEXT DAY

Couple enters Dr.’s office. Dr. is all smiles and couple shares horrified expression.

INT. HOSPITAL ROOM- DAY

Baby on gurney after massive surgery. Couple stands over baby confused and crying, staring at their child.

TEXT

Intersexrights.org

NARRATOR
(VO)
Understand your child and know your rights.
At intersexrights.org we’re here for you.

FADE OUT

Tracy, meet toilet. ©KRS 2008

FADE IN:
(4:00am)

EXT. NEIGHBORHOOD – MORNING

Birds chirping and sun rising. Wide shot of house, door centered from driveway. Dolly to door.

CUT - INT. HOUSE – MORNING

Bird chirping still heard yet subdued and abruptly cut off by loud retching sound. TV is on in the family room where two people sit and eat popcorn while others are scattered around the floor sleeping some are drooling and one person is lightly snoring.

CUT

INT. KITCHEN – NIGHT BEFORE

Party like atmosphere ten teenagers playing games, talking, eating chips and dip. Then TRACY walks in with a 5th of Bicardi in her hand and offers it to the crowd. Six of the teens decline, while the other four follow Jackie into another room where they commence drinking.

The four who join Tracy quickly loose interest with the vodka after two shots and decline any more, Tracy then exits the scene with her 5th and the four join the rest of the group back in the family room and play guitar hero.

CUT - INT. HOUSE – MORNING

With one loud retch, the people on the couch look in the direction of the bathroom. DAVID rolls his eyes then turns and continues watching the television, as he turns up the volume to drown out the sound. JACKIE maneuvers around the sleeping masses into the kitchen where the half empty 5th sits on the counter. As Jackie (facing the TV) fills a glass of water an add for the vodka comes on the screen.


CUT - BICARDI COMERCIAL

A man stands between bikini-clad women all of whom are drinking and laughing, portraying an fun carefree existence because of the alcohol.

CUT - INT. HOUSE, HALL – MORNING

Jackie turns toward the bathroom with cup of water in hand.

CUT - POV Jackie

Dollie down the hall toward the retching sound. Tracy’s leg is sticking out into the hallway. The camera makes its way around the corner into the bathroom and Tracy is coupled over the toilet covered in vomit. Her face is purple and pulsing, her hair is a mess, her brow is covered with sweat and her make up has run allover her face. Tracy weeps and vomits into the bowl. Jackie forces her to drink some water and then struggles to get her into the bathtub. Jackie turns on the shower and Tracy begins to loudly cry.

CUT - BICARDI COMERCIAL

People smiling and dancing with drinks in hand. The Bicardi logo comes up on screen.

ANNOUNCER
(VO, Male- 40s)
Live the Bicardi Life!


EXTREME CLOSE UP OF TV

TV turns off.

FADE OUT

The place where you work

The vertical aluminum siding on the front third of the large three-story building in which Sam works was particularly blinding this morning. She carefully drove her 98’ forest green Volvo up the small drive between the poorly parked cars on the right and the towering red brick building to the left. She weaved past the first of two employee entrances, dodging outgoing news vans and the incoming suit wearing anchorpersons and jean and hoody wearing production crew. Her favorite spot under the big tree next to the fence was open and she quickly pulled into it. Four small satellite dishes 100ft in diameter sat neatly in a row next to their 200ft cousin on their rectangular parcel of plush green grass, all cozily nestled within a chain link fence topped with barbed wire. With fifteen minutes until work officially began she killed the engine and listened to a few more minutes of NPR before killing that as well by pulling out the key.
Grabbing her travel mug, the cool aluminum one with the black plastic top and an Eagle emblem near the mouth slit, she locked her car, and shut the doors. Made her way through the asphalt parking lot and jagged lines of cars, over the short expanse of lawn, past the bushes and onto the next span of speckled black asphalt to the old weathered bench on the side of the building near the two green metal dumpsters with black plastic tops. The benches green paint had chipped away, revealing the dark molded wood beneath, and the two vertical matching pieces of plywood that serviced as its legs were slightly askew of one another, causing it to slant steeply to the right. Upon reaching her destination she pulled a cowboy killer out of the right pouch of the brown hooded sweatshirt she was wearing and lit it with the red crack lighter she had bought from speedway the other night, drawn from deep within her front jean pocket. She placed the cool mug of Joe on the matching yellow bench and took a seat.
The speckled black top and expanse of grass on which they stand are constantly littered with weathered cancer sticks. There are three beige plastic 30-gallon Site SaverTM ashtrays around the buildings perimeter. All of which can hold a whopping 14,000 cigarettes and yet they are always filled to the brim with discarded butts. I guess that’s why there are butts beneath the varying beige and wood picnic tables and even intermingled among the bushes that line the building. The cigarette had burned down and now she was smoking the filter. Well... she leaned forward and grabbed her travel mug before propelling herself forward to a standing position and walked through the mass of concrete and buttage, careful to dispense her butt into its proper overstuffed receptacle. Sam continued down the crescent concrete steps to the second employee entrance, reached into the opening of her zip up hoody and withdrew a thin plastic keycard on the end of a black lanyard. The small black box beeped and its tiny red light lit up as she placed the card against it. She waited for the click of the lock, pulled upon the glass door, and found herself on a grey rubber landing once again. Sam stomped up the flight of stairs to her right and bee lined down the hall to her boss’s office. No more crappy assignments. No more drama, I’m finishing the concert today.
A small plump woman looked up from her paperwork as Sam walked into the room, “Good morning Denise, did you have a good weekend?” she asked as she sat at the low profile blue carpeted chair across from her desk. Denise had a round, worried face and a thin layer of stringy black hair across her dome. She had a cast on her left wrist, one she crushed while skiing during work the week before.
“Morning, it was alright. ”
No more doing other peoples jobs. No more drama. No more distractions from my editing.
“Kathy’s coming in today.” She rolled her eyes.
Well, there goes that idea.
“When?” Sam asked
“I don’t know sometime after lunch I suppose” Denise leaned in over her desk at Sam, “You don’t tell her anything, that woman is crazy…Always coming in here, yelling and screaming about everything, she’ll do anything to take me down. You know she wants my job, that’s why she comes in here and tries to run the place all the time...” Sam had learned long ago to nod in situations such as this, so she did. “...You need to stop whatever you’re doing and watch over the shows she brought in so far and the ones she’s coming in with. Make sure it follows the local access rules, we don’t want another Rhonda incident.”
“I’m sorry, a what?”
“Rhonda was a volunteer at their station many years ago, she created content (as many of the volunteers do) and the content was aired. The only issue was that Rhonda’s content wasn’t deemed as being appropriate by the community and, worse yet, she had product placement in the show (the number one ‘no-no,’ of local access) which in turn almost lost the station its funding.”
“Oh, right.”
“So when she comes in, say nothing, just send her to me.”
By the time Denise finished her sentence Sam was already half way out of the door “Kay,” she grumbled and walked out of the room, back down the hall. Swinging her right leg behind her she pivoted toward another dim lit blue hallway.
Sam cursed the day ahead, knowing she wouldn’t be able to finish editing the show today after all, she shuffled up the brown worn out path in the middle of the once blue carpet and then onto the large white tiles that covered the production wires. Everyday. EVERYDAY I come in and she’s complaining and gossiping and overreacting to that woman. Everyday there’s another thing on my list. Oh, what’s that you want me to clean the bathrooms, do three shoots, edit everything that comes in the door, fix all the audio, teach people how to use equipment and how to edit, clean everything, sell programs, check equipment out, contact people for shoots, schedule everyone, run errands for you, put ointment on your damn wrist, corral the boy scouts, make dubs, do a monthly newsletter for the senior center, send everything to you for the okay even though you don’t know anything about what I’m doing or how I do it – when your never around anyway, AND keep Kathy under control? It wasn’t until the floor loudly squeaked beneath her as she passed the control room, causing the four people inside to turn and look out through the glass door to see who was passing, that she mustered up the courage to demand change.
She stopped just past the control room door and pivoted back towards Denise’s office the floor squeaking again as she passed. The faded blue carpet crunched softly under her feet as she turned left at the end of the hall and crossed the wide lobby and stood in the doorway to her dimly lit cave. Breathe. “Denise, I was thinking that I might be able to edit today as we discussed, since it needs to be done tomorrow.” Her face was now flushed and her voice began to tremble, “I have a lot on my plate already, and I simply don’t have the time to watch all of Kathy’s shows as well.” Her hands shook, “Now, I don’t mind compromising and say – trading the Kathy stuff for the library shoot today. But people have been calling and demanding copies of the concert for weeks now and, correct me if I’m wrong, but perhaps my finishing the concert should be top priority. Since it’s sure to give us a profit,” Whereas your power struggle with Kathy certainly does not. She quickly exhaled and braced herself for a response.
The response didn’t come, she squinted into the dark room, there was an empty hole on the black leather computer chair behind Denise’s large oak desk lit by her small green desk lamp, the only real source of light in the dark blood colored room (that and the dim, disheveled torch lamp in the back corner). Paul, the engineer was laughing in the office next door. Sam poked her head in the door and tears were running down his face into his salt and pepper beard. He was in his late 40s and wearing the same blue jeans and red lumberjack shirt he did every day. “Where the hell is Denise?” she asked. He laughed louder still, expelling small amounts of spit from his mouth as he did. She waited for him to settle down, leaning against the doorframe frowning. He ran his hand through his short black hair, “She left, had errands to attend to.”
“Again? Jesus, fine. Whatever I’m just gonna edit the concert.”
If she can’t be bothered to be here, then I’ll just have to make my own priorities.
“Alright, oh! I forgot to tell you, Kathy’s coming in to edit today at one.”
A strange combination of laughter and sighs expelled from her mouth as she again crossed the lobby and pivoted down the hall to the glass door with ‘Editing,’ etched in white. Kathy was one of the volunteers and it was Sam’s job to “Teach,” them to edit their own packages. This usually resulted in hours spent teaching them how to use a computer rather than showing them how to use the program. Though one plus about Kathy was that she knew the program rather well and usually came in to learn animation tips and tricks rather than needing an editing babysitter. The control room squeaked as she passed, the people inside glanced over, and she entered the small room where one Mac, seven Dells, and twelve monitors lined the white walls. She sat on the black computer chair near the Mac, trying to keep her balance on its worn out frame and stared at the square black clock on the wall. She turned the Dell on and opened the concert file up. The room was hot from the processors and made her want to sleep. She began editing the program and got an hour in before she had to take a brake and let it render. Only 15 minutes of footage to go. She glanced up at the clock as she left the small warm room marked ‘Editing’ 12:00, that gives me plenty of time before Kathy gets here. She slithered down the narrow hallway, dodging fellow nameless co-workers with intense attention on the progression of her sandaled feet. She poured herself a cup of watered down coffee from the machine between the offices of Denise and Paul. Denise was still gone. Again she traveled across the lobby and pivoted down the dim blue hall to the editing room. She sat again on the old creaky chair and started to edit, but the mouse wouldn’t move. She slammed it on the desk and sighed and quickly pressed the buttons ‘ctrl-alt-delete’ as she had done countless times before, Shit! No response. Sam rubbed her forehead and blew her brown bangs out of her face before accepting the fate of her project and forcing the computer into a hard restart. She glanced at the clock 12:24 the computer had restarted and she was ready to start editing again. She opened the projects media files and placed her cursor over the same point she had edited an hour before. ‘ctrl-T’ splice, move, delete. Save. The floor squeaked and she snapped her head toward the hall Kathy’s here.
She was a large woman, both in body and in character. She wore a colorful muumuu with black stretch pants and shoes, and had bright red lipstick with some blue eye shadow accompaniment, which made her blue eyes seem perpetually in the attack position. Her thin shoulder length blonde hair bounced from side to side as she waddled into the room. “Hey kiddo!” She smiled and patted Sam on the head. “Denise isn’t here is she?” Sam shook her head ‘no’ “Oh, good she trying to censor my work! Can you believe that woman?” Sam shook her head again, “Craziness.” Kathy continued to explain to Sam how insane and vindictive Denise was (which was on the most part true) for about an hour. Sam interjected every now and then with the appropriate “No! Really?,” and “I know,” but focused most of her attention on her project. She had typed her final ‘Ctrl-T, delete, save,’ when Kathy said “So, I’m working on the latest installment of Lunch with Kathy and saw you used some cool animation on your last project, could you show me how to do that?” Done. Sam saved the finished concert video and gave Kathy a huge smile, “But of course, have a seat!” she said, offering Kathy her chair.

Oh Henry!

Henry left his modernized mansard home. The only one of its kind he had ever seen, its thick curving walls and flexed roof appeared more like a tooth than a house, and he like a germ meandering through the lush, overgrown lawn. It was a hot summer evening in the spring of ’88 and as he entered his blood red ’73 El Camino the black leather seats he had ripped from his mothers old Camaro quickly burned the soft flesh of his exposed legs as he settled himself in.

The left side of his car was beautiful, mint condition. The right, however, had a deep scrape down the side from the bumper of a wayward semi that crippled each beautiful inch of the metal beast. Rust had begun to sprout from the tare, like blood from a recent wound. The seat was forward, and mirrors off kilter. His brother Frank, a stout simpleton of a man, had obviously borrowed the car earlier in the day. As he reached to adjust his rearview mirror he found himself lost in his own reflection. A man of 32 Henry had never considered himself a handsome man, but the attention he was used to receiving from women (and the occasional male) assured him of some good features.

He had a strong square jaw with a butt of a chin and clear green eyes that got him his way many a time. Though as the years passed his chin had turned into more of a dimple and his eyes had grown foggy and bloodshot. Decades in the service industry had left a permanent frown on his once youthful face and the stress of his fathers failing health had left him with more grey hairs than black, and less of it overall. He’d been so consumed with emotion over the last few weeks that he could barely recognize himself. This was not the face of Henry Roberts; this was the face of a man run ragged.

He should have shaved. But it was half past seven, and there was no time for that. He slowly left the brick driveway and as his house grew smaller in the rearview mirror the stress and sadness of late seemed to shrink away with it. Though with each breath of calm quickly came the mounting anxiety of what was yet to come as he entered the expressway and neared his destination.

At exit 84, two before the exit to Eliza’s, the Caminos engine began to grind and Henry was forced to the side of the road. He popped the hood and promptly poured quart after quart into the insatiable beast. He’d never owned a car that burned so much oil. At first this fact bothered him, and with his father’s recent surgeries he couldn’t afford to fix a problem so tedious as this. Though, the billows of smoke that would emit from his exhaust as a direct result of gassing the engine became yet another miniscule thing that brought joy into his life. Once finished, Henry took this opportunity to change out of his small red shorts and black and purple tracksuit and into his brown three-piece corduroy suit.

As he rounded the turn to Eliza’s he found that despite the air being on full blast, he was sweating profusely. This wasn’t such a good idea after all. He parked the car in the lot across from her building careful that he was of equal distance between the cars at his sides. Henry took one last look in the mirror, inhaled deeply, slowly, and forced himself out of the car door. “Alright,” he said to no one but himself and ran fervently across the street. Once meeting the curb he abruptly came to a halt and continued in a slow casual pace, twirling his keys as he entered the front of the Blue Cow.

Previously Up in Smoke the Blue Cow was the best-known head shop in the area. While Up in Smoke had better paraphernalia, its owner forgot to pay his taxes for a few years and was taken out of business. The place reeked of patchouli and the tile floor squeaked beneath his black loafers as he made his way to the back. Like all good head shops it featured giant posters of cartoon mushrooms buckling in on one another, tie die t-shirts, and enough nag champa to supply all of India. The tranquil sounds of Bob Marley lofted through the air, interrupted intermittingly by eruptions of moans from next door.

Henry nodded at Gavin who was helping a customer and was the current owner of The Blue Cow. Gavin is an older gentleman, 50+ years. No one knew his exact age, not even him. He often wore suit pants, a short sleeved white button down shirt, and a rather bland tie. With his carefully trimmed hair and well kempt whiskers Gavin seemed quite the exemplary citizen. If one were to approach him on the street they would never assume him a hippy. That is, of course, until he opened his mouth. His dated vocabulary and back water vernacular were enough for one to only imagine the unspeakable things he’d placed upon his tongue to create the muddled heap of words now tumbling out.

Next door to Gavin’s shop was the local ‘Adult’ theater. After years of protesting and ballot writing, the local church ‘The First Sacred Per Capita Church of the Lord Jesus Christ and All his Saved Children,’ finally gave up their mission once they realized it to be the unspoken hot spot of the city’s mayor, as well as other important members of the board in charge of their annual funding. The back behind the shops was dark and covered in shag. Like a patchwork quilt, only the patches were offensive colors of shag carpet and the cotton backing, the walls.

The two large metal doors of the elevator were dented in the middle and covered with event posters. Henry reached into his pocket pulled out a pen and used it on the button. He patiently waited for the elevator to reach the ground floor as the porn music grew in the background. He never quite understood the allure of masturbation in public and could think of nothing more terrifying then finding oneself in one of those theatres surrounded by strange grunting men.

The doors opened with a faint ding and a stale odor of mothballs and urine emitted from the elevator. All but one light in the right corner of it were burnt out and as he entered the compartment whimpered under his weight. The water damaged ceiling sagged close to his head and the once smooth metal walls were covered in graffiti. The semi-blown speaker spurted out music a lot like that from the theatre down the hall. He began imagining the sordid past of the elevator and as the doors began to close he imagined the elevator halting between floors with him stuck inside it. The thought of it made him uneasy, he looked down at his bulbous belly and decided to take the stairs instead.

Needing a breather (and a cig) after the climb, Henry stopped for a couple minutes at the end of the hall. It seemed like quite the reward system, if he keeps this up, he’ll be 40lbs lighter and 2 packs stronger in no time. He reached into his oversized breast pocket and held up a lighter named Chuck. It was a silver Zippo that Henry had commandeered the last time he tried to quit.

After casually crushing his cherry into a crook in the wall and sliding his butt under the stairwell door Henry made his way down the dark, carpeted hallway. The hallway to Eliza’s, much like the stairwell, always made him let out a small giggle. The different colored carpet reminded him of a bowling alley and the bright orange shag glued to the walls in an effort to brighten the place reminded him of hell.
215
From what Henry could tell there are only seven units on this floor, perhaps only seven in the whole building, and yet the numbers go from 210 to 299. He’d think it strange, but with this building the apartment numbering was the last thing to be thought of as queer.
223
As he approached the door the laughter from inside grew louder and louder. Once at the door he feared opening it. The muffled laughs and strangled guffaws seemed so strong that the door, once opened may strike against him so strongly by the shear force of the personalities inside, that he may find himself flat on the bowling club floor.

He straightened his shirt and smell checked his underarms, just a hint of odor now. Thankfully he had planned ahead and put a few extra doses of deodorant on, which made him smell more of old spice and less of sweaty man pig. He cracked his neck, then his hands, and stood tall with his shoulders back and stomach sucked in as much as possible. Once satisfied that he could hold this position long enough for entry, he raised his large hairy fist and banged four times at the door.

Eliza’s voice floated through the kitchen towards the door. She was speaking of children in some far away place. Bosnia was it? He couldn’t tell the exact location got lost somewhere in travel. Stuck, bouncing back and forth between the iron plates of the door, lost forever in each cool crevice and nut. A hand reached for the latch and the door swung open. Henry braced himself for the fall, but once opened, the room fell quiet and the cool air from the apartment embraced his overheated body.

The bright white walls were graced with a plethora of framed black and white photographs. The monochrome apartment was in stark contrast to the rest of the building.
He could see three people sitting at the end of the chandeliered hall around a large oak dining table-wine glasses in hand, some still red in the face from laughter. They all wore beautiful clothing, perfectly fit and perfectly pressed. A fair colored woman at the far end continued to laugh until she noticed herself to be the only one and suddenly stopped. As she turned her gaze toward the door her look grew fiercely solemn and matched those of the other guests visible to Henry from the door.

“Henry! It’s so good of you to come!” Eliza exclaimed over the jazz music playing in the background as she embraced Henry in a hug. She was a tall woman with black hair and deep blue eyes. Her hair was large and dominating but smelled of sweet coconut and hairspray. The long black dress she was wearing clung loosely to her body, leaving her right shoulder bare. She placed her slender hands on his shoulders and asked him how his ride was, how his father was, his life, his car, his dog…all of the questions you’re taught to ask and pretend to care about at a young age. But then, she did something rather unexpected.

Eliza placed her thumb in her mouth and carefully raised it to his brow, and as she slowly whipped the oil from his forehead all of his apprehensions and anxieties were caressed away with it. Henry sighed deeply and joined the others at the table.

A Collection of Chaos

The small box tilted to the left and I jumped to catch it before it fell. But I was too late and the pristine small cardboard box was now lying, crumpled on its side. Fifty AA batteries (for all of my remotes and electronics), six pink and yellow stacks of sticky notes, a set of Liquid Accent highlighters (one pink, one blue, one yellow, one green and one orange), a box of Top Flight security envelopes (the kind with three black lines in the top left corner for those of us who can't find the right place to write the return address), forty two Top Flight security envelopes that had broken free from the box, a box of fine color pencils, twelve Eagle pencils (the kind with the whitish pink wood and slightly spongy lead), and forty Pilot G2 gel pens of varying pt size and color were now chaotically strewn across the floor musty living room floor.
She frowned. “Nice packing skills,” my cheeks reddened, realizing that I had been careless with her things, I felt like an ass. I kneeled on the cold wood floor and reached out across it, pulling all the scattered desk implements into a pile in front of me. She was walking around the room, stopping occasionally to pick up a .05 pen and place it into it’s corresponding mug. I continued moving handfuls of batteries and pens onto the pile I had made on her white oak desk. I felt her eyes on me and stopped. Now standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by office supply shrapnel, she cocked her head and grinned when I met her gaze.
"What?" I smiled and threw up my hands, knowing she didn't approve with my cleaning up method. "What am I gonna do with you?" She had kind patient eyes that gleamed in the natural light of the room. She reminded me of my grandmother on occasion, the one on my Jewish side. The all knowing, all loving, understanding, grandmother - so perfect at the art of guilt, that you didn't even know when you were under it's spell. I smiled and shrugged, taking her cue to unpack somewhere else for a while. I made my way down the lilac painted hallway and into the bedroom.
The bed frame and mattresses were stacked upright against the far wall and I rummaged around the small lavender smelling room for my toolbox to begin its construction. I walked past the dresser and stubbed my big toe on a large metal box haphazardly stuck beneath it, causing me to mutter violent exclamations to myself for a moment before realizing that it was my toolbox and I had been the jerk who put it in a stupid place like that. I pulled out the toolbox and retrieved my Phillips screwdrivers before shoving it back under the dresser and tossed the queen mattress and matching box spring into the back corner of the room. After squaring the Maplewood frame down on the floor where Jane wanted the bed to be, I quickly fastened it together and clumsily attached it to the headboard and placed the mattresses on top. Stood back and admired my handy work before jumping into the air and planting myself onto it as hard as I could. Well done, that deserves a brake. I lay there watching the dust dance in the sunlight above the bed.
Crunch! I jumped up. “What was that?” Jane called from the other end of the house. Good question, “What was what?”
“That noise.” Killian, my 30lb black mammoth of a cat had found the perfect resting spot. On top of a box marked ‘VERY fragile,’ at the foot of the bed. “What noise?”
I picked him up and threw him into the hall before returning to the U-shaped box, muttering under my breath. “Never mind, I thought I heard something…”
I ripped the box open and carefully lifted its newspaper wrapped contents and placed each peace next to me on the floor, gently pressing each one, looking for the culprit of that awful sound. I picked up a slender square package of newspaper and heard a distinct jingle as I turned it on its side. Broken glass, nice one Sal.
I looked about the bedroom and peaked my large orange frosted head out into the hall. The only light was from the kitchen window where Jane was unpacking dishes. Screwing up my face I tore off the newspaper to reveal a black wooden picture frame. The glass had shattered and now lay at the bottom of the box. I turned it over and uncovered a black and white photo taken in the late 30’s early 40’s that I had never seen before.
A white man, around 60 years old is standing on the slab of concrete in front of the door. He’s dressed from head to toe in what seems to be army fatigues. A Soldier! What war could that have been? WW…I, II? He wore a loose fitting billed cap cocked to the right with some sort of insignia on it and two large cargo pockets were on each side of his unbuttoned and wrinkled, collared long sleeve shirt. His right breast pocket sagged slightly from the weight of its square shaped contents and his sleeves were rolled up and neatly cuffed above the elbow. A smoker? Screwdrivers? Was he an Airplane mechanic? He had a white undershirt beneath it, tucked uniformly under his black leather belt and wrinkled cargo pants. The bottoms of his pants were tucked into his black leather lace up boots; the length of the pants caused them to spill over the top of his dirt-smudged boots and cuff around the ankle.
It was hard to tell the detail of the trailer behind him, as the picture was quite overexposed, making the aluminum frame merge seamlessly with the white photo paper. A discarded bottle lay on the shaded muddy ground, three feet below the trailer, and two half circles of concrete were on the concrete slab that lined up with the trailers edge. The concrete step on top was half the length and depth of the one it rested upon and left a two-inch gap between it and the plywood door. Four rusty metal hinges down the right side of the door, attaching it firmly to the long rectangular hole carved into the trailers windowless aluminum siding.
He stood confidently in front of the trailer and was leaning slightly to his right, thumbs casually hooked in the front pockets of his pants. The only jewelry he wears are the rings of his left pinky and right wedding finger and the watch on the wrist of his right hand. Squinting against the glare of the sun, his large pointed ears stick out from his short hair and sit directly in line with his deep-seated eyes and protruding brow.
Both sides of his face droop at an even forty-five-degree angle from the vertical line down the middle of his face. He has little expression on his face, the hint of a smirk, or is it a grimace? Who is he? I rummaged through the box to find another frame and swapped the photos out. I wonder how late Walgreens is open…is there even a Walgreens around here? I stood up and brushed the chunks of glass off of my grey sweat pants and onto the white carpet floor. “Remind me to vacuum that later…” I asked the empty room.
“What did you say?” How does she do that?
“Nothing Hun…”

Grabbing the newly framed photo, I left the sun filled white room and stumbled my way down the ill lit hall towards the kitchen. The orange shag carpet felt like a dirty worn teddy bear under my bare feet. The L-shaped yellow linoleum floor was carpeted with boxes and Jane stood knee deep amongst them, unpacking our mugs into the cupboard above the sink. The afternoon sun poured in from the small window beside her and illuminated her blonde curly hair. She had it pulled back into a bun and occasionally blew the loose strands of bangs from her face as she worked, carefully unwrapping the mugs from a box to her left and throwing the left over newspaper into a smaller box to her left. The fabric of her red flannel pajama bottoms scraped across the open boxes as she turned from side to side, swoosh, swoosh and she was wearing the rainbow colored wool socks my mother had made for her the month before. The cold wood floor of the dining room creaked quietly beneath my feet as I sat down on the round wooden stool across from her.
Seeing me, she placed the mug in her hand (the one with the oddly shaped cow on it and chipped handle that I got from Goodwill for 10¢) into the cupboard, pushed up the sleeves of her blue cotton long-sleeved shirt, and plunged her freckled ivory hand into the tall paper bag on the kitchen counter near the fridge. My eyes widened as she leaned over the counter and placed an honest to gosh real salt bagel into my empty hand. “Wow!” I exclaimed, “Where the heck did you find these in West Michigan?” Not that it mattered, it’d been so long since I’d had a real bagel, all that really mattered was that it was in my hand and would soon be in my grey alpaca covered belly. She locked her large brown eyes on my green, glass covered ones for a second, “A bagel shop,” she smirked and took a large bite from her egg bagel. I narrowed my eyes. Cute.
“Whatcha got there?” She asked, gesturing with the egg bagel to the framed photo in my hand. “Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing…”
“Oh?”
“Well sorta…if you replace the ‘what’ with a ‘who,’ then - yes.”
“I see…” She sat on the stool on the other side of the island from me and clapped her hand and bagel together in mock excitement. “Lemme see!” I held the frame like a frisbee and motioned it towards her. She laughed, placed her bagel into her mouth, and clapped her hands. Shaking my head I gently passed her the frame and began peeling the skin off of my bagel and eating it. I wrinkled my nose and watched her place her bagel on the white, germ infested, countertop. There was a ring of red lipstick residue on the bagel where her mouth had been. She flipped the frame over and stared at it for a while. “So who is he?” She smiled, revealing the small chip in her right front tooth and gave the picture back to me, “That’s my illegitimate Great Uncle Bill.” I paused and took that information in for a moment. “He’s your illegitimate Great Uncle Bill? What now?”
“Yea,” she said laughing, “He and my Great Aunt Marty were madly in love or whatever, neither wanted to get married.”
“Because…”
“He considered himself some rogue or something, and she didn’t want to give up control of her life to a man. No matter how much she loved him.”
“Oh, okay. So…they were crazy?” I said jokingly.
“Maybe…but being that my grandpa died when I was three he became the only guy left on that side of the family…and was like a grandfather to me.”
“So…let me get this straight. He’s your illegitimate Great Uncle Bill / Grandfather?”
“Yea, something like that.”
“Okay, cool.” I shrugged, “Fair enough!”
“Yup. “
“So, what’s with the army get up? Was he a Sergeant or Navy Seal or something?” I stuffed the large doughy cube I’d made of my bagel into my mouth and chewed it heartedly, hoping to cover up my complete ignorance of the military.
“It was Halloween.”
“…Oh.”

Debt Ninjas

‘Good evening. This is an extraordinary period for America's economy…’ RING President Bush’s two foot face towered over Fred from its mount on the white stucco wall of his apartment. ‘We've seen triple-digit swings in the stock market. Major financial institutions have teetered on the edge of collapse,’ RING ‘ and some have failed.’
Fred reached over and grabbed the thin white phone cord, pulling it from the wall.

‘As uncertainty has grown, many banks have restricted lending, credit markets have frozen, and families and businesses have found it harder to borrow money.’ He wore his usual TV watching attire, black sweatpants and a navy blue bathrobe. ‘We're in the midst of a serious financial crisis, and the federal government is responding with decisive action.1’

With a Killians in is right hand Fred’s attention set upon the “-$12,348.95 available,” laid out before him and the red “PAST DUE,” stamp at the top right of his credit card bill. He was let go from his small manufacturing job in Mid-Kansas a few weeks back, the week he bought the 62” Plasma TV. ‘…and where people of every background can work hard, develop their talents, and realize their dreams1.’ Corporate decided to hire a kid fresh out of middle school instead, for “Economic reasons.” Bastards.

‘Thank you for listening. May God bless you1.’ Fred tossed the bill aside took another swig of Killians, “Drats,” he sighed, staring into the empty bottle. He rubbed his banged up fingers over his tired blue eyes and forced himself out of the raggedy orange lazy boy he got in college with a groan. His thirty-eight year old knees cracked under his weight. He paused for a moment to catch his balance before placing the TV remote in his pant pocket and shuffled his wool-covered souls down the short white carpet.

The Oxyclean guy was on TV yelling about some new debt consolidation software, yet Fred kept it on to light his way. He took a brief segway to the bathroom where he switched on the light and water fixtures and dove his hand deep within the medicine cabinet, retrieving the bottle labeled Simply Sleep. He shook the bottle upside down for a few minutes until two small blue pills finally fell past their cotton barrier and tossed them into the back of his aching throat along with a handful of water.

He leaned in over the counter with his shoulder stooped. His eyes seemed deeper than they used to be and his skin was freckled with pimples from stress. Small patches of brown hair have developed on his chin. He killed the water and bathroom light before pulling the remote from his pocket and powering down the plasma as he careened into his dark bedroom at the end of the hall. The saliva stained down pillow greeted the brown crescent of hair upon his head with a light puff as he fell upon his cool twin bed. After staring up into the darkness for a while his breathing slowed and the steady pulse of his heart slowed with it, until finally he drifted to sleep.

His stout body flung itself around wildly at around one in the morning and his mouth let out ghastly moans. A person dressed from head to toe in black was chasing him down the metropolitan street, demanding his card payment or else. Their black emotionless eyes glistened in the street lamps as they chased him down the alleyways. His heart was pounding as he raced down a short cut to his old school, he’d be able to find refuge there – hidden beneath the boiler room. The alley warped around him and the sky opened up.

Air brushed against his ears, radios were blaring around him, sound waves bolting from large black speakers. “We’re in the midst of a serious financial crisis,” Fred forced himself over a chain link fence where all he could hear was the rapid pounding of his heart as he gasped for breath. The dark figure’s slender 6’5” body whisked through the air with ease, sirens went off in the distance keep running, just keep running.

For a moment Fred glanced behind him, and to his horror the large dark figure had caught up to him and leered above him like a schoolyard bully. “NO!” he screamed. Just one more corner and he’d be safe – Fred gulped for air and darted to his right but to his horror all he had found was a red brick wall, growing high into the sky. He fell to his knees and begged forgiveness but the Ninja would not hear it and went in for the kill.

Creak… Fred awoke with a start. Sweat pouring from his pores and his heart thumping away madly in his head. His eyes darted nervously around the dark room. “Please, just give me time to get a job! I’ll pay it off! I swear I will! Pleaaaase, just don’t kill me!”
The quietness of the room and ticking of his hooters clock brought him back to reality, his breathing slowed and he chuckled silently to himself as the safety of the room engulfed him. He lay back against his bed shuttering violently, his sweat soaked sheets were cold and damp against his skin. Tick, Tick, Tick A weight pressed upon his chest and when he opened his eyes he saw another set gazing back at him.

Groping for his bedside lamp, a large strong hand wrapped around his wrist and wrangled it behind his back. He opened his mouth to scream but the person, whomever it was, clenched his gut tightly between their legs and his cheeks tightly between their thumb and fingers. The eyes grew larger, the hotness of their salmon flavored breath made his tears water and gut churn.

A deep voice bellowed into his face, “You have two weeks to make payment on your card,” the deep voice bellowed into his face, “after those two weeks, your life is mine. Do you understand?” Fred nodded incessantly and began to whimper, he closed his eyes, wishing it would all go away. The weight lifted from his chest and his sheets swooshed as they slid against the perpetrators garments. Fred kept his eyes held shut and waited one one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand, “Four one-thousand, five one-thousand…” he whispered to himself. He slowly opened his eyes upon reaching the count of ten. Groping again for his bedside lamp, he switched it on. It was just a dream. It was just a dream…

Tick, Tick, Tick went the Hooters clock - 2am. His eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness of the room. The flaking blue paint on his bedroom wall danced like blades of grass in a summer wind. I didn’t open that window, did I? He swung his legs over the side of his bed and carefully took two steps to the corner of his double hung window frame, easing his back against the wall, like on all the cop shows. He breathed out slowly and peered out of the window into the amber lit parking lot below. A brown and white kitten meandered its way across the parking lot and a dog barked ferociously at it from the apartment above You’re being ridiculous.

Fred grabbed his ever-thumping chest and forced it to slow, breathing deeply in and out and in again. He placed his palm upon the windowsill and braced himself against the wall the cold metal sill helped to calm him. “What’s this?” he said, eyes narrowing and heart quickening, noticing something beneath the pinky of his hand. A black piece of cloth lie snagged between the window and its runner, he picked it out and threw his window shut before throwing himself deep beneath the covers of his bed.

The train blared its horn and rumbled Fred’s bed as it crossed to the train yard next to his apartment complex, jiggling him awake. He yawned and began to wipe the dried drool from his face when he recalled the night before. I’m never taking sleeping pills again. He rolled himself out of bed and crossed the hall to the wooden front door of his apartment. Where he threw on a pair of worn out moccasins with a matching set of holes over his pinky toes and threw open the door to the sun baked world outside.

He bent and grabbed his morning paper and continued down the cedar steps to his Chevy pickup that was parked in front of his bedroom window to retrieve his reading glasses. The Chevy’s silver coat gleamed in the morning sun, as Fred reached for the drivers’ door handle he noticed a small piece of paper clutched between the wiper and windshield of his car.

He snatched it up and held it close to his face. Sweat poured from the top of his head and trickled it’s way around his crescent of hair, down his blood filled face. His face filled with blood and his heart began leaping from his chest. Two Weeks.

Fred ran back up the steps and into his apartment, locked all the doors and closed all of the curtains, head throbbing with blood. “Okay, okay, call the cops? No, no can’t call the cops…” he muttered. He fell to the ground and began to rock. No, no “No, what will I do?” KNOCK, KNOCK!

Fred jumped. No, but it hasn’t even been a day. He cowered into the cusp of his couch and hid from the door. Click the door unlocked and a tall thin man with shoulder length brown hair and beard walked in. His dark blue jeans grazed the tops of his bare ankles and his brown moccasins were covered in mud.

The man rubbed the left ear of the Mickey-Mouse face on his chest, “Yo, Fred - you in here?” He walked toward the couch and peered over at the petrified man. “Dude, you okay? I’ve been trying to call you all night. You look like shit man…Fred?” Fred didn’t move, he couldn’t move, he just laid there and stared at the mans deep green eyes.

“Did you get the note?” Fred shot up from the couch, his face inches from the mans, “The note… What about it, what do you know about the note?” he screamed. “Uh…I put it there dude, you know, two weeks. Two weeks before our big camping trip! Did you forget?” Fred laughed and smacked himself in the forehead, “Of course! The camping trip…of course, of course.”



1 President's Address to the Nation, In Focus: Economy. http://www.whitehouse.gov/news/releases/2008/09/20080924-10.html

boxes of doom (growing up)

Rain poured heavily from the tan roof tiles of Sam’s parent’s house and rippled around her black rubber gumshoes as she stood upon the slanted concrete porch. A large army green messenger bag filled to the brim with Wii and Xbox 360 video games, cords, controllers and other implements rubbed against the nape of her neck as she jostled the matching green school bag full of books over her back with a huff. Her hazel green eyes focused on the clouds created with every strained breath she made in the crisp moist air as she lightly gripped the large black trash bag of clothes to her stomach and waddled over the spongy grass to her green Subaru Forrester parked on the brick circle drive.

She tossed the bags as best she could into the back of the station wagon and slammed the hatch shut. Her dark blue jeans were now soaked to the knees as she sloshed to the driver’s side door, creating ripples in the small lake that had taken over the driveway. Grabbing the door handle she hastily opened the door and jumped onto the black leather seat. She slid her large square hand over the cars matching leather handle and slammed it shut with a thump and a click.

The cars aromatic smell of damp cat and leather filled her head and forced her to open the driver’s side window a crack. She cranked the square metal key between her fingers and the engine roared to a start, then fell to a steady purr as she pulled the right sleeve of her heather grey hooded sweatshirt over her hand and wiped the fogged window clear. Debussy’s ‘Des pas sur la neige,’ surged through the speakers and Killian began to howl. “Hey, okay…I’m sorry, I get it.” She said to the 30 lb. black Main Coon and pressed the black volume knob of the radio to ‘OFF,’ leaving no other sound then his irritated growls and the soft patter of the rain. “Is that better?” She asked placing her finger into the faded purple cat carrier. Killian rubbed his massive face against it, purring and nibbling her fingertip. “Look, I’m sorry bub. I know you hate this…I do too, but they just don’t make cat carriers big enough for you and it’s a small trip anyway, just down the road. Twenty minutes, tops…I promise.” The cat’s large green eyes glared back at her through the carriers black metal bars. “Alright,” she sighed. She threw the wagon into gear and departed down the drive, tires jostling over the red brick. “Lets get going shall we?”

Once engaged, the windshield wipers sliced through the sheets of rain just long enough for Sam to see that traffic was clear and pull slowly out onto Vernon St. SE before the world became a Salvador Dali painting once again. “Isn’t this exciting?!” she proclaimed to the cat, who wouldn’t stop making the most tortured of meowing sounds. “It’s okay to be nervous bubba. I mean, who wouldn’t be. Right? I just got my first big kid job at the TV station, we’re moving out of mom and dads, and in with Eliza. All very exciting… nerve racking things.” She laughed nervously and brought the car to a stop at Frenton Dr., right blinker going. “But hey, we like Eliza…maybe even love…she’s the least crazy of all of my girlfriends after all- and it’s just an apartment… it’s not like we’re buying a house and getting married or worse… raising kids.” “Moooooeoeeeeeerrrrrrw,” Killian groaned. “Husssh. It’s okay.”

Sam turned onto Frenton Dr. and continued to Pierce. The rain increased in intensity and forced her to pull her stocky 5’7” frame close to the steering wheel, and her heart shaped face to the windshield. She laughed to herself as the windshield wipers began keeping time to the chaotic waltz of her thoughts. Worst comes to worse we’ll break up. Yea, it’ll be awkward at first, but it’s a big enough place. We’re both adults. What could go wrong? Besides everything.

The warped shapes and streaking colors of the world beyond her windshield slowly slipped away as she progressed down Frenton and turned onto Pierce. The large, sporadically placed square concrete boxes of their new apartment complex emerged over the horizon like large grey globs of clay in a beginner’s pottery class. Sam pulled the Subaru to a stop in the left turn lane and clenched her fists tightly to the steering wheel. The fast, hypnotic beat of the rain, wipers and turn signal competed with the intense pounding of her heart.

She became overwhelmed by its beat, coursing thickly through her body; it surged into her temples and pulsed in her fingertips as she waited for the traffic to clear. The traffic light at the corner turned red and she laid her foot heavily on the gas pedal, blazing into the entrance of Habitat 67, inches away from a black Suburban with tinted windows that had turned right onto Pierce from Hall. The Suburban’s horn blared and her heart skipped a beat as the Subaru’s glistening green body flew over the first yellow speed bump.

A masterpiece of children’s engineering, the architect Moishe Safie was inspired by Lego® blocks when he designed the randomly stacked cubed concrete apartments of Habitat 67. So this is growing up? Sam pulled into the large square parking lot and turned the Subaru off. “Alright, buddy we’re here. After four years we’re finally moving in together. Are you ready?”

She picked the faded purple cat carrier up, grabbing it from the bottom, as she was sure his size would max out its small plastic fasteners. She braced herself and swung open the door as she jumped out into the sheets of rain, cat and carrier nestled tight beneath her arm. Her hand slipped over the doors handle as she slammed it shut and beelined for the entrance overhang, jumping and dancing her way through the rain and puddles to the great vine covered concrete main entrance of the building. Two story high electronic glass doors slid open as she approached. I think I’m going to be sick. She took a deep breath and entered the foyer. The buildings dependence on solar light left the lobby dim and gloomy on days like today.

The lobby was empty and quiet apart from the teenage clerk asleep at the front desk whose faint snores slowly overlapped the patter of heavy rain on the large glass skylights. Thick concrete walls expanded up twenty feet and the white and peach checkered marble floor squeaked loudly beneath the soles of her galoshes as she scuttled diagonally between the s-shaped couches and large potted palm trees in the center of the room to the glass elevator doors under the landing of the concrete stairs. She pressed the white circular button with the knuckle of her free pointer finger causing an amber light to turn on in the button.

The chugging sound of the elevator making its way down joined the snoring of the clerk and the patter of the rain. Killian groaned and jostled in his cage, gnawing on the black gate that trapped him, making Sam shift her weight to keep her balance. An orange glow of light emerged and expanded as the elevator entered the lobby floor, warming the dim underbelly of the concrete landing and reflecting on the shiny marble floor.

The car came to a stop with a loud ding that cut through the lobby and bounced off its concrete walls, waking the desk clerk with a start. “Sorry!” she whispered across the room. The elevators glass doors whooshed open and holiday music meandered through the air toward her. Ugh. Really? She stepped out of the puddle that had formed around her on the marble floor and into the glass half-circle compartment, pressing the ‘6’ button with her free hand. Four years, four years we’ve been together. With no problems…so what’s my problem?

The elevator was built into the exterior wall of the complex and offered a 180-degree view of the dark, wet world outside. Grasping the brass railing that wrapped around the elevator, she turned and watched her forrest green Subaru shrink into the grey day. Why do I feel sick? She’s great…we’re great…ugh. What are you doing Sam!? Always looking for problems when there aren’t any. You’re going to ruin this great thing. And why? “Because you’re a chump, a coward.” You know why they call it commitment… don’t you? It means you’re committed… ha-ha. “Stop,” Rain droplets slid down the glass panes, making small rivers that dripped off onto the ground floors below. Don’t screw this up.

***

Eliza opened the oven to check the apple pie. Ten more minutes. She looked up at the ticking black Felix® cat on the wall She’ll be here any minute, okay...relax. It’s Sam, we’ve been together for four years – and now we’re moving in together. And now we’re moving in… she scuffled past the boxes and lunged down the hall, hitting her left leg on a chair as she went “Shit!” that’s gonna bruise. She raced into the bathroom and dumped the contents of her knit pink makeup bag onto the counter.

She stared into the mirror and touched up her lipstick, put on more mascara, and pinched her milky cheeks for a bit more rouge. She shoved the makeup back into its bag and slid it off of the counter into the drawer with a thud. She wore her favorite black dress, the scoop necked block dress with the waist tie, which captured the perfect classy-casual look. She grabbed her red alpaca sweater from the bathroom door hook and held it against herself, looking in the mirror. With? She withdrew the sweater or without? Eliza repeated this motion several times before deciding to wear the sweater.

With that she took one last look in the mirror, fixed her hair once more, and wove her way back toward the kitchen where her heels were. She slipped the black two-inch heels on and checked the pie again. Almost. She clunked through the small off-white kitchen to the living room and turned the CD player on. She looked up again at the ticking clock with its wagging tail and began biting her carefully painted nails.

***

The bouncing light stopped and the elevator stopped with it, making Sam’s gut sag for a moment before returning to its rightful place. The glass doors swooshed open behind her and she scuffled and squeaked from the elevator onto the birch floor of the hallway, still balancing the carrier on her hip. Sam stepped to the right of the elevator and removed her galoshes ‘Thwap, thwap,’ she ran her free hand through her shoulder length red hair and continued down the concrete walled hall to the apartment.

There are no other apartments on the floor, only theirs .The bold white 82pt typewriter font numbered 1020 loomed at her from the end of the long dark hall. She shuffled the fifteen feet to the black metal door, one blue Keen shoe in front of the other. With each step her heart doubled in pace, she shifted the carrier to her left hip and reached for the chrome door handle with a trembling hand. You’re being ridiculous.

The door swung open with a click and a warm glow from the apartment filled the dreary corridor where she stood. Boxes filled the foyer and the sweet smells of apples and cinnamon met her nose as Debussy’s ‘Arabesque n.1’ filled her ears. She closed her eyes, smiled, and stepped through the doorway. “Sam is that you?” Eliza called out. Sam closed the door and let Killian out of his cage. He darted past the boxes and disappeared. “Elli? Where are you?” “Over here.” Her voice was soft and soothing to Sam who wove her way through boxes trying to find Eliza. “Here where?” she giggled. She had made it through the foyer into the dining room where she again found herself in the midst of boxes stacked ceiling high. “Here!” Sam whipped around. There stood the 5’8” Eliza, her sapphire eye peering down at Sam through a hole in the boxes.
“Hey Hun!”
“Hi…wow. Umm... Hi! One sec!” seeing a gap at the far corner of the room, Sam motioned back to Eliza, “Meet me in the family room…” Sam scuttled across the dark hardwood floor and squeezed herself between the white plaster wall and tower of boxes into the next room as Eliza clunked her way through the kitchen in her black heels. Leaning against the wall length window she rolled up the sleeves of her red alpaca sweater and began playing with the strap of her loosely clung black dress. Sam walked over and stood beside her.

“Are you as freaked out about this as I am?” Eliza asked, her candy apple lipstick made her already full lips into two large pillows in the middle of her sharp milky face. Sam laughed and nodded, “Definitely.” Eliza smiled and drew Sam to her. Sweet coconut and hairspray wafted from her straight thick black hair and mingled in the air with Sam’s CK cologne. She kissed the corner of her mouth.
“You know what?” Sam asked.
“Huh…”
“I like you.”
Eliza laughed. Placing her hand into Sam’s, “I like you too.” She said, rubbing candy apple lipstick from Sam’s mouth.

And there they stood, giggling. Watching rain droplets slide down the windowpane and make small rivers that branched out into three thick streaming waterfalls that plummeted to the soaked earth below and disrupted the daisies and earthworms that wiggled out of the bubbling soil.