Most of what I write can be classified on a scale ranging from "intensely personal" to "completely fictional". The late lamented pop group REM called their farewell greatest hits compilation "Part Lies, Part Heart, Part Truth, Part Garbage", and I guess that about sums it up. Little kernels of truth or, more precisely, of experience floating in a sea of pure bunk.
Enjoy. I wouldn't be posting any of this if I didn't want feedback, so do the right thing.
Law and Order
This particular chain coffee shop is frequented by detectives from the local police department. Depending on the time of day you can see them filtering in for morning coffee or for lunch. With few exceptions, all of them are in good shape and genuinely attractive people. They usually travel in groups of two or three, but there is one older man with silver grey hair and neatly trimmed mustache that always seems to be alone. He's also the only one I've seen so far that wears a shoulder holster, and I like to think he fancies himself a kind of maverick. The lone wolf cop we all know from action movies.
Today I saw three detectives, two females, a blonde and a brunette, and a male with a shaved head and sunglasses he kept on indoors. The male wore slacks, a pressed white shirt and a tie so ugly it could only have been a fathers day present. All three wore fabric holsters clipped on their belts for their respective firearms and had badges hanging from chains around their necks.
The blonde was the oldest and clearly the leader. She took point while her fellows followed closely behind.
"I'm sore from doing these", she said, "Whatever these are" and she began waving her arms in front of her like a bird taking flight. The other two smiled sympathetically and the male said P90X left him similarly wiped out.
The brunette spoke the least of the trio. She wore a tank top beneath an open flannel shirt. Her badge hung just between her breasts.
The three ordered salads and coffee. While eating the male said resentfully that "people have this Hollywood of what a detectives life is like. That it's all action." His peers seemed equally resentful of this common misconception, but I noticed none of them spoke further to dispel it.
Lifeguard on Duty
The lifeguard sat texting with her legs up in a chair, looking very calm and comfortable. She exuded no security whatsoever, and instead seemed to be sending out vague psychic communications to all of us at the pool. She was saying "Nobody drown, okay?".
Courtesy Call
I answered the phone. It was the hospice that had taken care of my mother calling, telling me that we were reaching an anniversary of my mothers passing and as a courtesy to my father and I they were checking in, seeing if there was anything we needed and how we were holding up. I told her that my father had actually died about a week ago and there was quiet for a few moments. "Goodness" she said. This was followed by more silence. Another "goodness" and she cleared her throat. She said "Well, if there's anything we can do for you in the wake of your mothers death, or the death of your father, for that matter, please feel free to call." I thanked her and hung up. I imagine she took the rest of the day off, or at least a very long lunch.
Your enjoyment of this next one is contingent upon your ability to answer the question "Just who the hell is Tom Mix, anyway?" Tom Mix was a silent film star and one of cinemas first cowboy heroes. He rode "Tony, the Wonder horse" and died young.
Tom Mix in the Valley of Death
Tom Mix had been in the desert for some time. The sun was relentless. The desert was dry and though this desolate place had been almost a second home to Tom for so many years he was growing tired of it. Tom hadn't talked to Tony for days and was fearful his old friend would come to resent the silence. Though a wonder horse, Tony was, after all, a horse and couldn't return much in the way of conversation. They exchanged well-meaning smiles as they made their way to the oasis to refill Tom's canteen. Tom thought of Mabel. Or was her name Pearl? He thought of that pure-hearted school marm that waited for him in town. That wonderful smiling girl who waited patiently for Tom's return and perhaps, dare she even think it, a proposal of marriage after so many years pining faithfully for her wandering hero. The idol of her heart and mind. "I think her names Katy" said Tom, but Tony only nodded. His masters thoughts had been so scattershot lately. So random. But the desert does that to a man. No doubt about it, the desert infects you just as sure as shootin'. It gets under your skin and into your blood and before you know it, you've got a fever. The only cure for the fever? More of what made you ill in the first place. More desert. More lonely wandering from mesa to watering hole to emptiness and the maddening jailhouse of ones own troubled mind. Tom promised Tony all the oats he could eat but Tony had heard this promise before. Tom felt guilty. It's bad enough to have this crazy sickness yourself, but to drag somebody out along with you? Almost unconscionable. Tony was a wonder horse, and a wonderful friend. Let's just say he could talk, what would he say? He'd say "I'm with you, Tom, right down the line." Tom took his canteen from his saddlebag. "I think her names Edith" he said.
Three Dreams
I dreamed I was an investigative journalist and as part of research for an article had myself shrunk down to roughly the size of a Ken doll. A cat menaced me, and I caught a mouse to use as bait to distract my formidable pursuer. I had a clever name for the article that I was going to write about the experience in the dream but couldn't remember it when I woke up. Later on, I though up another title: "Of Mice-Sized Men"
I dreamed that I was on a bus trip and was upset to discover an old girlfriend travelling on the same bus. I felt agitated and awkward. As it turns out my old flame was now a perfume sales lady and was hawking her wares to fellow travelers. The perfumes had weird names like "I'm a Mystery" and "He's SO into you". I finally became so frustrated that I walked over to her and the woman she was selling her scents to and said "Do you have one called 'I am a Royal Pain in the Ass?'"
I dreamed that my mother and father were puppets. They behaved as they did in life, but to almost comical extremes. All of their attributes were amplified and they had become, in the dream, gross caricatures of what they had been in life. I felt guilty in the dream and when I woke up as well. I felt that, even if only subconsciously, I was making fun of them.
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