The Case of the Duplicitous Duck

And then the duck nodded, conspiratorially and contemptuously at once, just before he waddled away at a pretty impressive pace without ever once looking back. It was not a good turn of events.

I reminded myself to never trust a duck again.

But I didn’t have time to fret about it…sirens were screaming towards me and the blood on my hands and the sack full of crumpled hundred-dollar bills at my feet made me look anything but innocent.

As the rain beat down on my head…yes, of course it was raining…I wished that I had remembered to bring my umbrella and I was longing for a mocha latte from Starbucks and something glazed and gooey from the bakery down the street from my mother’s apartment building.

It was not a good night.

I shook off my stupor and grabbed the sack and ran into the shadows. As the cops screeched to a screaming halt down the way, I hugged the alley wall like it was sweet Ruby Brown when she was in her cups and frisky as a bunny in heat and prayed they wouldn’t notice me.

The cops’ flashlights stabbed through the rain and the darkness but they couldn’t find me in my soggy hiding place. I was going to make it. I was golden. I was on easy street. I was king of the world.

And then the damn duck snuck up behind me and quacked, forcefully and spitefully at once, and then he turned and melted back into the deeper shadows.

Every police flashlight instantly illuminated me and I stood there, bloody hands grasping the sack full of crumpled hundred-dollar bills, cursing myself for ever having agreed to be part of the caper.

As the cops led me away I reminded myself to kill that duck the next time I saw him.

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More MKW Blogstuff: Neverending Rainbow

Different from the Last Time (Angela's Refrain)

His kiss was warm and fragrant…perfectly-aged brandy and hand-rolled Cuban cigars…and as before it took my breath away. The masculine softness of his whiskers stroked my face gently as he kissed me a third time…his sweetly-urgent lips caressing mine with courtly passion…and, despite my well-founded misgivings, my head began to swim.

Last I remember, I walking out of the club…too tired of the mating game to want to play that night or any night to come…I was on my way back home to the solace of my quiet bed and my curious cat and my Norah Jones CDs. I was walking out of the club…away from the desperate din and casual come-ons…when a warm, massive hand lit on my shoulder and gently stopped me.

His dark brown eyes smiled at me…looked at me as though he had been waiting for me during all of those weeks and months that had passed since our incandescent relationship ended in acrimony…he mouthed my name…”Angela”…and I felt myself slipping under a warm ocean of passion and possibility. He said something else but the music was so loud that I couldn’t make it out. He bent forward and kissed me fleetingly and then he pulled back to gauge my reaction.

I think I nodded and smiled. “Not again, old man,” a voice inside pleaded feebly. I ignored it.

He stepped into me, resting his hands on my hips and then moving them up to my waist. I melted into him, my arms entwining him as my senses luxuriated in all of his wondrous scents and textures. We stood there…alone together in a bustling crowd of hedonistic revelers and earnest love seekers…for a short eternity before we pushed through the throng to the door.

In the cool night breeze, we spoke…shy, carnal hellos and self-conscious apologies for ages-old slights and time lost…and then we kissed again, less demure, tongues probing and hands exploring.

There was no reason to believe that this time would be different from the last time…but just the same, I believed this time would be different from the last time.

Back home in the solace of my humid bed, his touch was gentlemanly and proprietary at once…his mouth warm and comforting…his body sturdy and hirsute, sweetly fevered and anxiously yearning to please and be pleased…and I forgot about yesterday and left tomorrow to its own devices.

In the morning, his breathing as he slept gave me hopeful comfort…his ruggedly etched and weathered face gave me shivers of longing and belonging…but in one breath I vowed not to believe that this time would be different from the last time…and in the next I truly believed that this time would be different from the last time.

- for Angie and Alfred -

Robin

Robin is a contrarian and a snob. He is quite proud of this and never lets those few whom he counts as being worthy of his time and attention forget it. If it’s a TV show that everyone likes, Robin will be sure to hate it with a passion (this country’s fondness for the cheesy spectacle that is…and ever shall be…American Idol irks him to no end.) If it’s a movie that critics rave about, Robin will gleefully point out its many flaws (Robin fumes through the Oscars every year grumbling that all of the best films of the years are ALWAYS ignored in favor of soulless junk.)

And God help any band that manages to sell more than a few thousand CDs…Robin knows, without a doubt, that they have sold their artistic integrity to the false idol of popular acclaim (he has yet to forgive REM for having records…far inferior to their earlier stuff, of course…that went multi-platinum.)

Robin is…despite his intractable fussiness and snobbery…a good guy (especially when you’re feeling devilish and just to tweak somebody who’s wonderfully easy to wind up.) Those few who he counts as being worthy of his time and attention…those few who he calls his friends…accept his blowsy pretensions with a knowing wink and a smile because they know he’s a good guy…and because they know secrets…that Robin always cries at the end of Titanic and that he has a secret stash of Britney Spears CDs that he likes to workout to…that Robin doesn’t know that they know.

Letting Robin be the Robin he wants to project to the world is a simple enough thing for those few who count him as a friend (especially when they have the Britney Spears thing to hang over his head if ever the need arises.)

Total Raisin Bran

It was a hazy Saturday morning in San Diego and I was inside my local Ralphs. I’m balancing my calculator on top of the legal pad on which I’ve written my shopping list; my coupons are clipped to the top sheet of the pad with an oversized paperclip. It’s a weekly ritual and I am focused on getting through the store…the usual pattern starting in produce and ending up in frozen foods…and getting on with the rest of my day.

As I came around the corner of the cereal aisle…Cheerios are on sale…I hear a tiny, determined voice: “Mommy, I can get it.”

“No, Laurel,” a woman said irritably, “you cannot climb on those shelves. Just give me a second to get your sister settled.”

Mom, feeding her fussy baby formula from a small bottle, was harried and unsmiling; she was wearing a scarlet sweat suit and black running shoes; her chestnut hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she was not wearing makeup. I had the distinct feeling it wasn’t a good morning her. Her basket, half full, was parked next to the shelves of coffee that was right across the aisle from the Cheerios section of the cereal shelves; there was an empty baby seat in the top section of the basket.

Near Mom’s feet was a tiny girl…maybe 3…wearing faded blue jeans and a pink Hello Kitty tee shirt, her hair also in a ponytail, and looking up at the cereal shelves. She looked frustrated and impatient. “Mommy, I see it up there,” she said, “the one you like.” I followed her gaze up to the boxes of Total Raisin Bran on the top shelf…two shelves above the Cheerios…and wondered how the impasse was going to be broken.

“In a minute, Laurel,” Mom snapped.

Laurel frowned and then glared up at her mother. “I just wanna help.”

Mom, still feeding the baby, looked down seemingly not knowing whether to laugh or to cry. I imagined that Dad…wherever he was…was in for an earful when he got home.

“Can I help you get something?” I asked, pulling my basket in behind her. Mom looked up at me as if she was trying to figure out my angle; Laurel took a step back towards her Mother.

Mom, apparently deciding that I didn’t have an angle, smiled weakly and said “I just need a box of Total…the Raisin Bran…”

“Mommy, I wanted to get it!” Laurel interjected petulantly as I started to reach for a box.

I suppressed the urge to laugh and got down on one knee. “We can get it together if you want.”

Laurel looked at me warily…I’m a large dark man and she’s a tiny pale girl…and then looked up at her mother.

Her mother looked at me and nodded gratefully and then she nodded at Laurel. Laurel and I crossed the aisle and I put my arm around her waist and lifted her up. She steadied herself my putting her left hand on my shoulder as she reached out for the purple box of cereal with her right. I took a step over and let her put the box…which she was she just barely controlling with both of her hands…into her mother’s cart and then I lowered her back down to the floor.

“Thank you,” Laurel said in small, shy voice as she pressed close to her mother.

“You’re welcome.” I stooped down and grabbed a box of Cheerios from the bottom shelf and tossed it into my cart.

I nodded to Mom as I passed her…she smiled and nodded back…and went on down the aisle towards the front of the store.

“I was up really high, Mommy,” Laurel said behind me before I was out of earshot.

I finished my shopping and got on with the rest of my Saturday.

Blind Date

Kathy’s fight or flight instincts kicked in hard as soon as she saw him…proud as a peacock in his gleaming cherry red Gremlin singing along to Supertramp’s Breakfast in America…pull into the parking lot. She reminded herself to never ever go another blind date…she also reminded herself to throttle Gayle (“he’s a fun guy…you’ll love him”) the next time she saw her.

He fairly danced out of the car…singing “The Logical Song” without once hitting a correct note…and ran up to greet her. Kathy shied back from his attempted hug and they shook hands instead.

Gary…that was his name…was a sight to behold in his three-piece bright white suit, black shirt open down to the middle of his chest (which was covered with a forest of thick black hair), bright white platform shoes (shining like a new dime), gold-rimmed aviator sunglasses (which must have made the world seem awfully gloomy seeing as how it was well past sunset), and enough gold chains to make Mr. T envious back in the day. Kathy wondered if perhaps they were going to a costume party and she hadn’t been given the memo.

Kathy tried to think of what it was she could have possibly done to Gayle to deserve this…and then she remembered that Gayle fancied herself a prankster and Kathy realized that she should have known better. She was glad at least that she’d agreed to meet in a neutral place as she was pretty sure she didn’t want Gary knowing where she lived.

Kathy’s head immediately filled with static after he said “Hey, foxy mama” so she only heard snatches of his chipper monologue as she allowed herself to be led to the passenger seat of the Gremlin (which was, she had to admit, amazingly immaculate.) Gary, chattering away while chewing his Doublemint gum, didn’t seem to notice.

Gary said something about “mood music” and switched the Supertramp cassette for a K.C. and the Sunshine Band cassette. Gary drove and bopped his head and sang (no closer to being on key with this song than he had been with the Supertramp tunes)…that’s the way…uh-huh…I like it…uh-huh, uh-huh…said words at Kathy; Kathy wondered idly if jumping out of the car at the speed it was going would hurt very much.

The club they ended up at was, Kathy imagined, just like Studio 54 back in the seventies…that is, if Studio 54 were a sweaty, dingy, murky hole in the wall dive in a neighborhood most people wouldn’t (or rather would very like be) caught dead in after dark. Lots of people in the club…dressed in enough bright rainbow shades of polyester and gold lame to almost (almost) cut through the haze…seemed to know Gary and he basked in their boozy adoration (Kathy thought that she heard him introduce her to a puffy guy in a lime green leisure suit as “my lady” but her mind refused to try to grasp onto that concept and the thought died a merciful death of denial and sanity preservation.)

Gary led her to “his table” and a waitress…a bored bleached blonde who apparently had put on her makeup with a shovel (and in the dark)…asked what they would have. Gary ordered a rum and coke with a Jose Jimenez accent that he thought was both hilarious and charming.

Kathy ordered beer. Lots and lots of beer.

It took almost two beers before Kathy acquiesced to Gary’s incessant offers to dance when his favorite Village People song thumped through the club’s speakers. Gary, almost as a matter of course, danced no better than he sang and Kathy spent most of the time on the dance floor making sure his white platform shoes didn’t crush down on her stylish but comfortable pumps while idly wondering why it was so much fun to stay at the YMCA.

The rest of the evening was a blur for Kathy. She drank beer, stared down leering disco dancers who had…surprise, surprise…come to the club without dates, and watched Gary’s lips move incessantly (at one point she thought she might have heard him introduce her to someone as his “new girlfriend” but that was too absurd a concept to dwell upon for longer than a nanosecond so she happily let it go.)

There had to be a time machine to take her back to the 21^st Century somewhere around there, Kathy thought as she glanced around the club.

Gary put on some chill out music…Barry White, of course…for the ride back to the mall where Kathy’s car was. The static in her head cleared just a bit too much and, much to her chagrin, she found that she could make out most of the song…I’ve got so much to give…to you my dear…as interpreted by Gary (who was emphasizing his passion by giving her what Kathy was sure he thought were his best, most seductive bedroom eyes.) Barry White was probably rolling over in his grave, she thought…and then the thought of graves made her think of Gayle and that made her smile.

Kathy was opening the door before the Gremlin had drawn to a complete stop. Gary leaned over for a kiss and Kathy deftly offered him a fleeting taste of her cheek. Gary asked if he could call her and Kathy said “sure” and rattled off seven random numbers before she bolted out of the door.

Kathy waited in her car…her safe, reliable, conservatively painted 21^st Century Honda Civic…until she was sure Gary was far down the road before she was sure it was safe to drive home.

Happy Birthday

Today…March 13^th…is my birthday (and yes, I still enjoy my birthdays :-)

Once upon a time, I was young (see above)…I do not yearn for more youth (everything has its season…every life has its stages to experience and embrace) but I do still yearn for time…time to be awed by more sunsets…time to savor more laughter, to sing with more rainbows and dance with more raindrops…time to luxuriate in more sweet kisses and to nuzzle into more lingering hugs…time to see…time to sing…time to laugh…time to dance…time to learn and teach and discover…time to be.

Once upon a time, I was young…and the future was boundless. I am no longer young as I once was (see below)…but the future…the future is still as boundless as my wits and my imagination will allow…and that’s good enough for me.

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More MKW Blogstuff: Neverending Rainbow

Gravity

When I was 8 I spent much of my time defying the law of gravity. The white towel tied around my neck morphed into a flowing red cape and I, running faster than a speeding bullet, took off gracefully and soared high into the sky.

The people waved, glad to know I was watching over them, and I waved back as I patrolled the city. I would do all of the usual stuff…putting out fires, rescuing silly kittens from trees, smashing giant killer robots…until my mother made me come in for lunch.

“Where did you go?” she would ask after I glided down from the heavens and walked into the door from the backyard.

“Metropolis,” I’d answer, a bit miffed that I’d had to cut off my patrol in order to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“That’s nice, baby,” she would reply. “Just don’t get my towel dirty.”

I always just sighed and rolled my eyes…my mother was the smartest woman in the world but she just didn’t get it…and went to the bathroom to wash my hands.

After lunch my teammates…Wonder Woman (Renee) and Batman (Lloyd)…came over and we would spend the afternoon defying the law of gravity, saving silly kittens, keeping the world safe from giant killer robots…and making sure we didn’t get our mothers’ towels dirty.

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Other MKW Blogstuff: Neverending Rainbow

The Tomorrow Girl

Everybody loved the tomorrow girl. She always walked like she was dancing on sunbeams…she always talked like she was singing songs only the four winds dared give voice to.

She always brought bountiful light to dourest of shadows…and sweet magic to even the most mundane of circumstances.

She melted hearts with her smile and moved mountains with naught but the force of her boundless optimism; sadness and cynicism and loneliness had no welcome place in her company.

And that’s why everybody…everybody…loved the tomorrow girl.

Everybody claimed they knew the tomorrow girl intimately. Some claimed to be her sisters and her brothers...her mothers, her fathers, her husbands, her most ardent and faithful lovers. Some claimed to be her most trusted confidants or her most devoted and unwavering supplicants.

Everybody claimed to have a place in the heart of the tomorrow girl…and, though none of them truly knew her as intimately as they imagined they did, every one of them was right.

And even when she was gone…for she never lingered long in one place…her spirit remained…dancing on sunbeams…singing with the mighty winds…opening hearts to light and peace, passion and joy…and that’s why everybody…everybody…loved the tomorrow girl.

And that’s why everybody…that’s why I…loved the tomorrow girl.

- for Magdalena -

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Other MKW Blogstuff: Neverending Rainbow

the balcony

Vaguely, he heard the rustling from the bed….and the soft patter of feet behind him…but he didn’t turn…he didn’t speak out when his name was called in a curious, concerned whisper...he didn't rise from the weathered lounge chair.

The night was cool, the moon was warm and creamy and golden, and the sea in the near distance was languid and soothing and streaked with warm and creamy and golden highlights…the view from the balcony was peaceful and calming.

He felt the arms slip around his neck and the warm lips dance lightly on his neck. “What are you doing out here?”

He nuzzled back. “Watching the moonlight skip across the waves,” he replied.

“How very poetic…” There was a moment of silence. “What’s wrong? Can’t sleep, old man? I figured you would have been worn out after…”

He smiled with some amount of self-satisfaction. “Not such an old man an hour ago was I?”

The arms squeezed him firmly, reassuringly. “Don’t flatter yourself too much, old-timer,” came the playfully taunting reply, “I took it easy on you…you would probably end up in a coma if I really cut loose…”

He laughed. “If you say so…”

The sea breeze wafted around them but the warmth from the place where they were touch was ample proof against any chill.

He felt another kiss tease the most sensitive spot on the nape of his neck and he shuddered involuntarily but oh so sweetly. “Come to bed.”

He closed his eyes. “I will,” he replied, “I just want to watch the moon for a few more minutes.” He opened his eyes and looked out at the lazy sea in the near distance.

The hand gave his shoulder a squeeze. “You’re a strange and wonderful man.”

“And that’s why you love me.”

The velvety chuckle that came in response encircled him like a hug. “If you say so…” The soft patter of feet retreated through the balcony door back into the bedroom.

He sat for a few moments watching the moonlight…feeling very old and very young at the same time…and then, with a respectful salute to the warm and creamy and golden moon, he rose and slipped into the bedroom...into the welcoming bed.

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More MKW Blogstuff: Neverending Rainbow

Amanda

I’ve always thought of my cousin Amanda as the little sister my mother refused to give me when I was boy. My brother and I lobbied hard for a little sister for years but my mother, divorced and out of the baby-making business forever, always just laughed and told us that it just wasn’t going to happen.

Ever the dreamer, I wanted to be my little sister’s best friend and her favorite hero. I wanted to be there when she needed to cry and I wanted to be the one to glower at her perspective boyfriends and let them know that I knew what was on their minds (being a guy myself) and that they were wading into dangerous waters if they messed with my little sister that way.

My cousin Amanda, born almost 3 years after I was, kind of filled that void while we were growing up. She was sweet and self-effacing and a calming, guileless joy to be around (frankly most days I would have traded my troublesome brother…may he rest in peace…for Amanda in a heartbeat.) Amanda had two older brothers but my cousins never seemed to appreciate her as much as I thought they should.

She grew up, of course, and married a man she remains with to this day. Her firstborn daughter became, for a long tender season, the apple of my eye and found a place in my heart right next to her mother’s.

Time and distance separate me from Amanda but the feelings remain…warm and comforting and unlikely to ever fade away…my “little sister” has been a woman for a long while and still…and still…I hope that she knows she’s my little sister now and forever.

Gather.com First Chapters Writing Competition

FYI (and, yes, for your consideration :-): My entry is Gather.com's First Chapters Writing Competition went live today. In their words: The Gather.com First Chapters Writing Competition is a first-time author's gateway to publication. One novelist will win a publishing contract with Touchstone/Simon & Schuster, a $5,000 cash prize and promotion by Borders.

I’ve entered my novel Soul Deep.

If you want to check it out, the link to my entry is here.

My first chapter will be up and available for voting for the next 14 days. It will then be taken down and the votes tallied. The highest rated chapters will then move on to the next round with the second chapters from the novels being posted for another round of voting.

Only Gather.com members can vote (Gather is a free social network for adults who like things like books and music and current events and other everyday interests and concerns and passions and interacting with other like-minded adults who like those kind of things.) If you want to join Gather, the link to do so is here

Once you’re a member, you can vote in the competition if you wish to (again, my entry is here :-), enter your own novel (the deadline for entries is March 15^th I believe), or just enjoy the social networking (Gather is like MySpace…only with a lot fewer kids and no unsigned pop bands trying to sell you their music :-)

Namaste, y'all.