Leo took one last look at Party Room A. It was clean, though some of the cake was never coming out of that carpet. It was only there to cushion potential head trauma should one of the kids trip over a errant over-sized clown shoe, but the carpet also served as a reminder of all the chocolate afternoons and nights that Leo looked over with a too-old-to-be-here scowl.
Good enough, he thought as he clicked off the light and closed the door.
Across the hall from Party Room A was Party Room B, but Leo didn't go in Party Room B anymore. That was Eddie's lair now as far as Leo was concerned, and he was afraid of what was inside. Once upon a time, it was the room for karaoke and dance parties. Leo had put in a great big green screen so the kids could make
videos with what-have-you in the background. Lot of times the moms would jump up there with them.
When he hired Eddie, he figured he'd just acquired another swinging dick that could DJ events and throw on a cowboy suit or dinosaur head, depending on the day. Eddie was a good-looking kid and a bit of a brooder, so he figured maybe the moms would take to him sexually. Hoped it wouldn't be a problem. Weeks later, Leo would kill for problems like that, ever since he saw his first gwyll.
It was back in early fall and Leo was poking around for one of their plastic cake cutters, one that had the "East Village Parties" logo that they could send home with the leftovers. They were always losing the damned things. He thought maybe Eddie had hauled the box into Party Room B, so Leo stuck his head in for a quick peek. That's when he saw it standing on the side opposite the green screen stage, between the long tables. It looked like a large black vulture made of smoke, but with a horrible human face hunched over a child's drawing taped to the wall. Leo thought he saw it smiling, its teeth being the most physically solid part of its body. It noticed Leo immediately and quickly dissipated into the floor like a cartoon falling from a cliff, emitting a strange whirring sound as it did it. It was a sound Leo would hear often over the weeks to come, as the mist began seeping through the cracks of the door and Eddie's eyes grew pale. But that was the last time Leo saw the inside of Party Room B.
Now, as he stood staring at the door, hypnotized by the mist, Leo just wanted to go home. He wanted to stop off at the East Village Market for their biggest bottle of gin and listen to some old records later. He wanted to stop hearing that terrible whirring noise from the inside of Party Room B, or at least pretend there was only just one of those things in there.
Leo shivered and quickly walked down the hall toward the exit. He didn't look back as he hit the lobby lights and walked outside. He shut his eyes tight as he turned to lock the front door, afraid he might see something through the dark of the glass. He fumbled, dropped the keys before he could find the lock.
Good enough, he thought again, grabbing the keys from the ground as he turned toward the parking lot and away from Party Room B.
Friday, April 17, 2015
Thursday, April 16, 2015
Secret Room
Oh, it's that dream where you find a secret room in a house you've lived in for years. The entrance is usually off to the side of something else that distracts the eye, or just behind a corner you rarely notice. Maybe it takes something a little more special to find it, like a magic spell or a tricky maneuver to get inside. Maybe you found it by accident. It's possible that you were running from something dangerous when you noticed the wood paneling next to the freezer chest in the garage could be a door.
The secret room is never empty; it's full of dusty furniture and keepsakes. Sometimes it's your misplaced stuff, stored by an unknown, but most of the time it all belongs to a previous owner. There could be a suit of armor or a table full of old coins. There's an ancient TV set that looks like it might still work. You try your best to sort and appreciate everything and take in how neat this is that you've found this place. But you also need to be quiet.
Sometimes the room is larger than would appear to be possible and seems to be its own secret house. The room opens up and you turn a few corners, noticing other doors that presumably lead to other secret places. You imagine the days and nights you'll spend cataloging your new space, a mental map already branching out in your mind. You've already decided to keep this place a secret from your family and friends. It will be your special place to hide and be alone, should you ever need it as much as you do right now.
You look around one last time before you wake up. There is an extreme relief that you've finally found the secret room, like finding a forgotten part of you.
The secret room is never empty; it's full of dusty furniture and keepsakes. Sometimes it's your misplaced stuff, stored by an unknown, but most of the time it all belongs to a previous owner. There could be a suit of armor or a table full of old coins. There's an ancient TV set that looks like it might still work. You try your best to sort and appreciate everything and take in how neat this is that you've found this place. But you also need to be quiet.
Sometimes the room is larger than would appear to be possible and seems to be its own secret house. The room opens up and you turn a few corners, noticing other doors that presumably lead to other secret places. You imagine the days and nights you'll spend cataloging your new space, a mental map already branching out in your mind. You've already decided to keep this place a secret from your family and friends. It will be your special place to hide and be alone, should you ever need it as much as you do right now.
You look around one last time before you wake up. There is an extreme relief that you've finally found the secret room, like finding a forgotten part of you.
Box Valley Orchard
There's no shortage of apples on the apple tour at Box Valley Orchard.
That's the Box Valley guarantee!
But if you take even one single apple, our stone-faced guide informed us, several demons from the Other Place will be released into the physical realm and try to take it from you by any means necessary. They will find you wherever you go and are able to take on the form of people you love.
That's the Box Valley curse.
That's the Box Valley guarantee!
But if you take even one single apple, our stone-faced guide informed us, several demons from the Other Place will be released into the physical realm and try to take it from you by any means necessary. They will find you wherever you go and are able to take on the form of people you love.
That's the Box Valley curse.
Thursday, April 2, 2015
Tropical Punch (Lyrics)
Sights are microscopic
on a storm across the tropics.
Telephones are disconnected,
airplanes redirected.
Nothing's unaffected.
I set palm trees on fire
for a girl that I admire.
And the island rain translucence
is more than just a nuisance.
Steel drums in the distance.
I am aware of the presence
of underwater caves
But I'm just surfing on the madness
of hysterical waves.
Tourists on vacation
postpone their reservations.
And the sand inside my sandals
implicates me in the scandal.
It's nothing I can't handle.
I am aware of the presence
of underwater caves
But I'm just surfing on the madness
of hysterical waves.
I disappear into the ocean...
And I am aware of the explosion
of critical raves
But I'm just surfing on the madness
of hysterical waves.
on a storm across the tropics.
Telephones are disconnected,
airplanes redirected.
Nothing's unaffected.
I set palm trees on fire
for a girl that I admire.
And the island rain translucence
is more than just a nuisance.
Steel drums in the distance.
I am aware of the presence
of underwater caves
But I'm just surfing on the madness
of hysterical waves.
Tourists on vacation
postpone their reservations.
And the sand inside my sandals
implicates me in the scandal.
It's nothing I can't handle.
I am aware of the presence
of underwater caves
But I'm just surfing on the madness
of hysterical waves.
I disappear into the ocean...
And I am aware of the explosion
of critical raves
But I'm just surfing on the madness
of hysterical waves.
The Car Wash Story
There are many ways to tell a story. I've told this one for years as just a recounting of facts and a lot of people seem to like it. However, telling a story is a lot different than writing one. I'll give it my best shot here.
My friend Derek lived around the corner from our high school, so we'd usually hang out there after class until my mom picked me up a few hours later. Sometimes we'd stop off at this convenience store along the way and get sodas or try to buy cigarettes. On one particular day, we saw a pair of old jeans laying on the sidewalk. This was kind of funny to us, the thought of somebody just walking along, removing their pants, and continuing on their way. Probably not how it happened, but we were fifteen and goofy. Anyway, I don't who came up with the idea of burning the jeans, but nowadays I picture us having the idea at the same time, looking at each other and nodding without having to say a word. I guess I'm still goofy.
Derek and I went into the convenience store and recognized the clerk as somebody that would sell us matches, though not cigarettes (some would sell neither to minors). We bought a pack of matches for a nickel and walked to the side of the building and tried to get the jeans ablaze.
Here I have to mention that it was a windy day. Denim isn't especially flammable to begin with and the wind wasn't making it much easier. Every passing minute and wasted match just pushed us harder to see these damned pants on fire. Should you ever be in a similar predicament, you can do what we did and turn the pockets out. They are much more flammable and we soon had our short-lived dream come true. The reality turned out to be short-lived as well, because the fire quickly spread to the rest of the pants and we were in trouble. We then became frightened that this act, in broad daylight, could be mistaken as vandalism instead of an obvious act of science, so we looked for a quick remedy. We needed water and the nearest source rested just on the other side of the wall: the convenience store was attached to a car wash.
We quickly turned the corner and looked for a puddle or anything that would get these alarmingly flaming pants doused, but found nothing but dry concrete under the unused-for-hours machinery. Thinking fast we dropped the pants on the ground and quickly exited the car wash. The assumption, though I'm not sure that Derek and I traded notes on this, was that the next customer to go through the wash would provide the water that would put out the jeans and all would be right with the world soon enough. All the same, we picked up the pace a bit as we headed onward to Derek's place.
It was about a minute later that we heard the fire truck sirens. What we had failed to understand is that nobody is going to drive their car into a burning car wash. This is a fundamental of life we hadn't grasped until that moment. We looked at each other for a disbelieving beat before running full speed in opposite directions. That time we really didn't need to say a word, though we might have tried to agree on a destination.
The story pretty much ends there, though there is a postscript that I believe is the reason why I still remember this story now. The very next day, we actually had acquired some cigarettes and needed matches. Not thinking about the previous day's event AT ALL, Derek and I went back to the same convenience store, to the SAME CLERK and asked for another pack of matches. As he took our nickel and handed them to us, his face suddenly turned red with anger and he shouted at us, asking if we had anything to do with the fire the day before. We quickly said we didn't and said that it was probably two other kids, not thinking that the number of perpetrators was a weird detail to include.
One final note: my father was a Huntsville firefighter for 37 years, retired in 2012. He would not approve of any of this, but he'd be the first to admit that he'd done far greater dumb shit in his life.
My friend Derek lived around the corner from our high school, so we'd usually hang out there after class until my mom picked me up a few hours later. Sometimes we'd stop off at this convenience store along the way and get sodas or try to buy cigarettes. On one particular day, we saw a pair of old jeans laying on the sidewalk. This was kind of funny to us, the thought of somebody just walking along, removing their pants, and continuing on their way. Probably not how it happened, but we were fifteen and goofy. Anyway, I don't who came up with the idea of burning the jeans, but nowadays I picture us having the idea at the same time, looking at each other and nodding without having to say a word. I guess I'm still goofy.
Derek and I went into the convenience store and recognized the clerk as somebody that would sell us matches, though not cigarettes (some would sell neither to minors). We bought a pack of matches for a nickel and walked to the side of the building and tried to get the jeans ablaze.
Here I have to mention that it was a windy day. Denim isn't especially flammable to begin with and the wind wasn't making it much easier. Every passing minute and wasted match just pushed us harder to see these damned pants on fire. Should you ever be in a similar predicament, you can do what we did and turn the pockets out. They are much more flammable and we soon had our short-lived dream come true. The reality turned out to be short-lived as well, because the fire quickly spread to the rest of the pants and we were in trouble. We then became frightened that this act, in broad daylight, could be mistaken as vandalism instead of an obvious act of science, so we looked for a quick remedy. We needed water and the nearest source rested just on the other side of the wall: the convenience store was attached to a car wash.
We quickly turned the corner and looked for a puddle or anything that would get these alarmingly flaming pants doused, but found nothing but dry concrete under the unused-for-hours machinery. Thinking fast we dropped the pants on the ground and quickly exited the car wash. The assumption, though I'm not sure that Derek and I traded notes on this, was that the next customer to go through the wash would provide the water that would put out the jeans and all would be right with the world soon enough. All the same, we picked up the pace a bit as we headed onward to Derek's place.
It was about a minute later that we heard the fire truck sirens. What we had failed to understand is that nobody is going to drive their car into a burning car wash. This is a fundamental of life we hadn't grasped until that moment. We looked at each other for a disbelieving beat before running full speed in opposite directions. That time we really didn't need to say a word, though we might have tried to agree on a destination.
The story pretty much ends there, though there is a postscript that I believe is the reason why I still remember this story now. The very next day, we actually had acquired some cigarettes and needed matches. Not thinking about the previous day's event AT ALL, Derek and I went back to the same convenience store, to the SAME CLERK and asked for another pack of matches. As he took our nickel and handed them to us, his face suddenly turned red with anger and he shouted at us, asking if we had anything to do with the fire the day before. We quickly said we didn't and said that it was probably two other kids, not thinking that the number of perpetrators was a weird detail to include.
One final note: my father was a Huntsville firefighter for 37 years, retired in 2012. He would not approve of any of this, but he'd be the first to admit that he'd done far greater dumb shit in his life.
The Crowned Warmbloods
The Crowned Warmbloods control the Vanguard section of town, not that you'd know it by that name. We write the laws there and choose which ones to enforce. Warmbloods protect the Vanguard's citizens and occasionally ask them for favors in return. It's not always an easy position to hold, but I take pride in it. I've never known love like the love I feel for the Crowned Warmbloods.
They accepted me out of high school, named me Wisconsin, and gave me a
sense of purpose.
One day on patrol by the train station, I recognized an old friend from my basketball days. We hadn't been very close and I hadn't seen him in years, but his sister was a source of many years of infatuation and I thought I'd ask about her. As I began to approach him to say hello, I thought I spied an expression of worry. He saw the Warmblood pendant on my collar before he saw my face.
"Thomas, it's me." I said, half waving.
"I'm sorry," he said, now looking at my face, but still not placing me.
"Darren. Darren Beachwood. We were on Coach Harper's team together back at Delaney."
"Oh, Darren, It's good to see you."
"I'm not surprised you didn't recognize me. It's been years. I don't even go by Darren anymore. It's 'Wisconsin' now."
"Wisconsin...I see." His eyes searched the streets around us.
"I was going to ask you about Beth. How is she?"
"Fine, fine. Married."
"Ah, that's too bad." I smiled and Thomas affected one in return. "I don't suppose that she'd be willing to leave the bum and have some kids with me, huh?"
He barked a quick laugh as a bead of sweat rolled down between his eyebrows. I wasn't sure what he had to be nervous about, but it was becoming clear that he might be a person of interest to the Warmbloods. I nonchalantly placed a hand in my pocket and pressed the alert button on my transmitter.
"I'm just kidding of course," I said. "Warmbloods are actually allowed to marry, though most choose not to. But children are ill-advised in the Vanguard."
Thomas looked at his feet and muttered something.
"I'm sorry?"
"I wouldn't know anything about that." he said. His chin was practically buried in his chest. I let the moment hang there for a few seconds and realized that I was smiling stupidly. I didn't want to let it fade though, in fear that the effect would be menacing.
"Say, I'm not keeping you from catching a train, am I?" I asked.
"No, no. I was going to meet somebody here, but I don't think they've arrived yet."
"Oh? Anybody I might know?"
"No, I don't think so. He's a new friend," Thomas said.
Behind Thomas, Whittier quickly made his way down the street, his Warmblood pendant gleaming in the afternoon light. He slowed and turned sideways as the approach closed in, his motions becoming almost balletic. I love the way Warmbloods move when they are alerted, fast and dangerous. I hope I look the same when I am called to action.
"Oh, that's funny," I said. "Here's one of my new friends."
One day on patrol by the train station, I recognized an old friend from my basketball days. We hadn't been very close and I hadn't seen him in years, but his sister was a source of many years of infatuation and I thought I'd ask about her. As I began to approach him to say hello, I thought I spied an expression of worry. He saw the Warmblood pendant on my collar before he saw my face.
"Thomas, it's me." I said, half waving.
"I'm sorry," he said, now looking at my face, but still not placing me.
"Darren. Darren Beachwood. We were on Coach Harper's team together back at Delaney."
"Oh, Darren, It's good to see you."
"I'm not surprised you didn't recognize me. It's been years. I don't even go by Darren anymore. It's 'Wisconsin' now."
"Wisconsin...I see." His eyes searched the streets around us.
"I was going to ask you about Beth. How is she?"
"Fine, fine. Married."
"Ah, that's too bad." I smiled and Thomas affected one in return. "I don't suppose that she'd be willing to leave the bum and have some kids with me, huh?"
He barked a quick laugh as a bead of sweat rolled down between his eyebrows. I wasn't sure what he had to be nervous about, but it was becoming clear that he might be a person of interest to the Warmbloods. I nonchalantly placed a hand in my pocket and pressed the alert button on my transmitter.
"I'm just kidding of course," I said. "Warmbloods are actually allowed to marry, though most choose not to. But children are ill-advised in the Vanguard."
Thomas looked at his feet and muttered something.
"I'm sorry?"
"I wouldn't know anything about that." he said. His chin was practically buried in his chest. I let the moment hang there for a few seconds and realized that I was smiling stupidly. I didn't want to let it fade though, in fear that the effect would be menacing.
"Say, I'm not keeping you from catching a train, am I?" I asked.
"No, no. I was going to meet somebody here, but I don't think they've arrived yet."
"Oh? Anybody I might know?"
"No, I don't think so. He's a new friend," Thomas said.
Behind Thomas, Whittier quickly made his way down the street, his Warmblood pendant gleaming in the afternoon light. He slowed and turned sideways as the approach closed in, his motions becoming almost balletic. I love the way Warmbloods move when they are alerted, fast and dangerous. I hope I look the same when I am called to action.
"Oh, that's funny," I said. "Here's one of my new friends."
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