Once Nora had inspected each child's work space, she dismissed them to go outside for recess. It was Cindy's day to watch over the second graders' play period and Nora was glad for some time alone. She locked the door and turned off the florescent lights, letting the cloudy day's hazy light stream in past the drawings taped to the windows. Resting her head on her desk, Nora had the thought that she should turn on her phone alarm, but she was comfortable and figured it would be alright so long as she didn't fall completely asleep.
A few moments later, Nora heard a slapping sound coming from the back of the room, near the bookshelves. She partially lifted her head and squinted toward the darkened corner from where she often read stories to her students. She was worried that a child had stowed away as the others were leaving, but saw nothing. Assuming that an misplaced book must have fallen off a shelf, she lowered her head back into her folded arms and thought about Cliff.
Nora had been seeing Cliff for a few months. He was a handsome lawyer, divorced, with a daughter named Olivia who was in Cindy's class. Nora had seen him picking up his little girl one day toward the beginning of the school year and begged Cindy to introduce them as soon as possible. She did, and the rest fell into place soon after.
Cliff was a direct type of person, which Nora desperately craved after a string of aimless boyfriends, but he also had a toughness that kept her wary of his demeanor. He often said mean things about his ex-wife in front of Olivia and Nora worried how this would affect her. But she could tell that he loved his daughter and felt he was a much warmer person underneath his coarse exterior.
Another slap sounded from the back of the classroom and Nora's head jerked up. She felt groggy and didn't know how much time had passed, but it couldn't have been long. Recess was only twenty minutes long, after all, and the children were still away. Still, she felt that it would be better if she turned on the lights again and went over the science lesson she'd be teaching later.
But then a low, prehistoric growl sounded from the back of the room, accompanied by three more slaps.
A desk toppled near the back of the room. Nora instinctively slid her feet underneath herself in a crouching position on her chair. The growling continued, guttural and uneven. Shifting to the top of her desk, careful to not make noise, Nora slowly stood and saw a shadowy figure writhing on the floor. It was a crocodile, wedged between another desk and one of the bookshelves. Nora thought it must be a trick, a man in a rubber suit, something else, but it was simply there. Nora's knees buckled and she fell off of her desk, hitting the floor hard. Trying to catch her breath, she heard several more desks thrashed aside. And then the crocodile was upon her, its tail slapping wildly on the linoleum tile, its massive weight bearing down to crush her.
The slapping became a repetitive series of knocks at the door and Nora jerked awake. She inhaled air as though her lungs were unraveling. Lifting her head, she looked at the dark, empty classroom and coughed out a weak laugh. Nora tried to think of when she might have been thinking about crocodiles recently. Maybe she had seen something about them on TV, but Nora couldn't remember.
The knocking continued and Nora dragged herself up to let in whatever impatient child was so desperate to return to class. She unlocked the door and saw that it wasn't a child, but Cindy, that had been knocking. Cindy looked frightened, bordering on panic. With tears smeared across her face, she slowly managed to tell Nora that Cliff had come to the playground, ranting and covered in blood, and had taken Olivia away.
Tuesday, September 29, 2015
Friday, September 18, 2015
Friends in Defiance
Byron and Sheff met when they were kids and became fast friends. Neither was much interested in taking life seriously, so time together and apart was mainly spent goofing around. One day many years later, they got fed up with their dead-end jobs and decided to become criminals. To celebrate the decision, they married their girlfriends, Nancy and Nicole, in a dual eloping situation in Las Vegas. It was the best time they'd ever had up until that point. Being in their early thirties, they certainly weren't kids anymore, but Byron and Sheff were ready to finally start their lives.
The lifelong pals took time in devising their modus operandi and struck upon the notion to rob big rig trucks in the western part of the country. The plan would first involve faking an auto accident on some near-empty stretch of desert highway. A semi truck, they reasoned, would be forced to stop and the driver would get out to inspect the scene, giving Byron and Sheff ample opportunity to sneak into the truck and drive off. Later, they'd sell off the cargo and tractor unit parts on the black market for big cash, live off the bounty for a bit, and then repeat the process when needed. "Lots of semi trucks on the road," they'd often say to each other, which confused the other members of their friends' game nights.
Byron had a cousin named Kurt who drove eighteen-wheelers for various big box companies, so they started bending Cousin Kurt's ear on topics such as security measures and mean worth of typical cargo loads. With a cold beer in his hand and a colder look in his eyes, Kurt told them that most drivers wouldn't think twice about putting a bullet between their teeth before getting out from behind the steering wheel. This unwelcome information set the boys back a few weeks and made them keep their investment manager jobs at Merrill Lynch a little longer.
After thinking on it a bit, Byron had an idea that they would use clever disguises to catch their targets off guard, maybe dress as circus performers or famous movie monsters. This led to an argument over which random pairings of fictional creatures would win in a fight, but both Byron and Sheff agreed that it was a good idea to cover their faces. However, they would need a way to get the driver out of the truck, and Sheff decided that the best secret weapons for a robbery would be actual weapons, like firearms.
Byron abhorred guns, so Sheff set off to procure a couple of revolvers, one real and one fake, from an underground character named Joey Pistola. Even though he was the more comfortable of the two with the idea, Sheff prayed that they'd never have to use them, except maybe to knock out somebody by hitting them on the back of their head with the butt. Joey Pistola came through immediately on the real gun, though the fake one took a few days longer to find. This gave Byron and Sheff a few days to make their own masks, which was the second most fun time they'd ever had up until that point. And by the following weekend, they were ready to try out their plan.
Byron and Sheff agreed that the best location for their hijacking, a term they loathed, would be the New Mexico/Arizona border so that they could easily evade state police from one state into another. Federal officers would be a trickier problem, one that they kept pledging to solve at a later time, though they never did. They devised a cover story for their wives, telling Nancy and Nicole that they were selected to adjudicate an investing competition in Gallup, which was close to their actual destination of Defiance, NM.
However, much of the plan's inertia was drained by the long plane ride, frustrating car rental process, and an argument over their bill from a diner they'd stopped at for lunch. Exhausted, Byron and Sheff saw the truth clearly, that they hadn't thought of all the many roadblocks involved in their plan, like how to drive a semi truck. They hadn't really even cleared some of the roadblocks they'd checked off. For instance, Byron came clean that he didn't have any black market connections to whom they could sell the stolen loot. And for his part, Sheff had exaggerated his thirst to knock somebody out with the butt of a gun, admitting that he'd also elected for a fake revolver. Only his was a rubber one, making it even more fake than Byron's fake gun.
They decided to call off the plan, but took the rest of the weekend to hang out and check out New Mexico. They goofed around, as they always had before turning to lives of crime, and had a fantastic time. At one point, they even stumbled upon a competitive investing function taking place in a small event hall at a Ramada Inn. It was more Podunk than they'd imagined it would be when they'd invented the idea in order to lie to their wives, but Byron and Sheff were surprised to find that they were more interested in watching it than they thought they'd be. They sat down with a couple of cold beers and chuckled through a few events, not as giggly adjudicators from out of town, but as friends, lifelong friends with their long lives still ahead of them.
The lifelong pals took time in devising their modus operandi and struck upon the notion to rob big rig trucks in the western part of the country. The plan would first involve faking an auto accident on some near-empty stretch of desert highway. A semi truck, they reasoned, would be forced to stop and the driver would get out to inspect the scene, giving Byron and Sheff ample opportunity to sneak into the truck and drive off. Later, they'd sell off the cargo and tractor unit parts on the black market for big cash, live off the bounty for a bit, and then repeat the process when needed. "Lots of semi trucks on the road," they'd often say to each other, which confused the other members of their friends' game nights.
Byron had a cousin named Kurt who drove eighteen-wheelers for various big box companies, so they started bending Cousin Kurt's ear on topics such as security measures and mean worth of typical cargo loads. With a cold beer in his hand and a colder look in his eyes, Kurt told them that most drivers wouldn't think twice about putting a bullet between their teeth before getting out from behind the steering wheel. This unwelcome information set the boys back a few weeks and made them keep their investment manager jobs at Merrill Lynch a little longer.
After thinking on it a bit, Byron had an idea that they would use clever disguises to catch their targets off guard, maybe dress as circus performers or famous movie monsters. This led to an argument over which random pairings of fictional creatures would win in a fight, but both Byron and Sheff agreed that it was a good idea to cover their faces. However, they would need a way to get the driver out of the truck, and Sheff decided that the best secret weapons for a robbery would be actual weapons, like firearms.
Byron abhorred guns, so Sheff set off to procure a couple of revolvers, one real and one fake, from an underground character named Joey Pistola. Even though he was the more comfortable of the two with the idea, Sheff prayed that they'd never have to use them, except maybe to knock out somebody by hitting them on the back of their head with the butt. Joey Pistola came through immediately on the real gun, though the fake one took a few days longer to find. This gave Byron and Sheff a few days to make their own masks, which was the second most fun time they'd ever had up until that point. And by the following weekend, they were ready to try out their plan.
Byron and Sheff agreed that the best location for their hijacking, a term they loathed, would be the New Mexico/Arizona border so that they could easily evade state police from one state into another. Federal officers would be a trickier problem, one that they kept pledging to solve at a later time, though they never did. They devised a cover story for their wives, telling Nancy and Nicole that they were selected to adjudicate an investing competition in Gallup, which was close to their actual destination of Defiance, NM.
However, much of the plan's inertia was drained by the long plane ride, frustrating car rental process, and an argument over their bill from a diner they'd stopped at for lunch. Exhausted, Byron and Sheff saw the truth clearly, that they hadn't thought of all the many roadblocks involved in their plan, like how to drive a semi truck. They hadn't really even cleared some of the roadblocks they'd checked off. For instance, Byron came clean that he didn't have any black market connections to whom they could sell the stolen loot. And for his part, Sheff had exaggerated his thirst to knock somebody out with the butt of a gun, admitting that he'd also elected for a fake revolver. Only his was a rubber one, making it even more fake than Byron's fake gun.
They decided to call off the plan, but took the rest of the weekend to hang out and check out New Mexico. They goofed around, as they always had before turning to lives of crime, and had a fantastic time. At one point, they even stumbled upon a competitive investing function taking place in a small event hall at a Ramada Inn. It was more Podunk than they'd imagined it would be when they'd invented the idea in order to lie to their wives, but Byron and Sheff were surprised to find that they were more interested in watching it than they thought they'd be. They sat down with a couple of cold beers and chuckled through a few events, not as giggly adjudicators from out of town, but as friends, lifelong friends with their long lives still ahead of them.
Friday, September 11, 2015
Hallway
It was more than just a dream. The events took place over several months. The world had a history and complex design. The relationships between the people were complicated, layered. Everything looked and felt so real.
But then I woke up.
It started with a picture that I couldn't hang. My wife and I had just moved into our new house and I wanted to surprise her by framing a photograph she had taken. I tried to hang it in the hallway, but the wall wouldn't allow it. It bent one nail after another, any that I tried to put through it. I ran my hand across its cool, painted surface.
"Forget it," I said. On to other things.
Then the laudanum arrived by mail, meant for the previous owner. My wife wanted to be bold, for us to try it only once. But then we tried it more, almost everyday after that first one. It took up so much time. Days went by, or they seemed to in the world of the dream. I had ideas that I thought would last forever, not that any of them did.
One night, I passed through the hallway and took a closer look at the wall where no pictures hung. My wife was asleep, had been sleeping for days, so I looked at the wall until morning. It was easy to look closely at things with my opium brain. By noon the next day I saw them, the etched symbols lurking beneath the paint on the wall. I went to the garage for some paint thinner and returned. I began my work, stripping the paint away to expose the wall's message.
It took several months, but so much happened in that time, more than I'll ever remember. I stopped messing with the laudanum. I traveled to other parts of the world and met the people there. I divorced and started dating again. Seasons changed in the world of the dream. However, I always returned to my work and, eventually, I removed every inch of paint from the hallway wall.
I stepped back and, now seeing the entire message all at once, I understood what the symbols were saying. I read the secret message and then almost immediately woke up. Awake and somewhere new, I repeated as much as I could to myself, desperate to not forget it. The message had told me so many things, much of it just for me to know.
But most importantly it said, "This is more than just a dream."
But then I woke up.
It started with a picture that I couldn't hang. My wife and I had just moved into our new house and I wanted to surprise her by framing a photograph she had taken. I tried to hang it in the hallway, but the wall wouldn't allow it. It bent one nail after another, any that I tried to put through it. I ran my hand across its cool, painted surface.
"Forget it," I said. On to other things.
Then the laudanum arrived by mail, meant for the previous owner. My wife wanted to be bold, for us to try it only once. But then we tried it more, almost everyday after that first one. It took up so much time. Days went by, or they seemed to in the world of the dream. I had ideas that I thought would last forever, not that any of them did.
One night, I passed through the hallway and took a closer look at the wall where no pictures hung. My wife was asleep, had been sleeping for days, so I looked at the wall until morning. It was easy to look closely at things with my opium brain. By noon the next day I saw them, the etched symbols lurking beneath the paint on the wall. I went to the garage for some paint thinner and returned. I began my work, stripping the paint away to expose the wall's message.
It took several months, but so much happened in that time, more than I'll ever remember. I stopped messing with the laudanum. I traveled to other parts of the world and met the people there. I divorced and started dating again. Seasons changed in the world of the dream. However, I always returned to my work and, eventually, I removed every inch of paint from the hallway wall.
I stepped back and, now seeing the entire message all at once, I understood what the symbols were saying. I read the secret message and then almost immediately woke up. Awake and somewhere new, I repeated as much as I could to myself, desperate to not forget it. The message had told me so many things, much of it just for me to know.
But most importantly it said, "This is more than just a dream."
Friday, September 4, 2015
Eagle Point
One late summer afternoon, Patrick found out his roommates would be working downtown until past midnight. Patrick was excited to have the place to himself for the first time in what felt like forever. He texted Samantha, asking her to come over and hang out. He added a promise to order food from her favorite restaurant, an excellent Thai place that her family had been going to for years. Once the other guys were gone, Patrick began to clean up the apartment: the kitchen, bathroom, and his bedroom, which was actually the living room.
Samantha replied a little after sundown. Her text said that she'd come by for a bit, but couldn't stay long. Patrick was disappointed, but he reasoned that she had a lot on her mind. Classes at U of D were starting next week and, though Patrick hadn't gone to college himself, he imagined she'd have a lot to do before fall semester started. Still, he hoped that Samantha would stay longer if the food was already delivered by the time she got there. He called the restaurant and ordered her regular dish.
The chicken pumpkin curry arrived just after eight, brought by an older hippie-looking guy that Patrick had seen all over Dubuque. Patrick tipped him a couple of bucks and transferred the meals onto plates. But as he was doing so, Samantha texted again to say that she was running later than she had planned and probably wouldn't have time to drop by.
Patrick stared at the message on his phone for a long time, searching for clues. He did the math and realized he hadn't seen Samantha much during the back half of the summer and his heart began to ache at the thought that she might had moved on without telling him. He searched his memory for the last time they had really spent time alone together and realized it had been well over a month.
They had walked together through Eagle Point Park. At the time, Patrick had been focused on his music again, a reoccurring theme. He told Samantha that he was thinking about regrouping with his old rock band. He'd been writing a lot of new songs on his guitar and reworking some old stuff from when the band was playing a lot of gigs, just after Patrick had dropped out of school during his senior year. But he hadn't spoken to some of those guys in over six years by that point.
It didn't matter in the end. Not very long after that day, Patrick stopped writing new songs and nothing became of his plan.
Standing in his kitchen over a month later, Patrick tried to remember what else he and Samantha had talked about at Eagle Point, if maybe she'd mentioned another guy or something. He couldn't think of anything to that end and it was killing him to not just call her and-
Ames.
Patrick remembered. Back in the park, Samantha had asked him what he thought about the distance to Ames. She wondered how difficult it would be to transfer her college credits to the University of Iowa. To Patrick, she sounded like she was just thinking out loud. Not understanding what she was actually saying, he had told her it didn't matter where she went to school. He thought it was the beginning of a discussion when it was really the end of quiet transition.
Standing in the kitchen during his night to himself, Patrick listened to every hum emitting from every appliance in the empty apartment. He picked up his phone and texted Samantha back. "All OK. Good luck at Iowa next wk." Patrick stared at his sent message for a while, then brought a plate of curry into the living room to find something on TV.
Samantha replied a little after sundown. Her text said that she'd come by for a bit, but couldn't stay long. Patrick was disappointed, but he reasoned that she had a lot on her mind. Classes at U of D were starting next week and, though Patrick hadn't gone to college himself, he imagined she'd have a lot to do before fall semester started. Still, he hoped that Samantha would stay longer if the food was already delivered by the time she got there. He called the restaurant and ordered her regular dish.
The chicken pumpkin curry arrived just after eight, brought by an older hippie-looking guy that Patrick had seen all over Dubuque. Patrick tipped him a couple of bucks and transferred the meals onto plates. But as he was doing so, Samantha texted again to say that she was running later than she had planned and probably wouldn't have time to drop by.
Patrick stared at the message on his phone for a long time, searching for clues. He did the math and realized he hadn't seen Samantha much during the back half of the summer and his heart began to ache at the thought that she might had moved on without telling him. He searched his memory for the last time they had really spent time alone together and realized it had been well over a month.
They had walked together through Eagle Point Park. At the time, Patrick had been focused on his music again, a reoccurring theme. He told Samantha that he was thinking about regrouping with his old rock band. He'd been writing a lot of new songs on his guitar and reworking some old stuff from when the band was playing a lot of gigs, just after Patrick had dropped out of school during his senior year. But he hadn't spoken to some of those guys in over six years by that point.
It didn't matter in the end. Not very long after that day, Patrick stopped writing new songs and nothing became of his plan.
Standing in his kitchen over a month later, Patrick tried to remember what else he and Samantha had talked about at Eagle Point, if maybe she'd mentioned another guy or something. He couldn't think of anything to that end and it was killing him to not just call her and-
Ames.
Patrick remembered. Back in the park, Samantha had asked him what he thought about the distance to Ames. She wondered how difficult it would be to transfer her college credits to the University of Iowa. To Patrick, she sounded like she was just thinking out loud. Not understanding what she was actually saying, he had told her it didn't matter where she went to school. He thought it was the beginning of a discussion when it was really the end of quiet transition.
Standing in the kitchen during his night to himself, Patrick listened to every hum emitting from every appliance in the empty apartment. He picked up his phone and texted Samantha back. "All OK. Good luck at Iowa next wk." Patrick stared at his sent message for a while, then brought a plate of curry into the living room to find something on TV.
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