Take it All Away

“Thanks for makin’ dinner, Helen,” was a sentence never muttered in the Rogers family cabin. Similarly unheard was “nice fire you built there, Donald.” Sure, meals were mostly Hamburger Helper, and the fires provided by Duraflame, but each was truly grateful for food, warmth, and cooperation. Things like “thanks,” “good morning,” and “I love you” were only worth saying so many times.

The two were no more talkative during Donald’s last few days, but Helen didn’t have any regrets once he departed. She sent thank-you letters to each offer of condolences she received in the mail, but generally avoided answering the phone. A young man had to drop by to explain that he’d have to turn off her phone if she didn’t pay the bill, to which her response was “Yes, dear. Now would you like some of the cinnamon rolls I just baked? They’re nothing special, just from the can, but tasty all the same.”

Donald’s nephew showed up just a day after the power company called him with complaints about an amount due for an unresponsive customer. He hadn’t heard from her for years even though he was Helen’s closest living relative, and as he drove up the dirt driveway he prepared himself for the worst. He found Helen at her desk in the sun room, busily adding to a stack of outgoing letters.

Helen didn’t hear him until he put his hand on her shoulder. It didn’t take much convincing to get her to join him for the two hour drive back to the city. After a few quiet days at his house, he took Helen to a recently available spot at the nearby elderly apartment complex. The resident nurses didn’t expect her stay to be very long given the reports of her behavior since the passing of her husband, which made it easier for Donald’s nephew to convince himself to visit on weekends. After a couple months of following through on his intentions life started to get in the way.

The Scrabble players warmly welcomed Helen who played a bingo during her first game. D-I-S-A-S-T-E-R only scored eighteen points on top of the bonus of 50, triple-word square included, which seemed to upset a few of the other women who later complained about her waste of S tiles. In spite of her accomplishment, Helen only came in second place. She rarely won, but never seemed to mind. Her fellow players saw her spell more words than she ever spoke, but they grew warm towards Helen and her silence. They didn’t have to see her smile to know she was content.

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Caiti's internet is outta commission for a whiles, but you should still be able to get in on Robin and Gabe's pieces.

100% Secrets

"Bastard!" He shouted at the computer screen as it flashed red with each shot from behind. My step-dad had brought his equipped chainsaw to the wall and was walking the perimeter, rhythmically whacking the space bar. With each failed attempt to open a hidden door the bloodied character let out a grunt.

Brit had beaten this level already. I had seen him do it: 100% Kills, 100% Items, 9:02 Time, 0% Secrets. After school I would grab a freeze pop or an apple (depending on how healthy mom was feeling at the grocery store that week) and pull up a second chair. At first I wasn’t allowed to play, but they soon gave in to my protests about how it wasn’t fair. They couldn’t argue with my point about how playing was no worse than watching. Even then I preferred to watch Brit play, though I was always a vocal spectator.

"Look! I saw a health in the corner!" I would try to help.
"Nope, it's a trap."

"Don't go into that room yet, there's like a million tomato guys."
"Good to know," he would reply.

"You shouldn't have used all of your shotgun ammo in the elevator,” I lamented as the last few percents of his health went helplessly away.
"I am so done with this game," he surrendered.

Sometimes his frustration and impatience would build up so much that he quit. Other times he would just walk away from the computer without even pausing. One day I came home and found him playing some sort of boring adventure puzzle game, which was much less interesting to watch. I gave it a chance to see if I could help Brit out with the clues, but it was way too slow for me to handle. I decided to check what was on TV.

A couple weeks later he had moved on to a murder mystery game that some old guy at work had let him borrow. I didn’t even stick around to see how lame it was. I just waited for him to get off the computer so I could pick up the responsibility he had ignored: one of us had to figure out what those secrets were. Some times he would bend over my shoulder and root for me, “Ooh! Oh, oh, oh! Get’em. Run, run, run! Get that shield!” It was only ever a few minutes before he left to read or go to the store, leaving me alone to fight all the monsters.

"Bastard," I cried at the computer screen as it glitched, stuck in a corner. No matter how hard I tried to get the man to move, the screen wouldn't budge. His nose bled red rivers and his eyes were crazed. Brit peeked around the corner with his eyebrows raised and his ears shifted back.

"Whoa, do you even know what that means?" Just because of the way he asked I already felt like I had been punished. He walked over to see the screen.

"Like a bad guy?" I asked back. Brit never disciplined me himself, but I was scared all the same.

"Nope. It's when somebody doesn't have a dad, and it's not nice to say. And that's what you get for using those silly cheats.” He smirked. “Just be careful who you say that to.”

Brit thought being able to walk through walls and use unlimited ammo took away the point of the game, which I guess means I don't know why he played. Sometimes he helped me through hard levels, but the game wasn’t important to him anymore. I don’t think he liked me playing either, but it was too late for him to tell me not to. He had given up after a couple weeks never having achieved 100% Secrets. I eventually did it on my own and made him come see my score. I don't think he was actually proud, but he acted excited. Now I don't even remember what I was so thrilled about myself.

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Now read the rest of the FFFers: Caitlyn, Gabriel, and Robin.

A Nobody

I was asleep in Neil Armstrong's arms when my old man kissed my mother and made her his woman. Neil had just got back from his Navy stint and was back in town getting ready to try and finally finish up at Purdue when they tied the knot. My pops and him rushed Phi Delta Theta together, which is where all of these Brothers in my life came from. "Moon" was the first word that ever came outta my lips, and Neil was the first person to hear it. I used to tell that one back in college, but now it just makes me seem old.

Those are the only stories I know about Neil since he went off and did his thing and we moved outta the midwest. Things were hard for a bit, but we wound up in Florida where my dad got a job at CBS thanks to Brother Burt Reynolds. He wasn’t anybody special yet, but he put in a good word because of the fraternal connection. After that they got to be buddies. Burt gave me my first knife and taught me how to whittle, which also led to my first stitches.

Pops and Burt used to toss the pigskin around and I was always the monkey in the middle. Burt had made it real big by the time I was tall enough to make an interception. Dad just kept going around to wherever CBS wanted him, doing whatever he could to keep a job. Sports helped me settle into new schools pretty quickly, which helped for the end of high school when dad brought us to New York with him to help make the Hulk.

When I went off to college and got initiated as a Phi myself I started to learn about all the other kids and their parents and uncles and grandparents. Everyone felt really important, which is why I tried my best to seem the same way. My stories weren’t the best compared to some of the other guys’ crazy lives, but the girls still liked to listen.

When I was home for Christmas Brother Bill Bixby and Lou Ferrigno used to come over for drinks with my dad after work on the set. Dad would always get drunk and show off and try to wrestle me. It seemed like the guys were into it so I would play along, but one time we had to rush to the hospital to get shards of a wine glass out of dad's cheek. We got pulled over in Lou's brand new Monte Carlo, but the officer let us go.

I bet some of those guys would remember me if I called them up, but they’d probably just think I needed a job. I usually try to forget about all those guys anyway, ‘cause lots more important things have happened to me along the way. There were the wives and the pets and the accident and the operations. Those Brothers are all I can really remember, though. Or at least they're easier to talk about.

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Gabe is back with us this week, so read his, Caiti's, and Robin's pieces too!

Test

Truth be told my heart was never all that set on a seat. I just happened to find the chairs in a heap by the dumpster when the neighbors were moving out. I'm not crazy about lying in grass, what with the itchiness and bugs. A blanket’s always done the job just fine, but I figured why not try something new.

I had asked Alexis if she'd join me for the fireworks show. It was to be our third "date" or "hang-out" or "sit-around-and-share-an-experience.” We set up camp before sunset to ensure a good view after agreeing upon a small patch of particularly thick grass not too close or too far from the restrooms, trashcans, and tall trees. I had just sighed out of satisfaction at the sounds or smells or weather in a subconscious effort to fill a brief silence when I saw Alexis’ face brighten with a look of recognition. Preparing myself to meet a fashionable, cavalier young man I wondered if she would react the same way should she see me in a crowd, but after tracing her sight line my eyes landed on one of the stranger strangers bustling about.

A sun-withered woman approached, wearing a disintegrating straw cowboy hat and a leopard-print bikini that accentuated her protruding, wrinkled belly. I looked to Alexis for guidance, but she wasn’t paying attention to me in her eagerness to greet our visitor. Sometimes it’s nice to have my hand held through social situations, but I felt encouraged by her confidence in my social capability.

“You’re from the tent city!” I waited to see the woman’s response.

“Don’t you go down there alone, everyone’s an addict or a criminal. The shelters don’t take no users and no fugitives, so they all wind up in tents.” The woman didn’t seem to recognize Alexis, who hesitated, uncertain as to how to proceed, giving the woman just enough time to start talking again.

“You got a light? I just started smoking. I don’t like the taste but they it’ll help me stop drinking. I’m two weeks clean, got a good man in recovery with me and a place to stay and I just come into a huge fortune, but don’t nobody take me seriously ’cause to them I'm still just Crazy Susie. Just the other day I’m downtown and this guy walks up and starts asking for favors and I tell him I don’t do that and he starts telling everyone something else and soon enough I’m Sucky Susie. Anyway I call the police to report this guy who’s soliciting and they say “oh it’s just you” and they don’t do anything about it. But now I’ve got money and I’m trying to find the right place to use it. Some charity something or other that I can trust, you know?”

A test explosion overhead caught the woman’s attention. She wandered away without another word, at which point Alexis turned to me with raised eyebrows. I was hoping for some sort of insight about what had just happened, and began to wonder if what I had perceived as her faith in my situational abilities weren’t mistaken. There was also the possibility that she just wasn’t aware of the possibility that my level of comfort might have been at risk.

“I’m going to run and pee really quick.”

Just after Alexis had left, the woman wandered back.

“Can I borrow that chair for thirty minutes?”

"Sorry," I apologized, "we need it." Expecting a retort I prepared to justify myself. I had said ‘we,’ but meant ‘she,’ though I realize there can be significance in the momentary decisions involved in language.

"You do not" she huffed, and stormed off as if out of patience with someone incapable of comprehending her argument. I knew it wasn’t unreasonable of me to refuse her request. She was right, though. I didn’t actually need the chair. I wondered what Alexis might say about the woman, and I didn’t know if I should tell her about the chair before getting more of the back-story. In fear of realizing that I had just turned down a simple appeal from a person who might have been dear to Alexis I decided to wait until she mentioned the woman.

The pedestrian traffic began to subside as someone started to address the crowd. I saw Alexis come out of the restroom, and realizing that the show was about to start she returned my distant look with eager eyes and quickened her pace.

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Now if you want to read some real stories go check Caiti and Robin's pieces!

Subtle, clever brain

Joanne’s parents’ persistent efforts to talk to her about her day at school were far from being spurred by care or concern. That is, at least, according to her side of the story, which is the only one I’ve really cared to consider. Basically, I am here for Joanne when all Mommy and Daddy want to do is avoid having any fun. It takes two to play tag, but my usefulness only goes so far. Besides, it’s just not my role. You might think I’m only a passive instigator, but I’m on Team Joanne, and that’s really all that matters. At least it would matter if we could get the other team to take the field, but right now Daddy just put on his slippers, poured himself a drink, and sunk into the couch. Mommy’s on the reclining chair, already in her pajamas, inquisitively leaning toward Joanne, who can’t think of a single way to get either of them to do anything she wants. One thing she definitely doesn’t want to do is try to figure out how to answer what she learned at school today because she really didn’t learn anything except that Samantha is getting out of class on Friday to ride the new roller coaster at Rocky Point with her family. Samantha said she would have invited Joanne but didn’t bother because Joanne’s Mommy and Daddy would have said no anyway, probably because they plan on sitting around the dinner table and asking questions about what Joanne’s friends are doing for the weekend. She can’t understand what good it would do for mommy and daddy to hear about how Cayla wouldn’t share the caterpillar book because Joanne doesn’t even care about the caterpillar book anymore and would rather play dress up or yell about cooties and chase Colin through the playground. Really it makes no sense to have to wait until Joanne’s brother Rich gets home from soccer to go to the park because Rich always just says not to do things and then there’s no point in even being there. Rich used to tell Mommy and Daddy about how he traded his cookies to Jim for some string cheese and how he only missed one question on the spelling test and now they don’t even ask Rich questions anymore. Just Joanne. Maybe if I figure out how Rich got off the hook, Joanne can escape the interrogation too, but none of my ideas make sense. Nothing makes sense. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. Maybe Joanne will always answer questions and Rich will make unreasonable rules and friends will have more fun while Mommy and Daddy refuse to have any.

No.

I’m going to figure this out, because Joanne really needs me.

Grumble grumble, excuses excuses. I am very tardy, and I hope that this doesn't become a trend. I also apologize if these posts are self indulgent and imposing on you, the (non?)reader, but they're good for me, I think, and I hope Caitlyn, Robin, and Gabe feel the same way, and that some of you sometimes feel somewhat enriched in the process. I hope to post more frequently in the upcoming days, but I'm not exactly sure what those posts will contain.

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In becoming collateral damage I have sacrificed my starring role in life and become someone else’s disposable sidekick. Predictable scenes in movies always satisfied this need I felt for the carrying out of the inevitable as if I were some huge believer in predestination even though I never would have admitted to thinking that way in conversation at any point over the course of my life. Through decisions I made I indirectly forfeited the reigns to my own life to someone I trust, though I didn’t realize that was the case at the time, not that I would have done anything differently had I thought of it that way. I’m not sure if it’s fate or chance or tragedy or miracle, but things happen and then more things happen and things keep happening. By getting into a situation where awful things could occur, main characters deserve for them to happen, if only for entertainment, and I’m convinced that’s not selfish because it’s fiction. It’s hard to even call it unfortunate because it’s necessary to further the plot. At the end of the movie you rarely remember all the casualties because your mind is invested in the main characters, the heroes, and the villains. The lives saved, not the lives lost. So many things could have been different but they weren’t and some people can blame other people but I don’t really see the point. I am no longer a protagonist or even anyone’s antagonist, or at least I’m trying to see it that way. It’s not optimistic, but its resolve, and when you are where I am that’s a crucial thing to have.

I was worried that – we, we weren’t going to make it because – we were in a hurry and there was nobody around and it was late – and when it’s dark out its hard to tell how fast you’re going even though it always either feels too fast or too slow and since we had to get there I figured too fast was better than too slow because we didn’t – want to waste any time – but, it wasn’t really that important and I should have been driving slower but there were no signs and no turns and nothing around and – how was I supposed to know there would be something just sitting there in the road and – I tried to avoid it – because it could have been a deer or a cat or a kid – I mean it looked like a baby just crawling across the street – and there was nowhere to go but I knew I had to move – to get out of the way – and it was too late to slow down but it was just a soccer ball – and I can’t believe

During my childhood I never wondered why I had such a strong aversion to eating leftovers. It drove me crazy when we had to stretch every meal as far as it would go. Sometimes daddy felt sympathetic, but mom never did. She might’ve known my reasoning better than me; maybe she was more strict. Mom could have just known what was best for me, but in my paranoia I always thought her insistence that we eat every last boring bite of Monday’s meatloaf was punishment for pinching Lenny or staying up too late on a school night.

I was never spoiled but daddy definitely shared some of my weaknesses. We were driving home from gymnastics and I asked him what was for dinner and he said that mom was warming up some casserole. He responded to my pouting response by saying that he wasn’t that excited about it either and now that he thought about it, it probably wouldn’t hurt if we spun by Wendy’s.

After daddy set the precedent, my tolerance suddenly declined. It was the night after the first snow of the year and we were experiencing the first of what would be many returns of a Crock Pot full of chili. I was hungry but I just couldn’t bring myself to fill my mouth with one spoonful after the next of the same familiar taste. Pepper didn’t help, no matter how much she insisted it would. I had resorted to nibbling on a chunk of bread, and when mom noticed, she asked me if I planned to grow up big and strong by eating bread alone. I would normally have grumbled a bit and given in, resentfully swallowing each bite until she said I could be done, but this time I found new courage in what must have been a mistaken thought that daddy would stand behind me.

“Mom I hate chili!”
“You didn’t hate it yesterday.”
“Yeah but I want something else. Maybe if you didn’t make so much I wouldn’t have to keep eating it.”

She got really serious and explained how I should be grateful and how someday I would wish I had her leftovers in my fridge. I didn’t believe her and told her so, because I knew that I’d always want something new instead of what I had yesterday. She sent me to bed hungry, angry, and in tears. I was too distracted to be tired, and after ten minutes of sobbing I started to feel sorry. I’ve never been able to go to fall asleep with an empty stomach, but it was more than that. Even if I had lost my appetite I still would have wanted desperately to go finish my food, but knew better. I’d have to wait to finish my bowl the next day. I guess I learned my lesson.