In honor of what's happened today I wanted to post something special I wrote while listening to our new president speak about the day.

Annunciation Day

I have been waiting for the day that I know tomorrow would come. I am waiting for the day that I can sleep peacefully at night knowing that the sun would rise and warm rays would shine again. I want to accept that day and night are inevitable. I don't want to spend my life living in fear that it will be night forever. I don't want to be afraid that the hardest challenge of my life is ahead of me, but know that it is, and feel ready to face that day.

I have been waiting for the day that loneliness didn't feel like a given. To go to sleep carelessly and wake up knowing for sure that I am not alone. To know that life isn't always easy, for anybody, and that others will support me in my moments of weakness. That the people around me are willing to pick me up, like I would pick them up. That I would not be judged for my empathy towards others. To feel certain that the people around me would not mistake kindness for weakness. I have been waiting for the day that I can celebrate with others when we are triumphant, and mourn together when we fail. I want to hold the hand of my beloved as we brave the unknown together. I want to rely on other people to provide the strength I cannot find in myself. I want to provide other people the strength that they need to understand that they are beautiful, capable, and have limitless potential.

I have been waiting for the day that my love and passion is not a burden. The day that I am no longer in debt to my spirit. To feel valuable as an artist and a person. I want to return to the celebration of my creativity and discontinue the doubt of the path that I have chosen. To know that this was not my only path in life, but for better or worse, it is now my path. To know that I have the ability to have success doing what I love and to share it with the people around me. I want to know that I have the potential. I want to feel confidence that I am living my life to the best of my ability. I have been waiting for the day that I am valued for what I can do, and not turned away because of the things I haven't learned yet. I want to be given the chance to learn. To be given the chance to prove my mettle and show that I will not disappoint.

I have been waiting for the day where I feel my voice resonates with my message. To know that for better or worse I am heard. To not allow the fear of judgment or failure silence me. To express the most vulnerable things in my heart and mind without hesitation fearing judgment. To know my message has meaning and that others will value it. To no longer doubt that I am not good enough to achieve the peace of mind that I have spent so long looking for. I have waited for the day that I am no longer afraid to embrace others with everything I have to offer because I am afraid to see them take it for granted. I have been waiting for the day I recognize that I am not taking those gifts for granted myself or the gifts of others. I pride myself in my vigilance to recognize the beauty of the people around me rather than judge them for their faults, but fail to truly secure that recognition of myself.

I cannot say that the day has come where I know that my words have value. I can only hope that day is soon. I can only hope that soon I will feel the value that others have in my words and sleep peacefully knowing that tomorrow will come and that I will have a meaningful day. I do not ask for an easy day. I do not ask for the day to be given to me outright. I just want to know that the day will come, and that I will be valued, and have value in the task ahead of me. I do not have any important mission, nor do I have ambition to be somebody important to many. All that I ask is that I am important to those who know me. My only ambition is to be loved by a few.

On a day like today it's easy to believe that the light of morning is just over the horizon, but I've seen so many false horizons. Yesterday was difficult and I'll never forget that. I want to believe so badly. And I want the people that I love to believe too. I hope that day is soon and I know that I am not alone. I never want to stop working for that perfect day and I never want to lose hope that it will come.

Cigarette

Cigarette
-A Stream of Thoughts, Drag by Drag

Don Macavoy

I was no stranger to smoke by the time I could walk. It was just another one of those things that existed in the world that I was still discovering. I admired the twirling, looping smoke as it poured from my grandfather's hand, as if by magic. I had my eyes fixed on him at all times. His constant smoking was a fact of life as I grew. It made me cough but he was my idol so why would I question him? He only stopped long enough to reach into his pocket for another smoke. He kept them on top of the grandfather clock in the living room, as if I couldn't reach them if I wanted to. When he took me to the flea market he would buy me the packs of gum in cigarette boxes that would smoke when you blew into them. They can't sell those anymore. Because that's why kids start smoking. I would puff away on them, right along with him. People would say it was cute. Now they would say he was setting a bad example. I started learning about the dangers of smoking in middle school. They painted a vivid picture of what it does to your body. Obviously I didn't want lung cancer and death the only person I really cared about in the world, so I set out to stop that. I would take his cartons from the top of the clock and hide them. I told him why I did it, making him laugh at me. Not in a mean way. In the way like he knew that I was only doing it because I loved him. That being so, he still knew he wasn't going to stop because I wanted him to. He continued right on smoking and I continued trying to stop him. I once took a pack right from his hands and put it in the toilet. I never realized it then but I must have smelled like smoke all the time. He started to get angry with my attempts but never got really angry because he knew I had good intentions. At one point I gave up on my pursuit. My cousin was visiting once and was smoking in the basement. He told me to try it out, so I put it to my mouth and inhaled. I coughed and handed it back to him. I never even wanted to try but that one time was enough to make me realize I was correct to think I wouldn't like it. All those people who talk about bad influence might be a little off. I took all of my cues from this man, following in his footsteps any way I could, but this was something I never wanted to do. I always figured that when he died it would be due to his smoking. He got sick, but it had nothing to do with smoking at all. His memory lives on with me and sparks up again everytime someone lights up a cigarette.

Hey everyone. Happy New Year. Hope all is well. Our latest topic, chosen at random from a genetic sciences book, is "cigarette" and it's proving to be a worthy challenge to all the writers. I finally finished my story. It's inspired by some Henry Rollins spoken word pieces (particularly "I Know You" which I borrowed from a little) and some actual experiences I went through. Oh and some things I made up. It's rough first draft, probably could use some work, but I've stalled enough. Enjoy.

Slow Drag

by
Casey Holmes

I started smoking when I was in 10th grade at my first school dance. Anna Myers asked me to go. Before that point it I had never considered either. I had no desire, no gnawing curiosity, to know what goes on at a school dance. I would hear whispers in classrooms and hallways about them. I saw the popular girls beam ear to ear when they talked about the boys they hoped would ask them. It never crossed my mind that there could be a girl out there hoping I would ask her to dance. I saw them having fun and it was always such a mystery. It was almost magic. It made me think there there was something wrong with me. That I was ugly. That I was too short and had bad skin. I felt uneasy inside my skin.

None of the people I spent time with went to school dances, but there was a lot about school my friends rejected. I didn't always fit in with them. They got laid. They got high. They smoked small cherry cigars. They got drunk and drove around town past midnight. They had a style that they owned. It was bold and I wasn't. They seemed to enjoy life like every day was a gift and today might be the last. They welcomed me, but I don't know if I ever felt welcome.

I spent my weekends working for less than minimum wage in a pizza joint down the street. It gave me something to do and a place to be on Friday and Saturday night. It got me away from them and kept me away from my parents curious why their son seemed so anti-social. The neighborhood kids all went to school dances. I tried so hard to understand them and be part of what was happening, but I never felt invited.

I was in the library when one of the popular boys walked up and asked bluntly, “Would you go to the dance with Anna?”
Nothing in the world could have prepared me for a question like that. Anna Myers was a fairly popular girl. Thin and blond. Short and cute. She had a swagger that made timid boys like me shake. She was way out of my league and I knew it, but I was too baffled by the thought to care.

“Well, yeah...” I said, and with that he walked away without giving me any time to qualify myself. I sat there with a big goofy grin unable to focus on the book I was reading.

I drove home that day with Chris and Lauren. As soon as the car doors shut I sang like a caged bird.
“So this girl asked you to the dance? Good for you,” Lauren said smiling and keeping her eyes ahead. She was two years older than us and secretly we all looked up to Chris for landing an older woman. I had spent a lot of time with the two of them and became a perfect third wheel. I didn't mind. I welcomed the company. “We were planning to go to that, we'll go with you.” Chris shot her a glare without breaking the air drumming he was doing in the passenger seat.
“You two wanted to go?”
“Sure, why not?” She said still smiling.
“She's graduating, it's her last homecoming,” Chris snapped in his most unaffected tone.
“Okay,” I said, “Let's go.”

I went into work to tell my boss that I needed Friday off. At first he was hesitant. He told me how much he relied on me. I was his closer. I told him that it was important to me, but he wasn't about to budge. He reminded me that I could have said something weeks ago. I told him that I had a date and his face lit up. He grilled me with a sly grin on his face and forced out just about every detail I knew about this girl. Eventually he told me that I could go and not worry about Friday.

I spent the rest of the week jittery. I didn't run into Anna, or even the messenger boy, but that was nothing unusual. There was something about me that wanted to tell everyone about my date at the school dance, but once reality began to sink in I felt a tremendous anxiety. Was I in over my head? The night before the dance I laid in bed wondering why she would ask me. Was it because I was so weird? Was it to single me out? To mess with me? Was it because I wasn't so strange after all? Because I had friends I never knew about? Maybe I'll be the life of the party. Maybe I'll find the words I never could before. Should I even go? Would they laugh at me? What if I don't wear the right thing? Would I know what to say? Can I just go in and deal with it and have a good time? I laid awake for hours running the scenarios through my head.

The next day school was agonizing. Dinner was excruciating. My mother never seemed happier. She helped me get dressed. She made sure that my clothes matched. She told me that I looked handsome. She gave me a flower to wear in my jacket. I felt overdressed. She gave me a small corsage that she had made herself. She told me that My father never looked more proud. He patted me on the back and gave me a three pack of condoms and warned me not to do anything stupid, but with a wink. Chris and Lauren picked me. I don't remember what we talked about along the way. I just remember the music thumping in time with my heartbeat. Chris playing drums on the dash. Lauren with her eyes relaxed and a smile on her face.

The gymnasium was decorated adequately. The music was obnoxious and nothing I would normally listen to. I was sweaty and nervous. Lauren told me to relax. I felt like I was standing in the middle of enemy territory. Chris and Lauren followed me as I looked for my date. I wondered if she even showed up. I finally found her sitting at a table alone adjusting her shoes. She wore a pretty white dress and looked a little bit overdressed herself. I looked back at Chris and Lauren. They gave me the nod. I left them behind and walked up behind her.

“Hey... Anna,” I said trying desperately to get the words to work for me.
“Oh hey...” She said smiling.
“Nice, uh, dance,” I said.
“Yep,” she fired back and looked around. I dug into my pocket to find her corsage, and before I could say another word Matt Ridley cut in front of me.
“Ready babe?”
“All set!” She looked at me with a drunken smile. Like I was watching magic in front of me. “Bye, uh...” she said realizing she didn't know my name, “Have a good time!”

And with that they went into the darkness of the dance floor. She didn't like me. She didn't hate me. She dismissed me without ever knowing that she had my attention in the first place. I stood there trying so hard to well it all up. I looked back at Chris and Lauren. Chris was rubbing is head and looking down. Lauren had heartbreak in her eyes. She walked up and gave me a hug.
“I'm so sorry sweetie,” she said to me in a very maternal way. I hugged her back as hard as I could. “If you want, I'll save a dance for you,” she said as we let go.
“No thanks,” I said looking down at my feet, “I don't know how.”

I walked past the two of them and threw my mother's corsage on the floor. Dragged myself across the gymnasium pushing my way through people mingling unaware of this invisible little broken boy beside them. I looked down at the floor and navigated with feet as I went towards the door. Later I found out that Anna had asked every boy in the class if they would go with her. She wasn't really asking. It was just nice to know. I felt so stupid. I never felt betrayed or mislead. I felt stupid. Stupid to think that someone like Anna would ask me to a dance. Stupid because I told everyone how excited I was that a girl was interested in me. Stupid because I wasn't smart enough to know better.

I walked out the door and sat on the curb away from the streetlight next to the school. The solitude of the night was a hard fought ally and a true friend. Faithful and patient. I was trying my hardest not to cry, but it was no use so I sobbed quietly to myself. After a few minutes the door swung open and a girl walked out digging through her purse. I looked over but turned away quickly so she wouldn't see that I was upset. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. I wiped my eyes and looked up. She was offering one to me.

“Yeah, sure,” I said straining my voice, but trying to sound tough after what I had been through.“What's your name?” She asked. I told her.“I'm Gwen,” she said not waiting for me to ask. I took the cigarette from Gwen and let it dangle from my mouth. She lit hers and passed me the lighter. She took a drag and I watched as calm washed over her.

"Freshman?"
"Sophomore." I sniffled a little bit as wiped my nose.

“I like that there are birds that will sing to you at night,” she said as a matter of fact. "It's comforting to know." I tried to light my cigarette and seeing that I was having trouble she leaned down to light it with hers. I could see in the light that she had soft blue eyes and dirty blond hair. She wore a vintage dress and her perfume smelled nice. I looked away embarrassed. She sat down next to me tucking her legs under her dress.

I took a drag and it felt like my chest was on fire. I immediately began to cough. She giggled a little bit. I tried to look like I smoked a pack a day, but I think she could tell. We sat quietly smoking watching the silhouette fade in and out of the light. My eyes watered, but I couldn't tell from what.

“Cigarettes will kill you,” she said flicking hers to the ground and rubbing it out with her stiletto shoes. She walked inside without saying another word.

I took another drag and coughed a little bit more. “See ya,” I said knowing that she was out of earshot. I got up and started to walk home with a lit cigarette dangling from my mouth and felt like Frank Sinatra.

Will

Will

by Don Macavoy

I was biting the inside of my cheek as I walked quickly down the street. I stared at every crack I passed, making sure I never stepped on one. It’s a habit I started when I was a kid and never seemed to grow out of. I passed a few people but the January cold evening kept most people inside.
I bit harder on my cheek until it hurt, pursing my lips together hard. I was holding back a rage that I didn’t want to let out on the street. I clenched the Discman in my pocket, tugging on the headphones around my ears. The music wasn’t even on. I can’t imagine how I looked to anyone that saw me pass by with the scowl on my face and making erratic movements.
Once I finally arrived at my house, I opened the gate slowly and calmly closed it, fixing the latch closed with care. It was the calm-before-the-storm kind of calm. The kind you recognize in your parents when you know that once they finish quietly folding the laundry they’re going to come right at you with a raised hand. I walked up to the big blue door and slid inside. No one else was home.
I stood for a few minutes just inside the door, staring into the dark. I squeezed the Discman in my pocket, feeling the rage starting to come back. I pulled it out and raised it over my head then threw with enough force to hurt my arm as it whiplashed back. I heard it as it smashed against something across the room, followed by a loud thud and a crash of random objects falling.
As quickly as the sound had come, the silence returned. I stood for another moment before reaching over to switch on the lights. When I did, I saw the pile of papers spilling out of the box I had knocked over. The Discman was in two pieces, poking out from under the mess. The Foo Fighters CD that was inside sat just a few feet from where I was standing. It must have rolled out.
I walked over to the mess and started picking things up. As I moved some of the papers, I uncovered a medal. It was bronze and engraved with a soldier’s image hanging from a blue and yellow ribbon. I picked it up and turned it over in my hand. It was heavier than it looked. As I stared at it, the familiarity finally hit me and I realized: this was my grandfather’s medal.
I hadn’t seen it for years, since he showed it to me. He was telling me a story about the year he spent overseas in the war. He was a munitions guard stationed in England. His bunker was ambushed one night while he was out on patrol. He returned to find two of his fellow soldiers shot. He called for a medic and dressed their wounds until help arrived.
He took the job after he was drafted because he figured it would be a safe position. He had a wife and two children at home to worry about and didn’t want to be in the middle of any action. He explained to me how scared he was but how he did what he knew how to do to save the soldiers’ lives. Both soldiers survived and my grandfather was sent home shortly after and presented with the medal for honor and service.
I smiled at the memory and put the medal back into the box. I picked up a few other things and noticed that all the papers that had spilled out were letters. I opened one. It was a letter from my grandfather to my grandmother while he was away in England. There must have been over a hundred letters-- correspondence back and forth almost daily while he was away.
Every letter was amazingly intimate. They talked about the times they had before he went away and things they planned to do when he got back. It was like they were sitting and having a conversation. There was almost an entire paragraph in each letter detailing how much they missed and loved each other. It would have been cheesy if it weren’t so amazingly romantic.
I sat on the floor for hours under the lamp reading each and every letter. I was jealous of their love. I hadn’t been having very good luck with relationships and I talked to my grandfather about that just the week before. I asked him to tell me what it was like to love someone completely and be able to devote your life to them. How fitting that I had found these letters so soon after I was looking for answers.
I piled all the letters back into the box and found the lid. I slid it on top and, as I did, saw the envelope taped to the top with my name on it. I opened it up and slid out a paper with a short message on it. It said “I hope you can find love the way I did and can find the honor that I know is inside you.” At the bottom I recognized my grandfather’s signature. Tears started rolling down my face.
I cried while I was smiling. It wasn’t sobbing, just tears streaming from my eyes. Like rain while the sun is still out. The letter was dated three days previous. The day before, my sister had come to the door crying just before she uttered the words “Pop died.” She walked away after that, I’m pretty sure.
I can’t remember much of what happened between that moment and when I read the letter. I went out and walked for a long time. I sat in the park until the sun came up and then walked some more. I hadn’t slept for two days when I came home from the funeral and smashed my Discman. I was filled up with anger, mostly at myself and the world and God, if there was one. It all went away after I read that letter.
That was what my grandfather left to me. Everyday I wish he were still around to talk to. He had the answers to anything I ever wanted to know and I think that’s why he left me his letters. So even if I can’t talk to him, he can still talk to me. Now all I need to do is make myself be the person he would want me to be. On his honor, I will do everything I can to do that.

Will. Draft One.

by Christopher Atkinson


You hug me from across the center panel and I inhale your scent of peaches. You’ve told me you don’t wear body spray, that you’re not in high school anymore, but I recognize the smell right away; I’ve bought it for a few ex-girlfriends. Either way, I don’t care. You don’t kiss me and it’s okay because I know you don’t want to rush things. You tell me goodnight, I do the same, and you get out of the car and I make sure you get in your door before I pull away.
I don’t even remember anything that happened tonight; I just remember you getting to your front door, turning to face me, and smiling.
It’s with this image in mind that I decide to go out for a drive.
There’s a wonderful freedom in driving aimlessly. With nowhere to go, I could end up anywhere, which is exactly where I want to be. Wherever I end up is where I’m supposed to be. Every other time it’s been back home and I’m sure that’s where I’m headed tonight but it’s the sense of adventure that keeps my foot on the pedal.
Other images from the night start flooding back. The semi-romantic but mostly-comedic movie we went to see. The popcorn we got and didn’t eat. The soda we shared and the ticket money I had to slip into your purse when you weren’t looking. The way you cuddled up to my arm halfway through the movie and spent the next forty-five minutes in that position.
To be honest, it’s the best night I’ve had in a long time. And driving only enhances that fact, like the way it’s sweltering in my car yet I refuse to roll down the window for fear of losing your sweet scent. It’s cheesy and I’m not just trying to be romantic, it’s true. Everything perfect I’ve ever imagined would get tossed out the window if it were opened. Even so, it all just gets stuffed in the open ashtray. I don’t smoke so it might as well serve a purpose.
I hook up the iPod to play over the car radio and continue driving.
I don’t think it’s a heart attack. I’m too young and in basically good shape. But there’s something ambiguous stamping its big boot of pressure all over the floor of my chest. For a moment I can’t breathe, so I crack the window. I guess this happens every once in a while but the fresh air always helps.
An old Sunny Day Real Estate song comes on the radio. It’s kind of grungy but kind of poppy and I could never entirely understand the lyrics but the guy is singing his heart out so I know it means something. I think some clouds are rolling in because it’s growing darker and there aren’t many lampposts.
I keep my foot on the gas.
There’s a beep from my pocket and I hardly check texts while I’m driving but I hope it’s you so I open my phone.
It’s her. I’ve told you about her and the past I had with her and how me and her grew real close as friends afterwards. She wants to know if I’m doing anything important. I am, but I’m excited to tell her how the night went so I tell her I’ll be over in a few.
The song switches to some unsigned band you and me found on the internet. I forget their name but it’s fun and happy. I turn it up.
I get to her house and none of the lights are on but I’m used to it. It usually means she’s a little upset over something and maybe that’s why she texted me. Maybe hearing my good news will cheer her up.
I head inside. I hear some soft music coming from upstairs so I follow it. I notice her mom’s bedroom door is open and the room’s empty; she must be working overnight.
I head to her room. She’s half asleep on the bed with a half-empty bottle of wine on her night stand. She must be having a pleasant half-dream because she’s mostly smiling. I tap her shoulder until she’s awake.
Her eyes open wide when she sees me and she sits up, hugs me. I notice the music emanating from her computer is some sad acoustic song and I ask her if everything’s alright. She talks about her friend that she’s been “talking to” and how she’s finding out he’s kind of a douche when it comes to girls. All sex, no visible emotion, no sympathy, empathy, or any kind of -pathy. Girls are just walking vaginas for the harvesting. It’s like he has no willpower: He gets a girl lying in a bed and he’s got to put his private parts and hers together.
I tell her I think that’s awful and she thanks me, why can’t there be more guys like me, or at least why can’t she meet them. I know she had her chance with a guy like me before, in that me and her used to be together almost, but I don’t say anything because I know it wouldn’t help. She offers me some of her wine and of course I accept, she only buys the kind I like. In fact, if it weren’t for her, I’d probably never have found out I liked wine in the first place.
As she hands me a glass filled with the red liquid she asks how my night’s been. I want to tell her how great and amazing it was but I know by this point it wouldn’t cheer her up. It would just do the opposite so I tell her I’d just been sitting home all night with nothing to do. She says we can be bored together.
It’s funny the way how being “bored together” never really fits that phrase. If ever we’re bored, we don’t really feel together. We each step around the recesses of our own minds without really connecting for any length of time. If we feel together, we’re not bored. Me and her have a way of making each other laugh. Making the time go by. Making the wine disappear.
It’s that kind of happy drunkenness where you’re not really sure if your face is numb or if you’re just not paying enough attention to feel it. We had enough wine for most of the night to be a blur except for that general feeling of happiness and belongingness. Maybe that’s why I caved when she tried to kiss me. Maybe it was everything that happened before or the fact that I never truly got over her but was content with just being friends for fear I’d lose her completely. Maybe I just wanted a kiss so badly that night I didn’t care who it was.
Whatever it was, the music got turned up and the clothes got torn off. We hadn’t done this in three years but it was just as good if not better. We both got off several times and by the time we were done we were giggling giddly like it was our first times.
We both dozed off with smiles on our faces.

By the time I woke up, I had seven texts from you and three or four missed phone calls. You just saying you had a great time last night and you saying how I’m a great guy. Texting me a little smiley face :).
I replied telling you I had a great time, too, and how I hope we can do it again real soon. I almost forget where I am except when my belt jingles while I put my pants on, she wakes up. She smiles at me and tells me how last night was great and so am I and we should do it again sometime. I remember that I just fucked this girl because for three years I couldn’t have her or I was horny or drunk or whatever and I realize I’m just an asshole, too. I’m just a guy and it kills me to know it.
That’s why I wrote you this letter but I don’t think I’ll send it. I can’t bear to see your face when you read it or hear your voice when you tell me to fuck myself. It’s not the words I’m afraid of, it’s the tone. It’s the pain, contempt, and fright all mixed in that I can’t will myself to listen to even though I know you deserve to hear it. I can’t will myself to let you know you deserve better, that you deserve someone with the willpower to keep it in his goddamn pants.
I think I might love you… But I even feel too shitty to tell you that.

Sincerely,………

Will

Hey everyone. My name is Casey Holmes and I'm the newest writer around these parts. I like to call my writing style deliberate. I hope to contribute my own brand of whatever it is that my brand delivers. Here's my first shot and it's a little unpolished, but it's a start. It gave me a chance to get some things out:

Will
by
C.W. Holmes

At the core of the matter was a divergence of paths and an ever diminishing amount of will that was driving her away. By the time she came to me, she had resigned herself to the facts and faced enough reality to come to her conclusion. She asked me to pretend for her sake and I immediately made the decision to be miserable with her rather than miserable without her. She told me that she didn't want to lose me (they always say that) and I told her that she probably would. We did. I tried for a little while out of equal parts habit and desperation. I couldn't remember a time in my life when I didn't know her. I didn't think I had a choice. I was disappointed by the way things were ending, again. I knew that I had to make a hard decision, but I didn't know if I could do it. Do I lose her now, or do I lose her later? For her sake, I was living a lie. I didn't know how long I could keep it up.

We had plans the weekend after my birthday and for better or worse I was going to keep them. As happy as I was to see her, I was unhappy that it wasn't under my conditions. I was jaded because it might never be again. It wasn't the way I wanted it to be. She stormed into my room ready to fly. We didn't have time to hesitate. I told her that I wanted to put on a white silk tie, but couldn't figure out how to do it gracefully. She said that I didn't need it. I told her that I wanted to look nice too. She hurried me out the door, into the car, and we were off. I asked her if something was wrong and she told me a story. I knew that I was in trouble.

The reason I was there that night was because somebody disappointed her. Somebody let her down. I immediately forgot the fact that this was the woman who broke my heart just a few days earlier and became her court jester. I felt a familiar wave of self-pathos wash over me and said, “Here we go again.” I stupidly forgot that I was in pain and found the will to make her night complete.

When we showed up I was happy that it wasn't too cold. I wanted to hold her hand, but only held myself back. We found a corner to stand in, close to the stage, and I made fun of people just to see her laugh. She told me she couldn't take me anywhere. I told her that she shouldn't go anywhere without me. When the main event came on stage, I stood behind her and put my hands around her waist. I tried to dance with her, but I don't even think she wanted me to dance with her. It was just too easy to hold her close. I wanted to dance with her but it quickly became a position of defense. I braced myself for every blow so that she didn't have to. I made sure that this night, she would get to dance in peace. Even if she had to dance with me. A fat sweaty man wearing nothing but an overabundance of body hair, and a thong, pressed up against me and made obnoxious gestures to the girl dancing to the left of us. It took all of my will to not turn and make him pay for forcing himself on everyone in the audience.. My fist already hurt from grinding my knuckles into the carpet of the stage.

She was happy as we walked back to my car. As usual I played the hero and came to her rescue. She thanked me, sincerely. I tried to hold onto her as we walked, but didn't feel right so I returned my arm to the side of my body and tried to keep warm. My shoes were sticky and my toes were bleeding. We didn't talk much on the ride home. Every now and then we would speak about our lives and where they weren't going. She didn't know what to make of life and I didn't have anything to tell her. We agreed that there was more to life and I couldn't help but feel that she was passing up something more to life in me. I resolved to myself that she would rather be miserable, than be with me. Maybe she was too scared. Maybe I wasn't worth it. Maybe she knew that someday she'd have to leave me anyway. I was running out of things to say. When we got to my house I put on my jacket and I hugged her as long as I could. I think she was expecting me to kiss and maybe she wanted me to kiss her, but all the same she didn't, so I didn't. She would never kiss me first.

She walked to her car and I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I watched as she walked away. I went into my room and slowly got ready for bed. I thought about dancing with her. I thought about the way she acted like the past few months just didn't happen. I thought about how much effort I put into the night just because she was sad. I felt like such a fool. I couldn't believe that I held her hand. I couldn't believe that I walked out the door and made it my mission to put a smile on her face. I loved that smile. I loved her even though she broke my heart. I loved her even though she was a mess just like me. I loved her even though I never expected she would love me at all, let alone the way I felt that I deserved.

I had a lot of trouble getting to sleep that night. Even though I was tired, I tossed and I turned for about three hours. I could smell her on my clothing and between my sheets. I realized quickly that the end of the relationship didn't mean the end of thinking of her every night. She gave me something pleasant to think about on lonely nights anxious with loneliness. Now she was the loneliness at night. I wrestled with the idea of losing somebody I loved. I thought of her face and her smile. I always loved that smile. I felt embarrassed and stupid. I felt lonely and ugly. I tried so hard to just get away.

We had plans the upcoming weekend and I wondered if I would have the will to keep it up. She needed me in her life. I wasn't nearly as strong as she needed me to be, or as weak as I often felt about myself. It was easy to tell her that she wouldn't lose me, and the truth is that I never wanted to lose her. I wanted to tell her that she would always be able to rely on me, but talk is cheap. I didn't know if I had the strength to hold her hand when she needed it or give her a shoulder to cry on. She would never cry on my shoulder anyway. I could probably handle it. I wasn't really sure. In the end it was all a matter of will. How strong could I be for somebody who would never love me the way I deserve? I still can't will myself to sleep at night.

STOPWATCH: A Dialogue (Draft One)

By Christopher Atkinson



“There’s an old episode of the Twilight Zone where a guy gets a literal stopwatch. He hit’s the button, time stops,” said Sam. “That’s like the ultimate power. He can do whatever he wants and there’s not a person in the world to stop him.”
“Oh, like, he does things when time’s stopped?” asked Mark. “When you said ‘literal’ I thought you meant, like, he just stops and, uh, he just stops and, you know, watches. Things.”
We were all high at the time, by the way.
“No, dude, that would be lame,” said Sam.
“Totally,” chimed Mark.
“Why would you do that? I mean, you’d have all the power in the world. You could do whatever you want. Go wherever. Be whatever. All in an instant, at least essentially. It’d be a waste to just look around,” said Sam.
“But think about it, man,” said Mark. “The ability to just, uh, just explore. Any moment. Take the time to check out a situation before you, uh, before you make a decision.”
I felt my eyeball twitch, my eyelid droop, so I just listened.
“That’s only when you can see physical variables though, dude. What if it’s just like an argument with your girl? You know, and if you fuck up, she leaves for good, but if you do good, she stays? Your stopwatch wouldn’t be able to do anything.”
“But at least you could stop and think, man,” said Mark. “Like, think of all the things you could possibly say, like uh, and instead of just saying stupid shit off the top of your head, you could clear your thoughts and play the sensitive card.”
“It’s not gonna stop you from making mistakes, though, because you’ll keep making mistakes until you learn lessons. So you can sit there and think things through but you’ll keep fucking up until you learn, the stopwatch can’t stop that. That’s just how that goes,” said Sam.
“Granted,” said Mark. “So then nix that shit. What if you saw the world’s most beautiful girl or the most serene landscape or something. You know that shit ain’t gonna be there forever. She’ll get older or we’ll build on that shirt. Go to the Grand Canyon or something, you could grow old looking at that shit. And, uh, well yeah.”
“That’s great, one minute you’re here and 20 years old, the next we find an 80-year-old’s bones with your DNA at the bottom of the Canyon."
“That’s the life, man.”
“No it’s not,” said Sam, “and I’ll tell you why. I picture the most beautiful girl and it’s not just the way she looks or the fact that she’s youthful, okay? It’s the grace with which she walks. It’s the way she smiles politely, respectfully at everyone. Fuck, it’s the smell of her hair, which would surely fade if time froze for too long.”
“True, true.”
“And as for this landscape, let’s think about that for a second. A forest, okay, we can see the trees. Picture them. Picture them not swaying in the wind. Picture all the little animals frozen in action, not building little habitats or laying eggs or raising young or, fuck, killing each other for sustenance and survival. You’re not freezing a moment, dude, you’re freezing life.”
“You’re flagged from this bong, man, you’re messed up,” said Mark. He took a hit from said bong and passed it to me; I declined. “So what happened in this Twilight Zone?”
“Oh, it was great. He freezes time and robs a bank but he breaks the watch and can’t unfreeze time.”
“Shit,” said Mark, “That must suck.”