SUNDAY, JULY 17, 2022.

"Have all the preparations been made, Nick?"

"Yep, we should be ready to get you up on stage in a couple hours here. Just waiting for your suot to arrive," Nick replied, checking his clipboard.

I looked over at Willow, our accountant, who was sitting oddly close to Nick. "And, Willow, what's the budget for the finale looking like? We have two months to prepare, so I'm not super concerned, just wondering."

"It's… you don't need to worry. You sold out to Buccee’s, remember? There are quite a few zeros here…"

"Good, good," I said. "That means we can be a bit extravagant next month if I choose as well… Also leaves a budget for the premiere in October."

"Holy cow, dude," Nick said with a bewildered look on his face. "Don't do that to me."

"What?"

"We're that close to October? Heck, this season is almost over? Jeez, I feel like I wasted my entire year. What have I done?"

"Nick," I said sternly. "This is supposed to be funny. Quit giving people a midlife crisis."

Willow checked her watch. "I gotta go," she said. "I'll be back for the show, though."

"Yep, same, actually," Nick said, setting his clipboard down. "I'll see you in a couple hours, Caleb," Nick said, placing his clipboard down.

The two left the room together, leaving me alone.

"They must think I'm stupid," I mumbled to myself before leaving my seat.

The office was very small and built solely for the purpose of these brief meetings prior to the show. Often, the three of us would gather in the room to discuss ideas for upcoming shows as well. Other times, we would discuss expanding the business and hiring others. But, more often than not, we gathered together in this room and argued like real friends. We all have a deep, platonic love for each other, but arguments were frequent, and always hilarious in hindsight.

In fact, yesterday we argued about who plucked their eyebrows the best. The answer is none of us, of course, because none of us learned how to do it professionally. We all just woke up one day and got fed up with the ever-diminishing gap between our eyebrows. I will say, though, as the eldest, I very obviously am the best at plucking my unibrow.

Where was I? Ah, yes, the office. It consisted of a round table the takes up 85% of the room, the chairs around it, and a window overlooking the small, wooded pond behind Pen to the Paper Arena. Having given very specific instructions for how I wanted the building designed, this was the only thing that I wanted. However, I know nothing about architectural design, and my blueprints would have led to a building ever on the verge of collapse. Who could have thought that there was such a thing as structural integrity, and that a building of this would need massive support beams and pillars?

Nevertheless, this led to our office having a closet. A very small closet. A closet so small, the only thing that is really worth storing within it is a broom and dust pan. A person could squeeze in, but if the door were to get closed, there would be no escape.

I heard a noise from the closet as I scooted my chair in. "Pizza time?" I asked, cautiously approaching the closet. I grabbed Nick's clipboard and held it tensely above my head. Slowly twisting the knob, I prayed to God that it would just be Tobey Maguire with a stack of pizzas.

I quickly yanked the door open, closed my eyes, and swung the clipboard. I smacked the side of my hand against the side of the door and screamed like a little girl. The clipboard flew out of my hand, bounced off the wall, hit me in the back of the head, and skittered to a step in the exact spot Nick had left it. I stumbled forward and fell into the closet. Somehow, in a feat of physics only possible in written word, the door slammed shut behind me, leaving me alone, cramped, and stuck.

I knew it was futile to call for help, so I opted to take a nap, assuring myself that I would be awake by the time Nick returned. But I had only gotten an hour of sleep the night before. When I awoke, from my standing slumber—which felt quite good—and managed to look at my watch, it was midnight. I had slept for twelve hours! There was nothing I could do. Nick likely wouldn't be back until next Sunday, and I had left my phone in my locker with do not disturb on.

TODAY

"God?" I asked when light seeped into the closet from behind me.

I twisted myself around as best I could to see a silhouette of a tall, strong man in the doorway.

"God! It is You! Well, I thought that I was going to live to be 103, but 18 works too, I suppose."

"I'm not God, Caleb, though you're lucky you survived, man," Nick said. "A week without food or water? Where'd you use the ba—nevermind. I can smell it."

"What else was I supposed to do? Hold it?"

"Well, the people are waiting. I was going to host it if you didn't show, but seeing as you're here…"

"Hey, man, I need you to get your priorities straight. First order of business: a shower. Second order of business: food. But I'll take the food first, please. I could kill for a taco right about now."

*****

"Goooooood evening, ladies and gents!" I called from the stage, lights dancing, smoke spewing, and ice cream getting shoveled into my mouth. Yes, that sentence is grammatically incorrect, deal with it.

"Sorry for being late! But I am here now, so let's begin, shall we?"

The crowd cheered.

"In third place, we have Remember by Raybug63! I thoroughly enjoyed it. It really got me thinking. I always love seeing your work, so thanks for sharing!

"In second place, we have AnnFan14's "Call me what you want, when you want, if you want"-lyrics by Dominic Fike. You put a great message within this work that more people need to be spreading and feeling! Everyone should just be themselves!

"And, in first… I had a tough time with this. We had many, many great posts this month. But I think that the author most deserving of first this month is Ayifushere with I wish I could fly away.!!! It was a beautiful but sad work. Many posts seemed to have a sad undertone to them this month, now that I think of it.

"Now for some honorable mentions. Roses311Sublime, I always love seeing you. A Story From My Mind While On Quarentine With Covid was amusing, as always.

"Ebube's untitled work was a short, cute read that I recommend to everyone.

"HMS… I wanna see more from this world you created in Dinner and a surprise. I was left curious to know more about where we were, who this things were, and just see whatever other wacky thing existed here!

"fudo, you were definitely a top three contender. Who couldn't love that story of yours?

"Hyperfluxe, that twist at the end was unexpected. Great job! I thoroughly enjoyed your work.

"Thank you, everyone, for coming out tonight! I will see you all soon."

Tomorrow only comes for those who live today, don't sit back and accept your fate.

Life with purpose, make the best of it.

Find someone you love and be someone they admire.

If you see a hero in your heart, follow that, become like that.

Accomplish for the right reasons. Do your work for the right reasons.

Forgive your parents, love your children, and let your children forgive you.

Take the time to walk. Take the time to be silent. Be silent.

Learn everything you can about this world and do something with your knowledge.

Help when able. Help life.

They lie. They lie and I could say it again and again and it wouldn't make a different. They would still say it, because they would still foolishly believe it. They would still say that this is good for me, that next time it happens I'll know how to deal with it and they would think they've mad me feel better.

I'm tired. I'm so tired of getting stronger. It's exhausting. It's killing me. I don't want to do it anymore, I've had enough of getting hurt. I've had enough of crying, of losing sleep overthinking things I cannot change. I've had enough.

There's a limit. There's a limit to how strong a person can become before it breaks them. Before they cave under the pressure, before they decide they don't want to be strong anymore. There's a limit to how much a person can take before they realize it's not worth it.

They next time the world wants to make me stronger, I wish it would kill me instead.

America has seldom in it’s history been a “kumbaya” kind of place. There have been moments, of course; times of joy that have brought us together despite our differences, but any land of free ideas and free speech is bound to be a land of contention. If more than one American is present at anyplace in any moment then there will likely be those who will and those who won’t, those that do and those that don‘t.

The coming together of Americans following our WWII victory allowed for a brief drunken fiesta lasting about 12 hours and then the debates were back whole-heartedly; Russia, Korea, McCarthy, Russia, Vietnam, school segregation, Elvis, Civil Rights, Kennedy assassination, Russia, women’s rights, Hippie movement, busing, King assassination, The Beatles, Russia, Manson murders, Roe vs. Wade, Watergate, Muhammad Ali, Libya, Drug Wars, Russia, rap, Panama, Iraq, Iran, Oklahoma bombing, Snowden, Afghanistan, Cuba, China, Russia, Trump, etc., etc., etc.

To think that our times are any worse or better than any other is pretty vain. Yes, we get passionate, but so did our parents and our grandparents get passionate. They also had a dream for tomorrow. The vision for this great country is constantly changing, and that is it’s innate beauty. The masses ebb and flow over the “next big thing” with a toe in the water, testing whether it is safe to dive in while the extremists on either side attempt to sway them.

It is why freedom of speech is so important. Those debates are what makes America great. Yes, passions can spill over… once to the point of all out war, but goodness always comes of it. Always. The better vision always prevails, even if it is not always your vision.

So today… relax. Hang a flag. Grab a dog and a lemonade. Crank some ice cream. Watch a ballgame. Attend a fireworks show. And while watching the bombs burst over our flag, think of those whose struggles ended as they attempted to make her a better place no matter which side of which argument they stood on, and take a little pride in being one of them.

And for heaven’s sake, if you are so sure that all of your views are absolutely right, then maybe this America is not the place for you? Your neighbor likely believes otherwise… so let’s quit the argument and put it to a vote.

God Bless America.

I wish I could remember things nowadays. Well, certain things: the little things I loved to recall even if that day itself forgot it’s own history.

I say so because I used to remember everything. Well, everything aside from tasks and appointments.

But birthdays and colors and people and quotes and shirts and pants and moments and seconds and years and before’s and after’s and laughter and tears and happiness and sadness and broken and open and family and friends and foes and familiar and similar and far and wide and close and intimate.

I wish I could remember things nowadays and it’s not actually because I need to know them for everyday life but because I need to know them for everyday me.

I have always taken pride in remembering the obscure things. The little things that I always thought to be big. The feelings and memories and feelings of memories and memories of feelings.

The reason this bothers me so is not because of the people or things that are the subject of what I remember—most don’t realize they’re remembered and even many times they don’t remember what I seem to—the reason it bothers me so is because who I am is inside those things.

Who I am is outside them but still gazing in. Inside them but still arms wrapped around tight. Brushing their hair and saying goodnight. Waving good morning and seeing them later. Loving them wholly and loving them holy. Acknowledging their importance and reminding Time of their history.

Stuck inside that time is the me I was when I could remember them. I don’t remember how to navigate them anymore, I don’t look at the date and think of it’s recorded life or happy birthday to or remember when this or that and that too. This sometimes silly skill but strength I held was always one I took pride. A skill many didn’t care for but didn’t need to in order for me to celebrate them. But now we’ve lost touch or rather, they have been unfairly alienated from their only advocate, their own voice: me.

Illness and medications half mental and half physical: they’ve altered my life, my mind, my memory, my body. They have altered the altar I didn’t realize I prayed at.

Memory has always been my religion and, despite how much I fucking try to get back to it, no matter how many prayers I say on my knees, how many questions I ask and even think I answer: what’s become of me isn’t actually me at all.

The only true thing I remember is what I wish I could and it’s the fact that I am no longer. I am in that past. That’s the one memory that I do recall: that who I’m trying to be is a me I lost.

Who I wish to be, it’s a me that’s not me at all, not anymore. It’s a me I keep forgetting to forget. A me I can’t be.

So, with the same wish to remember how to remember all those little things: I wish, and fail, to grasp that I cannot grasp that girl: the one remembering the world.

I wish I could remember things nowadays. But we can’t always get what we wish for: I keep forgetting that, too.

many years ago, in a far away land , lived in the forest a small family of wizard bears; the parent wizard bears were bringing up three young bears of different ages: their eldest was big brother bear, he was followed by sister bear, and finally, the young brother bear.

one day, mommy bear decided that it was high time for her progeny to learn the casting spell. "which maketh thy father's and mine's fortune and earns us the great esteem among the greater community of wizard bears" she said "so hark ye well, my lovelies, and learn the words that i shall tell!" so said she , and with an admonishing swat of her paw , proceeded to recite to her younglings the great lore of the wizard-bear family, out of the great book which was bound in the checkered vellum of the woodland ostrich. a great tome of magic was this book, which was unto-now forbidden for the youngling to read.

and so it went, that in confidence and a slow rythm, as the dripping and slathering of thick ketchup, she began to chant the spell to their ears, that late frosty night, after supper was concluded and the bears were washed, clothed in nighttime attire and most in attention to spells and chants, as maic bears are known to be.

it is not an easy thing to learn a magic spell; it is not merely a matter of hearing words as they are uttered as a splash; a talent is required to listen to these arcane words, whose meaning is lost to day in the smoking ruins of ancient circles and rites. truly, to

both listen to the words, and to retain them in exact detail until the chant is complete, and commited to mind beyond fault and to never forget, once the chant is uttered, is a feat of rare acheivment . for not a word of it must ever be neglected or miscarried among its sisters in the verse.

the big brother bear, who was 7 years of age, listened carefully. however by the time his mother was chanting through the fourth page, he was deep in slumber. it was not a fault of is own, nor his mother, but the strain of the task and the length of the day which preceeded it.

the middle cub , sister bear, fared better than her elder brother. though she was six years of age, she retained more than five and a half pages of magic. it was then, upon the verge of a new casting incantation, that her weary eyes fluttered and closed. it was as if the chant itself had brought her peace and dulled her awares until the dreams that come into the minds of only wizard bears came. she was asleep after that.

the youngest bear , who was shy of four that night, listened intently as his mother read the enchantment spell, until the eighth page was taught. the magic though was long and arduous and his eyes began to flutter , hovering in that peculiar moment between being open and shut. he struggled on, to keep his shiny eyes open but the chant his mother told was such that he finally succumbed to the words as they were told, until he, too, fell asleep.

and what of daddy bear? he too made an effort to contain in his mind the long magic spell, as mother bear spoke, but her soothing voice, and the toils of the day soon got the better of him and his eyes closed and he was soon snoring in surrender.

with the family of wizard-bears fast asleep, mother bear closed the ancient magic book quietly. she looked upon her family and grinned in satisfaction. the hour was not even eight. she put the volume of enchntment in its usual place, and dressed up in her sizzling leather jacket. she stepped out into the early evening air, hopped on the chopper and rode on down the highway.

and where did she go? that is a story for another night.

He was a cheapskate. That I know. He bought things on discount and in bulk. His family turned badly printed napkins inside out; they split one can of orange juice between 9 kids. They wore hand-me-downs clothes and cheap shoes.

He was a plant-person. He saw a plant, and he bought it. He stuck it randomly in the yard. He planted hundreds of pine trees and other evergreens.

He was intrigued by new inventions. He bought a portable telephone and kept in his car. But, to make sure nothing would happen to it, and because it cost money to make or receive a call, it was never ever used.

He loved words, but couldn't say them right. He used a hard 'g' in the word "gee" rather than a soft 'g'. And only stopped when his wife pointed out that "gee whiz" wasn't said with hard 'g'.

He loved to argue. He could drag out an argument for hours...and hours...and hours.

He loved to read aloud. His kids heard many, many stories from him, and then read them to their own children.

And then, he died of cancer. Leaving 9 kids between the ages of 19 and 2, and his wife behind him.

Yes, I know many, many things odd things about him, but much about his everyday life. I've imprinted everything I know about him in my memory, so that someday when we meet in heaven, I'll recognize him. I'll fling my arms around him, and tell him who I am.

Who was he?

My Grandpa.

And I never met him.

tired of the AC? ice cream doesnt do it for you? well, here are some suggestions that can take the edge of any heatwave..

1) live underground-

mole people have been breezing through the worst of summers, by just living their lives underground. conversly, you can go the other way and spend your time in the stratosphere, where the ambiant temperature is always below freezing. how can this be accomplished, may be debatable, but it is sure worth it.

2) install radiator vaines on your skin.

that's right folks, a simple oparation is all it takes, you'll be feeling the refreshing coolness as heat is tranferred out. speaking of refreshing yourself, if you are really in need of a good colling, the best thing is a well-chilled IV drip. oh you will savor the moments as coolness courses through your blood.

3) overturn a major foundation of human civilization.

it's not for naught that most wars break out in the summer. the moment of knowing you ruined the lives of millions sends a wonderful coolness down your spine.

4) dedicate yourself to the study and performance of elevator music.

nothing feels better than soft, derivative music. you hear its slow tempo, and enjoy its predictable harmony and melody. it all goes back to Home.. you'll struggling to restrain yourself from responding to the ringing voice in your head, saying "waiter, i'm sorry, but could you please bring me more bread sticks? my lady friend hadn't come yet.." expect no tips, just lije then. but the place was air conditioned to perfection.

5) watch certain movies bwckward and in slow motion.

films like 'Frozen' , 'Moana' , 'Lethal weapon II', and Ken Burns' 'Baseball' contain a cunning, little known bonus. sure, some of the films were downright upsetting, badly written, annoying, or could have covered more, but they may have this redeeming aspect. all you need to do is back, put on one of these filns in. just let it slowly play out from end to beginning. the chill comes as the rewinding starts unintelligably. it is not unknown why only these films produce such a reaction, but it has not been observed in any other film..

I hold a light

A light no one sees

Though I try with all my might

I tell them of His saving grace

And of the freedom I found

With one look upon His face

My heart squeezes painfully, crying out for them to see

Though I know they wish for me to just let it be

But I know of the flames that will consume their souls

If only they'd see, see with their hearts, the light that will save them from scorching coals

I see a way, a way of everlasting life

But they don't see it and ask me to stop causing so much strife

This gut wrenching agony makes me ill

But I know a One that says be still

Be free, they say, don't let the devil be your bane

But living a life without Him would only cause me pain