I am no public speaker. This is no speech. The right words only find me when I have a pen in hand. So instead, I have tried to write a memorial that would do justice to a storm cloud that came and went through my happy, long ago, summer-blue skies.

Our friend Keith was living proof that everything is bigger in Texas. My height, Keith outweighed me by fifty pounds, but more than that, he was big in style and manner. He walked loud in stacked-heel boots, and he talked loud, laughed loud, and even slept loud, snoring like a bull elephant.

Keith came to Virginia Beach from Galveston looking for work. Twenty-two years old, there wasn’t much that he couldn’t do; heavy equipment driving, pipe fitting, carpentry, electrician, he even picked guitar, and sang, so I wondered how an economy as big as Texas could be so bad that someone with his skill set could not find something to do. He stayed with me and Dave in our bachelor pad for a couple of weeks, and we got to know him well. I was quickly shown through his “loud Texan” front, as the two of us sat up late one work night. Keith was picking out George Strait tunes on his guitar while I threw darts. Baby Blue was his favorite, he said, on account of his fiance’s baby-blue eyes... like the Colorado skies. Beers were going down at our typical high rate of speed as Keith shared his story with me.

Keith’s father had blown his own head off when Keith was in the ninth grade. Clean off. Keith’s mother found him, and it effected her to where she lost her job, her will, and finally her psyche. Keith’s strength through those times came from a school counselor who took an interest in Keith and his twin brother Kevin. This counselor asked Keith and Kevin what they might be interested in doing, something that might take their minds off of their troubles. Keith responded that he would like to be able to play guitar, or maybe learn karate. The counselor found him free instruction in both. Keith threw his energies into them, and excelled quickly at both while his brother Kevin found no outlet, and spiraled downward.

Keith explained to me that night that suicide is genetic. Keith had learned this “fact” after his brother Kevin disappeared from the oil rig he was working on in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico. After that was when Keith left Texas, and came to Virginia. He said he was running away from his destiny. He was crying when he said it. All I can remember thinking at the time was that it was very uncomfortable to see such a physically strong, rough-and-rowdy-type guy crying. I was twenty-one. I had no clue as to how I was supposed to respond to such a comment, so I just said, “aw, fuck it, Man,” and got him another beer.

Weeks later Keith asked me to pick his fiance up at the airport. Dave had wrecked Keith’s truck, and I was glad to help. I realized that Keith was in trouble right quick when Anne made a move on me before we got to their new apartment, but I blew it off, and never mentioned it to Keith. Regardless though, Anne quickly got pregnant. She and Keith got married in a hurry, and the three of them seemed to settle in nicely to family life. That’s why it was so surprising when Anne called me up one night scarcely a year after I’d met him and told me that Keith was dead. She’d found him hanging in their garage. Those baby-blue’s of hers weren’t crying as she told me.

It turns out that she had told Keith the baby wasn’t his. It turns out she didn’t even know who’s baby it actually was. Tough news for an already struggling young man.

I don’t believe suicide is genetic, but it does linger, souring in your mouth like stale beer. The scenes linger, and the thoughts... forever. Forty years later I can’t help but feel there were moments when I could have made a difference, when I could have said something, anything other than, “aw, fuck it, Man.”

But there it is. That’s where suicide leaves you.

She held it deep inside,

but somehow I always knew,

she’d go away when the grass turned green

and the sky turned baby blue.

And like a breath of Spring she came and left,

and I still don’t know why,

so... here’s to you, whoever holds my baby blue tonight.

Aaron Barker

George Strait

Charlie watched the storm. I imagine he ate roast chicken, potatoes. When the flashes made him nervous, he studied the Lord’s Prayer and a monochrome family picture on the wall. He’d seen his Uncle Leroy just in that photograph and the distance. He only knew his uncle’s farm was across their field, with much more land and many more cows, and that his daddy never uttered Leroy’s name...

https://issuu.com/collectivemedia/docs/bluemountainreviewjune2021/286

Went through several attempts at endings, got rejected several times, trimmed it by around half and changed the ending again, got rejected a couple more times, and then found a home for it :) My gratitude to @TomJonas for his insights during the writing process.

For tonight’s means of procrastinating while I should be grading, I am going to type a list of books and/or short stories with a brief explanation of why I love them. I am permitting myself exactly 15 minutes to complete this exercise, and the list will be biased toward things I’ve read recently, I’m sure - I’m just typing what pops in my head for 15 minutes. K. Here goes.

Mrs. Dalloway, by Virginia Woolf - my fav. There’s sentimental value because going to see The Hours was my first date with my wife, and a copy of this novel her first gift to me, but it’s also amazing. No one narrates the small moments like Woolf.

The Mayor of Casterbridge, by Thomas Hardy - This was my gateway to Hardy, whose sense of scale and capturing a bygone world enthralled me. Thus, it was a comfort book for me at the start of the pandemic, despite the fact that it ends sadly. You know, like every other Hardy novel.

Macbeth, by William Shakespeare - If I need to pick one book for a desert island, is it cheating to say The Complete Works of Shakespeare? This one’s my fav. Dark, brutal, and gorgeous, and somehow the same dude who wrote the world’s most favorite lovestruck teens also wrote the “Tomorrow and tomorrow” speech.

“Old Man at the Bridge” and “Hills Like White Elephants,” by Ernest Hemingway - I know: “white dude recommends Hemingway” is a punchline. But seriously... these are great, less tainted by Hemingway’s chauvinism than other works (and I do think the chauvinism is a problem that often hinders his work), and I do think anyone with aspirations of writing prose owes it to themselves to spend some time contemplating Hemingway’s style. It’s not the alpha and omega some make it out to be - I like Woolf more, and she’s his antithesis! - but Hemingway’s minimalism is instructive.

Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen - Hilarious. Hilarious. Hilarious. If you’re new to Austen, try using the BBC miniseries with Jennifer Ehle and Colin Firth as a companion, and pick up What Jane Austen Ate and Charles Dickens Knew as a reference tool (for this and any other 19th century British text).

The Remains of the Day, by Kazuo Ishiguro - because not all unreliable narrators are in batshit crazy Poe stories. Just reread this. A restrained butler reckons with his life. Heartbreaking.

Between the World and Me, by Ta-Nehisi Coates - “white liberal recommends BtWaM” is also a punchline, but there’s a reason he won a MacArthur grant after this one. Really, I’d read anything by Coates - brilliant stylist. The Beautiful Struggle, about his Baltimore childhood, is also great, and while you might disagree with his conclusions, everyone should read his modern classic of longform journalism from The Atlantic, “The Case for Reparations,” which sure as heck helped me to better grasp A Raisin in the Sun.

One Hundred Years of Solitude, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez - so, so good. ’Nuff said.

Wolf Hall, by Hillary Mantel - and the whole trilogy, but especially this and Bringing Up the Bodies. Stunning historical fiction of Thomas Cromwell, who rose to be Henry VIII’s key advisor. Ack, I’m running out of time...

The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald - my pick for “The Great American Novel.” Lyrical and gorgeous. (For the curious, Huckleberry Finn doesn’t stick the landing, and Moby Dick sucks.)

Heart of Darkness, by Joseph Conrad - Chinua Achebe is right about it, and you need to read his famous critical essay, too. But still an incredible, complex text.

and now, with time elapsed, I glance at my bookshelves and select with a glance -

The Oresteia, by Aeschylus - Greek tragedy is fascinating, and this trilogy is as early as we still have. Aeschylus, in particular, reads as much as ritual as theatre; you can hear it in the chorus so clearly you’d be forgiven for turning around to see if there was a nearby goat sacrifice.

crap! I forgot things!

“The Dead,” by James Joyce - requires some notes on Irish history, but my God... the last paragraph...

The Power and the Glory, by Graham Greene - As a (mostly) recovered Catholic, I had to include either this or Waugh’s Brideshead Revisited to deal with the religion that shaped and scarred me, and I’m choosing Greene on a whim.

Alright, bolding the titles and authors for readability, then posting sans edits. Send complaints to the comment section :)

If you do plan on reading the (now-lengthy) comment section, can I suggest doing so on the beta site? Having some of the comments nested makes it MUCH easier to read: https://beta.theprose.com/post/429324

In my dream,

I hugged you

As I told you

That I hugged you

In my previous

Dream.

×∞ Adin

7 February 2021

We may be struggling, but America is my home.

One of my favorite things about my home, is the incredible variety we have here.

So many contributions, from people of so many different cultures, that also call this place home.

If we do this right, we could have so much to learn about, so many new things to appreciate.

You could have a new favorite hobby or food, all from being open to a new experience.

Things are so divisive right now, and things no doubt need to change.

But if we could appreciate how different we are, yet still respect each other and come together, how great would that be?

Welcome to Word Fun Wednesdays, something new I'm trying out, so be sure to interact in the comments below.

This week's word is Meme.

The word meme is older than many people realize, emerging in the 1970's, but not as a picture with a funny caption. It can be anything that spreads through a culture. Quote a line often enough that it become a pop culture reference? That's a meme.

Did you know this already? Any guesses as to where this word came from? Reply below, and let's share fun facts like the word nerds we are!

“I’m sorry it had to come to this.” *People start crying* [whispering] cue the Mini piano. [Sad music starts] To be taken down so soon is such a dread. *More people sobbing* I just have one thing to say...

*quickly combs hair*

Brother: Anything for you. *Cries*

Me: I was the one who ate your lunch 2 years ago.

Brother: NOOOOOOOO

Me: Goodbye... *Dies in arms*

Brother: IT SHOULD’VE BEEN ME!!!

*Sad music*

Nah, I’d probably just say “Welp, this is it boys! Byeeee!”

I love life even with all of its troubles and expectations it seems to be an ever twisting road to continue in life and stay on track in the process. Let me explain, I am retired from many years of driving, something I loved very much and still do, but that is only the start of an unwritten story. While I am waiting for my next assignment, because I am not driving as much anymore, I must depend on God to steer me in the right direction and not anticipate so much but participate in what he has for me.

I is not easy starting over after 65 years of life but it is possible. See our minds our created for an eternity and this life is just the training course to see if we will go ahead into eternity with God or someone else. The older a person gets the more thoughts they have of the past, good or bad, than the present because there is more behind them than in front of them, or is there?

My Brother, My Brother, and Me, is an advice podcast for the modern era, run by Justin McElroy, the Oldest Brother, Travis McElroy, the Middlest Brother, and Griffin McElroy, the Baby, Babiest, or Youngest Brother.

Okay, but all capitalization aside, I have seriously enjoyed MBMBaM for the first 100/550ish episodes. It's still going, and I seriously recommend it. Juice, Trav, and Griffy have never failed to amuse me. There is some explicit content, but not that much. As far as I know, it's on Google Podcasts, Spotify, and MaximumFun.org .

Each of them do other podcasts.

The three of them and their father do a podcast called The Adventure Zone, (What got me into MBMBaM.

The Three of them do Till Death Do Us Blart, and each episode is a review about Paul Blart, Mall Cop 2.

Juice does Sawbones: a Marital Guide to Misguided Medicine. With his Wife, De. Sydnee McElroy.

Juice does Quality Control.

Juice and Griffy do The Besties with Chris Plante, and Russ Frushtick.

Trav does Bunker Buddies with Andie Bolt.

Trav does Interrobang! with Tybee Diskin.

Trav does Schmanners with Theresa McElroy, his Wife.

Trav does Surprisingly Nice! with Hal Lulbin, and Guests.

Trav does The Kind Rewind with Theresa McElroy, his Wife.

Trav does Trends Like These with Brent Black.

Trav does Can I Pet Your Dog? With Allegra Ringo, and Renee Colvert.

Griffy does CoolGames Inc. with Nick Robinson.

There was also one that has been Discontinued, Rose Buddies with Griffy and Rachel McElroy, His wife.

You can find all of the above on MaximumFun.org . I personally haven't listened to all of these, but I'm getting to them.

Happy listening!

I was in Lethbridge, Alberta, working at a little family petshop the summer after my

nineteenth birthday. Even in the land of domesticated animals, I was no stranger to being asked out at work. Though I always thought it was an odd place for it.

I had to keep my hair in a ponytail to keep it out of the mouths and maws and beaks, and I rarely even wore mascara. Plus our outfit entailed sneakers, jeans and a navy blue polo shirt— not exactly the getup of sex kittens.

One day I was having a cigarette behind our store. From where I was I could see the front parking stalls. As I stood smoking, I started to feel uneasy, like there were eyes on me. I looked straight ahead and sure enough a man in dark sunglasses was sitting in his black Jetta, facing me.

Trying not to stare, I finished my smoke and walked towards the entrance. As I approached, the man removed his sunglasses and stepped out of the car. He was bald

and built like a welterweight cage fighter. He wore black slacks and a black silk shirt, his gold chain shone through the v neck. All that was missing was a tuft of chest hair.

“Hello,” he said through a thick Russian accent.

“Hi,” I replied.

“You are working here?” He asked.

I looked down at the logo on my shirt and said, “Yes.”

“You make good money, yes? You like it here?” He smiled to reveal gold molars.

I smiled back. “It’s great.”

“You free maybe for work later?” He asked abruptly.

“I’m sorry?” Maybe I misheard him. Did he know about our salt tank home maintenance service? Or did he need a cat groomer? A dog walker?

“You are free for work… later?” He emphasized with an inexplicable hand gesture, it was

enough for me to understand.

“Oh—No.” I said, waving my hands in front of me and then the Canadian in me took over and said, “Sorry,” as I hurried through the automatic doors and back to my station behind the till. I tried to retrieve my wits, but my heart would not stop using my sternum like a boxing bag.

I guess my manager could see in my face something was up because he said, “What’s up?”

“Uh… I don’t know if this guy thought I was a hooker or just figured he might get lucky, but some big dude just tried to pick me up.”

“Well, that’s what you get for dressing like a slut.” He teased. It was something I expected. It actually made me feel a bit better to hear him joke.

I tried to smile, “I mean, I’ve been hit on in this place, but he literally wanted to buy my…”

“Services?” asked Chris.

“…Right.” We were quiet for a while as he tried to contain his laughter and I tried to keep it together too.

“Chris?” I asked.

“Yeah?”

“Can I get a ride home with you?”

#Funny #lifemoments #whatdidIjustread? #staysafe