The Firebird
The kids at school called him “Lurch.” The worst part was, she saw it. He was a tall kid, all arms and legs, who walked on his toes with a forward lean, as though there was a forever wind against his sail. He was growing so fast. She couldn’t afford to keep buying clothes at the rate he was growing, so his sleeves and cuffs were going to have to ride up for awhile, but what was she to do? Her clothes were not nearly new either.
They weren’t beating him up yet, but that would probably come. He was one of those gentle kids who was so easy for the others to pick on. All he had going for him was that his height was somewhat imposing. What would she do if they did start beating him up? Again? A single mother in a strange town? God knows she would do or give anything to make the child happy, but he seldom was, following her lead. And he was still such a good boy despite all that! He did all that she asked, which was quite a bit, while asking for nothing in return. He wore the shirts with the too short sleeves, and the high-water pants without complaint. His grades were good. He helped around the house. There was only the one thing she had ever seen him want, and he never even asked her for that.
But she saw him looking at that one thing. She saw him at the store, reaching out a gentle hand to touch it. He had touched it lovingly, as a woman touches her baby. That was how she’d known. Seeing it had brought a tear to her eye. She vowed then and there that he would have it. She knew a way.
~
The man behind the counter at the second hand store would only give her $200 for her $2,000 engagement ring. Benjamin had given her that ring directly after her pregnancy, and directly before his accident. The ring was all she had left of him, but Benjamin wouldn’t mind it; back then he wouldn't have minded, and certainly not now.
She took the money for the ring from the clerk and immediately set it back on the countertop. There would be missed meals in his future, but she would give her boy this. The rest of the money she had gotten from Adam. She didn’t love Adam, and he did not love her, but there were times when Adam needed a woman, even a pear shaped woman like her, so she gave herself to him during those times. In return he helped her with bills, and such. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement that wasn’t so terrible. Adam hopped on her quickly and hopped off as fast, like a rabbit, as though he was afraid someone might see him on top of her. She had stopped dressing up for Adam, stopped trying to be pretty for him, but he did not seem to notice either way. It was not prostitution, she told herself. They were just friends helping each other, only they weren’t friends in any of the other ways that people were friends. Still, it was not prostitution. She was not a prostitute. She would marry Adam if he were to ask, but he wouldn’t ask.
It was a bright red Gibson Firebird. It's fret board was worn. The paint was scratched up pretty badly, and the neck had been repaired. There was a name scratched on the back that she couldn’t make out; the name of another boy with another dream, no doubt. She knew from her research that the Firebird was a really good guitar, even if it was old. The man behind the counter threw the amp and pickups in “cheap.” Even so, it had not been easy to take the money out of her purse, knowing what she'd had to do to get it.
~
But all of that was only memories these many years later. She had not been with Adam in ages, and no one called her boy “Lurch” anymore. He was rich now, that son of hers was. He wore only the most stylish clothes as he climbed from the backs of the limosines, or down the steps of the jet planes, and those stylish clothes always with a tailor-made fit. The way the quiet, defenseless boy had turned out was a miracle, is what it was!
And he still played the old Firebird that had cost her so much, the one whose sounds she knew so well. That old guitar never failed to break her down to prayer whenever it's soulful wail sang from out her radio.
Spotlight
glaring into blinding light
the contrast is like day and night
the audience you know is there
the smell of popcorn in the air
adrenaline is coursing through
hands are shaking and nerves grew
I stand alone, up on the stage
and feel my heart come off the page
and into the words I sing
my heart, my love, my everything.
I know no matter where I roam
just need my voice to come back home.
The sprinkler.
Loud screaming has always annoyed me.
But not in this moment.
Not now.
Heat rushed around me like quicksand.
My feet slid through the slippery green strings of grass as I leaped towards it.
My heart pounded like an elephant's foot steps.
Then my thoughts plummeted.
I can't fall.
I won't fall.
It would ruin it.
Make me look like a fool.
Adrenaline surged through my finger tips as I stretched my arms forward.
Reaching for it.
I could taste it.
Euphoria.
Angels sing as the small glistening drops hit my face and soaked my body.
Oh the sweet, sweet song of summer.
More drops explode around me as I make my exit.
Perfect landing.
I took a deep breath and a sharp turn.
Round 2.
Joy is...
“I can’t… I don’t remember… What… What is… the feeling of joy?”
She stared at them, mouth hanging off as if she were planning to swallow them whole. “What do you mean? Are you not happy?”
The half-hearted shrug they gave would have looked in place on someone dying. It was a shrug of pure indifference and disinterest that it could have only been a deep breath. That shrug compelled her to look into the eyes that were so aptly focused on anything but her. Their eyes reflected sadness and anger but also fear and loss.
“Joy is…” How do you describe joy to someone who’s forgotten its feeling, its love? “Joy is the feeling of sunshine and a warm breeze after a long and harsh winter. Its that first breath of fresh air as you walk through the park, hearing the screams of children as they race each other on the playground.”
“How is that joy?” they demanded, desperately.
“It’s that moment of peace when you first wake up in the morning, with nothing planned for the day. Joy is the feeling of hot chocolate and fresh-baked cookies on a snowy eve. Joy is hearing the church bells ringing, proclaiming a couple’s love. It is the taste of a homecooked meal with the people you love. It’s the rush you get when your favorite song randomly plays on the radio and you whip the volume to breaking point, singing and dancing like nothing matters. That moment when you finally come home after a long day only to be attacked by your pets, who are going wild at the site of you.”
“When did you become a romantic?”
“You asked what joy is. This is what it is. It’s little bursts of light that shine even on the darkest of nights.”
“Stars. Just say stars for goodness…”
“Joy is completing an arduous project and feeling pride in that work. You can’t separate joy from the terrible or wrong as then joy would never exist. Without joy, you would only see the worst of everyone you met.”
“This better not be a lesson on that Buddhist nonsense.”
Her eyes burned their already shattered soul. “It is not nonsense and it isn’t Buddhist ideology. If you are going to be so rude as to insult a philosophy, at very least, use the right one, and you better not be insulting a philosophy or religion. Ever. Got it?... Anyways, the concept of joy isn’t one that you can simply just define in three words and be done with it. It involves imagery and all that because joy is that burst of light that you save and cling to when things go wrong. You asked me what joy was and I was giving you an answer. Now, I’m going to help you get through this depressive episode–be it through counseling or just being there on your worst days– so that you can try and explain what joy is to me without being a romantic.”
A ghost of a smile brushed their lips. It wasn’t a huge toothy grin or an amused smirk. It was just a faint smile, one that hadn’t existed on their lips in what felt like a lifetime. To her, that was a burst of pride and brighter than the sun. She would help them see the joy in life again, even if she had to wait years.
Gouda Have A Good Time
"In my opinion, there’s nothing better than cheddar,” Marko said. The way he emphasized the word opinion meant that his opinion was law, and the invisible crown that sat between his ears settled the whole issue.
“Swiss is pretty good too,” Jerry mentioned with his whiskers twitching in the air.
“I like mozzarella,” Morty piped in. He squatted on all fours behind Ricky, who was busy scraping away at the wood paneling with his front teeth. His gums were getting sore, but he could smell the fresh cheese that was on the other side of the wall. Let the others debate on what is the best. Ricky was not picky. Cheddar, Swiss, mozzarella, gouda, even crumbly parmesan was all good. Ricky didn’t want to argue about cheese, he wanted to eat some.
He had built up a good pile of wood chips, and he stopped to clear the chips away with his front paws. Marko bulled him out of the way to sniff the air and inspect Ricky’s progress.
“Humph, you’re barely halfway there,” he said, “When I was your age, I could bust through a wall in just ten minutes.”
Ricky wanted to sink his teeth into Marko’s old rat ass, but he decided to bite with wit. “Was that before or after you busted your chops on that mesh wire?“ he asked in a wondering voice.
Marko turned back to him with a snarl. “Watch your diseased mouth, squeaker. I’ve got enough teeth to tear you in half.”
Ricky was about to rise to his hind legs for battle when Morty pushed his way into the hole. “Let me try it for a while!” he cried out with the excitement of a young pup. Marko narrowed his black eyes at Ricky and moved aside to give Morty some wiggle room.
Morty went after the hole with lots of energy, but no experience. His teeth were not fully developed, but he had to take the place of his brother Monty, who tried to chew through a thick black cable that the giants use for power. Monty had taken one more bite than he should and was cooked medium-rare in about three seconds.
Ricky let him gnaw for a minute, then pushed him aside. “Kid, you’re going nowhere fast. Just watch.” Ricky made a couple of slow bites. “There, you see? Sink the teeth in, then drag down. Sink, then drag down.”
“OK,” Morty said as he moved back in position. He copied Ricky’s movements.
“How’s that?” Monty asked with his mouth full while he kept his pace.
Ricky nodded with approval. “Good job, Mort. Just a little further now…”
Morty sank his teeth in, then stumbled when a large chunk busted loose, revealing a small hole filled with darkness. A draft breezed through, and they could all smell it. That smooth, creamy tasty texture that they came here for. That smell was cheese blocks and wheels that were aging in the cool room of a small cheese factory.
Morty enlarged the hole and dived right in. “Glorious feast!” was all he said as he squirmed his way inside.
Ricky squealed. “Morty, wait for the rest of us!” He shoved his head in the hole, but it was just large enough for Morty’s small frame. Ricky grunted in frustration as he pulled his head back, and began gnawing more wood chunks from the hole.
“Hurry up,” Marko whispered.
Ricky ignored him as he kept working.
“You need to hurry,“ Jerry said as he moved closer. This caused Ricky to pause.
“Why?”
Jerry glanced into the darkness, and Ricky followed his gaze. Shadows moved around the Giants’ machines that sat on the flat lot. Then Ricky saw it. The duel sets of eyes that reflected the light from the tower lamps that were set around the lot. Cats.
"Stand perfectly still, “Ricky said, “maybe they’ll just move on.”
One of the shadows moved again, and Marko took off squeaking one word.
"RUN!"
Two cats leaped from the darkness. Ricky tried to keep up with Marko's frantic pace, but he knew that the cats were faster. Marko suddenly veered left, and Ricky decided to turn right. A large shadow covered him as the lead cat took a flying leap.
Ricky thought That’s it, I’m dead. Goodbye, Ma. Goodbye to my brothers and sisters. Bill, Lacy, Harry, Con, Merle, Steve…
But the cat landed on Marko. As Ricky scampered for cover under one of the rolling machines, he could hear Marko's squeals of terror and pain as the cats began to play with him. He stopped in the shadow of one machine's massive wheels.
Jerry took a jump and latched onto the metal beam that formed the side of the machine's body. Ricky wanted to follow, but he crouched behind the big rubber wheel to witness Marko's fate.
It wasn't pretty. The cats were batting poor Marko back and forth like a hairy ball. Marko made several efforts to evade the cat's paws and make his escape, but each cat would swipe him back into their deadly game. Then one cat clamped his teeth into Marko's flesh and took off into the night. The other one turned to follow, then its eyes swung back, and locked onto Ricky's gaze.
Ricky pulled himself back into the shadows and began his climb into the inner workings of the machine's heart. His paws became slick with old foul-smelling grease and his nose was clogged with the stench of the black gunk that the Giants fed into the machine.
He heard the cat crawl under the machine. He kept perfectly still. The cat sniffed around and decided not to investigate further. It took off to find its friend and Ricky guessed it didn't like the smell of black gunk either. He began working his way from the machine's heart and along its underbelly. He could hear scraping from above him and he traced the sound to a rusted hole.
"Jerry?"
Jerry stuck his head out of the hole. "Dang Rick, I thought those cats got you for good."
"No, they got Marko instead." Ricky never did like Marko, but he never wished that Marko would become cat food.
They had a moment of silence for Marko's demise, then Jerry's whiskers twitched. "Well, I found some food up here. Climb up here and let's rest for a spell."
He pulled his head back, and Ricky climbed up through the hole. They were in the carriage space that the Giants sat in to operate the machine. When he pulled himself up, Ricky began to rub his fur on the coarse fibers that lined the floor of the carriage.
"Good idea," Jerry said, "you stink like a dead skunk." He moved into the darkness, and when Ricky was a clean as he could get, he followed his nose to see what Jerry had found.
One thing that Ricky knew about the Giants was that they were extremely sloppy. They were always dropping food wherever they went and just leaving it behind while they pounded their way over the world. In this case, a Giant left a large square-shaped morsel made from baked flour that had a layer of peanut goop in between.
Jerry had already munched away one corner, so Ricky started working on the opposite end. The baked flour was stale, and the peanut goop was pretty salty. Ricky wished there was water somewhere so he could wash some of his meal down.
Jerry paused his own munching to ask, "Do you know what happened to Morty?"
Ricky considered this question as he took a few more bites. "He's inside with all that cheese. I just hope he has the good sense to keep inside until it's safe to come out." He licked his front paws, and that was a mistake. They were still dirty with machine grease.
Jerry licked his teeth clean. "Sure, he's stuffing himself with all that cheese as we speak. Lucky bastard." He pushed what was left to Ricky. "I've stuffed myself," he said just before he passed a load of gas.
Ricky wrinkled his nose. "For shame, Jer! We're in an enclosed space here."
"Sorry. I get gassy after I eat."
Ricky turned around and headed back to the hole. "I'm going after Morty. Are you coming, or are you going to continue to stink up this carriage?"
They crawled their way out from under the carriage, climbed along machine's metal frame and scampered down onto the flat lot. Ricky sniffed the air for cat odor, but the cats were long gone.
"OK," he said, "on the count of three, we haul tail straight to that hole in the wall. We find Morty. We feast on some cheese, then we get out. It'll be dawn soon, and I don't want to be here when the Giants show up."
"Right," Jerry said while he hunched his rear up for the sprint.
Ricky said, "Ready? One, two..."
Jerry took off and ran as fast as he could.
"Blast it!"Ricky squealed started running to keep up. Nothing leaped out for them, and Jerry was halfway into the wall hole when Ricky caught up to him.
"I said on three!" Ricky cried out as he shoved his way inside.
"Sorry," Jerry said," I panicked. I didn't want to wide up like Marko."
Ricky let it go. His thoughts were on Morty. It was dark inside the huge chamber, yet it was quiet. Too quiet.
He used his nose to pick up Morty's scent and soon found the trail. It led straight along the wall, which meant that Morty didn't venture too far out. He kept sniffing along when Jerry began calling out, "Morty? Where are you, kid? Did you leave any for us?"
Ricky stopped when he saw Monty's backside. It looked like he was slumped over a wooden ledge. His tail sat very still on the floor. It didn't twitch at all.
"Oh no," Ricky moaned as he lifted his head over the ledge, and saw the thick steel bar that pinned poor Morty across his crushed neck.
Ricky pulled back and saw Jerry watching him. "It was a trap," Ricky said, "Morty fell for the bait inside a rat trap."
Jerry lowered his head. " I guess he wasn't the lucky one after all. I knew Morty was too young to come with us." He wiped his face and faced Ricky with tears in his eyes. "Let's get out of here. I'm not so hungry anymore."
"Ricky answered. He led the way out of the hole and they disappeared into the early morning. Four of them came looking for a good feast, and two remained. Ricky didn't know much about luck, but he knew that in a rat's world, it took luck just to survive each and every day.
