Potential

** Note: This was my second short story for my Creative Writing class. The first being '3rd and State'. The story is presented in full form, with an alternate ending after the line at the end (if you're reading it, you'll see it). Thanks!

Pacing back and forth, from kitchen to couch in just five steps, Gregory Rubi stared down at the ground with intense concentration. His floppy red curls lightly bounced with his pace and spun out like a five-year-old girl’s new Easter Sunday dress with his abrupt about face. You might have thought he had the weight of the world on his shoulders at that moment, a life-changing decision, but you would be wrong. Poor Gregory Rubi was just thinking about a girl, Leslie Quickstem. Should I clean? If she comes home with me, she wouldn’t want to see this mess. She would be disgusted. But what if she doesn’t come back with me? Cleaning would be just a waste of time. I know where everything is right now; I would be disorganized if I organized! But it’s Leslie. Gregory Rubi was an inventor, a unique mind plagued with the lifelong task of creating the unexpected and showcasing a needed product that has never been needed before.

These nervous and pondering thoughts while pacing was not new to Gregory. Most every time when it came to these award banquets, after ‘dressing to impress’ in a nice set of tails, he would look in the mirror to adjust his necktie and see his image, standing next to none but an empty void, in the reflection, and his heart. This of course would bring on the thoughts of potential female companionship for the night, and the sorts of preparation that would be needed to make this potential transfer to kinetic.

Pausing to glance around the cluttered living room, or rather work shop, Gregory tries to calculate the time it would take to put everything into a somewhat proper, appearing to be put away place. His desk is cluttered with strangely formed objects, held together by quick solder jobs and twisty ties. Little clear containers of LED’s, transistors, resistors, capacitors, diodes, microcontrollers, microprocessors and logic gates of both CMOS and TTL types are scattered among knots of wires in all gauges so tightly bound that any sailor would be impressed. There is no time; my car will be here soon. As if reading his thoughts, an impatient horn sounded outside, two quick beeps and a long blare. Grabbing his favorite scarf and ‘going-out’ coat, a Pronto Uomo charcoal cashmere topcoat, Gregory paused briefly knowing he would regret this mess if the night goes as planned. But another quick beep startled his senses from worry to reality; so he headed out locking both the knob and deadbolt behind him before descending his icy steps to the impatient large black Lincoln.

“Ah, Greg! Good to see ya! Should be a fun night, eh?”

“Hello Jim, nice to see you too. And as always, I still prefer Gregory.”

As soon as Gregory closed himself in, before even being able to reach for his seatbelt, the car took off down the narrow one-way street, barely missing the terrible parallel parking jobs that make Gregory think of straight lines drawn by a man with Parkinson’s. Jim is, in simplest terms, Gregory’s financial backing. A lucky, lone winner of the record Washington State’s Mega-Millions jackpot, Jim had more money than he knew what to do with and after a move to the Los Angeles area, decided to invest in Gregory, a friend of a friend’s friend, who refusing to be part of large corporation management, was struggling to make ends meet with his personal endeavor of creating the world’s next best must need tech gadget.

Gregory didn’t really have anything specific against Corporate America. It came down to the dislike for being told what to do. On any given day, he could work as much or as little as he pleased, being as constructive or destructive to his career as he felt. The act of being the boss of himself was very important. And plus, the only time he ever had to wear a tie was when going to events like the Da Vinci’s.

“Well Greg, looks like my investment is finally paying off. How long has it taken, what, three years for your big break?” Gregory just nodded. “I was skeptical of you at first,” Jim continued. “You were going to those fairs with those strange gadgets of yours, the Krong Detector, that laser box thing… ya know, I never really completely understood what in Sam Hill’s name that thing ever really did. Oh and what about that one that had all those lights on it that changed colors when you rotated that lever on the side? Heh, yeah, that thing was a waste of time and my money. Finally though, a break through, and I’m glad, good to get a little publicity now, ya know?”

“They weren’t failures,” Gregory replied with a quiet patience while trying to decide the best way to defend his past. ”And its Gregory thanks.” Gregory then just sat there, looking out into the darkness, wishing he were there instead of here. He was used to this sort of talk from Jim though. Just think of the finances… think of the opportunity he has given me… the potential. Gregory often caught himself repeating these reminders whenever in Jim’s presence.

Gregory’s mind, however, was soon drifting far from the car. For the past eight years, he had been attending this awards ceremony, the American Da Vinci Awards, the ADA’s for short, and for eight years he had been a no one among the crowds of up and coming inventors. Over this past year, however, Gregory had his breakthrough, his greatest invention to date, and tonight he was nominated for the highest of all awards, the Da Vinci for Best Innovation for Society. But it wasn’t the nomination that was making his nerves dance the most tonight. It was the girl. Every year that Gregory had attended the ADA’s, Leslie Quickstem was there. Every year she wore an astonishingly similar, slinky black dress that trailed just below the knees and accented her petite curves as a sunset does for an already radiant blue sky. And every year Gregory has the deepest desire to approach her and sweep her off her feet. However, every year, he didn’t.

Leslie is the daughter of the American Da Vinci Award’s largest benefactor. Her beauty and class never went unnoticed at the awards which were always filled with a specific sort of crowd. I don’t want to say that the attendees of the ADA’s were all members or rushing to be in the Kappa Kappa Nerds Fraternity (yes, it is even rare for a female to be at the awards), but let’s just leave it at that few of the nominated attendees would have been sitting at the ‘cool kid’ table back in the 6th grade. You would never have noted this from Leslie’s behavior though. She had too much class and charisma to visibly show disdain toward any individual. Gregory figured with his nomination, this had to be the year. Leslie would be forced to notice him. After the ceremony, she would casually walk up, surprising him from behind, and whisper something sweet and tempting into his ear. And he wouldn’t even have to take two steps towards her. It will be perfect.

“…and that is why I need you to mention my name at least three times during your thank-yous on stage. You hear me, Greg?” Gregory startled by hearing his name, or at least part of his name, looked over to Jim and nodded, not being one to stir a confrontation. With that the car slowed, much more elegantly than its takeoff, in front of the red carpet leading into the Graumann’s Chinese Theatre. There was speical excitement this year among the attendees for the awards were not only in this legendary venue. Being host to the Academy Awards for a few years in the ‘40s made everyone attending feel a sense of celebrity among themselves. With a small audience outside the car and even fewer hiccups of camera flashes, the driver hustled around to Gregory’s door and in suave motion opened it, secretly hoping for some face time in a shot or two. Jim leaned over before Gregory could escape from the Lincoln and gave him a hearty smack on the back, saying, “Well, Greg, let the night begin!”

Gregory recognized a few faces among the crowds from past awards and local IEEE section meetings while exchanging cordial how do you dos and a humble “thank you” whenever mention of his nomination came up. As he moved into the claustrophobic lobby, he noticed Jim standing among a group of what seemed to be fresh-out-of-college, ego-driven, engineers, with their thick-rimmed glasses and greased back hair trying to stand tall as Jim teased them with the concept of sponsorship. Jim looked up from his newfound following, caught Gregory’s stare and gave a quick wink with a grin as if to say, “Remember when you were stupid like this?”

Soon enough a bell chimed eight times and people were seated. Gregory noticed a few open seats here and there. Still not in the budget to hire some seat-fillers, heh? The awards were soon underway and went on for some time without much to note. Gregory spent half his time watching the stage and the other half looking around the audience, straining for a glimpse of that thin black material and the girl it covered. Located on the center isle about one-third of the way back, Gregory was able to see a good number of people without having to make obvious movements that might call undue attention. Leslie wouldn’t be further back than me? Maybe she’s watching from backstage? On stage, various professors talked about the amazing innovations the past year had brought. Taking a note card out of his or her pocket pocket, each would read the nominations to a light applause and then hold up a sealed white. After a respectable and suspenseful pause, the presenter would tear open the envelope and announce the winner to cheers and whistles. Always a good reaction; I do like that.

Two-and-a-half hours of sitting in the seats that were too close together passed before the speakers announced, “The award for the Best Innovation for Society will be presented by Dr. Ernest Hall from the University of Southern California, Robotics Department.” A short, strongly built older gentleman walked onto the stage. He had a look of experience and dedicated study. His white hair, thinning but nicely combed in a part, moved with his stride. He beamed as he approached the podium at center stage.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he started, as so many had already. “Tonight has been an exquisite night of creativity and brilliance…” Gregory squirmed in his seat with fleeing thoughts of finding his lady in black while the introduction continued. “I know that our future is bright, our society, the United States of America, the World, our Universe, are all in good hands with the people you have seen tonight…” What if she isn’t even here? “And now I present to you the nominations for the Best Innovation for Society.” When his name sounded from the stage and speakers, Gregory’s mind broke concentration and remembered the actual reason for the evening. All he could do was smile toward the stage, for he knew there must be a camera on him somewhere. Clapping lightly for the other four names announced, he got chills down his back and goosebumps on his arms from the thought of actually winning this prestigious award. Suddenly there was silence, and a white envelope was being held up for the audience to see.

Dr. Hall slowly tore open the envelope and blew into it, Gregory, who had forgotten about Leslie for the moment, mopped his pants with his hands, and stared straight ahead. A small blue card emerged from the envelope and was unfolded, keeping everyone in suspense but the speaker himself. Dr. Ernest Hall cleared his throat and smiled. “The award goes to Dr. Gregory Rubi and his…” The cheers drowned out the speakers immediately. Gregory sat immobilized. He was numb from his cheeks down to his toes. What? His limbs quickly revitalized as he was pushed up from his left, Jim giving another extra-hard smack on the back sending Gregory stumbling into the isle. Shaky on his legs, and in feeling some disbelief, Gregory made his way down past the front onto the stage, and to the podium, remembering to take his speech out of his jacket pocket.

“Oh, wow.” Gregory spoke, surprising himself with the reverberations of his own voice. “I am proud to be a modern day inventor. This award is such an honor. It brings validation to struggles and tears that have been with me for a number of years.” Just then, while skimming the crowd, he saw her. In the front row with silky, auburn hair gently lying across bare shoulders she sat. Her lips were a dark red and slightly parted, showing a slither of white, giving her a look of intrigue. A red dress. That’s why I couldn’t find her. She sat lightly, only using half her seat and wore an amazingly delicate red dress that put any other cloth that had touched her body to shame. Her eyes locked with Gregory’s. Catching himself off guard and realizing he wasn’t breathing, Gregory scratched the back of his head and cleared his throat, but couldn’t help but return the gaze. Realizing the silence in the room was his own void he gave himself a quick fanning with his note cards, and continued. “Wow. What an honor.”

Forcing his eyes away from Leslie’s, Gregory found the words he had lost. “First off I would like to thank my support, Jim Dunns. If not for him, I would never have been able to get a start.” Glancing toward Jim, Gregory notices him holding his index finger above his head. Anyone else in the theatre would have thought Jim was symbolizing a “We’re number One!” cliché, but Gregory knew it was for the first of three times his name was to be mentioned. “And of course I would also like to thank my family and friends for their support, and regret that they could not attend this evening.” With his eyes cycling the crowd again, he found Leslie with a pleasant smile. Gregory then had an epiphany, realizing how he had come to be at this moment. He set his note cards on the lectern and stood a little straighter.

“My inspiration was just realized.” Gregory starts anew with a chuckle. “My inspiration is potential. What is the reason we create? What is the reason we do as we do? Some for a status of genius, some for monetary compensation, some for the betterment of society. We do what we do with an inspiration of potential, a hope, and a dream that we will make a difference. The potential for status, the potential for a better society.” Wiping his forehead with his handkerchief, Gregory looked around the crowd. All seemed to be listening, waiting, wanting to hear what he had to say next. Looking straight at Leslie, Gregory then stated, “My potential. We would not be here, I would not be here if it wasn’t for the potential, the potential of something great. Thank you for this award; thank you very much.” With that, Gregory exits the stage, breathing abnormally, but feeling very light with a sense of a job well done.

In the time that followed after the award ceremony ended, Gregory and Jim made rounds in the lobby to mobs of congratulating eggheads. Jim wouldn’t get off the fact that his name had only been mentioned once. When the crowd started to die off, Gregory was at the bar ordering a drink when a gentle hand found his shoulder. Turning, he found Leslie, in her amazing red dress, standing there, smiling, looking up at him just as on stage, but now, within arms’ reach. “Hi. Gregory, right? That was an absolutely lovely speech.”

“Uh, um, thanks.”

Silence was between them, both watching one another, waiting for the next move. Leslie shifted her weight, brushing a few stray hairs from her face, and was about to continue when Gregory felt an all too familiar smack on the back followed by the weight of a more than casual arm around his shoulder.

“Well hello little lady, my name is Jim!” The smile quickly disappeared from Leslie’s face as she scanned Jim up and down as if sizing up an opponent before a fight. Gregory, completely embarrassed by the turning of events looked down at his shoes and timidly gave introductions and explained his relations with Jim.

Leslie gave a slow, exaggerated nod and carefully watched Gregory. “What about the money that comes with your Da Vinci?” Gregory looked up catching a glimpse of what he could only define as ‘knowing mischief’ from Leslie. He hadn’t thought about the money. I don’t need Jim anymore! Gregory then did what he had wanted to do since the minute Jim had fallen into his life. He shrugged away Jim’s arm from his shoulder, took a few steps away from Jim and leaned up against the bar. “We’re done Jim, thanks for helping me out.” Gregory then leaned over and grabbed Leslie pushing her up against a bar stool and kissed her… “Gregory? What about the money?”

“What, oh, the money, right.” Gregory stood there pondering his next move. He then shrugged off Jim’s arm from his shoulder and took a few shy steps away to lean up against the bar. “I will be able to fund my own research now. Thanks for getting me started Jim; your gifts were much appreciated.”

Jim stared dumbfounded and with a quick fiery glance at Leslie stormed off toward the exit. “Thanks,” Gregory said barely audible.

“Don’t mention it.”

They stood there, silently as before. Gregory, realizing he had to make do something stammered with a motion towards the bar, “You, uh, want to…”

“I’d love to, thanks.”

As the night progressed, the two sipped martinis while talking mostly about Gregory’s future. Gregory soon found out that a large reason for the Da Vinci’s was for Leslie’s father, who hadn’t even been able to attend that evening, to recruit the brightest upcoming minds for his firm. Leslie was there, after helping Jim leave, to make Gregory a very nice offer into Corporate America.

“I need some time to think about it.”

“Of course you do. Here is my card… I’ve taken the liberty to write my cell number on the back.”

Gregory arrived back at his door step, paid the cab, and went inside, all the while thinking about the events of the evening. Walking around piles of what most others would refer to as garbage, he sat at his desk, put on his work glasses and turned on the soldering iron before grabbing his sketch pad. I just like building things. Gregory sat there for a long time, and never made the call.

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<<< Alternate Ending >>>
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Silence was between them, both watching one another, waiting for the next move. Leslie shifted her weight, brushing a few stray hairs from her face, and continued, “So what are your plans now?” Gregory stood there, thinking. My plans? Well, I can’t receive any more Da Vinci’s. This monetary award is my diploma to other awards. Still, I will come back as I have for the past eight years. Wow, is it getting a little warm in here? Then, without much thought to anything, he replied, “Um I… uh… thank you. Thank you very much.” And quickly, Gregory turned, leaving his drink at the bar, and walked briskly toward the exit. Leslie, surprised, watched him walk away with a half-confused smile on her face. I’ll have to write her, now that we’re on a first-name basis. I wonder if she has a date for next year?

3rd and State

You have probably seen her before; or rather, she has probably seen you. I would describe her as that average height, average build, attractive… very attractive, brunette, that works downtown in that tall office building as an accountant, but that doesn't narrow it down all too well. I first met her 6 years ago… her name is Samantha. If by chance you had seen her, you would know it by her eyes. They are no ordinary eyes. They are soft, shy eyes, eyes that can melt the coldest of hearts, mysterious eyes, eyes that if sent to war, would make enemy armies embrace and sulk, beautiful eyes. However, most of all, they are… dreamy eyes.

Every weekday morning, Samantha kisses her 5-year-old golden retriever, Dillon, good-bye, and catches the 7:35 train just down the street from her apartment and rides downtown to work. Along the path from street side to her cubicle, which is right around the 21^st floor, she masks a halfway ‘happy to see you’ face and exchanges some of those casual ‘hellos’ or ‘how was your weekends?’ with fellow coworkers. You know the greetings, the ones in which you never remember the reply by the time you leave eyesight. When arriving at her 6 foot by 6 foot home away from home, she drops her business-casual black purse and makes way to the coffee pot before settling in for a multi-hour staring contest with her computer.

Samantha is what I like to call a PW, a people-watcher. The highlight of her workday comes at 11:45 when she makes her way down to street level and walks two blocks south, finding a seat, either on a bench in the shaded, metropolitan, squirrel park, or in the Starbucks across the street, depending on the weather that is. Here, on her perch, is where she watches. Today, she finds an unattended bench by the fountain, under a tree that is starting to show its September leaves. Slowly, her fatigued, green eyes, take in the scene in front of her, pausing at a couple, cuffed by interlocking fingers, gaily walking in front of a quaint Italian restaurant, both smiling, while the girl chatters on about who knows. A small, tug at her heart keeps her eyes moving, giving a sense of lonesome solitude.

Sipping on her thermos of sweetened, raspberry iced-tea, she lets her eyes wander further, along with her mind, pondering on each individual person that passes. There are the regulars on the street, each day passing with the same expressions, just a tie of different design, and she knows them. Never has she spoken to them, but she knows them. Her dreamy eyes give knowledge of each person’s home-life, single, married, divorced, how many kids, where they work, what they like to do on the weekends. For 6 years now, Samantha has been creating the lives of all those on the corner of 3^rd and State, being sure in her own mind that her reality is true.

The trouble with Samantha is just that though; she lives in her own reality. After finishing up the usual tuna on white and carefully wiping the corners of her mouth as not to smear the edges of her lipstick, she puts the garbage of plastic bags and a fruit cup back into the brown paper sack, stands up straight, adjusts and smoothes her skirt, then starts the two block trek back to the office. The entire journey from the park to the 21^st floor has Samantha’s mind churning with the images of the day… the two boy scouts selling popcorn at the entrance to Starbucks, the mother with four babies and two strollers, one in each hand, along with a face that hadn’t seen sleep in months, that tall, dark, and handsome man in the collared white shirt with a loose tie hanging around his neck and top button undone, walking with a sense of masculinity and authority that unveiled a romantic ambience with each step. While catching a hint of his late morning aftershave making its last appearance before dissolving to just another city smell, she could have sworn she heard church wedding bells in the not so far distance. She hoped to see him again.

The elevator doors jerks open as the light above the door beams 21, and Samantha, still wearing her blinders of thought, exits, oblivious to any activity or life presence around her. She even fails to notice Jimmy, who’s young, quick witted humor and diligent work had won him an assistant manager position at a company-record young age, trying to spark conversation with a compliment about her new, just below the shoulder hairstyle. Everything is always a spark with Samantha; too busy imagining her life, or living others, to find any sort of flame.

The thing about Samantha is just that… she’s Samantha. Her looks and quiet personality send much interest and curiosity through the minds of the select, single, male coworkers who are fortunate enough to make the occasional run in with her. However, to little or no avail, progress is never made. To most it is little loss, thinking of it not as being ‘shot-down’ but as just not being ‘noticed’. However, Jimmy isn’t like most, his determination that lands promotions, works with all facets of his life.

I met Jimmy for the first time last week, he came to the squirrel park and surprised Samantha with a vanilla ice cream cone, from a vendor just down State I believe. Unfortunately, there were just a few too many swirls stacked high on his own cone, which soon toppled over on his shoe after one lick. Fortunately for him, however, this in turn brought a few giggles from Samantha who had stopped watching an elderly couple sitting a little ways down the path, just in time to see, and avoid, the splatter. They chatted for a little while, Samantha pointing out various people passing by, but soon, with her mind full of the lunchtime sights, instead of the surprise ice cream man, headed back towards the office.

After a lazy, lackluster, afternoon, the clock strikes five and Samantha picks up to go home. She catches the train and is at home with shoes off in under a half-an-hour. There, she sits with Dillon, eating leftovers, and watching sitcoms instead of the news.

* * * * *

It has been a while since Samantha has come around to keep me company. Sure, I still know what’s going on in her life, but I miss seeing her eyes. A few weeks (actually two and three days to be precise) after that day Jimmy toppled his ice cream cone over, Samantha stopped her lunchtime escapade. She isn’t infatuated with him like he is her; she is now just busier at work. I know, that right now, she is wishing she were here, in the park, by the fountain, under the tree that is blooming beautiful new blossoms, with the squirrels… with me… watching people, as I do. But alone, I sit, on a bench, at the corner of 3^rd and State.

Kelly

The shadowy memories of yesteryear are about as clear of my vision of today. However, the feelings and emotions are still resilient and alive in my slowing mind. If someone were to ask me how I was today, I would answer “old and weak... old and weak”, but the cool surface under my body sooths my aching muscles. Slowly, I blink my eyes; nothing happens any faster than slow these days. Slowly stand up. Slowly walk to the door. Slowly eat my food and drink my water. And slowly lay back down. Lying here, I know there is love in the room, it’s just a sense we have, we know when we are wanted and we know when we are loved.

The room around is so bright; I rest my eyes for a little while. Remembering the past is difficult, my mind yearns to just remain in the present, doing nothing but taking in whatever sensory feelings I have left. Although, remembering the past is a way to keep going when you are as I am. With my eyes closed, I am able to concentrate on the past, blocking out all the illness of the present. My favorite memories are the furthest back. I was much smaller then, crawling under the rungs of kitchen chairs... sitting by the window, watching the birds outside, waiting for just the right moment, when they would all be gathered on the closest branch, then giving a convivial bark sending them scattering with flustered feathers... running after a ball... tearing apart toys... but nothing, compares to bedtime, following heavy footsteps up the stairs, taking a right, and another right at the end of the hall, then sitting there expectantly, until he, my best friend, invites me up onto the bed. There we snuggle with soft warm sheets, and each other, dreaming of the joys of tomorrow.

I remember Christmas mornings, everyone filled with so much happiness, tearing open paper packages. I would get so excited and help as much as I could with bows and ribbons, running with them when they came free. I remember car rides, my head hanging, and tongue flapping in the wind, with an intoxicating overdose of aromas, from every building and every person we pass. I remember table scraps, and I remember my spot, in the family room... the carpet, warn as I; the only spot in the house the sunlight never seems to leave...

My eyes blink open and I am brought back to the current moment as a hand touches my head. It’s a gentle hand, rubbing my ears and neck with affection. My family is here, I know their touch, and I know their scent... we may lose our minds, but we never lose our nose. With me through the years, they are who I love, as I am for them. The hand leaves my side, but the affection is still there. A twinge... a peck... a sense of relaxation. Slowly, I blink my eyes; nothing happens any faster than slow these days. I feel tired, old and tired, but relaxed. I close my eyes, so relaxed, and listen to my breaths, intentional and slow. Everything feels right… I know it is… and then I sleep.

A Halloween Tribute...

It is on days like today, Halloween, that start pushing the feelings of age on young people like myself. I am not old by any means; I am quite young in fact. At the youthful age of 21, Halloween is seen as a time of get-togethers, or rather 'shindigs', instead of the trick-o-treating that once filled our heads of sweet and sugary thoughts.

Ten years ago, maybe a few more, maybe a few less, the early evening of October 31st was overwhelmed with making pumpkins glow, and quickly rushing through dinner, knowing there was a ghoulish, or in my case sporty (Halloween, a night to act as we are not really), costume, awaiting me up in my room. Our little minds never thought much about ten years down the life road. Sugar commandeered our minds on Halloween nights, not the thoughts of 'what I’ll be spending my October 31st evening doing when I am too old to trick-o-treat.' Did I realize that on my 21st Halloween I would be sitting in my cubicle at work hunched over a computer passing the time by writing code for computers, while nibbling on leftover spaghetti thrown into a backpack while heading out the door to work downtown after class? Probably not.

How many years ago was the last trick-o-treat? For me it was in more recent past than others I am sure, my senior year of high school. Most neighbors would cringe at the sight of an aged trick-o-treater asking (politely mind you) for candy at their door, even though it is Halloween. However, when the 18-year-old male shows up at their door with a giant pink bunny costume, a few chuckles and a smile usually bring a few pieces of candy past the threshold.

The later years of trick-o-treating were delightful, but nothing compared to the years of parental accompaniment. I remember walking the sidewalks with brothers beside and parents behind, thinking through all the reminders that adults harp on children when the end of October nears. The porch lights of that house are off, move to the next house. If someone I don't know offers candy and they aren't in their house, don't take it. Never eat any candy before getting home so we can check the wrappers. Watch our for cars, unless they're parked police cars, then get there as fast as you can, cause you just know they have the good stuff. The years when the parents followed behind, the years of being a giant baseball, an elephant, a hockey player, a member of the coast guard, were the years that Halloween was the most enjoyable. The irony of it all is that in those years you want nothing but your parents to let you go out by yourself, funny how we think in hindsight.

Even though I am at the office on this Halloween evening, the chill in the air, the smell of colored leaves, and the early thoughts of a giant Thanksgiving dinner with Christmas right around the corner, surface the feelings that are what this time of year is entirely about. Knowing that someday, with my own children, I will relive my years of being a giant baseball that needs to use the bathroom so bad that we have to ask some friendly neighbor to come inside, is enough to bring forth a familiar youthful smile. When my turn comes around, I will follow behind my children as they glance back in hope to see they are independent, but in reality just making sure they aren’t alone. Right now, the memories of my own single-digit years of trick-o-treating are enough fulfillments. I can still tell you which house gave the biggest, best, and most candy. I can still tell you which house had the scary teenager hiding in the bushes waiting to jump out at you. I can still tell you the best route to maximize your candy revenue. But I think I’ll just save those little tidbits of knowledge for my own kids. Happy Halloween!

One of Those Days...

The engine was cut and the doors opened letting the brisk autumn air creep into the car. It was an early Friday morning and the great out doors had just welcomed us with a kiss of its cool lips. Leaves were already drifting aimlessly to the matted grass even though October was still a few weeks away. Around us, great trees seemed to guard us from all reality while giving a sense of comfort and serenity, letting us know, that we could unload and settle in. Very few sites around were occupied being so early on a Friday morning, most of our neighbors most likely remaining at work or school until mid-afternoon, then finding path to their weekend get-a-way with nature.
Crunching through dying grass and fallen leaves feeling out the site, we look for the flat ground to lay our tent. The site itself was meant for a camper of mediocre size, however, with a overheating Jeep the previous day, tent camping was the end result. Finding a nice level spot near the creek, my brother and I unloaded the tent from our old Cavalier which seemed to look lost with the scenery of wilderness surrounding its city facade. With each step and each fresh breath taken, I knew the weekend would be one to remember.
My brother, Dan, was just recently engaged, so I knew our days of brotherly bonding, as one might say, were drawing to a near close, as he moved onto the next chapter of his life story. This weekend was meant to be a week long excursion through the Appalachian Trail in the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee, however, just as plans are meant to be broken, they were indeed.
We are whistling brothers, its something that we've always done both consciously and unconsciously. Others make reference to it a bit, but like I said, its something we do. Naturally we whistle as we set up camp. The tune isn't in unison between our lips, nor is it even in the same key. We are different, we live daily by our own books, but it doesn't change the friendship that we have between us. Too many friends have I heard say they can't stand their siblings, and every time I lack the complete understanding. My family has always been close, and I suspect will remain that way for all the years we have even as some move away with their own new family. My brother and I have always been close. Yes, 2 1/2 years apart, but close in a let's go grab a bite to eat, or let's catch a round of golf this weekend, and closeness of blood and friendship together, a closeness that should never be taken for-granted.
The site was set up, along with an early lunch on the table, and bees in the air. I am personally not a big fan of bees. Most bugs don't bother me all too much, but I have had my run-in with bees that left a mark mentally and physically. A few years back when at camp with the high school marching band, we lowered the basketball hoops to bring a new intensity to the game. When going up for the behind-the-back dunk, not only did I make the basket, I made a nest of bees and wasps not too happy. Two stings later on the hand, I was a little slower, but still in the game. Never before had I had problems with stings. I'd had them everywhere from arms and stomach to the bottom of my feet while walking out to a swimming pool barefoot, but this time the juices of the wasp and bee together didn't settle too well. Within the hour, people were commenting on the swelling of my neck... and that's all the detail that needs to be taken there.
Sitting at the splintered old picnic bench in the silence of birds, leaves, and clear blue sky, I knew this was one of those days. One of those days that would make going back to class in a week or two so much more difficult. One of those days that your mind just yearns to last forever, just soaking up everything around. The creek gurgles and birds chirp, sounds that you never seem to tire of. The picture painted around us was one that can't be etched, it was beyond the fading leaves, crawldads, and noon campfires, it was the mentality. It truly was one of those days...

Welcome

Welcome to my new found blog. This is not the first blog site my fingers have found, however, this is the one I hope to make personal in a different sense. In that past, my blog has always been used as a personal day by day recollection of events past. This blog on the other hand, I hope will be a reflection involving short stories with a strong visual emphasis. I plan on posting a photograph that either I myself have taken or have found that strikes me, and telling the story of that photograph whether be the truth or tale.
I hope you find what is here to be both amusing and interesting and all comments are more than welcome through all means provided. Thank you in advance for taking some time and visiting.