intentions

The two of them never really talked before the second Friday in December. That was the day he called her up, out of the blue, on a rainy night when the roads were freezing over and he knew there was no where to go. Home was a boring place.
He was flipping through the names in his phone and stopped on hers.
Really the only reason he called was to see if she'd pick up. It was mostly curiosity.
The two of them had known each other--better stated they had known of each other--for some time now. They had some of the same friends. They sometimes went to the same spots on weekend nights. They had helped each other with a few projects, for school and work. But the thing that forced them to take notice of one another was the day when he asked out her best friend, and she agreed to dinner. Thats when they really statred to see more of each other.
Months before the night he called her, he and her best friend had ended the "affair" and went their seperate ways. Communication, after that, had broke down.
But now he was bored, and, as stated, curious to see what this name in his phone--this dusty number beside it, untouched for months and neglected because of breakup malice--was up to.
He was almost surprised when she picked up.
It became more interesting when she herself agreed to dinner.
Then it happened again. It turned out they really had a lot in common. Who knew.
He started calling more.
She did the same.
And they both ACTUALLY returned each others calls.
I met them a couple of nights ago.
I think they've fallen in love with each other, thats what it looked like, to me anyways.
Funny, thing, though.
He still likes her best friend.
She's been eyeing up his.
I wonder what intentions each of them have with each other.
I wonder why they return each other's calls.
She has a screen saver on her computer, of a red frog jumping around on lilly pads, one to the next.

66

I'm driving.
The day before yesterday.
My eyes are forward and peer through the sun glasses.
The road blurs.
I'm going sixty-six on a stretch of fifty-five, and accelerating.
Music blasts from speakers that have had music blast from them way too much.
The windows are down, it's warm, the wind spills in and rushs and screams deaf into my ears.
The road stretches for miles and into the horizon, and I don't care because I like the drive, I like the music, I like the wind.
It remindes me of another day.
You were there.
I had the music turned off, to listen to your story.
I had the windows rolled up, because of your hair.
It's a lot quieter these days....

......

...Without you here.

oh, brother

My brother disagrees with me that following your dreams is easier said than done. He's 16. I tell him he can't possibly know what the world is like.
"I've seen shit, man. Its crazy out there."
"What are we in 'Nam? Fuck that. You can do what ever the hell you want if you want to."
Truth.
He's become my new role model.
Why?
For him it's easy to sail the seven seas.

seven seas

As we watch a segment on the Discovery Channel on the Mongols and how Genghis Khan took over China, thoughts began to flow through his head.
"That would be fun," he said.
We watched as a battering ram knocked down a solid wooden door and a stream of barbarians flooded into the city.
"Yeah."
"I mean, I would have an AWESOME time. With the whole raid and pillage thing, you know?"
"Its personally one of my life long dreams to be a barbarian."
"I'd rather be a pirate. Warmer climate. They knew how to kick it. You see it was acceptable for them. And I would get all KINDS of play!"
"Your 16."
"Okay, they had 16 year old pirates."
"And you'd get a mean sun burn."
"True."
"And then there are the random Aztec curses to think about. Its to pirates what STDs are to college kids. Hit or miss."
He was quiet.
"But who would care?"
He was thinking about it now.
The warm breeze in your face, the open ocean, no home, no worries, eat when you're hungary, sleep when you're tired, raid, pillage, steal treasure and wives, fight off curses, get sea sick, use a sword, fire a cannon, piss people off, drink till you're drunk for breakfest and get all the possible play imaginable.
"I mean, It'd be something different. Hell why not. You're only 16 once."

How to teach a lesson.

"Do you do crack?"
"No?"
"LSD?"
"NO."
"Acid? Or how about pot, every one likes to get smoked up every now and then, you get into that right?
"I've smoked. I'm not a fan."
"Thats not what your friends say."
We were in my car. Six had fit into the four seats that are reguaraly allotted to passengers. Two had gotten out when we pulled into a gas station, to get some food. The rest stayed and smoked and didn't bother to roll down the windows so I did it for them, but they still felt the need to ash on the floor. I was angry.
"My friends know I don't do drugs."
"Fuck you, I know what I heard."
"I'm sorry?"
"I said fuck you. You look like a druggy." He starred out the window. His friends were quiet, they just smoked and looked at me, waited for a response. "You're a drinker though, thats what Max says."
I put on a fake smile to try and pull the enitre atmosphere of the conversation from train wreck to jokes and random drunken bantor. "Yeah, I like a good drink."
"Good for you."
His friends came out with candy bars and they squeezed into the back of my car and I turned on the engine again. Two cars down was a cop in his big white shimmering Crown Vic. He was starring at me and I wondered if he'd pull me over. I wished he did. I wished he'd pull me over and I'd tell him that I had a car full of drunks and "could you please arrest them", and he would, but before he did that he say, "You know I never did like Frat boys," and he'd shove them against the car, rough them up a bit, and start screaming at each one of them, and each one would begin to tear up and cry like the cowards they really were.
But he let us go.
"Do you know my name?" The same guy asked.
"No."
"Why not?"
"I'm not good with names."
"You better learn it by Monday."
Or what?
I heard the snap and pop of a can open in the back. "Let me chug this before we get there, drive slower."
I sped up.
"Shit I spilled some on myself."
I pulled up to the bar, they all got out. I waited for a meteor to fall from the sky, or a lightning bolt to rip from the heavens and strike each one of them down right then and there. But I havn't been to church in a long time. I knew the big man wasn't about to do ME a favor.
"Listen up, you will pick us up a two. You understand me?" I nodded. "I got your number. I'll call if we leave sooner." He walked away.
I drove away, pissed off.
I looked in the back seat of my car and six beer cans were scattered on the floor and I quickly pulled over and threw them out the window.
I looked at my self in the rear view and said, "What are you doing? They can't do this to you."
I drove away.
I got a call an hour later and it was from a friend I hadn't talked to in a long while and she was crying over the phone, drunk, emotional, wanting my help. I talked with her for two hours. Around the thirty minute mark of our conversation I got a beep on my phone and the frat boys I had dropped off were looking to get an early ride back home. I didn't pick up, didn't answer, listen to my friend's sob stories instead.
They called twenty two more times.
From what I heard, they had to walk back, a two mile drunken adventure for them. It was raining out, a cold rain. One guy puked on himself on the way. A friend told me they were cursing my name the entire way.
"Good," I said. "Theres a thing in this world called manners, a way of treating people.
I hope they remeber that."
I told my friend not to ever put up with that shit. But he's the kind of guy that does. I don't understand why some people feel the need to be assholes and others take it.
Let the assholes find their own way home.