The Cat Ate Its Tongue

Dressed up like a peacock on Halloween, she entered the room and destroyed a pose not caring if she was understood or not. There was nothing casual about her or her appearance. She was shamelessly overdressed for the evening but gave the impression as if she were not in the least concerned as to how she might be interpreted. There was a bottle of red wine spilled in the corner slowly seeping into the grain of the wood floor. She lighted a cigarette and it looked like the first affected move she had made.














Oh youth, thought the older man. He no longer dressed he just wore. My god, did I ever look so vibrant? In fact he had. He had once wore his wife's skirts out about town. He had died his hair blond and fashioned foolish designs with his chin hair. Now he wore only classics. No labels or printed tee shirts, he knew better and didn't think himself a billboard for any manufacturer or cause. He didn't feel the need to have a hip or witty slogan, a logo or design on his chest. He wore only the most basic Levi 501. Have I become a curmudgeon? he thought as he sat taking in the scene. I don't find the need to have my jeans pre-worn or imbued with gimmicky stitching on the back pockets, am I just old or is there some solid reasoning behind my views? The young girl brought her pose and sat down beside him.

"Hi, I'm Catherine."

"Erich, my pleasure young lady."

"Erich with a c or ch?"

"Well how astute of you to know the difference and with a ch now that you asked."

"You looked like the ch type."

"I pray that is not an insult."

"Oh no. The smart ones have the ch. The jocks have the c."

"Well you are wrong on both counts, I am neither a smart guy nor a jock."

"Yeah right."

"So let me guess. You are in the show biz?"

"Actress..and..."

"And you write."

"That obvious?"

"Just had an inkling. That's what happens when you stick around this town long enough."

"How long?"

"Take my word babe, I'm old."

"You don't look old."

"Daddy complex?"

"Do you want me to have one?"

"Not that I have even considered the notion, but it would be my only angle."

"Angle on what?"

"Listen young lady, I'm being the nice guy here. Don't go winding me up and then play me like the other chumps in this town."

"Sorry. Sometimes I don't even know I'm doing it."

"Believe me you got the package dear. You seem like a sharp girl and you obviously have some pretty going for you but why the acting thing? Really?"

"Company town right? I'm young and hot enough, so if some jerk wants to give me some money to pose around, well I'm not the girl who's going to stop them."

"Job of convenience?"

"People do worse things for convenience."

"Agreed. So I was sitting here watching that wine seep into the wood over there and I was thinking to myself, I was thinking if I was a truly an old curmudgeon for thinking that the fashion of the day was so misguided. You know, pre-worn jeans, labels and logos on everything?"

"You dress nice."

"Right, thanks. But that isn't the point. Am I being an old fuck for thinking most people dress like corporate shills or am I right."

"First, maybe you shouldn't worry yourself too much on the topic. Is it the fashion you are concerned with or this self conscious notion that you are old?"

"Really?"

"I agree, I think most of what passes as fashion today is lame, but you know I have some of it in my wardrobe, big fucking deal. It just isn't that important to me. As for you thinking you are too old, well maybe you are. I came over here because I thought you were really good looking man and you have a style, solid but smart, but you are so insecure about yourself you couldn't just feel me. It's not like I'm not cool with you now but by bringing up my obvious daddy complex you kinda deflated the whole fantasy. "

"Well...I..."

"Don't trip."

I Don't Really Want To Say

"Hello, can I please have the number you are calling from?"

"323..839..2250."

"How can I help you?"

"Well I don't know why it is but my phone doesn't seem to be working."














"What phone are you calling from? May I have that number so if we get disconnected I can call you back."

"Oh...I'm calling from 323..839..2250."

"That is the number you are reporting that you are having trouble with?"

"Yeah, right. I mean, that is the phone I'm calling from."

"I believe you said that this number was not in service?"

"Well I did. I mean it isn't working."

"But you are speaking to me on that line now?"

"Yes. Yes I am."

"Sir I am having trouble understanding your problem. If that line is not working then how are you speaking to me on it?"

"You see, it's kinda hard to explain."

"I see."

"Well the trouble is, well I don't get incoming calls."

"Oh I see. Let me check the line. Please hold while I check the line."

"Okay, I'll do that."

"Hello."

"Yes this is Phil at ATT."

"You're the person I was just talking to on the other line."

"Correct. I just called your phone and as you can see the line is working just fine."

"Are you telling me that just because you called on the other line, that I could click you over, that that means that my phone works?"

"That would make sense."

"It should but answer me this one question."

"What question sir?"

"How come my phone never rings? I mean it has been days since it has rang."

"But you can make outgoing calls?"

"The only one I've tried was calling you."

"Well all the information I have says that your phone is working fine. Perhaps no one has called you?"

"Wow. You think so?"

"There isn't a technical reason to explain why your phone hasn't rang."

"Maybe your right?"

"Try calling someone to see if your phone is operating correctly."

"Who should I call?"

"Anyone. A friend or family member."

"Oh."

"Sorry."

"It's not your fault. How could you know."

"Have a good night sir. This call may have been recorded to insure consumer protections."

No Subterfuge Needed

The line stretched a block long. Anticipation.

Are we neighbors? We are neighbors.

Are we a community? We are a community.

Are we sacred? We are scared?

Do we believe? We believe.

Is there hope? There is hope.

Could this be? This could be.

What's so funny about peace, love and understanding?

Can we move on? We will move on.

Will they steal our dreams? They can only try.

Is this still a country of the people by the people? For better or worse it is.

Are those tears of joy? These are tears of joy.

Is this pride? It is.

The nightmare is over. The nightmare is over.

Who Are The Slipper Men?

She was tired of losing. She was tired of seeing her people led astray. She was tired of feeling as if she had been cheated. Every time she thought with all her heart that it would be different and each time she was disheartened to realize that once again she was on the side saddled with defeat. She had nearly given up all hope. Nearly.














She might have gone to the extreme and removed herself from this world. God, and only god knew how close she had come to this result but to her the only reason not to take her life was the deep seated fear that once on the other side there were no assurances that in that place she again wouldn't be on the wrong side of things. If there were a way to know she would have stepped out already, but there was no source divine enough to offer her any conclusion she could accept to assuage her assumption of the worst.

There was a book she often read from. It was not a popular book and to her best knowledge she had never met another person who had ever had chance to cast eyes upon it. It wasn't the whole book she would revisit but just certain passages that she could not let be. It wasn't as if she even need see the book for the pages that struck her with stiff resonance would come live before her eyes at the merest thought of them. It came to a point where she would only need to see the words on the page to know for herself that these thoughts, these ideas that were there were not of her imagining.

The thought on those pages gave her no comfort. Though the book was not what one would call a horror book, or mystery, indeed it was non-fiction, but still the words in its pages had the ability to scare her. She never questioned these words. She had often been warned not to believe everything she read but in this instance those caveat's were rendered moot.

The clocks had just been set back and it was an unwelcome surprise seeing the sun set so early. She went to her kitchen and set the kettle up for a cup of tea. In her mind the stories of the book took hold. As the kettle whistled for attention she knew she would soon be seated in her reading chair, the book in her hands. The boiling water transformed the Earl Grey, and the mug transferred heat to the handle. Though the skies were clear, to her there was a steady hard rain falling.

She took the book, thumbed it and didn't even look as it opened up to on a random page. She didn't look for she knew what page she would find. Of course she did and as she looked down there was no surprise that the page coincided directly with the thought she had had as she poured the tea.

It was a page that concerned failure and loss. She knew this tale well and though it gave her no joy in its reading it was a page from her book and so she owned the conceit as written. The words stung her eyes and she tried a sip of tea hoping that it would wash the sour taste the words had left in her mouth. She so wanted to burn the book and every idea contained within it. She wanted a new book, one with a happy ending and joy and humor on every page. She had heard that these books existed but had yet to cast her gaze upon one.

The night wore on and though try as she might the same page of the same book stayed before her eyes. A tale of loss and failure. Of solitude and injustice. She wanted to turn the page. She wished that there was only one book and that it was not the book she held in her hands. Her brain tired of the story and so she drifted off still in the chair.

In her dream she crossed a vast sea and then came upon a quiet shore. She waded through the surf onto the beach of this new world and stood there drinking in the beauty of the landscape. A young girl, a girl who looked much as she did in her youth, approached. In the girl's hand was a bound volume and she reached out to hand it to her. She tried to take the book but her arms would not leave her sides. The little girl opened the book and a bright light emanated from within it. She reached out again and this time grasped the book. Looking down upon the pages she tried to make out the words but the light was too bright. She closed the book then looked to the cover and found that the book was identical to her own book.

She awoke to the light of dawn and found that she had slept in her chair, her book still in her hands. Without much thought, for there were no real thoughts in her head, she opened her book. Again to any random page but as she looked at the page she saw that she did not recognize it. It wasn't a page she could ever remember seeing and so she read from it. It was a funny tale filled with hope and joy. With triumph and compassion. She read on and on until her eyes became heavy again and she fell off to sleep.

She was tired of losing. She was tired of seeing her people led astray. She was tired of feeling as if she had been cheated. Every time she thought with all her heart that it would be different and each time she was disheartened to realize that once again she was on the side saddled with defeat. She had nearly given up all hope. Nearly.