Ghost in the house

“No, really- your yard looks great!” Her small voice sang through the phone, “I haven’t seen it look that good since Phil lived there.”
“Really? Thanks. It took a lot of work to get that tree down, but it really opened up the area.” Jason said while looking out his back window to the open yard. Clara, the old woman who lived next door was doing the same from her window twenty feet away.

“I wish my legs weren’t so bad, or I would go out there and take a look.”
“Oh, you’re not missing anything, it’s still pretty bare. I just cleaned up all the weeds and overgrown bushes. Your legs aren’t any better?”
“No, no. I can’t do more than move from one room to another, but that takes a long time. So I pretty much sit by the windows and look outside while I watch television.” Clara added, drifting off.
“That’s too bad, physical therapy isn’t doing much?”
“No, I’m done with that. They gave me some exercises I’m supposed to do every day, but I can’t seem to remember to do them.”
“I have the same problem with using the treadmill I have in my basement, but I’m pretty busy with work and the kid… You don’t really do much during the day, you should be doing the exercises.” Jason said, somewhat sternly. “Right?”
“I suppose… I am getting old you know. The benefits I get from the exercise will only take me so far.”



There was a awkward silence on both ends. Jason, with one hand on his hip, paced the porch while looking at his treeless yard. Clara leaned forward on her chair and almost pressed her cheek against the window to see Jason’s. “I have a weird question to ask you.” Jason said, finally breaking the air.
“Alright.” Clara replied quietly.
“And I’m not trying to be funny- you know, with Halloween coming up and all. I’m serious.”
“O.k.”
“My… My toilet paper keeps disappearing.”
“I see.” Clara replied, “And?”
“And that’s it. The shit keeps disappearing!”
“Oh my!” Clara exclaimed.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“No, no. It’s ok. I’m not that sheltered, I just haven’t heard talk like that since my husband was alive.”
“Oh…”
“It’s ok, continue.”
“Well, that’s it. It keeps disappearing. My wife and I buy huge packs of toilet paper, and every time we put a roll on it disappears while we’re either asleep or at work.”
“That certainly is particular.” Clara said faintly.
“At first I thought it was my cats, or maybe someone playing some kind of prank. But it’s been almost a year and we’re going crazy! The empty tube is still on the spool, but all the paper is gone. Like someone took the time to un-roll it all before leaving with it!”
“Well, that’s strange…”
“Sometimes I find little pieces of it around the house, as if the person is trailing it around before taking off with it!”
“Have you checked the shed?” Clara said bluntly. Then Jason was silent as he tried to register what she had said.
“The shed?”
“Yes, that’s where Phillip used to put all his unused toilet paper for the mice to eat.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Said Jason sharply.
“Phillip used to have a bad allergic reaction to toilet paper. So, he went through every brand available for most of his life.”
“Are you trying to say that Phillip is coming back here to steal my toilet paper because they make him rashy?”
“Yes, he’s done it to the other family that lived here before you.”
“Phillip. Coming back here from whatever nursing home he’s at. Just to steal my toilet paper. I don’t understand what you’re saying- I’ve changed the locks when I moved in! And why would he give a crap? He doesn’t live here anymore!”
“No, Phillip died years ago.”
“Wait. What?”
“Just check the shed. Like I was saying, he went through all types of toilet paper looking for a brand that didn’t agitate him. He even tried making his own in the shed, but that didn’t work either.”
Jason stared at the shed from his porch. After a moment he prepared to say something, but stopped himself. Then he finally said, “Why didn’t he just stop using it?”
“Well.” Clara replied, shocked. “He has to wipe.”

At that point Jason just hung up. From Clara’s point of view she could see him emerge from his porch and storm over to the shed. Trying the rusty lock without results, he went into his garage to return with a crowbar. Prying the lock off the door, it burst open and a flood of billowy-white paper took flight like an army of doves into the dark autumn sky. Jason, knocked over and propping himself up on his elbows, gazed dumbfounded at the site before him.

“That’s my Phil.” Clara whispered to herself as the wind picked up and carried more streams of white into the air. She watched one particular stream that shot up like a column. A plane from the nearby airport flew over at a low altitude, it’s currents disrupting the snowy stream so that it recoiled and snaked it’s way around a neighbors pine tree.

A few weeks later Jason burnt down the shed and hauled the remnants off to the junk yard. Clara never returned any of his phone calls again.

Vibro-Chair

“Ma’am, you can’t sit here all day.” The store clerk said sternly, as his hand rested lightly on the plush, leather vibrating chair.
“I don’t see anyone here, is there a line?” The large woman said, sitting up to dramatically look around the Sharper Image’s show room floor to prove her point.

She was right, there was no one there. No one was ever at the Sharper Image on a week day. The store sold random trinkets which were aimed at wealthy people with nothing to spend their money on, or traveling business men who needed miniature radios for their hotel rooms. Weekends were packed with people who wanted to play with their useless flashlights that held built in compasses, or life-sized spider man statues- but they never buy anything. The leather massage chair was another one of those items. They put them out in the front windows so it would draw people in to sit and try them out, but the nine thousand dollar price tag ensured that no one would actually purchase one. This woman did just that, but the difference between her and the average customer was that she came in every day carrying a duffel bag of food and water.

She wore a tight tee shirt with a lizard on the front, sitting in a lawn chair with sun glasses and holding what looked to be an iced tea. On the top, right across her breasts which were unencumbered by a bra, were the words “Thank God It’s Friday!” Which curved and stretched as it tried to cling to her form. She also wore a pair of tight sweat pants, stained from the diet cola that glided around between her thighs. The chair was vibrating with enough force to shake every portion of her body, but since she had been there so long, the chaotic pattern of the vibrations had settled her body into an equal rhythm that gave the illusion that she was still, but her body was in a type of slow-motion as if she were swimming underwater. The clerk found it hard to maintain eye-contact as he spoke, because of the hypnotic motion of everything between her neck and knees.

“Honestly ma’am. We’re not allowed to have one person sit on this chair all day.”
“Fine, then I’ll move over to the other one.” She bleated angerly as she tried to sit herself up. But, like when spending too much time in a hot tub, her muscles were weak, and she struggled.
“You don’t understand. If you continue to sit on any of these chair for hours at a time, you’re taking advantage of us. If you like the chair so much, you could just buy one. We have a payment plan if you can’t afford it right now.” As soon as he finished, he could tell by the pleading look on her face that buying one of the chairs was the last thing she wanted to do. The clerk looked away after a minute, not able to figure out what her reasoning was, and not able to look at her body sliding around like raw eggs on a skillet. Finally, he went back to the counter, muttering something about giving her a few minutes before calling the mall security. He pretended to file papers, and went on to arrange the items on a shelf behind him but she didn’t move. People walked past and peered in as they always did. Trying to catch a glimpse of the chrome and wood items within, but when they laid eyes on the woman they quickly averted their eyes and hurried on. One child, who’s parents had clearly just taken him to Master Cuts, pointed at the woman- to which the parents instantly covered his eyes and moved to the other side of the hallway while they walked past. The clerk realized that this problem was only going to get worse when he finally mustered up enough strength to walk towards the woman.



As he came up behind her, it all revealed it’s self like a crime scene. First he saw the back of her matted hair, then her red neck, then the top of her T.G.I.F. shirt and the horrors that writhed inside. He lifted his eyes to the store front window and saw something he hadn’t expected. Just beyond the reflection of the woman with his own image rising above her, stood a man. He was holding a over sized “Baby Gap” bag and a cup of Starbucks coffee. His nose was practically pressed to the glass as he gazed lovingly at the woman. Confused, the clerk looked at the man, then re-focused his eyes on the reflection of the woman. Her expression was that of hopeless yearning. The two of them stood there for a long time looking at each other, with the hum of the chair swirling around them. The clerk stopped like that of a man who had just encountered a fawn grazing in the forest. He took a step back, but stopped for fear of breaking this spell. He looked to the man again and thought he could make out a single tear trailing down his cheek. Then, he looked at the floor, ashamed that he was intruding on something so private. He didn’t look up until he heard the woman get out of the chair with labored breaths. She stood up straight, and then bent over to pick up her bag. The man was no longer at the window. Without looking back at the clerk, she walked slowly out the double doors, and what he supposed was the opposite direction from where the man had gone.

A pimp in the sunset of our lives

Jordan played with his cup in silence. The other gray-haired men who sat at the MacDonalds table with him looked to each other with raised eyebrows and smug looks.
“Is that so Jordo? You really married to that idea?” One of them said slyly smirking at another who sat across from him.
“Yes. I’m not changing my mind, and I’m not having a break-down!” Jordan blurted out, his scowl growing deeper as he continued to stare intently at his cup of coffee. “I’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“Well, it’s just strange that you’ve come up with this plan and never said a word all these years that we’ve been meeting here each morning…”
“I didn’t think I could tell any of you! And this just proves it…” Jordan said, looking up at his accuser with a wild expression.
“Ok, ok. Calm down. We’re just concerned for you, that’s all. No one is stopping you. We just think it’s a little silly…”
“Don’t you judge me.” Jordan snapped, his eyes still piercing. The table fell silent. Janice, the slightly overweight eighteen year old with a weak chin came over and asked if anyone wanted a re-fill.
“You boys staying out of trouble?” She said, smiling at them. She hadn’t worked the morning shift very long, but she clearly loved the idea of being a wize-cracking waitress to these regulars, and dove into the role eagerly.
“Oh you just wait.” One of the men boasted, going through the motions of witty banter. “I still have another hour yet before I have to go to work.” All the men laughed, and as she left the laughter faded into sighs, then silence.

“Pimp, Jordan?” Micky, the skinnier and quieter of the group asked.
“Yep.”
“Doesn’t that go against yer upbringing?” He asked with a pleading look.
“It isn’t about that. All my life I’ve held back against the things I always wanted to do, and after the bypass…” Jordan trailed. Another at the table fiddled with a corner of the sports section from the morning paper. The door opened and all but Jordan looked to see who entered.
“Looks like the breakfast rush is coming in.” One said flatly.
“A little later than normal.” Said another. Jordan sighed and looked dispondantly out the window to the highway which contrasted from black to dark blue in the pre-morning light.
“Where did you get this from anyway?”
“Dead Wood.” Jordan said as bright, white headlights sped alone down the highway.
“Dead Wood?”
“Yeah, a show on HBO.”
“Oh, I don’t get HBO. When did you decide to get that? I thought Martha didn’t like you spendin’ your money on those types of things.”
“Remember all the arguing he had to do to get the Internet?” Another added light-heartedly. The others laughed.
“Damn near ruined their marriage didn’t it Jordo?”
“Yeah, well. Things are different now.”
“How so?”


“I’m not living with Martha anymore.”
One man cleared his throat as another loudly stirred the settled sugar in the bottom of his cup.
“Aren’t you worried about the police?”
“I’m tired of letting things get in the way of what I want.”
“Whores Jordo? That’s your life dream?”
“It’s not about the whore’s Ken! Damnit! It’s about the danger, the complexities of life! It’s about making decisions that effect human lives but it’s all done in the name of business, no preservation! I want henchmen who I order to kill a priest who’s been hanging out in my brothel, because it’s bad for business. I want that henchman to take pause, and consider the weight of his soul against his ideals of dedication to his boss! I want to strike one of my bitches for getting out of line, then tell her stories about the way I found her on the streets- and how I’ve made her life better. I want complexity in my life. I want to be multifaceted. I want to be intimidating and compassionate, gaining the respect from people of all walks of life…”
“I don’t know if you realize this, but being a pimp isn’t like it is in ‘Dead Wood’ anymore. That was during the Gold Rush. Now it’s more like ‘New Jack City’.” Ken said, interrupting Jordan. “I don’t think you’re cut out for it Jordo.”
“Don’t call me ‘Jordo’ anymore.”
“What? Uh, alright. What do you want to be called?”
“Swan.”
“Oh dear God.” Another exclaimed, throwing down his paper dramatically. “I can’t take this anymore.” He muttered as he dug in his wallet and pulled out three dollars to toss into the center of the table. “I’m leaving. And I’m not coming back here anymore as long as ‘Swan’ is here.” Taking his cue, the others got up and followed him out. As they filed out the door, Jordan called back to them. Shouting how he would prove them wrong.

Astronomy with Kevin

It was just after midnight late in Sepetember. The air was cool and the sky was clear as Kevin and John trampled the long grass underfoot, to reach the center of the field they had just entered. Both were wearing thick, wooly sweaters while carrying long boxes with both hands. They continued without speaking, following the shaky ball of light on the ground that emitted from Kevin’s flashlight which was tucked under his armpit. Finally, Kevin stopped and gently put his box down. Then, pulling his flashlight out from under his arm, he turned to John so he could have some light as he did the same. John put the box down and carefully opened it up. Inside were a jittering collection of lenses and bellows. Kevin turned to his own box and opened it to reveal a long, antique telescope which lay next to varnished, wooden tripod legs.

“If you could warm up the sight for me while I assemble this…” Kevin said quietly as he delicately pulled the tripod legs out and lined them up carefully on the ground. John pulled out a small, metal tube and held it between his hands.
“I’m glad you invited me to come out here with you,” John added, while he watched Kevin meticulously piece together the tripod and telescope mount. His back was turned to John while his flashlight lay on the ground pointed up before him. To John, it looked as if Kevin were squatting over a small fire, the edges of his form highlighted while the rest of him was silhouetted. “I’ve always admired your dedication to preserving the classic equipment for observing the sky.”
“I knew you were the only one who understood me.” Kevin said quietly. And it was true. Kevin was considered a ‘loose cannon’ by the astronomy club they both attended every Thursday night at the community center. He dressed in suits from the Victorian era. Sported a walrus mustache, and his attendance normally involved some argument with another patron who’s points were pock-marked with terms like “sellout”. Once, as someone showed off their new Schmidt-Cassegrain Reflector with computer-assisted Altazimuth fork mount, Kevin snatched it and hurled it out the door. Laughing as it’s plastic body shattered when it slid down the marble hallway. Of course, he was thrown out by the community center’s security. The entire class stared blankly in disbelief at the broken equipment, as Kevin’s voice shouted in the distance something about their all being a ‘collective prolapsed anus’. John himself wouldn’t of paid any interest in Kevin if it wasn’t for a speech he once made about the importance of preserving and caring for older instruments, and how the act of finding the star was just as important as viewing it. Something in that touched his sense of romance with the night sky. A feeling that got him interested in the hobby to begin with. He felt that he was in the presence of a genius, and a decaying figure. The type of person who wouldn’t be around in the amateur astronomy world twenty years from now.


“Lets sit for a moment while we wait for the lenses to reach the environmental temperature.” Kevin said once his telescope was set up and level. “We can enjoy a libation from the thermos I had you carry for me.”
“Oh, that’s what it was for.” John replied, twisting his torso to look for it. He loved to hear Kevin talk. It was like a page out of a Sherlock Holmes novel. And the added treat of having to carry a thermos which he wasn’t allowed to know the contents of until now only enhanced that.
“Indeed.”
“So, what are you going to try to look for tonight?” John asked.
“Tonight my good friend, we will be gazing on the Andromeda galaxy located at the crux of Pegasuses brisket!”
“Oh, I’m sure that will look great.”
“Quite.”
“Anything else?”
“Of course my good man, We will look for Messer 13, the globular cluster which can be found nestled deep within the bosom of Hercules breast.”
“Oh, ok. we’ll be able to get a good view of that with your equipment?”
“Naturally.”

As they sipped their whiskey the brass telescope cooled. Eventually they pointed it toward the Andromeda galaxy. Kevin, being the only one allowed to touch it, was the first to peer through the lens. He emitted a small gasp of delight. “So beautiful. The delicate, pink mist that floats effortlessly through the heavens…” He whispered, as he took John by the wrist and guided him over to the telescope. John peered in awe at how through the cloudy edges, he could see it clearly in the center. ‘This is how my great, great grandfather must of seen it- if he were ever into astronomy.’ He thought to himself.
“Just the sight of it,” Kevin cut in, “Just the site of it alone inspires one to write poetry. Or paint the finest work of art…”
John was enjoying Kevin’s narration as he looked through the dusty glass.
“… In my pants.” Kevin chirped, trying to stifle a laugh which sounded more like a bird than a man.
“What?” John said, turning toward Kevin.
“Nothing my good man- and now! We turn toward Messer 13!” Kevin bellowed, and with a flair he spun the brass tube around toward the constellation of Hercules. There was a awkward silence as he hurriedly adjusted his lenses. John kept running Kevin’s last comments through his mind with disbelief. He couldn’t believe that Kevin would say something so out of character.
“Ah ha!” Kevin finally bleated. And there she is, in all her milky glory.” He hissed, guiding John back toward the eyepiece. John resisted. Though he leaned in toward the lens, he continued to look at Kevin with disapproval.
“Like pearls spread across a black tapestry, they gesture man toward notions of the infinite. Closer to the beauty of what our Gods have created.” John looked. And he was right. His previous feelings of distrust dissipated at the sight of what looked to be a million, glittering jewels bursting out from some unseen sack, and he told Kevin that in just those words.
“That’s what she said.” Kevin muttered, twittering to himself.
“What?!”
“Well, you set that one up!” Kevin said, covering his mouth.
“Jesus Christ! I thought you were serious about amateur astronomy!”
“My good man. For you to accuse me of not taking this seriously is an unforgivable offense!”
“What do you expect me to think? You’ve been making cock-jokes since we got here.”
“Calm down. Everyone acts differently when out in the night with good friends. Plus we’ve had some whiskey, which causes one to relax their social restrictions. In my case, my humor degenerates to the type of talk that should only be held among men. I apologize if I have caused offense.”
“Ok then. Fine, lets just continue.”
“Quite. And now!” Kevin announced, spinning the telescope around on it’s stand, “We will gaze lovingly upon Uranis!”
“That’s it.” John said as he turned and trudged through he grass to his car. Kevin didn’t follow him, he continued to stand at his telescope giggling to himself. A hideous giggle that John could hear even from the parking lot.

4th of July Vacation

He was half dozing in the beach chair, with one arm laying limply over the edge of the arm rest so that his fingertips played gently on the hot sand. A warm breeze came in off the lake and swirled around him, causing his hair to flitter across his forehead and provoke him into opening his eyes. Ahead of him, wading in the water was his wife and one year old daughter. The daughter was screaming and trying everything she could to keep from getting in the water when his wife playfully dipped her feet in. He smiled as he watched them, and one could tell from the look on his face that he was drifting back to sleep with memories of his own fourth of July trips in his childhood. Just as he was about to close his eyes for the last time, he suddenly popped one eye open to look across the beach. Standing down the beach was the spitting image of himself, with skinny frame and homemade tattoos trailing up his ankles- even down to the cheap Target brand swim trunks.

The man down the beach caught eye of him as well, and they both stood staring at each other. Unlike himself, the other man looked beaten down, as if he had spent too many years in the sun and had lived a hard life. The man walked closer, slightly hunched over as if peering under something to get a better view, he could see that his hands were large with raised veins as he finally reached the man on the beach chair and held his hand out to shake. “Say there, I’m Pete.” He announced with a thick, southern drawl, which was hard to understand since his words came out like he was rolling them around marbles. “I couldn’t help but notice you there- I swear, you’re the spittin’ image of myself.”
“Pat. Hi. Where are you from?”
“Georgia, a little town called Hopkins. And you?”
“Hopkins… Minnesota.” Pat Replied, still staring quizzicly at the man who towered over him, blocking out the sun.
“That’s quite the coincidence there Pat.” He shot, his hands now placed firmly on his hips looking almost angry in his confusion. “What’s your last name?”
“Beyer.” There was a silence that followed, which caused Pat to get up and face his aggressor. “And you?”
“Meyer.”


“Well, uh…” Pat stammered. Suddenly trying to ease the tension, “That’s weird.”
“Ever heard of a doppelganger there Pat?” Pete added, almost insultingly.
“Yeah, but if two doppelgangers meet, don’t they both suddenly stop existing or something?”
“I wouldn’t know about that, I never went to college. How about you- Pat?”
“Three years, didn’t finish.”
“Finish Highschool did ya?”
“Yeah, but barely. How about you?”
“Never did.”
“Oh.”
“Got yer parents still?”
“What do you mean?” Pat asked, almost surprised by the question.
“Still alive?”
“Oh, yeah. They are. Why do you ask?”
“Cause mine are dead.”
“Oh, sorry.” He said, looking out to the beach at his wife and daughter.
“My Grandma once told me a story about how we all have a double…”
“Oh!” Pat interrupted. “You have a large family?”
“No, she’s dead now.”
“Oh.”
“If you’re finished, I was going to say-“
“Sorry.”
“Yeah. I’m sure. She said that for every bad thing that happens in our lives, our double has something good happen to them.”
“That’s interesting.” Pat added, cautiously.
“Ever been to prison?”
“No.” He replied, too nervous to ask if he had.
“Get beat up often as a kid?”
“No, not really.”
“Ever go out drinkin’ and wake up in an airport wearing someone elses clothes, with a pistol in your coat pocket?”
“What are you gettin’ at Pete?”
“What I’m sayin’, is that while I’ve dealt with every bad thing God could throw my way, you look to have lived pretty well. You’re all lilly-white, like you’ve never worked a full day out of doors. Your face ain’t all tore up like mine from fightin’ and you have the body of a nine year old boy. That your wife and kid over there?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Yeah, that’s mine over there.” Pete said, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder to a large woman with equally larger hair pouring beer all over her chest while screaming at the top of her lungs. Next to her was a small, unwashed boy who was crying.
“I don’t like the way my life turned out, and I finally got someone to blame. And I’m going to kick your ass, milk-toast.”
“Hey, it’s just a story your Grandma told to fuck with you. You shouldn’t take this so seriously.”
“You saying my Gran’s was lyin?” Pete yelled as he hauled off to hit Pat square in the face. Pat, flinching, held his iPod up to defend himself. Pete’s knuckles snagged a corner of the slim, expensive device and sent it flying straight back into his own face- creating a slash that started above his eyebrow, down over his eye and into his cheek. This shock made Pete loosen his fist and miss his aim, so that his outstretched fingers ran through Pat’s messy hair- straightening it, and  leaving it perfect with a nicly groomed part down one side. Pete fell to his knees holding his bleeding face. Pat stood over him as his adrenaline faded, and after a moment of watching Pete sob with blood oozing from between his fingers, Pat put his hand down on Pete’s head as it to pet him like one would a weeping child. But when he pulled his hand back, a large tuft of hair came out of Pete’s head.
“Oh, weird… Honey?!” He called out to his wife, “we should feed the baby, it’s getting late.”

As he walked back to his hotel room, he looked back at Pete. His wife and other friends had crowded around him to see what the matter was, and his wife was stumbling while trying to pour beer into his wounds. “Hon?” Pat said, turning to his beautiful family. “I don’t do enough risky things.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I’m going to take up something fun, like sky-diving.”
“What brought that on?”
“Oh… Nothing.” He said smugly. Then he winked to his imaginary audience just past his wife’s head.
“Who are you winking to?”

Mary Tyler Moore House

“Is this it?” Katherine asked, Pressing her face forward, and bending her neck back so her nose and chin almost touched the glass on the car window.
“No. I think it’s down another block.” Phil replied, staring forward, his face without expression. “I don’t know what’s causing the fad to come back, but you’re the third friend from out of town to make me bring ‘em here.”
“I’ve just been ordering the DVD’s from Netflix, so since I’m here… Is that it?”
“No.”
“None of this looks familiar.”
“They didn’t really film any of the show in Minneapolis. They filmed it in California I think.”
“But if you looked out her window you could see the houses across the street.”
“No you couldn’t.”
Katherine looked at him with confusion and eyes flaring in shock. “Yes I did!”
“It was fake. It was a set. The houses you ‘saw’ through her window were fake.”
“They were based on the real neighborhood!”
Phil sighed, and ducked his head down to scan the upper floors of the houses for the infamous window. “Here.” He said after a moment, “This is it.”

Phil slowed the car down and the two of them peered out the drivers side window. There it was, brown, smaller than it looked on the show, and under construction. Katherine was quiet, her face frozen in an expression of anticipation and strain. Neither one spoke as Katherine got out of the car and walked carefully toward the sidewalk, both hands held out delicately at her sides as if she were balancing on a high-wire. She stood there as jetta’s sped past the narrow streets and wealthy men in pink dress shirts made their way home. Her eyes were fixed on the arching upstairs windows as if she saw a ghost. Then her face began to sour. She looked around at the other houses and up the street. “This isn’t it.”
“Christ!” Phil exclaimed, still sitting in the car with the window rolled down and arms draped over the edge like an ape. “It is! I’ve been here a million times!” He added in frustration.
“It’s not. It’s too small. And this street isn’t familiar.”
“It’s television you moron! Plus it’s been 30 years since the show’s been on!” He yelled.
Katherine turned to Phil. Her grimace softened as she looked to him.
“I’m sorry.” Phil said after seeing her expression. “It really is the house though.”
”But… My divorce… Phyllis…” She whispered to herself as she turned to the house again, staring pleadingly to the window.
“C’mon Katherine. I’ll take you to Sabastian Joe’s for a coyote chocolate cone.” Phil said, now out of his car, and guiding her back to her seat.



The two of them sat on the steps of the purple Masonic Temple, licking their spicy ice creams and not speaking. Katherine looking sad, took slow, deliberate licks from her cone. Phil was slouched, sulking from annoyance with his legs spread eagle across the steps below him, and one elbow on the step behind. Finally, without provocation, Katherine stood up, throwing her ice cream cone down on the ground before her. Some people who were seated outside the ice cream shop groaned in annoyance. “That wasn’t the house Phil.” She announced, staring off into the distance.
“Yes it was dick. You want me google the fucking thing on my phone and prove it to you?”
“That wasn’t the house Phil, and we’re not going home until we find the real one.”
“Look. See? Right here. 21^st and Kenwood. We were at the house.” He pleaded, holding his cellphone up to her.
Katherine turned to him with teeth clenched and eyes narrowed, “Were. Going. To. Keep. Looking.”
“You need to go back to Wisconsin.”
She knocked the cellphone out of his hand and stormed to the car. Since the doors were locked, she paused at the passenger door and proceeded to pull the handle up and down, making a repetitive clacking sound.
“Christ! Alright!” Phil growled, scooping his phone off the pavement and storming toward his car. He pressed the unlock button on his key chain and Katherine slid into her seat.

Slamming the door, Phil put the key in the ignition and, without looking at her, demanded to know where she planned on looking.
“We’ll start at lake Calhoon, and widen our search until we find it.” She said matter of factly, then adding, “Mary loved to walk around the lake after work.”
”What the fuck?”
Katherine stared at Phil with intensity. He turned the key and revved the engine while muttering, ‘You’re divorce is going to ruin the whole weekend’ as he peeled out- nearly hitting a wealthy looking teenage girl in a tube top.

T.V. women and time travel

It was when Neal was sitting in his cramped, one room apartment watching the “Mary Tyler Moore” show that the idea hit him. ‘If I was at my age now, back then, I’d clean up. I’d get all the women.’ It was an idea that absorbed him for the duration of the show until he realized that there really wasn’t a reason that he would be so successful with women back then as opposed to his current failures. He tried to analyze what about the show would bring him to that conclusion, but couldn’t put a finger on it. If he was at his current age, back in the 70’s he would be no different than any other guy who spends all his time arguing with people on his favorite website about what constituted as being ‘off topic’, and who should get banned in a flame-war. Except that there wouldn’t be any Internet- just dial up B.B.S.’s- if even that. No, he wouldn’t ‘clean up’ as he was right now.



He decided to break the thought process down, to better understand why he came to the conclusion that he could ‘bag’ Rhoda. First, it was their innocent, and fun-loving nature. But he quickly realized that no one was really like that. It was just television, and no one in the 70’s was prepared for the kind of realistic television we have now. So the show did a disservice portraying women in the 70’s as being more accessible. Second, he wouldn’t be popular back then with his personality as it is now. The only reason why he thought he would have an upper-hand was if they knew he was from the future. And, since they don’t know what people are like in the future, they would be more accepting of his social deficiencies. They wouldn’t know any better. His tight, Star Wars shirt would seem mysterious and intriguing to them, and his obsession with Buffy figurines all the more attractive. He would give them samples of his knowledge of future events, but never give them the full story with the explanation being that it would “upset the fabric of space-time”. But since that was an impossibility, he realized that he would just be another single guy sitting in an equally cramped, one bedroom apartment watching the same shows he his now, but they wouldn’t be reruns.

He should of felt depressed at that point, and start calling women he knew from high school- Instead, he was comforted by the image of a coifed Mary Tyler Moore, smiling at him with sparkling white teeth while swooning, “Oooooh Neal. I think it’s just fascinating when you talk about World of Warcraft. I can’t wait until the Internet is invented so I can play it…”

It’s a wonderful life

Chris and Janice had just sat down to watch a movie like they do every night. Right after they put the kids to sleep, they make a snack and curl up on the couch to watch whatever had come in the mail from netflix. This night it was the 1946 classic, “It’s a Wonderful Life” starring James Stewert.

Janice had fallen asleep while laying in her bathrobe, something she always changed into when she came home from work. After many evenings of wearing it while making dinner and cleaning up after the kids, it had worn though around the butt and elbows and accumulated a patchwork of faded stains. Tonight, it’s tacky surface held on to the popcorn that she had been stuffing into her mouth as she watched the grainy, black and white film. She fell asleep with her hand still in the Orville Redenbacher bag, which was burnt brown on the edges from baking in the microwave for a few minutes too long. Around her neck, laid a necklace of popcorn that had missed her mouth to curl up next to her aged cheeks.



Chris had moved from the couch onto the floor. He wore a white under shirt from earlier in the day, and a pair of boxers. He had woke his wife when he got up to take a leak, and didn’t want to disturb her by trying to curl up next to her again. He lay on his stomach with his face only a few feet away from the screen, much like a young child does when it has the television all to it’s self on a Saturday morning. His eyes were wide and darted around, canvassing everything that happened before them. His mouth was open and his face expressed a type of dumb awe. Suddenly, without warning, he leaped from the floor and landed on his feet with the type of spring he hadn’t had since he was in 10th grade wrestling. His wife awoke, choking briefly on a kernel of corn that sat unfinished in her mouth. “Christopher! What’s wrong?”
“I can do it!” He bleated, completely ignoring Janice’s plea.
“What?”
”I can make a difference!” He whispered, more aloud for effect than to himself. He then darted, still in his t-shirt and boxers, out the front door and into the street.

Janice waited for a while. She put the movie on pause and watched a re-run of “Everybody Loves Raymond” while munching on the cold popcorn. She was still munching, without expression, when Chris came back in the middle of a back-to-back line up of Seinfeld episodes. She looked to him and he looked back, his face graven. He slowly laid back down on his stomach and put his chin in his hands. His ankles raised up and began swinging past each other behind his head. Janice pressed the pause button on the DVD player and the movie resumed where it had left off. She then got up, shook the popcorn off her robe, and walked slowly with swollen feet to the front door. She turned on the porch light and went to bed.

Fathers Day

Gus was a well-respected project manager at his office. Quiet but strong. Friendly but dependable. A gentleman with a strong sense of right and wrong. People around the office looked up to him and depended on him to make the hard decisions. He had two beautiful and well-mannered children and a lovely wife, which was expected of someone of his stature.

He wasn’t the type to display his emotions often, so when people saw him more up-beat and making jokes, they all thought something really good was happening in his life. When one coworker asked him what the good mood was all about, he only winked and carried on with his day. So it was understandable when people whispered anxiously to each other when they saw him on the Monday after Fathers Day with his head sunk down to his desk, crying. One person asked him if he was ok. Never imagining someone as strong as him crying for anything less then a death of someone dear, they imagined the worse. He only yelled, “Leave me alone!” while pushing them away, sobbing. Finally he was sent home for the day, and never returned. People wondered aloud in the break room about the downfall of Gus, but how would they of known the real reason was pizza.

He had only mentioned in passing that his wife wanted the children to eat only organically grown foods. He, himself was a junk food addict. He loved ice cream, chips and most of all pizza. Not gourmet, or restraunt pizza either- but the really greasy kind you order from Pizza Hut. That was all cut off from him by his concerned wife, who didn’t want him to be a bad influence on the children. He understood the importance of appearance since he prided himself on his conduct, and how he carried himself around the office. He knew the importance of leading by example, and he made the sacrafice since he children were in awe of his stern, but loving parenting. So, his coworkers would of never known that the reason he was so happy the week before was because his wife, more as a joke than anything, told him that for Fathers Day he would be allowed to order a pizza from any place he wanted to. He realized that it was all in good fun, but he couldn’t help but anticipate it. He had been planning it for days ahead of time, and could almost taste the juicy tomato sauce, oily peperoni’s and hot, buttery cheese.



When he finally was able to make the call, he was like a kid on Christmas morning. Barely able to keep himself in one spot as he waited for the pizza delivery person to arrive. When it came, he hurriedly sat down to eat hot slices right out of the box. That’s when he started to cry. He cried as he ate each slice. At first his wife thought he was kidding, but quickly drew back in horror when he wouldn’t share any with his kids. He cried as he finished every piece of the large, hand-tossed, meat lovers pizza with extra cheese and sauce. He sucked clean every crust and used them to mop up all the remnants on the cardboard box while weeping with deep, uncontrollable sobs. That night, he cried himself to sleep as the wife laid reservedly on her side of the bed, silent and without effort to console him. He seemed o.k. when he woke in the morning and showered, but broke down again as he was shaving.

His coworkers tried to send cards of consolation to his house, and others called to inquire on how he was doing, but there was no answer or response. They never heard from him again.

Mr. Patches runs for city council

When he came home from work, he was greeted at the door by his cat, Mr. Patches. He stood at the door motionless, he had never been greeted in such a confrontational manner before. Though it was almost impossible for anyone else to read underneath his fur, he could tell that Mr. Patches had a facial expression of contempt. He knew Mr. Patches that well.
“You ok Mr. Patches?” He said hesitantly.
“No.” Mr. Patches said, maintaining his facial expression.

He hadn’t ever heard any sound like that come from Mr. Patches before, but he could of swore the kitten said, “No”. He blinked a few times and shook his head with his mouth agape. “Mr. Patches- I could of swore you just said no. You silly kitten! When did you learn to make that noise?”
“I’ve been able to do it for a while now, Dick. But you’re too wrapped up in your own little bubble to have ever noticed.”
He was speechless, he continued to stand at the door, frozen in the same position as when he first came in with one hand on the knob and another on his briefcase.
“I’m going to run for city council.” Mr. Patches said flatly. “I’m not asking, I’m telling you.”
“How… How do you?”
“A shoe-leather campaign. I’m going door to door to get the word out.” He added, as he pushed him aside with his little paws to get through the door. On the way, he grabbed a small bag full of buttons, and slung it around his shoulder.
“where… Where did you get the buttons?”
“Your credit card. I’m sure you don’t mind. You couldn’t of expected to keep me here against my will forever you know.”


As Mr. Patches walked down the sidewalk, he turned toward the screen door where his owner stood, looking out at him wide-eyed. “Things are going to change around here, and I’m going to use the political machine to make it happen.” He looked at his owner with large, soft kitten eyes. “I’m sorry.” Then he turned and walked down the driveway. He had a hard road ahead of him, but Mr. Patches was prepared for it.