tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-198682992024-03-14T00:06:23.977-04:00Thom GabrukiewiczObserver. Writer. Photographer. I create my own mayhem.Thom Gabrukiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13286670695334830471noreply@blogger.comBlogger1330125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19868299.post-61010503198072221592023-03-07T15:45:00.000-05:002023-03-07T15:45:15.529-05:00A Fiction in 58 - Breakfast of Champions<p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">“Is it OK to put Bailey’s on my cereal?”</span></span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-b779a991-7fff-047a-5bf8-c150628836c4"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">The morning’s alarm went off 42 minutes ago, and we’re both showered and shaved (legs for her, face for me). </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">The coffee’s going cold, but we’ve yet to eat; too many text messages, emails - emergencies - from work. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">“Bailey’s over what cereal?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">“Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Duh.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">“Yeah, let’s do that.”</span></span></p><div><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Thom Gabrukiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13286670695334830471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19868299.post-46364533079889622002023-02-14T16:50:00.006-05:002023-02-14T16:50:55.353-05:00Mass Transit<p><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I heft my way up the sticky rubber steps of the No. 47 downtown bus, pay the fare and turn down the aisle.</span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-5a29ef11-7fff-2283-d943-ec57fb644e75"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSYfFXBcKlJUrV3FrTpWcmjsYGFbUmCsQIS9PQnq7th7803sMkUwuDFXzdNuOq9H00G1yp0DExti3cmNKoKome6AVaNzqcXohOpzGti6iOnKezT9WqTOSi1Lia13fOxxKnFOFdcUvu6BmKcjfVyKsw2rn8TjLyBldEM54Rku5iPikZTrdQFe0/s722/BubB2YJCQAAG2Ca.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="722" data-original-width="615" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSYfFXBcKlJUrV3FrTpWcmjsYGFbUmCsQIS9PQnq7th7803sMkUwuDFXzdNuOq9H00G1yp0DExti3cmNKoKome6AVaNzqcXohOpzGti6iOnKezT9WqTOSi1Lia13fOxxKnFOFdcUvu6BmKcjfVyKsw2rn8TjLyBldEM54Rku5iPikZTrdQFe0/w234-h275/BubB2YJCQAAG2Ca.jpg" width="234" /></a></div>There’s a chimpanzee in the middle seats, the orange plastic ones that face the aisle. He’s wearing a charcoal Loro Piana three-button suit, ice-blue French-collared shirt, corn silk-colored tie with flecks of tiny fleur-de-lis patterns in azure.</span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He’s gnawing on what looks like a large thigh bone. Slick, bloody pieces of connective tissue and lumpy yellowed fat hang from it.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The only open seat is directly across from the chimp. On approach, I notice he’s gone gray in the muzzle and the fur directly under his ears.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I sit, avert my gaze, and end up in intense study of the men’s underwear ad above the opposite window.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Until he starts to use his teeth to scrape gristle off the bone’s ball joint. It is efficient. It is creepy.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I turn to stare. It’s just…instinctive.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“What?” he huffs, and slaps the bone onto a wad of greasy brown paper optimized to cover a beautiful, butterscotch-colored goatskin attaché. “Everyone knows chimpanzees are omnivorous.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I roll my eyes and meet the heated, angry gaze of my fellow passengers.</span></p><div><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>Thom Gabrukiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13286670695334830471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19868299.post-25487145827541148072023-02-09T11:18:00.001-05:002023-02-09T11:26:39.188-05:00Wishing Well<p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">My mother has built a wishing well in our backyard. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b id="docs-internal-guid-5a6f9579-7fff-ad81-9032-6f1b37be6867" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-1XrJKAPPiFJ4ZLIKIK3EKmaKuuCWZbFLFgfKU_bC4F2FUwOiumpU46PVnA0rCJgKR39X0t1uTm2bET4kdqtU7JPRH8_Y7fiQZ3WXNklUNKCaay9bMFramJ581E8yYBbMEQ-8uvXOD5MsZJQ56a9NC_YgS9nmthk-HUs5QYa3Lh06O5QI9PY/s2121/GettyImages-1327099914.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2121" data-original-width="1414" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-1XrJKAPPiFJ4ZLIKIK3EKmaKuuCWZbFLFgfKU_bC4F2FUwOiumpU46PVnA0rCJgKR39X0t1uTm2bET4kdqtU7JPRH8_Y7fiQZ3WXNklUNKCaay9bMFramJ581E8yYBbMEQ-8uvXOD5MsZJQ56a9NC_YgS9nmthk-HUs5QYa3Lh06O5QI9PY/s320/GettyImages-1327099914.jpg" width="213" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: Oswald;">She began with the crap-covered cement birdbath and ran a hose to it. She then hooked up a little sprinkler that shot water like a mini-geyser. She accentuated the birdbath with a collection of fired clay pots to collect the spray, as well as the change she kept tossing – one coin at a time. </span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">I ditch my bike by the picnic table and went in for closer inspection.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">She’s plucking the coins out of a wide-mouth Mason jar and pitching them into the fountain with her thumb, stretched out as she was on a chaise lounge under a blue-and-white striped beach umbrella. She has on this ridiculous white satin one-piece bathing suit. Her brown eyes are hidden by these white sunglasses, with hideous pink palm trees built into the chunky plastic frames.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">She’s painted her toes and fingernails a fiery red, like the coating of a carnival candied apple. A floppy, wide-brimmed hat covered her raven hair. She was really playing up the glamor aspect, much to my horror. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">Thank goodness for the line of thick shrubs that separated our lawn from the rest of the neighborhood.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">Since coming out the backdoor is my dad, his hair slicked back and surprisingly jet-black, showing none of his natural gray. He has on black Wayfarers and no shirt. He’s a towel over one arm, and a fruity drink in his right hand, which is complete with a ginormous pink paper umbrella. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">What is most disturbing is the enormous bulge in the front of the rather tight, light green Janzen swim trunks.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">“Mother!”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">She drew down the shades from her eyes and winks.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">“Why, it’s a lady’s prerogative to always wish big.”</span></span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-eca26df9-7fff-20a4-fe48-ba73d76dba84"><div><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Thom Gabrukiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13286670695334830471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19868299.post-26416242908211563802023-02-07T12:48:00.001-05:002023-02-07T16:15:52.597-05:00The Door<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Everything is going swimmingly. </span></span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-b9941498-7fff-c6d5-105b-aba6f80393bf"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-family: Oswald; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The appetizers have just arrived, quail with pomegranate, pine nut and Romanesco for her, the Iberico croquettes with smoked saffron aioli for myself, and we toast the arrival with the 2017 Rossignol-Trapet pinot noir. </span></p></span><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Oswald; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Everything is as it should be.</span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then the tremor hits, and my left hand shakes violently. The fork slips through my fingers and lands with a “tang” on the wabi-sabi inspired concrete floor. She looks at me, a mix of sadness and regret. I take my eyes off her, and stare at the fork, which lies tines-down on the floor, flecks of aioli, orangish-yellow, paint the floor like a work of modern art. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I can’t breathe.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p></span><span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I feel like I’m going to throw up. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p></span><span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I turn back to her, and she’s trying to ignore me, sipping her wine in profile, legs crossed, the first two fingers of her left hand graze her cheek, which has turned pinkish-red from embarrassment. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p></span><span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I whip my eyes back to the fork, which is now vibrating with such violence that it’s hard to actually tell it is a fork.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p></span><span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bile rises into my throat. Pressure builds behind my eyes; I feel like they are bulging, like some bad-animation cartoon. Things feel like they’re about to explode when the waiter covers the fork with a crisp linen napkin.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p></span><span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Perhaps the gentleman would like to freshen up before the main dishes arrive?” </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p></span><span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ah, the main dishes. Casarecce pasta in a spicy Sicilian garlic and anchovy sauce with kale, Calabrian chilies and Pecorino Romano cheese for her; and for me, the “Fabada Asturiana” – a whole pig plate of roast loin, chorizo, confit and bacon in white bean and tomato stew.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m sweating. Profusely. Cartoonish, even. She’s even more embarrassed, and has taken to presenting her back completely to me. The waiter looks slightly pained/slightly amused.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p></span><span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am confused by this. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p></span><span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmsQCFQmc6xhDvAq9oAkhCvE3LvingB7N44P3IcU7rUe29zTXkMozoe4LXPxxQOIOWRUzbQSYpLYWUrO7IvqXsFatAirW0Aejh_KaskWtyBRwDFI6uX9DIfi0ZKBIm0IpvIHN1R8PSduRC7FhIkSJGfmY3BtKeB18RG7KJ5TylnKxrnbFziX8/s2780/GettyImages-115458011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2780" data-original-width="1992" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmsQCFQmc6xhDvAq9oAkhCvE3LvingB7N44P3IcU7rUe29zTXkMozoe4LXPxxQOIOWRUzbQSYpLYWUrO7IvqXsFatAirW0Aejh_KaskWtyBRwDFI6uX9DIfi0ZKBIm0IpvIHN1R8PSduRC7FhIkSJGfmY3BtKeB18RG7KJ5TylnKxrnbFziX8/s320/GettyImages-115458011.jpg" width="229" /></a></span></div><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Sir, perhaps the time is right for you to exit through the door toward the back.”</span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p></span><span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wobble as I rise, legs unsure of their place under my weight. My napkin tumbles to the floor. She doesn’t acknowledge my presence. The waiter grabs my elbow, twists me toward the back of the restaurant and launches me forward. One foot in front of the other, I make my way past the open kitchen, down a narrow hallway, where I come face-to-face with a giant metal door. </span></p></span><span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p></span></span><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The door has no business being in a three-star Michelin restaurant; it’s spray painted black and covered in graffiti. I squeeze my eyes tight, open them, and blink rapidly. I take a hold of the knob and turn, but the door doesn’t open out. I turn the knob again and press forward. There’s a whoosh of air, blinding white light, unconsciousness. </span><span><br /></span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And I’m in my bed. The dog raises her head, then lays back down. My wife shifts her weight ever so slightly, sighs. </span></p></span><span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the darkness, I can just make out the door, but it seems to be fading into the night. Just like my memory. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p></span><span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Just before the door disappears completely, a crack of light - ever so slight - emerges. And a disembodied voice whispers.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p></span></span><span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-family: Oswald; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“We humans tend to misremember the critical details, that’s why we have dreams. To reset them.”</span></p><div><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Thom Gabrukiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13286670695334830471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19868299.post-62921963742304407302023-02-03T12:04:00.004-05:002023-02-03T12:45:01.098-05:00We're Awake<p><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rumpled sheets, warm from a night of sleep, envelope her body completely. It’s still dark, winter’s cold light of day has yet to seep through the blinds. He’s partial to a lighter covering, like a loin cloth of the comforter over just his privates, which leaves his chest, shoulders and legs open to the crisp night air. </span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-5f68b651-7fff-ce43-745b-6f46e3c4f34e"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGyC5iKGLsuG6fKy0dd1IjqQZEKjr9rj1msw0Tm5Ao7o9j3Mem767Nexhw8fD2YNkxhiEPr-oBh1WPLmjfdvd3Kve5kq-NhyoQyboc0Iwwv5NrbWfla8aLSH8GCYD3A1d6eEsXcLHFqEQDS-2z4KAz_-ikEkVwR13n_RlC06w_QdCxsXeTFJY/s450/632-08698342en_Masterfile.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="300" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGyC5iKGLsuG6fKy0dd1IjqQZEKjr9rj1msw0Tm5Ao7o9j3Mem767Nexhw8fD2YNkxhiEPr-oBh1WPLmjfdvd3Kve5kq-NhyoQyboc0Iwwv5NrbWfla8aLSH8GCYD3A1d6eEsXcLHFqEQDS-2z4KAz_-ikEkVwR13n_RlC06w_QdCxsXeTFJY/s320/632-08698342en_Masterfile.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>She stretches, flips from he back to her side and scoots her warmth toward him. Her hand reaches out, exploring, searching - </span><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">yearning</span><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> - through the folds of a top sheet, the two blankets they employ in the winter. </span><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Where are you?” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He slides a hip in her direction, brings the comforter his chest, opens the top sheet with an elbow and she envelopes him, legs into his, her chest on his, her head nestles into the soft space of his neck. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He can still smell last night’s Tiger Balm on her shoulder, the place where he tried to rub away all the tensions of the week; the scent, he decides, is soothing, something between a Christmas candle and the crist-mint of menthol. He starts rubbing her tension spot all over and she mews, softly, and tosses a tangle of auburn hair across his face. It tickles his nose, and he tastes her conditioner, which reminds him of sunshine - bright citrus, warm spice. He lets a puff of air go, and she laughs, shakes her locks for effect. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And his phone lights up the dim, the first notes - jarring guitar over pounding drums - of Reverend Horton Heat’s cover of the theme from “</span><a href="https://youtu.be/2m8osH_uYmI" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="color: #1155cc; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jonny Quest</span></a><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">” - his favorite childhood Saturday morning cartoon - fills the air. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Nine more minutes,” she says, tossing an arm across this chest, squeezing tight. </span></p><div><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>Thom Gabrukiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13286670695334830471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19868299.post-60365006922346173292023-02-01T16:03:00.004-05:002023-02-01T16:03:35.269-05:00A New Fiction in 58<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">I do a thing called "Fiction in 58;" 58 words, no more, no less. Writer's Digest has a writing prompt going on in February, one a day, for flash fiction. Today, "Favorite Song." OK.<br /> <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><b>A Wash of the Senses</b><br />I’m pissed.<br />It’s 2023, and if it isn’t inane arguments of a polarized society on social media, it’s another mass shooting, or some kid getting beaten to death by the cops.<br />There’s one thing to do.<br />Turn out the lights.<br />And let the Stooges wash over me.<br /><i>“I'm a street walking cheetah with a heart full of napalm…”</i></span></p>Thom Gabrukiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13286670695334830471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19868299.post-12320655888732209842022-01-28T09:31:00.006-05:002022-01-28T09:31:41.343-05:00The Fate of the Recently Unemployed<p> <span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">After a dozen years, I am suddenly, and unexpectedly, let go of my job breaking in leather gloves for men with exceptionally large hands. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhufvymqFkVlCHEpZUo7XvNIE4Tj1CBaHZki0B-2NyOFoM2TIJiLeVuzDHFUkKwYdtsGGvUGjJtFuo5GXR4szYKKz_Cxm3hGnMx_J-pjzlG8suN1ohz3q989EAeC3UJVfspRe8JqT4e7FiCoUDBkrODAwfzeP9-NMlbRASO-GIeUNqnn0TyjAM=s1150" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1150" data-original-width="1000" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhufvymqFkVlCHEpZUo7XvNIE4Tj1CBaHZki0B-2NyOFoM2TIJiLeVuzDHFUkKwYdtsGGvUGjJtFuo5GXR4szYKKz_Cxm3hGnMx_J-pjzlG8suN1ohz3q989EAeC3UJVfspRe8JqT4e7FiCoUDBkrODAwfzeP9-NMlbRASO-GIeUNqnn0TyjAM=w174-h200" width="174" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Oswald;">As the debris began to clear (in my brain) from this untimely turn of events, I was left with not so much to do, so I tracked the numbers, read all I could from the internet and was finally able to corroborate the findings: We are descended from not one line, but several lines of ancestors so when each is examined, our fate is sealed to one of these divergent lineages. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">On a recent occasion, I pussyfoot into an exhibit at the </span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Guggenheim</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">; up and down a curving corridor, there are all these miniature sculptures made out of papier-mâché, and painted in such ungodly colors - and not a single figure looks remotely human.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I did, however, enjoy the rosé Champagne in those little plastic Champagne flutes, as well as the cubed cheese stabbed in the center with toothpicks, each a festive variety of colored cellophane.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Alas, I didn’t stay long; there were way too many police officers looking for someone who fit my general description.</span></p>Thom Gabrukiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13286670695334830471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19868299.post-80684239318557215682022-01-07T14:05:00.003-05:002022-01-07T18:46:11.221-05:00Pencils<p><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">He flipped open the metallic lid of a new boxed set of Staedtler sketching pencils - the one with 12 Mars Lumograph pencils, 8B to 2H - and a flood of warm, earthy fragrance filled his nostrils, hitting his brain, which triggered an expanse of memories from childhood. </span></span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-9404dcbc-7fff-f920-0042-8792e6ae1bdc"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgC_ojlXk84f8OXgqDkSWDI13tSRHGAg4d3-VJGGGHo4pySVBnkj7jXzOU3_WH0_X1gBj8I1JQ4rVKAwGOuNOKLzBF3n-5_JvHkHVPkLimDtApK-JH1y_3zVCqOJ5K9lOvPFWol3FHLwAc5n5UNGsCEahUbD0e4PcPi3NjMDUHmunznEn4vZYc=s2107" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1423" data-original-width="2107" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgC_ojlXk84f8OXgqDkSWDI13tSRHGAg4d3-VJGGGHo4pySVBnkj7jXzOU3_WH0_X1gBj8I1JQ4rVKAwGOuNOKLzBF3n-5_JvHkHVPkLimDtApK-JH1y_3zVCqOJ5K9lOvPFWol3FHLwAc5n5UNGsCEahUbD0e4PcPi3NjMDUHmunznEn4vZYc=w400-h270" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: Oswald;">Mother worked for an architect, and it was his task to walk from junior high to the architect’s downtown office, which was perched above a women’s clothing store, of all things, </span></span><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">and wait until 5 p.m. so they could go home.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">The office was spartan, just a desk where his mother sat, and another room set off to the right (storefront side) that was dimly lit, save for the natural light that spilled from the nearly floor-to-ceiling windows (three of them) and the twin architect lamps, both black, that were attached to the twin drafting tables that faced one another (the architect’s apprentice worked three days a week, and only until noon, so as not to interrupt his studies). </span></span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">The architect used mechanical pencils of course, stylish metal things with lead he shook from slender plastic tubes and loaded into the pencil’s barrel that was accessed by popping off a silver cap and then removing the tiny soft white eraser he never used, since scattered about on his table were large rectangles of soft white’s in various stages of decay. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"> After a snack Mother provided from a gigantic closet she had to access by going out of the office and into the hallway (Lance Toast Chee sandwich crackers with peanut butter), the architect allowed him to do his homework on the apprentice's drafting table, and when he finished the architect would have him practice writing in architectural lettering - those uniform, easy-to-read block letters that architects established so as to not have costly construction errors from contractors reading blueprints - with his very own mechanical pencil gifted to him the previous Christmas.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">Two weeks before the Christmas of 1973, he ate his crackers in Mother’s office, washed his hands and went to “his” drafting table to practice his letters (to this day, he no longer knows how to write the cursive the nuns taught him at Catholic elementary school - well, save for his signature), and there on the table was a small gift, wrapped in blueprint, of course. The architect nodded for him to open it, and he ripped into it as if it was Christmas morning.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">And the heady smell of freshly sawed wood and lead filled his head. His own box of Straedtlers, the Mars Lumographs, blue-painted barrel, black tip (no erasers), the 24-pack (!) 12B to 10H already sharpened to perfection and ready to touch paper. </span></span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">“I think it’s time,” the architect said, “that you move past lines and block letters and draw the world as you see fit.” </span></span></p><div><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>Thom Gabrukiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13286670695334830471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19868299.post-24055353399458137142021-10-06T18:03:00.003-04:002021-10-11T16:45:29.463-04:00Paperback Novel<span style="font-family: Oswald;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-ac31ddb3-7fff-681d-651b-ab0ca74d629d"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-4365c378-7fff-f1df-8f12-452d63d706cc"></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wake in a nondescript room and by the looks of it - a lit cigarette gloom and streaks of neon light pulsating through the drapes - I've come to in a cheap motel somewhere near the airport.</span></p></span><span id="docs-internal-guid-f69f2cd9-7fff-5d6e-308d-e50db21495be"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My hand is on fire.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The pinkie finger on my right hand is missing at the second knuckle; the stump has been cauterized by something very hot and metallic.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The steel bracelet of a handcuff circles my left wrist, the other bracelet dangles open like a fishhook.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y4F78akorzM/YV4d1ZXes4I/AAAAAAAAKpM/QotIpcJLZPEpPWv-wP7LTBOPf-sdLXXHwCLcBGAsYHQ/s576/63451_6_800.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="498" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y4F78akorzM/YV4d1ZXes4I/AAAAAAAAKpM/QotIpcJLZPEpPWv-wP7LTBOPf-sdLXXHwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/63451_6_800.jpg" width="277" /></a></div><span>Spread across the other double bed is an arresting redhead, her hair swept over her face, her feet dangle off the bed. Crimson lipstick is smudged like a bruise across one cheek.</span></span></span><p></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-family: Oswald; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I get up and put two fingers to her neck, and breathe a sigh of relief when I find the rhythmic thump of a pulse.</span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-family: Oswald; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Slumped in the shoddy motel chair is the body of a man. By the looks of it, he’s built like a fireplug; squat, well-muscled. He’s dressed in a cheap, shiny suit. There’s a wicked, ragged hole open at his temple. Dried blood makes a Rorschach pattern across the drapes, and all I can see in it is trouble.</span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-family: Oswald; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There’s no need to check for a pulse, this guy’s dead.</span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-family: Oswald; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The redhead on the bed stirs, arches her back, rakes slim fingers through the tangle of hair.</span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-family: Oswald; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Nikolai,” she purrs. “Baby, come back to bed.”</span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-family: Oswald; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My name is not Nikolai.</span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-family: Oswald; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wake with a nudge to the ribs, in my Temperpedic bed with a paperback novel spread across my chest.</span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-family: Oswald; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Baby,” my wife says, “you were snoring again.”</span></p><div><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>Thom Gabrukiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13286670695334830471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19868299.post-31208771309081134012021-10-01T15:11:00.000-04:002021-10-01T15:11:01.436-04:00A new Six Sentence - Friday Night<p><span id="docs-internal-guid-412fbbf2-7fff-618b-4593-b4f79523b8f6"></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-344860c3-7fff-bc47-e067-bf2215f03901"></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My friend, Rob McEvily, hosts a blog for writers called </span><a href="https://sixsentences.blogspot.com/" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Six Sentences</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> (6S).</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">“It’s simple. Just write six sentences. Say anything you like. Six Sentences uses a paragraph format. Six consecutive sentences. No poems, no bullets. Be unconventional if using dialogue. Again, say anything you like, and tell a friend. Peace.”</span></span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-811d0170-7fff-4f07-a8b3-7a2c658831af"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The last time I penned a 6S was February 20, 2011. So, here’s a new one: </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: 700; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8ENp06m5814/YVdcpVRgULI/AAAAAAAAKlM/JFpfV6UMgv89moh32L1MT8lXRfL_fnpKACLcBGAsYHQ/s1080/original.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8ENp06m5814/YVdcpVRgULI/AAAAAAAAKlM/JFpfV6UMgv89moh32L1MT8lXRfL_fnpKACLcBGAsYHQ/w200-h200/original.jpg" width="200" /></a></div></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Friday Night</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We were singing, the both of us, mostly show tunes and we were definitely off-key and off-kilter. There was no musical accompaniment, no Spotify or TV as backup, just my baritone to your soprano in all of its wobbly goodness. The vodka bottle was three-fifths gone, and the candlelight made kinetic shadow puppets against the walls as we danced and wailed through “</span><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Anything You Can Do</span><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">” from Annie Get Your Gun. I forgot the words along about the partridge and the cartridge line, but you just kept right on singing - and dancing in tight concentric circles. You stopped, all of a sudden, and yelled at the top of your lungs, “</span><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Martinis are lubricants for the rich - and we must eat the rich;</span><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">” and then in a soft, giggly whisper, “</span><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A screwdriver, por favor, a proper drink for a lady of my stature.</span><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">” And I knew right then that I loved you even more than I had just moments before. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>Thom Gabrukiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13286670695334830471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19868299.post-65615018211476116792021-08-19T12:07:00.002-04:002021-08-19T12:12:02.010-04:00One World<p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 300; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white;">I shuffle down to dinner, expecting to suffer through another meal where my parents mine me for information about my day - while they ignore one another.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Instead, I hear laughter and a hum that I can only describe as “chattering.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I bounce down the stairs, loud as can be expected to announce my presence. I stop, mid-landing.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Around the dining room table are six children, a bit younger than I, piling their plates high with one of mom’s overblown feasts.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0UfwQMqCqBw/YR6CqaYN-GI/AAAAAAAAKj4/7pM7bZFiM6wJCNlaies4Zv9nuisB_Sn5wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/GettyImages-1266928943.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0UfwQMqCqBw/YR6CqaYN-GI/AAAAAAAAKj4/7pM7bZFiM6wJCNlaies4Zv9nuisB_Sn5wCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/GettyImages-1266928943.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Each has a different skin color than our own and each jabbers in a language I don’t understand.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“What’s all this?” I ask, as I slide into my usual spot at the table.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“We’re celebrating,” dad says, pretending to walk turkey legs across the table and onto a plate of a little dark-skinned girl - her raven hair braided into pigtails, with what looks like feathers and shells woven in - and a boy with black hair and pale skin that’s kinda yellow.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">As I take my seat, the boy next to me tugs on my shirtsleeve. His hair is a tight weave of curls and his skin the color of dark roast coffee. His smile is a picket fence of teeth, mostly missing. He’s trying to pass me a heaping bowl of mashed potatoes.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Kula, kula,” he says, motioning to his mouth with two fingers and his thumb. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I roll my eyes and get up to leave.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">My mother walks behind me and puts her hands on my shoulders and pushes - ever so gently - downward.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I think it’s obvious that he wants you to join us to eat - and to give thanks for this meal we’ve prepared,” she says, as her grip tightens into my shoulder muscles. “You could at least try and be civil.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">The boy laughs and hands me the potatoes, from which I plop a mound and make a reservoir with the spoon, to hold mom’s gravy, which is in the wobbly hands of a reddish-skinned girl who has a red dot painted on her forehead. Mom’s is the best gravy in the entire world - and I’m spying this girl hard. She sets the bowl at my elbow, takes a healthy scoop and pours a ladleful of deliciousness perfectly into the potato reservoir. Before I can thank her, she pops the ladle into the gravy, then proceeds to cradle my face with her delicate hands. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Tum dhany ho,” she says, nearly a whisper. “Tum dhany ho.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I look confused. Dad smiles. Mom puts her chin in her hands and nods. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You are blessed,” she says. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">And I burst into real, honest-to-god tears of joy.</span></p><p><br /></p>Thom Gabrukiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13286670695334830471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19868299.post-52477568734013226472021-07-20T16:49:00.007-04:002021-07-20T17:14:55.154-04:00An Existential Life<p><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-family: Oswald; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">He wore his hair close-cropped to his head; the gray was concentrated in the sideburns, which he neither kept too long or too short, and just right at the temples.</span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-e5dc98bb-7fff-c073-7c9b-fdbb8b0e3539" style="font-family: Oswald;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was a sweet, silver-colored gray. His father, who was still alive and now dating, had a full head of silver hair – as silky and flowing as mercury – that was as distinguished a color as the silverback gorilla at the zoo. Hairstylists a third his age clamored to cut and shape his mane every three weeks.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Of course, he would lose his hair, in the end.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-os8flhIi-To/YPc2tg6IOtI/AAAAAAAAKiM/vNutkQaqdFkOiIwG49jiqMxC0mwyJ1GrgCLcBGAsYHQ/s596/62bd7848798ac5258bc25de60f25f76f.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="596" data-original-width="422" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-os8flhIi-To/YPc2tg6IOtI/AAAAAAAAKiM/vNutkQaqdFkOiIwG49jiqMxC0mwyJ1GrgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/62bd7848798ac5258bc25de60f25f76f.jpg" /></a></div></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-family: Oswald; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">His mother, who also was still alive, but living in Bar Harbor, Fla., was born of a man who lost every follicle of his reddish-blond hair as a young man. And he knew that the baldness gene comes not from the <span id="docs-internal-guid-c4ebbfee-7fff-6a34-a180-6947e2dce654"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">paterfamilias</span></span>, but his mother’s side. And that the bald he will become will be the waxy head kind of bald, with a tight, sculpture-garden weave of hair a half-inch to the top of his left ear around the crown of his head to one-quarter above the right ear. He thinks that this will not be a good look, and has started to wear hats in public. </span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-family: Oswald; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He does not grow his beard anymore in the winter months; it now comes in white and feeble-looking, like the men who play chess at the YMCA and bitch about the tepid coffee served in little Styrofoam cups, with powdered creamer, imitation sugar in pink packets and cheery-red stir-sticks.</span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-family: Oswald; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He opts for the under-chin goatee, what the French would call a “petite goatee” or “chin scruff” sported by skate punks and certain, pimple-faced grocery baggers.</span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-family: Oswald; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On him, he thought, it looks regal, more like Freud and less like the greasy grocery clerk, who still can’t seem to tell the difference between paper and plastic, even though you bring your own African-weave, Earth-friendly cotton handbag to the store as a show of consciousness and shit.</span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-family: Oswald; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That’s OK. He’s trying to “fit in.” Be part of what he hopes is a global community, in an “it takes a village” moment. Hey, it’s an ethos. </span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-family: Oswald; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The bagger neither smiles, nor nods, nor acknowledges his existence – in so much as in philosopher Franz Brentano’s view of life, you know, logic, for logic’s sake. Or, more succinct, he is part of the existential quantifier, which asserts the existence of some object with certain properties. </span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-family: Oswald; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He is a man. He is wise.</span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-family: Oswald; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He is a wise man.</span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-family: Oswald; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Secretly, however, he yearns to be an existentialist.</span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-family: Oswald; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He wants nothing more than to create his own meaning, his own essence of life.</span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-family: Oswald; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And skip the absurd.</span></p><div><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>Thom Gabrukiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13286670695334830471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19868299.post-38017927825325914102021-07-02T11:52:00.002-04:002021-07-02T11:52:39.315-04:00Aftermath - A Fiction in 58<p><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Way back when I started writing flash fiction again, I came up with a way to challenge myself - write a cohesive story in 58 words. And Fiction In 58 was born. I'm still working on a slew of magazine pieces for work, so I'm returning to this challenge. </span></p><h2 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Aftermath</span></span></h2><p><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">A tangle of sheets, not enough cover, heat radiates, knocks back the chill of the night.</span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-cc57b1e9-7fff-5a90-9df4-8027fa9186b3"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sweat cools on flesh, smiles tucked into warm curves. There’s small talk, in whispers like someone will overhear.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He watches her nod off, listens as quick breaths ease into measured cadence.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He slips off, too, sheltered in the passion generated between them.</span></p><div><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Thom Gabrukiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13286670695334830471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19868299.post-56241404660452451742021-06-25T12:10:00.004-04:002021-06-25T12:10:50.885-04:00Now & Then <p> <span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Naked save for cowboy boots, a BB gun and gasoline, The boy does not seek out trouble, just the experience. </span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-cb8a6cb7-7fff-67a3-05e0-32230248604b"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Impish and carefree, he pushes through life, takes it in, breathes it, like the very air that fills his lungs. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The boy ages and life begins its march to overtake. There’s fear that seeps in, like afternoon shadows on sidewalks. Doubt splashes against the boy’s mischievous, yet tender, soul - with hesitation, sick waves of trembled black indecision. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A life so near to him is snuffed out too early, A moment where all his heart's hope would be lost. The man retreats into himself to seek the answers, and finds the strength at moment’s end to grasp salvation.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> The man remains imperfect, and still searches for meaning, But with the single-mindedness intent to make up for time lost. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And there are days, sunny and golden, when he conjures up the boy, the impish one, the one full of joyous tomfoolery.</span></p><div><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Thom Gabrukiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13286670695334830471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19868299.post-5888476714303040832021-06-18T11:00:00.005-04:002021-06-18T11:04:56.767-04:00Psychic Vampire<p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"> <span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="white-space: pre-wrap;">COVID-19 nearly killed me. </span></span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-5b530650-7fff-9131-b2d1-29ad1293a90a" style="font-family: Oswald;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Oh, not in the way you think. Not in a I-can’t-breathe-I’m-on-a-ventalator kinda way. Not in a I-can’t-taste-my-food sorta way, either. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I couldn’t feed properly. I nearly starved to death. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Long story short, I’m what some people call - wrongly, I might add - an emotional vampire. I take a little bite out of you, and go on my merry way - but not in the way you might have read about on WebMD or in Psychology Today. And, for the record, I don’t actually bite. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hpuLsNhz0WQ/YMy0eexyFBI/AAAAAAAAKWQ/oK0IChOQFmI6bbHbLRNa6dT0H04jSxb-wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/GettyImages-1273964066.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="267" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hpuLsNhz0WQ/YMy0eexyFBI/AAAAAAAAKWQ/oK0IChOQFmI6bbHbLRNa6dT0H04jSxb-wCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h267/GettyImages-1273964066.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>But Google “emotional vampire” and you’ll find all sorts of pop science, psycho-babble crap bullshit. </span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald; white-space: pre-wrap;">For example: I don’t suffer from low self esteem. I do not need constant attention. My life is not in constant crisis. </span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I do not crave incessant validation. In fact, I’m really quite gregarious. Well, when I’m feeding in regular intervals, and the food supply is plentiful. </span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I prefer the term “psychic vampire;” if, of course, you want to insult all the </span><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">real</span><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> vampires out there. But let’s go with it, and leave it right there. </span></span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Yes, I do feed off the “life force” of other creatures; I do not argue or belittle the point. I increase my energy, my life force, by siphoning off a little of yours. Just think of it as unburdening some of your anxiety, laughter, joy, trepidation, sadness - whatever emotion you’re feeling at the time - to keep me happy and healthy. And sure, after we talk, you’ll probably feel a little tired. A little drained. But that’s it, really. No harm, no foul. </span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And I do appreciate the boost, from each and every one of you. And I do speak for all the rest of us (because there’s more of us than you think). We thank you for your service. </span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We’re fairly easy to spot, just so you know. We’re out there, all around, all the time. Everywhere there’s a crowd. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You know the type: The single guy on a business trip at the next table at the restaurant who strikes up a conversation with you over what’s the best plate of food in this place? The girl at the dog park who compliments you on how behaved your dog is, then talks your ear off about the benefits and pitfalls of an all-raw diet and what does a raw diet mean, anyway? We’re the couple (who says psychic vampires can’t hunt in pairs?) who sit behind you at the community concert in the park, and offer to share our cheese board and slightly fruity Pinot Grigio and by the way, where did you get those cute sandals? </span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But COVID-19, am I right? We can’t feed over Zoom or Google Meet. There’s no way to unburden some energy over the phone, a text or through WhatsApp. We need that close connection. The idle conversation. We have to be close, you know? So thank God for all the mask mandates, which made it a little bit easier to get a slip of nourishment at the gas station or the grocery store. </span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Just imagine the silly prompts we had to come up with. For example:</span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Can you believe Governor (INSERT NAME HERE) extended the COVID health orders again? When are we ever going to get back to normal, do you think?”</span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I don’t mean to pry, but where did you get your mask? I love to fish and your fish mask is just killer.” </span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Excuse me, where did you find those King’s Hawian hamburger buns? They look amazing.ly delicious.”</span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Looks like gas prices are on the rise again - think we’re going to be paying $5 a gallon by 2022?” </span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m forward enough that I’ve made ends meet. So to speak. But yeah, I know some of us who passed. They blamed it on the COVID, of course. But it was pure, unadulterated starvation. </span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Those of us who survived, we cheered when the vaccination train got its full head of steam. I remember getting my first dose, having to wait in this open bullpen for 15 minutes to make sure we didn’t stroke out or have some sort of psychotic episode from being sticked (stuck?). </span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Pure. Bliss. I mean it. </span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">People were out. They were getting vaccinated. And they were</span><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> talkative</span><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. I went home full as a tick on a deer. </span></span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">However…</span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s not been all feasting, all the time. Let’s let a little truth in here, shall we? People have lost a lot in this year-and-a-half of sheltering in place. A lot of different things. Human touch (which is like taking a life force shooter, by the way). Congregating in a place - concerts, restaurants, bars - the gym. </span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Emotion. </span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Seriously. </span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We lost our connection to the human world, since we had to communicate through a computer camera. We lost all the feels. And I hope - I pray - we get that back. Because, man, the alternative. I don’t want to even think about it. </span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m very lucky. I have a dog. She’s the best. And I took just enough of her life force to get by. Hey, I know it sounds seriously twisted. But she got extra pets. Extra treats. A little bacon grease in the morning kibble. Long walks on trails that were abandoned by humans. She was happy. I was happy. And I stayed alive. But I don’t want to have to </span><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">rely on her</span><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> for all of it. </span></span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was in this bar the other night, listening to a band. It felt great. The atmosphere was electric (cliche, I know, but hey, give me a break). It was Friday night, some people were still wearing masks, but a lot were not. Everyone looked happy just to be out of the house. </span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And here’s the rub - everyone I talked to, even those who had a little too much to drink, it wasn’t, I mean, it didn’t </span><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">nourish </span><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">me. Hollow life force calories. Like eating a rice cake, if you know what I mean. I think it’ll get better once more and more people get the vax - and return to the streets. </span></span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I mean, it has to, right? We didn’t completely lose our way, our connections, did we?</span></p><div><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>Thom Gabrukiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13286670695334830471noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19868299.post-68129006023090047932021-06-11T11:35:00.005-04:002021-06-11T11:35:45.751-04:00Dreams <p><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">No one ever says they want to be the homeless guy begging for change and digging through garbage cans for a half-eaten meal.</span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-1b3e7e8c-7fff-a7b8-c1a8-927a35e8545f"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nobody gets reincarnated as a janitor or a retail sales associate.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There isn’t anyone reinventing themselves as a fry cook or grocery stocker.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What dreams get formed in the gray matter are desires of the heart. The gut checks them, critical of the fancy.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What dreams come true? The ones that the gut says are attainable, or the big leaps that take real balls to complete?</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A question for the ages.</span></p><div><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Thom Gabrukiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13286670695334830471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19868299.post-87591589601174329082021-05-28T12:32:00.002-04:002021-05-28T12:32:42.397-04:00Listen<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">What do you know...out popped a poem this morning. </span></p><h2 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">Listen</span></h2><div><span id="docs-internal-guid-77b74c41-7fff-e09f-b61e-505031e39344"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Lines of lyrical foolishness,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">seep from a wounded heart.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Wither the angered poet,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">who senses not what is there:</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Orange-glow sunsets,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">the laughter of children,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">the scent of a lover,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">wine upon the lips,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">a rise of gooseflesh.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Consequence for what is forsaken,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">screaming frustrations.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A quiet heart begs the answer:</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">shhhhh, listen.</span></p><div><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span></div>Thom Gabrukiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13286670695334830471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19868299.post-43902702166414358752021-05-12T16:56:00.001-04:002021-05-12T16:56:50.609-04:00A Moment of Clarity<p> <span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Hold out your hand.”</span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-c1480d9e-7fff-df51-4ed3-3a0bcb2fad61"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Close my eyes?”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Only if you want to.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And she drops a marble into his palm.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Huh.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“It’s a clarity marble.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Uh-huh.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BKKj5yFnKRo/YJxAzp5NzXI/AAAAAAAAKNs/gbagxGixj2EI18gxuuXte7c8TV2qCAKLQCLcBGAsYHQ/s540/360_F_236187948_m4PdTvlQ1muoChID6PGblqbRWRGSax5C.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="540" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BKKj5yFnKRo/YJxAzp5NzXI/AAAAAAAAKNs/gbagxGixj2EI18gxuuXte7c8TV2qCAKLQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/360_F_236187948_m4PdTvlQ1muoChID6PGblqbRWRGSax5C.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The marble is clear glass and it is scarred from the abuse inflicted on it being carried in purses and in the bottom of pockets. Its once smooth surface is heavily pitted, rough.</span><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He looks through it and the light takes on a greenish glow, like the flesh of a honeydew melon. It is a tiny crystal ball, and he gazes through it between his thumb and forefinger.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“It’s always helped me.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And he begins to carry it in the coin pocket of his jeans. During those moments of stress, he takes it out and looks through it. Yet it does not speak to him. He doesn’t tell her that he cannot hear its wisdom.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A sweltering night and not even a cool shower and fans bring comfort. He’s up when most everyone is not, his mind heavy. He clutches the clarity marble in his fist. The marble is as warm as her skin. He rolls the glass around in his fingers. He squeezes, tight. And wills its secrets. He prays for clarity.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He rolls the marble across his forehead, feeling the warmth. It’s her warmth. He knows this. And he feels it.. He closes his eyes and thinks of her.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And in that moment of comfort, he finds clarity.</span></p><div><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>Thom Gabrukiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13286670695334830471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19868299.post-7440851602424858812021-05-07T11:51:00.000-04:002021-05-07T11:51:03.642-04:00Balloon, Man<p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"> <span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Flanked by his goofy yellow Lab, he stood in the rich green of his suburban lawn and with hands on hips, his head tilted.</span></span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-a0451830-7fff-b01a-5888-bd78c9035264"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">There, anchored to the Kentucky bluegrass, was a piece of plastic. Tied to the plastic plug was a massive Mylar balloon floating on five feet of rough twine. Printed on its shiny silver surface was a festive “HAPPY 50TH” message with hearts, stars and candles.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">He looked up and down the street, nearly identical three-bedroom, two-bath tract homes with pressed concrete drives and endless swatches of perfect lawn.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3T8pWkDt9Ec/YJVhyEvOxsI/AAAAAAAAKNQ/oLOa-yI8pH0wiRPSXYrMYV85MkIs_J-FwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/GettyImages-1173473199.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3T8pWkDt9Ec/YJVhyEvOxsI/AAAAAAAAKNQ/oLOa-yI8pH0wiRPSXYrMYV85MkIs_J-FwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/GettyImages-1173473199.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: Oswald;">He looked back at the balloon, and in unison, his head, along with the Lab, tilted in confused wonderment that bordered on bewilderment.</span></span><p></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">He took a step toward the balloon and stopped. The dog circled it (but did not dare sniff) and returned to the man’s side. He looked down at the dog, and back to the balloon. He rubbed a hand across his lips, furrowed his brow.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">And tuned to the home’s cheerfully decorated front porch and began to drag one of those silly, heavy wrought iron chairs across the concrete and into the lawn, the legs digging divots into the manicured green.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">He sat and the dog took the signal and lay down beside him. He rested his chin in one cupped hand and rubbed fingers across Saturday stubble.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">The balloon swayed in the breeze.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">His neighbor passed, stopped, put a hand up to his eyes to shade them.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">“Happy birthday, Rob. Fifty, huh, can that be right?”</span></span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">“It’s not my birthday.”</span></span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">“So what’s with the balloon?”</span></span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">“That’s what I’m asking.”</span></span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">“Huh,” his neighbor said, “OK, see ya.”</span></span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">“Later.”</span></span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">A half-hour passed. The balloon continued to sway on the breeze.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">Neighbors passed with well-wishes. He responded with cryptic shrugs. He fetched a beer from the garage fridge, drank it. Mused about the balloon, it’s origin, it’s meaning. </span></span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">Finally, he fished a hand into his cargo shorts, pulled out a pair of yellow-handled garden shears. He tapped them on his chin and rose.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">And clipped the twine, sending the mass of Mylar skyward.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">As the balloon rose, he saluted, crisply.</span></span></p><div><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>Thom Gabrukiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13286670695334830471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19868299.post-71560036626329294982021-04-30T10:31:00.006-04:002021-04-30T10:31:56.550-04:00Cool Sadness<p><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">The cool sadness is the worst. The near lack of feelings, the emptiness. You’d think that would be preferable to a veil of tears, but no. It’s like a capped bottle that life keeps shaking. It’s bound to burst, spewing a frothy flow over everything. </span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-86add8c0-7fff-2012-0682-dcd3119af63f"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iRVCsxVd6zI/YIwUosVe2FI/AAAAAAAAKMI/Ott1na-dJiU_zF39eRNheoRX2gr7OtD7QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/GettyImages-115723537.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1361" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iRVCsxVd6zI/YIwUosVe2FI/AAAAAAAAKMI/Ott1na-dJiU_zF39eRNheoRX2gr7OtD7QCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/GettyImages-115723537.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For now, it’s kept in. For how long? Yeah, that’s the question, isn’t it? <br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Friends text, message to ask if everything’s OK. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Yes. And no. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It's the cool sadness that disturbs everyone. Like a painting, a locked little smile, thin lips, maintain.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nothing tastes good. Eat, drink, walk, talk, work, watch TV, sleep. Maintain. Everyone expects it. The banter, the smart-assed wisecracks, the one-liners.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It helps, being normal – or as normal as it gets. Function, find things to do. Don’t rush to any judgments. Not quite yet.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Find “silver linings.” Text, message back with heartfelt thanks. Be in the moment. Be positive. Exercise, eat right, avoid the booze. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Give this moment in time a chance. Learn, grow - let go. Let it all go. Live in the now. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Since that’s all we’ve got. </span></p><div><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Thom Gabrukiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13286670695334830471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19868299.post-17325177417559934302021-04-23T13:27:00.000-04:002021-04-23T13:27:10.688-04:00Goodness<span id="docs-internal-guid-8af3927b-7fff-344f-e848-a07d9a78ca38"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“There is goodness in you, even though you can’t see it,” she says.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The fork is halfway to his mouth, which is open for delivery, and he stops, a flush of hatred lights in his dull gray eyes.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He folds his hands together and tucks his chin on his knuckles; congealed egg yoke puddles under the fork, which now acts as a pendulum.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Did I ask you for an assessment?”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The diner is cramped and it is packed; it’s a living organism that pulsates, breathes, sighs. It presses its mass into her, she feels faint, a victim of her own stupid choices.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He stares, smiles. Shoots bushy eyebrows into amused arcs that beg answers.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It's enough of an insult; his abuse emboldens her.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“No, you did not ask,” she says. “But I have opinions too, you know.”</span></p><div><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Thom Gabrukiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13286670695334830471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19868299.post-57135323962643052812021-04-16T10:41:00.001-04:002021-04-16T10:41:47.121-04:00Restless<p><span style="font-family: Oswald;"> April is National Poetry month. Here's my contribution:</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T2rH_LAtBJE/YHmhvy47UXI/AAAAAAAAKKo/r4zwkN0wTsIiW1n_i12UeAb5lrE7JAJrwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/12a2f3745d615a39b855d83d93cae0c67080989025578995505.webp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="427" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T2rH_LAtBJE/YHmhvy47UXI/AAAAAAAAKKo/r4zwkN0wTsIiW1n_i12UeAb5lrE7JAJrwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/12a2f3745d615a39b855d83d93cae0c67080989025578995505.webp" /></a></div><h2 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Oswald;">Restless</span></h2><div><span id="docs-internal-guid-abdfdd2e-7fff-bece-e627-60d2d032ee4f"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Wrapped in the silent dark, layers of gray, slivers of streetlights, the restless dreams of greatness. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In shadows lay desires, mindful of the consequence, change is a difficult beast. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A hand reaches for her torso, and settles upon the dimple of her hip.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A squeeze confirms consciousness, a sigh affirms the impatience. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There is no stillness. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Restless minds.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Restless hearts.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Restless lives.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Darkness ebbs in the gray. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Threads of light announce the dawn, another sleepless encounter passes. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">One more day to screw on a happy face.</span></p><div><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span></div>Thom Gabrukiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13286670695334830471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19868299.post-61141499957800283892021-04-09T10:51:00.001-04:002021-04-09T10:54:46.287-04:00When Sleep Won't Come<p><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">He bangs into hallway walls like a pinball; in his fists cold roast turkey slathered in blackberry jam – globs of which have escaped onto his bare thighs.</span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-ffd0a58d-7fff-562e-caaf-df40b093ecf5"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-q6M92vstXzs/YHBpVGscrbI/AAAAAAAAKKM/03N6c9Dwka4vJvan85soFy0-Cfz-e4SlQCLcBGAsYHQ/s612/istockphoto-469522489-612x612.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="408" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-q6M92vstXzs/YHBpVGscrbI/AAAAAAAAKKM/03N6c9Dwka4vJvan85soFy0-Cfz-e4SlQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/istockphoto-469522489-612x612.jpg" /></a></div><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He’s in the grip of Ambien, three, taken with whiskey.<br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">She’s up, two time zones west, text-flirting with some guy.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The text, “*rgrrmfsklgforeh,” comes first. It’s followed by an incoherent email, a bumbling voicemail.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She ignores them all, notes the time, smiles, thinks….revenge.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He wakes, his mobile tucked in his briefs, blackberry seeds stuck in his teeth.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh, Hell.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And checks the phone, to see what apologies need to be made.</span></p><div><span face="Oswald, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Thom Gabrukiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13286670695334830471noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19868299.post-4028842646212068892021-04-02T10:54:00.000-04:002021-04-02T10:54:06.666-04:00Bro Code <div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Bro Code, Dude! Bro Code!”</span></div><span id="docs-internal-guid-08cbf68b-7fff-f8b5-9091-19de0be03803"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">All I want - need - to do is pee. The bar is crowded, but I didn’t expect this to extend to the bathroom.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There are three men of descending ages having a confab in front of both urinals. I’ve interrupted something important. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wNWljeL9UFo/YGcv7SLoS6I/AAAAAAAAKJk/dMrpcYMPPtQ1UHc5rdaheInzuRyVVNhhwCLcBGAsYHQ/s800/men-s-room_p3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wNWljeL9UFo/YGcv7SLoS6I/AAAAAAAAKJk/dMrpcYMPPtQ1UHc5rdaheInzuRyVVNhhwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/men-s-room_p3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>And... I throw up my hands.</span><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I...am...just...here...to...pee.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Alright, alright, cool,” the Cowboy with the bushy beard - and is the apparent recipient of this particularly inconvenient intervention - said. “But when you’re done, can I ask you for some advice?”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Sure thing.” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I lock myself in the handicapped stall, unzip, and listen.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Dude, isn’t that a deal-breaker?” this from the mid-40s guy who when I first entered, was leaned up against the wall, one foot cocked against the porcelain tiles. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yeah, you gotta listen to him, bro, you gotta listen,” said the young Hispanic kid, which, as it turns out, is the Cowboy’s best friend. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“She just doesn’t want kids,” the Cowboy said.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m 58 years old. I have no children of my own. Well, not biologically.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I inhale deeply, the zest of Clorox and urinal cakes fills my head, zip up and crack my shoulders.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And step out of the stall to wash my hands. All three gentlemen stop the discussion and I can feel three sets of eyes urging me to finish. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So I can give my opinion on this matter. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“OK, so, what’s up?” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You have kids?” the Cowboy said. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yes - and no. I have no children of my own, but my wife has three, a girl and two boys, who I love and cherish as my own. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“So what’s the issue here?”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“My girlfriend and I just moved in together - a big step for us - and I love her and everything, but when it comes right down to it, she doesn’t want kids,” the Cowboy said.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Deal-breaker, am I right?” mid-40s guy said. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“See man, see man, that’s what we’re talking about,” the Hispanic kid said. “It’s not right. It’s just not right.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well, that all depends. How old are you?”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Dude, I’m 34 years old,” the Cowboy said. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Right, right, you’re not getting any younger, man, and if she doesn’t want kids and you do, you gotta start fresh, you gotta start looking for a new relationship,” the Hispanic kid said. “These things, dude, they take time.” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Help me out here,” the Cowboy said. “What do I do?”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Is there a chance she’ll change her mind?” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well, that’s the thing,” the Cowboy said. “She’s, well, she’s a little thicker than most girls, and she’s worried that she’ll gain a lot of weight and she’ll never be able to lose it.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“See, right there, that’s no argument, you’d still love her if she was, uh, bigger. Right?” mid-40s guy said. “It’s a deal-breaker.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Cowboy looks at me, pleading-eyed.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“OK, here’s my situation - I have five siblings, and each has two kids. I’m the only kid in the litter who didn’t have kids. On my bucket list was to father children. Honestly, I think I would have been a great dad. And here’s the thing - I know now that I am a good dad. I love my wife’s kids, unconditionally. And I know they love me unconditionally as well. My time to have our own kids has come and gone - I’m fixed - and I’m OK with that.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“The question you have to ask yourself - are you OK with that? Has your time come and gone? Because if it’s not, then you have to have one very serious fucking conversation coming up with her, sooner rather than later.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Cowboy looks down at his boots, contemplating, grasping, for an answer. And that’s when the bathroom door swings open and Gary walks in, surprised at the conference that’s taking place. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“We all thought you fell in,” Gary said, pointing at me. “We all wondered where you went. We ordered for you, by the way, Scotch and soda, no ice.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You got kids?” the Cowboy asks Gary. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I have two, why?” Gary said. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“We’re having an existential crisis here,” mid-40s guy said. “Our man here, well, he wants kids, but his girl - who he’s now living with - doesn’t. Adamant about it, even. Thinks she’ll be less attractive if she gains the baby weight. Thinks he’ll love her less if she’s, uh, bigger. Deal-breaker, am I right?”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Wow, OK, I really stepped into something,” Gary said. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He goes to the sink. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Washes his hands.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Pulls two paper towels from the dispenser. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Dries his hands.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And turns. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Here’s my answer: I have two kids. My wife and I have been together for nine years now. When we got together, she had a 19-month-old son. We got married, and we had another son together. But here’s the thing - her first-born carries my name. He is my son. And even if we didn’t have our own, I would have been OK with that, because I love her kid as much as I’ve ever loved anything in my life. This is a question about fatherhood. Would she adopt? Would she be willing to bring in a stranger-baby into your life who isn’t hers? How isn’t yours? There are so many options, but…</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“What you have to ask yourself is - what does having kids mean to you? How important is it? Because if it is that important, then, I’m sorry to inform you, you’re with the wrong woman.” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We all nod.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Cowboy looks around at us, a tired expression on his face. Somewhat defeated. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Defeated or dejected? A little bit of both. But sad. Yeah, sad. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Still, there’s this little glimmer of hope in his wet eyes. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Only in Wyoming,” mid-40s guy said, shaking his head. “Only in Wyoming can you get this kind of honesty from your best friend - and three complete strangers.” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Cowboy nods again, then shakes each of our hands. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I’m headed home,” he said. “Headed home to have one serious-as-shit discussion. Thanks, my bros.” </span></p><div><span style="font-family: "Roboto Condensed", sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>Thom Gabrukiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13286670695334830471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19868299.post-82327914330469443352021-03-26T11:57:00.002-04:002021-03-26T11:58:21.507-04:00Mood Score<p><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">When the quiet becomes its most crushing, he assigns numbers to his feelings, then adds and subtracts to reach an outcome on his mood. His mood score, if you will. </span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-4a3db11f-7fff-9be1-9bff-00bbac4fdb4e"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s 3:22 a.m. and his mood score has gone negative. The sheets are damp, but he can’t figure out if it’s because of the darkness of his thoughts (that’s a subtraction) or the warm summer’s night.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SGw39euK1Kk/YF4ECpTkQ_I/AAAAAAAAKJE/U9ByZIO2AN8T64ibkobltvp_UoXFO000ACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/GettyImages-177541494.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1339" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SGw39euK1Kk/YF4ECpTkQ_I/AAAAAAAAKJE/U9ByZIO2AN8T64ibkobltvp_UoXFO000ACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/GettyImages-177541494.jpg" /></a></div><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s the heat (OK, we’re maintaining). But there’s no breeze to cool down the tiny house he calls home, and that spells trouble. Frustration leads to anger and that will nick his score. He pushes a single top sheet off his body, wanting to kick it angrily into a crumpled mess.</span></div><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Focus.” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He swings his feet from the bed and rises gingerly. Time has been somewhat kind to his looks, but the miles have piled up. Six surgeries in his 47 years and it takes three, 400 milligram ibuprofen to get his body to something close to functionable. He waddles on stiff ankles to the bathroom, pops the bottle lid in the dark (he’s done this so many times before), turns on the tap, swallows the pills and washes down with water scooped from a cupped hand. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">His eyes have adjusted to the dimness and he sees the bed. He decides against getting back in. It’s too disruptive and he’d just fidget, stare into the blackness, until either sleep returned, or the alarm rang. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He sighs, timid with a hand over his mouth, and slowly walks out the bedroom door, down the hallway, through the kitchen, into the living room where he stops in front of the sliding glass door. The slider is open, of course, hoping to catch any breeze, but the screen is shut, and it’s locked. He thinks about this; OK, it locks, but anyone could walk right through, like tearing a tissue with a finger. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He smiles at the absurdity. His score goes up.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He unlocks the screen, pushes it open and steps down onto the concrete back porch. It’s not so much cooler than inside, but the air is fresher and he lowers himself into a wicker patio chair. The quiet is crushing and his mind swirls with thoughts. Not happy memories or bright outlooks; the darkness reaches out like swirling smoke tentacles and his mind can’t not help but walk down a dark hallway where doors he dare not open reside. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And it’s not like these thoughts are even all that alluring. It’s just, well, he just gets mired in them. He’s been asked to explain this, give coherent reasoning - a mental flow chart, if you will - that clearly explains why he gets stuck from point A to point B on the happiness trail. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I just don’t know,” he whispers into the night. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sleep does come, even for the briefest of time - marked in minutes and not hours - and he wakes to a brilliant sunrise, covering a full spectrum of oranges. It is magnificent, he thinks. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Breathing deeply, he smiles and feels the warmth of his wife’s hands as she wraps them around his neck, and down his chest. The gesture nearly moves him to tears. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You doing OK?” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I am now.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And thus, his mood score rises back into the black. </span></p><div><span style="font-family: Oswald, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>Thom Gabrukiewiczhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13286670695334830471noreply@blogger.com0