Peterson Greymore did not like his name. It was two names, really, and cumbersome. His mother, a literature graduate student, and his father- her advisor, had been taken with the notion of naming their only son something strong, literary and romantic. He'd once asked his mother why she hadn't just named him Lord Grayson and have done with it. She had slapped him with her eyes and he skulked out of the room, the topic of his name never coming up again.
At work he went by plain old Peter. Plain old Peter lived in a nondescript apartment with white walls and minimalist furnishings and designs. He also worked in IT- it was the most boring non-romantic job he could think of growing up and the perfect fuck you to his elitist academic parents. They took heart in the knowledge that he had been accepted into MIT, they ignored the fact that he'd dropped out after a semester to attend ITT Tech.
Peter enjoyed the anonymity of his career. He never had to leave the cave like office where his cubicle sat. In fact, most of the time he hardly talked to anyone save Sam- cubicle neighbor and fellow underachiever. While drinking beers after work at the local titty bar, Sam liked to point out that one was hardly an underachiever who knew coding like they did. Peter just nodded but knew better. It wasn't necessarily their careers that were an underachievement but their participation in life.
Peter enjoyed the routine of going from home to work to bar to home. Occasionally he played the part of the dutiful son and returned home for dinner or the requisite holidays functions but he comforted himself with the knowledge that he had escaped this gilded cage society his parents so loved...
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Bare Walls
"Why haven't you hung any pictures on the walls? No pictures...no art...nothing. It looks like you've just moved in."
She took a drag from her cigarette and blew out the smoke watching it get caught in the path of the fan that was ineffectual in it's attempts against the mid-afternoon heat. She looked at her hand studying the ashes clinging to the edge of the cigarette before moving to stub it out in the ashtray with a frustrated sigh. Across the coffee table from her a clearing of the throat reminded her that he was still there still waiting for an answer to a question she had already almost forgotten. A quick glance around the room did show bare walls and bare canvasses leaning against the walls.
"Actually it's been nearly three years since I moved in." It had been quiet so long that he jumped a little in his seat, startled to hear her raspy voice answering him. Of course it has nearly been three years, he thought. After all it had been nearly three years since the last time they sat across from each other like this, only then they both wore gold bands on their fingers.
"You know I think I keep the walls bare because I prefer the potential that they represent. Like those canvasses leaning by the bookshelves. I bought them at least two months ago with a very specific idea of what I wanted to do with them, yet there they stand still white still waiting and still full of potential."
He found himself nodding- it made sense, kind of. "That doesn't explain why no pictures of your family and friends though." When they'd been married the house had been full of pictures and all the little homey things that make a house a house. She used to bitch about the dust they collected but it never stopped her from adding new pictures. He had always loved coming home to the warmth of that house, so different from the sterile cold feel of the downtown loft he returned to these days. He found himself studying the colors of her furniture and the throws and pillows thrown around the sofa and chairs. Even without the pictures and artwork she still managed to surround herself with warmth. There was a welcoming feel to this bare little apartment.
"How's your mom," he asked when the silence had gone from pleasant to opressive.
"Why are you here Brad?" she countered.
He cringed, hating the steel in her voice- the steal that he'd given birth to three years earlier. He looked up to find her studying him with eyes not entirely hostile but guarded nonetheless. Did I do that to her? he asked himself. Or perhaps he was mistaken in remembering a time when those eyes were open and trusting. There was a hardness to her face now. He couldn't imagine the woman in front of him ever laughing, but he knew she must- that she had in another life and maybe if he looked just hard enough he could find those laugh lines, find where she had buried the twinkle from her eyes. She started to bounce her leg and he could feel the vibrations through the coffee table, it was a nervous tic of hers that he used to find endearing now it just made him want to say what he needed to and get out except that his mouth was suddenly as dry as the Sahara and his chest felt tight and painful. Is this what a heart attack feels like? he wondered to himself.
"Sarah...um...well, really I just came by because I wanted you to hear it from me instead of from someone else."
She never flinched, looking him straight in the eyes but he could feel the tension, could see her closing in on herself almost becoming smaller in and effort to protect herself. Oh Sarah I'm so sorry I hurt you, he thought to himself.
"See the thing is...well, the thing is Sarah that Phil and I are going to get married." The second sentence came out in a rush and at first he wasn't sure if she had understood him. She continued to stare at him for a minute and then she blinked slowly and with a deep sigh leaned back into the couch laying her head on the backrest and staring at a spot somewhere beyond his right ear.
He looked down noticing for the first time the dried bit of mud on the tip of his loafers. He felt like that bit of dried up mud. When he finally drew the courage to raise his head up he found her sitting forward again and studying the cuticles on her right hand. She'd always had great nails he thought. After a long night at the hospital, he come home and try to crawl as noiselessly as possible into bed but she always woke up. She'd sit up against the headboard and he curl around her, his head resting on her chest feeling it rise and fall while she scratched his head softly with her long nails- relaxing him as he told her about his day. Her nails weren't long anymore, they were short and looked chewed. He fought the urge to cry, suddenly wanting to crawl over to her and rest his head on her chest while begging her forgiveness and kissing the tips of those bitten down nails. But he didn't, he wouldn't because he had done what he had to do but that didn't mean he'd ever meant to hurt her so or that the guilt would ever leave.
She finally looked up to meet his gaze, no more steel in her eyes just a calm sadness. "I already knew. I knew the other night when I was watching the news and saw that the appeal had been overturned." She looked down for a minute and then right back up nodding a little to some but of internal dialogue. "It's a good thing", she said. "I'm glad."
He noticed that there was only a little bitterness in her gaze, mainly though there was just acceptance. He nodded too. "I'll...uh I'll send you a picture. From the ceremony."
She laughed then. It was a rueful laugh to be sure but a laugh nonetheless and her eyes almost twinkled. "Maybe I'll put it up."
They chuckled together then, each knowing that this would be the last time they'd see each other.
She took a drag from her cigarette and blew out the smoke watching it get caught in the path of the fan that was ineffectual in it's attempts against the mid-afternoon heat. She looked at her hand studying the ashes clinging to the edge of the cigarette before moving to stub it out in the ashtray with a frustrated sigh. Across the coffee table from her a clearing of the throat reminded her that he was still there still waiting for an answer to a question she had already almost forgotten. A quick glance around the room did show bare walls and bare canvasses leaning against the walls.
"Actually it's been nearly three years since I moved in." It had been quiet so long that he jumped a little in his seat, startled to hear her raspy voice answering him. Of course it has nearly been three years, he thought. After all it had been nearly three years since the last time they sat across from each other like this, only then they both wore gold bands on their fingers.
"You know I think I keep the walls bare because I prefer the potential that they represent. Like those canvasses leaning by the bookshelves. I bought them at least two months ago with a very specific idea of what I wanted to do with them, yet there they stand still white still waiting and still full of potential."
He found himself nodding- it made sense, kind of. "That doesn't explain why no pictures of your family and friends though." When they'd been married the house had been full of pictures and all the little homey things that make a house a house. She used to bitch about the dust they collected but it never stopped her from adding new pictures. He had always loved coming home to the warmth of that house, so different from the sterile cold feel of the downtown loft he returned to these days. He found himself studying the colors of her furniture and the throws and pillows thrown around the sofa and chairs. Even without the pictures and artwork she still managed to surround herself with warmth. There was a welcoming feel to this bare little apartment.
"How's your mom," he asked when the silence had gone from pleasant to opressive.
"Why are you here Brad?" she countered.
He cringed, hating the steel in her voice- the steal that he'd given birth to three years earlier. He looked up to find her studying him with eyes not entirely hostile but guarded nonetheless. Did I do that to her? he asked himself. Or perhaps he was mistaken in remembering a time when those eyes were open and trusting. There was a hardness to her face now. He couldn't imagine the woman in front of him ever laughing, but he knew she must- that she had in another life and maybe if he looked just hard enough he could find those laugh lines, find where she had buried the twinkle from her eyes. She started to bounce her leg and he could feel the vibrations through the coffee table, it was a nervous tic of hers that he used to find endearing now it just made him want to say what he needed to and get out except that his mouth was suddenly as dry as the Sahara and his chest felt tight and painful. Is this what a heart attack feels like? he wondered to himself.
"Sarah...um...well, really I just came by because I wanted you to hear it from me instead of from someone else."
She never flinched, looking him straight in the eyes but he could feel the tension, could see her closing in on herself almost becoming smaller in and effort to protect herself. Oh Sarah I'm so sorry I hurt you, he thought to himself.
"See the thing is...well, the thing is Sarah that Phil and I are going to get married." The second sentence came out in a rush and at first he wasn't sure if she had understood him. She continued to stare at him for a minute and then she blinked slowly and with a deep sigh leaned back into the couch laying her head on the backrest and staring at a spot somewhere beyond his right ear.
He looked down noticing for the first time the dried bit of mud on the tip of his loafers. He felt like that bit of dried up mud. When he finally drew the courage to raise his head up he found her sitting forward again and studying the cuticles on her right hand. She'd always had great nails he thought. After a long night at the hospital, he come home and try to crawl as noiselessly as possible into bed but she always woke up. She'd sit up against the headboard and he curl around her, his head resting on her chest feeling it rise and fall while she scratched his head softly with her long nails- relaxing him as he told her about his day. Her nails weren't long anymore, they were short and looked chewed. He fought the urge to cry, suddenly wanting to crawl over to her and rest his head on her chest while begging her forgiveness and kissing the tips of those bitten down nails. But he didn't, he wouldn't because he had done what he had to do but that didn't mean he'd ever meant to hurt her so or that the guilt would ever leave.
She finally looked up to meet his gaze, no more steel in her eyes just a calm sadness. "I already knew. I knew the other night when I was watching the news and saw that the appeal had been overturned." She looked down for a minute and then right back up nodding a little to some but of internal dialogue. "It's a good thing", she said. "I'm glad."
He noticed that there was only a little bitterness in her gaze, mainly though there was just acceptance. He nodded too. "I'll...uh I'll send you a picture. From the ceremony."
She laughed then. It was a rueful laugh to be sure but a laugh nonetheless and her eyes almost twinkled. "Maybe I'll put it up."
They chuckled together then, each knowing that this would be the last time they'd see each other.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Panic
The thing about a panic attack is that from the outside one can appear quite calm. Imagine the scene. You, sitting in your nondescript cubicle, fingers clacking across keyboards echoing around you. The rustle of papers, the murmur of voices on the phone along with a cough here and a clearing of the throat there. If you listen carefully you can hear the beeping of the truck backing up outside 7 stories down. Mainly you heart your heart trying to jump out of your chest. You try to inhale shallowly to keep anyone from hearing your erratic breaths but your heart keeps beating faster and you are convinced everyone knows it- everyone knows you are on edge and about to jump into the chasm of fear. On the outside you appear fine, giggle at the gentle flirtation of a coworker, flash smiles that don't fully reach the corners of your eyes. Everyone walks away from you thinking "what a great gal, she has really got it together." You want to run out of the building screaming and rending at your hair. The panic and the tears bubble in your chest trying to escape and you adopt a frozen mask of official business that hardens trying to keep the fear at bay. Your skin crawls with the want to run run run but you don't give into it. The idea of hiding in the stairwell is quite tempting, so is a long walk maybe to Starbucks to get a drink but that would only make the anxiety worse. It's the feeling of being out of control that is the hardest to deal with. Of having to clamp down so deeply and concentrate so fully to keep everything tightly reined in when you want nothing more then to let go.
Monday, May 12, 2008
The Signing
I can hear the buzz right outside the door. The murmuring chit chat of a couple hundred people standing in line, comparing notes. I am humbled and frightened simultaneously. My publisher is next to me conducting some sort of business on her cell phone- she is always on her cell phone, it used to make me bristle but that cell phone is what brought me here so I can't complain too much. The event coordinator for the bookstore is on my other side ear piece in ear and talking animatedly with the voice on the other end- no doubt someone out on the line. Behind me sits my sister sipping from a glass of wine and relating embarrassing anecdotes about my to a gaggle of star struck book sellers. They weren't scheduled to work that day but had come in to meet me and get signed, I give a small snort at this. They see me as some sort of hero- the book lover that wrote a book...one of them who made it. Everything is in motion all around me but I am still and quiet thinking about how I've come full circle, how even though I never worked in this particular store- I know it intimately. I know these people and I know this world and I never imagined that I would be standing here on the other side of the mirror.
"It's time", the coordinator gently guides me towards the door as she nods curtly in response to the voice in her ear. The door opens and I'm assaulted by a wall of adoration and cheering and shouting. A small part of me wants to cover my ears with both hands and fall into a fetal ball at their feet screwing my eyes shut, the rest of me takes a deep breath and thanks god that I don't blush easily as I feel the heat infuse my entire body and my hands begin to shake with nerves. I smile then, it's shaky but genuine as I move towards my seat in the signing area trying to make eye contact with everyone as I walk along the line. Faces swim past me young and old, men and women. I smile at that- didn't think men would be my core audience so their presence is nice. I catch snippets of conversations as I seat myself and break open the seal on a bottle of water.
"I heard it's a true story- torrid love affair between the three of them."
"No, no you have it wrong. It's a true story definitely but I heard she was still in love with him and told him to pursue the other one."
"Well I heard that she was secretly in love with Jennifer but pushed her back into his arms because she thought they belonged together and was being a martyr."
"Martyr? Who even uses that word anymore? No you are all reading too much into it. The true love story is between Jennifer and Matt and she just kind of got caught in their story and helped it along."
"You think she'll tell us if Jennifer choose Matt in the end or Ned. I think she went back to Ned, I mean she wouldn't just give up on her husband like that."
"Sure she would, Matt is her soul mate and he was there first before Ned anyway. God I hate that she left the end of the book dangling!"
"Oh I don't. I think it was absolutely perfect how she left it so ambiguous. It lets me imagine it how I want it to end."
"And how would you want it to end?"
I wonder myself how she would want it to end as I smile at the next beaming face and ask who I should address my words to. The other women's voice gets lost in the din and I will never know how she sees the ending of my book but I smile to myself as I realize this is exactly what I wanted when I sent my baby out into the world. Truthfully, I'm not even sure myself how it turns out. I have my suspicions but no confirmation and I catch myself scanning the crowd every now and again hoping to see them, or maybe just her. I had thought that she might come but it's been so long and they don't really owe me any answers, I'm profiting off of their story as it is.
After about two hours, I catch the coordinator out of the corner of my eye scanning the crowd. I wonder if she is trying to decide where to cut off the line. My hand feels as though it may fall off soon but I keep going. I know what it's like to wait for just a second of time with someone I admire and I won't disappoint those in front of me so I bend down to sign yet another book and that's when I smell her. I freeze for half a second, my hand poised mid signature as my blood boils and my heart jumps into my throat. Without looking up I struggle to finish signing the book in front of me and then glance quickly at the person thanking me profusely. She is next, I know it even without looking- I know her scent just as I know his- they are both so unique. I fiddle with my water bottle too nervous to look up until she speaks to me.
"So how does it end?"
Her voice is still the same and I find that I didn't realize just how much I missed it. I take one last trembling breath and calling myself a coward force my head up. The first thing I notice is her large, round belly. I pause there for an instant my body flooded with envy, regret, pain, happiness and joy for her. It's painful to see her have that which I cannot but I can't be upset not when I know just how much it means to her as well and as I raise my head towards her smiling face I find that I can deny her nothing and feel so much warmth towards as my smile matches hers.
I don't know if anyone noticed my odd reaction to this woman before, but as I stand and make my way around the table towards her, our smiles lighting up the room, I can feel all eyes on me. I reach out and gently lay my hands on her belly, staring down in wonder. She asks me again "so, how does it end?" I meet her eyes, grinning even harder as I feel the baby move beneath my hands. "I don't know", I tell her. "You tell me."
She grins back at me and covers my hands with her own. I look at our hands together feeling the baby move when I notice that her rings are different. Her wedding rings are different. She must notice the quick intake of breath I make because she squeezes my hands once and then tilts her head to the right pointing my attention. I close my eyes again and take a deep breath, already knowing what I am about to see. I turn my head and when I open them he is standing there, a hesitant smile on his face. He is worried about my reaction but he shouldn't be. I am suddenly so happy for the both of them that I start crying and laughing all at once. I don't care that we are in a room full of people who are no doubt wondering if these two people with me are the elusive Jennifer and Matt. I don't care that I holding all these people up after they have waited for so long, all I care about is that two people I care deeply for finally figured it out and I can't stop hugging her and kissing her cheek and now we are both crying and I'm sure we are making a fantastic scene but I just don't give a shit. Then, suddenly, he is behind me and wrapping his arms around me as I turn to hold him back and he still smells so good. It's a sin how good this man smells and all I can think over and over is "Thank god. Thank god, thank god, thank god." They figured it out and I am so happy for them I could just burst and finally, my story has an ending.
"It's time", the coordinator gently guides me towards the door as she nods curtly in response to the voice in her ear. The door opens and I'm assaulted by a wall of adoration and cheering and shouting. A small part of me wants to cover my ears with both hands and fall into a fetal ball at their feet screwing my eyes shut, the rest of me takes a deep breath and thanks god that I don't blush easily as I feel the heat infuse my entire body and my hands begin to shake with nerves. I smile then, it's shaky but genuine as I move towards my seat in the signing area trying to make eye contact with everyone as I walk along the line. Faces swim past me young and old, men and women. I smile at that- didn't think men would be my core audience so their presence is nice. I catch snippets of conversations as I seat myself and break open the seal on a bottle of water.
"I heard it's a true story- torrid love affair between the three of them."
"No, no you have it wrong. It's a true story definitely but I heard she was still in love with him and told him to pursue the other one."
"Well I heard that she was secretly in love with Jennifer but pushed her back into his arms because she thought they belonged together and was being a martyr."
"Martyr? Who even uses that word anymore? No you are all reading too much into it. The true love story is between Jennifer and Matt and she just kind of got caught in their story and helped it along."
"You think she'll tell us if Jennifer choose Matt in the end or Ned. I think she went back to Ned, I mean she wouldn't just give up on her husband like that."
"Sure she would, Matt is her soul mate and he was there first before Ned anyway. God I hate that she left the end of the book dangling!"
"Oh I don't. I think it was absolutely perfect how she left it so ambiguous. It lets me imagine it how I want it to end."
"And how would you want it to end?"
I wonder myself how she would want it to end as I smile at the next beaming face and ask who I should address my words to. The other women's voice gets lost in the din and I will never know how she sees the ending of my book but I smile to myself as I realize this is exactly what I wanted when I sent my baby out into the world. Truthfully, I'm not even sure myself how it turns out. I have my suspicions but no confirmation and I catch myself scanning the crowd every now and again hoping to see them, or maybe just her. I had thought that she might come but it's been so long and they don't really owe me any answers, I'm profiting off of their story as it is.
After about two hours, I catch the coordinator out of the corner of my eye scanning the crowd. I wonder if she is trying to decide where to cut off the line. My hand feels as though it may fall off soon but I keep going. I know what it's like to wait for just a second of time with someone I admire and I won't disappoint those in front of me so I bend down to sign yet another book and that's when I smell her. I freeze for half a second, my hand poised mid signature as my blood boils and my heart jumps into my throat. Without looking up I struggle to finish signing the book in front of me and then glance quickly at the person thanking me profusely. She is next, I know it even without looking- I know her scent just as I know his- they are both so unique. I fiddle with my water bottle too nervous to look up until she speaks to me.
"So how does it end?"
Her voice is still the same and I find that I didn't realize just how much I missed it. I take one last trembling breath and calling myself a coward force my head up. The first thing I notice is her large, round belly. I pause there for an instant my body flooded with envy, regret, pain, happiness and joy for her. It's painful to see her have that which I cannot but I can't be upset not when I know just how much it means to her as well and as I raise my head towards her smiling face I find that I can deny her nothing and feel so much warmth towards as my smile matches hers.
I don't know if anyone noticed my odd reaction to this woman before, but as I stand and make my way around the table towards her, our smiles lighting up the room, I can feel all eyes on me. I reach out and gently lay my hands on her belly, staring down in wonder. She asks me again "so, how does it end?" I meet her eyes, grinning even harder as I feel the baby move beneath my hands. "I don't know", I tell her. "You tell me."
She grins back at me and covers my hands with her own. I look at our hands together feeling the baby move when I notice that her rings are different. Her wedding rings are different. She must notice the quick intake of breath I make because she squeezes my hands once and then tilts her head to the right pointing my attention. I close my eyes again and take a deep breath, already knowing what I am about to see. I turn my head and when I open them he is standing there, a hesitant smile on his face. He is worried about my reaction but he shouldn't be. I am suddenly so happy for the both of them that I start crying and laughing all at once. I don't care that we are in a room full of people who are no doubt wondering if these two people with me are the elusive Jennifer and Matt. I don't care that I holding all these people up after they have waited for so long, all I care about is that two people I care deeply for finally figured it out and I can't stop hugging her and kissing her cheek and now we are both crying and I'm sure we are making a fantastic scene but I just don't give a shit. Then, suddenly, he is behind me and wrapping his arms around me as I turn to hold him back and he still smells so good. It's a sin how good this man smells and all I can think over and over is "Thank god. Thank god, thank god, thank god." They figured it out and I am so happy for them I could just burst and finally, my story has an ending.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Hi Honey I'm Home
All I can see in my mind's eye is their feet moving just outside of the sheets and all I can hear are her soft sighs- those sighs she makes just as she starts to really let go. I have closed the door lightly- I'm not sure why- and I am standing against it listening to the muffled moans grow louder behind me through the door. They never even noticed my interruption. I'm not sure if I'm more shocked by the fact that there is someone in our bed with her or by who it is...or by the fact that I can't seem to bring myself from leaving this door- from hearing the act reach it's final crescendo. Billy, our Corgi, sits at my feet watching me with those sorrowful Basset Hound eyes I could never explain from his papers. Yeah buddy, go ahead and pity me, I think to myself. Billy begins to howl mournfully, inexplicably and I wonder if they will notice. They do. I hear a mumbled "what the hell is wrong with that dog?" I'm tempted to yell back "he's got some fucking loyalty to his master which is a helluva lot more than I can say for you you son of a bitch!" But I don't say it because my mother isn't a bitch. Instead I wrap my arm around Billy and- lifting him up- I turn to walk out the door. I slam it.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Venetian Sunsets
The best time to make the crossing from the Lido to Venice is just before sunset so you can watch the golden glow come over the city as you approach. It's early evening and the ocean air is cool after the heat of the day and a fine mist covers your skin as the vaporetto chugs over the waves. The smell of diesel mixes with salt and the engine is loud behind you but it all mixes together to lull you as your gaze settles on the glowing city in the distance. The setting sun blazes a warm fire across the sky and sparkles as it catches the campanile ringing in the evening. It travels jumping from rooftop to rooftop setting fires to the gold plated spires and mosaics on the Basilica di San Marco before racing to San Giorgio and beyond. As you come closer, La Serenissima reveals that her beauty still exists even in these days beyond the flower of her youth- in fact, she is more beautiful now with her cracked lines and history. You are coming closer, minutes from docking and returning to her heart but for half a minute you wish you could stay in the middle of the ocean forever just at dusk admiring her glistening in the falling light.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Harold Grayson
Harold was not the brightest child to ever walk across Allentown Elementary School's formerly lush lawns. He did, however, posses an imagination of gigantic proportions- far more vast then even the Grand Canyon or what Harold imagined the vastness of the Grand Canyon to be since he had never been outside of Allentown, population 2, 034. Something about the numbers in the population sign always bothered Harold and when his mother drove them into town, he would stare at the numbers as they flashed past and he would imagine that they instead read 1,234 or 2,345. Harold like precision and order. That 0 thrown into the population could end up causing chaos, one never knew. If a psychologist ever stopped to talk to Harold they would be pleasantly perplexed by the presence of both a high trend towards anal retentiveness and an astounding imagination.
Take for example the afternoon two weeks prior in which Harold had been lucky enough to stumble upon a beat up dollar bill twisted and caught up in the chain link surrounding the school's edge. He had been walking the perimeter of the school because it was PE time and Harold was NOT fond of physical energy, exercise, education or any other e that expended effort. That his mother was often found at the sewing machine adding elastic to his pants was a testament to this. The dollar bill was no longer expending energy either. It was twisted and torn and stuck between the chain link and the plywood school administrators had tacked onto the fence to keep predators from looking in. When Harold thought of predators he imagined giant black panthers slowly stalking through the bushes golden eyes flashing on the children of Allentown Elementary like spotlights emerging from giant black depths. These were not the kind of predators school administrators envisioned- not that there were really any predators of the other variety around either as Allentown was rather a safe haven, but one never knew and George Bussey the Principal was fond of late night law dramas.
Harold paused in his shuffling around the field to get down on his hands and knees to secure his prize and as he did a great tearing was heard. Harold shook his head and crawled deeper into the bushes to hide his torn pants from the others. His mother was going to tan his hide for ruining another pair of pants but this didn't really bother him as he had greater things to worry about such as the masked murderer who had escaped from jail. Clearly the man had robbed the local Allentown branch of the Pine Hills Credit Union to secure funding for his escape down to the Yucatan Peninsula of Mexico- Harold had watched a travel channel show on Tulum in Quintana Roo and was convinced that all escaped criminals with bank robbing tendencies ended up down there like that accountant who killed his wife in that movie made from that book by that scary author. After robbing the Allentown branch of the Pine Hills Credit Union, the escaped murderer must have dropped this beat up old dollar while making his way to the edge of town where his getaway car and mob daughter girlfriend were waiting for him. Harold breathed a sigh of relief realizing that the murderer was probably already halfway to Tulum and therefore wouldn't really care if Harold pocketed this one beat up dollar bill.
"Harold? Harold Grayson? Where'd you get off to son?" The PE teacher Coach Brown yelled out for Harold while crashing through the bushes. Ellen Jennings had been a looker back in the day and Coach Brown's junior year sweetheart but then that good for nothing Pete Grayson had come into town and a few months later Ellen was barefoot, pregnant and sporting a new last name. Coach Brown shook his head wondering how such a pretty and smart girl like her had ended up with such a bone head good for nothing son just as he stumbled across the aforementioned boy.
"Oh. Harold there you are. Whatcha got there a buck? Well, put it in your pocket son...wait a minute. Harold have you split your pants again? Boy you are going to get a whipping from your mamma! Well...come on, here you can tie my jacket around your waist till after school."
Harold Grayson happily marched after Coach Brown a rather large red and white track jacket drooping from his waist the arms practically dragging alongside his scuffed up sneakers. Harold held his prize in his hand and wondered if there were Credit Unions in Tulum and if so hoped that they closed up shop when they saw the notorious escaped convict murderer who liked to rob banks coming into town.
"Harold come on boy get your head out of the clouds and get over here. I've got other classes to teach."
Harold continued on at the same pace as a man with prison tattoos and cash falling out of his pocket stood with his gal on the beaches of Tulum watching the sun set.
Take for example the afternoon two weeks prior in which Harold had been lucky enough to stumble upon a beat up dollar bill twisted and caught up in the chain link surrounding the school's edge. He had been walking the perimeter of the school because it was PE time and Harold was NOT fond of physical energy, exercise, education or any other e that expended effort. That his mother was often found at the sewing machine adding elastic to his pants was a testament to this. The dollar bill was no longer expending energy either. It was twisted and torn and stuck between the chain link and the plywood school administrators had tacked onto the fence to keep predators from looking in. When Harold thought of predators he imagined giant black panthers slowly stalking through the bushes golden eyes flashing on the children of Allentown Elementary like spotlights emerging from giant black depths. These were not the kind of predators school administrators envisioned- not that there were really any predators of the other variety around either as Allentown was rather a safe haven, but one never knew and George Bussey the Principal was fond of late night law dramas.
Harold paused in his shuffling around the field to get down on his hands and knees to secure his prize and as he did a great tearing was heard. Harold shook his head and crawled deeper into the bushes to hide his torn pants from the others. His mother was going to tan his hide for ruining another pair of pants but this didn't really bother him as he had greater things to worry about such as the masked murderer who had escaped from jail. Clearly the man had robbed the local Allentown branch of the Pine Hills Credit Union to secure funding for his escape down to the Yucatan Peninsula of Mexico- Harold had watched a travel channel show on Tulum in Quintana Roo and was convinced that all escaped criminals with bank robbing tendencies ended up down there like that accountant who killed his wife in that movie made from that book by that scary author. After robbing the Allentown branch of the Pine Hills Credit Union, the escaped murderer must have dropped this beat up old dollar while making his way to the edge of town where his getaway car and mob daughter girlfriend were waiting for him. Harold breathed a sigh of relief realizing that the murderer was probably already halfway to Tulum and therefore wouldn't really care if Harold pocketed this one beat up dollar bill.
"Harold? Harold Grayson? Where'd you get off to son?" The PE teacher Coach Brown yelled out for Harold while crashing through the bushes. Ellen Jennings had been a looker back in the day and Coach Brown's junior year sweetheart but then that good for nothing Pete Grayson had come into town and a few months later Ellen was barefoot, pregnant and sporting a new last name. Coach Brown shook his head wondering how such a pretty and smart girl like her had ended up with such a bone head good for nothing son just as he stumbled across the aforementioned boy.
"Oh. Harold there you are. Whatcha got there a buck? Well, put it in your pocket son...wait a minute. Harold have you split your pants again? Boy you are going to get a whipping from your mamma! Well...come on, here you can tie my jacket around your waist till after school."
Harold Grayson happily marched after Coach Brown a rather large red and white track jacket drooping from his waist the arms practically dragging alongside his scuffed up sneakers. Harold held his prize in his hand and wondered if there were Credit Unions in Tulum and if so hoped that they closed up shop when they saw the notorious escaped convict murderer who liked to rob banks coming into town.
"Harold come on boy get your head out of the clouds and get over here. I've got other classes to teach."
Harold continued on at the same pace as a man with prison tattoos and cash falling out of his pocket stood with his gal on the beaches of Tulum watching the sun set.
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