SHORT STORY - The Weird-ku App

     I don't mean to alarm you, but I just go back from a trip. I know you didn't notice I was even gone. That's the weird part. I was just watching TV one moment and the next I was still watching TV, but it was last week. Everything just blinked and I looked down and I was wearing different clothes. The clothes I had on the week before. Totally weird! I know it is hard to believe/ Let me tell you about it.
     See, I was just scanning through the Roku looking at all the new and often kooky channels that had been added. I came across scores of church ones and a lot of ones dedicated to one old black and white TV series or another. A big chunk of school channels and real estate channels with the expected scattering of outdoors, guns, weed, and yoga themed channels as usual. Then I came across a few cool ones I marked for later, but I had to stop on one in particular and check it out right away. It called to me in the oddest of ways. It was called the "Time & Space & Dimension & Plane Transport Channel plus+".
     I selected it and loaded it and opened it up and it was a totally boring menu that looked like it had zero options. I tried to navigate around the screen to see if there was something hidden on the screen that I just wasn't seeing. Nothing came up. I punched the asterisk to see if there was a search function, and still nothing. Maybe because of the title I sat there longer than I usually would have. Maybe it was just luck. There are some Roku channels that just play on there own with no options or controls. Maybe I thought it was something like that. Either way I came to after a moment and the TV had started changing a little. The gray background was a little less gray. The sides of the screen were a little wavy and out of focus. Then imperceptibly at first a pleasant hum started coming from the screen. Just as subtly words began to appeared above four other words that seemed like options on the screen.

        Would You Choose?

      Time          Space    

    Dimension      Plane of
                  Existence

     I must admit I had some trepidation before bouncing around the menu and "playing" the game. I figured it was some old text based game or some weird meditation thing and I would get bored and then I could delete the channel and go make a sandwich or something. So, with fleeting concern replaced by flippant disregard I randomly clicked on wherever the cursor happened to be at the moment.
     At first nothing happened. Or it seemed like nothing happened. More accurately it seemed like something was trying to make it feel like nothing was happening but something was happening, but every effort of concentration was bent against me even perceiving that something was happening. It was a very strange sensation. Apparently what I hit was "Dimension" because when I finally got a chance to look around, everything was at the wrong angle and the clock keep trying to tell time by dividing by zero and eggplant cutlets. It was very purple and had a faint scent of what I can only describe as the number 11 after a good scrubbing.
     Luckily it didn't last long because I somehow hit the back button and returned to the sparse menu. You would think I would run away screaming at that point, but really, it was cool that something happened. I wasn't planning on anything else for the next several hours, and I had already flipped through Netflix for 20 minutes without ever finding anything that piqued my interest. That meant that currently this was the best thing on TV by a million miles, and I wan't about to leave without seeing what this could do.
     After thinking about it a little more, I landed on "Time" as the first willful choice from the menu. Leaving it up to random chance had been a little too weird, even for me. I was uncertain of when it would send me, but felt a little less nervous when  second menu appeared once I selected "Time". The new menu just said "When?" and so I clicked on that and a chart came up with dates and times. What was weird is that it wasn't every date and time. After closer examination, it appeared to be a chronological list of all the time I had sat on the couch watching TV for the past several years. So, to make it simple, I picked a time 3 days ago when I had sat and watched several hours of "Adventure Time" while failing to also fold the laundry that I meant to. Again the sensation of nothing and yet everything happening. A small blink on my part, and then somewhere between closing and opening my eyes I was back three days ago. I knew this because I was wearing different clothes and watching an actual program on the TV. Luckily the same controller was in my hand. Luckily no one else was in the room.
     As I sat there deciding the next step, I decided to test out how things worked. First I hit the back button and in a few blinking instances I was back to the present. That was comforting. Next I picked another day and time and blinked back to that moment. Different clothes. Sitting on the couch. No one in the room. For the first time I got up and started walking around to see if anything else was different. I walked down the hall to the front door and opened it. Neighborhood looked the same. Quiet and boring suburb. Went back in and looked for my family. Found my wife in the bedroom watching her own show. That's when something significant happened. As soon as she saw me the remote disappeared from my hand. I tried to hide the shock and panic. In retrospect, I am guessing that if time travel has rules, then new interactions in the past mean that you have to live through the new time-line. This is some after the fact pondering, not the thought in the moment. I shook it off and delved into the casual conversation and offered to make lunch to get me out of the room for a moment.
     Instead of heading to the kitchen directly, first I took a side trip to the TV I was watching and looked for the remote. There was a remote, but somehow I knew it was the current remote from the current time I was in. I immediately went to the menu and tried to find the app for the weird time-travel thing I was currently stuck in. No luck. It looked like I was just going to have to live through my life again to the current time. So, I made lunch and did most of the same things that I had already done the first time through. The cool thing was that I knew when and where the traffic jams were going to be, so on the re-lived Thursday, I  left early and totally missed the massive wreck that caused my 20 minute commute to take two hours. It was pretty cool. An idea began to form as well. Basically I can go back and relive a time and maybe change the stupid thing I did.
     So, I do now and then take a trip back and redirect. I try and refrain from overuse or neurotic recalculations of the same event. I have watched a lot of sci-fi and know where that can get you. I am working up the nerve to try out the other menu options. I am theorizing that some of them will let me keep the remote even if I move around, but I am nervous to find out because if I pick "Space" and move myself to, say, another planet, how do I get back without a back button? I do ever so often pick "Dimension" just for fun, because it is sort of relaxing in an odd way and helps me de-stress, but I haven't gotten off the couch yet because the first step seems like my leg will have to pass through several universes and a Korean bakery before it lands on something that sort of resembles a floor. So I just stretch out and watch the clock divide by eggplant cutlets and sniff the fresh cleaned eleven scent while the wind from the flying turtles sends cooling custard winds across my intermittently present body. 

SHORT STORY - The Trouble with Worms

     Gary wasn’t like all the other gnomes in Gnomelandia. Things just didn’t go easy because or
gnomish like they seemed to go for all of his family and friends. It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy,
he just felt a little out of step is all. For starters, his name was hard for everyone to get used to.
Maybe his elder-father, who named him, thought it would be funny to mess with everyone. No
one had every pronounced a leading hard “G” in any name in their lives, so everyone called him
‘ary or something that sound like Harry or just “hey you” so they didn’t have to deal with the
puzzle of it. Gary didn’t care, per se, it just contributed to his overall feeling of being out of step
with everyone else.

     On top of his name, Gary was noticeably taller than most other gnomes. In most species
height is an advantage, but it messes with the entirety of gnome culture. Gnomes thrive on
uniformity and anonymity. Same hat. Same trousers. Same beard. Oh, and there was that; Gary
was straight-up beardless. Usually young gnomes had their beards grow in within the first
hundred years, but Gary was 148 and not a whisker on his chin could be found. Gary was just
weird and he knew it.

     For all of his feelings of uniqueness, Gary wasn’t all that unhappy. He spent a lot of time with
his kooky elder-father, Winky, who always had some fun project or adventure going on, and he
always invited Gary along. Sometimes they would go gather wild giggleberries from the banks of
the Farting Creek, an excursion that was never not funny. Or maybe they‘d go and bother the
semi-mayor, Winky’s five-thirds cousin on his uncle’s aunt’s side, by sneaking jars of rotten
warble bird eggs into the back of his filing cabinet drawers. Gary and Winky would them come
back the next morning to the cafe across from the mayoral cave complex and watch until the
entire cave evacuated in a fog of green and purple stink-fog. It really made the mushroom and
giggleberry scones taste at least ten times better.

     Many days with Winky were less eventful, but no less enjoyable. Often they would just make their way to the quiet pond in the middle of Winky's farm and slip into their ultra-hammocks and spend the bulk of the day staring at the clouds and letting the breeze gently caress them as they meandered in and out of sleep and conversations. These days may have been some of Gary's favorite days, even if they weren't tormenting stuck up government officials and eating delicious hot scones. Life could have gone on this way forever if not for one fateful day. Luckily it was only one day, and it ended up pretty decent in the end, but still, it was a pretty rough day and Gary emerged alive but not without injuries.

The Fateful Day

     It was another weekend day and Gary was headed over to Winky's farm. During the rest of the week Gary had a fine time with the kids his age at school and in the neighborhood. But none of them really understood him quite like Winky did. Gary always noticed he was just a little more relaxed and carefree and a little more happy whenever he was around Winky. He liked playing all the normal games with his friends, and he never felt unhappy, but it was just better at the farm. As Gary rounded the corner this morning the sun was bright, but not too hot and the gentle breeze smelled of blooming dipsy flowers and ripening giggleberries. Gary couldn't have hoped for better conditions. However, as he gradually stopped being distracted by the beautiful weather conditions and started looking around the familiar lane that lead to Winky's farm, he could see something wasn't quite right. As he realized what he was looking at, Gary understood that the entire center of Winkys house looked like it had been removed in one gigantic bite. Basically a large void now existed where once stood the beloved residence, and Gary was overcome by the scene for many moments.

     Soon Gary gathered himself together and began running closer to the house to see if there was anything he could figure out about the gaping hole in front of him. As he got closer it didn't take long before he knew the answer: worms! The entire area of destruction had the unmistakable slimy green residue indicative of the scourge of all Gnomedom; the dorkworms. The relentless nuisance that was the dorkworms had long plagued gnomes, but through many battles and much vigilance, the attacks had dwindled and finally stopped, and all of Gnomelandia had been in a state of blissful peace for many years. Maybe it was this sense of peace and security that had lead to an attack. Maybe these kind of things just happened no matter how attentive you are. Maybe it was something more nefarious, but regardless of the reason Gary knew he had to do something. Winky was missing and there was no way Gary was going to let him stay that way.

Within minutes Gary was back in town explaining what had happened. Even the semi-mayor, who always suspected it was Winky that sabotaged the council caves, wasted no time in responding to the alarm. For all of his foibles, Winky was well loved, and the worms were, without exception, hated by all gnomes. Even the most sympathetic and compassionate gnomes spared none of these feelings for the dorkworms. The dorkworms were a destructive and uncontrollable destructive force that deserved as much sympathy as a tornado or and earthquake. Or so all the gnomes thought.

Gary then headed on to home and told his parents the terrible news. He also told them he needed to do something about it. Gary's father, who was normally a cautious man, agreed and wasted no time outfitting Gary with armor and a sword. This may seem a strange response, but every school child in Gnomelandia was a skilled swordsman. All were well trained and ready for battle at any moment. The dorkworms had been a burden on the gnomes for far too long and they had spent the peaceful years in pursuit of combat training. As soon as Gary suited up he kissed his mother on the cheek and shook his father's hand resolutely before making a dead march back to Winky's farm.

It wasn't long before Gary was hot on the trail of the worms. It was easy to follow the pools of gelatinous green slime they left behind. Even where they had not dripped so much, there was still enough that Gary could follow easily for many miles. Soon enough his pursuit lead him to a green slime rimmed hole that was far closer than he thought possible. The dorkworms had been busy in the quiet of the past few years. No Gary felt he knew why it had been so quiet. It wasn't that the dorkworms were defeated. They had just decided to take a different approach. A sneaky and subterranean approach. While Gary was concerned about just how far they had gotten in this scheme, he couldn't help to but be a little impressed as well. The dorkworms weren't known to be possessed of the ability to plan and build. Maybe the gnomes had been wrong about them. That din't mean Gary wasn't prepared to vivisect every last work to get Winky back, but it did make him start to think a little more about exactly who the dorkworms were.

For many more minutes Gary followed the freshest of slime trails deeper into the growing network of caves. Still he saw no worms or any sign of Winky, but he continued on as quickly and quietly as he could. It was not much longer before Gary's perseverance paid off. A few more twist and turns and slime covered tunnels and the distinct sound of voices began to reach Gary's ears. The tunnels had been mostly dark, but gnomes see well in the dark, and worm slime glows slightly, so it had not been an issue, but around another corner the light became much brighter as the tunnel widened into what appeared to be a much larger opening. As Gary got closer he could confirm it was a much, much larger opening and that luck was with him in his adventure, because the particular spot he had found was high on the wall of the opening, so that Gary was not walking into the middle of a dorkworm gathering, but instead was looking down onto a group of meandering dorkworms that took no notice of Gary. As Gary took in the room he felt overjoyed to be able to make out the figure of Winky in the midst of all the terrible dorkworms. He seemed alive but his head was hanging down, and he looked like he had been in a struggle. Gary was sure the dorkworms had tortured poor Winky, and the longer he looked, the more his pulsing purple blood seemed to boil in his veins, coursing and careening from his three beating hearts. It was then he knew he must fight his way through these beasts and reach Winky and free him from their torments. Gary silently drew his blade and with it raised high above his head he pounced towards the first dorkworm he could see with rage and malice informing every action. He had caught the dorkworm completely unawares and would have surely bifurcated the slithering enemy if not for a familiar voice calling out to him in mid air.
     "Gary! Don't hurt them! Gary! I'm OK! Don't hurt them!!!"
     The voice which was instantly familiar as Winky's, stunned the malice right out of Gary and at nearly the last second Gary tossed aside his blade and just missed flattening the now stunned and gurgling dorkworm. It took Gary a minute to get up off the floor, dust himself off, and gather his wits about him. Once he did, he was surprised to see Winky's smiling face and bright eyes staring into his own. Winky embraced Gary and held both his shoulders for a moment before turning to face the crowd of dorkworms with one arm over Gary's shoulder in a firm embrace. It seemed that Winky was both glad to see Gary, but was also maybe controlling the situation a little. Maybe to calm Gary down. Maybe to show the dorkworms he would keep Gary from harming them. Whatever it was, it seemed to relieve the tensions that had started to mount in the large cavernous space they were currently standing in.
     What happened next was somehow even more shocking than anything that had happened so far. Winky turned to face the dorkworms and started making very odd guttural, slurppy, slimy sounds that to Gary, without him knowing why he should think so, sounded like they must be some kind of language. The noises seemed orderly and intentional, and the dorkworms seemed attentive and responsive. Then the dorkworms started making similar sounds back. This continued for a while until Winky again turned to Gary and smiled.
     "As you can probably tell, my boy, I speak dorkworm!"
     "But how? Why? I don't understand . . . "
     "Learned it when I was kid running around in the forest. Back then we all got along. My own elder-father taught me some. My dorkworm friends taught me other parts. He used to trade with the dorkworms back then, and I'd play around in the tunnels and help him make deliveries to gnome and dorkworm alike. That crazy war years later was all a big misunderstanding, and most of it never happened. Both sides had more hurt feelings then any physical injuries, but in the years since, a lot of stories were made up to make it seem like something more."
     "Then why the big production and wrecking your house and looking like they kidnapped you?"
     "Well my boy, they ain't called dorkworms for nothing. As good a hearts as they may have, they are a clumsy and simple bunch. If not for the king, they would probably spend all day just running their heads into walls and be happy doing it."
     "What'cha mean, Winky?"
     "Well, see, this slime stuff is what keeps them all connected. It oozes over everything. The king is connected to it, and he helps direct the rest of the dorkworms on where to go and what to do. Luckily all of the kings and all of the worms are inherently kind and sort of simple. They just dig holes and make their food caves and tend to the young and tell stupid jokes most of the day. Some times I'm sorry I learned their language. Especially on weekends when they have a little free-time and a little too much giggleberry juice. The absolute dumbest jokes ever!"
     "That's saying a lot coming from you," chimed in Gary, "but anyway . . . why are you here?"
     "Well, the king needed to talk to me and he is pretty stationary because he has to direct everything, so he sent a group of these guys to get me. Yes, they destroyed a bunch of stuff, but that's their way. They go through stuff. Anyway, the king said he'd fix it. But that's not the point. The point is, they need water. Ever since the war, the gnomes have been building dams here and there, and the last one they just finished really hit hard. It was the main tributary to the caves and the land of the dorkworms. Without water they can't grow food. They aren't starving yet, but another few months and they'd be done for."
     "That's terrible, I think. I'm still getting used to dorkworms being not-evil, i have to say. It's been so many years feeling otherwise, it is kind of difficult to change around my perspective. Sorry. Just weird is all."
     "I am sure it is, but we have to try. I have to save my friends, and it would help the gnomes in the end as well. Just have to convince that idiot semi-mayor to not be an idiot. No small task!"
     "Don't I know it!"

     Winky and Gary spent the next several hours working out a plan to end the conflict and bad feelings for good. It wouldn't be easy, but in the end the idea seemed like it had a chance. Pretty soon all of the parts of the plan were in motion and Winky and Gary were back on their way to Gnomelandia. An interesting misconception the outside world has is that creatures like gnomes and fairies and such folk that are considered either magical or fanciful to some degree, are devoid of technology. This couldn't be farther from the truth. Gnomelandia had a robust hydroelectric power grid that powered all the modern conveniences, though in a much more environmentally friendly and renewable way than humans had figured out. It was the existence of this grid that became the focus of part one of the plan.
     For part one, the worms were sent throughout the hydroelectric network of dams and given the task of disabling each of the turbines until all power was offline.  An easy enough tasks, because as mentioned before, the gnomes had gotten casual in their guard of the empire and no one was really watching anything because it was nice out and who could be expected to really work on a day such as this. So the dorkworms made short work of the turbines. This wasn't noticed right away, but it would be soon enough.
     While that was happening, another group was working to restore Winkys house and set up another phase of the plan. Also a quicker project than one would think and it wasn't long before Gary and Winky were kicking back on the front porch watching the lights of Gnomelandia slowly fade to dark. In contrast their own place was lit up extra bright as part of the plan. In fact, Winky's place was so bright that as the city slowly faded to blackout conditions, many folks were quick to notice the overpowering light coming from Winky's neck of the woods. Just as quickly many of those folks started heading in the direction of Winky's farm.
     Soon enough there was an enormous crowd in Winky's front yard staring at the bright lights and the smiling faces of Gary and Winky. In the middle of them all was the semi-mayor looking equal parts confused and angry. In his hearts he was sure that this was another practical joke by Winky. He didn't know how, but he was sure that is just what this was.
     "What is going on here?!?!" blustered the semi-mayor.
     "Just relaxing on a beautiful night on my front porch", grinned Winky.
     "Oh sure! Just sitting there completely innocent while the rest of the city collapses into chaos, and you act like you had nothing to do with it!"
     "Oh, I never said that", Winky continued grinning, "I just said I was relaxing now and you must admit, it is a beautiful night."
     "So this is your doing!"
     "Sort of", said Winky lazily.
     "Well then sort of fix it", shouted an increasingly angry semi-mayor.
     "I will", said Winky with another grin, "but not the way you think. Let me introduce you to someone special first . . .", he continued on and then bowed with a great flourish.
     As Winky bowed, a large slender figure moved from the shadows. No one had even seen the figure lurking off to the sides, but now no one could look away from the looming stranger standing next to Gary.
     "May I introduce my old friend, the King of the dorkworms, Sal."
     A great gasp arose from the crowd and the tension palpably thickened as Sal the King made his way towards the crowd slowly on his glistening slime slick. Sal looked at the group and cleared one 3 of his 12 throats and began to speak to the gnomes in their native tongue, which he had been practicing with Winky for nearly 30 years. The effect had the precise effect Winky had hoped for.
     "My dear people, I am so pleased to be here is your presence. I know that for as long as most of us can remember, we have been at odds with one another. A situation that always saddened me. I hope today that I will be able to help fix some of what has gone on for far too long."
     "He's speaking our language," blustered the semi-mayor, "that's impossible! Or, at least, I thought it was!"
     "Not impossible, my dear man," commented Sal, "but very difficult. If not for my the help of my good friend Winky, none of this would have been possible."
     "Winky! explain yourself!" demanded the semi-mayor.
     "Sure thing my almost brother from several other mothers! I grew up with Sal. We've always been friends. The dorkworms have always visited my farm, and my family has always worked with the dorkworms in all of our endeavors, going back hundreds of years. That's why we have always had power, even when the grid collapses like it did tonight. Friendship is a powerful thing, but sometimes a jar of worm slime is maybe a little more powerful. Behold!" bellowed Winky as he flourished the cover off of a large crate he had been sitting on.
     Inside the opening of the crate sat a gallon sized jar of the green slime that everyone there knew and that for many of them was the stuff of nightmares. For more years than they could count they had been taught to look for the warning signs of a dorkworm invasion, and this was the pinnacle sign: green slime. As the shock of a bottle of slime wore off, gnomes began to notice the wires running out of the jar and that the green glow of the slime seemed to softly pulsate as it sat there.
     "Here it is! The source of all the power lighting up my entire farm.!" said Winky grandly.
     "Yes. True." chimed in Sal, "We discovered long ago the secret of this power. A secret that proves dorkworms and gnomes should be working with each other, not against each other. Let me show you."
     With that Gary push forward another jar of slime. He proceeded to produce some wires with various lights attached to them on one end. He placed the other end in the slime and the entire crowd watched as absolutely nothing happened. Then with a resounding, throat clearing roar, he produced and expectorated a juicy loogie that plopped into the slime with a satisfying thud. Then with the panache of a great chef, he began to stir the concoction. As the viscous byproducts began to mix, the lights attached to the wires began to glow brighter and brighter until they reached a blinding beacon and then randomly exploded one by one. It was a brilliant demonstration.
     "You see?" said Winky, "Dorkworm slime and gnome spit mixed together is one of the greatest power sources ever discovered! Not only that, it lasts like you wouldn't believe. That bucket over there in the crate is enough to run my entire farm for at least a couple months, if not longer."
     The gasps and amazement from the crowd were nearly endless. Their whole world was being turned upside down, and they were actually sort of happy about it. Winky and Sal and Gary shared a happy and relieved look. It had been a dangerous gamble, but it had paid off. Over the next few days all conversions were made and the entirety of Gnomlandia had converted to slime-spit power. The offending dam had been destroyed and the dorkworm kingdom had water again. The hydroelectric moguls who had started all the bad blood between the dorkworms and the gnomes were long gone and their descendants were actually sort of bothered by having to run stuff, were glad the slime-spit conversion pretty much eliminated having to fix turbines and run stuff. Everyone had their own power source pulsating at their own place and many new friendships had developed with the dorkworms. Not only that, dorkworm language classes became the latest fad, and everyone had a grand time learning it and especially learning all the terrible dorkworm jokes that annoyed Winky so much.
     As for Gary and Sal and Winky, they got to enjoy hanging out on the farm, tormenting the semi-mayor with practical jokes, and eating far too many giggleberry scones in the process. All of them laughing together into the we hours of the night beneath the pulsing slime-spit glow of Gnomelandia.

SHORT STORY - Parallel Waffles of Existence

     "Every time I walk out the door of a Waffle House it takes a second to remember where I am."
     "I know what you mean, all of them are exactly the same layout."
     "It seems like it is more than that lately. Like between the two vestibule doors, the universe rearrange to make sure I get out to the right parking lot. Sometimes I even feel like things are still shifting into place when I get out to the sidewalk."
     "You're just being weird."
     "Probably. Probably just me getting older and more senile too..." I trailed off to let the moment pass and get on with the day.
   
     But the thought really hadn't passed. The thought seemed to catch on something just on the corner of my perception and fester and nag and bore down into my subconscious. As if the company had found out a way to fill the need for more restaurants without having the expense of building so many. Maybe a Waffle House in someplace like Arizona might not need to worry about a need for so many, but here in the South the need is massive. It seems to be an unspoken requirement that every city block have two churches and a Waffle House. It is a lot to keep up with, and I wondered if there was anything to it.
     Be careful what you think about, you never know who's watching.

     A few Saturdays passed after the conversation about different planes of existence all focused on different Waffle House locations. I had been obsessed about the question for many days, but the intensity had begun to wear off. I had asked several people about it, and most just thought I was being goofy and just let the question die a natural apathetic death. So, I had stopped talking about it, but I hadn't stopped thinking about it. Because of this, I had to try it out again. Test some theories.
    For example, did they shift only when you didn't pay attention? Was it possible to see them shift from the inside? Were the employees in on it? Was I, in fact, just being crazy and needed to let the whole thing drop? In pursuit of the truth I did the only logical thing and went to the nearest Waffle House. Taking extra care to notice every detail, I walked in, found an open booth, and ordered my favorite menu items: cheesy eggs, bacon, hasbrowns (smothered, covered, diced, and peppered), raisin toast with apple butter, and a pecan waffle. An impressive feast meant to allow for a long. leisurely, and hopefully revealing breakfast.
     All the delicious components arrived as ordered and without incident. I began to arrange my meal and set things in order. Add the Tabasco to the eggs. Spread the apple butter on the raisin toast. Ask for an extra apple butter. Mix up the hashbrowns and butter and syrup on the waffle. Consumed by my typical preparations, I failed to notice the several individuals that began to arrive in the diner that morning. When I looked up I was surprised to see a wider variety of patrons than was usual for the small Southern town I thought I was currently sitting in.
     The new arrivals all looked human and normal enough, but not normal for this town. Some seemed normal for the New England area. Others normal for the Midwest or Southern California. Some seemed normal for other countries. The problem was, the more I looked I began to see that some of the patrons seemed to fade in and out. Like they were superimposed on someone else in the exact same spot but in a different town. Then it began to change more.
     The next thing I noticed is that the human patrons were now superimposed with decidedly non-human patrons, that somehow still seemed to essentially look like the same patrons, but with oddly colored skin or extra limbs or eyeballs or heads compared to what would be expected form human restaurant goers.
     I shook my head and checked my eyes and the entire picture reordered into the original scene from before I started my food prep process. I must have had a stunned look on my face because as the waitress passed by she stopped and paused and examined me with a thoughtful eye.
     "You saw something, didn't you?"
     "I...I don't know. Maybe? It seemed almost like . . . like . . . well, like something."
     "Like layers sort of slipping out of focus?
     "Exactly! How'd you know?"
     "See it happen now and then myself. Like other folks come in who aren't quite right for here. Thought it was travelers or hippies or Deadheads, but then they don't stick in place for long and in one blink it all changes."
     "Yes, exactly! That's what it seemed like, only it got even weirder the longer I looked."
     "Oh, you mean the purple and green and blue folks with extra arms and stuff?"
     "Yeah, like that."
    "Yep, they are pretty kooky, but they never stick around, and all the weird extra people don't get me any extra tips, you know? So I mostly just wait for it to pass and get on with my day."
     "Thanks for letting me know I'm not crazy!"
     "No worries, hun. Need some more apple butter or anything?"
     "Naw, I'm good. Thanks."
     "By the way, not everyone sees it. Just saying. Don't know what it means, but I can tell who notices and who doesn't. Thought you might like to know. Seem like the type who cares."
     "Sure am. Thanks for that. Really, thank you."
     As she walked off all I could do was distractedly pick my way through the rest of the meal in stunned awareness of a whole new reality, all fully observed from the corner booth of the local Waffle House. I wasn't sure what it could mean or what to do with the knowledge, but I felt like I should tell somebody or share it with somebody or something. I finished my meal, paid my bill and left a generous tip before heading to the vestibule on the way to my car.
     It is interesting all that can happen from one door to the next only a mere five or so feet apart. The first door closed behind me, and as I began to open the second door, everything shifted and I found myself in the wrong place. A different place. Not the parking lot in the South, but a parking lot in what seemed like nowhere. Some place that was no place. A void of sorts. But not devoid of life. As I got my bearings I could see a Waffle House behind me, warm and inviting, and ahead of me a single individual. They seemed kind and as if they were expecting me. Despite the familiarity of the Waffle House behind me that singled the safety of familiarity, I somehow knew I needed to talk to the person in front of me. It seemed vital.
     "Hey, do you know where we are? How I got here?"
     "Yes, of course, I should think so. After all, I made it so you came here."
     "Where is here?"
     "Really not much of anywhere. Just a place between. But it is also a very important place, at least for me."
     "Why? What's so important about here?"
     "Well, you see, this is where all the sorting happens. This is where we make sure that everyone gets from their booth to their car in the correct place each and every time, no matter which Waffle House on which plane of existence they happen to be on or in. Normally this happens without anyone noticing, but there are special people, people like you, who notice. We feel it is best to address each of you as soon as possible in order to keep things running smoothly for everyone else."
     "It doesn't seem like a threat from how you are talking, but it comes of as a possible threat in context. Should I be concerned? Would you tell even tell me if I had a reason to?"
     "No concern, just like to be upfront and honest with anyone that notices. It is a special quality that we would rather foster than fight against. Anyone who notices is special to us. It is the ones who notice that help make ti so Waffle House can do what it does."
     "And what exactly is that?"
     "Well, like you have tried to say to others, there are probably a finite number of Waffle House buildings. That theory is more true than you know. There are actually ten total restaurants, but each exists on an infinite number of parallel planes of existence. We could probably do it with one, but we found that ten is enough that we can orient for each direction on the compass and the half steps in between so that we don't make folks too dizzy when they step through the portal in the vestibule. The restaurant you were in was one of the odd ones that is between the ten set directions. It happens in places without straight roads. Still most don't notice, but some do. It is harder to keep the few that are off the mark aligned properly.  Probably should fix that, but the little quirks in life are what make life fun!"
     "I see, so what do you want from me?"
     "Well, this is sort of a job offer really. We need folks who can see when things are off and then correct them. Right now you have the first part naturally, always a preferred starting point, and we can train you to do the rest."
     "Hmmm, interesting. So, would I be able to jump between different spots and planes and all that?"
     "Of course!"
     "You have medical, retirement, and paid vacation?"
     "Yes, yes, all of that, and a company supplied home and vehicles, though really once you learn the trick, you probably won't much care for driving anymore. So time consuming!"
     "So my family can come too?"
      "Definitely!"
     "Sounds great! I'm in!"

     "That's how it all started. Honestly I shouldn't be telling you, but seeing as you noticed and it's a slow morning, I think you'll be cool. Am I right? You cool?"
     "So cool, bro, so cool!"
     "Good, glad to hear it. Hope you enjoy the rest of your meal. And watch the walkway outside when you leave. It can get kind of weird outside there."

SHORT STORY - Cousin Nicki, from Long Island, is on His Way

     It was the little things that had happened that made me wonder how I had gotten to this point. The small and subtle, almost unnoticeable bits and pieces that formed over a period of time. Created a whole picture. A picture that left me as the squishy layer between an avalanche of hard places. I had been told of this impending event for weeks. Weeks that seemed to get longer and longer. Now I wished I was still waiting. Still unaware of the full knowledge of what a Cousin Nicki is.

     Greg got off the phone early one Tuesday morning. We were in the middle of going through the lists of deliveries for the day. Trying to get the truck loaded with various couch and dinette sets as quick as possible before Greg decided to rearrange the store for the fourth time that month. Luckily this was a busier than normal Tuesday. We had plenty of deliveries and many that were pretty far away. In fact the whole morning was going to be spent heading up to a little spot up in the mountains called Cherry, a spot off the side of a side road with a gathering of cabins in a quaint little forest area in the foothills of the Arizona mountains. All Greg really had time to do was give us a brief message.
     "Looks like I'm gonna be getting you some extra help here in a few days. Cousin Nicki is heading this way from Long Island. Said he'd be here within a few days."
     "Oh good. So he's your cousin?"
     "Yeah, he's my older cousin. Has had some tough times and just needs a job. Told him if he could get out here, I'd give him a chance. He's done all sorts of work so he should be a good help. Besides he's family. I gotta give him a chance."
     "Sure. Sounds great. We could use the help. Especially on weekends you know."
     "Yeah. OK. Well, I'll tell you when he gets here. Now get going. Need you back as soon as you can so we can get some sets moved around."
     "Sure. We'll try, but heading up to around Prescott first thing so might be a long day."
     "Oh, right, well tomorrow then."
     Not if I have anything to do with it!

     Time passed. A week went by and then two with no Cousin Nicki. Not because he was missing or just didn't show. No, it was one interesting story after another. With each one I dreaded more and more what sort of hot mess was headed our way. Through sporadic updates Greg would relate the ever lengthening saga of Cousin Nicki's tour of America. It seems Nicki had arranged a ride, or several rides, to get him from Long Island to Phoenix, AZ. In what was surely the least straight line ever conceived for a cross country journey, Nicki leap-frogged from on illogical destination to ever more illogical subsequent destinations in a circuitous attempt to arrive. Many times the updates seemed to show him backtracking or, by all accounts, starting over. My guess is that he had never truly started in the first place and was just ridding out the long grift to get the full bus fare. I learned later I was probably more correct than I had feared.
     "Just heard from Cousin Nicki again. Looks like his ride got him to Ohio, but then they had to head back because of a death in the family, so he is stuck at the Salvation Army until he can get someone to send him his wallet. Oh yeah, he forgot his wallet in the car that left him in Ohio."
     "Oh geez, is he OK?" I said out of as much false concern as I could muster.
     "Yeah. Nicki can fend for himself. He'll figure it out. He used to be my lookout back in my New York days. We'd scavenge for all kinds of stuff on the side of the road. Spare tires. Discarded turntables. Ironing boards. Couches. Didn't matter. We could furnish a whole apartment ten times over just from stuff discarded on trash day. Just pile it into the back of the Buick and we were off. Good times."
     "Cool! Sounds fun. Hope he makes it soon." A total lie. I really was hoping he'd lose interest and head back to Long Island. I was already dreading his arrival and I'd never met him. Just didn't seem like a good idea to be working with the bosses long lost cousin. A sentimental disadvantage in the making.

     A few days later and Nicki was on the move again. Left Ohio and made it to Louisiana. From there he hitched across most of Texas. Somehow he then ended up in Montana. Back to Texas. Over to New Mexico. Colorado. Utah. Nevada. California. Utah again. Northern Arizona. Back to New Mexico, and then, after many weeks more than it should have taken, he arrived. At least according to Greg he had arrived. Greg was just letting him crash for a few days and shake off the journey before bringing him in.
     He arrived and I was unprepared for what met my eyes. A scrawny leathery guy with slick backed gray hair and a bushy gray mustache in jeans cutoff shorts and pristine white wife beater t-shirt tucked into the shorts. He seemed way older than Greg by maybe a decade or two. I figured it was actually maybe five years, but years filled with considerably harder miles. He was all smiles and bravado, the perfect stereotype of the Long Island  lower middle class neighborhood part-time thug, full time stoop lounger. It was disconcerting how authentic he was. Greg had long ago shed his Long Island persona, for the most part, but it would pop out when we got him riled up. Nicki never hid his persona. That was part of the problem. Nicki was always Nicki, no matter what.

     It started off well enough. Nicki was still trying to behave and look good for Greg. He was grateful for the job and he was flat broke. None of us were sure how he had even made the journey at all, because he never did connect with his wallet along the way. In fact it was about three days after he arrived that his wallet was delivered to the store through the mail. Whatever he had done to get here, it hadn't involved any money he had saved for the trip. Even when he got the wallet, he was still humble and grateful Nicki, because his wallet may have had important personal stuff in it, but it didn't have any real cash to speak of.
     It was when he got paid that things began to happen. Things began to take that subtle turn that really put the F-U in fun. Up to this point Nicki had been fine enough. He was strong enough to help with the deliveries. He could be reasoned with. He didn't like taking directions from me or any of the other delivery guys, but would suck it up and just work most of the time. He did like to complain once we were done, but it wouldn't stop him from continuing to work. He complained like a little old man, which for all intents and purposes he was, but it wasn't constant or loud and he could be easily routed to other subjects or silence.

     Then one day it was overcast and had been drizzling on and off throughout the day . On this particular day I was lucky enough to get a full delivery schedule and Nicki as my helper. It was the Monday after payday and Nicki had finally gotten his first pay and was in good spirits.
     "Gonna be a good day today, buddy boy."
     "Sure Nicki. Hope it is a good day. Got lots of deliveries so at least we won't be stuck in the store."
     "Oh yeah, buddy boy, gonna be a good one. Got them deliveries to do all right."
     "Yeah, whatever you say. Glad you're looking forward to it. Let's get going."
     We headed out for the day in the direction of Ahwatukee. The weather was still pretty gloomy with showers here and there. Nothing too serious, just a general dampness all over the valley. Just meant we would need to be extra careful. Try and keep things dry. I am running through the route in my head. Checking off the items and where they are packed. Doing all the typical preparations. Trying to ignore Nicki and do my job at the same time. Meanwhile Nicki is sitting over on his side looking out the window like he's searching for something. I don't worry because at least he isn't bothering me when suddenly he pipes up.
     "Hey, pull over at that Circle K there. I need some medicine. I'm feeling like I got a cold starting."
     "We're kind of in a hurry Nicki."
     "Just pull over there buddy boy! Stop giving me grief. I need my medicine, man!" he says more menacingly than I am comfortable with.
     I pull into the Circle K and Nicki jumps out almost before I can come to a stop and runs in. "I'll be right back" echoing in the cabin as the door slams shut. Maybe 30 seconds and he is back in the truck and he has gone from excited to angry, and his anger is directed at me.
     "What are you doing to me man? This is the wrong place! What are you trying to pull? Trying to play some kind of joke on me?"
     "What do you mean? You told me to pull into Circle K and I did!"
     "They don't have medicine here. You trying to embarrass me or something? It's the wrong one. Find the right one and quick."
     "What's the right one?"
     "The one that sells my medicine. You know? Medicine?" as he makes the universal sign for drinking alcohol.
     "I'm not taking you to buy booze Nicki."
     "Just take me now kid! Take me to the right one and don't embarrass me again or I'll show you why I had to leave Long Island. It won't be pretty, I can tell you that much! And another thing, not a word to Greg or you'll be sorry! Now find the right one!"
     So, on I drove. Under threat of violence. Fearing retaliation. I drove until I found the Circle K that had the additional "LIQUOR" sign below the name to assure me they had the hard stuff he was looking for.
     "Thanks kid. See, now wasn't that easy? Don't worry. I'm just getting my medicine for later. When were done. Now I'll be right back and we can get to that delivery."
     This time it was a minute or two longer but when Nicki came back he was smiling and nice and all the threats were as if they had never happened. He had a little brown bag in one hand which he slid between him and the door as got buckled in. I drove on and was glad he seemed to be keeping his word that it was for some later time.
     Later was apparently another five minutes down the road. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him fiddle with the bag. Remove the lid from the bottle. Remove the entire bottle of what turned out to be gin from the bag. Raise said bottle to his lips, and begin to drink. Then he continued to drink and not stop until he had drained the fifth of gin that had previously sat beside him. Soon thereafter Nicki was in too good of a mood. He was smiling like an idiot and drifting in and out of attention. It was then that we got to the first delivery. One of our nicer couches with nine different throw pillows. Easy enough delivery. Went to the door. Saw where to put the couch. Went back to the truck. Nicki had the sofa on the floor of the truck and was waiting. All fine. Then he started tossing throw pillows rapidly out the back of the truck at me with a stupid, well inebriated, ridiculous grin all over his completely smashed face. As I mentioned, it was wet. It had been raining here and there. We needed to be careful. We needed to use caution. Instead we had Cousin Drinks-a-lot tossing throw pillows into the street. It didn't end well. We loaded the sofa back into the truck and I promised a replacement within a couple of days.
     "Where we going, kid?"
     "Back to the store."
     "What for?"
     "Shut up Nicki. Just go pass out over in the corner of the cab. I don't want to talk to you."
     "What did I do?"
     "Nothin' Nicki. Just needed to go get something I forgot."

     I didn't care about Nicki's threats. He was an idiot and I didn't really think he'd do anything. I did care that I was heading back to the store to tell Greg that his Cousin Nicki was a raging alcoholic that I refused to work with. I did care that he might choose family over me and I might be heading home permanently after our little talk. I did care that I had been put in this situation in the first place. Greg had to know. He must have known, or at least suspected, some of what Cousin Nicki was capable of. That made me mad and upset. Gave me that push to be outspoken.
     "Greg, we need to talk."
     "Yeah, why? Why are you back so quick?"
     "We had to trade out the couch for our first delivery."
     "What?!?! What happened?"
     "Nicki happened."
     "What?"
     "Nicki threatened me until I took him to the liquor store. He bought a fifth of gin and then proceeded to polish it off. By the time we got to the delivery he was smashed. Started tossing throw pillows onto the damp street. Had to just pack up, apologize, and leave!"
     "Oh, I see."
     "I'm not working with him again, Greg. Do you understand that?"
     "Yes, understood. I'll fix it. Don't worry. Grab Pete and a new couch and get out of here. Sorry for that. Will fix it with Nicki."
     "OK Greg, OK."

     Goodbye Cousin Nicki. Farewell Greg's furniture store. I have moved on and nearly forgotten those heady days at the wheel of the delivery truck. No more are the deliveries in 110 degree heat. No more are the third floor sleeper beds at the end of the day on Friday. I cherish the memory but never long for the execution of  it. Cousin Nicki came from out on Long Island. Took weeks before we could ever find him. Always his hustle in the air. A mean drunk, he got paid and the gin he sunk. Glad I don't have to ride with you again.

SHORT STORY - Superstitions Ahead

     Buried deep in mountains filled with stories and nestled gently in a bowl of peaks set the goal I’d dreamed of since I was twelve. Sitting in the bed of a rusted out ancient Ford truck atop the piles of camping gear we crawled up the ever narrowing and inclining mountain roads. This truck, despite its dubious appearance, was the only vehicle in the caravan reliably capable of the final ascent to the trailhead. The three old men were packed into the cab, while I and my companions jumbled along not entirely uncomfortable in the overcast revelation of these Sonoran desert mountains lingering on the outskirts of an Arizona metropolis.

     The last mile was a rocky tumble of an excuse for a road laid on top of hairpin switchbacks. It was here that we all finally grasped the tightest to the rusty patinaed sides of our transport. Up until now we had chatted in variations from pleasant to animated sprinkled with jokes and laughter and interjected pointing at the fascinating features passing by all around. During this time what we really hoped for was stories from our resident bard, Billy. This kid could spin a tale. Always innovative. Frequently humorous. With a complexity beyond his years. So we poked and prodded and begged and pleaded for something to fill the time. But he wasn’t our only entertainment.

     In the other corner was Jason, the resident clown, who was, in fact, a professional clown already at 13. He could juggle and do magic and had the dexterity of a chimpanzee. He was even already taking clown classes at the university, which we were all in awe of. As the elder statesman on this journey his words always rose to the top of the conversation. He was thoughtful and kind and distracted and entertaining all at once. The rest of the crew consisted of myself, Berg, and Loren.

     Berg’s real name was Mike, but he was too big of a personality for a common name. Also, at school, there were in the same grade at least four different Mikes at the time, so nicknames were an easy solution. The legend was that Billy had come up with the name by using the commonality between iceberg (his size) and hamburger (his favorite food). Either way it just stuck.

     Loren was the traditionally talented one in the group. He could play piano. He could play violin. He could sing. He was a pretty decent diver and swimmer. He was clean and more fashionable than any of us cared to be at that age. He barely tolerated camping but joined in as if he did. Years later this tedious practice of sleeping outdoors would be abandoned by him, but for now he mostly participated. He was also the most enthusiastic enjoyer of stories and jokes. Always quick to a hearty laugh and engaged wholly in the stories told. An excellent listener for sure.

     Which leaves me. I was the newcomer to the group. We moved around a lot, so I was used to blending in quick to the group dynamic and learning the ways of my new-found tribe quickly and anonymously. My contribution was to participate and be happy and get involved.  Not a false happy, but I was easily entertained and genuinely enjoyed many of the activities I would get involved in. I was not the best looking or the most talented or the funniest, just somewhere in the middle. I was also an observer. I watched and collected the experiences.

     If you don’t know the place, there is something unreal about the Superstition mountains in Arizona. There are more stories per square mile associated with these mountains than most and the name betrays a lot of the feelings around the whole place. These are mountains that are allegedly filled with gold, but you better not look for it or it will kill you. The Mogollon monster roams these mountains too, and it will kill you. The weather can change from summer to a blizzard from one valley to the next, and that could kill you. Oh, and the aliens, the ghosts, more monsters, treasure hunters, bears, cougars, bobcats, rattlesnakes, scorpions, steep cliffs, and flash floods are all ready to get you at any second. For all of that it is a beautiful and wonderful natural wonder full of excitement. The reason for our visit was one of the exciting things that is hidden here in the Superstitions. Old Ed the mountain man that my dad worked with at the State Land Department, was guiding us to the cliff dwellings at the bottom of Roger’s Trough. A nice little four mile hike to see an amazing relic still just sitting up in the cliff wall for anyone to explore. Of course, that was if you didn’t die first.

     We felt good about our chances. Maybe because we were young and ignorant. Or maybe because we were dumb and trusting and there were adults there. But most likely it was because we were young, dumb, ignorant, and fairly certain we were invincible because of all of the above. Thus we looked forward with eager anticipation to the adventure ahead. We didn’t know the secrets contained in the mountains. We weren’t aware of the numerous deaths that awaited. Old Ed had tried to warn us of some, but then Berg’s dad went on about an 8 foot wall of water taking us out and all seriousness was lost. Well, all seriousness was lost as soon as Billy commented. Or rather, repeated Berg’s dad but in a sarcastic voice. It didn’t help that Old Ed looked annoyed by his input, but he had to acquiesce the point that flash floods did indeed happen, though irrelevant to where we were headed.

     About those secrets in the Superstitions. I learned later there are myriad tales told of these mountains and probably twice as many realities. For example, my father showed me that the topographic maps that you can get of the Superstitions publicly are in fact inaccurate. They are intentionally inaccurate because there are many natural wonders that they are trying to preserve. Like a really fantastic waterfall that is hidden deep in the hills. That was just the one he would show me, but he left me maps when he passed that can’t be obtained by the general public. Maps with many secrets.

     Another friend told me there is more gold stored in the Superstitions than in Fort Knox. Oh, and aliens are real and the evidence is also stored there, wherever there is. All these secrets are the kind you don’t try and prove. Those who do and who get obsessed are those that disappear. I understand this feeling. The way these mountains are is intoxicating. There is always the feeling that bigfoot might wander in and join your campfire, but in a cool way. He would just wander in and ask if he could hang with you for a few and by the way he has a bag of apples and some deer meat to contribute if that would help.

     Bigfoot didn’t show up this time. Maybe he had a better offer. Or maybe he and Old Ed weren’t on speaking terms, though I’m pretty sure they knew each other. Whatever the reason, we had a good evening once we arrived at the trailhead and woke to an overcast sky that would fade in and out of a drizzle for the whole day. Pretty good hiking weather. Keep cool but not drenched and no hot Arizona sun beating down on you.

     The hike was basically a walk straight down the river bed. Easy to know where to go, but sometimes not so easy to hike. Of course that was after the first two miles. The first two miles were a traditional trail along the riverbed that led to the junction of two distinctly different choices. It would be years before I took the other path, a four mile journey up the adjoining canyon to the old Reavis Ranch. Old Ed told us of apple orchards growing wild for acres and acres up in the hills. No one to attend and yet they grew and grew. The tale came with a warning that deer would eat the fallen apples that would ferment and then they would stumble around. It was at these times the bears would come and get themselves an easily caught, pre-marinated feast. Not a good place for casual observers. We instead stayed straight for the shorter two mile trek to the cliff dwellings.

     Though we seemed to be entirely alone and unthreatened in our journey, there was an air about the place that made for a more quiet journey than was usual for our crew. Maybe it was the gentle drizzle that made things even more quiet naturally, but the whole canyon was hushed. Any loud sounds created a muffled echo that seemed unwelcome. Soon enough we were to the bottom of the canyon, and just around the last turn the dwellings came into view.

     It is hard to describe how unexpected it is to wander through a wilderness and then suddenly arrive in someone’s front yard. There was a more managed air about this widening in the canyon. A sense of design that was almost imperceptible. Just some slight adjustments for convenience, but still something had been manipulated here once upon a time. As we stood still for a second and took in the view, we were soon able to focus in on the dwellings that were affixed into an indent of the cliff wall about 75 feet up the face. A perfect location to stay out of flooding and see if anyone was approaching.

     We wandered all over those dwellings for an hour and then sat on the cliff at their doorstep and had lunch. It was then that I saw something interesting. A peek of sun came out and lightened the valley before us just a little. The stream ran here a little wider than it did further up the valley and it sort of meandered into different pools, all of them murky and dark as is expected in mountain streams. All that is except one. One pool was not like the others and it was this that showed more than a passive involvement of the previous residents. One little pool was almost perfectly round and the water in it was a clear blue, like a small swimming pool. It was the same water as everywhere else, but this had been worked into a pool with intent. I am not sure what struck me most about seeing that perfect little pool, but it was not insignificant. It was the type of thing that makes for a perfect day.

     Soon after the adults were ready to go, and all of us boys had to abandon the paradise we were in and head back to out former reality. For me the seed was planted. A hook was placed. An allure exists in my soul that is tied to the Superstitions. I want to be in them and be surrounded by their wonder. I have tried to do so for years. It is not a perfect relationship. Each adventure seems to take a little for all that it gives, but never enough to make me abandon my love of this wilderness. It is not a relationship I will test. I will not seek to extract her secrets that she won’t give, but I will ask for any she is willing to share. I will cherish any she is willing to impart.

SHORT STORY - Weather or Not

     Rain on Wednesday . . . of course there is rain starting on Wednesday. I really need to talk to her about that . . . no, the children are more important, but, well, don't want a repeat of last time. Maybe she could hold off just enough that I could make my connection this time. Probably a good chance. She really, really didn't want me to go last time. Special circumstances and all. This Wednesday rain is just the normal pre-travel gloom type of weather I think. Not the rearrange-the-universe type of event we had last time. 
     I really have to talk to her . . . 

     "Dear heart of mine. The reason of my joy. Could we have a little chat?"
     "No. I'm mad at you."
     "I know, but it's important."
     "You're leaving and I'm upset."
     "You told me to."
     "I know, but I'm still upset. And it doesn't have to make sense. I get to feel how I want to because you are leaving."
     "I will be back. I took the quickest flights. No long layovers in fun places. Can I get credit for that?"
     "Maybe, but I haven't decided yet. Have to wait and see how much of my list you get done."
     "Yes, I know. Making progress on it. Anyway, could we talk about Saturday? The one after I leave?"
     "What about it?"
     "It's just that there is an outdoor activity for all the young kids at the park, and the committee was wondering if you might see fit to help them out for a couple hours?"
     "With what?"
     "You know . . . the weather thing . . . "
     "I haven't the foggiest what you even are talking about," she says with a barely perceptible smirk.
     "Yes, I'm sure you don't . . . and I suppose it is no coincidence that I leave on Thursday and a storm starts rolling in Wednesday night according to the weather report? Just like it does every time?"
     "Mere speculation and happenstance is all."
     "Still, could you happenstance your way to a few hours of limited precipitation on Saturday morning between 8 and 2 let's say? I mean that probably will mean a blizzard Sunday night, but I think it would be nice if you could try."
     "Oh sure, I will try, but the blizzard is happening Sunday morning. I hate going to church when you aren't here. Such a drag!"
     "Suit yourself. It'll be 95 and sunny with 90% humidity for me regardless of what you do here, so I will be paying a price. That should help you feel better . . . "
     "I'm sure you'll manage."

     We used to joke about it at first. Maybe the full strength of her power hadn't been realized. Or maybe you dismiss what seems incredible at first. But the evidence just kept piling up. Lately, it had gotten downright factual. I had to endure several calls a week from concerned citizens asking if I was leaving town on such and such a day, and if so could I talk to my wife on their behalf. Hey, at least they aren't burning her at the stake. I think they know she is a good witch, and she has come through now and then.
     We have been trying to figure it out. Best we can tell it is her great-grandma from France whose family had the ability. In the old days they were a lot more open and accepting of supernatural gifts. The arrival in America in the late 1800's took the openness away. It didn't do anyone any good to be an immigrant that had strange powers. Not openly anyway. It was the type of thing that got you blamed for crop failures and ostracized to a life of poverty and persecution. So, the talk of it stopped. The secrets were hidden. The memory of the reality of the power was suppressed and all but forgotten. For a time.
     But the great-grandmother would whisper in her granddaughters ears funny little secrets. Subtle encouragements. As soon as she notice the glint in her eye and the way the wind moved around her in respectful and penitent way. It was these small things, these things that had also happened to her, that let her know the gift was not lost. It was their little secret, but the granddaughter got older and forgot the special whispers and tiny moments. The great-grandmother also left and was all but forgotten and years passed without incident.
 
     The granddaughter grew up and became a mother to three remarkable girls. She only knew that two of them were remarkable and one of them didn't quite fit in. She also knew that this bothered her for a reason that it shouldn't and she had memories of something she should have remembered but had nearly completely forgotten, and this also upset her. So the third daughter made her uncomfortable and made her distant. It was hard for both of them. They never seemed to be able to be close but neither knew exactly why. They were cogs that never engaged completely. A relationship that always was out of sync.
     Still, the mother did notice that her third daughter had an odd brightness in her eyes. A curiosity that never waned. A kindness that was unbreakable, and that the wind seemed to flow around her in odd ways that almost seemed like deference to a fairy queen. So, though she didn't understand why she felt at odds with her daughter, she could never be cruel to her no matter how frustrated she got because her daughter didn't fit in to the family mold. Something told her she needed to find out a way to remember that thing she forgot that she forgot. So, she was cold but never cruel, and though she stayed at arms length from her daughter, she never pushed her away. Besides, they had their own secrets and special moments. She seemed to be able to do certain things around this daughter that the other two just didn't get. Especially the secret trips to the drive through to buy forbidden deep fried delicacies and colossally caloric milkshakes. She tried with daughter one and two, but they were always worried about appearances or health or boys or some other nonsense, and never embraced the adventure like third daughter did.
   
     At 20 she married the boy she had met when she was 15 and with whom had always almost been the best of couples, but never totally hit it off until both had left home for a season and learned just exactly who in the world they were. Or mostly who they were, but enough to fall deeply in love. Maybe it was this that made her powers manifest so perfectly on their wedding day. After all, if you told anyone that you were married in August in Arizona, they would immediately wonder if it was as miserable as they imagined or likely even worse. It wasn't for the weather that they chose that day, it was for convenience. School was starting and they had to get three states over before then and it would be very nice if they were married since they just had the one bed and were old fashioned about that sort of thing.
     Instead the day was 75 degrees and partly cloudy with intermittent sprinkles that only occurred when the two of them were inside buildings or inside vehicles. The weather was miraculously perfect for both comfort and picture taking. Never had such a day happened in August and never likely would it happen again. It was just too unbelievable. So much so, in fact, that something happened that day. A spark in the mother's memory. A voice from her long forgotten grandmother. Little whispers fluttered in her ears as she watched her third daughter stand in the reception line, all smiles and joy and twinkling eyes. The whispers grew into words and the words into thoughts and the thoughts into memories of quiet moments when the most special of secrets were told to her in hushed and conspiratorial tones.
     It was then she knew what she should have known all along. It was then that the distance between them began to close and disappear. When a mother with two remarkable daughters and a confusing daughter became a mother with two pretty great daughters and one very remarkable and amazingly powerful and gifted daughter. A daughter she finally understood. A daughter much more like her than she realized. A daughter she had some new secrets to share with that were even better than drive-thru onion rings and egg rolls.

   

SHORT STORY - Writing Prompts All in a Stack

     In the midst of cleaning up a far too cluttered garage left fallow while life happened in other areas of the home, treasures long forgotten were excavated, retrieved, and rediscovered.

     "What's this box of papers? Trash?"
     "No, look, they are her stories. Some of them anyway. A lot of these are just beginnings."

     "Cool! Wish she would keep writing. I mean, some of these really meander, but most have some pretty great ideas."

     "You should use these. Like, use them as writing prompts. You've been wanting to start back up again, take up your hobbies. Just take the idea and expand it."

     "I don't know. . . "

     "Come on! It will be like when you rewrite research papers for everyone, only fun."

     "That is fun."

     "Only for sickos like you."

     "Yeah, I know. Guess this might work."

     "Take them or I'm throwing them away."

     "No, no, I'll take them. You know I can't throw anything away. I've got the perfect place for them."

     "Your nightstand?"

     "No. My intermittent temporary storage staging area for undetermined and unclassified materials of recent interest. It just looks like a nightstand. At least when you can see it. You know, when I leave town and you do my filing?

     "I hate you."

     "I know. I love you too!"

     The stack of miscellaneous scribbling, comics, drawings, and  half started stories lay fallow on my side table teasing the corner of my mind. I liked the idea of building something out of these preserved efforts from my eldest child. She had long ago stopped giving us her writings. Didn't leave stuff laying around anymore. She had found the digital realm and could share her writings elsewhere with others. Mistakenly she thought this had kept her true nature hidden completely. She was wrong, but it was a fun game to let her think she had fooled us somehow. It always came in useful  in arguments when we could suddenly read her like the open book she inevitably was, and thus demonstrate that we may have some insight that would be of benefit, even in our advanced aged and with these decayed and addled brain buckets atop our sloping shoulders.

     "It's hard not to get caught up in the great drawings."
     "Un-huh. Wish she knew. The dragons are the coolest."
     "Like at the bottom of the page on the one she wrote with her brother."
     "I know, right? Remember when she was nice and did things like that more often?"
     "Yep, exactly."
     "Talented little turkey!"

     A dragon was helping knights and then another bad dragon hurt the dragon that was helping knights and then a knight shot the bad dragon and then the first dragon that was nice went to see a wise dragon and found the wise dragon doing something to the bad dragon at the bad dragon's dying spot where the knight had found the bad dragon and shot him and it turned out the wise dragon was making the bad dragon good, and that's the end.

     Once a very good dragon lived a very good life and tried to do good wherever he went. The good dragon was friendly and would even help good knights do good things, like rescue maidens from very tall towers (because he could fly) or make very good meals for the starving poor (because he could breathe fire) or even clean up after natural disasters (because he was very clean and tidy).
     One day his best knight friend stopped by to bring some fresh brownies and the new quilt he had been working on (after all the help from the good dragon he had to do something with his spare time and he had really found himself in pastries and textiles). However, it turned out he was not there just to bring crafts and baked goods and spend time with his friend. He also had some troubling news to discuss.
     It is best to understand that even in the best of places and the most mystical of realms, dragons are at best uncommon, and more often nearly non-existent. They are large beasts of magic that have voracious appetites and exceptionally large dwelling needs if they are to be truly comfortable. Even if they can avoid the urge to hoard gold and eat villagers, they still need a goodly amount of room to turn around and keep their spice collections and entertain guests, often distant dragon cousins from foreign lands, who are also sizable and unwieldy in tight quarters. This meant that the knight knew that if there was a dragon problem someplace, there were very few options to go to for expert advice. Because of this he also knew exactly where he was going as soon as he had heard of a bad dragon wreaking havoc in the area.
     As soon as pleasantries had been dispensed and a proper and appropriate amount of time had been allowed for the easy silence between good friends as they reveled in the simple joy of just being close, the knight explained that word had arrived of a bad dragon committing despicable and unspeakable crimes in a distant corner of the land. The knight was wondering if the good dragon could pop over and get the lie of the land, since after all, he could fly and spoke dragon and the knight was all tied up that evening with commitments to the Virtuous Maidens Charity Ball and his monthly armor oiling and hot bath, which, as the dragon knew full well, was a difficult and unpleasant time each month for the knight, who wasn't getting any younger.
     The good dragon was glad to help, as he always was, and after a lovely tea and a quick game of chess, and the most polite of farewells, he was off. It always felt so right to the good dragon to take flight and explore the vast and endless sky. When he had a good deed to do it was even more right, if such a thing was possible. The good dragon was, it should be noted, a lovely jeweled green color that looked like liquid emeralds when he moved. This was the color of most good dragons. From the knight's report, the dragon that was causing such a ruckus was red, like fire soaked rubies. This was a bad sign. Dragons, because of their nearly eternal nature and magical properties, had long ago learned how to change colors, much like their distant relative, the chameleon. The dragons had, of course, taken it to a much more dynamic level but the principle was basically the same. The main difference was that in order to control what color they wanted to be, they had to adopt certain behaviors and these behaviors in turn dictated the color they would eventually obtain. Good and kind dragons were shades of green. Bad dragons became shades of red. Thus the good dragon was concerned and knew that this was not a simple misunderstanding, this was really a bad dragon and there was most certainly trouble ahead.
      It wasn't long before the good dragon was sailing over the land where the bad dragon was known to roam. It also wasn't long before the good dragon had found the knight's friend. The good dragon and the knight thought it best, given the bad publicity in the area around dragons, that the good dragon meet with someone who knew he was coming first so as to limit any possible negative interactions that were understandably a real possibility given what the bad dragon had been up to in the area. The knight whom the good dragon met was kind and welcoming, and to the good dragon's shock, told him that the problem was now solved. No further action needed. The bad dragon was good as dead, if not dead already. The good dragon was dubious, but was reassured the matter was well in hand. He was welcome to investigate on his own, but this knight seemed fairly confident of the facts of the case.
     The facts were laid out thus. It seems one of the younger knights had happened to acquire the knowledge of the bad dragon's secret lair. This was seen as a great blessing from the gods and the young knight wasted no time in using the knowledge to his advantage. He found the lair as had been told and seeing it was empty, crept inside to lay in wait. The young knight barely had more than to wait until early evening before the bad dragon returned. In short order the young knight had shot the bad dragon and returned to the village victorious. In the days that followed a new peace settled on the land as each day was marked with no new dragon attacks. Each day the joy of the citizens increased and multiplied. It was the first real happiness they had enjoyed in years. They began to smile and have gatherings and sing songs of praise and rejoicing instead of lament and sadness. Life, it seemed, was becoming sweet after ages of being bitter.
     The good dragon congratulated the knight on the new found peace and bid him a found adieu, but the good dragon was bothered. If the bad dragon was truly dead, well he sort of deserved it for all the tragic acts he had committed. But, since dragons are so rare, the good dragon always lamented any loss of dragon life, even if they had not been particularly exemplary during their lives. Being a dragon is not an easy thing to be, and the good dragon understood that and was always willing to get the whole picture before he passed any judgement. And even then, he was a generous and forgiving creature as a rule, and liked to give a little extra leeway to dragons who never chose this lot in life in the first place.
          The good dragon felt like he needed to understand things. Needed to have some guidance. Needed to seek wisdom. Needed to find the wise dragon. That was what he needed to do. So off went the good dragon seeking the wise dragon. For the good dragon this wasn't a difficult task. Dragons can find dragons. Maybe it is smell or a supernatural sense or maybe a interconnection on a subconscious level, but dragons can find dragons and it wasn't long before the good dragon had honed in on a direction.
     Interestingly enough the location was not far away. In fact, if he didn't know batter, the good dragon felt certain that the area had not one dragon, but in fact two dragons. On the good dragon flew and soon was approaching a lair that, because of his dragon senses, he knew was a dragon lair. As the good dragon approached he could sense the wise dragon, but there was something more. Maybe someone else. So the good dragon approached the lair and caught a glimpse of blue sapphire back in the darkness of the lair. This helped the good dragon to relax, because everyone knew that the wise dragons were shades of blue. The good dragon had found the wise dragon and soon, hopefully, some guidance as well.
     What happened next was not what the good dragon expected. As he approached the wise dragon cloaked in blue, he noticed the wise dragon was hunched over something and muttering ancient words from ancient spells, and being a polite and good dragon, he felt that perhaps he should not disturb such a solemn scene. Then as the good dragon stepped further into the lair, the scene became clearer and he was even more confused.
     It had been many days since the young knight had attacked the bad dragon. Enough days that if the bad dragon had been injured only, even accounting for a nearly fatal wound, the bad dragon would easily have healed and sought revenge for the attack. Yet here laying at the feet of the wise dragon was a living, breathing second dragon that was a confusion of color. There was a hint of red in the tail and on the toes and maybe around the ears and the chin. The chest and torso and up the neck had many shades of green from nearly yellow to something like a forest at midnight. Around the head and eyes the color flowed as well, but this in shades of blue. It was a confusion of color looking for resolution. The wise dragon stirred while the good dragon watched and pondered. The wise dragon turned to the good dragon and beckoned him closer in a reassuring way.
     Still with a somewhat quizzical look on his face the good dragon sat and waited. As he did the multi-colored dragon opened a lazy eye and looked at him and giving a slight nod, began to slowly rise to a seated position with the others. The good dragon explained that he had been asked to check into the actions of a bad dragon in the area, but upon arrival had been told that the bad dragon was destroyed. In order to understand better he had sought the wise dragon he had heard of and that is what brought him here. The wise dragon then explained that he had heard of the bad dragon as well and had also heard of the efforts of the young knight, and had arrived at this lair to see if the bad dragon still existed. He did, but was gravely wounded. Not so seriously that he couldn't recover, but there were more wounds than physical that the wise dragon found. So he helped the bad dragon heal physically. In the process he also felt it might be nice to help the bad dragon see if he could maybe not be such a bad dragon anymore. It had, as it seemed now, had somewhat of an effect.
     And truly it had. The formerly bad dragon had learned much and had done much and was becoming a wiser and better dragon and maybe something more. Something yet unresolved. Something beautiful and amazing to behold. The good dragon and the wise dragon and the formerly-bad-and-now-something-different dragon talked a long time. They had many easy silences and many deep a moving discussions and a number of particularly good meals and always a brilliant afternoon tea. Soon it was time for the good dragon to depart and make his way home, though he really enjoyed his new friends, he did have a home and his favorite knight to get back to.
     On the way home he stopped and explained to the knight in the land of the formerly bad dragon that things had been worked out. That although the dragon had not died, there would be no return of the old bad times. The good dragon also suggested that perhaps the knight could make a visit the formerly bad dragon in a few weeks and maybe find some common ground and develop a good working relationship. The knight was agreeable and happy that the temporary peace seemed to be now a permanent peace with a bright future.
     So it was with much good news and many conversations that the good dragon returned home. He found his knight in very good spirits to receive him and many exclamations of how worried he was and how much he had missed his old friend. The good dragon said the same. The knight also noticed that the good dragon seemed to have a slight blue shimmer around the edges since his return, but perhaps is was just his eyes playing tricks on him.
     Perhaps it was, but the good dragon would just say, "Dragons are an odd thing. You never really can tell with a dragon, can you?"
     And the knight would wink and nod and say, "No, you never really can tell with dragons."