“You have the right to remain silent”
I nodded my head; at least I think I did…I was pretty sure I was 3-squared sheets to the wind.
“Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
I had a pending court date for a speeding ticket…for going five miles over the speed limit out in the middle of nowhere.
“You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”
Yeah…in twenty days or so…

The last time I saw my daughter was on June 6th, 1996; that was two years ago, three months and six days. Her mother took her and moved to another state because, as it was put by some fat-assed lawyer, I was in a toxic environment, living with my parents and still not graduated from high school by, pretty much, dropping out and going to work as a mechanic in Airway Heights.

“Rebekah, I have something I have to tell you.”
“What is it?”
“I’m bad at relationships. I don’t really know what to do.”
“I thought it was just me,” she replied as she laid her head my shoulder.
“I’m going to make mistakes.”
“I hope so.”
“I’m going to disappoint you.”
“I know.”

I.

I used to live in Seattle.
I want to say it was a great town.
Fine, it was okay.
Would you believe we tolerated each other?

I always wanted to be Wonder Woman.
Was never a fan of Supergirl…or Marvel comics…a lot of plunging necklines but not a lot of character development which really sucks, but, hey, to each their own.
Magic lasso that tells the truth?
Yes, please.
The ability to fly?
I’ll take the invisible jet or the power to skip around the clouds. I’m not picky like that.

“Where am I?”
The question wasn’t to anyone, as no one was in the room with me, but there I was, standing in front of hospital bed. A teenage girl laid silent.
In fact, everything was silent.
No machines beeping
No intercom calls
No whirring from the breathing apparatus that covered her face.

I felt I was growing old by the time I reached thirty-five. By then, any music after the 70’s was crap; I had to turn the radio down to see where I was going while driving; and my kids assumed I knew absolutely nothing about how “things are these days”. I knew how things were, I just didn’t like it. I didn’t like the phoniness of life. The carefully crafted picture of life that we all want to present to the world—I wanted to rip it to shreds and show the hidden truth underneath it.

It took a few minutes before Steve or the rest of us said anything.
Steve’s only comment was, “Spencer, my friend, that was heart heavy.”
He then closed his eyes for a moment, nodded twice and then looked up to see another of the young men raise their hand.
This man had the look of rings under his eyes like he was ready to rip his heart out at any second.

The first one to volunteer was a young man who had had shoulder length hair and it was colored in faded streaks of rainbow. He wore John Lennon-esque glasses and he looked like he had seen better days…

Hand in My Pocket

based on the song "The One" by Brandon Heath

Desert Rose

“Our destruction, my sons. The city of the Thiff-steareya. It is forbidden. For it stands to wipe us off of the face of our home world.”

My great grandfather made it his life’s great mission to ingrain into our heads, the day our ancestors arrived. It did not matter if we were in bed, out in the fields, or if we were working on our sacred artifacts. And when the great Morea ‘Id spoke, everyone would stop and turn to him.

Looking for Changes

I was a cheerleader in high school.
Yes, I’ve heard all of the jokes.
No, I did not forget my skirt.
No, I never tried to look up the girls’ skirts.