Fire Drill

It's four in the morning. What the fuck?

It's The End Of The Fucking World, Man

I'm having dinner at a friend's house, making grilled cheese while she fusses with her DVD player. The remote won't work. It doesn't have the right button.

I laugh at her and turn towards the fridge, snooping around for a beverage.

A quiet scream sneaks in through her screen door and quickly erupts into the whole apartment rattling the walls and my brain. It is the distinct sound of a large, fast plane flying dangerously low and dangerously close.

My friend runs off onto her balcony, eight stories off the ground, looking up with wide eyes.

I quickly follow her and poke my head out just in time to see a small speck of a stealth jet soaring through the sky past the football game.

Go Bears.

My heart quickly tip-toes back up from my balls into my chest.

For one second, a part of me had expected the end of the world. And for half of that second, a part of that part of me had been ready for it.

Bad Choices

It's 3 AM. Instead of doing the homework that is due in six hours I am watching hours of Scrubs and eating my roommates cookies until I fall asleep.

And Scrubs isn't even that good of a show...

HAHA, YEEEAH RIGHT!

And these cookies are dyno-mite.

The Blindfold

"Okay," she says.

"Can I take my blindfold off?" he asks.

She laughs quietly at herself and looks away from him. "Sure."

He looks around. They're sitting in her station wagon pulled up to the curb in the middle of a small, quiet neighborhood.

"Where are we?" he asks.

"I don't know."

He smiles a confused smile and looks out his window. "What do you mean you don't know?"

I didn't have anywhere else to take you, I just didn't want to take you home yet. I thought maybe I'd come up with something while we were driving, but I didn't."

"Well," he shrugs. "You don't have to take me home. If this little scavenger hunt is over let me take you out for dinner or something."

"I'm not hungry."

"Okay. Well. What do you want to do?"

She laughs at herself again.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What are you laughing at?"

"Nothiiiing." She looks at him with embarrassed eyes.

"Okay," he says and leans back in his chair. After it's quiet for a moment he pulls the blindfold over his eyes again. "Alright, where are we going next?"

"I told you. I don't have anywhere else to go."

"Then what were you laughing at?"

"Weeell..." She leans over the stick shift across to his side of the car and rests her chin on his chest. "You know that list I wrote at the beginning of the year?"

"Nope."

"You know, the one I wrote about all the things I wanted to do before high school was over. All the stuff I wanted to do before college?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I got most of it done."

"Good."

"Yeah..."

There's a pause and she laughs at herself again.

"What are you laughing at?" he asks. He raises his eyebrows to pull the blindfold up just a smidge and peeks out at her with his squinty right eye.

"Well, I've never made out in the back of a car before."

He laughs at her. He laughs really hard and his belly jumps up and down. She smiles and her eyes are embarrassed again.

"That's on your list?" he asks.

She snorts. "Maybe..."

He chuckles again.

"Well," he leans forward and kisses her on the forehead. "If only I could fit in the back of your car. I would have loved to help you out." He sits up and pulls the blindfold up and off his head. "Come on. Let me take you out. You've had this thing on me all day."

She pauses for a moment, looking at him. He watches her eyes get sad and her mouth quivers into half of a frown. "Okay."

"What's the matter?"

"You don't want to make out with me."

He just oh so barely prevents himself from laughing again. "Stop it," he says.

"Well, why don't you?" A small tear rolls down her cheek.

He leans forward gingerly and reaches his hand up to her face. Instead of wiping the tear away, he catches it with his thumb. Her sad eyes look down at the floor, while his sad eyes look into hers. Her lip quivers again and she looks up at him. He pulls her in and kisses her hard on the mouth.

"Let me take you out."

"Okay." She sniffles. "Where are we going?"

"Let me drive."

"You can drive stick?"

"I'm getting there," he says and and steps outside. He walks around the front of the car and looks at her through the window for maybe two seconds before opening her door and helping her out.

They say nothing until they are seated at her favorite restaurant twenty minutes later and her eyes pretend to be happy again.

Later that night he hugs her for a very long time.

She hugs him back.

They say good-bye and go to college.

She never makes out in the back of a car.

He never hugs anyone like that ever again.

Two Guys

Dan: Hey.

Mike: How’s it going?

Dan: Good, good. You?

Mike: Not too bad.

Dan: Smells good in here.

Mike: Yeah, it’s awesome. You ever eaten here before?

Dan: No, is it good?

Mike: So good.

::pause::

Dan: So when’d you get the chance to eat here before? I thought this place was pretty new.

Mike: Yeah, Jan and I swung by a week or so ago, thought we’d check it out.

Dan: Oh, cool. How is Jan?

Mike: I don’t know. I haven’t seen her in a while.

Dan: I thought you just saw her last week.

Mike: Well, yeah. But not since then.

::pause::

Dan: So how was she then?

Mike: She was alright, I guess. We didn’t talk a whole lot. I’m starving.

Dan: Me too.

Mike: Oh, don’t order the fish. I got that last time and it was really poor.

Dan: I thought you said this place was great.

Mike: Well, Jan had to use the bathroom so when she was gone I stole a couple bites off her plate. It was amazing. Probably the best thing I’ve ever had. I’m getting that, I think.

Dan: What is it?

Mike: It was saucy.

::pause::

Dan: Saucy?

Mike: Yeah, it had past and some sort of sauce. It was really good.

Dan: Sounds good.

Mike: Had some meat in it, too. Chicken, probably.

Dan: I like chicken; maybe I’ll get that too.

Mike: It’s really good.

::pause::

Dan: So what’s the story, Mike?

Mike: What?

Dan: What’s all this about?

Mike: What do you mean?

Dan: This. Lunch.

Mike: I don’t know, man. We haven’t seen each other for a while.

Dan: So?

Mike: I missed you.

Dan: Bull shit.

Mike: I just wanted to hang out, man. We haven’t hung out in ages.

Dan: You fucked my wife, Mike.

::pause::

Mike: Technically she’s your ex-wife.

::pause::

Dan: Do you need money or something? ‘Cause if you do, I don’t have any. So this is worthless.

Mike: Nah, I’m fine for money. This is my treat. You can even get the fish if you wanted.

Dan: You said the fish was bad.

Mike: But it’s expensive.

::pause::

Dan: Don’t worry about me. I’m not really hungry. I think I’m gonna head home.

Mike: No! Please. Dan. Don’t.

Dan: What?

Mike: You’re the only one I can talk to.

Dan: I don’t want to talk to you, Mike.

Mike: Please.

Dan: What?

Mike: I… I think there are ninjas in my apartment.

Dan: What?

Mike: Karate guys. Asian fighting machines. Only… they’re not Asians.

Dan: What do you mean? Like… they’re Mexican?

Mike: No, don’t be stupid. I mean like robots.

Dan: There are robot ninjas in your apartment?

Mike: I don’t know how to get them out.

Dan: Just… ask nicely. I’m outta here.

Mike: You don’t believe me?

Dan: What the fuck, Mike. You’re wasting my time.

Mike: I thought it was funny.

Dan: Robot ninjas? Mike, we’re 35 years old. I can’t even guarantee I would have laughed at that back in high school. And back then we were still friends.

Mike: We’re still friends now, man.

Dan: You fucked. My wife.

Mike: Technically she’s your ex-wife.

Dan: Because you fucked her! Pre-fuck she was still my wife!

Mike: Okay, now. Don’t point the finger of blame at me, buddy. You didn’t get divorced because I fucked her. You got divorced because she fucked me. Because she went and fucked someone else. It’s not like there’s someone out there she could have gone and fucked who would have been okay by you.

::pause::

Mike: Except maybe Brad Pitt.

Dan: Brad is an attractive man.

Mike: I know, right?

Dan: I’d fuck him.

Mike: Hell, I’d let him fuck me even.

::pause::

Dan: This is weird.

Mike: Sure is.

::pause::

Mike: So you want to eat or no? I’m buying.

Dan: Yeah, sure. I think I’ll try the fish.

Mike: Really? It’s really not that good, man.

Dan: Yeah, but it’s expensive.

::pause::

Mike: I’m sorry your wife fucked me, man.

Dan: Me too.

::pause::

Mike: She was hot, though.

Dan: Sure was.

::pause::

Mike: So does this count as a reconciliation?

Dan: I guess.

Mike: Okay. Really, dude. Don’t get the fish.

Dan: Yeah. I’m not that big into fish.

Mike: We should get drunk after this.

Dan: Maybe.

Mike: I’ll let you draw pubes on my face if I pass out.

Dan: Can I shave your eyebrows too?

Mike: Hell yeah!

Dan: Deal.

End

The Red Line

Evening has settled into night and it's drizzling outside. My old roommate Dan and I wait on the Roosevelt Red Line platform pointed North. Two security guards stand around, chatting, each of them with a large, muzzled, German Shepard at their heels.

A group of six or seven men stumble up the stairs, arms around each others' shoulders laughing and talking louding. Suddenly, a shorter chubbier man in the group freezes. His chums move a few steps before realizing he has fallen behind. A taller, bearded man turns around and awkwardly reaches out his hand. "What's up, dude?" he slurs. The other four turn around too, swaying and mildly confused.

Dude is staring at one of the dogs.

"Come on dude, what's the matter?" Beard steps forward.

"WHAT THE FUCK" Dude screams.

The security guards turn, eyebrows raised.

"What's up, man?" Beard walks to his side.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE THOSE DOING UP HERE"

"Calm down sir," a security guard says.

Another member of the group, wearing large, thick glasses and sporting a shiny bald head, walks over to Dude and grabs his arm.

"Come on man," he says, giving his arm a tug.

"FUCK THAT GET THAT SHIT OUTTA HERE"

"Sir, calm down"

"Come on man, let's go."

"FUCK YOU FUCK THIS WHAT THE FUCK ARE THEY UP HERE FOR"

"Sir," the security guard takes a step forward. His German Shepard looks indifferent and groans under his muzzle.

"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME"

"Come on man, we'll go downstairs and take a bus, okay? Let's go,"

"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME"

The train's headlights are seen rolling down the elevated track not too far away.

"Let's go, dude," other members of the group say.

"Sir, stay right there please."

"FUCK YOU"

"Come on, let's go."

"STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE," the other security guard suddenly shouts.

The train arrives quickly and loudly, drowning out the noise. Dan and I quickly scoot onto a car and take a seat.

"You want something to read?" Dan asks.

No, I'm fine.

Across the aisle, a woman is bent over her legs, head flopping against her knees, matted hair reaching around to her face, invading her nose and mouth and ears. She breathes loudly, but unintrusively. A plastic bag sits at her feet, her left hand clutching one of the handles. The other has escaped her as she sleeps, dropping to the floor. Its contents lie half on the floor, half in the bag. Mostly garbage, scraps of food, newspaper, old McDonalds boxes and cups, magazine, squished box of cigarettes.

She's dressed in a thin black sweat shirt that doesn't quite cover her arms and light blue pajama pants with small pink bunnies dotting the fabric. They are too short for her and between their hem and her old battered sneakers I can see puffy, swollen flesh where healthy ankles should have been.

The train comes to a quick halt, her head swings and cracks against a metal pole. She doesn't move. I can still hear her breathe.

The train arrives at our stop and we stand. Dan exits before me. I don't know what to do and for a second I stall. I quickly roll up a five dollar bill and stick it in her bag. She doesn't move.

Walking along Belmont Dan lights up a cigarette. "You see that crazy lady sitting across from me on the train?" he asks.

I step in a puddle. Yeah... I did.

"Pretty fucked up, huh?" he says and takes a long drag.

Sad Dance With Me

I hate them.

Why?

Look how happy they look.

Maybe they are happy.

Of course they're happy. They be dancing.

Then what's the problem?

No one's that happy in real life.

Well, maybe that's sorta the point of dancing. To make you happier than real life happy.

But why does no one dance real life happy?

I don't know.

They look like a lie.

They look happy.

Let's go dance with frowns on our faces.

You want to sad dance with me?

No. I want to look sad while I dance with you. But on the inside I'd be the happiest boy in the world.

Livin' The Dream

I walk into Kwik Trip on a mission to buy my old roommate a carton of cigarettes. They are apparently quite a bit more expensive in Chicago. (I end up dropping over $40 on 'em. If that's cheaper than what he usually pays... I sure am glad I'm not a smoker.)

I go to make my usual B-line to the beverage section, to snag the usual Cherry and Pomegranate SOBE LIFE WATER!!!

A middle aged man in a UPS uniform is standing near the doors, reading a poster hanging on the wall. One hand is in his pants pocket, and the other is holding a Kwik Trip hotdog, sans bun, which he casually snacks on.

"Howdy," he says to me.

"How's it goin'?" I ask.

"Oh, livin' the dream," he says and takes another bite of his dog.