SENSE: Part TWO (installment #5)

Sense: Part II I write. Most often it goes unread, only a lucky few get to skim. This is a piece I've been working on for some time now--not sure if it will be a short story or much longer. I suppose it could be categorized as adolescent lit. It's a work in progress. Suggestions and constructive criticism are welcome. Working title- Sense Installment # 5 (continued from September 8th )


She is having sex with some guy everyone calls Mavroskoufi because he always wears a black cap. She had sex with him, but they’re not boyfriend-girlfriend. Now she is kissing the boy I dream about every night when I squirm in bed and get wet. I don’t know what it is like to let a boy touch me. At Litsa’s last party I danced with George to a Phil Collin’s song. Our hands were sweaty and we were real close. I could feel the keys in his front pocket. Now my Romeo is locking lips and I am still the punk who is checking the area out. I take drastic measures and lie. I take drastic measures and lie. I tap on the door and warn them that someone is coming, a teacher I think. I tell them to hurry up and get out, that I am leaving, that I will meet them by the basketball court. I stomp my feet, pretending to walk away, decreasing the volume of each step, slowly fading, my ear still affixed to the door. I hear a giggle. I swear it is a giggle. I wait for another noise, but silence. I pull on my tie from frustration. I want to leave and let them get in trouble. I want to run into the main office and tell the secretary I heard unusual noises coming from the bathroom next to the auditorium. I want to run around to the side of the school and peek into the window to see that all they are doing is talking or telling jokes.

Jury Duty

If there was ever a day I wished I could simply disappear for a few hours with no one noticing, it was today. Jury duty began at 8am. A brief run through the metal detector and scan of my juror card and I was amongst the masses in an airport style terminal. I took a seat on the far left of the room. These seats were against the wall and had plenty of leg room. Perfect I thought, I can see everyone, I can lean my head up against the wall, and I can stretch. I felt a small victory in claiming my seat. Those around me--at first glance normal. Old white guy with newspaper in jeans, young white guy with newspaper and coffee and khakis, Asian guy with newspaper and laptop. We started off with a 35 minute video on our judicial system. Snoozer. Clips from the early eighties. The video moguls tried their best to make it so p.c. In one scene the judge, prosecutor, clerk and the plaintiff were all women of different ethnicities. It was a far stretch and took me out of the mini movie all together. Still I got a kick out of the commentator on the tape (also a woman) and the way she annunciated the word juror, apparently pronounced "jewroar".
After that they called the numbers and first names of those selected. About 90% of the people were chosen. I was not. I sat there reading my ever so exciting curriculum and development book. This girl, about ten minutes after the selection, plops herself four seats away. She was had a cleft lip and wore a mini sweater over a tank top, one that met the bottom of her boob, both too tight. This girly girl must have called everyone in her phone book to tell them she was in jury duty and ,"it so sucks. I am soo bored." Meanwhile I am half trying to read half listening to her. She talked to her boss about a chronic late comer, to her friend about not being able to make the party because she had to work and had a hair appointment she just couldn't cancel, her coworker to see if she could switch days, and a parent to see what the plans were for Marcy's birthday dinner. I was pissed I couldn't concentrate, but not pissed enough to move. I stayed put and remained only partially entertained.
After lunch, leaving and coming back an hour and a half later ( yeah I was late. What were they going to do? Kick me out?) I sat back down, getting comfortable with my big ole' boring textbook. The waiting area is still over 3/4 empty. I am in one seat, I use a seat for my bag (the customary buffer seat) and begin to read. Well I don't get a paragraph into my reading when a guy comes and plops himself down, next to my buffer seat and places his bag in the same seat as my bag seat. This when there are a number of seats available for him, his bag and five buffer seats on each side. But nooo, this middle-aged white guy decides to share my bag seat. I was ticked off. Just as I thought I couldn't take it anymore the lady who called out numbers announces that of we were not called to serve on a case we are dismissed. Did I pack up my stuff and haul ass out of there! So quick, I left a current of wind behind me. Next time I get a summons to serve I may just claim it got lost in the mail.

THAT guy at the gym

What's with me? I must have been wearing my "eau de creepy dude in tight shorts" because That guy at the gym was everywhere I turned today. You know the one-- middle aged, average build, fairly nondescript, shorts that were stolen from the Catholic church altar boy cubbies, black socks hugging his calves, tank top that was at one point white but barely resembles the color of pudding guy. So yeah--that guy was everywhere I turned. It's like he was following me. I'd relocate to another machine and -boop- there he was at the machine in front of me. You try working out with a dude's pasty white legs reflecting the light into your eyes. The worst part was- I couldn't keep a straight face when I looked at him. He'd throw the pin to 200lbs. and pulse for a few seconds. Then the exhale, in and out and the occasional "oh yeah". I overheard him talking to a number of teeny bopper girls on their way out. They asked if he was still subbing at the school. He said, "I should be in this week," flexing his legs muscles against a bike. His face reminds me of a sub I saw at my school last year. I'm not sure if he looks familiar because of the gym (definitely have seen the tight shorts before) or if it's from school ( I remember the intense stare).
I'll be absent tomorrow- jury duty calls. Maybe he'll be the sub sent to cover for me. Wouldn't that be weird. If I'm lucky I'll see him again tomorrow at the gym. ALL RIGHT. I may grow fond of faded wife beaters and black knee high socks.

SENSE: Part TWO (installment #4)

Sense: Part II I write. Most often it goes unread, only a lucky few get to skim. This is a piece I've been working on for some time now--not sure if it will be a short story or much longer. I suppose it could be categorized as adolescent lit. It's a work in progress. Suggestions and constructive criticism are welcome. Working title- Sense Installment # 4 (continued from September 1st )


Why do I dare her to kiss him?
During the time my prince charming and my new psycho friend are in the bathroom by the auditorium, I stand guard outside. I am the watchdog. I put my ear to the door and wait to hear something. No murmurs or voices, which means they aren’t talking. I get restless. He’s in there with her and I made it happen. I feel nauseous. At the same time I am too chicken shit to do it myself. I am fourteen years old and a virgin in all respects of the word. I’ve seen penises in porno magazines. I know what shaved pussies look like because of my friend’s stash. Andy’s grandparents own a little shop and coffee house in a touristy area in the mountains. Amidst the souvenir coasters and chocolate bars, is an extensive array of pornography. One weekend when I was up there he led me into the bathroom. He made me swear not to tell anyone. He swore on his dead grandmother he would cut my ponytail off while I slept if I did tell. My ponytail, my identity, there's no way I would have told. I promised and we spit on it. He stood on the toilet bowl, on his tippy toes stretching his torso up, his arm sneaking into the hallow ceiling. The few strands of hairs from under his arms peaked through his t-shirt. He pushed the ceiling up and over. It overlapped another board. His hand entombs a stack of magazines. Not dusty, arranged neatly in a plastic ziplock bag, all crisp and flat. The cover of the top one featured a girl with enormous breasts, the right nipple touching the tip of her tongue. I became intrigued. That day I learned what an uncircumcised penis looked like and the logistics of a boob job.

Skippy under siege

We went for our usual evening stroll; Mom, Cass, Skippy(family dog-beagle) and me. The brisk air felt refreshing on my bare legs and the slight breeze welcomed autumn against my face. We walked, talked about our days, all the while Skippy jogged along stopping to pee and smell the unusual bags laid out by the neighbors. Many people in the area let their dogs roam their yards, either being well-trained in not leaving the vicinity or being equipped with an electrical fence. As we approached a house with a barking German shepherd, I thought nothing of it. That is, until he came running right for us. So there we were in the middle of the street, petrified, unable to react, about to be attacked by a humungoid dog. It wasn't us he was after, oh no. This monster went straight for Skip, barking loudly and snapping his jaws. My mom immediately let go of the leash in fear that this beast would attack her. The owner, a middle aged lady in a long skirt and a kerchief around her hair came darting out calling, "Freddie, no! Down. Back! Freddie!" Freddie? Yes the dog's name. More like Freddie Kruger. Skippy barked back, tried to get a bite in, but the dog was bigger and just toppled him. We stood around for a number of seconds not sure what to do. I attempted to grab Skip, only to catch a whiff of Freddie's disgusting, stale breath. Skirt and kerchief lady continued to flip, shouting, "Freddie, down! Back! Freddie." It clearly was not doing any of us any good. I managed to grab Skippy and cover him with my body, just as Freddie's owner put her arms around his neck to restrain him. Skippy's little heart, like a cell phone vibrating, practically pounced out his chest. She apologized, claiming Freddie never gets like that. We all remained calm. We were all ok and above all Skippy was ok. We walked away and each knelt down the hug Skip and secretly give him a pat on the head for being such a tough pup. Let me tell you, if that didn't stir my coleslaw for one night. Too much excitement for my blood. I think I'll sleep in tomorrow as to not over-stimulate myself. Oh wait, I have school. How could I forget? I get to go back to my little darlings. Precious angels of God. I think I'd rather hang out with Freddie.

Back to School

The time has come...regardless of my many prayers and refusal to get out of bed before 9am, it's time for back to school. Office Max and Target have been reminding me of back to school for a little over a month and a half. That's what they put out when they took down the 4th of July junk-folders and pens and big ole' back to school signs with yellow school buses adorning them.
Yes siree Bob, time for new sneaker and crisp notebooks, sharpened pencils and funky cool pens. Time for me to abandon my life of leisure, of eating breakfast on my deck, of not wearing make up, grocery shopping at noon, and of deciding to go out at 11pm. All that--after September 6th my life will be temporarily on hold until June 19th. What a world, what a world.

Some Observations- ten to be exact

1. Rutgers football will forever toy with my emotions, leading me on to believe that they have changed their habits and will begin winning on a regular basis. Then they squash me in the 4th quarter and remind me that they are RU after all, what should I expect. Go back to tailgating. All the action is there.

2. Either I am getting smarter (doubtful since I spent the last month of the summer reading trash novels, talking to myself, drinking iced coffee) or people around me are getting dumber.(hint-it's the latter). I sat in on a conversation between Doug and a liquor rep. She used the word "littler" in context, oblivious to her mistake. For example, "When I was littler I always thought I'd end up with a different guy." I shook my head in disbelief. She thought I was being compassionate. Idiot.

3. The apostrophe is used incorrectly everywhere! Pay attention and you will be surprised. People still don't know the difference between they're and there or its and it's. How about Lilys Hair Salon. The salon that belongs to Lily (just down the street. No apostrophe. What are they too cool? )

4. Greasy guys who wear tight Armani t-shirts loose blood flow to their brains, in turn they tend to use monosyllabic words in conversation. Example- "Eh, yo, two beer. yeah. six? coo."

5. The last two books I have read have fallen short of my expectations. Two lessons learned- don't read anything but classics 2- Stop having expectations.

6. The best temperature has got to between 75-80 with relative humidity of 25-45%.

7. Breakfast is the best meal of the day. What's not to love? Eggs, bacon, milk, cereal, waffles, potatoes, sausage, pop tarts, orange juice, English muffins with jelly, the list goes on. I will invent the breakfast diet. Everything you need to stay healthy all stemming from breakfast foods. It can be done. Stay tuned.

8. Everyone should have a theme song. It could be a tv theme song applied to your life. Like "You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have the facts of life, the facts of life." Perhaps a song that tells your story, "I have climbed highest mountain, I have run through the fields only to be with you, only to be with you...I still haven't found what I'm looking for..." I'm working on mine. I think I like "Bicycle" by Queen. Not in the Lance Armstrong kind of way, but in the shit, all I want to do is ride. How pure and simplistic. That's what life should be. Eliminate the drama people. "I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike. I want to ride my bicycle. I want to ride my bike/" Powerful. Provocative. Beautiful. Nuff said.

9. I like people watching, but I'll be damned-- I don't like very many of them. I don't like talking to random people in the mall or engaging in small talk to neighbors I bump into twice a year. I'll wave, say hi, that'll do. Say what you will. I'll be sociable if I must, but I'd prefer few words, and those should be far between.

10. Sitting is so underrated. It's one of those small pleasures in life we need to take advantage of more often. More of use should enjoy a good sit. Before the day is over, tell yourself, "Damn it, today was a trying one and what I deserve is a good sit. That's what I'm going to do. Sit." And do it.

SENSE Part I (installment #3)

Sense: Part I (continued)

I write. Most often it goes unread, only a lucky few get to skim. This is a piece I've been working on for some time now--not sure if it will be a short story or much longer. I suppose it could be categorized as adolescent lit. It's a work in progress. Suggestions and constructive criticism are welcome. Working title- Sense
Installment # 3 (continued from August 24th)

“You have so much going for you. You are so pretty and mature,” his accent is practically unnoticeable, he glances at her chest, I swear it, “don’t throw it away. It is from obstacles we become stronger. With the help of God, you will get through this.” He is still patting her head. I feel like I shouldn’t be there. I divert my eyes; afraid I will see something I shouldn’t.

“Go now,” he says, “you get off with a warning. Go.”

We both rise from our chairs simultaneously. Her moves happen in slow motion. They appear to be calculated, sensual, dramatic. I look at him and say thank you. He nods. She smiles her hand by her face, waves a little wave using just her fingers. Thanks, she calls out from the doorway.

Walking back to class I say nothing.

“Ya like that huh? Thanks to me, no fucking detention.”

I’m so appreciative. I gesture my chin up as though saying so.

Detention in those days, at that school was a day, or two or three, depending on the severity of the crime, in the library. Even lunch was in the library, which broke more rules of no eating in the library, but they made exceptions. A classmate who would torment and tease you as he dropped off the work for that period, trying to convince you, you just missed the best class in Mr. Simeonides math class. And you would believe it, even though every day in his class 2/3 of the students would nap, propped up on a pencil.

I never had detention. Up until she came along I was able to get out of things. Now I was a moron who stared at her shoes. She did little talking, smiled and she thought I owed her all my gratitude. It doesn’t change the fact that I want to be like her. I want to choke her.

“He ate that up with a spoooon,” pretending to lick a spoon. She glances sideways, noticing my puss, “What the fuck are you p.oed about? We got off. And I’m sure so did he,” she cackles and winks at me.

“Yeah, it’s cool. No detention. Thank the Lord!”

“Nope, just me,” she snaps at my bra strap then turns left into her classroom. And she’s gone.