Another Friday Night
Full-moons are always busy at the Dollar.
I been runnin’ the Silver Dollar Saloon for three years now. Every month it’s the same old story, and last Friday weren’t no different. Wanda, the only whore left in these parts, was doing her normal song and dance, trying to drum up business. Hell, everybody in town’s already had a taste of what she’s sellin’, and most of ‘em would rather spend their money on booze. The Gatney brothers were playing poker and Henry was bangin’ away on the piano in the corner.
I was pourin’ more beer than I wanted, but the whiskey drinkers didn’t show up until after sundown.
I had no more than got the lanterns lit, when Jose Ramirez and his boys came bustin’ through the batwings, bigger than life. The Gatney’s stopped their card game in mid-shuffle and Henry froze, his fingers floatin’ over the keys.
“I don’t want no trouble in here tonight,” I says, layin' old Betsy on the bar, with the business end pointed toward the roughnecks in sombreros.
“Who, us?” Jose laughed his donkey bray. “Drinks are on us tonight, senhor.”
He sauntered up to the bar and peeled three five dollar notes from a stack of at least thirty in his pocket. I knew right then, there was gonna be trouble. His crew were all strapped with bandaleros of ammunition and they were each packing a pair of six shooters at their hips.
I’m a businessman first, and where they mighta come up with the cash wasn’t none of my never-mind. I looked up and raised my voice. “Drinks are on Mr. Ramirez, fellas!”
Henry began playing again, and the Gatneys resumed their game of Texas draw. I started to pour shots for Jose and his crew, but he waved me off, and grabbed the bottle of corn-whiskey from me.
“This’ll do for a start.” He made his way to the table in the corner, and his boys followed him.
That was when I heard the doors squeak again, and the sharp intake of breath from Wanda was quickly followed by the sounds of scrambling as the Gatneys and Henry all made their way to an exit.
It was the sheriff.
I knew it was gonna be a long night, and something told me either the sawbones or the undertaker were gonna be busy tomorrow.
© 2019 dustygrein
#dustygrein #flashfiction
One cats perspective
Running jumping rolling around the floor.
I love my family they feed me and love me whenever they can .
I sit in the window sill looking out at a wide open world it fascinates me .
Two little ones in my family have goldfish and a hamster I watch very closely .
I cannot eat them or swat at them so I won't upset the littles .
Oh don't get me started on bath time I don't like them my nails come out hair stands up I'm not taking baths .
At night while my family sleeps I'm on the prowl I'm gonna get that fast little mouse but I do get sleepy so I cuddle with the littles take turns .
I love to play with my yarn balls and toys to .
If I nip you on your legs it's only because I love you .
I love to have my back scratched to I just can't get enough.
I am so glad I'm a cat not human I don't understand them to much .
For a cat I have a prrrrrfect life .
I am loved and that's all that matters to me . Meow,prrrrrr
Gone...
She had smiled and laughed at me. I had said something stupid, like normal, and she reacted by hitting my arm and smiling at my stupidity.
That was the last time I saw her smile.
That was the last time I saw her laugh.
That was the last time she would hear my stupid jokes.
Gone were the days of laughter, fun, singing, dancing, and smiles.
Gone were the days of love, of midnight kisses, and lazy afternoon cuddles.
Gone were the days when her hair was as golden as sunlight, the days that her eyes lit up like the stars, the days that her lips were constantly quirked in that sassy, perfect smirk.
All of that perfection and love... Gone.
All of it. Every single thing. Gone.
Gone in a fatal swoop.
Gone in a fatal accident.
She‘s gone and it’s all my fault.
All my fault.
I Will Not Forget.
Alzheimers is a curse
You can approach him over and over
And he will never remember your name
Or how he hid gold dollar coins for you to find
Or how he used to carry you on his shoulders.
He will never remember
The bear hugs he was so good at giving
The hat he always wore to the zoo
How much you love him.
I open a dusty box in the basement
Pick up an old cap
Run my fingers along its seams
As the memories roll like a blurry film reel
Of the person who used to wear this hat
And doesn’t remember it
Much less the days he wore it
Much less the people he spent those days with.
Every time nostalgia hits
With a dollar coin, a splash park, a tired cap
I’m hit in the stomach with the bittersweet sensation
That I’m saying goodbye,
Over and over,
And it doesn’t hurt any less
The thousandth time I’ve been gutted with this sadness
Than the first time I heard
He would slowly lose his mind.
But
The one blessing
Of the Alzheimers curse
Is that you get to say goodbye
More than once.
More than twice.
More times than you can count
Because although you remember all the farewells
He doesn’t
And so every goodbye is new to him.
You get to say goodbye a hundred thousand times
And still never truly have to say it.
For although his memory is drowned in the lake of wrong chemicals and unknown genetics that absorbed his mind
You are still walking in the sea of beautiful memories
That he left you.
And though you say goodbye to him every day,
Not knowing if today will be the last time you see him alive,
You will never say goodbye to his memory.
You will never bid farewell to how much you love him.
You will never have to.
You can pick up a dollar coin
Brush the cap with your fingertips
Carry his essence along with your sister on your shoulders in memoriam
And smile.
Not Choosing Is Your Choice
"Make a choice, Lucy!"
"You make a choice!" her head throbbed.
" I did make a choice. I chose you. I have been choosing you every single day since you appeared. Every single thing I do is choosing you. So don't you dare tell me about making choices. I Choose. I act. I decide. The only thing you choose is you."
"And maybe that works for you, and maybe that will work for you somewhere, but that place is not here. I won't wait forever. I can't wait forever. And if you do wait, the day you do decide, I won't feel bad if you look up and I am not there. Because I did choose and you'll be too late."
The silence lasted long enough for both of them to age, until Lucy finally spoke, kicking her heels against the fence she sat on.
"I don't know how to choose you."
"What do you mean you don't know how?"
"What if I'm wrong, I choose and it's wrong? You're wrong? We're wrong?"
"But what if we're right? Do you ever stop to think of that? What if this " he gestures between them, "is enough. What if I'm it, Lucy, and maybe I'm not in the package you imagined. But maybe if you got out of your own way for two seconds you would see that this box" - he circles an invisible line around his chest-" is enough. In fact, it's better than you dare to dream. Hate to break it to you babe - but I'm it. I'm your Buckley trees, your coffee shops, I'm every word you're saying when you aren't talking, I'm your freaking Mississippi."
He got quieter then.
"So please, please stop pushing me away. Please stop fighting me. Everything in you is screaming. Can't you hear that? Everyone can hear that. Please listen long enough to just be… happy."
He was her Mississippi - so unexpected, so unplanned, so unassuming, yet the piece to a puzzle she didn't know existed, a puzzle so well hidden that she'd only found it when she was standing directly on top of it. That she knew.
But the unknowns were so big that they consumed her. The what if's were so bright she couldn't see anything else even if she tried. Her wildest dreams were far far from this place and the unfamiliarity of it all was becoming too much.
"I didn't plan for this," her voice trembled. "None of this is MY life. Not who I am."
"Why not?"
She thought for a very long time about those two words. Why not. Every reason she gave herself, though valid, felt flimsy, so much so that even trying to speak them was impossible.
Because this is the south. Because we're so different. Because I suck and you're brilliant. Because I cry and you're strong. Because art school and your PhD, because we'd be poor. Because your'e too tall, too spiritual, too bright, too thoughtful, too kind, too warm, too intuitive.
Because you see too much of me. You see everything.
You know my secrets, but I can't begin to find yours. Because someday you'll discover the real me, the bad parts of me, the parts your Mama has always taught you to avoid. And on that day, the dissapointment on your face, the betrayal in your eyes will be so great, that my heart will break.
So I think I'll stay up here on the pedestal you've invented, safe enough to admire, but not too close to let you down.
At least these were the excuses she told herself.
What she didn't know then, was that if she left - when she left - a piece of her would stay in Mississippi, leaving a constant dull ache, that ocassionally would flare into a flame so warm that it would consume her whole chest. And when it flared up she'd type out a text or google flights to Memphis, or paint trees. Anything to feel closer to him, to herself, to home. But then the flame would fade, breath would return to her lungs, reality would settle like dust and she'd carry on.
Walls
Taking a step back, I try to rationalize what is happening. I can’t go through this again; people say what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger.
I’m still trying to figure out how I made it through the last 24 years without turning incredibly bitter towards this world.
I can’t trust again I can’t let anyone else in.
Our meeting was inevitable; souls that are meant to connect will also find a way.
I’ve never felt that before, I’m not quite sure what to do with it.
Slowly breaking down my walls, providing unrequested reassurance that someone is going to be there by my side.
I’ve had people there for me before; lies always coming to the surface, truth breaking free.
It’s different with you, I believe you, honesty between us by a fault.
You extinguish the fires burning around my walls — one lit for each hole in a story coming from another’s mouth.
Slowly in the essence of time but so quickly when you look at the snapshot, I got attached.
I believed too much.
It’s different with you, still to this day. I rationalize, this world has made you cold.
You are the person you told me you are, no matter how far from that you act.
The energy and passion are still in there, peaking through the darkness every so often.
Fully prepared for you to stay like this
Nothing would change, you’re still my best friend.
But what if?
What if you wake up one day as you did before and change again into the person you know you are.
The Tale of Two Places
Most of us live parallel to or in between these very dynamic attributes. Sometimes knowingly and others unknowingly. I am one of these individuals that knows.
One side of this coin is fear. I admit one of my greatest struggles. Fear makes me want to cling, grasp and control every aspect of my life. Controlling my environment, who comes in and who can go out. Fearful that the mistreatment done to me maybe done to my children or husband; I then become the protector. Refusing to believe that somethings are just out of my control. Clinging to a lying perception of worthlessness, afraid to live out my dreams. Yet grasping for a moment of breakthrough to free me from the circus of fear that tries to live in mind because I want to live my best life.
Attachment provides security to some degree. Security in what's familiar, the known instead of the unknown. Through my journey of life I've learned attachment can be a curse or a blessing. For instance, maybe I've attachment myself to an idea that my success is determined by choices and skill; not from what side of the tracks I grew up on or how rich or poor I was. Realizing that I can become anything "I" choose. This is good attachment. But what if I am attached to an idea that I am no better than what people say about me. Harmful attachment.
What if attachment and fear became fuel to explore opportunities beyond the boundary lines, not just coloring outside the lines but creating an entirely new picture. You decide!
#perspective
