About Her

I had a dream last night about her. I usually don't remember my dreams, but I remember portions of this one vividly, and it warms me. I feel myself reveling in these moments that occured nowhere but in my mind, and wishing it was true. Here's what I remember:
After some intial things I don't recall very clearly, we end up sitting in a van, her beautiful figure in the drivers seat, with me in the passenger side. She says something to the effect of "Want to fool around?" to which I reply with a rather enthusastic affirmitave. At that, we both seem to register hearing some stirring from the back of the van, and there is a baby-seat on one of the van seats, and in it is a little child, just stirring from a nap. We both smile at each other, and drive on. Later, after some more inditerminate things I don't recall real well, we're sitting on a rock formation, watching the sunset over a body of water, most likely the ocean. She is sitting directly in front of me, cradled in my arms, with her head upon my chest, and we're staring out at the water. I mention that I love her hair, and she says "Will you still love it long after it's gone gray?" I said "I would love you long after the sun has died, and the stars burn in mourning." We then kissed, and I woke up. It was... wonderful. I feel incredible today, and I'm walking on air. There is a problem, though. I have known this girl many, many years, and while I didn't talk to her for a while, I had a crush on her before our communciations ceased. I thought, once I started talking to her again, that it was all done, simply a silly childs fancy that would never come true. Then, once I began talking to her more frequently, and saw her (twice now, in person), I couldn't help myself. She's wonderfuly intelligent, has a fantastic sense of humor, and she's incredibly beautiful. But... I don't think she's interested at all. She talks to me about another guy that she's chasing (he's a musician).

I know I'm a good guy. I have a bit of a self-esteem problem, though. Still, all in all, I think I could do this. I want to make her mine, or at least jump at a chance, just so that I won't wake up cold-sweat, thinking about "what ifs?" I just don't know what I'm going to do about it. Or how I should approach it. I guess I'll have to figure that out. One way or another, she will be mine.

Part 2 (?)

"Huh."
Jimmy straightened up in his stool as the monkey kept the pistol trained on him and took a few steps to the left. Everyone else in the bar had stopped dead, and where staring at both the monkey and Jimmy, seemingly waiting for something to happen. The monkey was carrying a snub-nosed revolver, the kind of gun a private dick always carries in those shitty black-and-white B movies, where everyone's a mobster or theif. Jimmy took another slug of his scotch and decided he'd better address the problem before it got any worse. "Well, hey there, uh, little fellow. Where did you come from?" The monkey cocked it's head slightly at the question, and looked straight into Jimmy's eyes.
*BLAM*
The gun went off, and all hell broke loose. Those that were near enough to the exits ran like hell, while those that weren't flipped over tables and dove behind them. Jimmy'd seen too much to jump at the sound of a .38, even though the sound was monstorous. He still wasn't sure this wasn't a hallucination, and reached for his scotch. He felt a sharp pain, and quickly looked at where his glass had been, only to find a pile of glass shards sitting in a puddle of scotch. Blood was oozing out of a small cut in his hand. "God damned ape has gone and shot my scotch," he muttered.
"Please, I'm not an ape. Apes belong to the family Hominoidea, whereas I and my relatives belong to the family Cercopithecidae. Do not call me an ape again."
Jimmy looked at the monkey is wide-eyed amazement. He wasn't amazed by the monkey's ability to talk, this much he was used to. He was more amazed at the monkey's knowledge of scientific classification, on which subject, as a general rule, monkeys are ill educated. Jimmy eventually managed to make his mouth work."Who are you?"
"My name isn't important," replied the monkey, showing off a slight southern drawl.
"Well, I mean, I can't simply sit here calling you Cerco... Ceropodth... Cercopodthia..."
"Cercopithecidae."
"Right, well, I can't just call you Mr. Cercopithecidae, if only for the simple fact that it is incredibly hard to pronounce," Jimmy said, waving his hand in the air to emphasize his point.
"My name is Leo, alright? Leo. Aren't you going to ask me why I have a gun pointed at you?" Leo had placed one of his hands on his hips, and was shaking the gun at Jimmy much in the same manner that his mother used to waggle her finger at him.
"I, uh, I figured we'd get to that. First, let's have a drink. Erin!"
"I don't want a drink," snapped Leo.
"Yes, but I do. Erin! Bloody hell, where has that woman gone off to?" Jimmy slowly looked over the edge of the bar, and saw Erin, curled in the fetal position right next to the rail bottles of gin. "Ahh, there you are. Erin, get me a scotch, would you? Leo here blasted my last one."
Erin looked up at him with eyes wide."J," she hissed, "there is a monkey up there with a gun, and he's talking!"
"Yeah, we'll don't worry too much about the gun. Leo has it trained on me, and I don't think he's very keen on moving it. You're not keen on aiming at anyone else, are ya Leo?" The monkey shook his head. "There, Leo says he's not going aim at anyone else. I'm sure he doesn't even want to hurt anyone else. You're not wanting to hurt anyone else there, are you Leo?"
"Well," Leo muttered, scratching his head, "it's not that I don't want to hurt anyone else, it's just I won't have enough bullets."
"There, you see? He won't have enough bullets to hurt anyone else after he's done with me. So, now then, how about that drink?" Jimmy looked down at Erin again. "Scotch, on the rocks for me, and get Leo whatever he wants. Have a seat up here, huh?" The monkey eyed Jimmy suspiciously, and waggled the gun at him again. "I think I'd rather just shoot you know."
"Oh, come now, Leo, be a good sport and let me have one more drink. That's the least you can do. Look, I'll have my drink, you can have a nip yourself, and then you can get on with shooting me. It's apparent you're not on any sort of timetable, or you would have popped me right when you walked through the door. Look," Jimmy said, sliding a stool over and motioning for Leo to jump onto it, "you can have your gun trained on me the whole time, lecture me about why you're killing me and so forth, and no one has to go into this thing thirsty." Leo looked him over a few times, and squinted at him, waving in the gun at his nose. "Alright, Swagg, I'll bite, but do anything remotely touchy, and you'll be dead before the scotch hits your lips." Jimmy looked at the monkey for a second. "Alright, Leo, no need to get uppity. C'mon, what'll ya have, something banana flavored, no doubt?"
"God, just because I'm a monkey doesn't mean I want banana's all the damn time," snapped Leo. "I'll have some rum, on the rocks." Erin set the drinks down in front of the two. "These are on the house," she shivered, almost spilling Jimmy's scotch. "No, no, no," Jimmy protested, "you bought the last round, I have to cover this one." Erin shook her head. "No, I'm really sure the bar has this one." Jimmy protested again. "Nope. You bought the last round, I'm buying this one, even Leo's." Jimmy reached into his back pocket. "C'mon, I got this one. Oh, and while we're at it, get me a shot of Jaeger, and get Leo..."
*BLAM*
"... a card-board box." Jimmy sat, holding the Kahr Arms .45 dead even at the monkey's head. He was very glad now that he had bought the pistol two years earlier. Kahr was famous for making extremely concealable weapons that packed a whallop, and, by the look's of Leo's remains, their reputation was well earned. He had never even seen Jimmy pull the gun out of his back holster and swing it around, as he was in mid-drink. It wouldn't have mattered, there were few that could compete with him when it came to his swing draw. "Damn ape. Nobody shoots my scotch."

Part 1 (?)

Jimmy looked down the bar as he set his scotch down. He could swear he had seen that big number down by the bar somewhere before, but he was probably just hullicinating. He did it often enough. Once, he was driving down the road, when he swore Bigfoot jumped out in front of his car. The stunning thing to Jimmy wasn't that Bigfoot would be found in his portion of the country, or would be jumping out in front of cars, or even that he existed. It was the fact that Bigfoot was holding a parasol over his shoulder, much the way that a Victorian Lady might have, twirling it around by its stem as it lay on his shoulder. That was the part that forced Jimmy to nail the brakes, and swerve into the ditch. Otherwise, he most likely would have just gone around Bigfoot, chalking him up to his awkward hallucinations, and continued on his way. But the parasol, that got him. None of his halucinations had ever appeared with a parasol before, let alone the horrific electric blue one that Bigfoot had been cavorting with. That had scared him straight, and he started taking his meds again, the vile liquid that the doctors prescribed him to keep his mind in check, kept him from having his nightmares. He had them, even while he was on his medicine, but they were different. There wasn't a specific thing that haunted him anymore, but a vauge feeling of doom that always crept into his sleep. That was worse, actually, he once thought, not having a face or name to assign to his fear, it was just there, all the time, mocking him. The doctors said it would go away. It hadn't.

"Here," came a voice over his shoulder. It was Erin, his bartender. Well, not really his bartender, but if they ever went out anywhere together, he would always introduce her as "his bartender" and she would introduce him as "her lush." It was a great little bit that got a few laughs, and thats all they wanted. She was a good-looking blonde of 42, who had managed to keep every curve God had given her, even after the two kids and the divorce. She was 14 years his senior, but they got along far too well. Erin understood Jimmy. "This one's on the bar." She was always buyin' him drinks, and he was always buyin' her drinks, so everything kinda evened out after awhile. "Thanks," Jimmy said, a smile breaking out on his face. "You're half-way decent for an old broad." Erin glared at him playfully. "It won't be so long before you're my age, honey, and you still won't be man enough for me. I'll be the hottest babe at the retirement home, and you won't be able to get any." She stuck her tounge out at him, and pranced down the bar to wait on some other customers. He was going to say something about how drinking your meals through a straw can be sexy, but she was already out of earshot. He went back to taking sidelong glances at the big guy down at the end of the bar. He wore a long coat, and a large fedora that covered a portion of his face. He looked to have a fairly substantial beard, and a nasty smoking habit, as he chain smoked Lucky-Strikes down to the filter. Jimmy kept an eye on him. "I know him from somewhere," he said to himself in a hushed tone. It was at that instant that it happened. The door to the bar was kicked open, the lights flickered, and in walked a monkey. "A rhesus monkey," thought Jimmy, and he turned back to his scotch. He no longer responded to most of his halucinations, and just took it as a sign that he was to live in a mad world amongst mad happenings with mad people who never took a notice of anything but how far up the ladder they were. He felt a tug on his sleeve, and looked up to see Erin, staring at the floor where he had seen the monkey with eyes as big as the hubcaps on a '54 Chevy. He turned around. Turns out everyone was staring at the monkey, only he had ignored it, which was odd, because of all the people in the room, he was the only one whom the monkey had his pistol trained on.

Continued in part 2(?)

Driving

I was driving along in Glenview when it hit me. It was that wonderful smell, almost like someone had bottled a sunny backyard barbecue and waved it under my nose. The scent lingered on my tounge and beckoned my mind to wander, which is dangerous while driving. I was at a red light, and it'd be like that for a few seconds. It was still not the best time. I did it anyway.

The last time I had smelled it was two years ago, at their place on Waveland Ave, the place that was so close to Wrigley Field that you could hear the crowd roar from their backyard. Jim lived there, along with two of his roomates, whom I didn't really know too well. They treated me well and all, I just didn't know them as well as I would have liked. Well, that's not true, I suppose. I guess I could quantify how well I knew them by how many times I had crashed at their place, and that year, it was quite a bit. The parties. God, the parties they would throw. Crazy, wild parties sometimes, or sometimes just laid back gatherings of close friends and well-wishers.

We used to barbecue on their back porch, sometimes late at night, sometimes early in the afternoon. It didn't really matter, there's always a good excuse for a barbecue. At least we always had one. Usually, the barbecue would consist of hotdogs, some cheap burgers, or some chicken, but occasionally, for a hip party, someone would bring by some steaks and we'd cook and drink. The times were good, the beer was plenty, and the air just smelled right. You could feel the warm air waft over you as you sat on the porch, cradling your beer, balancing the paper plate that precariously held your burger on one knee. I didn't think too much about it then, but those times were truly great. One by one, people moved on. Jim eventually moved into another place with a few more of my buddies, and the good times persisted for awhile, but then he left. He and I had talked about leaving like the way two kids talk about Santa Clause; hushed tones, whispers, occasional giggles and a shit load of cigs and beer. Alright, maybe kids don't smoke when they talk about Santa, but the image is fairly true. Then, one month, he told me he was leaving, off to find a new adventure somewhere else in this huge world of ours. I was happy for him, but a part of me just wanted to leave with him, to pack it in and go. 'Course, I didn't. I have things to do.

Steve left before Jim did. Steve used to live downtown too. He used to go to school there. We would party almost every weekend at Steve's place. Most of the time, our idea of party was to get a lot of cheap beer and drink until we were sick, but we had a damn good time. The whole gang would be there, and everyone would laugh and joke and just have a damn good time. That was the point. There was no greater thing we were looking for, no hidden meaning other than each other's company. We just wanted to be, and there, we could. Steve would never have barbecues, but several nights found us at a local all-night diner, downing greasy food, trying to quell the drunken foolishness we had subjected ourselves to. A few parties got busted by the Resident Authorities; I spent more than a few minutes hiding in bathrooms or closets, trying to control my breathing, or trying to keep the other drunks that might be hiding in there quiet, so we wouldn't get busted. He ended moving somwhere else close in town while he finished school, and we partied there a bit too, but then he was done, and he got a job elsewhere. Damn near half way across the continent. I always think back to those parties, though. Good times.

My life is different now. I've changed quite a bit, as have my buddies. We all still keep in touch, and I see most of them quite a bit. Not as much as I would like, but quite a bit. That'll stop. Most of 'em'll get married, or move away. Things will change. I'm scared. I don't want them to change. I don't want my whole world to consist of working and sleeping, eating and working. I'm scared. Is this what it's like? Is this why I grew up, why I rushed myself through my teenage years, and college? For this? This has to be some cosmic joke, some higher power has to be looking down and laughing at

Green Light.

Welcome

Welcome to those of you who might have found this, either on your own or linked from someone's website. This blog's sole intent is to get stories out of my head. Some will be fiction, some will be non-fiction, but all the names will be fictitious. There's really not much more to say. If you enjoy my writing style, well, enjoy. If you don't, no one says you have to read anything I write. Peace.