Kristy

 Part 1

Back in 1991, during my freshman year of high school, we had moved back to Tucson from Ft. Belvoir, Virginia. There I was: 100 lbs soaking wet, with lines shaved into sides of my head, wearing a black NY Giants starter bomber jacket, and listening to Public Enemy on my Walkman. Total dork with a side of freshness.

I was attending Palo Verde High School and one of my classes was in a lecture-style room. I can’t exactly remember what subject it was but I think it was social studies. The assigned desk I sat at was instantly recognizable to anyone that attended high school. Flat, smooth manila colored fake wood grain top with a hard, curved, graffitied seat and small enclosed space underneath to put your books and whatever else you hauled around just in case. I sat in it and daydreamed until it was time for the next class. 

One day, I noticed someone had written a small ‘Hi’ at the top left corner. I hesitated at replying. I analyzed the handwriting, trying to figure out if it was from a guy or a girl. The H was wide enough to be recognized as a girl’s swoopy, bubbly type of handwriting but the ‘i’ was suspect. I shrugged and wrote ‘Hi’ under it and compared the two. “Hmph, it could go either way.”, I thought. Probably. I considered myself very clever for a 14-year-old. Go ahead and roll your eyes.

The next day, there was a response. ‘How are you?’ It was a girl’s handwriting. The "?" gave it away. Too curly to be a dude’s handwriting. I wrote ‘Good. How are you?’ in the coolest version of my handwriting: extra-slanted. 

She responded the next day and the next day and the next. Small, brief messages every school day i.e. ‘This class is boring’ or ‘How was your weekend’. But then it developed into notes taped under the desk. Holy shit. I grabbed the first note and held it in my sweaty hand until class was over. There was no way I was gonna chance getting caught with it or let the kid sitting behind me read it. So I waited. when the coast was clear, I found out her name is Kristy. And so for about a month, we passed notes back and forth every day. I think I might have even drawn her a picture of something. It sounds like something I’d do. We chatted about high school things. She was a freshman too. We didn’t know the same people because I was new and didn’t know anyone. Every day I couldn’t wait to get the next note and every day it would be there. All was good in the world. Until I went to my Tia Cecilia’s house. 

I used to love going to my Tio Henry's and Tia Cecilia’s house when I was a kid. They had a pool and they had a ton of snacks that they didn’t mind sharing with a horde of nieces and nephews. At this point, I hadn’t told anyone about Kristy and the note swapping. But like all good aunts, my Tia Cecilia asked how school was and if I had a girlfriend yet. I answered no but I told her about Kristy all in one breath. But I didn’t mention her name. Apparently, I couldn’t wait to get this off of my birdcage chest. She was surprised and laughed. And then she walked around her kitchen and thought to herself and finally said “You know what, Johnny? I think you have a cousin that goes to Palo Verde too! She might know this mystery girl. Her name is Kristy. She’s your Tia Baby’s daughter.” I started sweating and replied “Oh really? No kidding…” and sat down just as my mom entered the room. Tia Cecilia asked my mom if she knew about the note swapping, so I was inclined to tell the story again but did so with less enthusiasm. And then I told them her name was Kristy. 

Monday comes around and I find my new note but I didn’t read it. I taped my note under the desk that asked if she has a Tia Cecilia Marmion too. The next day there was no note. I couldn’t believe it. The streak was broken. But the next day there was a new one. She said yes and we both couldn’t believe it. After a few notes passed, we decided to finally meet. Her lunch period was before mine so I had to hurry to catch her before she went to her next class. She was a mat maid (wrestling cheerleader) so it was easy to find her. We said hi and talked about Tia Cecilia for a couple of minutes until she had to go. And then I never heard from her again. We saw each other a few times in the hall and said hi but never actually talked again. I never see her again after freshman year. 14-year-olds are awkward. 

Part 2

30 years later

Recently, I was in Tucson visiting family. One Saturday night I decided to head over to my cousin Lisa’s house since she was having a bbq. Everyone is drinking and having a good time. Kids are jumping in the pool and Tatas are watching sports. I haven’t seen any of my cousins in a while, so I start drinking and catching up with everyone. At one point, I’m just standing by myself trying to bear the heat. Lisa sees me and calls me over to sit down next to her. Her friends are standing around talking. My cousin Adrian’s wife, Tu, is standing next to me and we’re all just chatting. Lisa introduces me to a few of her friends and then launches into this story with a “Holy shit, listen to this!” 

It's not my story to tell but it was pretty juicy and hilarious. It put everyone into WTF mode. I’m laughing. Her friends are laughing. Lisa is grossed out. And then we all take a shot of tequila. Holy shit. 

When the laughing calms down, I turn to Lisa and say, “I have a story like that but it’s not as juicy.” Lisa and her friends immediately want to hear it so they all quiet down and gather around. I start into the sad tale of 14-year-old Johnny and Kristy. I tell them everything you read in Part 1 and they are hanging on every word. When I’m done, Lisa says, “Wow”, and I’m like “Yeah” and I turn towards Tu. And then Lisa wonders out loud, “I wonder where she is…” and I say, “Oh, I don’t know. She’s probably not even in Tucson anymore. Who knows?!”. And Lisa says, “No Johnny! She’s here! Right now! I’m trying to look for her!”. Lisa swings around in her seat and points and yells, “THERE SHE IS!!”. Behind Lisa is a woman standing in the shadows and completely unaware of what is happening while holding a water bottle full of vodka. Lisa is screaming. Her friends are screaming. Tu is screaming. I'm screaming. Lisa calls her over and she walks into the light and it’s fucking Kristy. She is confused and drunk as hell. I try to tell her about the notes and Tia Cecilia. It was a really quick, abridged version and it didn't help. She had no idea what I was talking about. Everyone is still laughing and Kristy goes back to doing whatever she was doing before I told the story. So, we drank more tequila. 

Epilogue-

It turns out that Kristy isn’t my cousin. I told the story to some uncles and they confirmed that Kristy is so far removed from me in the family that she might as well be from a different country. What a world.

A Funeral for Crows

I was just sitting here in the car. I noticed some crows on a power line, cawing amongst themselves. A couple flew away and came back with a few more. Then a couple more flew away and more came back. Within 2 minutes, 100 crows were perched on all of the surrounding power lines and going absolutely crazy. I looked around and finally spotted what it was that they were yelling about. A dead crow was lying in a side street parking space. Next to styrofoam cups and scattered gravel. I clocked out and got out of the car and looked around. The tallest trees in the area were also loaded with crows. This was an event. There were some flying overhead but in no discernable pattern. I thought of Alfred Hitchcock and got back in the car. I realized then there was something I didn't see or get to see. None of the crows went down to check out the body. They all stood their distance as if they were privy to the knowledge of some kind of curse. Get too close, Lil Crow Jr, and who knows what would happen? When I looked back up, I noticed fewer crows. Less noise. 30 seconds later, only a few remained but they weren't speaking. It was business as usual. I got out of the car again and walked over to check for a curse. The bird didn't look good. It did not die of natural causes. And, it didn't die recently. It looked as if it had been there for a few days. I thought of the movie Stand By Me. "You guys wanna see a dead body?", asked the discoverer to his friends. I imagine all the cawing was just one word repeated over and over. To each other. To no one. To the ether.

"Fuck!"

The Dave Navarro Imposter

It was 2003. I had just gotten done with my tour in Japan and was on leave for a month until I arrived in Alaska. My plan was to fly to Tucson and buy a car. Then I would drive that car to Las Vegas to visit some friends that I had in Misawa. Kylie and Arnold. We were young and we liked to party in Japan but I hadn't seen them since they left 4 months prior. I thought it was going to be a low-key affair. Kylie had often talked about getting pregnant, so I figured they were getting their shit together and slowing down on the alcohol. Arnold was the quiet one of the pair. Kylie, on the other hand, was a bullhorn on legs. I guess when you're in your 20s, you don't really give a shit about volume.

When I arrived, everyone was all smiles. Kylie had cooked a dinner and we sat around and talked like normal people. Kylie and Arnold were indeed trying to have children but they could either take it or leave it. Since we were in Vegas, I was in the mood to do Vegas things. Kylie was in but Arnold passed. I asked Kylie if she had any friends that wanted to join us and they all balked as well.

While we were sitting at the dinner table, Kylie said a funny thing. "So, did you plan on looking like Dave Navarro or is that by accident?" She laughed like she was making fun of me but when I went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, I could see it. But not the way Kylie was seeing it. I saw it as a last minute Halloween costume idea. She saw it as, "Holy fuckballs, you could really pass as Dave Navarro if you wore eyeliner!" And then, "Can I can I can I pleeeeeease put eyeliner on you?!" I gave in.

I think I should tell you that 16 years ago I was quite thinner than I am now. I did not have Dave's cheekbones but that could be remedied by a little more makeup. Since I had already been on leave for 3 weeks, I had some facial hair.  Using one of Arnold's razors, I trimmed my mustache down to a black thin line and shaped my goatee into what look like an arrowhead. My hair was long on the top but faded on the sides, so I got some gel and slicked it back. I was already wearing long sleeve black shirt and black pants with Chucks. All I needed what's some fingernail paint and the look was complete.

In the dark, I was a dead ringer for Dave Navarro.

Kylie was shocked. Arnold only thought it was funny that I was wearing makeup. Kylie asks where I wanted to go first. I told her I wanted to go where the rock stars were. So we headed to the Rattlesnake Lounge.

Since we were both going to be drinking and Uber or Lyft or worldwide cellular phone use didn't exist yet, we got a cab.  The entire way, Kylie squealed about what might happen that night. Would we actually fool people? Could I get into trouble for impersonating someone? Would we run into Dave Navarro? Only time would tell. And time ran out the second we pulled up to our destination. I was sitting directly behind the driver and Kylie was sitting next to me. When we pulled up, Kylie immediately got out. I noticed there were a lot of people hanging out on the curb side. There seem to be some kind of commotion and then while I was fiddling with my wallet to pay the driver I felt somebody sit down next to me. I look over and it's Jason Acuña aka Wee Man from Jackass. His little leg is touching my little leg. Next to him is some blond chick. She closes the door and before I could open my mouth, Jason says "Oh hey man! I didn't expect to see you here tonight! We are headed to the Hard Rock." I didn't notice that I was sliding myself out of that cab. I say, "Cool man, maybe we'll see you there." In the uncoolest way possible. I closed the door and they drive off... I forgot to pay the driver. I stiffed Wee Man on a cab fare. End of part 1.

Dave Navarro part 2

 As we walked in to The Rattlesnake Lounge, there was a rush of hurried whispers around us.

Oh my god did you see who that was? I should have introduced myself. That was fucking Wee Man. Should we tell him about our stunt idea? 

We went to the bar and ordered our drinks and just hung out and people watched. Bust for a Tuesday night. Not much else happened until we were leaving. One guy came up to me and just poked me in the shoulder and walked off. It wasn't hard but just hard enough to get my attention in a crowd.  

We got outside and tried to formulate a plan. Should we go to the Hard Rock and fuck with Jason Acuña? Or should we head to the strip? I voted to walk around the strip to see if anyone was fooled by my get up. We took another cab and got out except everything was normal this time. We walked around from casino to casino and had drinks. For whatever reason, we stopped at Harrah's for a bathroom break. Now, I've been to Harrah's before and the last time I was there I got trapped by a game. Casino War. The first time I had played, I lost my ass off because I kept wanting to go to war with the dealer which is a huge mistake. The second time around, I learned my lesson and made up for my loss and walked away with five hundred bucks. I mean it's just war. There's no strategy. If you get the high card you win the game. So, I wanted to play to see if they I could win some money while I was there just to make up for the money that I was going to spend on alcohol. Or cigarettes. Or stripper tips. We walked around the entire damn casino I could not find it. I guess they got rid of it because 50/50 odds are considered a loss by the house. On our way back out to the strip,we stopped and stood at entrance/exit. Back to square 2. Then, I was tapped on the shoulder again. I thought I had done something wrong. I look up and a giant security guard looks down. He says and says "Excuse me Mr. Navarro, your presence is requested upstairs in the VIP lounge." Here. We. Go. I say "Sure. Can my friend come too?" He says "Yes, sir. Follow me to the elevator." So I follow him to the elevator. When it opens there's another suited bouncer standing inside. I walk in and the door closes and up we go. I dare not say a word. I dare not move. My cover would be blown with barely a gesture. Someone would go "Hey Dave!" and I'd flip them a nod and they would freak out and y point and yell "IMPOSTOR" while everybody drops their drinks, gasps at my flagrant deception. The records scratches to silence just in time to hear the bouncers crack their knuckles.

 But when the doors open, none of that happens. The music keeps playing and the lights keep spinning. And as we're walking out of the elevator, Kylie leans over and whispers in my ear, "I can't believe this is happening." (title of my sex tape) In fact the complete opposite happens despite my paranoia. The DJ has apparently already gotten the word that I was on my way and cued up the Jane's Addiction song Been Caught Stealing and yelled "DAVE NAVARRO IN THE HOOOUUUUSE and everyone cheered. Ohgodohfuckohshit. 

I kept my cool and barely smiled because I was drawing blood from my tongue with my teeth.  Here was another moment of truth and I looked around for a spotlight but there was none. Now, I just had to convince whomever approached me. And it turns out, just the ladies approached me. One by one they all introduced themselves and asked where Carmen Electra was while Kylie got a drink at the bar. My answer started out simple but ended up snowballing. "Nice to meet you" and/or "Carmen is in LA shooting something. A workout video. For MTV. With belly dancing. Guest starring Billy Blanks." Somehow, the more I added to the lie, the more believable it became. Kylie came back with a tray of drinks and yelled in my ear "They are all free! I say, "The girls?" She says, "No, the drinks. They're on the house. The bartender says so." Fuck yes. We grab a a VIP booth and drink and smoke and bullshit and drink with everyone. I dance a little and I even signed some autographs.

Then I have to go to the bathroom. 

On my way there, I noticed that there's a security guy standing right outside the door. He checks inside the bathroom to see if anybody is in there and then waves me in. He goes to stop the person behind me from following me in and then changes his mind and waves him in too. So, there we are. Just me and this dude in a fedora before fedoras were popular. When the guy speaks, he has a British accent and says, "It's good to see you again, Dave." Even drunk, my heart stops along with my piss stream. The jig is up. I'm done. Maybe I can sound like him? I don't know what Dave Navarro sounds like. Most likely you don't either. There's probably no one on the planet that can do an imitation of Dave Navarro. A joking one would sound like a crying baby probably. But to me, he looks like he would have a higher-pitched voice. The Brit parks next to me and starts pissing. I zip up and go to wash my hands. He then asks, "Hey Dave, d'ya fancy some blow?

Cocaine is illegal when you're in the military. It is also illegal if you're not in the military. But here we are.

 This is the one time I would ever ask myself What Would Dave Navarro Do. I say, "Sure." but with a silent gulp.  He pulls out a small brown vial and when he opens the cap there's a tiny spoon attached to the inside of it. He hands me this spoon and I snort it up. He asks, " Ya wanna even that out?" and hands the full spoon back. I mentally say FUCK but say Okay out loud instead. I do it and him back the spoon. He claps me on the back and says, "That's a good lad." and walks out. Didn't even wash his damn hands. I wash my face and say fuck out loud. I am a man on fire. I can't hear anything except for my own stupid voice in my head. And then Dave says, "That's what you get!" Fuck you, Dave Navarro. My plan is to grab Kylie and get the fuck out of there. I put my hand on the door handle and give it a tug. I'm prepared to be thrown out by my underwear. When I walk out I look around and everybody is continuing to do what they do. The bouncer doesn't grab me. The music is still playing. The lights spin. The Brit in the fedora is off to the side conversing with a group of girls. And Kylie is talking to an Asian guy in a suit. When I walk up, the Asian guy shakes my hand and walks off. Kylie leans over and asks it if everything is okay and I say I think so. I change my mind and get another round of drinks. And then. I get another. At some point we realize that we can't see the outside. Neither of us have watches or phones. We decided that we should leave when everyone started yawning. Not because of the fact that we're paranoid. Also, because of the fact that we are shit-faced. So security escorts us out and, fuck me running, there's a limo waiting for us. It's 5 in the morning and we get in and we both pass out on the way back to her house. Before I did, I groggily wondered if we should hit up another bar. 

Prologue-

It takes me an extra day to recover and I have to make up for it on the road. I spend the next three days driving to Alaska and wondering if that even really happened. 

The Commotion

One thing to keep in mind when driving rideshare is that anyone can get in your car. Adolescents and geriatrics. Browns and pinks. Straight-ups and the crooked. I could go on but you get the idea.

I had been waiting for a few types of passengers after hearing tales from other drivers. Some of them violently strange. Some vaguely disrespectful. And some just outright pleasant.

While most are uneventful, I've had enough good fortune to pick up quite a few pleasant people. That meant time was running out. Something weird or bad was gonna happen.

I suppose I should tell you that I've never had to contact the police. So that leaves....this guy.

It was another mediocre day. I had just dropped off a couple at Kerry Park on the south side of Queen Anne hill. My next ride was 3 blocks away in the direction of Queen Anne avenue. The weather was unusually sunny and unsually windy.

When I arrived at the pick up spot, I spotted a tall, lanky man with flat gray hair that sprouted around his head and strands of hair flattened across the top as if he just wiped the sweat off with vigor. He wore a dark blue track suit with no apparent branding and the thickest, whitest New Balance sneakers you can buy this side of Thailand. Since he didn't have a picture listed on his profile, I guessed he was the correct passenger by the large duffle bag in one hand and a curious green rod in the other. According to the app, his name is Charles. 

When I pulled up, I popped the trunk and got out. I said hello but he said nothing and got in the right hand backseat and hefted his bag and rod onto his lap. As he moved, I heard a distinct cluster of clanking noises. The more he moved, the more clanking I heard. Miffed, I closed the trunk and sat back in the driver's seat. I glanced at him in the mirror and asked him how his day was going and he said nothing again. I dismissed it as him being on a conference call but I couldn't tell if he had an AirPod in or not.

I mentally shrugged and looked at the itinerary. Charles' destination was the airport and, a-ha, this was a shared ride.

For those that don't know, a shared ride is when another passenger can hitch a ride in the same direction as the original ride. While it saves a few bucks off your ride cost, it normally takes longer.

As soon as I put the transmission into Drive, the app notified me that Rachel would also be joining us! She was only 5 blocks away and I hoped she would be headed to the airport also.

Rachel had a picture on her profile. It was easy to spot her. A small, black woman with black rimmed glasses and large ear piercings. She wore a black hoodie and jean shorts. Her hair was braided tightly and pulled back. Rachel had one hard case carry on bag with her and nothing else. She was ready, headed to the airport, and I appreciated that.

I pulled up to the curb and popped the trunk again. I doubted that she would want to keep the carry on with her in the seat like Charles. I opened the door to get out but so did Charles. I thought he might have changed his mind about his duffle bag. Instead, as I greeted Rachel and reached for her bag, Charles unfolded out of the backseat brought his green rod. He also brought the pot metal clanking sound with him. He held out the rod and twisted it. It extended to about 5 feet and he grabbed the black rubber stops on each end and lifted it behind his extended neck onto his shoulders. And he stooped over and started stretching with it. Each movement produced a rude amount of noise. Rachel and I paused and watched with concern. I slid the bag in and went to close the trunk lid when Rachel moved toward the left backseat. I told her it was okay to sit in the front if she wanted. She hesitated, declined, and opened the door. When I closed the trunk, Charles stood up with his top hair flapping around and collapsed the rod back down to 2 feet and sat back down. An odd commotion emanating from his self the whole time.

As we continued our trek, I asked how everyone was doing. Rachel replied minimally and put her headphones on. Charles didn't even look up let alone say anything. He was focused on a book about infant child care. INFANT. CHILD. CARE. Rachel side-eyed that book as much as I did.

Halfway through the trip, Charles starts to get restless. He has put away the book and has started shifting in his seat. Every shift incites a metal riot. I check the door locks. In case. At this point, I am incredibly curious about what hell is happening. Turns out he can take a hint. With his bag on his lap, he unzips his track jacket and shimmies out of it. The rattling has been promoted to a crashing sound.

And there they we're...in all their Made In China glory. Not 2 not 3, but 9; rack 'em up, by God and country! 9 medals hanging from his neck! Gold and silver! Each seemingly bigger than the last! While Charles heard an angels choir when they were unveiled, I heard the Price is Right WAH wah waaaahhh loser's horn.

For the next 5 minutes, Charles stayed busy by:
1. Taking off track jacket
2. Putting track jacket in duffle bag
3. Taking off medals
4. Putting medals in duffle bag. Praise the Lord
5. Putting medals back on. Goddammit
6. And finally, donning said track jacket

Meanwhile, Rachel watched him like a patient mother the entire time.

Charles took one more reach into his bag, thought better of it and closed it. The infant child care book was spared. For now.

As we approached the airport, Charles tried something new. He leaned over and said something to Rachel. Rachel pulled her headphones aside and he repeated himself. She nodded and he informed her of something else. She nodded again. I watched to see if there were any indications of alarm in her actions. Everything he said was inaudible to me. Charles just did not want to interact with me.

Charles was first to be dropped off since he was flying Alaskan Airlines. I stopped at the designated spot and he shuffled out in a hurry. Just a flurry of arms, nylon, and pleather. The commotion was nerve-wracking. I wished him a "Have a good fli-" as he slammed the door shut.

Next up, Rachel was flying out on Delta. As we stopped and got out, I asked her if Charles was being a creep. She said no. I asked if she knew what the medals were for.

He's a champion ballroom dancer.

And he wanted everyone to know.

We laughed nervously through clenched teeth and I set her bag on the ground. We wished each other a good day and I headed back to the city center.

On the silent way back, I thought about how long it was gonna take him to get through TSA.

I looked for him in the news. He wasn't there.

An Unfortunate Argument For Marriage

I couldn't tell you much about what the day was like leading up to the unfortunate couple. I could tell you that I was working rideshare in Seattle's Beacon Hill district. I suppose I could tell you about the weather. That it was partly cloudy or partly sunny. That it was February but also possibly March. That I had given 10 rides to 10 passengers before 10 AM.

It could have been 5 rides to 17 passengers on a snowy Thanksgiving Day. None of that mattered after I met the unfortunate couple.

I received a notification on my phone that someone requested a ride and I headed there hastily. The pick up location was a shabby, single level house that sat on a slope lower than the street. The front yard had been overrun by foliage in what could have been a scandalous coup. I waited there in my Nissan Sentra for a couple minutes until my unfortunate passengers appeared.

They were an older couple, possibly in their early 60s. The man looked like Archie Bunker with even higher blood pressure and a proud penchant for Jeopardy trivia. She looked like Edith if she had divorced Archie and became a small time fashion designer. No less than three handmade looking lockets orbited her exposed neck.

Archie was all smiles and used his outdoor voice inside the car to let me know they were on their way to church. The car leaned when Archie sat down.  Edith got in the car, put on her seat belt and said nothing until we were on our way.

I couldn't tell you about the music that played during this unfortunate trip. Their whole conversation was loud enough for me to remember the details. There was no lead in or introduction. Nor was there context or clues. Archie wanted to continue their conversation post haste. 

"Why shouldn't we get married?!", Archie implored so suddenly I thought he was addressing me. I looked in the mirror at him and he was looking at Edith. He was twisted toward her and beamed at her. I glanced at her. She was not taken aback. She was not flustered nor flabbergasted. Or even a little distraught.

She looked at him and calmly asked, "Why should we get married, Archie? We haven't even known each other that long. It hasn't even been a year. And this is my first time to Seattle"

Archie's excitement falters but his energy slogs on.

"I don't think it matters! Almost a year...almost a month... almost a day. It doesn't matter to me. I think we should get married!", he pushes. 

I purposely slow down and drive with wide eyes so I can hear this radio serial episode play out. I was ready for anything. Especially if one of them performed the ol' Tuck and Roll. I hear it's an option nowadays.

"Archie, we still don't know each other that well and I think it should take more than a year to be sure if you want to marry someone. Really, let's go down the list of reasons you want to marry me so soon.", Edith instructed.

"Edith, I wanna marry you because I LOVE YOU. And that's aalllll the reason I need." Archie claimed. I legitimately thought he was going to start singing.

"Archie, keep your voice down; the young man can hear us.", she says dryly.

And now I'm biting my lip to hold off the anxious giggles. I look in the rear view mirror and see that Archie isn't smiling anymore. In fact, he looks more flushed than he did before. 

"Please, I really wanna do this with you. I'll make sure you don't regret it." Archie says intently. I can hear in his voice that he knows this isn't gonna go his way. 

Archie has begun to lose his battle. Edith swats down every plea that Archie offers. Every time he gets an unfortunate word in, his volume dips and Edith's stays level.

I wish I could tell you when the car went silent except for barely audible radio playing something not worth listening to. My mind was reeling from listening along while navigating to the unassuming church.

Edith finally says: "Archie, do you understand?"

I glance again into the mirror and his posture is straight but he is gazing out into the passing city. I doubt he is actually seeing anything that is worth more than she is to him. He turns his head forward and locks eyes with me in the rear view and asks loudly: "And how are you today sir?! Are you from Seattle? Have you lived here long? ISNT IT A BEAUTIFUL DAY?!" 

Archie is grinning again.

I answer all 3 of his questions. Edith has lowered her voice and halfheartedly vying for his attention. After a bit, she stops and looks out of the window.

She was not taken aback. She was not flustered nor flabbergasted. Or even a little distraught.

Archie asked questions the rest of the way and I answered them to the best of my ability. When we finally arrived at the church, he happily yelled: 

"THANKS SO MUCH FOR THE RIDE JOHNNY BOY! HERE'S A LITTLE SOMETHING FOR YA."

He hands me a dollar and attempts to exit the vehicle. Behind his booming voice I heard Edith thank me softly and close the door. I watched them walk inside the church and drove off.

I wish I could tell you that they worked things out. I wish I could tell you that Archie learned to control his desperate tantrums. I wish I could tell you that they fell in love subsequently. I wish I could tell you that they got married right there in that church. But I can't. The unfortunate argument was surreal enough to make me realize that this happens more often than I think it does. The poor, unfortunate couple.

They were all I thought about for the rest of the day.

Unfriending Facebook

It's been 2 weeks since I deactivated my account. Today is the day Facebook deletes it forever. So far only one person is miffed on why I would do such a thing. Multiple people have commented that I'd be back. 

It's been 2 weeks and curiosity has set in. 

Eric and Courtney's wedding

welcome to eric and courtneys wedding. 

Donnie and Kayla's Wedding

Who gives this beautiful lady to this handsome man?

The time I didn't know how to do laundry

     The household I grew up in was an advertisement for the military American Dream. Imagine that woodland camo clad GI reaching for a slice of what every American thought they could have in Reagan's 80s. But in our family, the word 'supplemental' became 'necessary'. My mom worked. My mom worked hard. Military wives can be incredibly versatile. Incredibly tenacious. She worked her 4-5 hrs at the post exchange or cut hair at the salon and then came home and played the role of mother and wife. She did the laundry. She mended the clothing. She packed the lunches. She cooked the dinners. My sisters and I cleaned and complained the entire time. We didn't understand adult life. We didn't understand Mom Life. I suppose my sisters had a head start in the domestic ways. Playing with the dollhouse, playing tea, playing shopping. Playing guns was as domestic as it got for me unless I was cutting the grass.

My First Sermon

    

 A couple of weeks ago, I presided my cousin Lisa's wedding to a good guy named Patrick. I was severely hungover and I forgot about the rings. Here's the sermon: