Virtual Realities

Jonathon closed his window blinds and reduced the morning glare.  A darkened room was best for video games. The computer screen was now a small glowing window into cyberspace.  He clicked on the Cyborg icon and found where he left off last time. 

I'll be Captain Juno this time.  Time to see things from his perspective.

Captain Juno followed his enemy into a warehouse.  A red-eyed cyborg leapt from the doorway, claws extended.  Jonathon smiled as Juno's laser ray vaporized the monster into oblivion. 

He could hear his father waking up - his hangover routine of hacks, coughs and spits.  

Now he'll start looking for Mom, but she's gone, he thought. I heard her car leave after Dad came home last night.  She told me she'd leave if he came home drunk again. 

"I don't want to leave you, Jonathon," she told me.  "But...I can't stay anymore.  You've heard me fighting with Dad. "

"Yeah, Mom.  I've heard you guys yelling about money and stuff."

"Sorry that you’re caught up in our problems.  I never thought I’d be leaving here, but I just … have to go.  It hurts me to leave you, but he won't let you go. You know that.  Not his only son.  But also know that I'll be missing you … every day, all the time. " 

She hugged her son and he tried not to cry. 

 He knew his Mom would leave so she could live with her girlfriend Rikki.  Now it's just me and Dad living here, he thought. Bummer.

"Lilly!  Where are you?  Answer me!"  George clattered up the hardwood stairs and stopped at his son's bedroom door.   Jonathon leaned closer to concentrate on his frantic pursuit of Khan Ranu through the warehouse filled with boxes.  

His father barged through the door.  "Where's your mother?!"  he shouted. Captain Juno's vision swept the hallway and caught a glimpse of Khan Ramu fleeing toward the basement stairs.

"She left last night, Dad.  She, uh, might be at Rikki's condo." 

George left  Jonathon’s door  wide open and raced back downstairs. Then Jonathon heard his Dad on the hallway phone calling different members of the Chang clan...one-sided loud conversations in an angry mish-mash of English and Mandarin, punctuated by curse words in both languages.

Jonathon closed his door, and returned to his game:   Surrounded by cyborgs of evil Khan Ranu, Captain Juno wandered blindly in the dark basement of the warehouse. Laser rays streaked through the dark pulverizing boxes next to his head. A svelte form suddenly rappelled down the dimly lit airshaft.  Captain Electra! The joint power of their lasers burned a large gap in the warehouse ceiling.  Escape!

Then a Google message flashed on the screen.  "Hi Jonathon.  Told you I'd stay in touch.  Had breakfast yet?"

Comet

a cloud of dust,

debris of the universe,

remains of rocks

transformed and slung.

bright arrows of light that

target the moon.

we point in wonder,

as if to touch the magic

with fingers of  bone stone

and upturned

complexions of clay, caught

by the forces

of stardust.

Take Out

Libby waited till Bev and her husband Rob had gone to work and then she got her car keys.  She'd known where Bev hid them.  So predictable, that Bev. Of course she'd hide them in her jewelry box.  Libby had always been able to sniff out Bev's secrets. 
 
And why did she need her car keys?
 
She'd woken that morning with a real hunger for pizza.  She just had to have a few slices of Papa Joe Amato’s pizza.  Bev and Rob never wanted to visit that pizza restaurant  back in the old neighborhood.
 
"So depressing in that part of town, Mom.  Why do you want to go back and eat junk in those places?  You gotta eat healthy at your age."
 
And so Libby ate healthy and could only dream of pizza and pepperoni and pastrami and rich ice cream at Ethan's shop.  She used to drive herself once in a while until Bev and Rob thought she couldn't see good enough to drive.  That's when her car keys disappeared.
 
So after Libby found the keys, she got a bit dressed up – maybe one of her old friends would see her at Amato's – and started up her car.  It ran a little rough for a few miles and then settled down.  Felt good to drive again, although the traffic lights were a little hard to see till she got close to the intersections. And she noted that folks were more impatient these days and blew their horns all the darn time.
 
Luckily, she found a parking place right in front of the restaurant and walked in ahead of the lunchtime crowd.  So far, so good.  She should be able to get served quickly, eat her lunch and get home before three o’clock, when the grand kids came home from school.  She’d park her car in the same place in the garage, and change clothes. No one would ever know that she’d been gone. 

She asked for a table by the window where she could watch folks go by and the light helped her read the menu.  Hmm, she thought, this menu is different. Gluten free pizza crust? Organic veggies in the minestrone soup? Vegetarian pizza?  When I asked where Papa Joe was, the waitress said she didn't know that there'd ever been a Papa Joe.  Imagine that? Never heard of Joe Amato.  And didn’t know about his fantastic homemade Italian sausage. What an ignoramus!

    A half hour later, Libby got into the driver's seat, still angry that the cashier gave her back the wrong change.  And kept saying she was wrong until she started yelling  – called him a dumb wetback who didn't know American money – and then the manager showed up and finally gave her the change she wanted.  She simmered when she thought of the way the waitresses all rolled their eyes at her and acted like she was just a wacky old broad, and not someone who used to be a good customer.

She jammed the car into gear and almost stamped on the gas pedal.  The old Buick careened over the curb, smashed through Riccola's front door and pinned the cashier and a customer against the wall.

As the loud shouting erupted all around her, she focused at the man who stared through her shattered side window.  She beckoned for him to come closer, then hoarsely whispered,     "Would you call Bev for me?  Tell her to bring my Medicare Card. I think it's in her jewelry box."

Circle Games

The moon looks like a giant yellow ball stuck up in the stars, Margie thought.  Sure makes me hot and sweaty stompin' around this field. She wiped perspiration off her brow with the hem of her Kansas State tee-shirt. She heard a rustling noise nearby as someone pushed through the barley stalks.

Brian stepped into her clearing. "Finished with your stomper board, Margie? Great. I'll carry it for you back to the truck."

Margie handed over the short plank and followed Brian back to the road.  Matt already waited next to the truck.  He handed each of them a beer from an ice chest.

"Dudes, that was hard work," said Matt.  "Never thought I'd be makin' crop circles half the night in old Smith's barley field."

"Keep your voices down," Brian hoarsely whispered. "His dogs might hear and start barking again. Smith's got a loaded shotgun under his bed.  Remember? We heard him tell the barber about his gun loaded with buckshot."

"Yeah, the barbershop, where me and Brian got the idea for this stunt," said Matt. "We were sitting there, just waitin' for our turn, while old Smith was in the chair, jabbering to the barber. You shoulda heard him, Margie, blabbing 'bout magical crop circles."

"Wish I'd been there," said Margie. "Did he sound crazy?

"Oh man.  He sounded so nutty. He thinks saucers come at night and make circles and U-turns over his fields.  He even called the KZZY Wichita TV station last year and told the disc jockey all about the E.T's visiting his farm every year. He sounded pitiful crazy. UFO's my ass! Someone's been spoofin' him.  Matt and me decided to get in on the joke. We knew you'd want to help."

"You got the symbol pattern on a web site, Matt?" asked Margie.

"Yeah, found it on some mystical symbols website. Some so-called UFO expert thinks this design attracts E.T's. HAH! Wait til Smith wakes up and finds those 'magic circles.' Get ready for the reporters!" He winked at Margie.

"Hopefully, Smith will call both the paper and the radio station. And then tomorrow I'll finally have a reason to stay awake during the news," said Brian, taking a swig of brew. "Nothin' important happens 'round here."

"Seriously," Margie agreed as she flicked barley bits off her clothes and shoes.

"I wish - JUST ONCE - Harrington, Kansas, my own boring hometown, had a some REAL excitement," said Brian. "Some new exciting stuff to write about on my blog. HEY! My scalp just prickled.  Did you feel that too?

 Yeah? Where's that spotlight comin' from? Damn! Must be the sheriff's helicopter.  We're busted!  HEY! HEY! Wait a minute!" 

Brian's beer can fell in the dust. His sneakers lifted off the highway's asphalt and he ascended into a golden shaft of light looking like an amazed denim clad angel.  Margie and Matt gaped as their friend's stiffened torso smoothly slid into the rectangular hatch of a half-acre wide saucer, like a coin slips into a jukebox.

The hatch closed. Red lights on the rim pulsed as the craft soundlessly rose into the humid Kansas evening, and then sped up toward the stars like a bright spinning Frisbee thrown by a giant.