it is

Might it be possible? he too often thinks,
then decides not to
test himself, tempt himself,
torment himself with the idea and
rather
tries to content himself with the
image of her
smile and her eyes and her
spark and the vulnerability
that
she allows him
to see and keenly feel. It is a treacherous business
this idea of love, this concept of
love, this
possibility of love, this offering and
proffering of love. It is intoxicating and
addictive. It is right and it is not so right. It is
of hope and of desperation. All as exactly it
is
supposed
to be.

sam

The two dogs studied him, carefully, warily. Strays, he was sure. Only two houses still stood on the street, at separate ends, different sides, too, and he was in the middle, amidst all that had been abandoned. One of the dogs moved a bit closer, then stopped. The other growled, low. It had been an odd idea, getting into his car at midnight and driving three hours to the old street, to see what was, to see what it had become. It might’ve been an idea fueled by drink, except that he’d given up drinking four years earlier. The late fall wind pushed against his back and the forward dog retreated to its partner. He backed toward his car, slowly opened the door, got in. Three more dogs poked their heads into the dark. Then another two. He sat in the emptiness for ten minutes, maybe more when one of the dogs, one of the last to appear, moved close to the car and he opened his window. The dog whined, then licked his hand. He opened the back door and the dog climbed in. It was how their partnership began. When he arrived back home, he named the dog Sam, for no particular reason. It just sounded right.

no surprise, here

They called him “Little Armadillo,” which was redundant, “armadillo” meaning “little armored one” in Spanish. They called him that because he always wore a bulletproof vest – always. He wore it at work, at play, and even in school, where no one, not even the former NFL walk-on assistant principle, ordered him to remove it. When anyone asked – and few did, anymore – he said he’d been marked by a rival gang and that it, really, was the only thing keeping him alive. Few believed him, of course, but in this forgotten part of America’s forgotten corner, who could know? Then, he met a girl who said she wouldn’t be seen with him, with him wearing “That thing.” So, he took it off. Two days later, he was dead. Shotgun blast to the chest. He’d been right all along, everyone said, with a shake of a head. The girl’s name was Crystal and she didn’t even like him that much.

mooch

He lived in a ramshackle place near the train tracks, so close, in fact, that the house bounced when the 10:22, 16:45 and 20:25 rushed by. He’d lived there for three years, now, though never planned to stay. He began by squatting, then when no one seemed to care, he started trying to fix up the place, though nothing was easy, and before long, he not only felt invested, but responsible for the place, it beginning to feel like a real home. The final straw was the night Moochie arrived. Mooch was a hound dog mix, with blue spots, a black tongue and a notch that slotted one ear. He could never be sure, but it seemed as though Mooch’d been through a lot, too, so he welcomed him and treated him like family. At night, Mooch slept at the foot of the bed and went with the bounce when the train passed. Him and Mooch lived there, like that, in that place they’d adopted, for 13 years and when he died, Mooch stayed for a bit, long enough, by instinct, it was thought, then pushed his way out through the back door and moved on. He would’ve wanted it that way.

questionable

It was a bad idea, though not
seemingly so, at the time, he finally said
to
her, about the years that started
with a walk
then turned into a sprint, and led to the
moment
when
she
decided that she wasn’t interested in
finishing the marathon, and she said to
another that it
was one of the nicest things
he’d said to her in a long, long time, which led
him
to
wonder: what could be so nice about admitting
that
maybe 28 years had been, other than somewhat productive, pretty
much
a
mistake?

shy anne

She sat, alone, in her room, the small, spare one she took for the night on the third floor of the boarding house in old downtown Cheyenne and listened to Neil Young sing in that rough, caustic, wilderness voice about affairs of the heart and some of the soul, and she wondered where her whole life had gone in such a quick instant. She was 47 and she had just enough money left for a bus ticket back to Minot, with maybe a sandwich or two along the way. She smiled, softly, sadly, fingered the medal that hung around her neck. She wished, now, tonight, at this very moment, that she might be able to redo so many things. She wanted to hug her children like she hadn’t, before. She wanted to listen to the birds, for once, really listen. She wanted to be home, really home, not just be there. But home was such a long, long way. Home. And everything else. She answered a knock on the door. A man she’d met, earlier, at a local bar. A drifter, like she. Sure, she said, why not. Home could wait. So must tomorrow. She needed to be held, tonight, and he would have to do.

a friday night

He sits on the back porch at the Beach Comber, alone, at a table for two, cooled by the warm breeze that blew in with the sunset. Ice water with a slice of lime. Grilled chicken sandwich. Stars to the left sparkle the black sky; fireworks to the right, out across the boulevard, spackle it. A man at the next table orders in Spanish for all four of the diners. They don’t understand what is “Caesar salad.” He grunts, a bit. The other man, the watcher, feels satisfyingly unencumbered. He begins to wonder if being solitary might not be a good thing. There are tradeoffs, he understands. But at the very least he does not have to explain to his companions what it is they are about to eat. He sups on the sandwich spiced with pineapple and accompanied by homemade potato chips dusted with parmesan cheese. A slender blonde across the way catches his eye. She smiles; he smiles back. She is with her husband. The subtle assignation is a bit enthralling, or at least enough for this night. It is a dark walk to the car, what with the fireworks done, but he doesn’t mind.