Showered and freshly changed, I grabbed my knapsack and headed toward the door. Paused at the dining room. Waved.
Caleb glanced at the clock. "Its' a little late to be starting a wait shift, isn't it?"
For the first time since I started working at The Dog House, someone called 'bull shit' on me and I wasn't sure what to say.
"Oh, Le Gran Repas stays open late," Mom chimed in.
Truth is: I didn't work at Le Gran Repas. I only told Mom I worked there, because it was an expensive enough restaurant that she'd never try to surprise me by showing up and asking for a table. I had actually been working at The Dog House, a gay club, since right after high school.
"Well, maybe I'll stop by sometime," Caleb said.
Mom chuckled and patted his hand.
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Instead of my father, I saw Caleb. My mind drew a little picture of him with his tight muscular but poking into the seat. Leaned back, he placed his arm by the window.
Caleb might as well have come along to work with me. I saw his face at every stoplight. He smiled at me every time I glanced in the mirror. An imagined conversation took place between us in my head. About each other. About life. About baseball.
The attraction I felt for him was unquestionable, but attraction's a one-way street. The ones we cast our eyes upon aren't always looking back. I remember watching the athletes in high school as they walked around like gods—gorgeous and radiant. Sooner or later, I'd always cross a line with them. I'd glance at them for a few seconds too long, or my questions would dig a little too deep. It always ended with a body check into a column of lockers or a "whoa! I'm straight!" With Caleb, I hadn't crossed the line yet, and part me began to wonder if there was a line with him at all.
I thought about how he talked of Devin. Passionate and animated. He went into the smallest of details. It was so much more than "Devin played baseball and he was really good." If he changed a name and a few pronouns, one would think he was talking about a
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I staggered across the parking lot, through the back door, and into the green room. I glanced at the line-up. "Fucking door duty! Again!"
Before the accident, I used to perform on stage nearly every evening, but there's something less than sexy about a drag queen with her arm in a sling. Fortunately, they kept me on the schedule, but mostly as a hostess. While hostesses dress in full drag, they don't get any tips.
"Hey, Khmer. What's with you?" Chloe Midia called to me. Already dressed and in make-up, she sat on the sofa, smoking her cigarette.
"Hey, Chloe." I waved back at her. There's usually a tragic irony to drag queen names. Chloe Midia. Chlamydia. Mine was Khmer Rouge and you had to either be old or a history buff to get it. The Khmer Rouge killed millions of Cambodians in the 1970s, but younger people just hear Khmer like "Camaro" without the 'o' and 'rouge,' another word for make-up.
"Perks fucking with your head again?" She asked. She knew all about the Percocets I'd been downing ever since the accident; she even bought a few off me.
I shook my head. "Dad had another delivery
I smiled at him and helped him get up. “Come on, your aunt Ari made some food for us.” I
“If I tell you that would give away the surprise,” my dad replied as he pulled out of our garage. I look in the back seat of the car and there were three bags with big letters saying “Pet Supply Plus” on them, and there was a grey blanket sitting on the chair but I still didn't know what was going on. “ We are almost here!” my dad stated, turning the corner of my favorite restaurant.
Boxer growled impatiently when Fanna gripped the reins of the horse and tugged them back a little, making the brown mare slow to a steady trot. He didn't care what anyone said, flying was the best method of transportation, hands down. The temptation of jumping off the back of the horse, throwing Fanna over his shoulder, and taking to the skies was too great, but he had managed to resist the urge so far. Besides, even if he did try and do that, he knew that she would yell and argue with him until they landed, and when that would happen, she would probably attempt to fight him out of pure spite. He rolled his eyes. She acted just like his mother, and he was beginning to wonder how his father could put up with such a stubborn, loud woman. "Can't we go any faster?" He heard her mutter
A timid dog named Missy must find a way to fight her boredom after she escapes from the confines of her dog crate in an empty house. Since deliberate destruction is off the table for a distraction, she goes on a journey. The Rottweiler-mix faces a few of her multitude of fears attempts to rise above them in order to retrieve her favorite toy. Missy the Rottweiler lethargically glanced out of her slate gray dog crate and huffed. Why, she thought to herself, do the humans insist on locking me up each time they leave the house?
It was November. We sat together in history class. It was the third- maybe fourth time he had caught me staring. I thought he was going to scowl at me or tell me to stop looking at him.
The dim lights suddenly flashed through the curtains as the old red car motor started humming. Little boy, Parker rubbed his eyes as he slowly walked to his small window. He peered out into the dark streets to see his father throwing, what seemed to be the last bag, into the car. Questions starting flooding the little boys head. Parker ran down the stairs screaming “Dad!
The smell of the fire permeated the room, wisps of black charcoal smoke curled and pranced their way through the thick, suffocating air as if excited to escape the venomous chamber. The smoke soon flattened in the heavy air and shrouded the lifeless corpses of the prisoners. Beside the towering heaters and the dead carcass were rows of flimsy benches; strategically mounted inside of the cramped bunker to make it harder to escape. The cold, cement walls were decorated with windows that were boarded shut. There were also markings that had been carved out on the wall, one stroke for each that was spent rotting in the chamber.
I woke up to the smell of burnt bacon. I quickly jumped up from my bed, threw on my robe and ran down the stairs. I turned the corner, into the kitchen to face a frustrating look upon my fathers face. "Are you okay?
He patted my head and asked if I wanted to eat cookies and held my hand. We walked into the house and disappeared behind the doors. I smiled one more time. I
I had thought about staying away, changing my mind several times. But I knew I couldn't. As I entered the hall, I jostled my way through the crowd of people talking in whispers. I approached the large, wooden coffin in front of me. The people around it saw me and quickly shuffled away.
The Creature That Opened My Eyes Sympathy, anger, hate, and empathy, these are just a few of the emotions that came over me while getting to know and trying to understand the creature created by victor frankenstein in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. For the first time I became completely enthralled in a novel and learned to appreciate literature not only for the great stories they tell but also for the affect it could have on someones life as cliché as that might sound, if that weren’t enough it also gave me a greater appreciation and understanding of the idiom “never judge a book by its cover.” As a pimply faced, insecure, loner, and at most times self absorbed sophomore in high school I was never one to put anytime or focus when it came time
In class we were given the opportunity to read and describe the meaning of the poem The Road Not Taken . I instantly felt connected to the poem because everyone here has had a few tough decisions to make in their lives, and I have had many bumps in my road. Back when I was about four or five years old my mother got off the phone and stared out the window and cried. I didn’t know what to do or say so I said the thing that I say when I heard something interesting on the phone.
Their swords clashed, a ring resonating throughout the courtyard. She gritted her teeth as she slowly began to grow tired. The rain continued to talk from the sky soaking their clothes and weighing them down. But still they carried on, neither one giving up.
It was like living a dream. He took me out to dinner, met my parents –
One of the most unique creatures are fish. As I am sitting here in my room, my fish are swimming about with not a care in the world. I wonder what it would feel like to be a fish.