A Knock at the Door

 

Their world was someplace after the writers left for the day and before act 1 began.  It was a place of nerves, self-doubt and anticipation.  It was where tiny beads of sweat ran at almost the pace as the actors walking back and forth backstage.

There was no more to be done at this point.  Tables and chairs were on their mark, props were positioned and the house lighting began to flicker, announcing the play was about to begin. 

In a booth, at the back of the dark theatre, the sound man pushes lever 7, and the sound of someone knocking on the door is heard by the audience.  The curtain draws back revealing the Anderson’s living room and Cindy walks across the stage to open the door. 

Now is when the actors can once again breathe.  They are in their element and the show is underway.  Cindy opens the front door to reveal a cat sitting there, waiting to be let in.  As the cat trots in and jumps onto the couch, Cindy looks puzzled and asks, “And just how did you knock?”

 

The audience laughs…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dissuader

 

        I’m the opposite of an influencer.  I discourage people from doing or trying anything new.  Why bother?  What’s the point?

    

        Now leave me alone.

 

 

 

 

 

The Old West

Jake would be returning from the cattle drive
today and Ma was not looking forward to the smell.

 

A Cold Case

 

The simple fact that they were bear tracks was enough to make me nervous.  I could see by how deep the tracks were that the animal must be very large, and the claw marks along the front of each paw looked to be quite substantial.  One swipe would be enough to do me in. 

Then again, I’d never really encountered footprints going across a cheesecake before.  Was it headed back towards the salad dressing or off to the left, over by the egg cartons.  I was afraid to find out. 

I could, of course, close the door, causing the light to go out, but what would that do to my ability to track this animal?  Being outweighed is one thing, but to encounter it in the dark is out of the question.  I grabbed up a stick of butter in each hand.  Should it get too close I’ll attempt to take away its traction.  If it is slipping and sliding around, it’s focus will no longer be on just me, but on its ability to control its movements. 

I glanced down at the sticks of butter.  It said Challenge on the wrapper.  How appropriate, I thought to myself.

 

 

 

 zc

 

 

 

San Diego Harbor

There was no longer any wind filling the sails.  We were now just sitting still in the water.  Cabin cruisers and motorboats zipped by - their waves rocking us back and forth.  Neither Sally nor Randy seemed too concerned, but I knew it wouldn’t be long and the sun would start to set.  There is no way I wanted to still be out here in the dark.

Randy pulled three more beers from the cooler and came over and joined Sally and me in the deck chairs.  The three of us sat and sipped our beers, listening to the music and tourist chatter coming from the hotel patio just on shore.

I think Sally was reading my facial expression and body language and asked if I was really that nervous that the wind had not picked up.  “I’m thinking of calling in to the coast guard and requesting a tow into shore.”

“Do they charge for that?” she asked.

Randy chimed in and suggested we offer them a couple of beers, but before any of us could respond, a seagull flew in and landed on the lid of the cooler.  It just stood there and looked at us. 

“That seems kind of friendly, don’t you think?” Sally said.

Randy replied, “I’ve heard of this.  Seagulls are smart and if we pay attention, we might see that he’s trying to tell us something.”

“I think he’s just looking for food.  They see people and they know there is food around.”

Sally gave Randy a smirk and said, “OK, smarty-pants, what is the bird trying to tell us?” 

Randy scrunched up his face and put an index finger to his head, like he was receiving some mental message from beyond.  Then he finally said, “Yea, I got nothing.”

The sounds coming across the water from the hotel seemed a little louder.

"Are we drifting in closer, or are they just having more fun?"  Neither Randy or I answered her.  We were too focused on the bird.  It had jumped up onto the rail and was now pecking on the wood.

Randy held up his hand, signaling us to be quiet.  "Does anyone know Morse code?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After-taste

 

 

Nothing at all like a jet engine’s afterburner.  Adding an extra shot of fuel to the exhaust to add more thrust, after-taste is that lingering flavor left behind from the exhaust of bad coffee.  Not quiet the morning thrust I was hoping for.

Not sure what causes some flavors to linger while others do not.  For me, the worst is fish.  Long after I’ve eaten it, its ghost remains, swimming in and around my teeth, dropping scales here and there, creating images of tiny fishbones traveling part way down my throat.

 

“Hack!  Hack!  Cough, sputter-sputter.”

 

 

 

 

Why Soap

 

What exactly do the bubbles do for you?  Is it a visual thing?  If you achieve full coverage with the soap bubbles and then rinse them off completely, you are assured the dirt and grime get rinsed away as well. 

You can see the transformation when washing your car, so is it the same when washing your hands?  What of the invisible germs?  You can’t see them, and yet it has been told to us over and over again since we were little, “Don’t touch that, it’s got germs on it.  Or - Ick, put that down.”

What if there was a soap that made germs visible?  Once the bubbles formed, suddenly you’d be able to spot the little critters.  Okay, there they go – down the drain.  But how disgusting would that be?  Maybe it is good we don’t see them.  Forget I ever said anything.

 

zc