Joy

I give to you a poem in eleventy-one words...

More money,

More horsepower,

More square feet,

More education,

More love,

More…

Are we never enough?

Those thorny little epithets flung behind our backs,

Those eye rolling glances cast between those we deem powerful.

They has an effect.

(Only if you let them)

They makes us doubt.

(If you wish)

 [What we half create,

And what perceive.]

Isn’t getting better the point?

To progress!

Which begets progress,

Which begets progress,

Ad infinitum.

Quod Erat Demonstrandum.

{Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s}

Do you want to know a secret?

Do you promise now to tell?

Progress may bring happiness,

But intent remains the font of joy.

{Give to God what is God’s}

Forced Awakenings

I give to you a true story in eleventy-one words...

I approached the cashier; he spoke to a woman about Star Wars.

I’m a fan. The first movie I saw in theaters was Return of the Jedi. I sent away five proofs of purchase to obtain the Emperor action figure. Twice. I’ve watched the movies – even Phantom Menace – myriad times.

When Disney hired Abrams, I felt giddy. Not only is he an incredible director, but he’s good at keeping the story quiet, just like I like it.

I was to see The Force Awakens that night. I put my items down. Then the cashier revealed that…

For those who’ve seen it, you know what I mean.

He flinched when I snarled.

Guns

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

He walked into the den where his wife was writing. ‘They’re dead.’

‘Huh?’

‘My mother. She said. They died.’

‘Who?’

‘My brother.’

‘Oh my God.’

‘His son too…’

‘Your Godson?’

‘Not anymore.’ He stared out the window.

She hugged him.

He sighed, then chuckled, then began laughing uncontrollably; tears streamed down his face.

‘What is wrong with you?’

‘Maybe now they’ll change the gun laws.’

‘What do you mean?’

He turned on the television. ‘… gunman was the father of a child killed in the Newtown massacre.’ A pause. ‘For those of you just joining, at least twenty are dead with many more wounded at the NRA Convention in Louisville, Kentucky.’

Sighs

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

He entered the den, closed the door, sat in the recliner, and sighed. His wife and children knew better than to approach him. At best, he’d ignore them; at worst, he’d scowl and yell.

He wanted to eat with his family. He wanted to listen to his children recount their days. He wanted to play Scrabble with them until bedtime. He wanted to retire to the bedroom with his wife. He wanted to explain to her how he felt stuck and needed to find another job.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Instead, he reached for the remote, turned on the television, and stared at the screen until he drifted into oblivion.

Worthy

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

The priest leaned forward.

She sat with arms folded and stared out the window.

He spoke softly, ‘You are worthy of love and forgiveness.’

She sneered.

He didn’t react, then repeated, ‘You are worthy of love and forgiveness.’

She glanced at him, rolled her eyes.

‘You are worthy of love and forgiveness.’

She turned her head and glared at him.

‘You are…’

‘No, I ain’t. Get the fuck outta here!’

He bowed his head briefly, then spoke, ‘You are worthy…’

‘I killed my kids. I ain’t worthy of shit!’

He looked into her eyes. ‘You are worthy of love and forgiveness.’

She averted her eyes; a tear streamed down her cheek.

Grand Finale

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

“He grabbed the cat by its neck. ‘Behold! I shall toss this feline from the balcony. For she is magical with astonishing levitative powers. Drum roll, please!’ They pounded their thighs in unison as they gaped in awed glee. He swung the hissing cat back and forth. Then simply let go. We went silent as she plummeted; we waited in rapt anticipation. Then a bird floated up above an adjacent building and vanished. He turned a cat into a bird!“

“Sir, she is definitely under the influence.”

“Of what?”

“We don’t know.”

“Then he brought out his baby daughter. So cute! ‘And now for the grand finale,’ he said.”

“Oh no.”

Necessity

I give to you a true story in eleventy-one words...

My grandmother finished her rosary. After the final bead, she smiled – signaling she was ready to chat – and asked me about school.  I told her I was writing about the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and then railed against their barbarity. My grandmother listened quietly. In a rare adolescent moment of clarity, I asked her opinion.

‘You have to remember that we were going to invade Japan and probably lose a million men.’ She paused. ‘I’m not saying it was right, but it was necessary. Plus, your grandfather was in the Pacific; I don’t think he would have come back. So, if they didn’t drop them, you probably wouldn’t be here.’

Mowing

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

He woke, sat up, coughed, fell back against his pillow. He was tired. Of being angry, useless, old. He rang the cow bell; his son entered.  

‘How you feelin, dad?’

‘I wanna mow.’

‘Is that a good idea?’

‘Yes’

His son didn’t argue.

He slowly washed, dressed, hobbled – all with help – to the shed. His son deposited him on the mower and set it in first gear.

Halfway across the lawn, he coughed violently. When the fit ceased, he slumped onto the steering wheel. His son ran over, cut the engine, and put him on the ground. There was no pulse.

His son smiled; a single tear streamed down his cheek.

Pride

I give to you a reflection in eleventy-one words...

When did you know?

When I got spanked for finding that magazine.

When I disavowed everything I’d told her and learned to trust no one.

When he said he’d show me his if I showed him mine.

When I heard the word faggot and seethed.

When I saw them dressing in the locker room.

When I connected in those green chat rooms.

When I met him in the library.

When I lied to him.

When I knelt in the chapel and begged God’s absolution.

When I asked him where George, Washington is.

When he asked on Father’s Day.

Before these events;

And after.

When did I know?

The answer is

Always.

Waking

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

He woke to ‘Time Warp’ from Rocky Horror, rose from bed, sat cross-legged on his meditation pillow, and set the timer. He tapped the Tibetan singing bowl, then guided a wooden mallet circularly around it. At first, the bowl resonated monotonically. Then, the tone changed subtly, differently. He ceased moving the mallet; it still sang. He tried to lift the bowl from his hand; it didn’t move. Instead, the vibration encompassed his hand, arm, and body until his entire being became an epic organic symphony. He lost consciousness.

He woke, an infant just born. He took seven steps and said, ‘I alone am the world-honored one.’ His mother named him Siddhartha.

Obligation

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

He pulled into the driveway; the car’s clock struck midnight. When did life become an obligation, he wondered. A tear snuck into his beard.

He reluctantly grasped the doorknob to his bedroom, stopped, retreated to the kitchen. He prepared hot chocolate – complete with marshmallows – and transported three mugs into the living room.

‘Wake up,’ he gently shook his two young sons in turn. ‘I have a surprise.’ They sleepily followed and settled around the coffee table.

‘Do you want to hear a story about the woods down the street?’ They nodded. ‘There’s magic in them.’ When their eyes grew wide, he knew that being a dad would never be an obligation.

Haunted

This basement is haunted.

Yeah, right.

My grandfather killed himself right over there.

You’re making it up.

No I’m not; he hung himself from a pipe.

You’re trying to scare me.

Well, yeah.

Why?

I don’t want you here.

Well, I don’t want to be here. But whatever. Your grandpa isn’t a ghost. You just don’t like me and my dad living here.

I don’t. That’s why my grandpa is gonna get rid of you.

Whatever.

[He smiles.] Try to get up.

What?

Get up.

[He tries.] I can’t.

I’ll have him punch you too, just so you know he’s real.

[His nose begins to bleed.]

And that’s just the beginning.

Goodbye Grandpa

I give to you a true story in eleventy-one words...

After bologna sandwiches, I’d retrieve the cribbage board, a not so subtle hint to my grandfather. We’d start in silence. A couple hands. Until the conversation began.

One day, I asked where he learned cribbage.

In the Pacific; on the carrier USS Antietam. A catapult operator; he helped launch the aircraft. He’d never seen action; they’d arrived too late. Traveled to Guam, Okinawa, Shanghai; on ‘occupation support duty.’ His captain was Japanese American; they’d have been in Tokyo Harbor for V-J Day were it not for a malfunction. There were no clouds at sea; just blue sea and sky.

He was my last personal link to the Greatest Generation.

Goodbye Grandpa.

New Beginnings

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

This pill is the ultimate cure.

What does it do?

Whatever you wish.

I came to you for help with my addiction.

This pill cures addiction.

That’s ridiculous.

I was a skeptic until I tried it.

And?

I got what I wanted.

Is your life better?

Define better.

(Adam pauses.)

Do you not want the pill?

I’m curious.

You can stop being a drunk.

That’s hard to believe.

Try it. (He hands Adam the pill.)

(Adam contemplates.) Any wish?

Any wish.

(He swallows the pill and quickly loses consciousness.)

Define better…

(He wakes in a glade of dewy grass. Naked he reclines beside a woman. They are unaware of their nakedness.)

Home

I give to you a dialogue in eleventy-one words...

Home is where the heart is.

Where is your heart?

Not sure. I need to find it.

Don’t you always tell me that if you don’t know where you’re going, you should stay where you are?

Do as I say, not as I do.

Hypocrisy?

No… Maybe… I guess so. But with good intention.

The road to hell.

To heaven.

That’s not how the saying goes.

The saying is wrong.

How do you know?

I’ve seen it, lived it.

Arrogance?

Experience.

Go, then.

I will, and it will hurt.

Why go, then?

Because it doesn’t hurt yet.

That’s absurd.

I’m leaving to find something.

What do you think you’ll find?

Home.

Scam

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

He answered his cell.

‘Mr. Pritchett?’

‘Yes?’

‘The IRS is bringing a case against you because you attempted to defraud the government.’

‘Nice try, buddy.’

‘This isn’t a scam. There are officers outside your building who will take you into custody unless you do what I say.’

‘Right. Ciao.’

‘Shit. Get out, Gerald!’ the gentleman yelled.

‘What?! Hello!’ The phone went dead. He hadn’t been called Gerald since youth. Something felt wrong. He grabbed his bag and walked to the back door.

He was about to exit when he heard, ‘Tommy!’ He turned to see a man pointing a pistol at him. He ducked in time to miss the first bullet.

Sacrifice

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

She grabbed him, slapped him. He stood, watching her.

‘You let our son die.’

There had been no other way, not if he wanted to remain the leader of the rebel faction.

‘You’re causing a scene,’ he spoke calmly.  ‘Let’s go home.’

‘I have no home, no comfort, no joy. Because of you!’

He moved closer and whispered, ‘It’s bigger than him, bigger than us. You know that.’

‘Maybe I don’t,’ she mumbled.

‘Please understand what you’re saying.’

She stared into his eyes, ‘I know exactly what I’m saying.’

He bowed his head; the argument was over.

‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

They hugged.

And he snapped her neck.

Showdown

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words...

The showdown had come.

He dismounted, left his horse, and rambled down the street. The town’s inhabitants cautiously followed, watching him intently. Not a word came from their respective mouths. Only the scuff of his boots could be heard.

He paused in front of the saloon and yelled, ‘Where is he?’ The tension was palpable, the silence a heavy fog.

‘Where is he?’ he shouted again.

A boy stepped forward and pointed. He clutched his belt and turned, thinking that his enemy was behind him. Instead, he saw an old woman pointing as well. One by one, the entire town pointed, showing him his adversary.

He pulled his gun and fired.