Making Sense

They had all been milling about for a while now. Not saying much, just looking up at the lights above them and the people passing by around them. It wasn't as if they hated each other or has some other reason not to talk with one another. Just, no one had thought of it.

Abe was new however, and the silence bored him. He turned to Frank near him. “So what brought you here?”

Frank blinked, staring for a moment. “What?”

“You know, we all came here for one reason or another, so what brought you to this place?”

Frank stayed quiet.

Abe sighed. “All right, look. See, I’m here because the guy I was hanging out with decided to show off to some of the girls he and his buddy were hanging out with so he skipped it across the fountain. And here I am. Pretty simple, right? So now it’s your turn.”

“Um, okay...I guess,” Frank mumbled. “I was with a mom and her son. The little man wanted to throw something in, so she gave him it and he threw it in deep. I was really glad to see how happy he was afterwards.” Frank smiled, gazing toward the edge.

“See, that’s a charming story. Says a lot about you.” Abe nodded, smiling. “I bet no one knows that about you, huh?”

“Um...I guess.”

“Hey George, you heard that right?” Abe called to George who was resting nearby. “Did you know that about Frank?”

“Can’t say I did,” George said, rousing himself from his nap.

“Now what about you George? What’s your deal?” Abe prodded.

“So I guess we’re doing this now?” George sighed. “Welp, if I remember right, I was palling with a guy named Bryan at the time. He tossed it in wishing to get together with a some girl named Molly.”

“Oh hey, that’s really funny!” Dwight said from his spot. “A girl named Molly tossed it in to wish to have a successful marriage to a guy named Bryan. Maybe it’s the same two.”

“Well then don’t I feel lucky.” George laughed.

“It would explain why she used something so uncommon,” Abe mused.

“It’s nice to see that some actions are so universal. That make those kinds of wishes in Canada as well.” Liz said, inserting herself into the conversation. Tom rested near her.

“Speaking of uncommon, it’s not often we see someone like you around here Liz. Care to share with us?” Abe asked.

“No trouble at all. I must say, however, I have changed company a few times recently. I came to the states with a college student from Canada. However, she used it to call home from the airport and I didn't see where she went off to. At the airport I met a man calling his wife and traveled with him a bit, then there was the incident at the soda machine where I met a very proper young girl. I came with her to this mall and lost track of her at the candy machines before making the acquaintance of an elderly man with a British accent. He used it to wish for a chance to see his grandchildren in London again.”

“That’s quite the adventure Ms. Liz,” Frank piped up.

“It was a nice chance to meet so many interesting people,” She agreed. “Tom and I had a very pleasant chat while in the company of that nice English man, didn't we Tom?”

“Indeed, a truly enlightening discussion we had.” He smiled at her. “One I enjoyed very much.”

“What about Helen and Other George?” Dwight said. His voice was quiet. “They’re just sort of by themselves over there.”

“Well, we all have a story. Let’s see if I can get theirs.” Abe waved at the two. “Hey guys, want to join the party?”

Other George looked at him. His eyes were weary. “Thanks, but ours isn't so cheery as all yours. We’ll stay here if that’s all right.”

Abe shook his head. “Come on, I know that I want to hear it. We all know not everything in life is perfect. We've been around for a while. And it helps to share with friends.”

Helen made a few gestures from behind Other George. He sighed and nodded. “I suppose you’re right Helen.” He made his way over to the growing group. “Ours comes from a wish just like many of yours, but with less hope. We were traveling with a father. He had come here to build a bear for his son at that one store. The bear was brown and soft, and he got it a super hero costume. We heard that cashier ask who it was for and the father told about his son in the hospital. The conversation had made him tear up, and by the time he tossed it with his wish, he was wiping away some tears.”

“What was his wish?” Frank asked.

“That he’d make it in time to give his son the bear.”

The group was quiet. Liz dabbed at her eyes before passing the handkerchief to Dwight who was crying openly.

“Thank you for sharing,” Tom said. “It’s a touching story to be sure.”

“See, this is why I wanted to ask you all your stories,” Abe said, smiling. He looked at those gathered around him. “We've all got stories, people that we've met, places we've been, and we've been a part of the live of those around us. I think, I think that while we here, we can share those stories with each other, and maybe find something in it for each of us.”

He saw the others smiling, some nodding.

“Let’s enjoy each others’ company for as long as it lasts. Okay?”

Gone

You left, after so many years

You left and didn’t say good-bye.

We were the best of friends

Kindred spirits since we were young.

We grew together, we fought, we talked,

We laughed, were quiet, but were connected.

And then you left.

You found a boy and lost yourself

In him and you seemed to forget

Who you were and where you came from

Who you left behind.

Never did I hear from you

Never did I see you

For years you were gone.

Was it because of you that I found her?

She was lost, I wanted to fulfill.

Her lips were new and I didn’t know better

Guess that’s why I fell so hard.

Three weeks later, my heart hurt

I let her go, her anger glancing off me.

A summer experience

That’s what I call her

Makes my shame easier to bear.

Maybe.

And then you came back.

I was shocked really.

You walked up with your mom, looking sheepish.

Of course I hugged you

Of course I gave you a hard time

Of course I was happy to see you.

I Want

I want to sleep in
I want to skip breakfast
I want to know what's going on
I want mom to stand up
I want her to speak normally
I want dad to stay in control
I want to panic
I want to sleep through it
I want to close my eyes
I want to help
I want to lay down
I want to not smell it
I want to be useful
I want to go back to bed
I want her to be totally better
I want her not to faint again
I want to sleep
I want to move in
I want her to see a doctor
I want to not wait
I want my batteries not to die
I want something to eat
I want traffic to not suck
I want a sandwich
I want some ice tea
I want to be back
I want to unwind
I want better news
I want to cry
I want to call my friends
I want to panic
I want to break down
I want to see her again
I want her to live
I want them to drive fast
I want to use the bathroom
I want to leave
I want to follow
I want more people to pray
I want God's miracle
I want to be there
I want to see her arrive
I want them to tell us more
I want time to go faster
I want to lie down
I want them to do more
I want to nap
I want to play games
I want to be distracted
I want the doctor to show up
I want him to speak better English
I want him to stop repeating himself
I want my question answered
I want something definitive
I want her to stop worrying about me
I want her to not worry
I want the thing to stay still
I want her to get better
I want her to be okay
I want to know God is here

Friends with the Wolf

The train rolled down the tracks along the Irish coast line. I sat alone at my window seat, watching the land skate by. Waves crashed against the rocks along the coast. People wandered the streets in their towns. A few people were muttering in the train car, seated away from me. This was another train trip that I took on my own. It was a choice to be alone, to not ask anyone to join me. Sometimes, my best companion was myself. I leaned my head against the window, watching.

In time, we arrived in Dublin. I wandered out of the station, threading my way through crowds of nameless faces. Streets that I had paced alone so often lead me through the city and across the bridge spanning the River Liffey. I could see my face in the water below, and the passing silhouettes of whoever’s life I happened to be passing through that moment.

I arrived somewhere I never thought I would be, never thought I would belong. On a back street, at a bar called the Academy, I formed in line with everyone else. I was there early, shivering a bit in the evening chill. The sun was still up, somewhere behind those grey clouds. The line wasn’t that long and I could tell that we were all excited. We were all here to see the same man, Andrew W.K.

I got my tickets from a guy behind a plastic window; I had to listen hard to get past his accent and all the noise. The hall was empty, nowhere near as many people as I thought would be there. Maybe Andrew wasn’t as popular over here. The thin crowd allowed me to find a nice spot on the main floor, right against a guard rail, out of the way of everyone else. And there I planned to stay for however long the concert took.

           

In time, the opening act came out on stage. They were some local Dublin band, trying to hit it big. Unfortunately for them, they were the skinny jean, denim vest, greasy hair kind and their act was as “Dead, dead, fucking dead” as their last song. And while their music sucked, the crowd seemed to enjoy themselves. People were already being lifted into the air and thrown toward the stage, and someone’s beer had already been spilled over my shoes.

           

After the lead singer finally stopped rolling on the floor and the band left, we had some down time. The crew was setting up the stage for the main act. As I waited, I watched the crowd around me. They were the types I had expected: baggy black pants, plenty of chains, dyed black hair or startlingly blonde, t-shirts for bands that I didn’t know, and piercings all around. They reminded me of the friends I had back in high school freshman year. As for me, I was dressed in my brown pants, hiking boots, military jacket and grey hat. Maybe I was hoping to blend into the background and go unnoticed.

            

More people started to stream in. All of them in various kinds of black or some clashing color. A crowd of uniqueness was gathering. And the beer was flowing more freely. I watched a few people make multiple trips to the bar, though they might have been going for friends. I was tempted to get my first drink at that very show, but my ignorance of what to ask for held me back; not really the place for me to look like a fool.

          
Soon enough, the place was packed. I was engulfed in a sea of the alternative and indie. The crowd was restless and even before the music began; people were practicing their mosh-pit body slams. I stayed leaned against my guard rail, watching.

            

The lights flickered and dimmed and they all started cheering. We knew what was coming next. First the drummer mounted the stage, then the bassist. With hair nearly as wild as the man we came to see, the guitarist and Cherie Lily, Andrews wife, jumped on stage to rev up the crowd. The already raucous crowd reached a kind of frenzy I didn’t think was possible.

           

We waited. We knew but didn’t know how long it would be. Finally, the guitarist grabbed the mic and yelled, “Ladies and gentlemen! ANDREW. W. K!” Everyone shouted as the man ran on stage, his white clothes bright in the crappy lighting and his long black hair flowing behind him. He bent down to hi-five as many people as he could before grabbing the mic and signaling to start the music.

           

 “It’s time to party!” He shouted and the crowd all sang along to the song of the same name. I leaned on my railing, bobbing my head with the music, not singing. The crowd was alive, the band was excited, the beer was flowing, and I observed.

            

The night continued on, the music was loud and the energy infectious. The guitar was wild and exciting. The keyboard was electric. And the drums kept the pulse of the show. It was metal, sure, but happy metal, the kind of ridiculously over the top music that could break glass and liven hearts. I couldn’t help myself. As the songs came and went I found myself pumping my fist in the air along with the rest of them. I was shouting the lyrics to every song along with the rest of them. I found myself absorbed into the mosh-pit and was throwing myself around with the rest of them.

           

 I became a part of them. Despite my best efforts I was drawn into the mass of humanity, literally and figuratively. Regardless of my desire to stay on the outskirts, to observe, they pulled me in. These people, they mattered to me, if only for a little while. As Andrew sang “She is Beautiful” I sang along, aiming the words at the girl in front of me. I truly didn’t think she was, but I felt compelled to tell her all the same. Those that I was being shoved into and shoving against weren’t a threat; they weren’t trying to hurt me, just as I wasn’t trying to hurt them. We were friends in that moment, showing affection.

          

 After what must have been three hours of jumping, shouting, and head banging, the concert came to a close. As Andrew and his band left the stage we cheered our hero and called for one last song. For nearly five minutes. He didn’t come back, not like so many other musicians where a few extra seconds of clapping get them back for an encore. We stayed and called, willing him to come back.

           

He did, finally. After what seemed like so long, Andrew W.K. came back to us for one last song. “We Want Fun” was our final anthem for the night, a call to all of us to find a little time and enjoy life. And Andrew gave us an example of that, jumping out into the crowd and letting us pass him along like he was floating on the tides. I got a hand on him to help him on his journey. Finally, after the amps were silenced, after the lights came back on, after bodies stopped barreling into each other, we left the Academy.

I drifted away from the rest of the crowd. On my way out I bought his signature white t-shirt with blood running down it, a memento of the night. In the night air I realized how hot it was in there, how sweaty I was now. In the middle of the street I peeled off the shirt I was wearing and donned Andrew’s.

Waking back to the train, I was stopped. A man in an orange dress and boa and his friend, a girl in an orange jersey, stopped me on the bridge over the River Liffy. They tried to talk to me, and it was then that I realized that I couldn’t hear what they were saying. The music had muted my hearing. The girl showed me her camera and said something. I tried to take it to take their picture but she shook her head. Her friend in the dress stood next to me and I realized they wanted my picture. I smiled, wearing my bloody shirt, as a man in an orange dress in a foreign country stood next to me, arms around each other’s shoulders.

I felt out of place as that night began. Concerts were never my scene and getting caught in a mosh pit was something that I figured was to be feared. Yet, in that chaos, in that mad house, amid all the drinking and shouting and bodies flying, I felt accepted. I’ll never see anyone from that night again, but for a little while there, we were friends.

Where is the Outrage?

Where is my outrage?
Where is the fire?
Why don't I respond?
Where is my outrage?
I care.
About those hurt.
About being lied to.
About knowing the truth.
Where is my outrage?
I know who is at fault.
I know what they did.
I know how their victims live.
I know their pains.
Where is my outrage?
Am I allowing their evil?
Am I forgiving their folly?
Am I ignoring the wrong?
Where is my outrage?
Could I be so accepting of failure?
Do I have no faith in others?
Does nothing surprise me?
Where is my outrage?
I sit in silence.
Unresponsive.
Staring blankly.
Where is my outrage?

Holy Hell

Holy Hell!
What are you doing here!
No I don't want you to leave,
not after you've come all this way.
Come in, come in.

Sorry,
I don't really know how to make coffee.
Don't drink it myself.
Sit down.
You've come too far to not stay a while.
Here, you look cold.
My mom knit it.
It's decaf, you'll sleep fine.

I have to ask,
why are you here?
I mean, this is a few hundred miles from your home.
You have to have a reason, right?

He did what?
No I don't think your crazy.
If you needed to get away,
then I'm glad you came here.
Space helps you think,
trust me, I know.

Did I ever tell you about my trip?
The one I took last year?
It came on the end of some hard times.
I was away from it all for a while,
met some new people,
saw some new places.
Thought some new thoughts.
Distance helps.

Hey, remember summer, a few years ago?
Those were some fun times.
Breakin' some rules,
trying not to get in trouble.
That one couple took issue with us,
when we were by the lake,
on their beach property.
But we got away before they caught us.

Yeah, I remember that December.
When you moved away.
It was the right thing, I think.
At least at that time.
I know that's where you met him,
but you met a lot of other friends.
You had a good job,
got to put your degree to work.

I still have those letters you wrote.
Glad to know you got mine.
Yeah, I should have written more as well.
We got busy.
It happens.
I don't think it means we drifted apart.

You still go to church?
Ha, yeah.
I know how hard it is to find one.
At least one you like.
Has to feel like home, right?
If you're sticking around for a few days,
you can come back with me.
I'm sure everyone will want to see you.

My bed is upstairs,
that's where you'll sleep.
I'll take the couch.
No, I won't hear your protests.
You need some real sleep.

I mean it, I'm glad you're here.
I'll show you around tomorrow,
though there isn't much here.
Good night, I'll see you when you wake.

No More Than A Feeling?

Where does it come from?
Where does it go?
Why does it always get riled up
by that stupid country music?
Blake and Brad and even Taylor,
They seem to have it distilled.
And they put it into their music.
And it goes straight to my heart.

Sure, we all want to love.
To have some one.
To hold hands.
To hold each other.
To fight and make up.
To look long and close eyes.
Intimacy.

I'm the same.
At least I think I am.
I have no experience with it,
but I know that I want it.

The real question isn't new.
What to do about it.
This is me we're talking about.
Confidence and fear
inseparable in me.
An apparently they're fighting.
Each keeps the other at bay.
In the end, stagnation.

Kind of pointless now.
I'm in the middle of nowhere.
Isolated to the extreme.
In the future, maybe time to change.
But that's what I thought last year.
And the year before that.
And the year before that.

Maybe, for me at least,
Boston was wrong.
It isn't anything more than a feeling.
Just a feeling.