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kristianaandtheheartbreakprince · 4 years

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The Links I’ve Made

Listening twice through

the 1

And if you bleed, you're never gonna grow - And if I bleed, you'll be the last to know (Cruel Summer)

Roaring twenties, tossing pennies in the pool - Jump in to the pool from the balcony // feeling so Gatsby for that whole year (This is Why We Can't Have Nice Things)

In my defense, I have none, for never leaving well enough alone - I never leave well enough alone (ME!)

cardigan

Chase two girls, lose the one - Call back to "Girl at Home"?

the last great american dynasty

There goes the maddest woman this town has ever seen - Mad Woman

Filled up the pool with champagne and swam with the big name - Everyone's swimming in a champagne sea (This is Why We Can't Have Nice Things)

I had a marvelous time - I said oh my, what a marvelous tune (Starlight)

exile

With his arms around your body, laughin' but the joke's not funny at all - Reminds me of the photos of her with TH on the rocks

You're not my homeland anymore, so what am I defending now? - Keep your helmet, keep your life, son, just a flesh wound, here's your rifle, crawling up the beaches now, "Sir, I think he's bleeding out" // With you I serve, with you I fall down (epiphany)

I think I've seen this film before and I didn't like the ending - You knew the hero died so what's the movie for? (hoax)

You were my crown, now I'm in exile, seein' you out - They took the crown but it's alright (Call It What You Want)

We always walked a very thin line - You and I walk a fragile line, I have known it all this time (Haunted)

my tears richochet

And if I'm on fire, you'll be made of ashes, too

- I am ash from your fire (hoax) - But I'm a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm (peace)

We gather stones, never knowing what they'll mean, some to throw, some to make a diamond ring - People throw rocks at things that shine (Ours)

You wear the same jewels that I gave you as you bury me - LWYMMD MV

mirrorball

Spinning in my highest heels, love - Spinning like a girl in a brand new dress (Holy Ground)

I'm still on that tightrope - You and I walk a fragile line, I have known it all this time (Haunted)

august

Whispers of "Are you sure?" "Never have I ever before" - We are alone, just you and me, up in your room and our slates are clean (State of Grace)

And I can see us twisted in bedsheet - I can see it all in my head, back and forth sneaking in your bed (Daylight) - All of you, all of me intertwined (Daylight)

And say, "Meet me behind the mall" - You can meet me in the back (Delicate)

Remember when I pulled up and said "Get in the car" - She said "James, get in, let's drive" (betty)

this is me trying

I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting - Salt air, and the rust on your door (august)

I just wanted you to know that this is me trying - This is me swallowing my pride, standing in front of you saying I'm sorry for that night (Back to December)

They told me all of my cages were mental - Gold cage hostage to my feelings (So It Goes...)

And my words shoot to kill when I'm mad - Mad woman

illicit affairs

Hood over your head, keep your eyes down - My baby's fit like a daydream, walking with his head down, I'm the one he's walking to (Call It What You Want)

Don't call me "kid," don't call me "baby" - My baby's fit like a daydream (Call It What You Want) - Call my bluff, call you babe (It’s Nice To Have a Friend)

You showed me colors you know I can't see with anyone else - and ode to all of her lyrics about colour!

invisible string

Green was the color of the grass // Teal was the color of your shirt - another ode to lyrical colours

Bad was the blood of the song in the cab on your first trip to LA - Now we've got bad blood (Bad Blood)

Out of all the wrong arms, right into that dive bar - dive bar on the east side, where you at? (Delicate)

One single thread of gold // Gold was the colour of the leaves - I once believed love would be burning red, but it's golden, like daylight (Daylight)

Gave me the blues and then purple-pink skies - Light pink sky up on the roof, sun sinks down, no curfew (It's Nice To Have a Friend)

And it's cool, baby with me - it's cool, that's what I tell them no rules in breakable heaven (Cruel Summer)

mad woman

And women like hunting witches too - they're burning all the witches, even if you aren't one (I Did Something Bad)

I'm taking my time, taking my time - time, wondrous time (invisible string) - time, mystical time (invisible string) - time, curious time (invisible string)

hoax

My only one - only 1

My smoking gun // my twisted knife - bought a knife to a gun fight (Call It What You Want)

Don't want no other shade of blue but you - it's blue the feeling I've got (Cruel Summer) (and a million references to Blue she's had!)

You know I left a part of me back in New York - back and forth, from New York (Daylight)

You knew it still hurts underneath my scars - You drew stars around my scars (cardigan)

My kingdom come undone - my castle crumbled overnight (Call It What You Want)

peace

Suddenly this summer, it's clear - Cruel Summer

I would die for you in secret - Remember how I said I’d die for you? (False God) - Your love is a secret I’m hoping, dreaming, dying to keep (King of My Heart)

You paint dreamscapes on the wall - We never painted by the numbers, baby (the 1)

But there's robbers to the east, clowns to the west - 'nuf said

The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me - It's Nice to Have a Friend

Sit with you in the trenches - epiphany

Family that I chose, now that I see your brother as my brother - Trust him like a brother (Call It What You Want)

betty

When I passed your house it's like I couldn't breathe - Windows down, I pass my street the memories start // Headlights pass the window pane, I think of you (I Wish You Would)

You can't believe a word she says most times, but this time it was true - So I guess all the rumors are true (London Boy)

Or lead me to the garden? - I snuck through the garden gate every night that summer just to seal my fate (Cruel Summer)

Standing in your cardigan - And when I felt like I was an old cardigan (Cardigan)

#taylor swift #folklore #ts8 #betty #peace #the lakes #hoax #mad woman #invisible string #illicit affairs #mirror ball #my tears richochet #easter eggs #august #exile #cardigan #the 1 #the last great american dynasty #krisrambles

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ewdaviddd · 4 years

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folklore think piece

for a lower case album such as this, i will be writing a lowercase think piece on the subject. i will not explain why. you get it or you don’t.

the 1: i have never been in love or any type of romantic relationship that left me with lasting feelings of any kind. but, on my fourth listen through of this song today, what once was just a promising and fun intro to this peasant girl summer gut punch, brought me to actual tears as i sat on the toilet in my lime green childhood bathroom as if i were mourning the one that got away (another great song). however, i am an expert on being hung up on the past, the “what could have been”, and made up hypotheticals. this song also introduces the film motif seen a lot in this album. i think dating an actor has really gotten to her. anyway what a killer way to begin, top notch stuff. how can a song be so fun and so soul crushing at the same time?

cardigan: when did taylor wear black lipstick? this is important to me. an old cardigan is an inherently bisexual article of clothing. that is not an opinion. i read it somewhere today and i believe it. this is the tip of the queer-coding ice berg in folklore, never fear. another reference, “tried to change the ending / peter losing wendy”. this year i wrote a movie script where both peter and wendy were both gay. coincidence? probably. basically this one is classic taylor poetry on every level and it being one of a trio in a larger story makes it that much better. yet again, high school romance is not a universal experience (like for me for instance) but haunting my “what-ifs” is going to haunt me for a long time. and the thought of someone saying i was their favorite cardigan makes me want to scream into a pillow.

the last great american dynasty: my favorite ts songs have always been the ones with detailed characters and stories and this one introduces the trope of the “mad woman” who comes back later on as well a long with many fun character details. at first this song is just cheeky and cute, very visual, a fun world to jump into. but then this particular stretch of lines makes your heart drop into your chest and reminds you why taylor isn’t just always fun and always cute and always creative, she also holds the ability to nimbly sock you in the gut when you least expect: “fifty years is a long time / holiday house sat quietly on that beach / free of women with madness, their men and bad habits / and then it was bought by me.” my jaw is still on the floor. and i’ve never bought a house myself. but i’ve spent numerous christmases having a marvelous time ruining everything (so i’ve been told) so this song still applies to my life.

exile (ft. bon iver): i’m gonna be honest. for as long as i can remember i have strongly disliked bon iver and i never remembered why. it is a matter of principle at this point. i just don’t trust him. but then taylor announced she wrote a song with him which filled me with tremendous anxiety. but i can rest easy. much like “the last time” this song is a ts and male artist collaboration i can get behind. also the film motif again: the only time i’ve left a theatre when i didn’t like a movie was never because movie tickets are so expensive and if i’m shelling out 11 dollars to sit in a chair, i’m staying the whole time no matter how bad the ending. but i probably would have left my sister’s keeper if i had seen it before if i’m being honest. so i get it. thats why i read spoilers for everything i watch before watching it, because the anxiety of worrying about how it ends make me not enjoy it in the first place. the end of this song: the call and response felt… ethereal? i felt like i was watching a broadway musical from the splash zone seats, crying as i was spat on.

my tears ricochet: this song is what i picture stepping outside in the middle of the night when an inch or so of snow has just fallen and i can see the flakes fall in front of a street light sounds like. or the scorned secret ex lover throwing themselves onto the coffin demanding to know why they weren’t enough. which is to say it feels like a sign from some sort of god. yet again, haunting is brought up, an overt reference to the fact that this album will live in my brain rent free for eternity. for some reason this song reminds me of the relationship between hamilton and burr when burr kills hamilton. that could be because i just watched the disney+ recording last week. one lives, one dies, but neither survive, both pay for it. Which is a super romantic and understanding view on murder. both musical experiences equally chilling and moving. if i die under mysterious circumstances this will for sure be played at the funeral.

mirrorball: first off, this is my mom's favorite which is very important. also, it has skewered a very specific but also universal insecurity of mine; existing just to please others and yet miserably failing. it is comforting that ts is not a “natural’ and feels she must always “try try try” because i too lack natural ability, but also rarely “try” even just the one time. the best way i can describe listening to this song is walking through a silent disco where everyone else is listening to some classic lady gaga jam and you are listening to a calming lullaby sung very far away. but don’t let the soothing sounds fool you. it still will have you reflecting on what it means to look and be looked at. a dark rabbit whole, like falling through the looking glass. i’ve never actually read that book though so i could be wrong.

seven: i’m dumb and on my first listen of this song i thought she “hit her peak” at 7 clock as opposed to age seven. but i always saw taylor swift as someone with an early bedtime. also a fun discovery while writing this, “seven” is the 7th song on the track list. clever. although this song is young and innocent and so nostalgic for a time when screaming ferociously was a widely accepted form of expression, it also sounds like a very old secret someone is whispering to me. a love from long ago that lasts beyond the person being in your life, passed down to me and it all just sounds a little gay. not just because of the specific line to hiding in the closet. but that certainly doesn’t go unnoticed. when i was seven i was definitely in love with girls and assumed that was just what friendship was, playing pirates and making plans of running away together.

august: the eighth track for the eighth month. her mind. also my birth month so that’s special. controversial opinion: from what i’ve read most people seem to think illicit affair is the third song in the triage of teen love. i will strongly make the case that it's actually this one. first of all, the subject: a short lived summer fling, which is specifically mentioned later in “betty”. the central heartbreak of this song is liking someone who always belonged to someone else. yes, this song is a window into a different summer, far from pandemic central and the escapist imagery is delightful. but a whole song from the pov of the “other woman” to james and betty is just so much more fun. and there are two more specific lyrics that prove my point. “remember when i pulled up and said "get in the car”” you will see later comes back from the other person’s perspective. and most of all: the repeated line, “meet me behind the mall”? only teenagers make plans to meet up behind a mall. i rest my case. so now we have cardigan and august. two pieces of the puzzle.

this is me trying: i’m glad i now have a succinct message to send to anyone when they ask me what the hell i’m doing at any given moment. this song just sounds like regret and waste in the most self-assured and confident way. this is “back to december” with the training wheels off. i have no apologies for my efforts at wasting all my potential. but in this song, taylor has opened her arms to me in a warm embrace and has forgiven me for all i’ve done wrong and reminds me to not take for granted the “try”. okay mom. i’m crying again, but okay.

illicit affair: this is the kind of thing that makes you feel sixteen, living in a dull suburb, while secretly screwing your 38 year old married neighbor who’s rich but wants to be an artiste. aka like a character in euphoria or something. it’s sexy and dangerous until you think about it and then it's just dingy and creepy. but this song starts and stays beautiful. most importantly, this song is too sad and depressing frankly, to be a part of the trilogy. we could never forgive james for leaving such a mess and making her a fool. you don’t want to be this girl. you want to walk up to her and shake her and yell “you exist and will not be ruined by any dumb man”. and that’s feminism.

invisible string: is it reductive if i say this one’s about joe? all my non-stan friends have asked me which ones are about him. we forgive them and point them in this direction. because it is lovely and beautiful that we are all tied to our soulmate for our whole lives before we ever meet them (because that would in fact mean that there is someone out there for everyone which might be naive or dumb but i am both of those things and whats the point of living if you don’t believe in the power of love). this honestly gives me “begin again” vibes in the best way. it’s red-era level with the wisdom of lover-era tay. sublime.

mad woman: the second mention of the “mad woman” as both taylor herself and the character in the story. as usual, tay stays calling out double standards and the manipulation of women into “going crazy” for expressing reasonable anger. I, personally, wish i could say “fuck you forever” without someone saying i’m “overreacting”. this is my least favorite song on the album and i’d still listen to it three times in a row and need to resist the urge to set a man’s lawn on fire. just girly things.

epiphany: i know she said this one is about her grandfather’s experience in the military but all i imagine is a slow montage of harry style’s character in “dunkirk” on the beach. and it’s beautiful. and much like my sophomore in high school self reading “all quiet on the western front” it evokes a pain from deep inside me that engulfs a loss i could never describe and a sadness too awful to witness. you will listen to this song and feel absolutely powerless to the will of the universe and it’s cruelty. and the faint but steady heart monitor beep in the background… i’ve never seen “grey’s anatomy” but i can imagine why it has so many fans sobbing. and let me end on this: two soldiers in some old war (meaning both men based on dunkirk) watching each other like this and living and dying together…gay.

betty: the first verse was pulled directly out of my subconscious fantasy of being in love in high school and it being so wonderful and painful and dramatic. and taylor riding a skateboard… is a mood. the song has been out for less than a week and it’s already a cold take to talk about how this is her gayest song to date (close runner-ups being reputation’s “dress” and “cardigan”). but of course i will still talk about it. the lyrics embody such authentic awkward gay energy (see the lesbian in booksmart for reference) and having been a 17 year old only three years ago, i can say with reasonably good authority that no 17 year old straight boy could stand in front of a crowd of peers and beg forgiveness from a girl he hurt. it’s just not realistic. these are all awkward, over-dramatic, young girls stumbling through love. and it’s awesome. james is the speaker of this song, and the subject of “august”, the summer fling that was never truly there due to james’ love for betty, the titular role of this song. thus completing the love triangle. and there are so many obvious references in this song to both “august” and “cardigan”. rhyming cardigan with car again makes me want to light myself on fire in the best way. i love it. “i dreamt of you all summer long” is the final nail in the coffin for the girl in “august” who was clearly just a place-holder. totally separate from taylor swift, my favorite word is porch. so the amount of times it appears in her lyrics is wonderful. say it out loud. it just feels nice. anyway, this song makes me want to be young and dumb and in love. the second can really only be tolerated because of the first and third. i hope the story has a happy-ending. if james were a boy i’d wish him the plague.

peace: the coming-of-age movie starring james and betty (and inez) is over. we have come to “the age” i guess. there’s a thought that’s gonna fester. if this song was just the line, “would it be enough if i could never give you peace?” over and over for four minutes it would still smash me to pulp and fill my body with helium gas. i can and will cause a car wreck when this comes on the aux. if this song is what being grown up is like (bare in mind grown up to me is like, 30) then i’m ready to be done coming of age. because i already worry if i’ll be at all enough for anyone and way too much for someone at the same time. but like all good poetry, this song isn’t about what it “means”, but how it “feels”. and this is new york city, the summer, pouring rain, a long walk home, desperately fearing and hoping they are there waiting for you.

hoax: a one-sided conversation between me and my stubborn clinical depression. i too, constantly stand alone on the cliff demanding a reason. one has not yet been presented. it operates both within and and against me. i could be bigger and stronger than it. but instead i tend to it like a prickly plant. (“no other sadness in the world will do”). there is nothing both sadder and funnier then the scene in “avatar: the last airbender” when prince zuko stands alone on a cliff screaming at the sky for lightning to strike him. i don’t know why this song reminds me so much of that. what a way to end such an emotional rollercoaster. it is so emotionally draining that it simply forces me to start folklore again from the top and listen to it all over again. or take a long therapeutic nap.

there are no skips. and it will still surprise you on your 267th listen. proceed with caution.

i knew you, in a past life maybe. i have not met you yet, but folklore has made me believe you exist.

@taylorswift 10/10 good work

@taylornation this had to be shared and i don’t have a twitter so

#@taylorswift #@taylurking #@taylornation #taylor swift #folklore #ts8

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purplesurveys · 4 years

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781

Another quarantine survey for y’alls.

How are you coping? I enjoyed the lockdown in its first few weeks because back then it really felt like a nice break from how hectic January and February were. By now it just feels like it has overstayed its welcome and my anxiety is back to growing by the day, except this time it’s worse because I can’t actually go anywhere or do anything to get rid of it temporarily. Tl;dr I’m doing less and less well. How have things changed for you? School, mostly. The situation in the Philippines isn’t conducive to online learning, so we’ve had to cancel schooling altogether because it was the most humane option to make sure no student gets left behind. Some schools opted to mass-promote (read: pass) all their students, while the schools that selfishly chose to continue holding online classes face online backlash everyday.

On that note, my graduation ceremony is indefinitely postponed and Andrew and I have had to give up a lot of the usual procedures for thesis, like doing fieldwork or having a required number of respondents for our questionnaire. What are three positives to being Isolated or in Quarantine? I get to stay with Kimi all day, my dad cooks amazing food for us daily, and I have so much free time on my hands which I use to watch videos or movies. What are three negatives? I haven’t seen my friends in months, being ordered to stay at home still feels different than voluntarily staying at home, and I have so much free time on my hands which leaves me to overthink and be paranoid.

Have you taken on a new hobby? Not really. I wanted to get into cooking/baking, but my dad always wants to be in control of his kitchen so I’ve barely had any chance to help out. Have you kicked any bad habits? Drinking coffee everyday. I stopped when I noticed I was getting a headache every night, which was my original schedule for making a cup. Have you watched a lot more television or movies? I’ve watched more YouTube but I generally find it hard to start on new shows or movies so no, not really. I’ve always preferred rewatching my favorites. I did revisit Descendants of the Sun starting the other night though; I hadn’t gone back to it since December but I’m glad I did now because it’s such a good show(!!!!!) Have you been separated from someone you love? Tons of people that I love, from orgmates to close friends to best friends to my girlfriend. Discovered any new bands? Nah, I’ve stuck to my faves. With Hayley hyping up her first album for the last five months and finally releasing it a week ago, my eyes and ears were only on her lol Have you shopped more online? Nope, no money these days ha. Have you cooked more? I’ve tried helping my dad more like I mentioned but ugh, he’s so possessive in the kitchen. Have you baked more? Same thing. Have you learned to knit or sew? Nope. Did you end up in Isolation or Quarantine? Just quarantine. I never showed any symptoms and neither did my family, so we’ve all bee in quarantine from the very beginning. Did the stores all close? Save for groceries, they were all closed in the first few days/weeks. But through April, more and more businesses (mostly restaurants) started to come back and offer delivery or pickup services.

In the Philippines where the government has been hugely incompetent, they lifted the lockdown for nearly the entire country yesterday despite the number of cases not showing any signs of slowing down and DESPITE NO MASS TESTING BEING PUT IN PLACE SINCE MARCH. That means this whole quarantine has been fucking useless. And now that people have been crowding highways and malls again, a second wave is just waiting around the corner.

What kind of restrictions did your government put into place? It’s different per province but in my case, we had a ban on liquors, mass gatherings, and non-essential travel; an 8 PM-5 AM curfew; and checkpoints everywhere. For a brief time, homeowners in our village couldn’t even jog outside but I think they’ve loosened up on that rule now. Has this affected any travel, events or plans for you? Hasn’t it, for all of us? An year-end college party that my orgmates and I usually go to was obviously cancelled; I still don’t know what’s happening to our graduation; and plans to volunteer for an animal welfare NGO have been cut off. I was also supposed to go to Thailand and Vietnam this year, but I’ve had to forget about those plans. What is the first thing you will do when you get the chance? Drive up to Gabie, for sure. With all the crazy in the world, we forget how much we take for granted. Is there anything you feel you had taken for granted? Time with my loved ones. I’ve definitely thought about the times I declined on Angela’s offers to go out, or flaked on my blockmates, or opted to skip out on dinner with my orgmates so I could go home. Let's finish off with some nicer things! What is your favourite thing about life? I dunno if I’ve found a favorite thing about it yet. I find it pretty unfair for the most part. What is your favourite thing about nature? How peaceful it can be. Nature has always served me well when I’m in distress, and I will never forget the time I was in Sagada, and I had just gotten out of a breakup and was still reeling over my lolo’s death, and when I reached the top of a hill, I allowed myself to cry while in front of this view.

Favourite place in the world? Sagada, Baguio, and Palawan. Favourite animal? Dogs, if you don’t know me well enough already. Favourite Colour? I personally like pastel pink, and ~aesthetically~ I like black or white. Favourite Foods? My favorite food ever is burgers, but I also like sushi, chicken wings, and steak. Favourite Holiday destination? We don’t have an established destination. My family likes going to new places every time we have the chance to travel. Have you been on a cruise ship? Yes. Have you flown to a travel destination? Sure, several. Have you ever been on a bus or train to a holiday destination? I don’t remember anymore but we probably were. Ever been on a helicopter? I have not. Ever been in a submarine? Smaller chance of that happening cause there’s little opportunity for it, but it sounds like an awesome experience. Thoughts on Theme Parks? I will go there for the theme park food, but I’m fine with not going on any rides. Thoughts on Carnivals? Like a fair? They’re great fun, and I prefer them more than theme parks because they’re more lowkey. I also just go for the food hahahaha I don’t go on rides. Thoughts on Island Life? I’m technically living one because I live in a giant group of islands... but I wouldn’t want to live my whole life in just an island per se. I like being in the city, and I like living in a noisy environment where everyone and everything is busy. Ever taken a ferry to a destination? Eh, not really. We’ve taken smaller boats to get to certain island provinces, but not a ferry. What is the best thing about travelling? Learning new things, seeing new sights, meeting new people, getting to know new cultures.

Who would you like to travel with next time you go on a trip? I’d love to travel with Gabie. I’ve never done it with her before. Randoms.. Favourite television series on Stan? I’ve never heard of that. Favourite television series on Netflix? I don’t watch any shows produced by Netflix. My current favorite show to watch there is Descendants of the Sun, but my other favorites are there too, like Friends, Breaking Bad, and Brooklyn Nine-Nine. What movie are you keen to see? Right now, none of the upcoming ones, or at least the upcoming ones that were meant to be released by the summer. None of them seem appealing to me. Do you study or work or both? I study, but I’m so fucking close to the finish line. If you could have any career, what would it be? I’d love to be in PR. I’d still be in media which is my strong suit, but none of the journalism bullshit I’ve grown sick of in the last four years. Do you play Animal Crossing on Nintendo Switch? No, I’ve never really been a fan of the series so I’ve never felt the need to get the game. I’m happy with Mario Kart 8 haha. What gaming console do you like best? Either the Wii or PS2 as I had a lot of memories with them. Speaking of gaming, name your top 5 games? Pass. Have you ever been to a convention like Comic Con? Nope. Life gets tough, how do you cope? I take a nap, I go to a café somewhere for a few hours to be alone, I take a survey, or I drown myself in work to keep me preoccupied. Do you like housework? If I’m not forced to do it. Are you afraid of the dark? If the dark was meant to be scary, like if I was in a haunted house or if I’m in the woods in the middle of nowhere at midnight. Otherwise it doesn’t bother me. Do you have pets? Yeah, I have the best dog.

#survey #surveys

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curiositydooropened · 5 years

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Will’s Day

He caught his reflection in the full length mirror and paused to run fingertips along the scars of his abdomen. It was a daily occurrence, itching odd bits of skin that prickled, scrubbing himself in the shower, occasionally enjoying his hot tub alone, but since today was what it was, they struck different.

[In which Will is inundated with memories of a day he’s been trying to forget.]

Word Count: 5,116 words

Characters: Will, the Byers clan, and the rest of the Party

The buzzing of his cell phone against his writing desk indicated several texts coming in at one time, and Will stared at it over thick-rimmed glasses, graphite pencil poised in one hand. He regretted bringing it into his office, having done so out of habit. He’d answered e-mails from clients that morning while sipping his coffee, and he’d read the news after that. He was currently using it to broadcast ambient sounds around his studio while he sketched out his latest piece. He was annoyed at how dependent he’d become to the tiny hunk of metal and glass.

He supposed he wouldn’t have been annoyed if it wasn’t that day. That day, it came up every year, November 6th, the anniversary of the day he went missing. He tried to forget it, push it back into the recesses of his mind, lock away the horrors he’d been forced to speak about his entire life, the horrors that inspired his comic book series, made him famous. He owed his career to that day, and yet he wished it never happened.

It was also impossible to forget about that day when, like clockwork, every November 6th, he’d been inundated with texts of love from people he’d rarely spoken to since they went to college in different cities, had careers across the world, learned to distance themselves from their tortured pasts.

So, tossing his pencil gently aside, he took a deep breath, leaning back in his squeaky wooden chair, and he grabbed for his cell phone to read the latest well-wish from someone he missed who’d moved on with their life. Surprisingly, his first message was from his brother.

Jonathan: Mom said we’re going to yours for dinner. Want me to talk her out of it?

He loved his brother’s astute sense of awareness, but he knew there was no use. Mom would pound the door down just to see him. Especially today. He couldn’t do that to her.

No. Don’t want to upset her. Come on over around 6. Bring the family.

It had been a while since he’d seen his niece and nephews. Maybe having family around was what he needed to rid his shoulders of tension and his dreams of rows of teeth and growing vines.

On days like today, he hid his comics in a chest in the corner. It felt childish, but on Halloween, he’d rolled up his posters and pulled down his shelf of accomplishments, locking them away in the oversized trunk with his old purple wizard’s outfit and the super comm. He couldn’t have flower-shaped faces and the ghostly face of a teenaged girl staring back at him while he worked.

Another buzz in his hand startled his focus from the chest in the corner, and the device in his hand notified him of an incoming phone call from his mother. He removed his glasses, rubbing at tired eyes, and answered her call for the third time today.

“Will?”

“Hi, mom,” he sighed. The room around him went quiet from the lack of music, and there was the faint buzz of static in his ear, sending chills down his neck. His mom’s voice went in and out of the receiver. “Mom?” He felt frantic. He pushed off from his chair.

“Will, honey, can you hear me?”

“Mom, where are you?”

“Sorry, we’re at the grocery store. I never get any damn service in here.”

His breathing regulated, relief coursing through him. So it was going to be like that today. He sighed, exiting his office to find the pill cabinet above the kitchen sink. “What’s up?” He asked over the phone, filling a glass of water.

“Jonathan texted and said he’s bringing Nancy and the kids. Mike and El are coming too, is that okay?”

He sighed. He supposed he couldn’t avoid seeing his adopted siblings either, even though their faces haunted his dreams worse than the others. Their relationship had been strained in the past few years, not wanting their stories told as detailed in his comics. He understood it was for El’s safety, but they had to understand his need to tell his truth, his full truth, even if the general public thought it was a brilliant work of science fiction. “Of course. The more the merrier.” Did she want to invite Dustin and Lucas too?

“Is there anything you want us to pick up at the store? Hop’s thinking prime rib.”

“Sounds great, mom, as long as he’s cooking it.”

“You know I don’t let your mom cook anything,” Hop yelled over the noise of the store. “Don’t want to burn your nice house down.” Lovely, she’d dialed him on speaker phone at the grocery store. He supposed he should be grateful it wasn’t a video chat.

“Good call, Hop,” he grit his teeth, downing his dosage of anxiety medication and chugging water to wash them down.

“Listen, sweetie, we’ve got to go. We’ll see you tonight.”

“Okay, love you.”

“Love you too.” Click.

Once again, his house was drowned in silence. He hit play on his music and waltzed back into the office. The trunk continued to stare from the corner as he hunched back over his work, throwing his glasses on to sketch small details for his latest client. Oftentimes, he’d do artwork for several ghostwritten comics. He did an issue of X-Men once, which had been his ultimate dream. Getting the news of that was probably the best day of his life. He didn’t have anything else to compare it to, no weddings, no babies.

He glanced upward at the picture of his family rooted to his shelf next to a myriad of awards. His mom and Hopper took up the center, one massive and one tiny, hands intertwined on her shoulder. Mike and Eleven were to the left, cradled in each other’s arms with beaming faces. Jonathan and Nancy were clutching at her swollen stomach. Their other two kids made funny faces at the camera, striking goofy poses. Will was in the back, a half-hearted smile on his face, wondering when he’d have a partner to show the family. That was ten years ago, before Teddy had been born.

Two hours into his work, desk vibrations signaled a new message. He stretched his hands, cracking at tired knuckles. He’d made some significant headway on his drawing, allowing his art to distract from the day or the time or even the real world around him. He supposed that’s why he’d turned to art in the first place, as a distraction.

Now, grappling for his phone, he glanced to see the familiar name pop up with a photo.

Dustin: Look who I stumbled upon! Miss you, buddy!

Dustin’s curls had been cropped short and tight, but he had the same infectious smile, one arm cocked around the shoulders of an aged Steve Harrington. The older man still had the hair, though it was graying significantly, and wrinkles had formed around his brown eyes. The selfie was cropped too tight for Will to make out a location, and he wondered if Dustin had gone to visit Hawkins that week, or perhaps Steve was in DC. He realized he wasn’t sure where Steve was living now, what he’d done with his life.

Blast from the past. Miss you too. Hope they haven’t kicked you out of Washington yet.

The response came quicker than he anticipated.

I would say ‘never’, but with this administration, who the hell knows? Hope Chicago’s treating you well. Any good comics to watch out for?

Dustin always was his biggest fan. Although he didn’t appreciate the portrayal of the loud-mouthed, chubby kid, Will knew Dustin was ecstatic to be the star of a comic book. They always geeked out together about X-Men among other things. They’d drifted apart of the years when Dustin moved away and had a family, but they’d always have long nights perched under Cerebro, making calls to Salt Lake City.

New volume closer to Christmas. I’m actually working on something for DarkHorse at the moment.

Awesome, man. I’ve gotta head back to work. Maybe I’ll call you later.

Will knew he wouldn’t hear from him again until his birthday in March, except for the family picture Christmas card, Dustin’s wife, Jody, will send in December. He had a growing pile stashed in one of his drawers, ready to pull out in case any of his friends visited. They never did.

He paused his work to eat some lunch, a haphazard egg salad sandwich that had somehow dribbled down the front of his t-shirt. He’d have to change before mom showed up or she’d worry he wasn’t taking care of himself. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, setting his phone down on the couch-side table, and walked down the hall to his bedroom. He pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it into the laundry pile, auto-walking into his oversized closet for something more patterned, in case he spilled his snack later. He didn’t want to change twice.

He’d had a few scars from his first trip to the upside down, mainly under his jaw, from where that feeding tube had suction cupped to his face. He had a burn scar in his side from where Nancy prodded him with a white hot iron fire poker, Thanks Nance. He had several scars on his knees from glass shards on the floor of Starcourt Mall and a burn on his hand from a mis-placed firework fuse. All of these injuries paled in comparison to the long claw mark leading from the collar bone to his navel. It had been over thirty years, but he could still feel the frigid sting, could still see the open mouth, rows of teeth, playing with its food.

The loud ring of his phone down the hall startled him back to reality, and he threw on a nearby black t-shirt, scurrying past any mirrors until he reached his phone. MADMAX flashed on the screen. He sighed and clicked to answer.

“Hey,” he mumbled.

“Today’s the day, right?” Ah, yes, the ever-tactic Maxine.

“Yeah,” he sighed, crashing back into his leather sofa.

“How’s Joyce handling it?”

“Same as every year. The whole family’s coming for dinner.”

“Well that’ll be nice. Wish I was there.”

“Wish you were too.”

They’d had an unexpected, and somewhat tedious, relationship after Billy died. Max asked Will a lot of prying and personal questions, but he understood she just wanted to know what her brother had felt, how he couldn’t have been in control of his body when he carried all of those people to their deaths. Will could give her that feeling, explain what Billy was experiencing.

They developed a friendship beyond that, discussing comic books. Max taught him how to skate board and ace arcade games. For a while into puberty, Will thought Max could be the one. She and Lucas had broken up for good, and Will knew he loved her, knew he got along with her better than almost everyone in the group. She knew what it felt like to be an outsider. She’d experienced trauma in ways the others would never understand.

They shared other fundamental qualities as well, they learned the closer they got, such as deadbeat dads and protective older brothers. Neil was a lot worse than Lonnie, and Max spent nights without Billy asking God why the Mind Flayer didn’t take Neil instead. Her prayers were answered the following year.

“Are you moping today or being productive?” Max asked, in the way Will was sure she’d ask her children on a bad day of classes. Were they in college now?

“A little of both,” he chuckled. “What about you?”

“You know me, always working. I’m on call actually, so I might have to go soon. But I wanted to make sure you were you know... not missing.”

“Appreciate it.”

“Tell Joyce and the family hi.”

“Will do.”

“Love you, Zombie Boy.”

“Love you, Max.”

The house fell silent once more.

At promptly six o’clock, a ring at the door signaled the first group of family members. Will turned the volume down on the Jonathan-centric playlist he chose and padded toward the door, socks catching slightly on the carpet in the entry way. He toyed with a few smiles before settling for the least-extreme and opened the door to greet his brother and sister-in-law.

“Hi, how are you?” Nancy asked, promptly kissing both cheeks before shoving past him to put her fruit salad in the fridge.

“Great,” he lied. “How are you guys?”

Teddy stood in front of Jonathan, staring at the device in his hand instead of greeting his uncle, and Will moved out of the way to let them in as well.

“We’re good, right Teddy?”

The ten-year-old harrumphed in agreement. Will glanced over his shoulder to see he was playing a game about the living dead, how apt.

“What’ve you been up to today?” Jonathan asked, waltzing into the kitchen behind his wife to find a bottle of scotch. He always knew where Will hid his favorite stash. He pulled two, “three?” “I have to drive”, two glass tumblers from the cabinet and poured a glass for them each.

“Just working on this project for DarkHorse.” Will sighed, taking the beverage from his brother.

“That’s right, the anti-hero one, right?”

“Yeah. Nancy, can I offer you anything?”

She waved him off. “Teddy, want a coke?”

The kid made a noise that sounded like “uh” in agreement, and Nancy pulled two sodas from the fridge, popping the tabs.

“What should we toast to?” Jonathan grinned, holding his glass up to cheers. “To... finding you?”

Will made a face. “To mom?”

“I like that,” Jonathan smirked. “To our crazy ass mom.”

Will didn’t like the addition, but he clinked glasses anyway. Nancy threw her can in absentmindedly and the three of them took a long swig before Nancy flittered back to the living room. The whisky burned its way down to a warm pocket just below his rib cage. It sat there, ruminating. He wondered if he’d need more anxiety medication to survive the night.

The doorbell rang again. Nancy opened it, and around the corner he heard the chirps and cries of greetings that signaled the arrival of mom and Hop and Mike and Eleven. He cursed under his breath.

“Oh, Bea’s running late, by the way. Nancy think she might have a boyfriend and that idea makes me want to die. So he might come too, hope that’s okay.” Jonathan threw in as an aside.

Will shrugged. “That’s fine, whatever. What about Mickey?”

“Oh, Mick’s at school. You’ll probably see him on Thanksgiving.”

“Right, okay.” Mickey was probably Will’s favorite nephew. He grew up fascinated about Will’s comics and was going to school to be a writer himself. They’d grown distance in the past couple of years, but Will held a fondness unmatched in the boy’s siblings, although he obviously loved them too.

“Will?” Joyce called from the living room. The chatter had grown tenfold in the other room, and Will figured there was no use trying to avoid it any longer. He took another full gulp of his drink before tip-toeing to greet his house guests.

“Hey, mom-“ Immediately, he’d been crushed in a rib breaking embrace from his mother, who kissed at his cheek and commented on his appearance. “Okay, mom, okay. Missed you too.” Since last Saturday. He chuckled, gently pushing the woman away, and she stepped back to reveal Hopper’s uncomfortable stance.

“Son,” he held a hand out to shake and Will returned the awkward gesture. They’d been through so much together, he and his stepfather, but Hopper never quite fell into the fatherly role as he had with Eleven. He was protective sure, and caring. He was understanding and kind and strong, and he took amazing care of Joyce in their old age, but he was always a little distant. Will supposed Russia did that to him, and New York before that, and Vietnam before that, and hell, probably Hawkins before that.

“Where’d you get that whisky?” Hopper asked, a familiar twinkle in his eye, alleviating the tension between them.

“Jonathan’s in the kitchen,” Will laughed.

“Oh, Jonathan!” Mom called, leading her husband into the next room.

Before Will could process what was happening, a pair of slender arms had been thrown around his neck, and a soft bosom heated his chest. “Hi, brother,” Eleven sighed into his ear, sending shivers down his spine. With his free hand, he knelt into the embrace, squeezing her around the middle. He buried his face in chocolate curls and breathed her in. This wasn’t the greeting he was expecting from her, but he was glad it was the one she’d gone with.

She pulled away, holding him at arm’s length, and tears had sprung in her brown eyes.

“Don’t do that,” he groaned, attempting a grimaced smile. “I’m fine, really.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” she laughed, waving away tears. “I’ve just been thinking about you all day, and I love you is all.”

“I love you too, freak,” he smiled, kicking at her sneakered foot. “Shoes off at the door though.”

She swatted at him, but retreated to the door to pull off her shoes, trailing November soil and leaves with her. He made a mental note to vacuum once everyone had left.

“Hey,” came a timid throat clear as Mike stepped forward from his spot watching Teddy play video games.

“Hey,” Will responded.

This was more of the greeting he had expected. He hadn’t spoken to Mike in months, and he was shocked he even agreed to show up. They’d had a fight during the latest issue release, when Mike read the manuscript and all of the details about Eleven’s past. El was sour too, a little overwhelmed, but Mike, who always had El’s well-being in mind, threw a fit. He threw words too, so many hurtful words, words that still stung as Will looked at him now.

He was the same Mike Wheeler he’d always been, too tall, gangly, freckled. Only now his unkempt hair was speckled with grey and glasses round his dark eyes turning his furrowed brow into the spitting image of ole Ted Wheeler, though he didn’t have kids of his own to ignore.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Mike sighed, peeling off toward the bustling sounds of the kitchen.

“Michael!” Nancy hissed, sounding eerily like Karen scolding down the basement stairs.

Will closed his eyes and took a deep breath in and out. He definitely needed his pills.

El came over and linked her arm with his, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”

“You too,” he smiled softly when she pulled his drink from his hand to take a swig.

“How are you?”

“Good.”

“How are you today though?”

He was getting frustrated of the question, wanting desperately for today to be like any other day. “I’m good.”

She cocked a knowing eyebrow behind his tipped glass.

“I got a text from Dustin today. I guess Steve was in DC. Max called. It was a good day.”

El nodded, seemingly satisfied with his response, and sandwiched her palm into his. “Let’s join the party.” Despite his groan of protest, she tugged him toward the kitchen, leaving Teddy in the living room with his video game. Jonathan found the controls to crank the music.

Hopper’s prime rib was delicious, as usual, and the alcohol and food had the family in a near coma scattered around Will’s living room furniture. Hopper had moseyed off to his favorite armchair, pulling the lever to recline, snoring almost immediately. Joyce lovingly posted herself on the mantle at his feet, warming herself on the wood burning fire.

Teddy’s eyes hadn’t left his phone the entire meal, much to Nancy’s chagrin, and after dinner, he somehow found his way back to the couch to continue his game. Bea stumbled in midway through the meal, brown hair a mess and neck wrapped dutifully in an oversized scarf to hide a hickey. Nancy and her had quite the fight in the entryway while everyone listened on with knowing smirks. After the meal, she found herself posted up next to Teddy, the two of them kicking ankles and making annoyed faces. They truly were the spitting image of Nancy and Mike.

“So, Bea, Jonathan tells me you’re taking the year off school?” El started, tucking herself into Mike on the opposing love seat.

“Yeah,” Bea chewed on the inside of her cheek, anxiously eyeing her mother. “I just don’t know what I want to do yet, so why waste the money?”

“It’s not a waste-“ Nancy started, but Jonathan stopped her with a hand to the knee and a kiss on the cheek.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Will challenged, alcohol lighting the fire within him like a hot poker to his side. “I mean, I didn’t go to college and look at me now.” He gestured to the grand house around them, empty except for special holidays like this one, the anniversary of the time he was kidnapped by an inter dimensional creature.

“Yeah, look at you now,” Mike spat from beside Eleven, his eyes narrowed behind thick glasses.

“Mike, not now,” Eleven wrapped her arm around her husband’s wrist.

“Yeah, Mike, not now,” Will spat. “I’m fragile today. Didn’t you hear? Dustin did, Max did. You’re all here for a reason!” He was standing now, he didn’t know when that happened.

Mike stood too, pushing off from his seat. “Yeah, we get it, Will. You’ve been fragile for the last thirty years. Not too fragile to compromise the rest of us, but at least you’re doing fucking better.”

“Michael!” Eleven and Nancy chided in unison, but Hopper had beat them to it, fisting each of the boys on the back collar like they were thirteen again.

“Alright you two, let’s take a walk.”

“Whoa, what’s up with them?” Will heard Teddy pipe up, the first real word he’d said all night, as he and Mike were lead out of the room.

Hopper had surprising brute strength for a nearly 70-year-old, and maybe it was the alcohol lingering between the two younger men that had them stumbling into Will’s office. “Now, stay in here and talk about it like men, or don’t. I don’t give a shit. I just don’t need you upsetting your mother. Not today.” Hopper prodded at Will’s chest before backing out of the room and slamming the door.

Will ran a hand through a mop of hair, huffing out a breath of frustration.

Mike paced the room slowly, carefully taking in the shelved walls, stopping at the family portrait above Will’s drawing desk. Beside it was an empty spot where Will’s portrait of “the Party” would have sat, the frame now tucked safely into the trunk in the corner.

“I’m sorry, okay,” he started, slowly. “You’re right. You’ve always been right. I ‘compromised’ Eleven, or whatever you want to call it, and it’s shitty, and I’m sorry. My company wanted more storyline, more science fiction...”

“Shut up, man,” Mike scoffed. “It doesn’t matter. It’s done, it’s published. We’re fine. I Just wish you had... I don’t know, asked us first. Or drudged some more of your own trauma.”

“Oh believe me, that shit’s endless. My publishers wanted something more interesting than Will the Wise.” He rolled his eyes, staring into the blank space beside Mike’s arm.

“What’s this?” Mike asked after a long silence, pointing to the nearly complete sketch on the table. He had one hand in his pocket, and Will knew it was clenching and unclenching into a fist around his car keys.

“It’s a comic I’m working on. It’s about this girl who is more of an antihero. She fights this vigilante guy kind of like Indiana Jones.”

“She looks pretty cool,” Mike mused softly.

“Thanks,” Will felt his cheeks warm at the unexpected compliment. He’d always struggled with drawing women, refusing to objectify them the way comics of their past had. He always saw woman as strong, mighty beings, like his mom.

“Listen,” Mike turned to him finally, leaning his lanky frame against the drawing table. It tilted slightly, graphite pencil rolling to the ground. “I’m sorry I’ve been a dick. I know you didn’t mean harm. You never do. These past few years have just been... Getting old is bullshit.”

Will knew what he meant. It’d never been easy for them. In their late twenties, they struggled to conceive. In their thirties, they spent years in court trying to pass legislation to stop the funding of projects such as those she’d been apart of. In their forties, her hormones caused her powers to go haywire. She’d accidentally set their home aflame. They’d been through enough.

“It really is,” Will sighed.

“I should probably take her home. She gets emotional when she’s tired.”

Will laughed dryly. “Yeah, I better say goodbye to mom and Hop.”

“Should we go out holding hands?”

Will felt the familiar lump in his throat, and he blew out a sort of snort in protest. Mike slapped him on the back and exited the room first. He’d never told anyone but Max about his feelings for Mike, probably never would. They’d changed by now, melded into the brotherly love they shared in elementary school, but for a while, a long while, Will looked at him differently.

He’d pushed the thoughts away, thwarted by constant name-calling from his dad and classmates. He thought he was in love with Princess Leia, thought he was in love with Max. It wasn’t until he tried to kiss Max, planted a big one on her that she corrected him, holding him at arms length to tell him the truth about himself.

He wasn’t sure how she knew, when he himself didn’t even know, couldn’t be. She said Billy had been into guys, back in California, that he was the reason they had to move. He and Will had more in common than a name and a shit dad and a possession. She said she saw Billy with a boyfriend once, and it was the happiest he’d been. She said it was the same way Will looked at Mike.

Mike didn’t hug Will goodbye that night, but Eleven did, bleary eyed and warm. She pressed a kiss to his forehead on tip toe and told him to call her tomorrow. He probably wouldn’t. Jonathan was next, a tight hug and a firm slap on the back. Nancy kissed his cheeks again while ushering Teddy to the car.

“Bye, Uncle Will, thanks for having us over,” Bea threw an arm around his neck. She smelled like Nancy in high school, gun powder and cigarettes.

He grinned. “Anytime, Bea. Come over anytime you need to hide out from your parents.”

“Bea!” Nancy called from the driveway.

“Thanks,” Bea smiled, rushing out the door toward her own clunker of a car.

Last was Mom and Hop. Hopper gave the awkward handshake again before bursting into the snow to start the car, heating it up for mom. She turned to Will with tears in her eyes that mirrored El’s, and Will felt the lump growing in his throat.

“Mom,” he groaned.

“I know, honey, I know. I just love you, and I’m so proud of you.”

It was somehow harder to see an elderly woman tear up. She’d aged well, but remained the same perfect mom shape to hold. She wore the same things she wore in 1983, a flannel layered over a dark t-shirt, and her leather jacket smelled of Hop’s cigarettes even though the two of them quit smoking years ago. It was the same smell she had the morning he said goodbye to her before heading to the Wheeler’s for a campaign of D&D. It was the same smell he came home to in a panic, searching for his mom and Jonathan with that thing hot on his heels.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair, taking one last breath of her before composing himself and holding her at arms length. “Better not keep Hop waiting. Call me tomorrow?”

“Always,” she kissed his cheek before carefully stepping across the drive to Hopper’s car. Will waved to her as she got in, seeing her blow a kiss from behind the passenger side window.

The house was quiet, too quiet, only the crackling of the fire keeping time with the song playing at low volumes. Will had poured himself a night cap, the last of the bottle, and was sunken into the brown leather of his sofa.

The familiar guitar riffs of an old haunt chimed over the sound system, and despite the tickle at the back of his neck, he reached over to turn up the volume. The oversized house was suddenly drowned in the familiar British lyrics of The Clash. He nodded his head to the tune, shaggy hair covering his eyes, alcohol warming his face.

No lights flickered, no monster chased him. His mom was safe at home, Jonathan probably snug in his bed with his beautiful wife. Will chased his whisky with music and the taste of childhood trauma.

His eyelids felt heavy, chest heated with exhaustion, and he thought he might fall asleep there with his black t-shirt covering the scars on his chest and the scary things locked away in a trunk in his office.

A buzz on his rib cage brought his attention to a new message, and he opened it with a fond smile.

Lucas: Drove past the Quarry today, and your old house. They haven’t changed a bit.

Sounds like Hawkins.

Lucas: You’re not wrong. Hey, me and kids are coming to Chicago to visit Erica for Thanksgiving. Mind if we stop by?

Will smiled. He hadn’t seen Lucas in years.

Lucas: Up for a round of D&D?

Stop in whenever. My door’s always open.

Will set his phone on the couch-side table and closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift off. He had no demogorgons to fear, no razor sharp claws to cut him in the night, no army of the living dead knocking on his door, just a trunk full of memories and a family to check in on him at his time of need.

[Author’s Notes: Hope you enjoyed my first little fanfiction for Stranger Things Day 2019! I’ve written plenty of ST fic before, but this is my first time posting any on this platform. Please let me know what you think! I’m excited to be posting more of my work here in the future. I basically just have all the feels and need someone to talk to about it. I ship all the ships and I love all the characters, I could go on about it for hours (and I do, and my husband thinks I need friends.) so come chat! xo]

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dudedrops319 · 4 years

Text

Dooley Noted - A musical journey through the mojo of a Toledo bluesman

(original version can be seen at https://toledocitypaper.com/feature/dooley-noted/)

Dooley Wilson is frustrated.

It’s 9:57 am on a cold Saturday in December and he is supposed to start playing at 10 o’clock. He has only just now stumbled out of the Toledo tundra into the cozy confines of the Glass City Cafe, which has booked him for its popular Bluegrass Breakfast music series.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” he cries out in the direction of restaurant owner Steve Crouse, who assures him everything is fine. Wilson looks pained as a brief flash of flame passes over his smoldering dark brown eyes. No, it’s not fine. He was scheduled to start playing the blues at 10 sharp, and now he’s going to start late. And a professional should always be punctual.

Undaunted, he swallows his disappointment and, within 10 minutes, he has everything set up at the front of the restaurant which serves as the stage. Upending his battered Cunard Queen of Elizabeth canvas bag, he sorts through the contents— Halls menthol cough drops, a bottle of slippery elm supplements (“Just in case my voice goes out”), a bottle of Deja Blue water, a glass vase that serves as a tip jar and a power strip.

He plugs the power strip into his amp, a well-loved 1965 Fender Bandmaster. And then out comes the artisan’s tool— his Jay Turser electric guitar. It doesn’t have a name or anything; it’s a utensil to serve the stew of blues (“It’s a cheapo guitar, but it’s MY cheapo guitar,” he muses). He’s almost ready. He asks, and a cup of hot black coffee is delivered. After the obligatory microphone check, he sits on the edge of a worn tan suitcase and readies his guitar. It’s time to go to work.

Soon the Glass City Cafe fills with the sound of the blues— and Wilson is lost in ecstasy. He’s sitting atop the worn tan suitcase, choking the guitar neck, his angular carved-in-stone features a mask of concentration, fingers and knuckles gnarled from a lifetime of plucking strings. There’s no setlist, no backdrop, no real plan. Just a working man with an instrument sharing the gospel of what he believes is the greatest music that exists. Wilson plays the blues as if his life depends on it.

And maybe it does.

From C.J. to Dooley

Dooley Wilson does not take toast with his mozzarella cheese omelet, favoring potatoes instead. Sitting in the Glass City Cafe months later— this time as a patron— he is a bit more relaxed than he was when he played here. He still doesn’t smile much. Wilson isn’t grumpy, he just carries himself with an intensity that’s disarming. You get the feeling that he doesn’t want to be here. That’s because he lives to do one thing: Play the blues. And when he’s not playing the blues, by gum, he wants to be playing the blues.

But for now, he’ll tell his story. Now 45 years old, he was born C.J. Forgy, in West Lafayette, Indiana to James and Sandy Forgy. His parents split when he was two years old and he went to live with his maternal grandmother in Maumee. An only child, Wilson describes himself as an “artsy kid” who spent hours in his room drawing and writing.

“Everyone thought I was going to be a visual artist,” says Wilson, taking a sip of his coffee. “But along with writing, over the years I’ve let those skills atrophy,” he says, with a regretful sigh. “But I don’t know; I’m thinking about taking up drawing again for its therapeutic value.”

So what sparked his obsessive devotion to the blues? It started as musical hangups often did in the ‘80s— with a cassette. At 15, Wilson, who was teaching himself guitar and whose musical tastes at the time ran towards Led Zeppelin, walked into Camelot Music in the now-long-gone Southwyck Mall and spied a tape from Columbia Records called Legends of the Blues Vol. 1. There was something about that tape that spoke to him.

He picked it up and looked at the back. As-yet unfamiliar names like Bo Carter, Blind Willie Johnson, Charley Patton, and Leroy Carr stared out at him from the tracklisting. Robert Johnson— he knew that name from an interview he’d read with Jimmy Page and he was fascinated by the infamous story about Johnson reputedly getting his blues talent while making a deal with the devil at a crossroads. Maybe it was the ghost of Johnson himself speaking to Wilson that day in Camelot Music. All he knew is that he had to buy it.

When he got home, he popped the tape into his boom box, and something in the universe shifted. At that moment, C.J. Forgy ceased to exist and the bluesman named Dooley Wilson was born.

“That anthology started this mystique and passion I had for this music,” says Wilson, in between forkfuls of omelet. “It just spoke to my angst-ridden soul at the time and I had never heard anything so authentic, so human, so real. Take Son House’s song ‘Death Letter,’ which is on that anthology. It’s taken from his 1965 Columbia session and it’s just this amazing song about how a man gets a letter saying that the woman he loves is dead. It’s just…” Wilson often trails off when he talks about the blues; yet another reason why he’d much rather play you a song than talk about it.

From that fateful moment, the blues wasn’t just a preferred style of music to listen to or to learn to play… it became, at that time, a life choice.

“I decided I’m going to devote my life to being some kind of bluesman like Fred MacDowell or Son House,” says Wilson. “It became much more important to me than making a living. If you weren’t dead and black, I couldn’t be bothered to listen to you.”

Henry & June

By the way, where did that name Dooley Wilson come from? Wilson smiles broadly with a touch of sheepishness. He was setting up one of his earliest gigs, at the famous East-side haunt Frankie’s, and his buddy Lance Hulsey (currently the leader of Toledo rockabilly outfit Kentucky Chrome)— who Wilson played with his first band, a heavy metal project called Harlequin— said that the promoter needed to know what to call him… and C.J. Forgy didn’t exactly sound bluesy. So the young musician, right there, decided on the name Dooley Wilson in homage to the actor and musician of the same name, famous for playing the character Sam in Casablanca. Dooley Wilson is now his legal name. He cashes checks with that moniker.

With a new name under his bluesman’s belt, the then-recent Maumee High School (Class of 1992) graduate needed a band that would let him explore the blues the way he wanted to. The result was Henry & June, a heavy blues ensemble that Wilson formed with his good friend Jimmy Danger. They got the band name from a recently released biopic of Henry Miller, one of Wilson’s favorite authors.

“I was obsessed with the blues at that time, but I’m still incapable of playing it correctly,” says Wilson, draining his coffee cup. “I was really struggling to learn how to play blues the way it was meant to be played.”

But even as he worked to unravel the mysteries of Deep South blues, Wilson was experiencing something unexpected: Success. Henry & June had released a single called “Going Back to Memphis” on Detroit label Human Fly Records, and the song was attracting a lot of heat. The popular band The Laughing Hyenas— which featured former Necros member Todd Swalla, who would go on to play with Wilson in his later outfit Boogaloosa Prayer— were big fans of the song and were trying to get Henry and June signed to Touch and Go Records. Some cat named Jack White, who had a little band called The White Stripes, also was a big Henry and June fan and began covering “Going Back to Memphis” in concert.

“We were kind of a hot, cult thing on the scene in Detroit,” says Wilson, thanking the Glass City Cafe waitress as she refills his coffee. “Jack White wasn’t the only cool person in Detroit who knew who we were though, of course, he became the most famous one. Judah Bower of the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion put out a cover of the single on his side project called 20 Miles. I heard The Von Bondies used to cover ‘Going Back to Memphis.’ It’s a really fun, simple, dumb song.”

And then right when things started to go well for Henry & June, it all went wrong. The blues were supposed to feel like freedom and suddenly Wilson and the rest of the band began to feel decidedly trapped.

“Jimmy in particular felt like things were getting stagnant,” says Wilson. “Things were going good for us but it started to feel like we were just going through the motions. It was creative claustrophobia.” And so the band, at its peak, unceremoniously broke up.

“We were just dumb kids. We had no idea what we were doing with our little garage band. Looking back, that may have been the worst decision of my career. But when you’re young and dumb, you don’t realize that; you just think ‘Well, I’ll just do the next thing that comes along.’”

Today, Henry & June is fondly recalled as an early part of the Detroit music resurgence of the latter 20th Century. While The White Stripes, Kid Rock, The Detroit Cobras, and various Detroit rappers, from Eminem to Insane Clown Posse, put the Motor City musically back on the map, Henry and June remains a small part of that legacy. Copies of “Going Back to Memphis” routinely go for more than $100 on eBay, and the song was recorded live by The White Stripes for their DVD concert film, Under Blackpool Lights.

And no, Wilson hasn’t received any royalties. It all worked out for the members of Henry & June, though. Drummer Ben Swank is now the top A&R guy at Third Man Records, Jack White’s label. The band did a well received reunion back in 2010 in Toledo and everyone is still cool with one another. But in rock-n-roll and the blues, time waits for no one, so Wilson was off to new projects and new adventures.

And those adventures would lead to him nearly lose his mind.

On a wing and a Boogloosa Prayer

Brushing off the ashes of Henry & June, Wilson decided to further buckle down and get more “authentically bluesy.” He quickly formed a new band with Ben Swank and guitarist Todd Albright, that went through various names such as Dime Store Glam and Gin Mill Moaners. They sat in for many nights at the long-gone-but-never forgotten Rusty’s Jazz Cafe.

“I was spending all of my disposable income on that watered down whiskey at Rusty’s,” said Wilson. “Rusty’s was an amazing little place.” After a while though, he got restless and decided he would get as real as the blues could get and move to New Orleans.

“I wanted to see if I could live as a street performer,” said Wilson. “I had this rather naïve idea that I could possibly make a living at it in that town. I suspected it was the place on Earth where you might encounter people doing this kind of music.”

So Wilson moved to New Orleans, virtually homeless, busking on the streets of NOLA. Meanwhile, The White Stripes were starting to get their first big taste of international notoriety and began introducing “Going Back to Memphis” to a whole new audience due to their frequent covering of the song in live gigs.

“There I am trying to get lunch money down in New Orleans, and suddenly The White Stripes and the whole Detroit thing started to blow up and I’m trying to be Mr Authenticity down in effing New Orleans,” says Wilson, shaking his head incredulously. “My career is awful. I always zig when I should have zagged.”

But New Orleans proved to be an artistically fruitful time for Wilson. He met true, dyed-in-the-wool blues players who were playing incredible music from their souls. Nobody had record deals or anything that could get in the way of making direct, honest music. Many of these men and women were homeless or living off the grid; something Wilson describes as “an anti-American dream.” He talks enthusiastically and excitedly about that time in his life.

“These were some of the greatest living blues artists. There was a guy named Augie Junior who was simply incredible. I had never heard anything like him. There was this woman named Lisa Driscoll who played the washboard. People called her Ragtime Annie. And…”

Suddenly Wilson stops in mid-sentence and a hollow expression crosses his face. He stands up, sets his coffee cup down, excuses himself with a hurried “I’m gonna step out for a minute” and before uttering another word, he’s left the Glass City Cafe. A few minutes pass and he returns, wiping his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, sitting back down. “It’s just…it’s hard talking about this. I just got a little overwhelmed talking about some of my departed friends.”

He steadies himself with a sip of coffee that’s starting to go cold, as he’s eager to move on to talk about his other great band, Boogaloosa Prayer. Formed after moving back to Maumee fresh off a year in New Orleans, Boogaloosa Prayer, which Wilson says “was one of the best things I ever did artistically” came after stints in short lived bands like The Young Lords, and The Staving Chain.

Boogaloosa Prayer, an aggressive blues rock outfit featuring in part his old friend Jimmy Danger and Maumee drumming legend Todd Swalla, garnered quite a devoted following, playing in both Toledo and Detroit. The band had momentum behind them that recalled the Henry & June days. Then one hot summer night in 2006 at the now-shuttered Mickey Finn’s Pub, Wilson’s demons got the better of him.

Sporting a shaved head and a sickly frame that was skinny even by his normally lithe, sinewy standards, Wilson cracked onstage during the show. He ranted incoherently, couldn’t perform any songs, and couldn’t remember any lyrics. To everyone who was there, it was a harrowing experience.

Today, Wilson is reluctant to talk about the incident but he acknowledges it happened.

“I can say that I had a horrible psychotic breakdown and it had an impact on my life,” says Wilson, a bit guardedly. “At the time I had several severe emotional stressors in my life. A toxic woman in my life was stalking me. I had a business deal that was crushing me under the pressure. Plus, Boogaloosa Prayer was breaking up at the time because Swalla was moving to California. It all led to that time in my life.”

Following his breakdown, Wilson spent some time in a psychiatric ward, and lived in his aunt’s attic as he attempted to rebuild his fragile psyche. He eschewed traditional psychotherapy and refused meds because he’d seen too many of his friends “get hooked on those damned things.” Through a lot of hard work, meditation, and support from his friends, Wilson says he “totally got well again” and he hasn’t had any mental health issues since— thank goodness.

“Losing your sanity really puts a damper on your life.”

Still walkin’ down that road…

Wilson now lives in what he calls “a shack,” though it’s actually a carriage house out on a property in Maumee. The place smells of incense, a bit cramped but cozy abode, filled with guitars, amps, books on Buddhism, and novels by Charles Bukowski. Exactly how you would expect Wilson to live. This is not the living quarters .of a typical 45 year old, but it is definitely the home of a bluesman— and that’s all Wilson ever wanted to be. He plays gigs around the region and works as a “factotum” (his term) helping out family members and friends with projects. He’s completed an album and is currently trying to figure out how to release it. Love? Not interested.

“I have the kind of personality where I just do better alone,” he says simply. He may be alone but he’s not lonely. He has the best friends in the world in his life, even if most of them are dead. Son House. Sonny Boy Williamson. Bo Carter. All those great blues artists of yesteryear he counts as his personal friends, and by playing their music and his own songs inspired by their influence, Wilson is a happy man.

On that cold December day at the Glass City Cafe, Wilson utters a line that captures his essence: “Oh, I’m Dooley Wilson. Don’t mind me.” But, about that, he’s wrong. Mind him. Pay attention to Dooley Wilson. Pay close attention.

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megaphonemonday · 6 years

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good shape will do

mazza: Mike teaches Ginny to play pool.

While, yes, I would love to see more of Ginny in Mike’s weird house because I love both of those things (Ginny and Mike’s weird house) I went for something else I love. Enjoy!

read on ao3

It was something of an exaggeration to say there was nothing to do in Peoria. It was a big suburb of a major city, not Bumfuck, Middle-of-Nowhere, after all.

It might’ve been an exaggeration, but that didn’t negate the fact that the six weeks of every year that Mike was stuck in Arizona, it always felt true.

Sure, there were restaurants that weren’t McDonald’s or Taco Bell, not to mention movie theaters and malls and more besides. Mike would know. He’d learned each and every one like the back of his hand a decade ago. And, yeah, Peoria even boasted a few clubs—on top of the scores of bars (because what else was there to do in suburban Phoenix?)—of its own, but their appeal waned with every passing year. Mike kept getting older, but it seemed like the clientele never did.

And wasn’t that just a bitch.

Maybe, he considered as he took another sip from his beer and tried not to look bored out of his mind, he’d been doing this too long. He’d been haunting the same bars and hot spots in this town since he was 20, invited to his first training camp for his first taste of the bigs and getting his fill—of the parties and the admiration and, God, the girls—in case it was also his last.

Obviously, it hadn’t been. He’d gotten much more than a taste. More than his fair share, he was sure some might say.

After 17 years in the bigs, Mike could maybe, possibly, see where they were coming from. Most days after a game behind the dish, his knees felt more like loose gravel than functioning joints. Spending nine innings over at first was less of a battle, but it wasn’t what he loved. Sure, it was still baseball, still kept him on the diamond and with his team, but the first baseman didn’t run the show like the catcher did.

And Mike really liked running the show.

He couldn’t quite manage it in his personal life—back in December, Rachel’d taken a promotion that would move her to New York without pausing to ask what he thought; it was probably better if he didn’t get into where Mike stood with the other women (well, woman, if he was being honest) in his life—so he’d have to settle for it professionally.

Thank God he could. He’d put in the effort over the offseason to win back the team, and it’d paid off.

Mostly. He still had to put up with more ribbing, often far less friendly than it used to be, than he was used to, but Mike had at least shored up his standing with his teammates enough that they listened to his input on what to do in the yard.

And, more immediately, where to spend their off nights.

Which was why the San Diego Padres had ended up in the seediest pool hall Peoria had to offer on this particular Wednesday evening.

Hey, it was hard to be bored when the possibility of a bar brawl increased exponentially with every round of shots Hinkley and Melky knocked back. The Padres hadn’t gotten into a dust up off the field in a long time. Maybe it would be enough to knock Mike out of this mood.

Probably he shouldn’t be pulling for one or more of his teammates to get their faces beaten in, but, well... Mike couldn’t take yet another night in yet another townie hangout he’d been frequenting the last seventeen years of his life.

So, the pool hall it was.

Was there a pool table in Mike’s Arizona house? Definitely; he loved playing pool, liked the meditative aspect of it. Did that mean he wanted a horde of ballplayers descending on that house just so he could teach them the fun of the game?

Hell fucking no.

A few of them, sure, but Mike wasn’t about to re-alienate the ones he didn’t want around just for the sake of not having to leave his house. Mike didn’t want to spend more time with most of them than was absolutely necessary.

Most of them.

The woman currently leaning on her pool cue, casting a skeptical eye over her table, however, was not most of them.

Ginny Baker was, and always would be, in a class all of her own.

Tonight, wearing a pair of beat-up jeans—they’d probably come off the rack with all those holes, but the way the denim hugged every last inch of her leg had to be the work of a very dedicated tailor; one Mike would probably be better off never meeting—with a loose blouse that showed off her shoulders and delicate collarbone and the shadows pooling there in the low lighting, that was more than clear.

Unfortunately, Mike wasn’t the only one who noticed.

It was impossible to miss the way too many pairs of eyes trailed her trim figure as she circled the table, looking for a shot, lithe fingers trailing up and down her cue. His did, too, but he knew how to fucking keep it subtle. Especially when it came to Ginny Baker.

Playing down the way his attention always gravitated straight to Ginny Baker, no matter the crowd or situation or distance between them, had become something of a specialty of his.

And even if her ass did present an incredibly tempting prospect as she bent over to inspect an angle, the way she jabbed her cue forward, skidding the tip across the green felt and making the cue ball bounce twice before it knocked weakly into the 10-ball, was enough to drive all thoughts of her perfect backside straight out of Mike’s mind.

Well, almost.

“Someone needs to work on Baker’s technique.”

Mike was so focused on the game across the room that he missed Blip’s disbelieving snort. “Is that what you’re calling it these days?” the center fielder asked, something knowing and more than a little belligerent in his tone.

His captain ignored it.

“If she tears a hole in the felt,” he reasoned, less interested in convincing his teammate than working out the rationale for himself, “I’m not gonna pay for it. Are you? It only makes sense to make sure she doesn’t cause too much damage.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, man,” Blip started, but Mike was already walking away, heading straight toward the small knot of Padres across the bar.

He hadn’t picked a pool hall just so he could show Ginny the ropes—to say nothing about a little quality time that had so far been in short supply this spring training with her while he was at it—but now that he had the chance, Mike certainly wasn’t going to complain about it.

“C’mon, Baker,” he said, catching her awry elbow in one hand before she could jerk it forward and send the cue ball popping into the air yet again. “Someone needs to show you a thing or two.”

He didn’t give Salvi or Butch a chance to protest, knew Omar wouldn’t once he’d been sufficiently glared at, and pulled her over to an empty table tucked into the far corner. She only dragged her feet a little.

“I don’t need—”

“How’s your elbow feeling?” he interrupted. Mike didn’t really want to hear that Ginny didn’t need, or maybe want, anything from him.

“More than up to the oh-so strenuous task of shooting pool,” she sniped.

Mike rolled his eyes. “Just making sure.”

“You and everyone else in a 15-mile radius,” Ginny muttered grumpily, like she hadn’t thrown four shutout innings of baseball today.

To be fair to everyone else, she’d just thrown her, much anticipated, first start of spring training. Al’d kept her in the bullpen until now. She’d made a few strong showings in relief, but Ginny would be the first to say coming in to throw out one or two batters wasn’t the same as going the distance from the first pitch. Still, they’d been strong enough that she’d more than earned her start today.

Mike couldn’t help but worry.

Rather than tell her that, though, he shrugged. “We’re in the middle of the desert. What else is there for people to care about?”

He didn’t give Ginny a chance to snark back, just ushered her onto a stool and launched into a soliloquy on the mechanics and motion of the perfect stroke and trying to make her laugh.

Mike wasn’t proud about commandeering what should have been her victory lap, but he hadn’t suggested this outing so they could all get kicked out when Ginny inevitably ruined all the playing surfaces. Or so Omar could stutter and blush every time Ginny leaned over to take a shot, his eyes right where Mike’s wanted to be. And what Mike really wasn’t going to do was give some other mook the opportunity to crowd up behind her and give her a hands-on lesson—as he was sure more than one person had considered.

Not that Mike planned on doing it, either—not if he wanted to maintain his grip on sanity—but he definitely didn’t want anyone else thinking they could even try it.

As he went over the basic rules and racked the balls, he couldn’t help but notice Baker’s restlessness.

The whole—though it really was short for him—spiel about stripes and solids and racks and breaks, Ginny’s leg bounced up and down, impatient and unwilling to pretend otherwise. Apparently, Ginny Baker was too good for the rules. Mike wanted to laugh. That was just typical, wasn’t it? She wanted to run before she even had the lay of the land.

“Got somewhere to be, Baker?”

“Just wondering how long this is gonna take,” she drawled, hopping off her stool to stare up at him in exasperation. “I already know how to play pool.”

Mike snorted.

“I do!” she defended, laughing at his skepticism. “How else would I know I can win the game on the first shot if I sink the 8-ball?”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s something you’re gonna have to worry about.”

“Asshole.”

Mike shrugged in agreement, but grinned down at her.

Hanging off her cue, she tilted her head to the side, soft, pink lips following in an uneven grin. Just the one dimple pressed into her cheek. Her curls cascaded messily over her shoulder and bounced away when she waved off any more explanation, uncovering more of her smooth, unblemished skin. Not that Mike was capable of much more when she looked like that.

Like she was his dream come fucking true.

Then again, she always looked like that.

“You gonna show me how it’s done or not, Lawson?” she challenged, teeth sinking into the lush curve of her lower lip for a bare second.

“If you insist,” Mike replied, shaking off the slight daze that Ginny so effortlessly inspired in him. It was easier now that he was methodically filling the rack, keeping his eyes down. “You want the break?”

She shrugged, fingering a spare cube of chalk and inspecting the sheen of blue dust it left behind before brushing it off on her pants. Disinterestedly, she replied, “If you don’t want to, sure.”

“All right,” he said, determined to get her interested in this game if it killed him. Maybe, once they got back to San Diego, Mike could get her to come over and play a few games. With Blip, of course. If he wanted. It wasn’t that he just liked the idea of Ginny in his house. Okay. It wasn’t only that. “Go ahead and put the cue ball in the kitchen, then.”

One of Ginny’s eyebrows climbed her forehead, and she leveled him with an unimpressed stare. “You better not follow that up with a joke about a sandwich, old man.”

“A little faith, rookie,” he threw back, clutching at his heart in mock offense. She pursed her lips, but didn’t protest the nickname. Ginny Baker might not technically be a rookie, but she was always going to be Mike’s rookie. One of his last, maybe. Tapping the diamond a quarter of the way down the table, he said, “Just put it down anywhere behind this line.”

Ginny shrugged and carelessly let the ball roll out of her fingers. It came to a stop just a few inches away from the edge of a rail.

“You sure that’s where you want to put it?” he checked, eyeing the ball in question. It was far from an impossible shot, but it didn’t give her a great angle for a clean break.

“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” Ginny shrugged as her attention wandered around the bar, clearly more interested in their teammates’ bullshit than the truly excellent advice Mike was trying to give her

He rolled his eyes but did his best not to frown. “If you don’t get a legal break, it matters.”

“And you think I can’t.”

It was hard to tell in the dim light, but Mike would have sworn Ginny’s eyes were twinkling in spite of the accusation in her tone. She blinked slowly at him, one corner of her lips tugging to the side. He shook himself and went to recheck the rack. They hadn’t moved, but it gave him something better to do with his time than gaze adoringly at Ginny Baker. He’d already hit his quota for the day.

“It happens sometimes. You have to get at least one ball in a pocket or four to the sides.”

Of course, she caught on quick. “If I don’t, then you get a shot at it?”

“That’s the idea.”

She eyed the ball once more before nodding. “It’s fine there.”

“If you say so.”

The doubt in his voice didn’t seem to get to her as Ginny leaned over and lined up her shot. Before she could take it, though, she lifted her eyes to Mike, all the way at the foot of the table. With a grin that did dangerous things to his insides, she asked, “What do you say we make this interesting?”

Mike raised a brow of his own. “What’d you have in mind?”

Her lips quirked to the side in thought. If she had a free hand, he was sure she’d tap her chin to really sell the bit. After just a moment, she lit up, and if Mike had thought her grin was dangerous before, the curve of her lips now was downright deadly. A throb of interest pinged low in his gut. Lower, if he was being honest.

Jesus Christ. This was not the time.

“If you lose, you have to pay for my dinners for the rest of spring training.”

Mike could imagine worse fates than treating Ginny to a few dinners here in Arizona, even with her bottomless pit of a stomach.

“Fine,” he agreed. Though not so quick as to seem desperate for some of her time. “What about if I win?”

“Up to you.”

Oh, now that was a dangerous prospect. There were so many things Mike ached to say: If I win, you sit next to me on every plane ride this season instead of walking by like you have so far; you come over and watch Star Wars without complaining about the hokey special effects; you tell me the name of your perfume so I can soak my sheets in it; you agree to talk about this thing between us; you let me take you home and show you a much better use for a pool table. The possibilities were limitless.

But, Mike wasn’t going to push it. They were only just getting back into the swing of things, slowly easing into a collegial relationship that was indisputably aware of the current of desire underpinning it. He didn’t want to mess with their fragile status quo.

So, he said, “If I win, you can only shake me off twice a game until we leave Arizona.”

“Four times.”

“Three.”

“Deal.”

She reached out, across the table so Mike had to lean in too, and they shook on it. Ginny’s warm, callused palm against his felt beyond right, but now wasn’t the time for Mike to get all mushy about holding her hand. So, after maybe a second longer than necessary, he released her and nodded to the table.

Ginny studied him for another long beat before bending back down to line up her shot.

Unlike the few strokes he’d seen her take in that game he’d pulled her from, this one was smooth and measured, brisk. The cue ball shot forward and knocked into the rack, scattering the formation easily.

Definitely a legal break. She hadn’t pocketed anything, but there were certainly more than four balls on the rail. A couple were still lazily spinning toward them, too.

One happened to be the 8-ball.

Transfixed, Mike watched as the black ball, freed from its spot in the middle of the pyramid, spun its way towards a center pocket. Just when he thought it would stop, only a smidge shy of the hole, another ball ricocheted into it, neatly pocketing it and winning Ginny the game.

One stroke and she’d beat him.

Smoothly, Ginny straightened, a triumphant smile making her glow.

God damn it, that was hot as hell.

From a table away, having clearly drifted closer when Mike wasn’t paying attention, Blip burst into howls of laughter. Ginny grinned over at him, lifting her chin in acknowledgment before leveling her victorious grin on Mike again. It probably shouldn’t have made his heart swoop in his chest, but there were a lot of things about Ginny that shouldn’t make Mike feel the way he did. The center fielder wiped a few tears away from the corner of his eyes, his shoulders still shaking.

“Man, I wanted to tell you,” he crowed when he caught sight of Mike’s shocked face, “but you didn’t even give me a chance. Ginny used to hustle all the locals back in San Antonio.”

When Mike turned his disbelieving stare on her, she hitched a shoulder modestly.

“Minor league pay only takes you so far.”

That was certainly true, but it didn’t make pool sharks out of all its players.

“How the hell did you learn how to do that?” Mike demanded, feeling more than a little guilty for underestimating Ginny. Someday, he’d learn to stop doing that.

“I lived in Texas for three years, Mike,” she said, like that explained everything. Then again, it wasn’t like he’d spent a lot of time there in the minors, so maybe it did. “And I aced Geometry.” Ginny shrugged, like that was a reasonable segue. Mike just stared at her, still more than a little gobsmacked. The right side of her mouth quirked up, dimple sinking into her cheek. “That’s all this is. Planes and angles. Like pitching.”

“Like pitching?” Mike sputtered, staring in bewildered amazement at this woman.

“Yeah,” she said, finally turning that steady gaze of hers on him. An eyebrow arched. “Haven’t you heard that before?”

There was a fog or something clouding Mike’s brain. That had to be why his voice sounded so distant when he said no.

That fog only thickened when delight spread across Ginny’s face, lighting up her dimpled smile. Grinning like a maniac—the prettiest god damn maniac Mike had ever seen—Ginny hung off her pool cue and teased, “Are you telling me there’s baseball wisdom Mike Lawson’s never heard before?”

He rolled his eyes and did his best to cut through the haze hampering his critical thinking skills. That and the knots his tongue had been tied into.

“You make me sound like a walking encyclopedia,” he eventually managed.

“Aren’t you? When it comes to baseball, at least? Coulda sworn I saw your name in Ken Burns’ credits.”

“I am wise beyond belief, yes,” he replied, puffing out his chest and ignoring Ginny’s incredulous snort, “but even I don’t know everything. I’d be too amazing if I did.”

“You’d be too something, that’s for sure.”

“Respect your captain, rookie!”

She bit her lip and looked down, long lashes casting a heavy arc of shadow on her bronze cheek. When she glanced up at him, her eyes were sparkling, delight dancing deep in the whiskey brown depths. God, if this was how he felt from just a smile, fuck him if she ever decided to— Well, fuck him. “Only if you keep me well fed, captain.”

“Now that, I can do. I make a mean chicken parm.”

What? He said he’d pay for her dinners, and he would. Just, she never specified who was going to make them.

Both of Ginny’s eyebrows jumped in surprise. “You don’t have to do that,” she tried, a flush rising up her chest. It was unusual to see, and not just because Mike usually didn’t have such an unencumbered view of her chest.

“I’ll pay for your dinners, Baker, but don’t think I’m paying for you to eat a cheeseburger and a strawberry malt every day. Oscar and Al’d kill me if I let you clog your arteries at the ripe old age of 24.”

“My dietician says it’s malts every other day,” she corrected, another grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Well, that makes all the difference, doesn’t it?” Ginny laughed and Mike didn’t keep himself from joining in. When the brash, braying sound—which sounded more and more like music every time he heard it—faded away, Mike tipped his head to the side, regarding her. Something that felt an awful lot like yearning burned a hole in his chest. “C’mon, Baker. I promise not to poison you.”

For a long moment, she studied him. Mike had no idea what she wanted to find, but she must’ve because Ginny nodded and asked, “Your place or mine?”

“Do you even have cooking utensils in your kitchen?”

“My dishes are all microwave safe. What more do I need?”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s a no, then. All right, tomorrow after the game, you’re coming over and I’m feeding you food that didn’t come in a microwaveable box. How’s that sound?”

He’d be lying if he didn’t want the next words out of her mouth to be: “It’s a date.” And while Mike Lawson could lie with the best of them, he had no interest in stretching the truth on this front.

He also knew that now, as was so often the case lately, just wasn’t the time.

But maybe now was the time for laying a foundation. For when the time eventually came.

Ginny nodded. “Works for me.”

“Good.” Mike tried not to heave a sigh of relief and pushed all the plans he was already busy making to the back of his mind. “Now, show me that trick shot of yours.”

“It’s not a trick!” she protested, laughing but still circling the table to start reracking the balls. “It’s geometry. And physics.”

Mike rolled his eyes but listened attentively as she leaped into her explanation. No, he had no idea how torque or angles or the Newtonian laws of physics could be applied to a pool table, but Ginny did, and he would be more than happy to listen to her talk about duller things for much longer.

Okay. So maybe Peoria still didn’t have much to offer in the way of entertainment, especially not when Mike had learned the town inside and out over the past 17 years. It was as familiar as the back of his hand.

However, for the next month, Peoria had Ginny Baker. And, as Mike was learning, with Ginny around, the familiar things had this funny habit of feeling brand new.

#bawson #bawson fic #pitch #pitch fic #i wrote something #editing this was a nightmare #because this fic wanted to be #approx 3 separate fics #when it should be just the one #it's currently about 2 #long post

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loveinkfanfics · 6 years

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#3 with Angela for the Christmas prompts. I can totally see her getting irritated with the carolers cause they keep popping up every where she goes lol

Gah! Yes! Thank you for this request!! I literally have been thinking about it and excited to get home and write it all through work today! Hope you like it!! :D

Angela wasn’t a big fan of Christmas music. She didn’t hate it,per say, but she wasn’t the kind of person to put it on the day afterThanksgiving mostly because she knew every song would be way over played by thetime December 25th rolled around. Unfortunately, the mall she was currentlyshopping in was blaring Christmas music. Each and every store she went into wasplaying the same songs over and over again. She didn’t care who was singing itor what genre of music backed it, it was still the same damn songs followingher around the mall.

She stepped outside, ready to go home for some respite andgroaned when she heard the music playing from the outside speakers and from thecars going by. “This is the worst,” she muttered, hefting her bags and power-walkingtowards her car. She threw the bags into her back seat as fast as she could andgot into the car, sighing in relief at the silence.

Taking a deep breath, she turned the key in the ignition andcringed as more Christmas music filled the air coming from a radio commercial. “Shutup!” she exclaimed, reaching over to turn her CD player on. She smiled as “The Immigrant Song” by Led Zeppelinblared through the speakers. “That’s much better.”

The drive home took half the time it was supposed to. Mostlybecause she was driving like a maniac. She pulled up to the front of the smallhouse she and Juice shared, smiling at the Christmas lights that decoratedpractically every inch of it. Grabbing the shopping bags from the back seat,she headed inside, not at all surprised to find Juice sitting on the couch,computer on his lap, a Christmas movie playing on the TV. Just as she walkedin, ‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town’ startedplaying. “Oh fuck me,” she muttered again.

“Later,” Juice replied, giving her a naughty grin.

“Goof.” She chuckled as she leaned over the couch to kiss hischeek, simultaneously grabbing the remote and shutting off the movie. “Thatfucking song is haunting me. Itfollowed me into every goddamn store in that place! And outside of it and inmy damn car! If I hear it one more time, I’m gonna hurt somebody!”

“Tis the season,” he quipped, shutting off his laptop andsetting it aside. “I’m guessing you don’t want to watch a Christmas movie then?”

“Only if its Die Hard.”

Juice laughed, shaking his head at her. He was about to replywhen the sound of singing came from outside. “Are those…Christmas Carolers?”

Angela grimaced at the sound of, “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” coming from the people singingoutside. “Oh hell no,” she muttered,heading towards the backyard.

He stepped in front of her. “Woah, woah, woah. What the hell areyou doing?”

“Give me one good reason why I can’t turn the hose on thecarolers!” she exclaimed, desperate not to hear that damn song again.

“Chill. They’re just kids raisin’ money for school. They do itevery year,” he told her on a laugh. He walked towards the front door, grabbinghis beanie and shrugging off his cut as he did so. He covered his head tattoosa lot more and wore his cut a lot less when they went out during the holidays.When she’d called him on it, he said he didn’t want to scare little kids duringChristmas time. Something she thought was ridiculous; beanie or not, Juice wasprobably the least scary of all the Sons.

“Doesn’t asking for money defeat the whole Caroling thing?”

He rolled his eyes and held his hand out to her, the excitedsmile on his face giving her butterflies. “C’mon, baby just give ‘em a chance.”

Reluctantly, she let him pull her towards the door just as theCarolers approached their doorstep, still singing the same damn song loudly.Juice dug into his wallet, waving a fifty dollar bill at them. “You guys mind switchingup the song?” he asked, pulling Angela in front of him.

One took the bill from him and nodded, taking out a pitch pipeand playing a note before they all started to sing, “Silent Night.”

As they sang, Juice slid his arms around her waist from behind,pulling her back in close to his chest and gently swaying with her in time tothe beautiful song. She leaned back into him, closing her eyes and enjoying thefeeling of being in his arms. He pressed a kiss to her temple. “See? Not sobad, is it?” he whispered in her ear.

She smiled warmly in response feeling totally at peace in thecircle of Juice’s arms. She sighed happily. “Not bad at all.”

For those of you who aren’t familiar with my fic, Angela is an OC from my story, Hands All Over, which you can read here: (x) ;)

#juice ortiz #SOA Fan Fic #juice & angela

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sponsoredbylaziness · 4 years

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December 25th 2019

It’s technically Christmas day, but it’s like 1:15am since I started writing this. Just wanted to say Merry Christmas to all who uis reading this. Which is basically one, me. Anyways, I hate going to Church for Christmas eve shit. At least this year it was a little faster. We were there for an hour and 15 minutes which is very quick in Church standards. But I know I tuned out most of the time. I just keep imagining shit to occupy my brain while they talk about a bunch of nonsense. I swear everytime I go to church the more and more I hate it more. I know that last sentence doesn’t make sense, but like idc. But it’s not like I can’t go. My parents will expect me to go and all that trauma that they instilled to me... I get nervous when I don’t go.

I finished my job today. After closing last night, I woke up and started working again. Thankfully it was just three and a half hours of work. I slept literally as soon as I went home and touched my bed. Man I’m so weak. I couldn’t wait to sleep. I haven’t been this excited to sleeping since ever. Though, dreams are becoming more vivid honestly. Again my exes haunted me in these dreams. I don’t know why they are still happening. The dreams are more and more wild that I honestly wished it happened. I have unresolved issues.

Well, both my sisters have boyfriends and I haven’t had a girlfriend since moving to Sacramento. Not that I have a problem with that. Maybe I’m just that ugly that my exes took pity on me and decided to like me or something. Yeah, my self confidence is low. One of my coworkers told me that she thought I was 15 years old. So yeah. Maybe I’m not ready for a girlfriend when I can’t even look like an adult. It doesn’t help that I’m quiet and shy to talk to. I’m still trying to fix that, but it’s me that’s stopping that progress. Both of my sisters are very outgoing and I’m the literal opposite of that. Computers is my life right now. I go out and around the neighborhood when I jog, but other than that I stay at my house on my free time. I don’t go to the shopping mall because it’s too far away. I really am terrified of my health. That’s why I keep trying to take care of it more often. This diary is one of them. Hopefully the shit mindset in my brain gets transferred here instead of proliferating in my head. But that also means if anyone reads this and gets the wrong message, not only will it hurt them but me too. There’s already evidence for that countless times and yet I continue to do this. I don’t want to lock this in a passcode or some shit because I just don’t want to. I don’t know, I’m not afraid to say these foul shit when I feel like it. It’s just I don’t know where it ends. I wish it would end. What a great way to end this diary.

Good Night, Sweet Dreams. Much Love from Sacramento

-A.T.

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thehummingnotes-blog · 7 years

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Way to Jakson Inns

After a six-hour-long drive from the city of Mumbai is a small rustic town called Phaltan. Right there, situated just off the highway is India’s first LEED GREEN Platinum Rated Hotel, Jakson Inns.

Hidden in a faraway village, Jakson Inns may look like an average no-frill bed-and-breakfast inn, at first sight. A closer look would reveal it’s an extensive property spreading across six acres of land, so spacious and airy that it would give a quintessential Mumbaikar a much-needed relief from the claustrophobic constraints of the city.

Jakson Inns, Phaltan

It’s at a perfect distance from the city, not too close to be the crowded haunt of city crowd, and not so far that those who do not believe in making plans can’t go for a quick three-day escape. People staying in Mumbai or Pune can drop by during any time of the year but October, November, and December will give you the best experience.

After a long bumpy ride on dusty roads, almost drowsy with the heat, I was taken by surprise at the sight of a contemporary structure, which looked rather out of place in the midst of endless rows of sugarcane fields. And I could feel the initial disappointment of a tiring journey starting to ebb away. The next thing I know is, I was being ushered into a chic, warm property, welcomed with refreshingly cool towels and a glassful of minty, iced welcome drink in an elegant flute glass.

It was a packed itinerary over two days and two nights. I was given a brief about my stay and the plan ahead but like it has always been, excitement was nudging me from within to go on and explore the rest of the property.

Moving On To The Room

Jakson Inns boasts of 69 deluxe rooms of 290 sq ft each and four suites of 560 sq ft each. My room was on the third floor, from where I had a view of the lawns and an endless sprawl of sugarcane farms. The room had all the basic amenities, including a mini bar, a 45-inch smart television, and a tea kit. But what really impressed was an assortment of dark and white chocolates layered nicely on a tray as a sweet welcome. I nibbled off a bit on my favourite pralines and then took a small nap to help myself gear up for the plan ahead.

Lunch At Green Beans

Refreshed after a power nap, I headed to Jackson Inn’s in-house restaurant, the Green Beans for lunch. Taking in the well-done interiors, all in the shades of ochre and pistachio green, I was curious to know what was planned for lunch. I was surprised to find out that they had chosen to serve us peasants’ food.

Maharashtrian Thali at Jakson Inns

Ya, even I was alarmed at the thought. But as the manager explained on the various courses of the meal, my reaction changed from shocked, to inquisitive, to mildly amused, to nostalgic, within no time. It was an authentic Maharashtrian thali, comprising of all Maharashtrian essentials and much more. Being a North Indian, the nutty, spicy flavours were new for my palate. And yet I could feel the warmth of home and taste of the earthy flavours. A Maharashtrian rural thali reminded a Punjabi of her pind. That for me just sums up the experience.

Heading Up To The Windmills

Post lunch, we made a move to the windmill farm, which was an hour and a half away from the hotel. While driving through more of those sugarcane farms, I could spot the windmills stretched in rows from a good distance, that was when I knew exactly where we were heading.

After reaching on top of the cliff, the sight that we had was a nice change to the endless scenery of farms. We were facing a clearing of sorts, on hills, with mega wind malls standing tall in front of us. No traffic, no roads, away from the hustle and bustle, the silence was enough to allow the wind to make its sound heard. Nature’s beauty was captured yet again with a landscape of vast green pasturelands spread across the acres, against the backdrop of the sun hued deep orange, about to dip below the horizon. It was a blissful experience to look at the silhouettes change into dusk.

Back To Hotel

It was an eventful day that came to an early end with dinner at the Green Beans restaurant. To help me charge myself for the next day itinerary, the decision to call it an early night sounded sane.

DAY 2

If leisure is the idea of a perfect holiday, then Jakson Inns can help you cherish that in a perfect way. The day started with a heavy breakfast arrangement. It was a buffet for the cold food items but the rest was being served hot on the table. From English breakfast to Maharashtrian poha and also South Indian idli and vada, everything was there on the breakfast menu. After tasting through too many things in bits and pieces, freshly baked muffins were a delightful experience above all.

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With this, it was time for us to get started with the day’s plan. In no time after that, we left for Rajwada Palace in the Satara City. The Palace was almost 30 minutes away from the hotel. A step inside the palace gave us royal goosebumps. Like any other palace, there was a heavy wooden door guarding the majestic entrance. Though the palace looked small, compared to many others in India’s rich heritage of the royalty, it was no less than amazing when we went inside. The palace had around 11 blocks. There were family, as well as, individual portraits of the royal family. It was disheartening to know that photography was prohibited inside the palace, we indeed missed taking some really beautiful pictures. But nevertheless, our eyes seized the royal set up which looked full of life even today, even though it is close to 190 years old.

Evening Tea At The Riverside

At around four in the evening, we all geared up for a nice evening tea session by the riverside. Jakson Inns had made a tempting arrangement of live snacks, tea and coffee on a small patch of barren land, at some 20 minutes distance from the hotel. It was a wonderful experience of sipping the tea with a sunset view and birds chirping. What can be a better sight to embrace the nature’s beauty after a long day of travelling?

The Foot Massage Session

Yes, we were tired. And Jackson Inns had the solution to it. After an eventful day that we had – now was the time for the foot therapy at the Kundalini treatment room. It was one of the best I have ever experienced. A visually impaired therapist who knew exactly the right pressure points on the sole of my feet to help me relax. In no time I could feel the skill working to help me de-stress.

A beautiful sunset to call it a day

All in all, it was a wonderful experience. I would give full marks to Jakson Inns for an extremely humble staff, courteous enough towards even the minutest details.

The location of the property makes it an ideal place to plan a quiet and relaxing holiday or a get-away from a hectic work life. In fact, it can also be an appropriate place to plan your corporate meetings or office offsite.

Help yourself With The Distance

Nearest Railway Station: Jejuri (59 km), Satara (64 km), Pandharpur (105 km)

Nearest Airport – Pune (113 km), Shirdi (230 km), Aurangabad (256 km)

From The Major Cities – Pune (113 km), Navi Mumbai (236 kms), Aurangabad (256 km), Thane (257 km), Mumbai (259 kms), Belgaum (292 kms), Nashik (299 kms), Panjim (380 kms)

Text and images by Kamya Kandhari

Kindly note: The Humming Notes was invited by Jakson Inns, Phaltan to visit their property on a media tour.

Weekend Getaway At The Phaltan's Jakson Inns @jhplpvtltd #travel #hospitality #ttot After a six-hour-long drive from the city of Mumbai is a small rustic town called Phaltan. Right there, situated just off the highway is India’s first LEED GREEN Platinum Rated Hotel, Jakson Inns.

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whitestationscribbler · 7 years

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“The Grinch Who Stole Christmas” by Edgar Allan Poe (assignment was to rewrite a story from another author’s motivation)

There once lived a dark creature on the top of a crooked mountain soiled with the materialistic garbage of the brainwashing Whos. Alongside the dog, Max, who conflicted with his reputation of twisted and heartless, he resided in a carved out cave surrounded by sparkling snow that eternally opposed his mood. The only one left of his kind, he brooded over the paramount prejudice against him and how the vile creatures he lived near banished him for not conforming to their greedy culture. To the Whos, the creature, whom they called The Grinch, was an anomalous fellow filled with hate. Legends said that his heart was one that needed to grow thrice to be full sized, though some said perhaps his creator screwed his head around one too many, and even more said that possibly his shoes fit too tightly and made him into a creature of hate. In reality, The Grinch was lonely and bitter toward the race of people that stole his family and identity, but tossed him aside when he refused to adopt their ideals and morals. His physical differences catalyzed the fear regarding him; instead of being unnaturally small and having a tiny, rounded nose like them, he was covered in coarse green fur and towered over all the people, just like his mountain towered over their puny town.

His mountain. The mountain that was used as a dump, the burial grounds for his desecrated race, the only home he had truly known, overlooked the brightly evil civilization. Dazzling lights advertised sales and great deals, drawing in the Whos, forcing them to spend money to continue to be an appraised part of the community. Once December came, the lights doubled, tripled, quadrupled in luminosity and size. The season of spending and taking came with a feeling of dread for The Grinch.

To The Grinch, Christmastime was worst of all. The covetous Who children received exotic toys that made all types of noises and were a special kind of torture for The Grinch. He despised their joy and he loathed every last child, man, and woman. The sound of Christmas morning to him was equal to that of nails in a blender. Every year, his patience grew thinner and thinner, and it was only a matter of time before he snapped.

He was well into adulthood when the unsteady self-resistance he barely clung to finally broke and drove him into a rage. In a mad fury, he devised a plan to steal the happiness of those who stole his. His rough, green face twisted into a wicked expression as a perfectly devious idea bloomed in his maddened brain. "We'll steal the most important part of Christmas from them! The only thing that makes the wretched holiday as terrible as it is- the gifts!”

The dark idea warped and grew in his mind, ideas shooting out like bullets, thoughts grinding, possibilities drawing themselves out, until he formulated a foolproof plan that he thought would never fail him. He rummaged through the garbage piled on the cemetery of the rest of his people, feeling that he was finally avenging them, finally proving that his survival was not for naught, but to allow him to give the Whos what they deserved. The only thoughts they ever had were on what gifts to give or what gifts they wanted or how to spread fear across the town because giving and spending was not enough entertainment; they needed a sort of boogeyman, a demon to keep the children in line and to force the teens to work their hardest in school so they could get a good job making good money and continue the despicable cycle of consumerism. The Grinch's one goal was to destroy their despotic system in which malls and banks were the dictators. His plan was simple, at least to him, as he was always scheming and fuming and concocting different ways to ruin the Whos; by crumbling his mountain and creating an avalanche, by sneaking into the town in disguise and causing chaos by thieving or mocking or hiding, by interrupting a ceremony of glutton and lightning a conflagration that would fry up the corpulent bodies of the Whos. Maybe by stealing the children away, maybe teaching them the ways of his people like his parents had; explaining that things and money and prizes and appearances were not worth everything, creating a whole new generation of Whos. Alas, anger outweighed sympathy. The Grinch planned to steal their most beloved holiday. The materials were easily accessible and he was clever enough to do and build anything.

Sewing together a suit of red and white fluff was simple, but the sled proved difficult. The skeleton was constructed in moments, but he needed a way to make it fly, but he only had minimal knowledge about engineering. Three crashes and fails, and he succeeded in building a sled with space enough to cart away all the extravagances that the holiday relied on. He clothed himself in the red coat and hat and pants and stepped into boots, and shoved a red ball onto Max's nose. They were prepared to create chaos.

In the dark of the night, The Grinch took off. The giver, adorned in red just like The Grinch, was finishing his enabling job in the distance. The timing could not have been better for The Grinch's revenge. He slunk into the first home in the village and put in his bag all the gifts, all the lights, all the tinsel and baubles, the tree, and all the food from their fridge. The turkey would rot, the cans would be crushed, the eggnog would congeal, the cranberry sauce would harden. There was not even an ounce of regret in him as he dashed from home to home in his rickety flying machine and with his expanding bag of goods.

He encountered no roadblocks until he reached his last stop: the home of one Cindy Lou, a small Who child. As The Grinch crept along the floor, sweeping Christmas decorations into his bag, she tiptoed down the dark stairs. The Grinch barely had time to hide behind the big, pointy tree before she rounded the corner and gaped at him with wide eyes the size of the moon. "Mister Santa, what are you doing with our tree?" she questioned in her shrill voice.

The Grinch stayed silent for a moment before opening his hairy lips. "There's a light on this tree. It seems to not be lighting, so I will take it to my shop to fix it. Go back to sleep now, child."

Cindy Lou stood still, watching him, like she had laser vision that pierced through the tree and into The Grinch's heart. He grew woozy the longer her gaze persisted, and had to shut his spinning eyes. The small girl cracked a tiny smile, like she knew something he did not, and walked back up the stairs and into the dark abyss her room was presumably in. She halted to glance in his direction before disappearing, and The Grinch swore her eyes were burning red.

He pushed the madness boiling inside of him to the back of his head and continued robbing the house of the torture devices that hung on the walls. Once every inch of the house was empty, he left. Cindy Lou made him tremble with something akin to fear, and he wondered if possibly even the Who children were corrupted beyond repair.

Back on his sled, the bag spilled over the edges and pine needles stuck out of the fabric, poking his skin and getting stuck in his knotted pelt. Max sat at the front with him, whining whenever the sled rattled mid-flight, like it was seconds from giving out and crashing to the ground. His masterpiece held out; however, until it reached the precipice of his mountain home. He was going to dump the sack onto the tarnished cemetery of his family as one last step of revenge. Seconds before the bag was set to tip over, Cindy Lou's tiny head with eyes like embers emerged out of the mess. The Grinch wanted to let her fall, to let the town know his pain, but his conscience would not let him stoop to the level of the Whos. However, before he could begin moving of his own accord, something overpowered him. His mind grew foggy and a cry was ripped from his chest as a force threw him across the snowy peak and flung his arms around the falling bag. Under normal circumstances, he never would have able to prevent the bag and child from falling to certain demise, but he was not himself. He had strength he had never known, and he lifted it with ease. Cindy Lou's face contorted into a sickening grin as she was moved from the edge and onto safer ground.

She slid off the lumpy sack and into the snow, The Grinch watching every move through hazy eyes. Once again, he felt himself being pulled by a strange force, and he got back into his sled and proceeded to return to the Who village. Cindy Lou followed him at a speed no grown man should be able to reach, much less a child. Before long, they landed in the middle of town, surrounded by a ring of Whos clutching hands. Cindy Lou almost finished the circle; there was enough room left for one being. The Grinch twitched as he tried to resist the supernatural force coaxing him toward the open spot, but ultimately, the force won. A ripple spun through the circle as he completed it, and his mind became blank of any thoughts. Every Who seemed overjoyed.

A song begun. The Grinch was surprised when he opened his mouth and sung along, not missing a single beat or faltering over a word. The haunting melody filled the air, encompassing him, and he felt as if his chest was too full and his heart was thudding too fast. Cindy Lou winked up at him. "It's returning to its normal size. Your poor heart. Now, you are one of us. One of us." She began to chant. The ring stopped singing to begin chanting with her.

Children emerged from the circle and marched slowly in synch to the sled and sack still lying in the epicenter. Their small hands expanded and their eyes became a bright red and suddenly, all the toys and trees and decorations and food were lifted out and floated to their designated homes. The Grinch felt sick.

He had not noticed the increase of speed and intensity the chanting underwent until the circle began moving. He stumbled along with the Whos to a building with a long table and hundreds of plates. Food blanketed the table. Every Who took a seat, and similarly to the circle, there was one remaining seat, right next to Cindy Lou. He sat beside her glowing body. She took his hand, and everything went black.

"One of them," The Grinch said into the darkness. "I am one of them."

-Mary Fite (10)

#short story #WSHS scribbler

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