1. Made Up Game

It was a picnic in the park. It was happy and big. People were everywhere and it was like how a picnic should be. Four boys were running around two oak trees in the center of the park. They had a ball but no bat. So they figured they’d pretend that the two trees were first and second base. They improvised this so they could have some fun.

So it was like Monkey-In-the-Middle. Two boys ran between the trees trying not to get tagged by the ball. The trees were safe. The other two played defense: the taggers who jumped at the others when they took their hands off the tree.

The fat boy of the group got out first. He pouted with heavy breathing and said, "I’m not playing anymore." He struggled a slow shuffle back to his parents and ate another hot dog.

The remaining players kept playing. They giggled and sweated, entirely locked in on their made up game. A game that will come to be known as "The Tree and Ball Game" amongst the four of them.

2. The Turtle

A turtle climbed up on the shore from the river. I saw this from inside, sitting by a window. Two old men sat inside with me. I pointed at the turtle.

"Check out that turtle," I said.

The two older men, wise and quiet, looked to where I was pointing.

"Wow. He’s a biggin’," one of them said.

I nodded and said, "I think it’s a snapping turtle."

"Yes. It is a snapping turtle," the other old man said. He turned his head to me as he said it, making sure I heard. The way he said it seemed to imply he had a lesson to teach me about turtle identification.

For several minutes, we all watched the turtle lumber about on the grass. The turtle looked happy.

The two old men got up to leave. As they stood, one asked, "Son, do you know if that snapper is a boy or a girl?"

"Well, no. How can you tell?"

The old men laughed very hard at this. They kept laughing and walked to the door.

"What fun," one said.

"Indeed. Let’s go check out that turtle," said the other.

They door closed behind them. I watched them round the building, heading toward the river. They approached the turtle. One of them pointed at the creature. I watched him move his lips while the other listened and smiled.

We were watching a show on polar bears. Interesting stuff. It was about what polar bears eat and how they live and interact with their habitat.

There were two of us, both mesmerized by the polar bear show.

"Do polar bears roar?" he asked.

"They growl."

"I think they roar."

4. The Three O'clock Chew

I was sleeping next to a close friend in a hotel bed while on vacation. I almost dozed off, but I heard chewing. Really annoying chewing. The kind of chewing that brings to mind cows and cud. The kind of chewing I’m sure was intentional in its volume and texture: loud and sloppy.

I turned toward the sound. It was my bedmate. He was eating a Snickers bar on his back with a blissful look on his face. Peanuts and chocolate pieces were all over his chest. I looked to my wristwatch. It read 3:02. Who chews this loudly, this late? My goddamn friend, that’s who.

He noticed I was watching him. He extended the half-eaten Snickers bar towards me across the bed and in mid-chew, asked:

"You wanna bite?"

"No, I don’t want a fucking bite."

"You sure? This is a great candy bar."

"Yes. Very sure."

He kept up that slapping and slurping. It has to be intentional, I thought. No one eats like this on accident.

"Are you sure you’re sure?"

"Goddamn it! It’s three in the morning!"

"So?" It came out of his thick, chocolatey mouth sounding like Sho?

"So..." I was too tired and angry to speak.

"So...what?"

"Buddy, you chew like cow!"

He looked perplexed for a moment. I either hurt his feelings, or he was about to choke. I hoped for both.

5. God's Wonder Music

I played a grand piano in an empty church. It was beautiful and haunting. I doodled between E flat major six and D minor seven. The chords boomed like a minister’s voice. The chords only proclaiming I was alone in a church. My sound echoed between the pews and stained glass.

I wondered how the Lord could be intimate on Sundays when I’m surrounded by expensive clothing and flat lips murmuring "Our Father." I wondered who God was and why everyone thought he had a beard. I wondered if He wondered and if so, what He wondered about. But most of all, I wondered who left the church door unlocked for an atheist like me to tickle the ivories for God. Did He like it?

6. Cat, No Pretzel.

I was petting a cat. The cat purred and leaned into my rub. It seemed to be enjoying it. I offered the cat a pretzel stick. I held it to its nose to smell it, hoping to interest a taste. But it did not bite. It just kept leaning with its tilted black head, ignoring the pretzel stick by its face.

A girl plopped down next to me. She was drunk and excited to see the cat.

"A kitty cat!"

"Yes. Did you know cats don’t like pretzels?"

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Well, my cats eat anything. They love pudding. They live for it. And butter, too."

"Butter?"

"Uh huh. All cat loves butter."

We petted the cat together, then. The cat leaned closer to my rub than the drunk girl’s rub. I saw this as a victory. The cat purred louder, like a gentle vacuum from a few rooms away.

"Wow. Listen to that purr," I said.

The girl felt under the cat’s chin as if for a pulse and nodded to me. I took from this that a cat’s purring origin is in the throat.

"My cats purr so loud. Seriously. Sometimes, when they paw around in my hair," she did a digging motion with her hands to show how cats paw in hair, "they purr so loud I can’t hear the TV."

What could I say to her? Nothing.

The cat nudged my hand and I continued rubbing as the drunk girl walked away.

7. Six Inch Radius Loser

"Shit. Hey, are you sitting on my keys?"

He reaches underneath his ass and rubs the seat. "Nope."

I feel my thighs, outside my pockets, checking for bulges that I may have missed the last three times I checked. I look under the seat, bending my body in half.

"Jesus. How can I lose my keys that quick?" We had just gotten in the car. I used my keys to unlock my door and now had no idea to their whereabouts.

"Are they still in the door?" He asked.

I look and do not see them. "No."

He now bends downs in half like I had just been and runs his hands all over his leg room space. He resembles a person who cannot walk but who is trying to swim.

"Shit. How did I do this? They were here a minute ago." I amaze myself in all the worse ways.

"Yeah. You’re really good at losing things within a six inch radius."

"That’s because I’m a six inch radius loser."

I laugh at this, thinking how great a band name it would be. Six Inch Radius Loser! Yes!

He interrupts my laughter to remind me of my keys.

"They’re still missing, man."

8. How Long Things Are Good For

We were drinking and standing in the basement of a mutual friend’s house. I had known this guy for about five years. And for five years we were the hey, what’s up? kind of friends. Nothing deep, just friends out of politeness and convenience.

"Damn," he sighed.

"What?"

"I just said, ‘damn’."

"Oh."

We both sipped our beers and waited for something.

"So what are you damning? Damn what?"

"I don’t know, just in general. I mean...damn."

I did not want to push him any further. Frankly, I did not care why he said damn.

"You know..." he paused for effect, "everything is good for about a month. Then it sucks."

I assumed he was referring to girls. I can’t be sure, though.

He finished his beer, crushed the can with his hands as he belched and nodded to me. And it was a good moment. The first real good thing to come out of our five year relationship.

9. The Window Washer

I approached the door. Above, about ten feet up, hung a man on a seat, washing a window. He had a big squeegee. I mean, really big.

I looked up to him and shouted, "That’s a big squeegee!"

"Yeah. But it’s only three feet! I got a four-footer at home!" He smiled the words loudly.

That smile! Like a child who was allowed five more minutes to play out in the rain. A smile that said, Yeah! I won! And I won by several points!

He stopped smiling and then started up another one before he said, "I got a five-footer at the office. I call it Mr. Servo! It’s for competitions!" Then he laughed. I’m not sure if window-washing competitions actually exist, but I would have liked to have seen Mr. Servo.