"You Get What You Deserve"

The front door creaked open every few minutes. The massive steel hinges expressing their feelings about that cold mid-December night. Winter came late that year. The snow began to fall early one morning and had not stopped for days, accumulating over 20 inches of firmly packed snow. The bar was crowded with people escaping the snow, trying to warm their souls and spirits with other souls and spirits.

"He's here," Tom said in a surprised voice.

Jack was staring into his drink, lost in some day dream. He looked up and over to the front door, where a group of two guys and three girls had just walked in, their coats and heads covered in snow. As they shook themselves off and found a place at the bar, Jack was sure that they hadn't noticed that he was there. But he knew. He knew before Tom had even said a word.

"What are ya gonna do, Jacky?" Tom asked.

Jack took a deep breath, finished his beer, and let out a sigh. He clanked the glass down onto the bar, bringing some attention his way from the most recent guests across the room. That's when Phil knew it. Jack saw Phil exchange some remarks with his group and then go on with the start of the alcohol consumption that was planned for the night.

"Can I get you boys another?" The Bartender asked.
Tom nodded yes.
"And a shot, please. Whisky," Jack requested.

The little blonde scurried around, grabbing two pints of Genesee and Jack's shot. When she returned, she delivered the drinks and put her hand on Jack's.

"You okay?" She asked.
Jack nodded.
"What are you going to do?"

Her soft voice would've comforted any one else, but Jack just sighed, took his hand out from under her's and threw back his shot. His stomach tightened and then loosened as the liquor filled his veins.

"We all know what I'm going to do," Jack said before taking a swig of his beer.

And he was right. As he got up, the whole bar, full of regulars, saw his 5'11" body stagger gracefully across the floor. They all knew what was coming, even Phil. Jack came up behind the man seated at the bar. His 5'10" frame slouched over a drink, trying to sink himself deeper into the wood grains, through the floor, through the snow, into the ground, and he didn't want to come out until morning. A muscular tattooed arm rose and set a hand on Phil's shoulder.

Phil took a short, hard breath through his nose and threw back a shot of liquor he had ordered the second he noticed that Jack was in the bar. He coughed and turned around to face Jack, who, because Phil was still sitting, seemed to be miles above him.

"Hey there, Jack," Phil said, tightening his jaw around his words.
"Home for the holidays?" Jack asked.
Phil nodded.
"Mmhmm."
"You should get up," Jack said, his voice drunk but exact.

At that moment thoughts and memories filled both of their heads. Jack thought about college, living with Phil in their shitty little apartment, crashing parties together, and always protecting and having Phil's back in the many skirmishes they (or just Phil) were thrown into. That was the worst part for Jack. They used to be as tight as blood.

Phil remembered all of that too, but at this point, all Phil could think about were those drunken, lustful nights he would periodically spend with Mary, Jack's girlfriend at the time.

After Jack had found out about the small affair, he quickly ended it with Mary. Jack took it hard, but not as hard as he thought he should've. Mary meant a lot to Jack, but after he found out, he didn't have the drive to forgive and forget, to work through it. That's how he realized that although he loved Mary, she was not the one for him. Sometimes he was almost glad that it happened the was it did.

But the fact that Phil, his best friend, could do that to him, over and over, without being a man and admitting it, made Jack angry and bitter. After the breakup, Phil moved to Chicago, never even saying goodbye to Jack. And now here he was. Phil knew what he had coming, and frankly, he knew that he deserved it.

Before Phil could even get his balance getting off of the bar stool, his collar was tight within Jack's strong left hand. Jack's first punch was accurate and planted hard onto Phil's left cheek. A sharp pulse of pain surged though Phil's face. He could feel his knees go a little weak but Jack's swollen hands kept him standing. Another swing. Phil's upper cheek and eye felt crushed beneath Jack's massive hammer of a hand. Phil thought alcohol would have dulled the pain. Phil should have started drinking hours earlier. A third and final blow to Phil's jaw put him on the floor.

The bar was silent. No one dared to get in the middle of this and no one felt the need to.

Phil let out a groan of pain and slid himself onto his knees, opening his right eye enough to look at the damp, black floor. He let out another soft groan. He felt like he was trying to suck in the pain through a straw, swallow it, and keep it down. He covered the left side of his face with his hand, feeling for blood or bumps. Suddenly he felt a strong arm around his body, helping him to his feet. It was Jack. Phil wobbled a bit, taking his hand from off of his face. He squinted in pain at Jack's surprisingly calm face. Phil felt like throwing up, but clenched his jaw, despite the pain and swelling.

"We good?" Jack asked.

Phil nodded and Jack did something no one expected. He embraced his old friend in a hug, something they hadn't shared in years.

"Hey Mia, two more please," Jack said, helping Phil back to his seat.

The little blonde bartender placed two pints of Genessee in front of Phil at the bar. Jack picked one up and clinked it against Phil's.

"You might want to put that on your face for a minute," Jack said, smirking through his drunken lips.

Phil chuckled softly.

"Right."

One Cream, One Sugar: parts 3&4

Part 3: "Flynn"

Robert loved summer nights. Sitting on his porch enjoying a cup of coffee, just watching life. Strange how some people still enjoy a hot cup of coffee on a warm night. Others would have gone for an ice cold beer or pop, but not Robert. Something about coffee was just more relaxing, more comfortable, like a worn in pair of jeans or shoes. Robert went inside to get a refill as the phone rang. He made his way to the kitchen, set his mug on the counter and answered the phone.

"Hello?"
"Hey there buddy, is this Flynn? It's Jack."
This wasn't the first time Jack had called. Robert flipped through his book and stopped at a page with "Flynn Ottle" scribbled at the top. This was the third time Jack had called since they met.

~~~

It was a beautiful May afternoon. The April showers certainly brought the flowers in the city of Baltimore, and they were gorgeous. Robert was sitting in a small coffee house by the waterfront. A man, probably in his late 30's came in looking for a phone he could use to call his wife. Being such a small shop, Robert heard the man and offered his help.

"Here you go, sir," Robert said, handing the man his phone.
"Oh, thanks! I'll just be a second."
"No rush, I'll be here for a while."
The man tried keeping his conversation quiet, but being such a small shop, everyone could hear what was going on.
"Honey, I know, I know. But I'm not sure what else I can do, I've been looking for an hour...no...no...well not everyone is a saint like you..darling...okay...okay..I'm sorry. I'll keep looking...I'll see you when you get home from work...love you too...bye."
The man walked over to Robert.
"Thanks. I really appreciate it," he said.
"Not a problem. Is everything alright? I couldn't help over hearing."
"Well, my dog has seemed to have disappeared. He ran off after something while we were walking. I've been looking for about an hour but I can't find him anywhere."
"Oh geez. Well take a seat for a second, calm down a bit, you know?"
"Yeah, thanks."
"Name's Flynn."
"Jack."
"Nice to meet you. Your dog, he's got a collar with info on it?" Robert asked.
"Yeah. Name, address, phone number. He's a smart dog too. He'd find his way home if he had to, I'm just worried, obviously."
"Oh, I understand. I'm quite the dog person myself. Two German shepherds and a husky," Robert said.
"Sounds like a handful."
"It was at first. They learned real easily and are pretty smart themselves."
"Sam is a black lab. He was a gift to my daughter, but more a gift for me." Jack chuckled.
Just then something caught Robert's eye. A black lab, strolling past the window, headed for a tree in front of the coffee shop. He laughed.
"As crazy as this sounds, I think your Sam is under that tree out front right now," Robert said.
Jack looked, and smiled. He and Robert both stood up and went outside. To Jack's disbelief, there was Sam, laying down in the shade, enjoying the day.
"I can't believe it."
The puppy looked up at Jack with an expression that seemed to scream, "What were you worried about? I was just having some fun!"
Jack took Sam's leash and tied in around the leg of a bench under the tree and then sat down. Robert sat next to him.
"Good call, Flynn," Jack said, with much relief.
"He's a good dog, Jack. He probably smelled you from down the street and came to wait," Robert said.
"How about I get us some coffee?" Jack offered.
"Sticking around for a bit?"
"Yeah, why not? I could use the relaxation now."
"That'd be swell," Robert answered.
"Keep an eye on that pup," Jack laughed, "I'll be right back."

~~~

"Ah, Jack, my friend. How are you?" Robert asked.
"Doing just fine. I'm actually looking into getting a German shepherd for my wife for her birthday.."
"You mean for you?" Robert interrupted.
They both laughed.
"You caught me. I thought who better to get some advice from than Flynn, right?"
"Oh, but of course!"
"Lauren's birthday is next week and I went to a little family owned pet store and saw a beautiful little puppy for sale. What do you think?" Jack asked.
"Well, I can't say anything bad about them, that's for sure. Everything you'd want in a dog. I'd say go for it!"
"That's all I needed. I'll go in tomorrow and seal the deal. How's everything with you and your friends over there?"
"Everything is fantastic, really enjoying the summer this year."
"Next time you're in Baltimore you should bring the pups too!"
Robert laughed.
"You know I will, Jack."
"Alright, Flynn. Take care of yourself. We'll be in touch," Jack said.
"Sure thing. Good luck with the puppy, let me know how it goes."
"Will do bud. Talk to you later."
"Goodbye."

Robert hung up, jotted somethings down and refilled his mug. As he was going back to the porch he noticed Molly's food dish was empty. He gave her some fresh water and shook her food container before pouring some into the bowl. A tiny black cat came in from the living room and started eating.
"There you go, Molly," Robert said, petting her back.
He quickly washed his hands and went back to the porch, forgetting his coffee on the counter. He sat down, then realized what he was missing.
"Well, shit," he said, "Eh, I'll live."


Part 4: "James"

Robert came home to a package at the door. It was addressed to a "James O'Connor". He unlocked his front door and brought the package inside. He set it down on the kitchen table and turned on the television. The weather channel was on. Robert took out his little book and searched for "James O'Connor". Once he found the page, he opened the package. Out of the little box, he pulled a pocket watch and a postcard from Disney World.

~~~

"Hey mister. What are you drinking?"
Robert put his newspaper down to put a face to the small voice that had just asked him the question. A tiny, blond haired boy was sitting across from him at the table he was at.
"I'm drinking coffee. What're you drinking?" Robert asked with a smile.
The boy stopped slurping on his straw long enough to say, "Apple juice."
"Yum." Robert said enthusiastically, going back to his paper.
"Do you have a marker?" The little voice asked.
Robert put the paper down again.
"Would you like to draw?" Robert asked.
The little boy, straw in mouth, nodded.

Robert dug through his bag and pulled out a fine-tip sharpie pen and a sketch pad. He flipped to a blank page and slid the book with the pen on top towards the boy. His little blue eyes lit up. He set his apple juice down onto the table, picked up the pen and started to doodle.

"What's your name, kid?" Robert asked before taking a sip of coffee.
"Troy." He didn't even look up from his drawing.
"Nice to meet you Troy, I'm James."
"Hi James. Thank you for your marker," Troy said.
"You're very polite there, Troy. You're welcome. How old are you?"
"I'm 5. I'm going to Mickey Mouse World with my parents today. They are over there under the big number two."
Robert looked behind the kid and saw a man in a Hawaiian shirt on his laptop and a woman in a blue sun dress reading a book. They were sitting underneath a "Gate 2" sign.
"Well, you're going to have a lot of fun, buddy," Robert told Troy.
"I know," he said, holding up his picture of Mickey Mouse that he was drawing.
"Very good," Robert said.
"What's that?" Troy asked, putting the pad back on the table and pointing at Robert's vest pocket.
Robert pulled out his pocket watch by the chain connected to it.
"This?" Robert asked.
"Yeah, what does that do?" Troy asked.
"This is a pocket watch. It tells you what time it is."
"What time is it?"
Robert pressed the button on the side of the watch and it opened. Troy gasped in amazement.
"It is ten, twenty three," Robert answered. "Would you like to see it?"
Troy nodded.
Robert closed the watch up and put it into Troy's waiting hands.
"Wow!" Troy exclaimed.
"Touch the little button on the side," Robert told him.
The watch opened. Troy's eyes were even wider than before.
"Ten, twenty three," Troy said smiling.
"I'll tell you what, Troy, if you want that, you can have it. Just keep it in your pocket until you get on the plane, okay?"
"I can have it?" Troy asked.
"Yes. Just promise to keep it in your pocket until you get on the plane."
"I promise," Troy said, closing the watch just like he saw Robert do and put it in his pocket.
Robert smiled.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome, Troy. Thank you for being such a well mannered little man," Robert said.
"My mommy says I need to have manners, so I always say 'Please', and 'Thank you'."
Robert looked up and saw Troy's mother standing behind him.
"Troy," she said. "It's time to get your backpack and get on the plane so we can go see Mickey!"
Troy held up the drawing for his mother.
"Oh, how wonderful. Did this nice man let you draw on his paper?" She asked.
"Yes, his name is James and I said thank you. I have manners," Troy said proudly.
His mother smiled.
"Thank you for keeping him occupied. I didn't even realize he ran off," she said, picking Troy up.
"Not a problem. He's a great kid, ma'am. I hope you all have a great time."
Robert ripped the drawing out of the pad and handed it to Troy.
"Thank you," he said.
"You're welcome, buddy."
"Are you waiting for a flight?" Troy's mother asked Robert.
"Yes I am. I'm heading to Phoenix to surprise my girlfriend, Maggie."
"Oh, how sweet. Well, have a good flight and enjoy your time in the heat!" She said.
"Thank you very much, you do the same."
She smiled and started to walk back to her husband who was standing with his brief case waiting. Robert waved and nodded at the man, he did the same back. Troy's mother put Troy back on his feet and he looked over at Robert. Robert winked at him and waved.
"Bye James!" Troy yelled.
The family turned and got in line to board the plane.

~~~

The back of the post card read:

"Dear James, we got your address from engraving on the pocket watch and hoped it was yours. We thank you so much for giving it to Troy, but we cannot accept. We would hate to see such a keepsake go to waste in the hands of a 5 year old, who all weekend just kept opening it and saying 'ten, twenty three'. You're a very thoughtful man and we hope that us sending it back does not offend you in any way. We hope you understand. Thank you again, and write back if you'd like, we're sure Troy would love to hear from you. The Coren Family. PS, hope Arizona was nice."

Robert took out another small card from the package. It was a business card that had their address on it for if Robert wanted to write back. He picked up the watch and opened it. He looked at the engraved address on the inside of the cover, then at the time. It was ten twenty nine. Robert looked up at the television and listened to the weather reporter.

"Well Katie, the heat wave that has been devastating Arizona, New Mexico, and western Texas is far from being over. Phoenix is already at a high of 117 degrees today, with Albuquerque at 110, Las Cruces at 111, and El Paso at 113."

"Yuck," Robert said to himself, "No reason is reason enough to go to the oven that is Phoenix."

Witness: A Zombie Anecdote

The lights flickered as another crack of thunder rattled across a dark purple sky. A young man sat at the window of a coffee house, sipping his brew and watching the people walk by on the sidewalk in front of him. Well, some walked, with umbrellas in hand, shielding them from the down pour. Others ran, with wet clothes and belongings to get cover. Some soon ran, even with their umbrellas.

The young man watched as one by one, the streetlights on the other side of the street went out. The traffic light at the corner went out as well, immediately leaving drivers confused and with a lack common driving courtesy.

He watched it all, sipping his coffee, dry and safe.

A young woman ran by, trying to keep her umbrella over her head, but dropped it as she passed. She stopped at the corner and looked behind her. A look of terror the young man had never seen before was branded upon her face. She turned to run across the street as a car was carelessly about to zoom through the unorganized intersection. After two large steps, she was struck by the vehicle. Her rag doll body was thrown onto the hood of the car and the driver slammed on the brakes in the middle of the intersection.

Horrified, the young man stood at the window, trying to get his cell phone out of his front pocket to call 911.

As the car came to a complete stop, a pickup truck coming from the left collided into the car, crushing the girl's legs.

The young man felt woozy. His phone dropped out of his hand as he watched the driver of the truck slowly get out, and then fall to the puddled ground. The girl was motionless, as was the other driver. The only movement that caught the his attention was another person, slowly stumbling down the sidewalk towards the commotion. As the figure passed by the window, it turned and locked eyes with the horrified young man. The figure's face was covered in blood. His left ear was gone, as well as most of his teeth which could be seen through the gash in it's cheek. A lifeless hand pressed against the window, trying to reach through. It tapped, then pounded.

The young man, once so full of life, stood like a statue, lifeless. As the once lifeless in front of him, ironically, seemed full of life.

Carrier: A Zombie Anecdote

The 75 South was pretty clear that day. 11 am, no congestion, just smooth driving to Tampa. A gray sedan was about to pass a semi-truck, when the driver noticed something about the door of the trailer. Not only was it unlocked, but there seemed to be some dark red, syrupy substance seeping out through the bottom. Thinking the situation to be strange, the driver got into the left lane and pulled up beside the trucker. With a little beep of her horn, the driver tried to get the trucker's attention. He kept forward, stone cold on the road. She beeped again. The trucker turned his head to the left, revealing a worn but young face. He was bruised on the eye and cheek. The driver of the gray sedan pointed backwards and mouthed the word "open". The truck then slowed down, letting the sedan pass. Thinking the truck was going to pull over, the driver of the sedan maintained their normal speed and got back into the right lane. However, in her rear-view mirror, she did not see the truck stop or get off at the next exit.

"Crazy," she said to herself. But with things to do, she forgot about it and kept on her way.

The truck driver kept driving, trucking, if you will, right past a sign reading: WEIGH STATION. ALL TRUCKS MUST STOP. A Florida state trooper was on the side of the road, just at the end of the entrance ramp to the highway. The truck passed, obviously catching the cop's attention. The trooper switched on the sirens and pulled out in pursuit of the truck.

After about a fourth of a mile, the truck had not pulled over. The trooper pulled up beside the trucker, much like the gray sedan, and beeped the horn. As the trucker looked to the left with a solemn face, the cop pointed to side of the road and yelled "pull over!" The trucker sighed and pulled onto the shoulder of the road. The trooper dropped back, and parked behind the stopped truck. Gathering his things, he got out of the cruiser. As he passed the trailer, he noticed the thick substance coating the door. He then approached the driver's door and knocked on it. Seeing that the window was already down, the officer spoke up.

"Sir, I'm pulling you over because of your failure to enter a mandatory weigh station. Were you unaware of the station?"

There was a period of silence.

"Sir, were you also unaware that you were being pulled over?"

Nothing.

"Will you please step out of the vehicle?"

The trucker was lifeless, motionless, speechless. The officer raised his voice.

"Hey! You hard of hearing there, buddy?! I said get out of the truck!"

The door cracked open and the trooper stepped back, getting out of the way. The trucker dangled his legs out and dropped onto the step, then to the ground, where he stood facing the officer.

"Have you been drinking? On drugs? Anything?"

No answer.

The cop mumbled something quickly into his radio.

"I'm going to have to ask you to walk to my car, please."

The trucker closed his door and walked past the trooper, limping on his left leg.

"What are you, hurt or something?"

Nothing.

The cop pointed him to the far passenger door. They walked around the car and the trucker got in the back. After shutting the door, another cop from the weigh station rolled up behind the first.

"What's going on here, Frank?" The second officer said, getting out of his squad car.

"Guy didn't stop at the station. I followed him for about a half mile before I could get him over. Won't say a word. Seems to be drugged or something. Oh, and look at this."

Frank and the other trooper walked to the back of the trailer. From the car, the trucker could see them looking in his direction and then pointing at the trailer door. Frank walked to the passenger door where the trucker was seated. He opened it.

"Get out. We're going to need to open up your trailer for us. It wasn't locked, and what ever it is that you're carrying seems to have a leak."

The truck driver got out and led the way to the trailer.

"Go on, open it."

With another sigh, the trucker gripped the handles at the bottom of the door. His bloodstained hands and arms did not go un-noticed by the troopers.

"Been in some sort of fight today?" The second cop asked.

The trucker looked at him with a ghostly stare. He looked back at the door and pushed upwards, letting out a light grunt. Frank, his comrade, and the trucker stood in silence.

A swell of deep moans broke that silence.

thoughts from the driver's seat (summer tour 2011)

My words float in the air, every noun, every letter, hanging above my head. I’m like a worm in the rain. I crawl across the pavement, unaware of the noose looming over my neck. I’m like a bird in the wind, finding struggle to keep flight. My exhausted wings continue to beat.

__

I know what I am, just like the rest. An inch above a pig, but a foot below a man. But don’t forget what it seems, my dear; that you’re of reptilian descent and I can see all of what you are and every skin you’ve shed.

__

You’re ignoring the signs and attempting a balancing act on the edge of a deep cavern of chagrin, an abyss of adversity. All I am is a puzzle of bones, pieced together with muscle and ligament. My adhesive blood will fail to keep structure. I will let you down and fall apart. Pull your heart from your ears, for my mouth is just full of stars. Tear your eyes from their home in your head and place them in each vessel so your heart may see that each of my words shall fade away.

One Cream, One Sugar: parts 1&2

Part 1: "Jeremy"

A little black book sat next to the old-fashioned, turn-style telephone in Robert’s kitchen. He never knew when someone would call looking for someone else he knew, someone else that he was. Every time that phone rang, Robert would slowly stagger towards it, with out any sense of urgency, not caring if the call went to his answering machine or not. Sometimes, he even hoped it would. Today, he made it to the phone.

“Hello?” He answered.

“Yes, hi. I’m looking for a Jeremy? Is he in?” The woman asked.

“This is him.” Robert fumbled through the little black book until he got to a page that said “Jeremy Ribben” on top.

“Oh, Jeremy! It’s Wendy, from the coffee house in Columbus a while back. I had a thought about you yesterday and decided to call and see how you were doing.” She seemed so excited to be talking to him, like he was an old friend.

While she had been talking, Robert was skimming through his notes on the page, remembering what they had talked about that day, remembering who he was.

~ ~ ~

A Bell rang as Robert opened the door. The fresh aroma of coffee beans surrounded him. He smirked and took a seat at the counter. The waitress, an older, shorter, very Italian woman asked what she could get him to drink. She came back with a white porcelain mug of black coffee.

“Do you take cream or sugar?” She asked.

“One of each, please.”

As he sipped his coffee, he brought out a small black book. He flipped to the next blank page, wrote “Jeremy Ribben” on the top, and then closed it. About 20 minutes passed, Robert was into his second cup of coffee, when a woman sat down next to him on the right at the counter. She was very well dressed. Black heels, black tights, black skirt, and a white blouse. Cherry red lipstick under a thin nose, under beautiful brown eyes. Her hair was cut very short, almost boyish, but fitting. It was parted to the right side so Robert had a full view of her face.

When she smiled, the dimples created pushed her cheeks up. She was very cute, but with that smile came uncertainty. Robert couldn’t tell if it was real. She seemed to be forcing it, like her lips were pushing up a weight on her cheeks to show some happiness. She ordered a coffee, black, and a water.

“I have some extra cream and sugar if you’d care for some,” Robert said to her.

“Oh, thank you, but I’m alright.” She sounded bothered.

“Coming from work?” Robert asked.

“Yes, actually. Busy day,” she answered. She was short. Not in height, she was about Robert’s height, but in her answers.

“Well you still look quite beautiful after a long day.”

Robert turned back towards his coffee sup and took a sip. She smiled. It was a different smile. This time, her eyes closed slightly and she put her head down, hiding a bit of blushing.

“Thank you sir, I’m flattered.”

“My name is Jeremy. Jeremy Ribben.”

“Wendy. Wendy Abell.”

They shook hands and continued talking about Wendy’s job, Wendy’s home, Wendy’s family, and when Wendy wanted to talk about Jeremy, Robert quickly changed the subject back to her.

Almost an hour went by, and neither of them had an interest in putting their conversation on hold.

“So, you don’t live in Columbus? What brings you here?” Wendy asked, trying pretty desperately to not talk about herself anymore.

“My mother,” Robert said.

“She lives here?”

“Well, yes, but she’s in the hospital as of now. Severe lung cancer. I came because the doctors said she wasn’t going to live past the end of the week.”

He looked blankly into his coffee cup.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, Jeremy. It’s Friday though, and she’s still alive?”

“Yes she is, remarkably. I just had to get out of there for a while. You’ve certainly helped get my mind off of it.”

“Well I’m glad I could help,” she said looking at her watch.

“Need to get going?”

“Not right away, I can stay a little longer.” She smiled that real smile at him.

They continued talking about Jeremy until Wendy had to leave. They exchanged phone numbers and said to keep in touch.

“Lovely meeting you, Wendy.”

“You too, Jeremy.”

They hugged and Wendy went on her way. Robert pulled out his black book and wrote her man, phone number, and description, along with everything he could remember about her and about Jeremy.

“Make a new friend?” The waitress asked.

“It seems so.” Robert smiled, put down a tip, and left the coffee house.

~ ~ ~

“Wendy! So nice to hear from you, it’s been a while.”

“I know! How are you doing?” She asked.

“I’m doing just fine, just getting over a cold actually. How’re you? How’s work?” He asked.

“I’m well. Work’s busy; I got that promotion and have been working my butt off.”

“That’s wonderful!”

Robert had forgotten what a sweet voice she had. Her face was being reconstructed in his head and everything from that day was coming back to him.

“How’s your mother? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Oh, of course,” he paused, “I’m sorry to say, but she passed that Saturday, the day after we met.”

“Oh, Jeremy,” her voice was filled with sorrow, “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“The funeral was beautiful,” he said.

“I’m sure your mother would have loved it.”

Robert laughed.

“Well, not loved that it was a funeral but...”

“I understand Wendy,” he chuckled, “Thank you.”

“Oh, darn it, I have another call coming in. Jeremy, it was great to hear your voice. If you’re ever in Columbus again, we’ll get together?”

“Absolutely, Wendy. Be well, we’ll talk again soon.”

“Bye Jeremy.” She hung up.

Robert’s head was shiny with sweat. He put down the phone and let out a sigh. Taking a pen, he wrote at the bottom of the page: “Met 8/5/11, called 12/10/11”. He closed his book and went to the cupboard. He got out a black mug with little white buffalo on it. He poured him self some coffee, putting a little milk and a pinch of sugar in. He slowly sipped it on the way to the living room. A woman was in the chair reading.

“Can I get you anything, Mom?” Robert asked.

She looked up.

“No, thank you hun,” she said, returning to her book.

He sat on the couch and returned to his as well.

Part 2: "Charlie"

It was a rainy March day. Robert was sitting at his kitchen table, enjoying a hot bowl of chicken noodle soup. His whole life, chicken noodle soup was his soup of choice. Some people say it’s good for your soul, Robert always thought your soul needed more than that, but it was a tasty meal to warm you up. Mid-slurp the phone rang. He slowly put his spoon into the bowl and turned around to the phone sitting on the stand behind him.

“Hello?” He answered.

There were a couple coughs on the other end.

“Excuse me. Hello. Is this Charles?” The voice asked.

Robert flipped through his little black book. He came to a page that said “Charlie Doors” on top.

“This is indeed Charles, is this Kay?”

“Oh dear, you remembered!” She said.

Her voice was old and crackly, quite weak.

“How are you? How’s Michael?” Robert inquired.

“I’m doing well. Michael, well, Michael has been better. He’s been bed ridden for days,” Kay said.

“Oh, that’s no good at all.”

Robert sat down at the table and quietly sipped his soup.

“That brings me to why I’m calling,” she continued, “Charlie, do you still have that wonderful recipe you described to me, for the soup?”

~~~

It was a cold October afternoon. Robert was parked in a parking lot across the street from a small diner in Albany. He got out of his car, buttoned his coat, and strolled over to the diner, resisting the cold. A bell rang as he walked in.

“Anywhere you’d like, sweetie,” the lady at the register said, without even looking up.

Robert looked around and found a seat at the counter next to an old woman. She was bundled up as if there was a blizzard outside. She was short, with an old oak cane. White hair, pink lips, and old, tired eyes.

“Hello ma’am, may I sit here?” Robert asked.

She coughed.

“Excuse me. Of course, dear, I don’t mind.”

She was your stereotypical, sweet old grandmother, who made you miss your own.

Robert ordered a cup of coffee and a side of Italian toast, burnt.

“You sound like my grandson, Michael,” she said, “he loves burnt toast.”

Robert chuckled.

“How old is he?” Robert asked.

“He just turned six last month. Wonderful boy, he is,” she said proudly.

“I’m sure he is. Are you two close?”

“He’s like a son to me. My daughter is away for work very often, so he comes and lives with me,” she said.

“That sounds a lot like me as well,” Robert said, taking a bite of his toast.

“What’s your name, dear?” She asked.

“Charlie Doors,” Robert said.

“Nice to meet you Charles, I’m Kay Muntelle.”

The waitress came over with a bowl of soup and set it down in front of Kay.

“Enjoy, Kay. It’s good today,” the waitress said.

“Thank you dear.”

Kay smiled and dropped a few oyster crackers into her soup.

“Nothing like a hot bowl of chicken noodle soup to warm your soul,” she said.

“I make a pretty mean chicken noodle soup, myself.”

“A se-..” Kay cleared her throat, “a secret recipe?”

“Oh yes, given by my grandmother.”

She took a sip of yours.

“It’d be pretty hard to beat the soup here. Homemade everyday. I love it,” Kay said.

Robert smiled and went on to tell her the recipe.

“That does sound delicious, Charles,” Kay admitted.

Robert finished his coffee, and pulled out his wallet to leave a tip. He took a business card from one of the pockets and gave it to Kay.

“Enjoy your soup Kay, and if you ever want that recipe, give me a call.”

She put his card in her large purse.

“Thank you, Charles. It was nice to meet you. Stay warm out there.”

“You too, Kay.”

Robert got back in his car and pulled out his book. He wrote “Charlie Doors” on the top of the next blank page, followed by whatever he could remember about Kay and the recipe.

“I doubt she’ll ever find my card in that suit case she carries around,” he said to himself, laughing.

~~~

“Oh the recipe! You finally gave in!” Robert joked.

Kay laughed.

“Yes dear, I would love to make it for Michael. Maybe it’d lift his spirits a little bit.

“Well, of course, Kay.”

Robert told her the recipe and told her to send his “get well” wishes to Michael.

“I hope he enjoys the soup,” Robert said.

“I’m sure he will…that is if I make it correctly!”

She coughed.

“Thank you very much, Charles. Take care of yourself, and next time I call won’t just be for soup!” Kay said.

“You’re very welcome Kay, I look forward to it.”

Robert hung up the phone, jotted in his book, and finished his soup. After placing his bowl in the sink, he took the empty Campbell’s Soup can from the counter and put it in the recycling bin.

Surrounded: A Zombie Anecdote, Part 1

Brad stood in his kitchen with his phone pressed tightly to his ear.
"Okay mom, just stay safe, This will all be cleared up soon...love you too...bye."
He put his phone down and joined Dom in the living room.
"Any more news?" Brad asked.
"Nothing that we don't already know. What's going on with your parents?"
"They both are being held at work. Pretty much everyone is. The panic is definitely setting in," Brad answered.
"And of course they want us to stay inside, lock our windows, lock our doors, keep shut in until this all "blows over". Idiots. What are the chances that this will just, blow over?"
"I don't know man, but until it's brought to our doorstep, we should just chill, you know?"
"Yeah, you're right." Dom calmed down.
"I'm getting some water, want anything?" Brad asked.
"Naw, I'm good."

Brad went back into the kitchen, took a cup from the cabinet and went to the sink. Brad lived in the middle of nowhere, Grafton, Ohio. His home resembled a large log cabin, and the cornfield in his backyard added to the "middle of nowhere" feel. AS he brought the cup of water up to his mouth he looked out into the backyard. He let go of the handle, the cup clanged in the sink.
"You okay?" Dom asked.
"Come in here," Brad demanded.
Dom came in and stood next to Brad, looking through the back room, out the back window, at a figure standing at the edge of the cornfield.
"Who the Hell is that?" Dom asked.
"No idea."

Brad walked into the back room, Dom followed. The figure started walking forward towards the house. Slowly, slumped over, drunk-like, it creeped across the lawn. The boys looked at each other and walked to the backdoor. Brad grabbed the wooden baseball bat that he had placed at the door in case of an emergency.
"Hey, who ever you are, get the Hell out of here," Brad said.
"I don't think he heard you."
The figure kept coming forward, unaffected by Brad's words. Dom took a step closer.
"Hey!" He yelled.
The man stopped, turned his head towards Dom and let out a low, but loud moaning noise.
"I think he heard you," Brad said.
"He's coming this way, what should we do?" Dom asked. He seemed frightened, frantic.
Brad looked at Dom and nodded his head slightly.
"How do we know that.."
"Are you kidding me, dude? Look at it. There's no way it's not," Brad interrupted.
He looked down at the bat grasped in his hands.
"Brad."
He continued looking down.
"Brad!"

Brad looked up, the man was right in front of him. Dom stumbled backwards onto the deck. Brad wound up, took a step, and took a swing. The trespasser took the blow, and fell on the ground. Brad stepped over the man and swung down, crushing his skull into the grass. Brad turned and fell to his knees. He vomited and tried catching his breath.
"Shit dude. You okay?" Dom asked.
Brad stood up and took a deep breath.
"Yeah. I can't believe that just happened."

It was close to 7 o'clock. The sun was setting, giving way to the autumn night. A scream broke the silence.
"Who was th.."
Dom was interrupted by more screams, then silence again.
"Sounded like it came from the neighbors over there," Brad said, pointing to the house up by the main road. "Check it out?" He asked nervously.
Dom paused.
"I'm going to need a weapon."

The two went inside and changed into warmer, safer clothes, then went to the garage. Brad went to the tool bench, and with a hammer and some nails made his old bat into a more lethal killing device. Dom searched the garage for gardening tools, or anything else he could find. He pulled a medium sized pickax from the corner.
"Dibs," he said.
Brad looked over at Dom's find.
"Tight," he said.
They looked at each other and smiled.
"Hella tight!" They said simultaneously.
Laughter filled the air, something that one takes for granted during a normal day, but at a time like this, laughter was one thing that would keep them sane.

Weapon in one hand, and a flashlight in the other, the boys made their way down the hill in front of Brad's house to a path going through tall grass and shrubbery that would take them to a small creek behind the neighbor's house. They found it hard to stay calm, as their ears and eyes played tricks on them. Their flashlights were never still. They hit the creek and looked up at the house on the other side, on top of the hill. The lights were on and everything seemed normal. Dom searched the area with his light.

"There," Brad said, pointing his beam of yellow light into the mud below.
"Culprit?" Dom asked.
"Probably."
There was a woman lying face down in the creek. Her shirt was soaked in blood and water.
"She must have fallen off the deck," Brad said.
"Or she jumped? Trying to escape?"
They stared.
"Is the blood from the fall? Or a bite?" Brad asked, hypothetically.
"I honestly don't want to find out, dude," Dom answered,
"We need a plan. Do we check this whole situation out? Or do we go back, and figure something else out?"
"There's a proportion to be met between escape and defense," Dom said, quoting lyrics.
"Okay, I'm not too sure what you're trying to get at," Brad chuckled a bit, "but let's just go back."

They were both much more terrified than they could show. Brad led the way back up the path to his house. Behind them, the woman in the water moved her arms, and pushed herself onto her knees, blood dripping from her neck.

It was 8:30 when they decided to go to Dom's, not too far down the street, to check on his mom, who was not answering her phone. They loaded supplies and weapons in to Brad's pickup truck. Brad started the old thing they drove down the long, stony driveway towards the main road, leaving the safety of the house behind, and pushing their fears to the side. As the truck reached the end of the driveway at the top of the hill, the headlights shined eerily on the blood soaked neighbor in the middle of the road.

"Holy shit," Dom mumbled.
Her left elbow was cracked, the bone sticking through her skin, same with her left ankle. Brad put the truck in park and turned on the brights. She just stood there, undead but lifeless.
"Your turn," Brad said.
Dom let out a long breath. He got out, and took the pickax from the truck bed. The woman looked his way and limped towards him. Dom chose the pointed end of the tool. He wound up and swung, penetrating the woman's skull, and taking her down. He struggled to pull the steel out of her head, but got it out. Brad stuck his head out the window.
"Nice! Clear her off the road so we can go."
Dom dragged the body to the side of the road and got back in the truck.
"That was crazy," he said, breathing heavily.
"Catch your breath, bro. Every thing's okay," Brad said.

They turned right on to Route 303 and headed towards Dom's. The world as they knew it was now unknown. They didn't know what they were going to find, what had happened, or what was going to happen. But down the dark, country road they went, head first, into an unknown, undead world.