The Rose Window

--by Mike Adams

He stared unblinking, eyes red, the result of inflamed capillaries exploding in his eyes like tiny volcanoes overrunning a previously pristine landscape.

He blinked and pulled away from the mirror, “I'm not going to hide my red eyes today,” he grumbled as he shook his head and turned sharply for the door.

How had it come to this? A couple decades earlier, he had been excited about life. The future had seemed a treasure chest. Filled with interesting people and ideas, intellectual conversations, love, lust, adventure and movement. Fast forward to now and all of that has been replaced with routine. His life is mostly a series of chores, work, and mundane tasks. 

He is a responsible adult and parent. There seems no room for spontaneity, which is perhaps the thing he misses most. Don't misunderstand, George loves his family, six year old Gracie is a plump symphony of happiness and exuberance. Twelve year old Mason is in seventh grade and shows promise as a burgeoning violinist. While Liz, the eldest, at fourteen seems a latent genius, who waits for her moment to fly free into this world. He smiles, but soon it fades as George remembers how he loved creating and implementing “hair brained ideas” in his twenties.

“Stop thinking that way George! It's time for work.” He slides on his jacket, starts his car and pulls out onto the road. The sound of someone screaming fills his senses and jolts him into the present as he turns in horror to see a huge delivery truck bearing down on him, horn blaring, tires smoking, it is a rogue elephant bent on his destruction and he can't see any way out of being trampled.

“Oh God...I can't die Now! Not like this! There is too much to do!” He inhales deep, closes his eyes, as his body stiffens. He grasps the steering wheel in panic, but nothing happens. Slowly opening his eyes, George looks around timidly, wondering how he could possibly be in the main terminal of the international airport of Phoenix. Next to him, is Frank, his husband of seven...no eleven years. The kids are there and everyone is happy. The eldest, Liz beams at him and says, “I can't believe we're finally going to France. I've been studying the language for years now, I can't wait to try it out for real.” He smiles and ruffles the hair of his youngest child, who looks up disdainfully and says, “please don't do that. I hate it.” He nods with a smile, and wonders how that little chipmunk managed to grow so fast. “It seems like just this morning that she was only six and now she's already ten. Wow!”

In France, they immerse themselves in the experience with all the enthusiasm a child has devouring a fresh peach in the middle of summer. George stands entranced in front of the Rose Window at the Notre Dame Cathedral. Suddenly, ten year old Gracie,  hugs him and says, “I love you!” He pauses for a moment feeling disoriented before responding, “I love you too Liz, and I am so proud of you. Henry seems like a fine man and I think the two of you will make a wonderful couple. Don't make me wait too long for grandchildren though.” Liz flushes, smiles and says, “Come on Dad, lets get to the reception, this is your dance.” They walk out together and Liz says, “remember when I was fourteen and we visited this very church and you stared at that window for hours?” George smiles and says, “I was just thinking about that. It seems like it happened only moments ago”

Back to the hotel, George and Frank smile at each other, they are truly in love. Frank says, “you looked so happy out there dancing with your oldest daughter. “ George says, “I was! Can you believe how fortunate we've been? I remember when we were barely able to survive and now we own a house in Maui, and one in Portugal. We have one kid in Europe, one in the US and the third in Australia. We're able to visit all of them often. I'd say Life has been really good to us Frank.” George remembers how hard it was to work through all of the difficult and challenging times, but he's glad they did. It has all been worth the effort. He smiles, kisses Frank and lies down.

Frank nudges George, "can you believe how beautiful Mason's brand new little son is? Oh, and his wife, Stephanie, she is simply wonderful.” George smiles and Frank and responds, “I know and it seems that only earlier this evening, we were celebrating his older sister Liz's wedding. We are blessed.”.

George closes his eyes and then he sees a bright, warm light. He walks slowly towards the light, wondering what it could be. He feels cold, but the light beckons him. It emanates happiness and contentment. He smiles and starts walking, his heart filled with bliss, when suddenly every nerve in his body is screaming with pain. He becomes aware of a long and irritating beep. Again, his body is overcome with incredible pain. Every muscle seizes, his neck and back are rigid and the pain is overwhelming, then he relaxes. The beeping assumes a more rhythmic beat and he sees the light again, but not quite so warm. A doctor leans over and says, “Stay with us George, you've been in a terrible accident, but stay with us. We don't want to shock you again to start your heart, OK.” George is momentarily overcome with panic, then he remembers the truck and he hears his family outside arguing with hospital staff to let them see him. “I was hit by that truck, right!?” The doctor nods and says, “We can save you, just stay awake, OK.” George nods. He won't go back to sleep now, not knowing what he'll miss if he does.

GBE2 - Week 58: Strength, a Tale of Eric and Joe

--by Mike Adams

Eric wondered if it was a general lack of good sense or the deprivation of oxygen that had caused his little brother to act so erratically. In truth, the little monkey was acting deliberately. He only wanted to see what his older brother would do in a situation that broke all the rules of Eric's rational world view.

Despite being separated by a seven year age gap, living at opposite ends of the personality spectrum, and sharing no physical characteristics that might indicate familial relations, the two brothers had a deep affection for each other. Secretly, the older envied his younger brother's curious bliss. He wondered, sometimes, if perhaps they weren't actually related. Not that it mattered, his love for the little bug was incredible and though his personality was an outlier in this family, he truly loved every member. His only complaint was that he often felt alone, not due to any lack of being shown affection, more because he was so distinct. He came from a different mold and he felt on some subtle level like a complete outsider.

For years, his cheeks would flame as embarrassment possessed him when a parent reprimanded him for being cruel. He meant no harm, he simply failed to consider that blunt honesty might actually hurt someone. His personality was a synthesis of unemotive computational logic delicately covering a subtle and insipid rage.

He was brilliant, but couldn't understand many of the most important and basic social rules in life. Rules that his younger brother seemed to grasp without effort. The other thing that really struck him about the little guy was his sense of justice and overwhelming compulsion to stand up for what is right regardless the possibility of negative consequences.

As a toddler, Joe would stand defiant against anyone, who he perceived as perpetrating injustice. Joe would affect a look of defiance and place himself between older and larger warring parties. He would hold his hands up, look at everyone involved and say, "You stop that! I don't like it when you act that way, quit being mean, NOW!" Usually the intensity of his ire and the smallness of his demeanor would cause everyone to laugh and say, "OK Little Mister, I'll stop."

This kid, nicknamed "Bear," seemed an anomaly to Eric, who had a difficult time mustering the courage needed to intervene in bullying. If he could bring himself to act, people would listen, there was no doubt. He was generally well liked, and despite his unusually small size, there wasn't a person in the school, who could provide a physical challenge to him. He was fast, strong and had years of martial arts training under his belt. No one wanted to mess with him and he knew it.

So why then, couldn't he intervene as his little brother did? Where did this kid's courage come from?

Was he destined for greatness or for heartbreak? Would his idealistic little brother go forth and change the world or would the world crush him? Eric had no idea, but he hoped that his brother would triumph. Eric always liked an underdog and somewhere deep inside, he believed that Joe the Bear might possess some secret strength that no one suspected.

A sordid tale of lacerations, Hungarian hip-hop performers and an icy petting zoo

--by Mike Adams

GBE2 - #40 Posting Topic: "Jane's Story" This idea caught my imagination and I had fun writing this...I hope you enjoy it!

Before I delve too deeply into the details of this story, I think it best to ensure that we are all on the same page. Though this is probably pointless, because if you are one of the two or three people who read my blog, you are obviously on this page, so perhaps I’ll proceed to the next order of business, namely, providing a short explanation of Hungarian hip-hop artistry as it has been revealed to me during my life’s most recent ...and dare I say confusing travail.

First, I’d like to assure you that I am no eccentric nincompoop, whose idea of being uber-cool entails being a fan of obscure, and probably sub-par, artistry. Rather my exposure to an Eastern-Block interpretation of African American entertainment, was entirely coincidental to my attending the grand opening of an “Arctic Petting Zoo” in down town Phoenix last week.

I’m sure you are thinking, “What was that lunatic doing in Phoenix, when he lives in New Mexico, and did he really drive that hapless excuse for a car to phoenix in order to witness the grand opening of an arctic refuge in a completely in appropriate biome?” Unfortunately, the answer here is yes...I am the dork, who traveled hundreds of miles in a rattling and squealing heap of petrol powered steel in order to witness the thoroughly out-of-context commencement of a wild-life habitat, which serves the dual purpose youthful entertainment center.

It was here that my auditory senses were overcome with the sounds of hip-hop, but not really done quite right. Apparently, the event organizer had acquired a number of arctic animals who are naturally denizens of frozen fields in far flung places, whose names, though unpronounceable, mostly end with the four letters “stan”. For purposes of this fable, we’ll lump them all together under the affectionate term, “refrigerate-a-stan”.

I assume the organizer had gone in search of eastern music, In an effort to either make the animals feel more at home or to be culturally sensitive in spite of the forced relocation that had been perpetrated. As it turns out, the only response to her query came from a Hungarian hip-hop band, so without giving it much thought, she hired the band, and with that, the wheels of fate commenced to turn towards the culmination of unfortunate events that would unfold on this day in this icy oasis, nestled amidst humid golf courses and soaring temperatures in the western city of Phoenix.

As I walked slack jawed towards the Hungarian funk masters, my dumbfounded gaze was momentarily shaken by another bewildered arctic pilgrim. As our eyes met, we shared a moment of telepathic understanding. One of those spaces where you intimately share an experience with a complete stranger and when the moment passed, she smiled and said, “this is amazing!” To which I replied, “I know! I never could have imagined that I might have the opportunity to enjoy DJ Funkgarian, while petting a Siberian Hamster.”

My new acquaintance, Jane, had also traveled to Phoenix for this grand opening, and it turns out her husband, like my wife, wanted nothing to do with visiting a sub-zero winter wonderland in the middle of a blistering desert. Unimpeded by the disapproving and emotionally more mature gaze of our spouses, Jane and I began to explore the possibilities of our surroundings. She mentioned seeing a sporting goods store at the mall right next door and in a moment of shared genius, we simultaneously exclaimed, “Ice Skates!” Goaded by the pulsing beat and hypnotic expression of the Funkgarian experience, we hastened to Big 5 in hopes of finding a pair of size 7 and size 13 ice skates. After searching through Big 5 for less than three minutes, Jane triumphantly,hollered, “Frank...or John...I mean Mike, MIKE! Get over here now!” I sailed on wings of misguided glee to the side of my co-conspirator and gazed with hallowed awe at two pair of clearance priced hockey skates in exactly our sizes. The price barely broke thirty dollars, even after tax. so off we went to join the penguins in sliding through Phoenix’s new winter haven to the throbbing beat of Funkgarian the Hungarian.

As we hastened towards the arctic petting zoo, I suddenly exclaimed “STOP!” “We cant just go traipsing in there with ice-skates, there is no way this is allowed...we HAVE to be stealthy Jane!” She acquired a look of purpose and said, “They’ll never know we’re commin’ man...you’ll be Mike the unseen and I’ll be double-O Jane. Before anyone has caught wise, we’ll have completed a minimum of three laps.” I affected my own purposeful expression and said, “follow me, I’ve got this covered.” Following a few preparations, we proceeded into the arctic petting zoo, easily evading detection, as we employed all the guile that a snow leopard might use, while stalking a skittish rabbit. Within minutes, we both were inside and ready to skate.

At this point, Jane looked at me and I saw for the first time a glimpse of terror in her eyes, as she confided that she hasn’t been ice skating since she was nine years old and she really didn’t want to be arrested. With the jovial and inflated assurance that one normally conjures only as a teenager, I smiled and assured my new criminal accomplice that all would be well, that we were impervious to legal consequences and that we should start skating before we’re spotted. Jane’s smile was immediate and it buttressed my confidence, so like the Wright brothers at Kitty Hawk, we took off into the winter museum on blades of hope, spurred by our vision of greatness, hoping to avoid disaster if only by a razor’s edge.

Within minutes, I heard the terrible sound of a billowing voice yelling, “Hey, you can’t ice skate in here...what are you doing, get over here right now.” But Jane and I were prepared, we broke for the exit, our plan...to place rubber covers on our skate blades and dash through the parking lot, to where we had left my grizzled clunker unlocked and running in preparation for our grand escape. At the exit, I attached my rubber blade covers with uncommon agility, but Jane was unfortunately shaken and she was having a great deal of difficulty preparing for our exodus, so as the guards bore down on us, I quickly affixed her blade guards and in a panicky voice said, “we better skedaddle, lest we cool our heels in the can tonight.” With that, we darted into the parking lot, guided by the singular focus of escape, driven by the overwhelming desire to remain free and it was then that I heard Jane’s voice, she was screaming in agony. I turned to see her clutch her face, and contort in pain, but she glared at me and said, “I’m not getting arrested...run faster, DON’T STOP!” We jumped into my car and sped from the scene of our crime with the same alacrity that Michael Weston might use in escaping disaster.

It was then, that I noticed the blood running down Jane’s face. Noting the look of concern in my expression, she explained that in fleeing the zoo, she misjudged her proximity to a Russian Olive tree. One of it’s protruding spears had, unfortunately, latched on to her left cheek and tried to tear it from her face. Fortunately, it had failed and twenty seven stitches later, with a great story to explain her scar, Jane slammed down a Dos XX and siad, “I don’t always drink beer, but when I do...it’s after a close shave with the law and a closer shave from a Russian Olive Tree...thanks for the adventure Amigo!”