A Quick Dip

“Try and hold your breath for as long as you can!”

The teal water below the two boys glistens in the sun. A dragonfly zooms by and in a nearby tree a bird cheerfully tweets. It’s the epitome of summer. The temperature is a comfortable 82°, and the two are halfway down the center of a dock about to make a feverish dash to jump off of the end.

“I bet I can beat you to the end and hold my breath longer than you can,” The taller of the two confidently states! He places his hands on his hips for added justification.

“Betcha can’t!”

“On three I’ll prove it to you!” Both of them place their hands in the air and begin to count together.

“1…” One finger shoots up on both hands.

“2…” a second follows; the shorter of the two stifles a laugh.

“3!” 

They take off in a steady sprint and jump off of the dock mimicking leaping frogs; one last heavy breath sounds from both of them before they touch the water. They land, sending up sprinkling reports as the water is displaced and abruptly interrupted.

Within seconds of disappearing they both return to the surface gasping.

“It’s soooo cold!” The taller one sputters.

“Ugh,” The shorter boy begins hysterically coughing. “It took my breath away! Did it do that to you too Sam?”

“Yeah!” They both doggy-paddle to the ladder on the dock extended into the water. Sam beats the other brother and climbs up.

“Alex, when we’re done later, wanna play catch?” 

Alex grunts loudly as he struggles to pull himself out of the water.

After finally getting a foot up he says “Yeah, sure. I’ll only play if you play fair this time.” The foot he placed on the first rung of the ladder suddenly slips on the growing algae and he finds himself back in the water.

A loud, playful laugh erupts from atop the dock, “What’d you do that for?”

“I didn’t mean to! The step was slippery!”

“You’re clumsy!”

“Hey! At least I’m not weird!”

“Keep telling yourself that little bro!” A wide smile spreads across Sam’s face.

Alex attempts the ladder a second time, this one being successful. Breathing heavily, Alex collapses on the sun-warmed, wind-worn dock at their perfect summer lake cabin.

Every summer the boys and their parents come here to spend a month. It’s the stereotypical summer all kids grow up dreaming about. There are no worries, and not a care in the world. The most important thing about the lake cabin is that the house doesn’t require any homework.

Sam lies down on his stomach next to Alex in the mid-day sun. Water glistens on both of their bodies like tiny diamonds. From the shock of the water goose-bumps erupt on their skin like tiny volcanoes.

“That was so cold,” Sam wails!

“Yeah! We can call it a tie. Clearly I won though!” Alex puffs his cheeks slightly with pride.

“You did not!”

“Did to!”

The boys get quiet for a moment, the sound of minute waves lap under the dock and fill the silence. A very brief time passes and the boys exchange looks. Slowly a face-splitting grin breaks Alex’s face. His eyes sparkle, and he lifts his eyebrows. A drop of water drips down his cheek, leaving a small trail behind. Alex leans in, closing the gap between him and his brother. He hushes his voice to an almost inaudible whisper, lowers one eyebrow and says:

“Let’s do it again!”

The Desire to Appeal

“Excuse me? Sir?” A blond-haired woman of twenty-two taps on the shoulder of a man. He turns around displaying an official looking nametag. He is wearing a dark blue polo; the collar is neatly folded and the top two buttons are undone revealing a mass of thick, curly, black hair. His nametag reads “TOM”.

Upon facing the woman his face mechanically lights up. A regular characteristic of cars-salesman upon any opportunity of gaining income is to force positive emotion. By no means does this woman look like she lacks money, so his appearance and façade is necessary if he wants a part of the sales.

The woman’s perfectly curled, blond locks hang lightly over her shoulders, her low-cut blouse and pencil skirt match a perfect color scheme and her Gucci purse is in her hand with her elbow bent. It rests in midair as if to say to her audience, “This woman has a lot of money, but doesn’t know how to spend it efficiently.” Covering her eyes were completely black sunglasses, not even a glitter of light off of her gaze could be seen. She seemed like an easy buy, but Tom would have to be cautious. She could very well be a knowledgeable buyer even though her first impression screams otherwise.

“Yes Ms. How can I be of service to you?”Looking into Tom’s eyes you can almost see the dollar signs get larger by the second. If his hopes for this woman to buy a car weren’t already obvious by his actions, his body began a nervous twitch. The only cars that they sold on this lot were expensive sports cars. No one showed up here unless they were serious. Every customer that arrived had to previously call and make an appointment to receive entry to the lot. With all of these special machines, precautions need to be taken.

“Tom your nametag says? Yes Tom… Ummm…” she removes her sunglasses places them in her purse revealing breathtakingly and bright green eyes. Intricately she twists a curl in her fingers. “I want to look at one of your vehicles to buy on your lot. Is it too much to ask for some assistance?” She flutters her long thick eyelashes. A small show of ivory leaks from behind her cherry-scarlet lips and she begins to chew a piece of gum that has been hiding.

“No problem at all! There is a 2012, white Koenigsegg Agera R in the front, and our newest edition is a black Lamborghini Gallardo.”

The woman looked quizzical for a moment then said, “No. I want the candy-apple-red Carrera GT in the back.”

“The one in the far left corner?” He walks over to the building’s large windows and motions for her to follow. “That one?” He points to it in the corner.

“Yes, that one.”

“Are you sure? It’s a convertible, and there are new Lambo-style doors on it, the butterfly ones. Some call them vertical… That doesn’t really seem like your style though.”It is too late; he has already said the wrong thing.

“My style? My style? Tell me Tom, what is my style!” She begins popping her gum loudly with rage.

“I’m so sorry to offend! I’ll grab the key now and you can take it for a drive!” He has no room to make any more mistakes. He races away from the window into his office and rips open a desk drawer. In a moment he returns holding a key with a tag and places it in her already extended and opened palm.

“Follow me, I have questions Tom,” She snarls!

Tom follows on her heels like a sad puppy out to the mechanical wonder. When they reach the vehicle she leans down and checks her lipstick in the side mirror then swings the door of the passenger side up and sets her purse on the seat. She promptly shuts it, then goes around to the driver’s side and slides into the red and black bucket seats. She closes the door and roars the machine to life. The windows are immediately rolled down, and the black sunglasses are back over her eyes.

“Are you already ready to take it for a drive,” he asks hesitantly. “Didn’t you have questions?” The sun glares off of the hood and onto her sunglasses, almost blinding Tom.

“Yeah. I do.” She looks down at the gas tank gauge and the miles accumulated. In perfect analog numbering it reads twenty-five.

“Tom I believe we have a baby on our hands!” A smirk crawls across her face. “My question is, how come you didn’t ask for any of my information before you so kindly lent me the keys?”

His face floods and an expression of shock and awe cover his features. He had forgotten. He assumed she had enough money and that she could be trusted. That was his mistake. She locks the doors, blows him a kiss and puts the car into gear.

“You can't do this!” Tom yells.

“Watch me sugar!” She accelerates violently off of the lot, with Tom hysterically chasing after.

She pulls onto the main road and lets out the clutch, giving it copious amounts of gas. She weaves in and out of other vehicles with jaw-dropped observers. “Now it’s time to be real here.” She peels the blond hair off revealing bone-straight auburn hair. “Oh, I have the desire to appeal because I have the desire to own beautiful things. You can’t blame a girl!” She lets out a hearty laugh. With her hair flying in the intense wind, she turns the radio on and familiar music floods her ears and masks the roar of the engine. “This isn’t a vehicle, it’s an animal. It needed to be freed!”

The woman’s knuckles are stretched white over the steering wheel, the smirk she had on her face returns. She drives her prize, not holding back her excitement of the crime she so successfully committed. 

Expectations

A fuzzy bumblebee sways to-and-fro, hovering above a violent red rhododendron. It lands daintily on the outside of the center and gracefully crawls inside of the chosen flower to take care of its business. It reemerges, dusted in yellow pollen and takes off to its next victim. The bee is a steady independent worker. It completes tasks efficiently and productively. The next flower quivers as it reemerges again and then it sways back in relief as the bee flies to the next.

He sits on a bench directly across from the activity watching different black, orange, and yellow workers compete in their disappearing acts.

“If only life were that simple,” he whispered aloud.

His eyes squint into focus on the insects and he leans forward resting his elbows on the tops of his knees he exhales loudly and inhales a large enough breath to make Michael Phelps envious.

“Why can’t life be like that… I know who I am, I know what I have to do, and I know what’s expected of me by others...”

He leans back again and relaxes against the back of the bench.

Alternate Reality

A folded up paper sits quietly next to me. I open it. It reads: 

"Think of the word alternate. What does it mean? What is its dictionary meaning? Now think of the word reality. Our own realities are events in our lives that we acknowledge. Reality is our personal perception of the world around us. Every single reality is different for each individual person. Now what is alternate reality?"

I neatly fold the piece of lined paper back into its original creases. What a concept. I think to myself.

The bus stop I’m waiting at takes me to work every morning. I walk two blocks here in rain, sleet, or snow. Today it is sunny, not a cloud in the sky. The station sits right near the corner of Pilot Street and Ramsey Boulevard. Ever since I got my current job I’ve been using this particular bench to spend part of my mornings. Colorful graffiti greets me to my right. It’s an extinct language, speaking in tongues but expressing its emotion and meaning through color. Below me are scattered cigarette filters and discarded pieces of gum in all hues. A filthy trashcan sits to my left, obviously unutilized. At a bus-stop in a busy bustling city this is the norm. A sad cracked flower box with wilted flowers is perched on top of the garbage can. It looks under watered and neglected. I look down the racing concrete strips that stretch far into the distance to see if the bus might be on time for a change. My watch reads 7:03 am; not a chance.

In a city like this what is an alternate reality? Green? Clean air? No pavement?

An elderly, friendly looking gentleman that arrives out of nowhere sits down next to me. His white moustache is curled up at the ends and mimics the corners of his mouth.

“Great weather today…” He looks to me and mumbles.

“Yes it is. A shame I don’t have the day off.”

“Mmm,” he paused. “Yes, that is a shame.”

I fold and refold the note, and then I open it and clumsily fumble with the corners. I read it again, then I return it to its original state and shove it quickly back into my pocket. On its way in, the paper crumples and makes an uncomfortable noise. He looks over and I avert my eyes. I can feel his gaze on me. I look up and our eyes meet. His wrinkled face screams comfort; his soft brown eyes sparkle with knowing and an intense sense of wisdom. His smile still a part of his personality he says, “What have you got there? You look a little thoughtful.”

“It’s just a note I discovered when I first sat down…” I trail off and sheepishly look away, almost ashamed to share.

“Not to be nosey, but I’m a little curious…” His gaze flashes at me.

I reach into my pocket and pull it out, his hand extends. There are creases on his hand telling me that he hasn’t worked an easy day in his life. He unfolds it gently and begins to read. After a moment he finishes and hands it back. I quickly crumple it back into my pocket, almost as if it were a secret note for my viewing only.

“Interesting,” his furry brows are knitted showing deep contemplation.

“What are your thoughts?” My personal confusion of the letter might be solved if I involve another mind. I ignore my inner voice telling me to keep quiet.

“It’s interesting,” he repeats. “Alternate reality for me would be a cubicle.” His features loosen and he looks to me for feedback.

“I think of green… Mountains… Birds… Flowers…” His face wipes blank and I wonder if I have said the wrong thing.

“Why?” He states with no adjustment in his voice.

“Well we essentially live in a concrete jungle here.” I look down to my shoes and the concrete for some sort of approval. I look back up and he’s looking down the street at the approaching bus. I continue.

“What do you think about the environmental crisis?”

The bus pulls up and we both stand to our feet. I follow him to the folding portal into the crammed public transportation vehicle. He begins to enter the bus and stops on the second stair. He turns around to face me. His face is crumpled with thought and abruptly and quite loudly he says, “I don’t!”

He turns around and disappears in the crowd of people standing closely together like a heavily populated forest.