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From Spin Class to Suspicion: A Cautionary Tale

Peg sat at her kitchen table pondering how she was going to get to work. Her car died in the driveway the night before and her bank account was pretty much depleted. She’s had a rough time of it lately; she’s had a rough time of it her entire life. Born in Detroit, immigrant parents from Slovenia, nothing had ever come easy. Except that she is smart; she’s smart and she’s resourceful. And despite the dead car and her financial situation, things were looking up.

About a year ago, when Peg was cleaning up after a spin class, she was approached by someone who had been with her in class.

“Hi, I’m Sheila. I think we both take the same spin class on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“Hi, I’m Peg.”

“Tough class today, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty beat.”

“Would you be interested in getting coffee after class sometime?”

Peg was tentative; she told Sheila that it would be nice, but she usually had to run to work after class. The two agreed to try to work it out.

Weeks went by, Sheila would wave to Peg in class, but neither woman would ask the other for coffee. On a beautiful spring day in April, Peg decided to go into work a bit later than usual. After spin, she walked over to Sheila to see if a walk over to the coffee shop might be possible. Sheila seemed delighted and ten minutes later they were sitting across from one another at Cuppa Joe’s.

Peg was curious to learn more about her new acquaintance. Sheila seemed so sure of herself and not at all vain. Peg also wondered why Sheila had approached her in the first place. She was suspicious of anyone who seemed to want anything to do with her. But Sheila was different, genuinely sweet and engaging.

Sheila asked Peg where she worked, if she was married and whether or not she had children. There seemed to be no judgment, only a desire to learn more about her new acquaintance. Peg held back. She was afraid to scare Sheila away.

Sheila wouldn’t have been scared away. She looked for people like Peg and preyed on them. It would start with coffee. She played a mean game of finding unsuspecting women at their lowest and bringing them down further still. Each successful takedown, empowered Sheila more. Prior to meeting Peg, she has destroyed the lives of over ten women. Perhaps Peg would be her next victim.

After several weeks of coffee dates and pleasant walks, Sheila asked Peg if she’d like to come over Saturday for dinner and a sleepover. Peg had never been asked to share this sort of intimate evening before. She hesitated accepting Sheila’s invitation, knowing she’d never be able to reciprocate. Before she could even respond, Sheila said:

“Listen Peg, I know you hardly know me, but you don’t have to worry, I’m not expecting that you’ll have me over to your place. I have a guest bedroom with an ensuite and I love having people over. It will give us a chance to really get to know one another and share some silly girl time.”

Peg happily agreed to Sheila’s invite. She said she’d be responsible for the cocktails, having tended bar out of high school. Sheila seemed delighted.

Sheila’s home was absolutely gorgeous. Everything was in its place and the decor was tasteful. Peg was shy at first, hesitant to look around and barely touched the appetizers Sheila put out. She liked her own cocktails and Sheila seemed to enjoy them as well — Sheila sure did knock them back.

As the evening progressed, they ate less and talked more; well it was mostly Peg who talked. Sheila asked a lot of questions, complimented Peg a lot, and listened. Peg had never had a friend care so much about how she felt and what she thought. She believed she had hit the jackpot. They finally went to bed at 3:00 a.m. Sheila got up early, letting Peg sleep until noon. Peg felt terribly guilty and made an excuse about having an appointment.

The two texted one another that night and the following day. Peg didn’t want to be pushy, but she was anxious to make future plans. Sheila sensed Peg’s excitement, making sure to fill Peg’s dance card for the next two weeks. After five or six ladies outings, Peg started to question Sheila’s character. She rarely spoke about herself and after all that time, Peg knew little to nothing about her. Being mysterious is one thing, but Sheila was almost certainly hiding something.

The second sleepover was scheduled for Saturday, three weeks after the first sleepover. Sheila was as excited as the first time and requested Peg’s bartending magic be repeated. The two were about an hour in and Sheila realized she had no coffee beans for the morning. Peg told her not to worry, but she insisted that she could be at the grocer and back in 10 minutes. She asked Peg to watch a bit of television, promising to return quickly.

Peg sat on the sofa for a bit, thinking about the house and how stunningly beautiful it was. She also realized that she had never seen Sheila’s bedroom. She decided it wouldn’t hurt to venture upstairs for a peek. She opened Sheila’s bedroom door and her jaw dropped. She had never seen a more beautiful bedroom, wondering why Sheila had not shown it off. She walked around the room admiring all of Sheila’s beautiful things. Out of the corner of eye she spotted a vanity in an adjacent dressing room. She had always dreamed of having her very own vanity. She walked over to glance at Sheila’s jewelry and cosmetics, noticing many labeled glass vials. She picked one up to examine it. It was a stick on label with a female name. She didn’t recognize it as a perfume; in fact she had no idea what the vial contained — it was clear and odorless. It bottle read, The Essence of Susan. She picked up another, The Essence of Lisa, and there were a dozen others like this. Peg found herself confused and frightened by this discovery. She went back downstairs and waited for Sheila to return.

As she waited, Peg realized that she needed to somehow find out who the names on the vials represented. Were they friends of Sheila? Did Sheila formerly work for a perfume company? Where did these bottles come from? She sensed something was off, but she couldn’t quite shake her worry. She decided to stop drinking that evening without letting on to Sheila. She would discreetly pour out the contents of her glass in the bathroom sink. She needed to be fully alert for the rest of the evening.

Sheila returned with coffee beans and some other things she said she needed. She didn’t waste any time asking Peg to make some cocktails. She even said,

“We are going to get drunk tonight.”

Peg just laughed and started their drinks, making sure to put very little vodka in her own glass. Sheila prepared dinner, providing Peg with an opportunity to ask her some probing questions. Sheila was evasive and guarded. She danced around responses about friends, past boyfriends, and family. Peg acted as though it didn’t matter. She even started slurring a bit to throw Sheila off. Sheila did eventually let down her guard just enough to reveal a bit of her past.

Sheila accidently mentioned two friends that she said she no longer spends time with. Peg had an idea where she might find them. She behaved as if she was about to pass out and told Sheila she was going to bed. Later, she sensed Sheila was in the bedroom, but Sheila stayed far from the bed. She spent about ten minutes in the ensuite. Peg was now certain something was not right and she needed answers.

Peg spent the next few days tracking down Sheila’s friends. She asked around at Cuppa Joe’s and learned that two of Sheila’s friends used to go to the coffee shop after spin class. She spoke to their spin instructor and found out where at least one of the two women lived. She decided she’d pay Leila a visit that week.

Leila answered her door. She was obviously very weak and out of sorts. Peg asked her if she could come inside and speak to her about Sheila. Leila said that she didn’t really see Sheila anymore, but she was happy to speak to Peg. They sat down in Leila’s living room. Peg was struck by how this young woman looked older than her years. It was also clear that Leila was once very beautiful. Leila described how she had become friends with Sheila and how little she knew about her. She said she’d slept over Sheila’s a few times and that they’d had a great time. Leila said that she recently became very ill, unfortunately unable to work or see people. Peg asked her if she knew of any other friends in Sheila’s life. Leila told her she had once met Angela who lived across from Cuppa Joe’s. She gave Peg a description of Angela and the two said their goodbyes.

Peg went to the coffee shop the next day, sitting and watching the building across the street. Finally, after a couple of hours of hoping to spot Angela, she left her building and walked across the street toward the coffee shop. She didn’t seem to be stopping there, so Peg had to leave the shop and chase her down. Angela was not as cooperative as Leila had been. She was in a big hurry and appeared extremely disoriented. The only thing she would say is that she had not seen or heard from Sheila in a long time. Peg asked her if Sheila had ever done anything to hurt her, Angela replied:

“Not to my knowledge, but I haven’t been the same since meeting her.”

Peg was convinced that Sheila had done something terrible to these women. She suspected that Sheila may have copied her keys the night she went out for coffee beans. She decided to have a conversation with Sheila about having to leave town for a few days. Then she sat in her apartment, waiting to see if Sheila might show up.

The next morning, Peg was in her kitchen and she heard someone keying into the apartment. She quickly hid in the pantry and called the police to let them know someone was breaking in. Sheila had only been in the apartment a few minutes when the police arrived. The police arrested, handcuffed, and took Sheila to the police station. Peg provided a statement and assured the police that she would be pressing charges.

The following week, a detective contacted Peg to let her know that they had done a search of Sheila’s apartment and discovered the personal effects of over a dozen women. They found hairbrushes, tooth brushes, underwear and other items. It appeared that Sheila had been collecting the DNA of these women and creating some sort of liquid potion from each woman’s DNA. The police had never seen anything like it. They assured Peg that they would further investigate what Sheila was up to. They found no evidence of a vial made from Peg’s essence.

Sheila was eventually charged with breaking and entering several homes. She was convicted and pleaded guilty to all charges. Sheila refused to explain what she was doing with the DNA. She would serve several years for her crimes.

Peg could only speculate about Sheila’s motives and intentions. She found strength in knowing she had stopped Sheila for at least a few years. She and a few of the other women involved formed a support group. She watched them slowly regain their strength and confidence and eventually their essence.

Sheila posing for Instagram

Storyline Thoughts

I may or may not have been thinking about The Substance and Demi Moore when writing this piece. It is more likely that I ponder and think about society’s obsession with physical beauty — not just women by the way, men as well. This obsession with beauty haunts me. When I lived on the Upper East Side in New York City 25 years ago, I witnessed the wreckage of cosmetic surgery, now I’m afraid it has spread to the rest of the world.

I realize when I write these short stories character development is an issue. I wish I could say I was more committed to going on to write a novella or novel. For now, I’m just having fun indulging my warped imagination. I appreciate those of you who have stayed with me. Who knows what the future brings.

By the way, this time I used the title AI suggested. The photo is not AI.

The horrific airplane/helicopter crash this week and T’s attempt to blame DEI and the previous administration, the bogus cabinet confirmation hearings, the numerous executive orders designed to remove necessary programs, and the execution of Project 2025; I’m truly at a loss. The worst is knowing I have family who fully support the dangerous reality unfolding daily. To call these trying times is an understatement. I can’t help wondering just how bad it will get before Americans wake up. I know that I’m not overreacting.

Pornic, France in a few days. I know a change of scenery will do me some good. Not to mention the French food & wine.

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Stephen’s Journey

Stephen watched and listened to the news: an endless loop of burning neighborhoods, tsunami warnings, earthquake devastation, and political unrest. Never before had his thoughts mimicked what was happening outside, so precisely. Chaos and confusion.

What had Stephen learned from his Zen Master? In the midst of the insanity, there is peace. That elusive peace, difficult to find in the past, now seemed far, far away. A voice deep within his unconscious mind told him that giving up meant abandoning humanity and himself. Stephen was a fighter, he fought for the right to be his authentic self, he fought for community justice, he fought for the underserved, and he fought for an ideal he knew in his heart was unattainable.

After all, it wasn’t his war and the drought did not directly affect him. It wasn’t his house or even his cousin’s house. It wasn’t his sister’s body they were trying to manage and manipulate. It wasn’t his religion being used to brainwash and control. It wouldn’t be his home in twenty years or his oceanfront Airbnb in thirty years. Wouldn’t they find a cure for cancer soon? Weren’t pills meant to mask the pain and wouldn’t technology save the planet?

The answers to the questions he grappled with were way too obvious to overlook. He knew in his heart that there truly was only one force that would determine the course of time; that force is and has always been Mother Nature. Was she pissed off? No, Stephen knew she wasn’t angry. Her only focus is correction. The balance the universe seeks to maintain is non-negotiable; solutions imply that there is a problem to be solved — there is no problem, there is only inevitability. What led Stephen to these complex thoughts?

When Stephen was 50 years old he suffered a massive heart attack which nearly ended his life. He had always questioned his existence, but this near death experience forced him to take inventory of his life and its meaning. Was he working in the right field and in the right place? Were his friends supportive? Was he communicating with his life partner effectively and did this person do everything possible to lift him up? Was he the partner he thought he could and should be? And so many other questions which he hoped he could find answers to. Not only answers, but a positive path forward as well. If he was going to live, he wanted to live with purpose and fulfillment.

Stephen contemplated the future of the world, his inner and outer circle, his place. Although it is a lifelong process, he found himself slightly more accepting of the reality of his limitations and grateful for the gifts the universe provides. And his conclusions?

AI generated

In his quest to find answers and inner peace, few things were clear to him. First and foremost, his own being was but a minuscule part of the whole — no more or less than any other being, next: however small, each eventually amounted to the totality, and therefore, mattered equally. Lastly, Stephen had the ability to determine his contribution. Would he change the course of nature? The answer was a resounding, no, but he could make an impact on his immediate surroundings. He could make the older woman who lived next door’s day a little easier, he could share a story with his niece that would help her to understand her mother, he could model kindness and consideration. What he learned from experience and feedback, is that all of these things collectively would make a difference in the now. Although the future would be whatever it was meant to be, Stephen could embrace the present and enjoy the sun and a delicious burger.

Stephen is a fictional Everyman character. We are all seeking answers and punting as time quickly passes. Some of us fill in the blanks with nonsense, some of us see the answers, but refuse to acknowledge them, some of us do not have the capacity to decipher fact from fiction, a few of us realize the search is part of the journey, and some of us want to change facts to suit our own needs. Nature is equipped to deal with an unstable and defensive environment, giving us one less thing to concern ourselves with — all that is wrong with our vessel will eventually be made right.

I know this story was somewhat hokey, but this is where my head is these days; needing to find meaning in the madness. Today, I will enjoy a burger. Looking forward to some time away on the west coast of France in a couple of weeks. But first, a visit from a good friend living in the U.S.

“It is change, continuing change, inevitable change, that is the dominant factor in society today. No sensible decision can be made any longer without taking into account not only the world as it is, but the world as it will be.”

Isaac Asimov

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A World Where a Head of Hair No Longer Matters

I woke up one morning a few years ago running my fingers through what I thought was a thick head of hair. As reality hit, so did the realization that I had been dreaming and I was in fact bald. I considered those few moments of joy when I thought I had a full head of hair; better than winning the lottery. My name is Tom and I am follicly challenged. It’s an interesting world to navigate when everyone around you seems to have more hair than they need.

Lately, I have been imagining a reality where a head of hair doesn’t matter. Why not, we already live in a world where intelligence doesn’t matter, good taste doesn’t matter, and integrity doesn’t matter. So what does this utopia look like:

For one, we as humans have come to accept our differences. Blue eyes and brown eyes are seen as equally magnificent features. Height, weight, skin color; none of these are considered superior attributes. The old are respected for their wisdom and longevity; the young are celebrated for their energy and ideas for the future. We are all magnificent.

Let’s get to the root of all evil, the almighty legal tender. We have to have money, but having more than you need is obscene and unnecessary. In this new world, people have an opportunity to do well and make just enough money to have the things they desire. Limits are set based on access and excess. It wouldn’t be fair to take more than you need, because if you are permitted to do so, there won’t be anything left for others. In this world, that doesn’t fly. The earth’s resources are not infinite; therefore, limits are applied and compliance is a given.

There are infinite freedoms that allow for individuality and choice. People are free to choose how they identify and how they dress; if indeed they choose to dress. There is no such thing as normal, conventional, or standard. Too much, outlandish, excess, greed, over-the-top, are words and phrases that are never spoken.

Vegetables are all grown organically and widely appreciated. A plant-based diet is celebrated and enjoyed. Waste is used to fuel heating, operate vehicles, and power homes. People are acutely aware of how much they take, how much they discard, and how much they contribute.

Political leaders volunteer for their positions and do not benefit from serving. The strengths and talents of all individuals are made public in order to serve the greater good. As humans age, they are encouraged to rest and share their wisdom; storytelling is the way that young people are taught history. We finally learn from our past.

Social media died decades ago, along with plastic surgery, luxury brands, mansions, estates, and jet planes. Travel is done on foot, bicycle, train or people movers. All individuals are expected to consider the least invasive form of transportation when going from A to B. The internet is used for research and as a tool for the betterment of society.

There are no longer borders. Countries have held onto their culture, but none are seen as superior to the other. Leadership exists for all humans across the board. Healthcare is a global right and so is food and shelter. Animals are only caged if they pose a danger to others, otherwise they are permitted to roam free; after all we are all inhabitants of a planet none of us own.

Holidays are internationally recognized and celebrated. The energy of the entire world celebrating together is explosive. Religion is rightfully of historical importance; however, it has long been debunked and is no longer practiced. In its place, the universe and its wonders provides for spiritual empowerment and what a universe it is.

Peace is revered, cherished, and a way of life. War, unrest, starvation, are all words long forgotten. All sexes are seen as equal. Death is an accepted eventuality; as with birth, it is celebrated, we live as long as we are meant to live. Illness is rare, however, when it occurs, an individual is cared for and pain is minimized. Addiction, alcoholism, and life threatening diseases and cancers, have all been eradicated.

You’re wondering what people do for fun? Fair question. Human beings find immense pleasure and happiness in witnessing the joy of others. We see life as a gift. Being with one another and supporting each other, preserves that gift. The sexual experience is never perverse, never imposed upon another without consent, and never taken for granted. Fun is derived from a simple life, enjoying nature and the wonders of the universe.

____________________________________________

My name is Tom and this is a world I will never live in. Escapism provides momentary relief.

Just My Opinion

I’m an avid TikToker. I love the level of creativity you find in this application, I love the length of the videos, I love the people I’ve been introduced to, and I love that so many have been able to monetize their experience. I seldom post content, but I like the freedom I have to choose if and when and how I contribute. The U.S. government has decided to ban TikTok due to security reasons. If this Chinese company is not soon sold to an American, U.S. individuals will no longer have access to the platform. There are many different theories about why some lawmakers would like to see TikTok go away. It seems to me that there are many Chinese (and other foreign agents) operating in the U.S. If all of these businesses were banned it would be devastating for the U.S. economy and all Americans. Personally, I believe this is government overreach and a bridge too far. I’m happy in this case to be living in Portugal where the platform is in no danger of being banned.

Please forgive all grammatical and typographical errors. I hate proofreading.

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Disqualifying Behavior

Let me begin by stating that I’m not the one with the problem. For example, last week I met Nick for the first time. We connected on a dating app and then decided to meet after a week of torturous back and forth about where he’s from, how many men he’s been with, and what he likes to do in the bedroom or public bathroom or you name the place. Needless to say, I had some concerns. I always have concerns.

I’m going to tell you what Nick did, but I don’t want you to judge him; I’ll explain why later. We met at a coffee shop in town. Well it was a Duncan Donuts to tell you the truth. Not my first choice, but I know I can be just a bit controlling and a food snob, so every once in a while, I give in. We sat down, realized we had to go to the counter first — I find this bit extremely pedestrian. I mean, come on, where are we, Peoria, Illinois? This is Miami for Christ’s sake. We ordered coffee and a donut; each paying for our own food and drink (although he did glance over at me before he paid; he seemed to be saying, “are you really making me pay for myself?), and sat down. Now this is where the trouble begins. Nick removes the donut from his bag and proceeds to close his eyes to pray before he takes a bite.

I ask, what are you doing? Not because I have an issue with religion, but, in fact, because I have an issue with Zealots. By that I mean people who are fanatics about their religion — making you feel as if you’re a bad person if you don’t participate. Nick didn’t make me feel that way . . . yet.

Twenty minutes in he revealed that he had certain fetishes. You see where this is going, religious enough that he prays over a donut, but it’s okay to want me to lick his leather boots in the bedroom. I know it’s a minor thing, but clearly, there will not be a second date.

The next guy I don’t want you to judge, is in fact, a judge. He sits on the Miami state Supreme court and we dated for a bit. I mean, I don’t care if you’re a judge, just don’t impose those courtroom rules on me. His name is Craig. Nice enough guy Craig; a bit uptight, somewhat officious in places like the city zoo or when dining with others, but he likes dogs. I can overlook a lot if you like dogs.

Craig’s a tiny bit closeted. It’s okay to be seen together on the subway or at a baseball game, but you can’t get closer than five feet anywhere else. Not easy if you want to go to the movies. Special circumstances though, Craig is a judge after all, and I know I can be uptight.

We were out on our third date and this happened: Craig caved regarding his rule not to be seen in certain public places, because he wanted to see The Book of Mormons and I had a friend who could get us great seats. I figured I’d be a standup guy, so I treated and paid for the tickets. Craig appreciated the gesture, yet still refused to eat out before going to the theater. I’m thinking baby steps. We enjoyed the first act, went to the theater bar at intermission. On our way back to our seats, we bump into one of his fellow judges. The guy introduces himself to me. I can see Craig is sweating and fidgety. Before I could say anything, Craig pipes up and says,

“This is Scott, my barber. Scott had an extra ticket for tonight’s show so I bought it off of him. We better get back to our seats or we’ll miss the second act.”

So long Craig. I wish you nothing but sanctimony and a life filled with boredom.

I second guess myself sometimes, I do. Am I sabotaging every relationship before it gets too serious. Maybe you should be the judge.

I didn’t date for a couple of years because of one particular guy who went out of his way to piss me off. We were on a Tinder date — I should note here that I like Tinder, even though I have never had a successful Tinder date. He showed up for the date looking quite a bit different than his posted photo. When I asked him about it, he said that he’d had a difficult year. I’m almost certain he is now 10 to 15 years older than he was in his photo. Still handsome, I was willing to let it go. Well up until he asked me when I had lost my hair and then proceeded to ask me why I hadn’t had transplant surgery to, “correct the problem.” See you later whatever your name is.

Being single is easier and healthier for one’s self-esteem. And I doubt it’s any different for heterosexuals by the way.

There are more stories, however, I have blocked most of them out in order to preserve my sanity and my faith in mankind.

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Also, a reminder that my stories are now works of fiction (I noted when that happened in a past blog post). As with all writers, I draw from my past experiences, embellishing as I write — that’s the fun part.

My trip to Krakow was good for the soul. It was an easy, peaceful, thought provoking journey. Poland is not how most people imagine it to be; it is progressive, a gastronomical wonder, beautiful, and extremely welcoming. I’m so glad I made the trip.

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He Didn’t Want to Leave Them

There was a deafening silence before he played the answering machine. When Ron walked in and saw 16 messages on his machine, he knew in his gut that something terrible had happened while he was away. Time seemed to stand still for an eternity. He took a deep breath and played the first message. It was his sister Carrie, sobbing, barely able to get the words out; gut wrenching grief. Their brother had been found dead that morning. That part didn’t register at that moment, but it explained all the messages. He hated that fucking machine more than just about anything. He was out for less than two hours for fuck’s sake.

He took a deep breath, turned out all the lights and sat in the stillness for what felt like hours. He was aware he’d eventually have to fly home, but not at that moment; Georgia would have to wait. There were only two people who truly knew Ron and one of them was now gone. Not gone as in moved across the country or disappeared for a couple of days, gone as in dead, no longer breathing. Ron needed to process losing his brother and best friend. He slapped himself thinking he was asleep. Didn’t he dream his sister fell to her death a few months ago?

Suicide; haven’t we all considered it at one time or another? Doesn’t your rational mind usually take control? Who takes their own life? It’s selfish, it’s desperate, it shouldn’t happen. It didn’t happen.

Jay did it; Jay took his own life. That asshole left his family to clean up the mess. His daughters were too young to lose their father. Five year old innocents with nothing but crinkled photos and his stupid baseball hat. What was he thinking? Where are you Jay?

Jay loved baseball. It seemed at times that he loved that stupid game more than he loved anyone or anything else. Everyone joked and laughed about it, but maybe it wasn’t so funny. Maybe baseball gave him some peace. Ron hated when the game was on television at Thanksgiving. He mocked his brother; said stupid things like “you’re out” and “game over loser.” What an asshole Ron had been.

Ron picked up his phone to call his father, then he threw it down. Why did he have to make this call? Did Jay even think about their father? Did he even consider what it would do to him? To us? Could his father’s heart even take it? What about Jay’s ex-wife? She wouldn’t give a shit, but somebody to tell her so that she could tell the girls. They were five years old for fuck’s sake. Gorgeous twin, now fatherless. Ron paced and picked up the phone again.

“Dad, are you there dad?”

“Yea Ron, what’s up?”

“I have some bad news dad, Jay . . . Jay took his own life this morning. You there dad?”

“Oh shit, shit, shit . . . fuck! How, how did he do it? Shit Jay. No, don’t tell me, I don’t wanna know. Damn it Ron, was Jay upset about something, did something happen to the girls, to Sally?”

“No dad, nothing happened to the girls and Sally doesn’t know yet.”

“Oh no Ron, are you sure about this? Jay wouldn’t do a thing like this.”

“Listen dad, don’t go anywhere. I´ll be there in a bit, I just have to make some calls. Are you okay?”

“Ron? Did Jay take pills? No, don’t tell me.”

“I’ll be there in a bit dad, I have to call Sally.”

Ron covered his face with his sweaty hands and thought about his next move. His anger toward his brother was palpable; he was fighting emotions he detested, holding back tears and punching in the walls. Ron was the guy everyone counted on in a crisis, but this time he was letting everyone down. He needed to call Sally.

Sally was calm, detached even. She said she’d tell the girls, but that she wasn’t sure she’d let them attend Jay’s funeral. Ron was too caught up in his spiraling emotions to argue. He let her know that someone would send her the details of the funeral.

The whole family had issues with Sally. She obviously couldn’t be blamed for Jay’s suicide, but she’d certainly end up a scapegoat. She loved Jay at one time, but the depression, alcohol abuse, verbal assaults, all became too much for her and she needed to protect her daughters. Sally’s grief would not be acknowledged by anyone in Jay’s world; she’d have to deal with it on her own.

Ron was relieved that his mother had passed last year; Jay’s death would have surely killed her. Without his mother Leslie, Jay became despondent; Leslie was his only champion. Jay pissed off most of the people in his life. Still, no one sensed his desperation; maybe they did, but didn’t care.

What should Ron and Carrie tell his friends? Should they tell the truth and deal with awkward moments and stupid questions or do they say he had a heart attack? How many heart attacks were actually suicide? The twins deserved the truth about their father so that the healing could begin. Is it even possible to heal?

Include your email address for a drop in your mailbox whenever a new fictional story is posted. Thank you.

I know this story is dark, however, it doesn’t hurt to be reminded that people close to us may be hurting and need our love and support.

Suicide thoughts or support in Portugal:

Emergency: 112 Suicide Hotline: 21 854 07 40 and 8 96 898 21 50

My friend Donna is getting married and we got to have a little party with her on the beach.

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Under the Boardwalk

Coney Island had three things going for it: Amusement parks, beaches boasting big waves, and Nathan’s hot dogs. As a child, I took all of that for granted. Being a kid is about being in the moment, not so much thinking about the past, and only having time for the immediate future. I was not your typical kid; I was certain the space beneath the boardwalk was my bunker and my gateway to paradise.

I was six years old and going to the beach was always a treat, but not for the reasons you might think. I hated two things that the beach offered; hot sand and seaweed. I thought seaweed was way too slimy; I avoided it like you’d avoid a swarm of bees. Hot sand burned the bottom of my feet, confining me to our blanket or a beach towel. So why did I love the beach? I could easily hide under the boardwalk where it was cool and quiet. What made it even more attractive, was the fact that it was off-limits to everyone.

I’m still not sure why my mother allowed me to sneak away and hide there. Wasn’t it dangerous? Couldn’t someone have come along and snatched me? Didn’t bums go there to take a shit? So many questions, but none I was concerned about.

I remember the first time I discovered I could easily shimmy between the boardwalk and the sand. I felt invincible and oh so cool. That’s how I felt, but I looked like the Pillsbury Doughboy. Nobody judged me under the boardwalk.

After squirming my way under, the first thing that struck me back then, was how the light sliced through the wooden boards. It made these diagonal stripes across the sand; I was certain this was not a common occurrence. I wondered if it was possible that this place was meant to be my place; only mine.

You might be wondering how I passed the time under the boardwalk or if I ever went there with anyone else. The thing is, time was different there; time could not be counted or clocked — time only passed above the boards.

Under the boardwalk I was a warrior; fighting off the enemy — whomever the enemy might be. Mom’s friend Vito, pow, pow, pow. Vito drinks too much and grabs my mom’s ass. Not while I’m in charge. Margie, our neighbor who stinks up the neighborhood with her horrible cooking; didn’t mean to slam that oven door down on your head Margie. Uncle Gary leaving his stink bombs all over the dining room . . . somebody keyed your car Uncle Gary, isn’t that a shame. I couldn’t be caught as long as I had my hiding place.

Nobody could hurt me, touch me, ignore me, or scream at me under the boardwalk. There was a homeless guy living under another section of the boardwalk, but it didn’t bother me. As long as he stayed in his own area, I pretended he was on neutral ground. I had my own little arsenal of weapons that I hid there. None of them could kill, but they could do some damage when provoked.

This one time I was daydreaming about a birthday party my mother threw for me. All the kids in the neighborhood were there; even kids I didn’t know. Some of the kids were fighting over who was my best friend. I knew who my best friend was, but I didn’t say anything because Vinny doesn’t know he’s my best friend. I suppose he may never know — doesn’t matter, so long as I know. Vinny could have even hid with me if he wanted to.

My mother once asked me what exactly I did when I was under the boardwalk. I told her that I didn’t do anything and that seemed to be enough for her. She just told me to be careful. I’m not sure why I needed to be careful, why would anyone have hurt me in my hiding place.

I’m twenty-six years old now. I’ve traveled to many places, I’ve dreamed, and I’ve come close to dying. No place that I have been since that time I spent under the boardwalk has ever come close to being as magical. It wasn’t the light or the temperature; it wasn’t the sound of the waves crashing close by, it wasn’t even the self-proclaimed hero I knew in my heart I was, it was the solitary fact that my mother trusted me enough to allow me to be there by myself, with myself. I’m there right now. I’m under the boardwalk, won’t you join me?

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A reminder that this story is a work of fiction. I’m having fun writing these stories; stories that live inside my head.

One of the best things about being in Oslo for the month of July (aside from the weather), was the magnificent selection of wines from all over the world. Unfortunately, not the case in the Algarve where only good Portuguese wine is on offer. I like variety.

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The Stain on the Cross

Each and every time I see someone genuflect, it reminds me of my uncle, Father Simon. My father’s brother was larger than life; pious, soft spoken and a deplorable pedophile. Twenty years after his death, and not a single family member is willing to call him out for who he really was and the damage he did. I can no longer remain silent.

Father Simon, not sure why, but that’s what I was forced to call him. He would come for Sunday supper after delivering Mass in the Bronx. His parish was in the Bronx; one of the only things I was grateful for. Whenever he walked through the door, it was as if Jesus himself appeared. The women in the family would yell and scream and the men would hug and kiss him. Nobody ever said anything bad about Father Simon. I mostly hid in the shed outside the house.

The shed was always musty and dark, but it was safe because Father Simon would never go there. He would always be looking at me, didn’t anyone notice? He’d pick me up to kiss me when I didn’t want to be kissed. He’d bring me candy, but I didn’t want it.

“You’re such a sweet boy and you look just like me.”

“Come here Sean, sit on your uncle’s knee. Come here so I can tickle you. Let me put sunscreen on you.” Let me violate you.

Father Simon was a drunk too. He liked red wine. Nobody cared that he laughed too loud or drank too much or that he fondled me in my bedroom. I asked him to stop touching me, but he would tell me that uncles were allowed to touch their nephews and that priests were doing God’s work.

“It’s a way of showing you my love Sean. I love you very much. But if you tell your parents, you’ll go to hell — they’ll go to hell. Remember I am a man of God and he always listens to me.”

When I was 10 years old I put six Ex-Lax pills in Father Simon’s chocolate pudding. He stayed in the bathroom for three hours that day. I didn’t care where he ended up so long as he stayed away from me.

This business of Father Simon putting his hands all over me went on for years. When I was 14 years old I threatened him with a pair of scissors and he never came near me again. I was angry at myself for being mean to Father Simon. Everyone loved him, so it had to be me that was the problem.

I’ve been in therapy for several years; although I think it’s helpful, I know that I am damaged goods; emotionally and psychologically. A recent conversation with my mother went like this:

“Mom, do you have any idea what Father Simon did to me when I was a child?”

“Come on Sean, that was a long time ago and things were different back then.”

“Are you telling me that you knew what was happening?”

“I didn’t know anything back then Sean, and for the life of me I don’t understand why you want to talk about this now. Your father and I loved your uncle very much. He did so much good for his community and he was adored by so many. Telling people about what happened to you will not change anyone’s mind about Father Simon; he was a man of God and we need to let him rest. You’re going to put your father underground if you keep this up.”

I’m not sure what is worse, the abuse or the denial. How can I love a God who would allow this to happen to so many innocent children? Trust that there is a reason so many suffer? I am sorry, but Father Simon destroyed any faith I may have had. There are two things I know for certain: first, there are known monsters among us who are permitted to destroy lives in the name of God, and second, they need to be stopped.

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Just a reminder that my current stories are fictional. I have never actually had a priest lay a hand on me.

State-of-Mind

The scary and precarious political situation in the United States is throwing me off-balance. My thinking is dark, therefore, my writing is darker. I’m not sure where we are headed and despite what’s going on all around me, I am hopeful — I know it’s Pollyanna, but I’m not sure how else to be. I am very concerned about Gaza and Ukraine, I cannot imagine that the current state of affairs in either place is sustainable. Innocent people are dying due to extreme positions around religion and land ownership. I cannot imagine any favorable outcome.

2022 SOL Tracker
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Baseball is Not For Sissies

There were few things Ryan feared more than going up to bat. The judging stares of the other boys and his mother’s heavy expectations. Ryan figured if he swung the bat, missed the ball, and repeated the same pattern in rapid succession, it would be over quickly and he could return to hiding. He hated being a disappointment; scrawny and perpetually chewing his nails and sucking on bloody cuticles. His bedroom was his only safe space; Lady his only friend.

Ryan had one wish when he blew out the candles on his twelfth birthday, he wished he’d die before his next birthday. He longed to be understood. Lady, his scrawny terrier, got him, but she was the only being who didn’t judge or tease. To be invisible and no longer an embarrassment was all he ever wanted.

Lady tugged at his jeans hoping to pull him away from the darkness as she watched him descend. She feared the worst; spent hours wondering how she might warn Ryan’s mother. She understood a mother’s love, she felt that love for her own not too long ago. She nuzzled him, sidled up to him to distract him from his hopelessness, and tried to lick away his despair. Lady was certain that she could save Ryan from himself.

Saturday came too quickly and Ryan would once again be expected to play baseball. To behave as if this was the thing that would ultimately make Ryan a real boy; a boy that was prepared for manhood. The dread was so overwhelming, getting out of bed was an impossible effort. Taking Lady outside to relieve herself was his only motivation, she knew that and showed him her gratitude. Today was going to be horribly difficult for Ryan. He wished he could share his fears with his mother, but he knew she would tell him to shrug it off, man-up, just aim for the ball.

Lady tried to keep Ryan away from the lake. She headed in the opposite direction hoping he’d follow. She even faked being too tired to go on. Ryan was in some far off place where she couldn’t reach him. When he reached the lake, Lady ran off to warn his mom. When she got to Anne she wined and tugged until Anne finally seemed to get the message. Lady led her to the lake as fast as she could, panting and worrying herself the entire way.

Anne saw Ryan’s floating body as she approached the dock. He lay face down and still, as the shadow of the sun formed a halo around his fragile figure. Lady knew and she howled in despair. Ryan’s mom jumped in and dragged him to the dock. She lifted him up and he hit the dock hard. Anne frantically tried to revive him, but he’d been gone for too long. She called the police and held him while she waited for the medics to come and perform a miracle. She rocked Ryan in her arms and screamed into the silent nothingness.

Anne immediately started to blame herself. Was she too hard on Ryan? Should she have stayed with his father despite her hatred for him? Was Ryan trying to tell her he was hurting? Deep down she knew she could have been a better mother, but she also knew she would never know what Ryan was feeling as he threw himself into the lake on that quiet and torturous Saturday morning in July.

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Hoping to increase awareness of suicide in gay and troubled young people. The statistics are staggering. Thank you for reading, it means a lot. The first of many.

“Bullying of LGBT youth is a contributing factor in many suicides, even if not all of the attacks have been specifically regarding sexuality or gender.[4] Since a series of suicides in the early 2000s, more attention has been focused on the issues and underlying causes in an effort to reduce suicides among LGBT youth. Research by the Family Acceptance Project has demonstrated that “parental acceptance, and even neutrality, with regard to a child’s sexual orientation” can bring down the attempted suicide rate.” Wikipedia

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Change Is Coming

To be honest, I’m surprised this blog has survived as long as it has; over six years of over-sharing. It was fun, therapeutic, a consistent companion, and exactly what I needed at this particular time of my life. When I arrived in Portugal I didn’t know a soul and I needed something to keep my mind off of the distance between me and the people I care about. Things have changed, I’m in better touch with myself and I have a lot going on in my life. It’s easy enough to see that a lot of you are no longer engaged (the site provides stats). What that tells me is that some of you or most of you are tired of me telling you about how bad my life was versus how good it is now. You know I’m exaggerating, but you also know, there is some truth in my words. It’s time for change.

“Without change something sleeps inside us, and seldom awakens. The sleeper must awaken.”

~ Frank Herbert,  Dune

The most poignant philosophy I have ever heard about living life, involved doing what you love. I love writing and I love storytelling — not so much oral storytelling, I get a little flustered when I notice people aren’t listening; my biggest pet peeve. What I have decided to do is write fiction whenever I am moved to do so. I will remain on this platform and keep this blog address. I obviously can’t get frustrated when readers of my stories stop reading, I won’t know any better. The older I get, the more I appreciate being oblivious.

Writers draw from their own personal experience; therefore, there will be bits and pieces of me and my past in my prose. I will always protect the living; however, if you see yourself in my words, that’s on you.

My stories will be short. I will try my best to entertain, provoke, and keep you wanting more. Having a provocateur in the mix will hopefully keep it interesting. Your feedback will help of course. I have found my readers to be fair and honest — sometimes appropriately candid, never mean. Well, there is this one family member, but he’s a loose cannon who hates everyone.

“Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader – not the fact that it is raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.”

― E. L. Doctorow

Future Travel

Oslo, Norway with Paco for all of July (with visits from friends throughout the month), Krakow, Poland in October, Bristol, UK in December and a much anticipated trip to the Puglia region of Italy in April 2025. Booked an NCL Greece/Turkey/Egypt cruise for fall 2025. A spring MSC Mediterranean cruise out of Lisbon, mainly to ports I have never been to, will be one of my easier excursions (anyone care to join me on either? Not in my cabin, but there is room on the ship). The United States in the late fall/early winter of 2025 or 2026: Brooklyn, Florida, Portland, Maine, Baltimore, Maryland, and Charlotte, North Carolina. Lots of my peeps to see. Everyone knows, I’ll mostly be there for the food.

If you tell me you’re interested in where my travels take me, I can keep that bit in. I’m pumped about this, change is good; I think some of you will enjoy this new format.

Please forgive typos and grammatical errors. Obrigado.

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A Healthier Lifestyle

Or Be Miserable Later in Life

Photo by Alexander Grey

This will not be one of those “prescription for healthy living” blogs. Instead I’m going to share some thoughts about living with the good and the bad and not get all caught up in the numbers game. It’s always been my MO that rules for living can only end up disappointing you — being human means making mistakes and facing the unexpected. I honestly don’t think I can extend my life by never taking another drink, but I do think that if I drink moderately, I will feel better overall.

“Balance is not something you find, it’s something you create.”

~ Jana Kingsford

What’s in Your Head (The Lies We Tell Ourselves)

I’m going to reveal the biggest lie I tell myself: I will not suffer before I die. I’m convinced that I will be able to control my own death. I’m not obsessed with this notion, I just know it to be true. Of course I am also aware that I could have an accident and suffer or I can live to be 110 and no longer know which way is up.

I do this thing where I set boundaries, sort out the when, the where, and the how and then hope for the best. Nine out of 10 times it all works out as planned; however, that’s not always the case. Sometimes I change my mind about what I want to eat or whether or not I want to play mah-jongg. I’m learning to be more flexible with myself. It seems crazy as I press the keys, but perhaps it makes perfect sense.

The Reality of Everyday Living

I sometimes have the best intentions, but alas . . . A few days ago I had my usual large lunch with every intention to eat a snack at dinnertime. Dinnertime came and for some reason or another, I was famished. I didn’t have anything in the refrigerator or pantry that would satisfy my hunger, so I ordered a pizza. The good news is that I ate half and put the rest in the freezer. You have to forgive yourself for occasionally stepping out of your self-imposed restrictions. I didn’t lose any sleep.

At this point in my life, it’s not about looking good; it’s all about feeling good and the status of my health in the future. I could easily have more wine than I should in the evening, but if I overdo it, the following will happen: I will have to get up to pee more than once, I will have night sweats, I will feel like shit the next day — I don’t think it’s worth all that discomfort, so I color within the lines 95% of the time. When I go rogue, I forgive myself for overindulgence and move on. Most of the time.

Acceptance and Comfort

I accept many things about the person I have become, first, I am impulsive about certain things and as a result, I screw up — buying a car, for example, I never think it through. Second, I will never be thin, and lastly, I love sweets. Knowing these things helps me navigate the day-to-day. If I deny myself a piece of cake, I will spend the entire day thinking about cake and I will end up caving and devouring a large piece of cake by evening. Best to give in to it and have a small piece early in the day. I love the freezer for wrapping up cake and cookies for when my sweet tooth speaks to me.

I’m not crazy about fruit unless it’s very fresh, sweet, and ripe. Fruit in the Algarve is lackluster, save for oranges and small bananas from the Azores . . . and strawberries in season. Melon, peaches, plums, and grapes, bleh. So I only buy what I like or I won’t eat it.

I’ve always felt that good food is one of, if not the greatest gift the earth provides. I will not deny that gift, no way no how, even if it means a bit of gas, a year or two shaved off of my life, and or a few extra pounds. Throw away the scale. You know when you need to do better or when you can indulge a little.

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Future Travel

Oslo, Norway with Paco for all of July (with visits from friends throughout the month), Krakow, Poland in October, Bristol, UK in December and a much anticipated trip to the Puglia region of Italy in April 2025. Booked a Greece/Turkey/Egypt cruise for fall 2025. A spring MSC Mediterranean cruise out of Lisbon, mainly to ports I have never been to, will be one of my easier excursions (anyone care to join me?). The United States in the late fall/early winter of 2025 or 2026: Brooklyn, Florida, Portland, Maine, Baltimore, Maryland, and Charlotte, North Carolina.

State-of-Mind

The significance of good health as I grow older is an everyday consideration. When I stretch more at the gym, eat a healthier lunch, take my supplements; I feel so much better. When I feel better, I’m more pleasant to be around and so it goes. These days I pay a lot more attention to the signs from my body. We have control over so many daily activities in our lives, ignoring the importance of being present is a prescription for disappointment and discomfort. I’m paying a lot more attention and, therefore, I’m happier.

I recently realized that world politics, especially U.S. politics, was making me crazy. The only way to ease the anxiety was to pay less attention to it. It’s about self-preservation and that’s okay. Shedding toxic individuals from your life will also greatly improve the quality of your life. It’s not easy initially, but give it a few weeks and you’ll wish you’d done it sooner.

Side note: I have noticed that some of my neighbors drive to the gym. When you get there, you need to find a parking space. It’s a seven minute walk and you’re going there to workout . . . come on, people!

“The Truth of the Innocent is the liar’s most useful tool.”

~ Stephen King

Please excuse any typos or grammatical errors; I’m paying attention, but it’s never enough.