Emile (fiction)

The distinctive concentric circle pattern molded into gum rubber was worn nearly smooth, just barely perceptible on the soles of his feet. Anyone passing the shabby, crowded, chaotic shop would have known this, as he kept his feet perpetually propped precariously on the counter facing the glass entry-door. Emile Kinsey, proprietor of Emerald Lion Records (at the corner of ninth and Pine, check us out!) sat that day, as he did six days a week, leaned back in his chair, his feet propped on the counter, a hand-rolled splif unlit between his full lips. Today’s tracksuit was adidas (of course) – emerald green with red and yellow striping, the store’s Lion-head logo embroidered over the left breast.

On the wall behind the counter were Jamaican and Ethiopian flags hung vertically, side by side, surrounded by a Smithsonian-esque collection of flyers and posters announcing all manner of historic live music performances from Jimi Hendrix to Prince Buster, Mookie Blaylock to Rage Against The Machine. At the center of the wall, just below the two flags were Emile’s two most prized flyers: a flyer promoting Bob Marley’s legendary 1978 “One Love Peace Concert” signed by Bob himself. Next to that poster hung an autographed publicity photo of Courtney Walsh, Emile’s all-time favorite Cricket player.

Emile’s tidy braids were pulled into a thick ponytail. The top of his head was enclosed in a chic knit beanie, also emblazoned with the Lion-head logo. His heavy, dark-rimmed glasses reflected the street scene outside.

“Another rainy day, Walshy.” The store mascot, Walsh, a brindle pit bull, rescued from a dog fighting operation in Federal Way some years earlier, lounged lazily at Emile’s feet.

Emile smoothed the newspaper he had been reading, adjusted his glasses and began to contemplate the crossword. The skanking jangle of Prince Buster’s “Ska War” filled the store. At that moment, the small bells above the entry-door announced the arrival of the first customer of the day. Walsh opened one eye warily and, not recognizing the patron, hauled himself to his feet to investigate.

“Welcome to the Lion.” Emile set the splif aside, folded his paper carefully and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his surprisingly Roman nose. 

Brain Drain - The Final Writeober Entry

There was a time, let's call it eight hours ago, that I knew exactly what I wanted to write about tonight.  Now, as I sit in front of my computer, with nine-million (or a dozen) distractions in the form of other tabs, my sleeping infant, the potential for video-gaming for the first time in a month, an unopened bottle of Framboise in the refrigerator, cinnamon rolls, a stack of books I have started but not finished, an art project that is likewise partially complete, a scarf that I would like to finish knitting before it is too warm for my son to wear it, a stack of ironing that needs to be done, dishes that need to be put away, and whatever other activities I might imagine, I can not think of what it was I wanted to write.

I suppose it will come back to me, eventually.  That this is the last Writeober entry is unimportant, ultimately.  It was fun and interesting to partake in this project, and I look forward to next October.  I believe I submitted every entry and made it all the way through the month.  Yay, me.  And Yay you all.  Thank you for your incredibly interesting, well-written, funny, melancholy, sweet, and otherwise touching words.  I wish you all the best in your future writing endeavors.  I can't wait to read you all again.

Rome

In hindsight, I can say that I loved Rome.  When I was there, I was not as certain.  I was fortunate enough to visit Rome with my wife (then girlfriend) in 2006.  Of course our schedules dictated that we travel in summer, which was fine when we reached Paris where the weather was milder and every store was having huge July sales.

In Rome it was hotter than the surface of the Sun.  To compound the frustration of being hot throughout our visit, we spent at least a couple of hours every day lost.  Rome is chaotic, with roads and alleys branching in every direction, no rhyme or reason to the way things are numbered (that I could discern), and buildings that overhang the alleys making it impossible to see landmarks that might give you a clue as to where you are, or should be going.

We were standing on the steps of the Church of San Luigi dei Francese.  It was closed for lunch, so we found something to eat and planned to go back after their lunch hour.  We searched for two hours, but were unable to ever find the church again.

The only time I felt really comfortable with my bearings in Rome was when I was running in the morning. Rome is a different city early in the morning, as most cities are.  We stayed in the Trastevere neighborhood, which was perfect for running.  Gently sloping roads through beautiful residential areas, little churches, sidewalk cafés, and interesting people.  I would run from the hotel through the neighborhood to the river, across one of the lovely bridges, through the old Jewish ghetto, along the river through twenty-five hundred years of history.

I would go back to Rome in a heartbeat.  I would visit in winter, maybe for Christmas.  I would stay in Trastevere again.  I would plan plenty of down time each day, so that when we were lost, it wouldn't matter, and we could just enjoy discovering each new alley.

Passive Aggressive

I've been accused, on more than one occasion of being passive-aggressive.  I've been guilty some of the times, and sometimes not.  On the occasions of my guilt, I have (eventually) recognized my own shortcomings and owned them.  It's not always sufficient to mitigate the damage done by the original transgression, but I take pride in "owning my shit," so to speak.

My personal brand of PA is often expressed in veiled comments about unnamed people, cryptic references, or false agreement.  I don't think I have ever sent an anonymous message to someone calling them out, and I know that I have never posted anything anonymously in public calling someone out for their shortcomings.

I have also made a concerted effort to be more direct of late, as I am beginning to recognize the potential damage that passive-aggressiveness can do.  Eventually, I may be able to eliminate the fault entirely from my repertoire, and focus on all of my other faults.

Ten Novels That Helped To Shape Me

As a reader, and writer (such as I am), I think often about the novels that have played a roll in either inspiring, challenging, depressing, or simply pleasing me.  These novels that drew me in, made me feel part of the world contained within their pages, triggered something in my mind, gave me pause, fueled my anger, or stoked my passion.  In short, they contributed, in some way, to who I have become.  


10. The Good Earth - Pearl Buck
9. Huckleberry Finn - Mark Twain
8. Black Boy - Richard Wright
7. The Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
6. One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel García Marquez
5. Shalimar The Clown - Salman Rushdie
4. The Magic Mountain - Thomas Mann
3. The Hobbit - J.R.R Tolkien
2. War And Peace - Leo Tolstoy
1. The Divine Comedy - Dante Alighieri  




Some of these were read for the first time in a high school class, others for pleasure.  All of them have been part of my collection for twenty years, or more, and have prompted multiple readings.  Each contributed something to my makeup as a writer and as a person.  

   

Open Letter To My Child

Dear Son,


There have been a lot of stories lately about children who don't quite fit in, and for whom that situation becomes too much to bear.  At some point in your life, you may find that you feel different from your friends in some way or ways that you do not fully understand, and that those feelings of "otherness" begin to lead to other feelings, more sinister feelings.  


On the other hand, you may have a friend or friends who seem different from you in some way that you do not fully understand, and they may begin to feel as though their differences are somehow not acceptable.  


In either case, I want you to grow up knowing a few things.  


1. Being different is not only "okay," it is something to celebrate.  If we were all completely the same, we would be very bored indeed.  Whoever you are, you should simply strive to be the best version of "you" possible.


2. People who seem not to "fit in" sometimes just need someone to reach out to them to help them feel accepted.  Regardless of what your friends might say or think, reach out to the kids who appear to be misfits.  Your dad was one of them once, and some of the best people I know still consider themselves outsiders in one way or another.


3. You can learn something from everybody you meet.  People who are going through different life-experiences from your own can offer you a different perspective.  Soak it in.  


4. We love who we love.  No matter what the wide world around you tells you, love is a good thing.  I advise you to always be open to love, and not to fear it, no matter what.


5. Your mom and dad will always love you, no matter what.  We want you to be happy, we want you to be a good person, and we want you to be you.  Beyond that, we don't really have any preferences as to what or who you become.  


6. Don't judge people.  It can be massively difficult at times, but resist the temptation to dismiss someone as wrong because they don't do things the way you do them.  Instead, take the time to try and understand them, and if you still don't agree, that's okay.  You can disagree and still respect, appreciate, and even love that person.


7. I don't like the word "never." Having said that, I want you to never feel that suicide is a viable option. I knew people who took their own lives.  I know people who tried and survived.  I imagine all of them felt, in that moment, that they truly had no other options available to them.  You will always have options.  No matter how grim your situation seems, no matter how radically different you may feel, or how badly you may be treated by those around you, you have options.  Your mom and I will always do everything in our power to make sure you are safe, and that you know you are loved.  


You are precious to us now, and become more so every minute.  


My heart breaks for the children who felt they were so different, who were told they were so wrong, that they could no longer bear the pain, and felt they had no options.  My heart breaks for their parents, their friends, their families... I hope that when you are older, and you read this, you understand why I wrote it.  Some of those survivors I mentioned have brought joy to my life beyond measure, and their pain is beyond my comprehension.  I am inspired by their stories, and honored by their love. I hope that with this letter, I can pass some of their love and joy along to you; I want nothing less for you than a rich, full life, in which you can spread that same love and joy to the world.


With love always and forever,
Dad  

love in a dream

as I lay silent
enveloped in dark
electrical impulses
forge images in my
superconscious mind
unbounded
perfect
limitless
eternal

love