Paris-Travelers for Dummies (a fictional piece)

The rain slapped the sidewalk, with deafening noise that sounded like thousands of clicking tongues. A taxi flashed by, waving hello with a tidal wave of gutter water. The splash consumed my brand new scooter that sat parked on the side of the road, turning the shiny red to a sickly brown. It was brand, spanking new. I stood outside of the pastry shop with steam beginning to swirl around my head, twisting with the breath that fumed out my mouth. This was typical of my first month in France. I haphazardly jumped on a plane, leaving behind monotonous employment and a blank apartment room. Some may call it a mid-life crisis, and I'd probably agree. But you would sympathize with my reasoning. My entire life, the one thing that repeatedly eluded my grasp was a relationship. With a female. I was horrible with words. "So.... um.... er....." -- such was the extent of my vocabulary around women. I found high school most humiliating. Every school dance, I made the feeble trip over to the unfortunate drama queen's locker. "So.... er.... you and me.... the dance.... ya?" I grew accustomed to fragmented hearing in my right ear due to the locker slamming. Rejection has irritated me worse than a sunburn on my back when I lay down to sleep. And it never goes away. So I moved to France, the love capital of the world. I even bought a scooter to fit amongst the egocentric crowds. "Scooters boost your ego," says Paris-Travelers for Dummies. But that book doesn't say a word about a muddy scooter that won't start. It doesn't say how to fight depression while standing alone in a rain storm, wondering about luck, fate, karma, and whatever else has caused my life to stink like gutter water.

How to save 12 bucks

MIKE: "Man, I really need a haircut."
BEN: "Hey Mom left me with all the haircuttin stuff."
MIKE: "Really? Do you think you could give me a haircut?"
BEN: "You sure you want me to do it?"
MIKE: "Ya it shouldn't be too hard. It's just a buzz cut, but I have it just a little longer on the top."
-Silence follows, and Ben looks worried-
MIKE: "Come on, bro, it should be a synch."
BEN: "Ya you're probably right, I'll do it. But don't get too mad at me if something goes wrong."
-Mike smiles-
MIKE: Don't worry, nothin should go wrong.
-Switch scenes to apartment bathroom. Ben is holding hair-trimmer, standing over Mike, who sits in a chair in front of the bathroom mirror. Ben looks nervous-
BEN: "Ok, I'm going to start."
MIKE: "Sounds like a plan."
-Ben continues to look at Mike's head of hair without using the hair-trimmer. The hair-trimmer is now starting to shake in Ben's hand, and his nervous look is now amplified-
BEN: "I'm going to start on the bottom, alright?"
MIKE: "Ya that's good. But the trimmer's gotta actually touch my hair for it to cut. You know that right?"
-Ben gulps and nods, then touches the very tips of the hair and jumps back afraid-
MIKE: "Maybe I should just have Supercuts do the job this time."
BEN: "No, no, no, you don't have to spend 12 bucks on a buzz cut. I can do this."
-Ben continues to mutter, "I can do this," under his breath as he proceeds to cut the hair. Ben quickly gives the haircut, and Mike looks stunned as he views his hair-
MIKE: Wow, it actually looks really good. Thanks, bro."
-Ben makes a smug grin-
BEN: "Ya know, I think I'll just do one last trimming job before I'm done."
MIKE: "Wow, I should be payin for this."
BEN: "(proud chuckle) Oh, it's really no big deal. I always felt I'd make it big as a hair-stylist. I just never-
-Silence-
MIKE: "What's wrong?"
-Silence as Ben gulps and turns white-
BEN: "(after silence) I don't want you to get angry, but the hair on the back of your head isn't exactly... um, how should I phrase this... er, the back of your head isn't... completely.... symmetrical... anymore."
MIKE: "What is that supposed to mean?"
-Ben lip begins to quiver-
BEN: "It means that I took out a huge chunk of hair on the left side of your head!"
-Ben begins to cry. Mike gives surprised look as he examines the missing patch of hair on the back left of his head. The Mike smiles-
MIKE: "It kinda looks like a gotta scar. It's actually kind of cool."
BEN: "(through sniffles) Really?"
MIKE: "Ya, don't worry about it. I'll just tell everyone I got in a huge fight."
BEN: "(laughs through tears) That's pretty cool, I guess."
-Mike stands up and brushes off the hair that sticks to his shirt. Then him and Ben leave set as they discuss what the made-up story should be -- how big the fight was and how the scar on the back of Mike's head was made. Mike closes the door. The door opens again, Mike's head appears to examine the missing patch of hair one last time. Mike takes a deep breath and smiles, then closes the door-

Climbing Up to Fall Back Down

My breath wheezed like a broken air conditioner. Liquid drops formed on my forehead, arms, and back, and combined forces in my armpits to create a sweat stain. Mouth open, eyes foward, teeth clenched -- riding my bike up this hill was no easy task. With every heave downwards on the pedal, I realized that I had to do it again to keep moving. Muscles tightened like a belt after Thanksgiving dinner. Both lungs and my heart battled to see who could pump faster. My throat pleaded for a glass of water.  But I kept going, forcing my limbs to climb up that hill.
Finally I made it to the top. The relief felt like walking into home's door to escape the snowstorm. I could pedal now without any pain; my muscles could relax. Soon the hill began to slant in the opposite direction, and I floated down the hill. Wind met my face and patted me on the cheek. Tired eyes drooped as I accelerated without any effort. Faster and faster I went; the gravity that had pulled at my shoelaces before now shoved me downwards. My eyes were wide now, and the thrill of the roller coaster ride or the high speed car ride began to pump through my veins. The ride was exhilerating. As the ground began to once again level out, I let out a whoop, proclaiming my joy.

Excerpt From "Climbing Up to the Eagle's Nest" (a memoir about scouting)

Camp Morrison was located in the shadow of the Sawtooth Mountains near McCall, Idaho. Planted in the middle of dense forest next to the frigid waters of Payette Lake, this camp was a Launchpad for scouting. I arrived on that first day, wearing my favorite blue baseball hat, ready to earn as many merit badges as possible. My first few days were dedicated to hitting the bright red target at the archery range. I had never used a bow and arrow in my life. When I walked up to the line to shoot, I shook like a leaf, nervous that I’d stick my arrow in the eye of the instructor. But with the encouraging shouts from Dad (along with buckets of luck) I hit the bulls-eye on my first shot. Even the archery instructor let his jaw drop. Arrogance dripped out my ears as I began to pull the next arrow back, looking to once again dazzle my fellow scouts with another perfect hit. But this time the arrow sailed like a wounded duck. It didn’t even stick into the soft mesh of the target; it just bounced off and fell lamely to the ground. Heat rushed to my cheeks. This was going to be harder than I thought.

Signs of Fall

Football games on TV. Stressing about the first day of class. My mom's birthday. "The ALL NEW Pumpkin Smoothie" advertisement at Jamba Juice. Memories of getting lost in a maze of corn. Postseason baseball. The sudden realization that the leaves changed color. The sudden realization that the leaves needed to be raked up. Shorter days. Stony nights. A breath of air that smells like picked apples. Apples that came from a tree now leafless.

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."
-Thomas Jefferson

This summer I worked with children that had developmental disorders. They were different. Some could use complete sentences and put puzzles together. But some couldn't even walk to the puzzle table. A few of them could write their name. The rest I had to use a guiding grip to form the letters. There was one boy that screamed how much he hated me, how much he wanted to get away from me and go home. There was the other boy that I held in my arms on the last day, patting him on the back as he said, "I miss you." Any observer would tell me these kids were different, that they wouldn't fit into society. But as I built lego towers with these kids, I built my own opinion. An opinion that mirrors Jefferson's.
Yes, I understand that they are not like most people. Yes, I understand that they may not fit into society. I understand that physically, they were created differently. I understand all of these things. But I also understand that their creation runs deeper. The same being that Jefferson spoke of, the Creator that endows us our rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness -- this Creator created these kids. He created their Spirits. And following this life, when I wander in whatever state and whatever place that comes after, I will see these kids. I believe that my eyes will behold something similar, something equal to myself. As we meet, embrace, laugh, and cry, we will realize how equal we truly our. We were created by God, even as His children, all with an equal potential to become like our Creator. And we will probably laugh when we remember how it started -- with the colorful blocks of a lego tower creation.

Dear Dog

Dear Andee,

How are things going for you? Is your bed still smelly? And have you torn apart Brother Bear yet? I heard that Ms. Piggy has been ripped to shreds (what a shame). Things are going great for me. You would be jealous of the college life; I go on walks every single day. I walk from my dorm to my classes and back, sometimes taking a grand total of 1-2 hours of walking every day! I know, it's hard for your little brain to comprehend, but just imagine patroling the yard for an hour or two, and that is how long I walk. Isn't that crazy?! One thing I do not get to experience is running the fence. But I'll leave that endeavor to specialists like you.
Andee, I have heard that you have been a bad little boy lately. I just want you to know that you need to stop eating boxes of mac and cheese and chewing other people's clothes. Also, don't ever get into rat poisoning again (I know, it's hard to resist the sensation of hydrogen pyroxide, but you gotta put mind over matter). And if you ever feel like you need to get the wiggles out, pretend that the lawn mower is chasing you around the yard (you can also use this strategy to get rid of any unwanted neck fat). Anyways, I hope you take my advice to heart. Have fun in Boise, and don't forget to cuddle with whoever is in need of a cuddlebunny.

Love,
Ben