Insert 5

April 29

“But that planet is just in the orbit of Gliese 581… And if I get on the next ship, it’ll only be twenty-point-five light years to get there…” The Skater pulls on one boot. The dog watches, and thumps its tail…

“I’ve got to figure out how to get on.” And the dog licks the Skater’s hand. The Skater gently pushes the dog away. Clips and buckles are closed and tautened … Laces pulled; the first skate is secure, as expected…

“I don’t want to remain on this planet much longer.” The second skate is positioned and the left foot inserted… The Skater pulls… The dog barks… The dog knows that it wants to go…

“Gliese 581… It is a sun… and it has planets…” The Redhead nods.

“I really want to get there… I want to be a colonist.” The Skater stands up, and rolls to the front door. The Skater checks the stereo clock. 8:13 a.m.

“I’ll see you when you get home later this afternoon. I’ll be back in the house in about 20 minutes…” The Redhead nods.

The front door is opened. The Skater steps out… off the stoop… and begins a roll down the front path. Down the driveway, the skater steers, unsteadily toward the parked SUV… The Skater rounds the SUV, applies the right foot brake… and glides warily down the sidewalk… A quick right… and down the neighbor’s driveway… and onto the road.

An osprey flies overhead… some small rodent in its beak… on its way to its nest and its mate follows behind… two quick screeches… It trails its mate to the Cypress conservation area… Breakfast for the two of three hatchlings…

“I wonder what it would be like to be one of the first colonists on Planet New World. If the sun is red, does that mean I could live longer?”

Picking up speed the Skater lifts left leg and skate, and then right… At the corner the Skater rounds to the left. The Shepherd, tied in the nearby year, barks its welcome… and then turns twice, and lies down under the oak…

The Skater breathes, at the beat of the wheels, as each skate clicks to the pavement. Early morning sprinklers create a slalom course… slick black ice… A neighbor, in a robe, and disheveled hair drags a plastic recycling bin to the curb. The neighbor nods. The Skater waves in passing.

The Skaters rounds to the left and continues down the stretch. No cars, SUVs… down to the stop sign… The young teens are waiting at the corner… The 8:26 School shuttle… Maroon jerseys and beige chinos… The Redhead nods at the Skater’s passing… Seven youths… books and knapsacks… The Skater notices the shuttle at the end of the street… about three minutes from the corner…

In passing two dogs bark… The sun blinds the Skater, steering to the shaded side of the street… And the Skater continues…

“I could volunteer to farm… the virgin undiscovered land… Begin a new thanks celebration. Wonder if yellow corn grows under a red sun? It would take too long to ship it back to this Earth… The corn would only provide for the new colonists… Red corn… maybe? A new John Smith, a new Pocahontas… Oh, and if there are others already there, what then? Take me to your leader…” The Skater nods to the elderly couple out for their morning constitutional… The Hero nods back… The Angel holds the Hero’s hand… The Skater passes and banks to the right…

Squirrels scurry across the Skater’s path… One… Two… Three… Rats with fuzzy tails… flee the squishing of miniature wheels… One and Three rush to a scrub oak…leap… and spiral to the crown… Number Two’s confused… Pauses… a brief moment… turns back, and beelines to the closet oak on the opposite bank of the black river… Number Two zips up the bark… And the Skater glides by, chuckling…

The Skater continues on down the street… Breathing… Breathing… taking in the early morning… Now the Skater’s catching a right turn… Down the street, another right turn… Left, then right, then left… Then right…

Up the street the Skater sees the elderly couple, again… The Skater closes in on them, gliding silently, swishing… The Angel notices the Skater, smiles and nods… The Hero’s arm shakes… The Hero nods… and grins … The Skater speeds by… The Skater nears the intersection… At the road, the Skater banks to the right… and continues… left over right… right over left…

The Skater nears the house… The Skater jumps to the driveway and glides up to the front path… The Skater stops at the front door… The dog barks a welcome… jumps at the screen… The Skater removes the right skate… and takes off the sock… The Skater removes both wrist guards… and bends down to unhook the clasps on the left boot… The Skater takes off the left boot, grabs the right one, and opens the door… The dog jumps to greet the Skater…

The Skater enters the room… 8:46 a.m.… and heads down to the computer room…The Skater takes chair at the desk and signs in… The Skater’s head lowers… The dog curls down on the floor at the base of the chair. 8:47 a.m.

Spammed - A Lot

Please be fore-warned... If you are a PC or Internet neophyte please DO NOT open any referenced link name or address referred to in the body of this piece. I didn't, so I can not tell you what the pictures look like, nor can I tell you if there were any viruses lurking at the end of the links... I circumvented all that, in the way I checked out the information... Enjoy...

Spammed – A Lot

“The most important medical discovery in ages” came to me personally… Jim Smith… just to me… Three times… First at 8:28 am… Once at 8:46 am… Three times by 8:57 am… Must be real, real important news… The Most important of all medical discoveries… and announced, just to me… and by email…

And my email trash gatherer caught the first one… and slammed it into my Trash Folder… But my email trash gatherer obviously, can only handle a thirty percent efficiency rate… The other two ended up in my Inbox… just waiting… just daring… Daring me to open them up…

And as I’m putting fingers to keyboard… two more… the exact same… “The most important medical discovery in ages” just announced their arrival… 9:14 am… and 9:17 am…

I checked Google News… No earth-shattering news… No medical discovery. Even did a search… for the most important medical discovery in ages… A closed-quotes search… And Google’s reply…“Did not match any documents…”

Now I try Yahoo… It has something… produced by the same closed-quotes search… The number 1 and number 2 results begin in Arabic… Sorry, I don’t read Arabic… At least, I think it’s Arabic… And then the word “wawtec”… and I don’t know if “wawtec” is English or what… And in the preamble for my result number 1, the subject is “The most important medical discovery in ages”… Surprise… Surprise…

But there are two bccs, backcopied email addresses… Looks like someone else is getting the news… eldessie@charter and jennzanaglio@yahoo... I wonder if those two emailers are prepared for “the most important medical discovery in ages”

And where is this “norcrosscouncil.org”… They appear to have sent one of “the most important medical discovery in ages” emails… They seemed to have the answer… or maybe they were just duped… and caught on some random-generating-spam-creation-program…

But what’s “wawtec”… Never heard the word before, if it is a word … So back to my trusty search engines… Merriam-Webster doesn’t have an answer… Dictionary.com neither… Wikipedia states that no results are found… (Just means that whoever invented the word hasn’t yet updated the addition of “wawtec” to Wikipedia.)

And it’s Ask.com that amazes me… The first result of my Ask.com search is a link to Jobs… This link invites me to search for full- and part-time jobs in Florida’s Treasure Coast Area… Okay I live here… and it’s very smoky, very … The next two links are for job searches… Maybe “wawtec” is some sort of career in the hydro-technical arena? Maybe?

The next Ask.com link is titled FastServers Technical… and I don’t think that the person who provided this link is too, too happy with FastServers Technical… I quote… “This server sucks”… I’m not hyper-linking to that website… Not really interested in that poor soul’s issues with FastServers Technical…

It’s at the sixth link I pause… and take a deep breath… No, I’m not going to hyper-link… but I can now see a tie… A tieback to the Arabic script I found on the first two results of my Yahoo search for “The most important medical discovery in ages”… The sixth Ask.com link has three words that immediately catch my eyes… “Riadh” (spelled incorrectly) and “Saudi Arabia”… And then I see the word of the country “Saudi Arabia” repeated in the seventh and tenth links…

But it’s the words “Images of Beheaded Man” in the hyperlinks of the sixth and the seventh search results that really take my breath… And I, who don’t do so too often… stop… and pray, quickly… And ask “What have we got ourselves into?”

I began this morning, feet on the floor… Fed the dogs… Turned on my PC… Noticed 40 emails received since 2:00 am… Took my morning meds… Then dressed to go roller-blading… I roller-bladed four blocks… and the smog plumed in… I returned to my house, took off my rollerblades… and sat down at my desk… I had decided to write a comedic piece on spam… a comedic slant to the tons of spam I receive every day…

I began… looking online for “The most important medical discovery in ages”… which became a search for “wawtec”… which turned up Arabic… Then Riyadh and Saudi Arabia… and then “graphic images of beheaded man”… Oh, my… but it is the tenth Ask.com result that frightens me… “War of 2 Worlds”… and I turn my PC off… And I didn’t find the most important medical discovery in ages…

Insert 6

May 2

A pounding on the front door… The dogs begin a cacophony of yelps and growls… and yaps…

“Come outside! Quickly, come outside!”

“Hush up… Hush up.” I put a bookmark at page 15. Stephen Elliott’s article Surviving a Month Without Internet…this May and June’s copy of Poets & Writers. I get up and go to the front door weaving through the erratic dances of sixteen legs…

“Look at the smoke… It’s another one.” And we move to the end of the driveway…

“Another one? Arson? Any one home?”

“I can’t believe there is that much smoke.”

“And I had just put the oil in the pan on the stove. Part of tonight’s supper. Fried okra… the family’s favorite. And I just went to the computer room to check on my emails.”

“Would you believe it? This is the third oil-in-the-fry-pan-on-the-stove-fire in the past 20 years, in just this circle of 19 houses.”

“Watch out… here comes fire truck number two… and three.” And music is blaring from the party house across the street…

“And there’s number four, and number five…”

“Glad they built that new station down round the corner.”

“Didn’t make no difference though, the house still’s gonna be a mess…Just look… the flames are coming out of the roof…”

“And I’m so stupid… I had to answer that email… It was so important. And then I checked my blogs… And then the alarm started to ring… loud… Real loud. I ran to the kitchen… Too, too much smoke… I had to get out… Find the dog, and get out…”

And the neighbors are now coming from both streets… The Latina and the Shadow… Wedges and tight, tight short-shorts… A sleeveless undershirt… and a Bloody Mary…

“What happened? A grill blows up? Did everyone get out?”

“Think so… The rest of the family is still playing golf.”

“They couldn’t find the two cats… but the dog’s okay…” The elderly couple makes their way across the street.

“This one’s not as hot as the one down the street a year-and-a-bit ago… But the house’s a gonner. And there’s so much smoke. It smells like Sonny’s Bar-B-Q!”

The Hero and The Angel stand holding hands in the shadow of the yellow fire truck… standing on the sidewalk… The Angel nods to the Latina… The Shadow answers a cell phone…

The fire-people have the hoses going… Steam’s now rising… and the orange flames are blackening the new roof tiles… Children come running… A number of youths ride in on their bikes… Neighbors are making their ways to the confusion.

“Has anyone seen my cats? I don’t know if they got out.”

“Here, why don’t you sit down? You can use this chair.” The Angel helps the old dear to have a seat… The Angel smiles reassuringly.

“Has your family been contacted?”

“Not yet… and I feel so, so stupid… I really did not have to answer that email. Puppy, stay here. And the children just moved out on Friday. What station are the fire-people from?”

“Number 47… The new one nearby… and around the corner… Try not to worry, too much. What’s done is done…” The Angel pats the old dear’s shoulder.

“But we didn’t take out any insurance on the house, when we moved in six months ago.”

The Angel walks back to the Hero, who’s listening to the next door neighbor chatter nervously… They watch the two fire-persons walking between the two houses, swatting at errant sparks… A third fire-person is hosing the outside wall of the neighboring house…

“You’d think they’d bloody well turn off that music… out of respect.” It was the royal homeowners’ association president and vice-president… They now had made their appearance…

“I’m going over to demand that they turn it off…”

“Don’t bother… That’s them there standing by the one in the front row seat…”

The Angel is now holding the Hero’s right hand… They cross the street… and walk away from the smoke and the noise…

“What’s de numbur of dis house?” the Latina asks…

“I think it’s 247.”

The house continues to smoke… The flames have hidden below the roof top. The Red Cross volunteer runs over to the fire-person who has fallen down, still holding the hose that had been dosing the neighbors’ wall… Two other fire-persons rush over… The hose is turned off. A child points to the Hero and the Angel in the distance… A cat is following them…

An ambulance blares its way up the crowded street.

Insert 4

April 22

The group boards the train at the Poplar Bluff Station. They lived at the end of Matt Lane just down a bit an’ outside Poplar Bluff… Two-point-four miles from the Amtrak Station, at South Main Street… Five of them… Hippie-gypsies… and they’d been waiting since about lunchtime… Sandwiches and long-teas, sun-made and poppy cake… Five kaftans… billowing cotton, ankle-length… five shades of green and beige and touches of sallow-rose… Four knapsacks and a guitar… A basket with fresh ham-rolls and cucumber salad for supper, on the train… all from the 60s, leftovers… Flowers-in-their-hair… Elder youths stuck on rerun…

It was May Day… with their one-way tickets to San Francisco… One-way, $213.00… each…

Time 4:16 p.m. Fourteen minutes to pull-out…

“All aboard...”

The group squeezes up the three steps and slides the right door of the coach-car… It’s the third car… Their Club Car…

“Make sure we get four-plus-two.”

“Across from each other...”

“And a table…” The compartment door slams…

Midway, down the center of the rose and magenta compartment are four-on-the-right and two on the left… All with hideaway tables… The Hippie-gypsies steer right to their space… The Couple, catty-corner to the two-set-on-the-left, frowns… A young Redhead smiles at the group and relaxes into a game of Mario Bros…

“Lyndsay, you and the Dristane store the knapsacks and the basket overhead. I’ll just take the guitar out of the case and put the case up, on top.”

And the group appears to be settling down. Three take their seats… the guitar on the right and the other two on the left. The Couple is whispering. The beep, beep from the Gameboy chimes… 4:24 p.m. Down a bit on the right side of the aisle a Latina with black Shirley Temple curls, and wedges, listens to a cell phone…And everyone is talking…

The compartment door slides open, again… The Hero and the Angel move into the car. Voices lower… Heads turn… And heads look up… The Redhead and the Latina smile… The Hero and the Angel move to the vacant seats, on the right, above the Hippie-gypsies… across from the Couple… They sit… The Hero’s arm tremors slightly… and the Hero breathes quietly… and the Angel moves in close…

Lyndsay and Alpha are sitting together in the two-on-the-left… Both have taken out books to read… One hardcover and one paperback… Five hours time to St. Louis. The first leg of the return… Lyndsay is reading Carl Limbacher’s Hillary’s Scheme… Alpha flips through a worn copy of Stephen Baker’s treasure, How to Live with a Neurotic Dog… Jonna and the Dristane have dismantled chair tables and set out a deck of fifty-one and a hand-drawn Ace of Spades… And the Other polishes the face of the guitar…

“All aboard…” And two quick jolts… The Conductor pockets a silver time-piece, and closes the slider… and moves on through the compartment… 4:29 p.m. and two more jolts… 4:30 and the Amtrak moves out of the Poplar Bluff station… Good-bye Charlene… Good-bye Linda…

The Redhead continues his Mario trek and freezes his hands on the Gameboy… and breathes… The guitar bumps and the Other grabs forward to steady it… and looks up to the overhead… and then out the window… The Station house has moved to the rear and the empty warehouse buildings sidle on by…

Five hours to St. Louis… Five more hours to Kansas… and then thirty-five hours and twenty minutes to Los Angeles… and still another five more hours to San Francisco… A long train ride…

The Angel had dozed for the past couple hours. The Couple is still whispering… giggling, and squinting their eyes, occasionally … They’ve round-robined the Latina, each of the five Hippie-gypsies, and the Redhead, and they stop at the Hero and the Angel… And the Conductor opens the slider, and moves into the compartment, and announces…

“Tickets, please…” The Conductor produces a silver clipper punch-thing. Questioning the person by the slider first…

“Ticket please.”

“Thank-you, to Bakersfield…” The Conductor clips…

“Ticket, please?” The Conductor addresses the Hippie-gypsy group…

“Tickets, please?” The Other hands over an envelope, number 10 size, opened… The Conductor rifles through the packet and clips five times… The Conductor hands the envelope and packet back to the Other…

“One way to Emeryville, California?” the Conductor addresses the Couple… Both nod… and pass a ticket… The Conductor clips once.

“Snap!” cries the Dristane, and Jonna frowns…

The Hero rises… and moves out of the seat and forward to the door on the left… The Hero enters and shuts the door… An Occupied sign slides over Vacant… at 7:30 pm… The Hippie-gypsies are passing round ham rolls… fresh from this morning… made last night… and cucumber salad… A thermos of sun-tea passes around… with small paper Dixie cups… five, one for each… and napkins… recycled paper…

Lights streak by… White interlaced with smudges of red and yellow… and grimy oranges of sunset through the left windows…

The Hero re-enters the compartment… A shaky hand struggles to close the levered handle… The Hero steps foot… before foot, and cautiously balances to make it back to the Angel and the seat… The Hero slips… The Hero’s hand reaches out and grabs onto Jonna’s shoulder… The Hero steadies and smiles at Jonna… Jonna smiles back. Jonna’s eyes close…

7:47 pm… An hour and 13 minutes left to St. Louis. The Hero sits. The Angel takes the Hero’s hand… It doesn’t shake.

Insert 3

April 12

One, two, three… One, two and a three… The five-piece band and a lone muted trumpet… Mellow notes drift through the air, catching the corners of ancient acoustics. The couples move slowly, gracefully around the floor… somewhat… at the Coliseum. The faded streamers twist in the evening breeze… And it’s one, two, three, one, two, and three… One, two, three… Dull sequins sparkle under the fade of passed years… And they’re in their twenties again… One two three, one two and three… 9:39 pm…

Green bottled cokes sit on the emptied tables… Lucky Strike butts line the ashtray… A lone Gerber daisy bent in the wine bottle… trails of colored wax… One, two, three… One, two, three… and a sliver of smoke ascends from the ashtray… A small black pocketbook rests on the table… its owner squeezing the light fantastic… A lace wrap Spanish shawl, made in South Korea, covers a chair… One, two, three…

And the couple sways to the waltz. One, two, three… one, two, three… Toes touching… knees bumping, occasionally… Around and around… the tilted dance floor… around… One, two, three… Memories of dance hall queens… Feather boas… silky lengths of trained gowns… whirling and waltzing, one, two, and three… one, two, three… One, two, three… They are young again… just after high school graduation… Smiling… lines radiating from upper lips… criss-crossing cheeks and eye corners… One, two, three… 9:42 pm…

A second couple bumps… into, in slow motion… No damage and exchanged smiles… The waltz step off, by two beats… The Hero and the Angel, at 9:43 pm…One, two, and three… Pink lamé and yellow polyester… Light blue serge pants… and their eyes follow the couple. The single spot bouncing from the twirling mirrored disco ball… with the muted trumpet warbling memories… One, two, three… The guitar player strumming the tune of the waltz… One, two and a three…

One… and the music stops… Silence and a light catch-up applause… The couple moves to their table. They sit. The lace Spanish shawl made in South Korea falls to the floor, unnoticed… A heavy breathing commingles in unison and echoes in the acoustic corners… The dancers breathe… and sit… A pacemaker beeps… The Hero and the Angel are at the red-Coke cooler by the front door… The Hero buys two green bottles from the redheaded youth… and gives him two quarters… A Connecticut one and a Florida one… They exchange grins… and at 9:46 the Hero wipes the bead of sweat from the line crossing the forehead…

At the table the couple lights their Lucky Strikes… A pacemaker beeps… Once…The partner places the Lucky Strike in the ashtray… An eye connects with the Angel at the entrance door… Eyes close… The Hero and the Angel exit… at 9:47 pm…

Insert 2

April 10

The Neurologist’s office sitting room is quiet and I am reading my book quietly. The pages turn, minute by minute, second by second as the countdown traps the President between the lines pitched in Times Roman. The silence is great. My mind conjures visions of the chase in the corridors of the Church and the gas jets spew the deadly torches as the women's struggle and scream against their bounds.

I pull out my cell phone… I use the stylus to set it to vibrate… and make sure the ringer is off… The green sign facing the front door announces “In consideration of others, please turn off your cell phone. Thank you.”

And the door to the waiting room opens… It’s 9:32 am…. A crisp Monday morning. The elderly couple shuffle in. The Hero and the Angel move to the front wall and find two seats and sit slowly. The Hero's arm and hand shake and jerks spasmodically. Michael J. Fox is now playing Alex Keaton. And the Hero sits with eyes closed, arm jerking. The Angel strokes the Hero’s shoulder… soothingly.

And the door opens. Tired eyes open, and the Hero turns to the left toward the door at 9:35 am…. and they walk in. The dolled-up Latina, Shirley Temple Black curls to shoulders, struts from the door to the chairs opposite the elderly couple. The tightest denim stretches the beach pants… and five and dime wedges squeak. Cell phones stuck to the Latina’s left ear. The Latina sits. And the Shadow sits.

“Allo, Papi… Allo, Papi… Hoppie burdday to Chou… Hoppie burdday to Chou… Hoppie burdday to Chou Papiiiieee… Hoppie Burdday to Chou… Chou hokay?” Off key, monotone, disgusting wail. And the Latina continues on the phone. The Shadow looks bored, and holds Latina’s hand. And the Shadow pats the role of fat, at the Latina’s mid-drift. The Hero and the Angel smile, across from the Latina and the Shadow.

And the door opens again. It's 9:42 a.m... And another couple walks in… cell phones stuck to each one's ear. A Hispanic cacophony resounds against the tile floor. The noise begins to crescendo. The cell phones symphony... Carlos Santana, no way, no soft beguine... totally off key. Two more lines added to the Hero’s and the Angel’s faces. The new couple sits beside me… Their voices rise. They try to hear themselves against the Latinas invigorated Burdday chant.

The Hero and the Angels squint. And I cannot read anymore, the President is lost in the tunnel beneath the stage and a chopper is whop, whop, whopping. All is lost to the Hispanic cell phone duel. At 9:45, the Latina is called. The Neurologist is ready to see her. At 9:47, the Hero and the Angel get up. The Latina doesn’t move… The cell phone rings… The door closes behind the Hero and the Angel… and her Shadow doesn’t move… The Receptionist calls again… And I close my book…

Insert 1

April 1

The old people sit on the bench. They had been sitting, on that same bench for thirty-eight minutes. Today is Friday. They sat there yesterday, Thursday… and Wednesday, and Tuesday… and Monday, as well.

I saw them as I passed. And I smiled. They smiled back. Time etched lines across their faces… lines from waiting. Deep recesses of age and maturity… Always, just the two of them, waiting on that same bench. I had seen them each day this week, always at the same time, always sitting side-by-side. Always watching, every time waiting… Maybe… Faint smiles across each face…. Deep in thought...

The couple just sat there, at times unaware of what was going on. They didn’t seem to be paying attention to the group of young teenagers throwing the football… running the length of the field. Stumbling, throwing, blocking, and laughing. The brouhaha doesn’t faze the couple… But they are spectators, of times once passed... and of the impromptu ball game. The Hero and the Angel are sitting, waiting, and watching.

And the ball is now placed at the forty-yard mark. The teenagers huddle at forty-one minutes. The teenagers break. The Hero’s eyes fix, and the young Redhead… he’s carrying the ball… from the forty to the forty-three, to the forty-four. And now, on the forty-seventh yard, two others tackle the Redhead and they all go down… a tumble of arms and legs… gangly and rolling…grunting.

The two tacklers get up. The Redhead lies on the forty-seventh yard at the forty-seventh minute. The Hero and the Angel rise from the bench. The young tacklers prod the Redhead. The youth doesn’t move. The Hero and the Angel are gone, their slow gait off in the distance. And I go home…