Dear Mister Howard,

Mister Howard,

            Mommy talks about you all the time, and I think she talks about me to you too. I’m not sure who you are, but I want to meet you some day. You seem like a nice man because I never hear Mommy talking badly about you. She talks bad to Daddy all the time. But then Daddy yells back at her. I never know what they are talking about. One day it is about Mommy spending too much money, or another day it is about Daddy not working hard enough. The same things really, and they always say that each other doesn’t care about me when I grow up. I think they care about me. Mommy always takes me with her to get her nails done and get new dresses. She always asks me if she thinks a dress makes her look like Miss Trudy in the apartment next door. Miss Trudy isn’t a very pretty lady like my Mommy. She has a big nose and ways wears this thing my Daddy calls a Moo-Moo. The lady scares me. And Daddy! Well Daddy takes me to Central Park every weekend to feed the little ducks with our old bread. He takes me in his car and onto the big road and puts the windows down just as I like it. Sometimes it scares me because the door rattles and whenever I touch the car I get this brown stuff on my hand, it kind of feels like taking Cocoa Puffs and smashing them up, but I know its not dirt. As Tony the Tiger says, “They’re Great!”! I don’t know why they fight all the time. Whenever they fight it seems like we get something new in the house. Not to mention they wake me up sometimes with the fighting. When I thought things were getting a little better, Mommy and Daddy woke me up with their yelling again. Miss Trudy’s dog woke up too and I heard him barking really loud. Daddy was asking why Mommy smelled like dog and this thing called licker. I would ask too because dogs are gross. Mommy asked Daddy why he smelled fruity and something like whiskers. Daddy always told me if I saw a man in a dress that’s a fruit, but he wasn’t wearing a dress tonight. At one point the loud questions stopped, but then Daddy knocked over our TV. It didn’t work anyways, so I wasn’t too sad about that. Then he threw my dollhouse at the wall. It looks broke, but I couldn’t see too much from inside the closet. For a long time all I could hear were things crashing and sometimes Mommy or Daddy saying “ouch.” They told me that “ouch” wasn’t a good thing to say because it would make the other person want to make you say it again. I think they forgot about what they were teaching me. Mommy and Daddy stopped when they heard a beating on the door and a man telling them to open up. They opened the door, and Miss Trudy walked in with a policeman. He put some shiny things on their hands and told them to sit on the ground. The policeman walked around the house looking for something, then walked out with Mommy and Daddy to have a talk. Their talk must be good because it has been a long time since they have come back inside, maybe things are better now. I hope so, because its almost breakfast time and I can’t ever reach the milk.

Thanks Mister Howard!

Mommy loves you so I guess I do too.

A Nonfiction Tribute

The weekend is so close, and so is an oil change. At least, that’s what Ben Bragg’s Facebook page says. I’d say right about now, Ben can’t take another minute of his boating history class he was telling me about earlier this week. I wonder what things are like for him in Throgg’s Neck, New York: 

Ben is counting down the seconds until Lt. Harper dismisses the class. After two hours of taking notes and one hour over due from joining the urination, Ben sees Lt. Harper give his trademark salute to wrap up class. SUNY Maritime Academy rejoices with the end of a week and an opportunity to leave campus. Well, most of Maritime can leave right away. Ben has to stick around for another three hours or so for Rugby practice. This is a fact which befuddles me as to how someone like him could go from gentle giant in high school to a brute Maritime Rugger. Maybe this could be attributive to why Ben is sen as so many different things to so many different people. On that note, he’s an eagle scout, great outdoorsman, one in discernment of the priesthood, and also someone that nobody dislikes and everyone loves. If anyone was deserving of my damn Signum Fidei award, it’s Ben. I sure as hell am not half the man Ben is.

Ben will get out of practice around six. If it was as grueling and hard hitting as he tells me, his six foot one and two hundred pound frame will be covered head to toe in grass stains on his clothes and bruises on his shins. Knowing his one-two-three planning attitude, he has will have his camping gear in the car and is ready for the opening day of duck season. He tells me just about every day about the flocks of perfectly colored teal with coats glistening with burgundy and Carolina blue. Before he gets in the car, he still has to change his oil in the Night Rider; also known as his black 1998 Acura CL he’d always park s close to me back in high school that I would have no room to get out of my car. This was all in good fun and friendship, as I had my fair share of retaliations on his car waiting on him after school. For example, I once gave him a windshield full of pine needles and small patch of them in is line of vision just happened to have dollop of tree sap on them. Whoops. This backfired on me however, because handy Ben carried Windex in his car and wiped the sap off with the biggest smile on his face. . A true renaissance man, and one who refuses to have anyone work on his car beside himself. I really do wish I were him; an inspiration.

The weekend is so close, and so is an oil change. When I got back from dinner with the folks and opened up my computer, Ben’s Facebook page was still up. However, his recent status update was buried amongst other posts I wish to have never seen. From “RIP”, to “we love you”, to “you’re in a better place”, I sat in disbelief. My phone rang, with nothing but tears flowing at each end. I ask Josh the most painful question of my life, “what happened?” He tells me that Ben was found on the side of NY-17, pinned under his car. Between our sobs, Josh asks me why was it Ben that had to go this early. I try, but can’t speak. We try to comfort each other, but nothing can be done. The end could be so close.  

Another Night Out

           Another night out in New Orleans with Rob and Bryce begins in the same traditional manner. After pounding back a slue of Crown and Cokes and watching the latest episode of Californication, the duo is primed for a sinful night overflowing of alcoholism and thirsting of chivalry. With a visor snug on their flowing locks, a tucked in long-sleeve Polo dress shirt, khaki shorts and Sperrys, they walk out of Carrollton Hall and turn left towards the Danna Center. Rob and Bryce’s first stop is the ATM. Bryce withdraws fifty dollars and reads a balance of three hundred and twenty three dollars.

            Bryce says, “Well, there’s my fight home to Kansas City.”

Rob does the same, and sees that his nine hundred dollar monthly allowance has landed.

            Rob’s response, “Oh the joys of being a native. That’s a relativity limitless bar tab, a Trojan variety pack, and finally paying off my new contacts.”

            “Yeah asshole, maybe tonight you’ll actually be able to see what you’ve been bringing home lately.” Bryce so cunningly retorts.

            The pair leaves Loyola to burn down uptown with Rob’s hand-me-down 2009 black Porsche 911. First stop is Bruno’s. With three-dollar Crown and Cokes, the two kings of orient begin flirting with the bartender. With every drink ordered and every failed icebreaking polar bear pick up line, she orders the bouncer to politely escort Rob and Bryce out of the bar.

            They make their way over to The Boot, where they are so politely greeted by Rob’s ex-girlfriend, Jamie, and her Pro Bowl sized friend, Sam. Like any experienced bro, Bryce keeps Sam occupied at the bar while Rob begins his courting in the corner of the bar. Bryce and Sam’s conversation blends in with “Your Love” by The Outfield in the background, and each statement becomes more and more incoherent with every drink on Rob’s tab. Sam’s comforter turned red dress slowly shrinks to a pillowcase.

            Rob finishes his broken relationship and suddenly realizes that Bryce has gone astray. Also, does Sam. The couple puts their personal issues aside and attempt to figure out where their comrades went. Rob and Jamie dart out of The Boot, look left, and see Bryce being driven away in a police car. Rob gives Jamie a goodbye kiss and runs to his car. He is careful of every step as he splashes through the drainage puddles along side of the road. Rob speeds down S. Claiborne Avenue with every hope of not being caught himself. He comes to the station and asks the desk attendant if Bryce Chapman has been brought in. She tells him that he was immediately released on bail with a bank account ending 22573; Rob’s bank account ending. Rob asks to see the paperwork and is so astonished that he cannot see anything on the paper.

            Rob drives home with a sense of relief, and is welcomed by a pair of purple panties on the rear of his door handle. And on the rear of the panties, “juicy.” Disgusted of this sight, Rob flops down in his bed and lays his head on his pillow.

            Morning comes and Rob notices his wallet moved to his bedside with a note that says, “I’m sorry bro, I got into a little trouble last night. Hopefully your pops doesn’t see your bank account anytime soon. If he does, then I’ll take all the blame. If you’re reading this and I’m not here, then I made my flight back home and I’ll see you next semester. Have a good summer…and I’m sorry for using all your condoms. I got extra worried.”

            Rob goes into the restroom, reaches for his soap scum covered contact lens case. He notices that his right lens is not in the case, so he tries to see if he may have left in in his eye. No luck. Infuriated with the actions of his friend and his own, Rob goes to Capital One to see the damages done to his account. He swings the door of Capital One off the hinges and into Magazine Street. He was not able to see the sign that said, “Please use side door.” He approaches the clerk and asks for a current statement of acct 605 29 22573. The account balance reads one dollar and ninety-nine cents. He father always told him that when he goes broke, to make sure that he has enough money to buy a sharpie.