andrewwerm

[andrewwerm]

7 | Dress

“Wesley! Oh my gosh, are you okay?” Cora called out, frightened at the sight of the accident.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Wesley said, once again looking up at Cora standing over him.

“Here, take my hand,” Cora offered.

“Thanks. You know, we have to stop running in to each other like this,” Wesley said dusting himself off.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Cora asked.

“Yeah, I’m serious. I’m fine, I just lost my balance,” Wesley responded.

“Well, it looked like a nasty fall from across the street.”

Great, she saw the whole thing. Wesley thought to himself.

“I never thought of myself as a clumsy person, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Or maybe it’s just our way of running into each other outside of work,” Cora said holding back laughter.

“Ha. Well, let’s not count on that one,” Wesley said embarrassed.

Cora looked at Wesley with curiosity. Her hair was blowing in all directions with the wind, sunlight shining down on her face brightening her caring face.

“So...I was just leaving the market, are you still looking around?” asked Wesley.

“No. I was just getting my last smell of this crisp, fresh air on this street and then I saw you…you know, take your tumble.”

Wesley quickly glanced down at his shoes and then said, “Would you want to grab some lunch? I haven’t had anything to eat today and I’m pretty hungry.”

“Well…”

“Oh. You’re busy. You don’t have to. It’s okay,” Wesley began rambling.

“No! I could use something to eat too. I just need to make a little detour first. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that’s perfect.” Wesley responded, relieved that in spite of whatever she needed to do, she still wanted to spend time with him.

“Great. It’s just a couple streets down.”

As they started walking, Wesley felt the comfort of Cora’s presence. He imagined a life filled with nights watching movies on a couch next to her. Walking through the market together instead of running into each other there. He pictured her-

“Wait.” Cora said, stopping in her tracks as if an idea had just occurred to her. “You mean to tell me that you came to the city market without buying any food to satisfy your hunger?” Cora asked incredulously, interrupting Wesley’s train of thought.

“Hmph. Yeah, I guess I didn’t get anything.”

“The market is full of great food! You couldn’t find anything?”

“No, that’s not it,” Wesley paused.  “I sometimes get captivated and caught up in my thoughts and I forget to feed myself, I guess.”

“Oh, you are one of those people.” Cora said with confidence.

“One of those people? What do you…”

“It’s not a bad thing. I, personally, get extremely grumpy if I’m hungry and food is not presented to me hastily.”

“Oh. I see. You’re one of those people,” Wesley teased.

“This isn’t one of those times, don’t worry,” Cora said. “I don’t understand how some people can go without eating and not get the grumps, you know?”

“Yeah, those people…” Wesley repeated sarcastically.

“Hey! Be nice, mister.”

“Sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Here we are,” Cora said reaching for the front door of a local dress shop. “This will just take a minute.”

Wesley followed her into the store. He felt out of place standing next to mannequins sporting this season’s wedding dresses.

Is Cora getting married?

Wesley’s internal dialogue ran freely with his imagination. He has never heard her talk about a boyfriend, yet alone a fiance. Yet here they were, standing in a sea of white gowns.

“Alright, all finished,” Cora said.

“That really did only take a minute.”

“I told ya. I just had to pick up my dress.”

The confusion on Wesley’s face didn’t hide itself well.

“It’s not a wedding dress,” Cora said responding to Wesley’s obvious confusion. “My sister is getting married in a couple of weeks. This is the dress I’m wearing in her wedding.”

“Oh, congrats.” Wesley said with a breath of relief. “I mean…for a second I thought you were…”

“Getting married?” Cora said cutting off Wesley. “Nope. Not yet, anyway. So don’t go spreadin’ that one around the office.”

“Oh, you know me. The office gossip.” She grinned at him. “I won’t tell anyone. But you did throw me off guard walking into that shop.”

Cora looked at him and smiled, “I can see where you got that idea.”

Wesley held the door open as Cora walked outside, “So, tell me, just how grumpy do you get when you don’t eat?” He asked her.

Cora smiled and playfully rolled her eyes. “You don’t want to see.”

Wesley thought to himself that he couldn’t imagine a side of her that he didn’t want to see.  

edited by: Allyson Wermelskirchen

[andrewwerm]

6 | Want

The next day, Wesley gave himself the opportunity to think. For the sake of his time, he needed to process his want and what exactly it was, to put it in the words of Dr. Covington, “that he hoped to gain from his sessions.” Addressing his wants and desires, emotions and fears, was not a particular strength of Wesley’s, nor was it something he was looking forward to. However, he didn’t much like the idea of facing Dr. Combover again without an answer.

So, he walked to the city farmers market.

On beautiful, sunny weekends like this, each street of the market is full of a community of customers believing in the unique nature of locally grown products. For Wesley, this was one of his favorite things about the city, the care for local vendors and how the crowds allowed him to be anonymous. It was a special place for him to find the company of strangers, but yet distance himself from conversation.

Wesley became over-stimulated with color, sound, and smell as he walked on the street filled with vendors selling fruit, vegetables, and flowers. Lettuce, tomatoes, peppers, and every other vegetable imagine were full of deep, rich color almost as if you could taste it just by looking at it. Music and laughter danced through the streets.  The air smelled as fresh as the gardens that produced the food, yet had a hint of the musky soil.

Wesley’s attention was caught by street musician singing and playing an old acoustic guitar that was plugged into a tiny Fender amplifier. Buskers have a way with the common passer-by to distract, consume, and yet entertain in the most interesting ways. Not only does the sound of their music suck you in, the attire they sport doesn’t quite allow for the anonymity that Wesley desires.  

This performer was wearing a pair of battered, brown sandals; a pair of green, torn pants that were rolled up just past her ankles; and an unforgettable jacket that resembled the iconic sparkly piece that Michael Jackson wore. The light from the sun danced as it reflected off of her jacket to make her look like a disco ball. Her long dreads were fashioned in a way that made it look like a spider was sitting on her head.

Her voice had a special smooth flow. She had a unique interpretation of a Dylan song that was favored by the audience, and they began to participate by dancing and clapping. Kids could be heard asking their parents for coins to toss in her open guitar case.

Standing on the corner of Market Street, Wesley felt consumed by the moment. Joy, gratitude, and community filled his heart in a way he hadn’t been open to before. There was a sense of comradery between everyone as they watched this “show.”

He wanted that.

But there was something holding him back.

What is it?

Wesley, circled a few more streets and then started walking back to his apartment. The want he now felt seemed reachable, yet ineffable and still forever far away.

Heading back to his apartment, he turned the corner off of the street full of fresh produce. At the same time a cyclist was coming around the other side and almost hit Wesley. It startled him so much that he lost his balance and fell on the ground.

“Wesley!?” exclaimed a warm, familiar voice.

[andrewwerm]

5 | Necktie

The unexpected sound of Wesley’s obnoxious ringtone woke him with a start. It took him a few minutes to register the sound before frantically flailing toward the nightstand and grabbing the phone.

“Hello?” He answered hoarsely.

“Good Morning!” yelled Jack. “I know you have nothing going on today, so meet me at Capital City Museum in thirty minutes.”

“I actually have to-”

“Come on, Wesley.” Jack interrupted. “Museum. Thirty. Bye.”

Wesley got off the phone frustrated. He really didn’t want to take Dr. Covington’s advice and stay home analyzing his feelings, but he didn’t want to get up and do anything either.

Capital City Museum is a bizarre combination of art and politics. The art and politics don’t have much to do with one another, yet allows for a peaceful stroll through a large, beautiful building. The political addition was an act to save the Museum allowing a constant flow of visitors to get a behind-the-scenes look at what Capital City politics are like. The seminars always change to highlight different politicians.

When Wesley got there, he dug his phone out of pocket to find out where Jack was. The phone was displaying a message: Sorry buddy. Running late. Be there in 7. -Jack

“Of course,” he muttered under his breath. “First he wakes me then he makes me wait.”

He decided to look around and see if there was any new art on display. He walked down the long, white walled hallway lit by the sun pouring in through the glass ceiling.

After the long walk down the hall, Wesley reached one of the display rooms. Wesley sat down on a bench placed in the middle of the room. He didn’t look at any of the pieces of art, rather he was hunched over, rubbing his face. Waking up in the late morning didn’t tread well with his liking.

“You are so not a morning person.”  

Wesley stood up and turned around to see Jack with arms open for a hug. 

Wesley gave Jack an extra rough pat on the back before releasing from the hug. “You’re right. I’m not,” Wesley said hugging Jack. “But thanks for getting me out of bed. You know how lazy I get, I might have stayed there all day.”

Jack laughed

“So…” Wesley paused. “Why are we here?”

“What? A guy can’t ask his platonic male friend to look at art with him?”

“This isn’t just art. We are at the CCM,” Wesley pointed out. “Did you get a display or something?”

“Alright, you caught me! They finally put something up about the ol’ senator and I didn’t want to look at it alone.”

“Well how ‘bout that? Let’s go see it,” Wesley said.

As they walked to the other side of the museum, Wesley had the feeling there was more to this display than he was expecting. He was grateful, however, that Jack didn’t seem interested in asking how his latest session had gone. I guess if he had to be out of bed, there were worse ways to spend his time.

“Do you think it will capture the essence of who I am?” asked Jack.

“Calm down there, Senator Franklin,” Wesley responded with sarcasm.

Rounding the corner to the politicians display, Wesley noticed the blue necktie that Jack was wearing. It was the tie that he bought Jack as a token of celebration or condolences on election night. He had spent so much time trying to figure out what to get Jack because he didn’t know how the election would turn out. It was a close election, but Jack won. Wesley has only seen him wear the tie for special occasions or important meetings. For Jack, the tie was much more than a gift. It was an approval and affirmation from Wesley that he would support Jack through thick and thin.

Wesley’s stomach dropped and he felt his heart skip a beat. He felt something big coming, but he couldn’t quite pin it.

“Alright Wesley, are you ready to see this?” asked Jack.

“Uh...Yeah. I guess I am as ready as you are,” Wesley responded.

The both turned around at the same time to see a black and white photo of Jack holding Victoria’s hand, and his other arm around Wesley. The shot was timeless. It completely captured the attitude of that night when he so narrowly won the election: pure joy.

“This is incredible,” Jack said in a low voice without taking his eyes off it.

They kept walking to read more about Senator Franklin and the photos that were displayed. Wesley was caught off guard by the final words over a portrait of Jack that read in all caps, “FUTURE PRESIDENT.”

“Jack, is this true? Is that what you want?” asked Wesley with tears in his eyes.

“Pal, you don’t need to be all emotional.”

“Is that what you want?” Wesley repeated.

“Wesley, I wanted to tell you after I got done discussing it with Victoria, but it’s just been so busy,” Jack said in a fast pace.

Wesley looked meaningful at him. “Jack, this is amazing. I am excited, scared, and nervous for you all at once. How are you feeling?”

“Well, this is something that I have wanted for a while.”

“I’m really happy for you, man,” said Wesley, and he meant it, but he couldn’t help but wonder what it felt like to really know what you want in life.

edited by: Allyson Wermelskirchen

[andrewwerm]

4 | Twenty-Seven

“Oh my gosh! Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Cora asked, standing over him.

“No.” Wesley said, assuming she didn’t mean his dignity which was actually throbbing with embarrassment. “I’m fine. Just took a little fall,” he tried to say nonchalantly.

“Here, take my hand,” Cora offered, gesturing to help him up.

Their palms met and they linked at the thumb. She pulled him to his feet.

“What are you doing in this part of the city?” She asked, wiping the dirt from his back.

“Oh, uh, I just finished getting out of a meeting. I was getting ready to head back to the office. What about you?”

“Yeah, I guess I’m not in my usual part of town either. I’m just grabbing some lunch. Are you hungry?” she asked. Her tone was inviting.

“I actually haven’t eaten yet,” said Wesley.

“Oh, you have to join me! I love this place at lunchtime,” Cora urged him.

“Okay, yeah. I could grab some lunch.”

They started walking side by side. Wesley stuck his hands in his pockets and walked with his head down. His stomach filled with anxious butterflies as he tried gasping for a conversation starter.

“So...What’s so great about this place?” Wesley asked looking up to her.

“Well, it’s funny that you would ask that,” she said with a grin. “I actually only like it for lunch. I went on a blind date there at night one time. The guy was a total dud, and the place was crawling with drunk college kids. Terrible date overall, but that reuben…” Her eyes were kind of unfocused, the way people look when they’re talking about their dream vacation.  “So now I like to take a long lunch every now and then when the place is pretty empty.”

“It must be one hell of a sandwich,” Wesley said with a laugh.

“It is. You’ll see. And also, I just think that this side of the city is full of life and personality. It’s hard living in a city that is cold and political and missing the laughter that life brings, you know?”

“Yeah. I do know,” Wesley said.

With each step, he grew more at ease, but he still walked with his head to the ground.

“Here we are,” Cora said, positively giddy.

Wesley opened the door and let Cora go in first. Several voices yelled, “Welcome to Red’s!”

The dining area was full of color. The red walls had pictures framed with black and white photos of people wearing red hats. Wesley grinned at the exact life and personality that Cora mentioned.

Standing in line, Wesley asked, “So, I guess you would crucify me if I didn’t get the reuben?”

“I mean, I don’t know why you would ignore the sage advice of such wise woman,” Cora said.

Was it just him, or was there a hint of flirtation in her voice?

“If you insist,” Wesley said and walked up to the register. “Two reubens, please.” The server handed them a red “27” card to put on their table.

Wesley finished getting his drink from the fountain dispenser and watched Cora pick a booth near the window. He paused and let the moment sink in. Snapping out of his trance, he joined Cora at the booth.

“So, tell me, how’s work?” Cora asked. “I heard you have a new client.”

She smiled. Her high cheek bones, big green eyes, and straight, long red hair seemed so perfect to Wesley. Her dark blue dress complemented every inch of her pale skin yielding no imperfections. She wasn’t wearing much makeup which made her natural beauty pop, yet gave her appearance so much confidence.

Wesley stared back for a moment before answering. His short, dark hair parted and spiked for style. His narrow face showed a hesitancy from his dark brows and eyes.

“Well...” Wesley responded. “My new client is Senator Franklin.”

“What? That is so awesome! What’s he like?”

“Um, well, he’s a...fun, colorful, politician.”

“Is he easy to work with?” She asked eagerly.

“Yeah, relatively.” He answered.

“So, how did you get him? You know that is a huge client for the firm! Did you say “welcome to The Fold” when he agreed with everything?”

Wesley laughed. “Okay, honestly? The only reason why he is my client is because.” He smiled, “He’s my best friend. We grew up together.”

“Shut up!” Cora exclaimed. “For real, how did you get him?”

“I’m serious. We lived next door to each other growing up. I know he’s ten years older than me, but he’s always been like an older brother to me.”

The server brought the food while Cora kept staring at him as if in awe.

“Wesley, that is so cool.” She paused and grinned. “Can I meet him?”

“Uh, yeah I guess. I mean, of course. Just give me a few weeks to set something up. He is pretty busy this month,” Wesley answered, delighted at the chance to set up another opportunity to see her outside of work.

He picked up the sandwich. “Alright, you better hope you didn’t oversell this thing,” he teased.

He took his first bite and exhaled like he had been holding his breath for days.

“That is a good sandwich,” Wesley said.

She shrugged and said, “whadidItellya?” as if it were all one word. “If I say something’s good, it’s going to blow your freaking mind.” And then she laughed unapologetically, like she knew what she was saying was totally ridiculous but she didn’t care.

“So how are things over on your half of the world?” Wesley asked. They both worked at the same very large firm, on two opposite sides of the building and several floors apart.

“Eh, my work is pretty dull right now. But you know what I would like to talk about?” And she took off. She talked about, what seemed like, a thousand different things, each of them as interesting as the last. She looked like she was in her element, on the “other side” of the city. Wesley got to see a side of her that he was never able to see at work.

Every now and then Wesley would respond and ask questions, but Cora seemed as though she just needed to talk.

At the end of the meal, they went their separate ways. It was the best meal Wesley had had in as long as he could remember.

[andrewwerm]

3 | Laces

Wesley bent down to tie his shoelaces, wondering how long he could stay crouched in this position, avoiding the task at hand. There are many ways to tie the laces of a shoe and, oddly, Wesley wanted to know all of the ways in this exact moment. His favorite was the classic “bunny ears” way, actually it was the only way he knew how.

His arms rested on his knees, the veins in his arms could be seen, and he became motionless. He stared at the laces on his shoes for a moment.

“When I was little… I had a hard time figuring out how to tie the laces on my shoes. It seemed so grown up and independent,” Wesley said slowly.

“It was one of those skills that it seemed like, all of a sudden, every person except me knew how to do, and it left me feeling like a complete loser. More than anything, I just felt inadequate.”

“Where is this coming from?” asked Dr. Covington.

Dr. Mike Covington, a man with credentials beyond the imagination of the human condition, sat across from Wesley in a small office with book shelves that lined each wall. His salt and pepper hair was groomed with a sharp combover. The thick, dark frames of his glasses made his nose seem smaller than it actually was.

“When I was in elementary school, there was a kid, Joshua, whose older brother taught him everything he knew,” Wesley said. “He learned everything from cuss words to “the birds and the bees” before my classmates and me. He had also, unfortunately, learned how to tie his shoes before everyone else. He claimed himself as the smartest in the class based on the things that his older brother had taught him.”

Wesley stood up and walked to the window.

“One day in class, we were doing division time tables. I remember because, at the time, I could not imagine a harder thing to do in a short amount of time. It always turned into such a race. The smartest kids would make a big to-do about being the first ones done. The longer I sat there trying to figure out what 132 divided by 12 was, the clearer it became that I would be in the running for slowest divider. Joshua was no genius, but he was consistently mediocre. He thrived on being better than anyone at something and shoving it in their face.”

Wesley paused.

“Joshua set his pencil down as noisily as possible, ensuring the entire class was aware that he was finished. My friend, Ben, sat in front of Joshua and looked back at him with one of those “could you not?” looks. Joshua, with his attention no longer on his math, noticed that Ben’s shoes were untied,” Wesley said. “I watched Joshua tie Ben’s laces together.”

Wesley looked down at his shoes and put his hands in his pockets.

“When Ben got up to turn in the assignment… he tripped and hit his head on the floor.”

Wesley looked up, back out of the window.

“I still remember the small stream of blood on the white tile next to his head,” Wesley said with a low, hoarse voice.

The room was still.

“Do you think about this often?” asked Dr. Covington with furrowed brows. 

Wesley began to pace back and forth. “I don’t know why I didn’t say anything to my friend. I let Joshua do it. I just sat there and watched him tie the laces together.” He clenched his fists. “I don’t know why that punk kid thought that it would be funny to tie his shoes together. He had so much power because he knew so much, and I just sat there, powerless.” He stopped pacing and looked back out of the window. “It didn’t make sense to me that a skill so repetitive, so mundane as tying your shoes, could harm someone so badly.”

Wesley returned to the couch. He sat down and crossed his arms, hunching over to make himself as small as he could be.

Dr. Covington jotted a few more notes on his yellow legal pad. As he reviewed the words from the session, put down his pen and gave the moment time to settle.

“Wesley, what do you hope to gain from these sessions?” asked Dr. Covington. “It helps me better understand you if I know what kind of goal you want to set for yourself.”

“I don’t exactly know,” Wesley responded.

“Then why did you come here? This is only our fourth time together and we haven’t made a lot of progress. I think it would be easier for our time if we were moving in a particular direction.”

“My friend, Jack, suggested that I come a while ago,” Wesley said.

Dr. Covington repositioned his body to the edge of his seat and said, “Here’s what I want you to do. Take a long weekend, don’t go into work on Monday. Get out of your apartment and do something, anything. I want you to take some time and really think about what you want to gain from our time together.”

Wesley left Dr. Covington’s office feeling as he always did after these sessions: dissatisfied. He lost himself in thought, wondering in what way this googly-eyed man could possibly help him. Just as he reached the block where his car was parked, he tripped on his somehow-already-untied-again shoelaces and landed on the sidewalk, his hands throbbing after an attempt to brace himself.

“Wesley?” came a familiar female voice.

Wesley rolled over. His eyes grew large with recognition and his face flushed with humiliation.

“Oh. Hi, Cora.”

edited by: Allyson Wermelskirchen

[andrewwerm]

2 | Mirror

Several months earlier…

The sound of Wesley’s alarm clock echoed through his apartment. With the walls bare, and just enough furniture to meet his solitary needs, it was easy for slightest sound to carry with ease.

He started at the shrill sound of the alarm to his left and clumsily swatted at it until it finally yielded. He lie there for a moment and looked up at the ceiling, struggling to find the momentum to swing his legs off of the bed. Wesley did not love mornings.

He walked into his bathroom and did the sort of dance one does when adjusting to the shock of the cold tiles beneath his feet. He finished his morning rituals the same way he always did, with a dreaded look in the mirror. The reflection of a mirror is honest and unforgiving. It wasn’t the physical reflection he struggled with, but Wesley somehow found a way to peer deeper into what the reflection gave.

The war inside gave in to fear. Confidence was washed away by the water from the sink when he cleaned his face, beliefs of inadequacy were painted in the color of his eyes, and the weight of depression pulled at his skin. Wesley lowered himself and became inferior to the man in the mirror every morning.

Wesley tried to slip into work unnoticed. As luck would have it, his office was only accessible by walking past every other office. If seniority had taught him anything, it was that desk placement correlates not with success but with tenure. He sometimes desired to trade offices with someone closer to the entrance of the office, but his desk’s proximity to a window made it worth it.

“Knock, knock,” rang the sing-songy voice of Wesley’s assistant. “Good morning, Wesley.”

“Debbie, good morning,” said Wesley, barely looking up from his work.

“Today is the monthly birthday baaash!” her song continued, holding out the word ‘bash’ for longer than necessary.

“Right. I’m excited. Thanks for reminding me,” Wesley replied with much less enthusiasm.

“Great! Oh and the Senator called, he wants you to call him. Something about a new project. Sooounds important!”

“Thanks. I’ll give him a call.”

Wesley swiveled toward the window and dialed the number.

The senator answered, “Wesley!”

“Hey, Jack,” Wesley replied.

“You are a hard guy to get a hold of.”

“Hardly, my friend. So what’s this I hear about a new project. What do you need?”

“There’s no project,” said Jack with a chuckle. “I just wanted you to call me. I never hear from you, man. Tonight, Victoria and I want you to come over for dinner.”

“Uh, you have a big week ahead of you and…”

“Don’t worry about me. Our house. 7. Be there,” interrupted Jack.

“Are you sure?” questioned Wesley.

“Yes!” exclaimed Jack. “Look, I need to go. It all about the politics today. See you at 7!”

--

Wesley killed the engine and adjusted the rear view mirror so that it was just his face staring back at him. He smiled a fake smile - the smile of someone psyching themselves up for a task they are not eager to perform.

He walked up the stairs from the driveway, paved with lush flowers and expensive looking cacti. The senator’s doorbell announced Wesley’s arrival with three definitive chimes, followed by the repetitive click of high heels. The door opened and Wesley took a deep breath. At a glance, the woman who answered the door could have been mistaken for a woman 10 years her junior, but the slightest wrinkles out of the corner of her eyes and mouth gave her away. Even so, she was very beautiful. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a bun and her big, blue eyes welcomed him.

“Victoria.” said Wesley.

“Wesley! Oh come here, you!” Victoria said with her arms stretched out.

“You look too dressed up. You really didn’t have to have me over tonight,” he said.

“Jack insisted. He needed to see a friendly face amidst all the chaos in Capitol City.”

Victoria took Wesley’s jacket and hung it in the entrance. The walls leading to the kitchen had pictures of Wesley framed in many of them. He seemed to be at home, a level of comfort that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Around the corner, the Senator was seated at the table with a glass of wine watching the game.

“How does a man like you have time to watch football?” Wesley teased. Jack started and then jumped up to greet him.

“How is it that I’m more important than you, but somehow you’re the one who is always too busy to answer my calls?”

“It could be because I’ve learned to tune out the high-pitched frequency my assistant uses to deliver all my messages. Or I could just be ignoring you.”

“Oh take a seat boys, dinner is ready,” Victoria said.

Wesley sat down and looked at his plate of food. The spread was never disappointing in the Franklin home, and each meal promised to be more colorful than the last.

“Mmm, Tori,” Jack squeezed in between mouthfuls. “This is fantastic.”

“It really is, Victoria,” Wesley added. “So, how have things been? How’s work, Jack?”

The meal carried on with Victoria and Jack talking, or venting rather, about the struggles of the politics in Capitol City. Wesley graciously listened, taking on his preferred role in conversations.

“So, enough about us. How are you?” asked Jack.

Wesley caught them up on work, which really didn’t take long. That conversation naturally dissolved as it became clear he had little else going on in his life. They were left with an awkward lull.

Victoria attempted to fill the void of silence,“And how are things going with that, um, specialist you’ve been seeing?” she asked in a small and sensitive, albeit uncomfortable, voice.

“Yeah. I… I’m making improvements,” answered Wesley. “Look, I should probably get going. Thank you for dinner. Lovely as always.”

“Ah come on, have one more glass of wine. You seem like you could use it,” implored Jack.

“Thank you, but I really better not,” dismissed Wesley.

“Well alright, but don’t be a stranger. It was so good to see you,” Victoria said.

As Wesley made his way to the front door, he put his jacket back on. Next to the coat rack, was a mirror. He lingered for a moment, staring at the reflection he made in the mirror, and engaged in the war he had always lost.

edited by: Allyson Wermelskirchen

[andrewwerm]

1 | Ketchup

Generosity comes in many forms. Whether through the giving of money, the sacrifice of time, or the sharing of personal possessions, generosity is a fascinating mechanism. For Wesley, generosity manifested itself in the form of ketchup.

The diner was unusually packed that morning. Families complete with noisy children and crying babies filled the room. Wesley had seen advertisements for the great Kids Karnival going on across the street for the last month, but the date must have slipped his mind. Not surprisingly, it was difficult to find a parking spot in the small lot.

Wesley looked out of place when he entered the diner as kids ran around screaming. He was dressed sharply in a black suit tailored perfectly for his tall and slender physique. His dark hair was parted purposefully, with just enough gel to keep it in place. His tired eyes showed the age of a man beyond his 25 years, but his boyish looks gave away his youth.

Hoping to avoid the madness around him, he took a seat at the secluded most corner of the bar. The wall was to his right and the seat to his left was empty. A busty woman walked over to him from behind the bar.

“Good mornin,’ sugar. Can I get you anything to drink?” she asked.

“I’ll take coffee and a glass of water with no ice. And I’ll go ahead and have an order of the biscuits and gravy with a side of hash browns, please,” Wesley answered.

“Sure thang, baby.”

As the waitress left, Wesley glanced down at his watch and brought both of his hands up to his face, rubbing his eyes and forehead. As he brought his hands down off of his face, he looked out of the window at the park across the street. The Karnival looked lively. Balloons blowing in the wind, kids screaming with joy on rides, and the sound of each attraction orchestrating the perfect mix of every clown’s theme song.

Wesley looked at his watch again.

The waitress came back with a cup of coffee and a glass of water.

“Thanks.”

“Anything for you. Your food will be out in a few.”

As the waitress left, Wesley glanced at the clock on the wall and then noticed a little boy, no older than six, sitting at a table a few feet away and wearing a yellow and blue striped shirt. He couldn’t quite figure it out, but looking at that boy filled him with a fuzzy sense of nostalgia, like looking at an unfocused picture that you can’t quite make out. It wasn’t what the boy was wearing, but something about him was familiar. Wesley racked his brain for recognition in that child’s face. He tried to recall recent trips to the grocery store, shared elevator rides, co-workers’ kids, but nothing satisfied the itch to know what made this kid so familiar.

Interrupting Wesley’s train of thought, the waitress brought out the food.

Wasting no time, he began to squeeze a copious amount of ketchup on the hash browns- almost as if he needed to justify eating the ketchup by complimenting it with hash browns. The squeeze was so generous, it almost emptied the bottle.

As Wesley took the first bite of his ketchup and hash browns, the little boy in the striped shirt was standing at the end of the bar, staring with his mouth open wide.

With a mouth full of food Wesley said, “Um… hello.”

The boy closed his mouth. “Hi,” he said and walked off.

Wesley, again, saw that there was something too familiar about the boy.

Somewhere in between thinking and eating, Wesley missed his mouth and a glob of ketchup landed on the collar of his pressed white shirt. He grabbed a napkin and started to dab the spot, to no avail. He dipped his napkin into his water glass and tried to clean the stain, but it seemed to only deepen the stain.

Suddenly, the shattering of a plate brought the room to a silence, followed by a faint sound of a woman screaming from outside of the building.

A few people rushed out to the parking lot, while the rest of the crowd hesitantly followed. A circle formed in the parking lot where the scream had come from.

Wesley was the last one to leave the diner. The room was still and calm, quite the opposite from when he entered before. Rubbing the stain on his collar, he pushed the door open with his back. The sound of sirens could be heard from a distance. As he approached the scene, it became clear why everyone was in a panic.

He stopped.

Wesley’s heart was pounding.

His arms and legs became heavy with anxiety.  

Wesley pushed through the crowd of people and there, in the middle of the circle, was the boy with the striped shirt. Only now, the left side of his body was painted red. His mother was sobbing, holding his head and repeating, “It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay.”

Wesley’s eyes began to fill with tears and he dropped to his knees. He reached out his hand and touched the boy’s head, running his fingers through his hair.

In an instance, the unfamiliar became familiar, and tears began rolling down Wesley’s face. He recognized the boy.

“Can you help him?” asked the mother. “That car- it, it just came out of nowhere and hit him. I was holding his hand and then-.”

“-I’m sorry. I can’t.”

More tears ran down Wesley’s face. He looked down at his watch and stood back up. As odd as it seemed, all eyes were on him. The focus of that moment shifted to him. Thoughts of what to say and how to react ran through his mind, but all that came out was, “It’s going to be okay.”

He turned around and ran to his car.

Wesley maneuvered his way out of the parking lot and looked at the boy one last time.

He knew.

Adjusting the rear view mirror, he noticed the stain on his collar was still there. Approaching the stop light, he tried to do something more to clean the stain. But he was interrupted by the ambulance driving past him to the diner.

edited by: Allyson Wermelskirchen 

[andrewwerm]

I'm Writing a Story

This year I am going to do something I have never tried before - I am going to write a story. I have had the desire to write a book, but I know that it will never happen unless I start writing. It's weird to say that I need to "practice writing," but I really do need to practice writing. 

Like I said, I have never done this before. I want this story to be posted online, so it makes me a little nervous to put my creative work up for others to read. But I guess that's all a part of putting your own work out there for all to see, right?

So far the process of developing characters and story lines has been challenging for me. This process is completely new. But I like it. I believe this process has allowed my brain to be exercised in ways like never before. I am not only thinking about the story, but I am also thinking about the reaction from you, the audience. I want this to be good. It would be incredible if it was a natural piece of artwork. But I am striving for the audience to want more.

So why am I doing this? Like I said, I do have a deep desire to write a book and I won't get there if I don't start writing. But I am also doing this because I have been inspired by a lot of writing in 2013 consisting of movies, a few books, and T.V. shows. As weird as it sounds, what has inspired me the most this past year is a T.V. show called "Breaking Bad." For real. I was so against that show when I first started watching it, but the writing is so good. It left me wanting more after every episode. (Click the link for more information about "Breaking Bad").

The story will be similar to a series of episodes or chapters. Every Monday I will post a new episode or chapter of the story. My hope is that this story will last the length of this year.

So I need some help! Please, read this story. Please repost, retweet, regram, or even #hashtag about it. I would like as many people as possible to take part in this story. I'll be setting a blog just for the story and share the link later this week. 

I can't wait to see how this process plays out. Stay posted for the very first posting next Monday January 13th, 2014. 

Thank you, 

Werm