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The Houttakes #008

My life is the legend of Peter John - I'm going to become a salesperson.

“I knew when I was called to relay the gospel that it wouldn’t be easy. People were either taken in at a young age or they believed themselves wise enough to see through the fallacies. My real name doesn’t matter anymore. From now on I am the incarnation of the legend, Peter John, and the Legend of Peter John has no fallacies! Whom is Peter John, you ask? Well I will tell you. The name is of divine origin. Peter is derived from the greek word petros, or stone. For it is only for those who are strong -  like a stone or a rock whom are able to find the spirit of purification. John comes from the great Hebrew language...the Israelites! John was the man who was baptized by God himself!” “Umm, excuse me...” A young woman in the middle rows of the audience raised her hand. “Himself?” “Yes, yes, you are absolutely correct. Why do we project God as a male. It would be wise to argue that God is neither male or female. God is all. That is what the legend of Peter John claims. God is everything. God is the alpha and the omega. God is God.” “Wait, wait...” the woman raised her hand again. “So since God isn’t a male, God can’t be a female.” “Yeah!” another woman shouted from the back of the conference room. “N-no...” the legend stuttered. He rubbed his hands together. ‘I apologize, I misspoke...I, uh, uh.” “You misspoke?” Sheila asked. “You’re supposed to be the incarnation of this great mythological being. How can you misspeak?” “I- i- i” the legend was stumped. “Hey!” A middle-aged woman stood up in the front of the conference room. “You do not question the incarnation of Peter John, young lady.” “Thank you, Sheila, thank you.” the legend folded his hands and bowed to Sheila, who did the same back to him. “The legend will always have their doubters! For it is only the true believers who will dare not to question the Legend of Peter John, for it is the legend of Peter John that cannot be questioned!” The Incarnation composed himself. He took a deep breath and held out his hand toward Sheila. “Sheila why don’t you come up here.” The crowed began clapping as Sheila feigned humbleness. Her husband, Jordan, stood up and raised his hands above his hands. Sheia, however, remained seated. “Sheila. The legend of Peter John calls you up onto the stage! Do not deny the wishes of Peter John!” The legend watched as Jordan gasped and then attempted to help her to her feet. Sheila easily had a hundred pounds on Sheila, and thus had trouble walking up the steps. The legend felt the applause dying, “Sheila! The incarnation compels you to the stage!” The crowd renewed their vigor. Sheila finally made it up to the stage with the help of Jordan. “Sheila...Do you know why the legend has called you upon the stage tonight.” He looked out onto the audience. The woman through the conference room doors into the hotel lobby. “Do you see what you have done! You have cast out the non-believers!” The crowd stood up and began to cheer for Sheila. “If you want to be a believer like Sheila here, buy the Legend of Peter John!” The legend held up a leather bound book. “The words in this great gospel are priceless, but the legend is willing to sell it to you for the low price of $25.99.” He paused and leaned forward. The crowd followed his queue and stopped cheering. “The legend has agreed to sell it to you because he believes that you all are the true believers!” The crowd began to cheer again. “Buy 2 copies...buy 10 copies. 100, even a thousand copies! Buy one for everyone you know! It is the true believers who try to convert other believers!” The legend walked to the table he set up next to the stage. He handed Sheila a free book. She almost fainted, Jordan held her and gently seated her. A crowd came flocking up to the book stand. “Do you take credit?” the first man in line asked in a frenzy. “The legend takes everything except American Express!” After the crowd dispersed, the legend packed the remaining books into an old mail carrier. He transferred the card app to his laptop and then closed the app on his phone. Then he put all the cash in his till in a deposit bag. The legend opened the door to his hotel room. He kicked his shoes off and dropped his items on the desk. A woman laid on the bed flipping through channels on the T.V. “How did we do?” She asked. “They were in a frenzy,” he leaned in to kiss her. “You’re he/ she thing got them worked up.” She laughed. “I had an acquaintance too, it seemed.” “Yeah…” He took a deep breath. “Maybe no more college towns.” “Agreed.”

[thehouttakes-blog]

Houttakes #007

First Line: Oh my, such flawed infamy and complete injustice!

Larissa fell to the ground in a wail. “Brother!” she yelled, “brother. Why must all this blood be shed!” She was met with silence. She picked her head off the floor and looked around the auditorium “Where is he?” She turned to Jackson who sat in the first row and shrugged. “Fuckin-god dammit,” Jackson stood up and walked close to the stage. “Here...I’ll feed your line.” Jackson cleared his throat, straightened his back, and began to speak with volume and elegance. “Don’t fret my dear sister, for we have no divinity in this life. The old men declare war, the young men lose their –“ “Shit, shit, sorry!” Chip shouted and ran across the stage. He looked at Jackson and put his hands up. “I’m really sorry,” he patted his hand on his chest. “Like, really. I got here as soon as I could.” Larissa stood up in a huff. “I’m getting water,” she declared. “Chip...” Jackson said. Chip met him with a blank stare. “Chip,” Jackson made sure to speak in a calm and quiet tone. “You have the lead role in this play. You need be present for nearly every scene.” “Okay, cool...Got it.” “It would also be helpful to memorize, slash, rehearse your lines...” Chip clapped his hands together. Yup, yup. Let’s do this.” “Larissa’s filling up her water bottle.” Chip cocked his head back and threw his arms up. He circled around the stage impatiently and then rushed Larissa back to her spot when she returned from the water fountain. Jackson groaned and then sat back in his seat directly in front of him. He crossed his legs, clicked his pen, and then nodded for Larrissa to begin the scene. After she lamented she up at Chip, clutching his leg. “No man steps in the same river twice.” Chip recited his line with confidence and pride. “For it is not the same river and we are not the same men.” Larissa loosened her grip on Chip’s leg. She turned to Jackson who had his forehead in his hand. “That’s the wrong scene, chip.” “What? How?” “How?” Jackson shouted. “Are you really going to ask me how you read a line for the wrong scene? It seems pretty straight forward. Chip.” “Hey man...” “Why did you want to do this – the play. You clearly have no interest in doing your part which is as simple as memorizing your lines.” “I did memor –“ “The correct lines.” “Instead of lecturing him can you just give him the line so we can keep this going,” Larissa said. Jackson groaned and rubbed his temples. “I got you,” Chip jumped off the stage and jogged to Jackson. “Can I see it?” Jackson threw the script at him. Chip caught it on his chest. He glared at Jackson for a moment before he decided to move past  and searched for his line. “Okay let’s do this,” Chip said. He handed the script back to Jackson and jumped back up on the stage. Larissa started to recite her lines but was interrupted by Mrs. Kerry who entered from the side of the stage. “Jesus fucking christ,” Jackson mumbled and then tossed his notes on the floor. “How are my little Shakespeare's,” she said. Larissa rolled her eyes. “We’re making progress, Mrs. Kerry,” Chip said. “Are you done grading for the night?” Mrs. Kerry smiled at Chip. “I got through it, thanks for asking.” She turned to Jackson who was now standing with his hands on his hips,” “Is everything alright, Jackson,” “Well, if you must know, it seems someone here can’t get their lines straight.” Jackson and Larissa turned to Chip who simply put his head down. “Impossible,” Mrs. Kerry said. She opened her binder and opened the syllabus and after finding the scenes for the day flipped open the script. “Yeah, I thought so. We went over these during your commons period.” “I know, Mrs. Kerry.” Chip kept his gaze toward the ground. “I guess we studied the wrong scene.” “Act 3, Scene 7?” “No!” Jackson said. “Well that’s what it says here on the itinerary.” “Clearly I changed it the itinerary.” “What? When?” Jackson gave an exaggerated sigh and rolled his eyes. “I sent a new out at lunch. It seems num-nuts here didn’t get it either.” “Okay, look here,” Her voice turned from fun and relaxed to harsh and direct. “Three hours is not a long enough time period for a person to memorize a completely different scene. Secondly, how is Chip supposed to do this when he wasn’t made aware of the change, he is off campus taking advanced trig classes, and even if he were, when did you expect to look at his lines when he has 9th period meetings for football and then practice immediately after school?” “We manged to do it...” “You all manged to do it,” Mrs. Kerry said, nearly shouting at this point. “You all?” She pointed around the stage. “You and all your friends with your 8th period commons and early out? You manged to do it, huh? Mrs. Kerry organized her papers back in her binder and then zipped it shut. “Look, I let you direct the play because I know it’s something you seem generally interested in pursuing, and I looked away when you reduced the cast size and cast all your friends in leading roles. But Chip here has a school of choice that, a requirement that can be filled with this play, and I was the one who chose to cast him in this role. So I’m not going to allow your little clique of crony’s bully him out of the play. Do you understand me, Jackson.” “Yeah...Whatever.” Mrs. Kerry stormed off the stage. “God, what a bitch,” Larissa said. “I know,” Jackson said. “Let’s just get this over with...”

[thehouttakes-blog]

Houttakes #007

First line: We called her Amelia, but we didn’t know why.

She came to our school about half way through first semester in sixth grade. She was, how do I say this in the right way – different. Growing up in Seminole, a farm-town in northwestern Iowa, somebody with brown skin was an unusual sight. Of course after the plastic factory opened, it became a very common sight, but Amelia’s family was the first to immigrate to Seminole from Mexico and Guatamela. 

She was tall – taller than most the other boys is our grade, thin as a rail, but she had these gigantic black eyes and her skin was almost as dark as her black straight hair. Amelia didn’t speak any English, like none whatsoever. She also had a very thick accent that made it impossible to understand the limited Spanish we did know. In fact, we didn’t even know if Amelia was actually her name. The first day she came to our school we entered our homeroom and she was already sitting there at the front of the class by the teachers desk. Mr. Vander Kamp tried to get her to introduce herself, and after some coaxing to say her name, she finally whispered something that we decided sounded vaguely like Amelia. 

The other thing about Amelia is that she lived right next door to the Seminole City Park. After school or on a Saturday when all of us would go play pick-up football, she would come running out of the house in a dress with no shoes on. Her mom rushed out to the front porch after her, and then after staring at us for what seemed like a half-hour, would finally go inside. After the first day of class this was the only time we saw Amelia in school. Our friend Dougie said he used to see her in the Exceptional Learners classroom when he would go there to take his tests. I’m not sure why the school went through the trouble to have her sit in with us one day only to stash in the room with all the special ed kids. I guess the administration didn’t factor in the whole language barrier thing. Nonetheless, Amelia used to sit down in the grass and watch us play football. As the weather got colder she began to actually wear shoes – a pair of grass-stained white Chuck’s. Once she got a hang of the game, she started to play with us. I have to be honest here, she was pretty good. She was really fast, and even though we played two-hand touch when she played with us, she would tackle us anyway and start to yelling in Spanish. Between games we would try to speak Spanish at her. When we ran out of words we knew we would resort to English words with -o at the end or just repeated hola a thousand times, usually met with a blank stare. As the weather got colder and we stopped going to park we stopped seeing her altogether until the snow melted in April. I’m not sure what she was doing in the special ed class, but it seemed she hadn’t learned a single word of English over the winter. We started to look up phrases in Spanish to ask her, some were productive, like como te llama. That’s when we learned that the city she is from in Mexico is Amelia. Her actual name was Eva, but for some reason we just decided to continue to call her Amelia. Most of what we learned in Spanish were just dirty words though. Stuff like cabron, mierda, and puta. One day Grayson looked up how to say suck my dick in Spanish. I remember how proudly he walked up to Amelia and said, “Chupa mi pene!” Amelia promptly slapped him across the face so hard that it echoed through the park. We stopped speaking Spanish after that. As soon as summer break started, Amelia was nowhere to be seen we even knocked on her door and her dad answered and told us in broken English that she went back home for the summer. By the time school started next fall the plastic factory had brought in so many people from out of town that our class size jumped from 62 to 78. There were rumors that the factory sent a bus down to Mexico once a month, but I'm pretty sure that was false. Amelia had changed over the summer. She wasn’t the rail thin girl from last fall. She was what some people would call a woman. She wore make-up, shoes, she even had boobs. I saw her in the hallway occasionally, though now she only hung out with the other Mexicans. The school became segregated from then on, though not in the racist, bigoted way – well, mostly not. The school was separated into people who could speak Spanish with each other and those who couldn’t. Some of them would wrestle or join the band and crossover as we coined it, but Amelia never did. She would sometimes give us a knowing nod if we passed each other in the hallway, but as the years went on even those interactions became more infrequent. About midway through second semester of 10th grade she left in the dead of the night. It was surreal. Most the people at Seminole High School had been together since Kindergarten. One day she was there, the next she wasn’t. I learned later that they had planned to leave for a while. They put their house up for sale a few months prior, there was even a going away party for them at the Legion gym. I still think about her from time to time. Our last year of being true kids was spent with her and she will always have a place in my heart for that.

[thehouttakes-blog]

Houttakes #006

First Line: Hope is a crazy man, but the truth is quite different.

The truth is that she’s dead, I watched the doctor’s footsteps down the hallway. The doors swung shut, but I continued to stare straight ahead. Behind those doors, somewhere, her lifeless body lay on a surgical table. I didn’t cry, it still didn’t seem real. A terrible dream, perhaps, or some sort of surreal fever dream. I listened to the silence of the waiting room. I waited to hear the alarm from my phone ring. 5:20 a.m. Wake up!, my phone read. I pushed the stop button and laid back on my pillow. It was just a dream. Relief washed over me. I held a renewed appreciation of the woman sleeping peacefully next to me. Her back turned to me, her auburn hair fanned over her pillow, the comforter draped over her shoulder twice over, yet her legs kicked out into the open air. “I love you,” I said, and kissed her gently on the cheek. She didn’t stir. She pretended to be asleep so I wouldn’t feel guilty for waking her, but I could see that beautiful smile grow across her face. I noticed her lips were still dark red, black eyeliner filled her eyelids. She must have jumped into bed as soon as she got off work. Thoughts of marriage filled my mind in the shower. After all, we were already living together. We worked out the holidays with our families. Heck, there were even a couple of pregnancy scares. Maybe it should wait until she finishes school though. I could even propose to her at her graduation. I could look up at her in her black robe and golden hood. Yes, a graduation and proposal, wouldn’t that be romantic! I turn off the shower. My daydreaming had turned my fingers wrinkly. When I walked back into the bedroom she was awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, a blanket draped over her shoulders. “You can be a little late to work today, can’t you hunny?” she said, and stuck her bottom lip out. I smile. Really, I couldn’t help but smile. I lean in and bite gently on her bottom lip. “Ms. Pouty face. Do you miss me already?” She wrapped her legs around me. “Just come back to bed, just for a little bit, hmm?” My knees weaken and I close my eyes when she lifts her chin to kiss me again. “I wish I could, darling.” She pulls me closer with her legs. “Oh, how I wish I could.” I wiggle myself free from her, against my own will, and finish getting dressed. A woman’s yell snaps me to attention. A woman and her child. My vision is blurred. The fluorescent lights above me impinge on me and I taste salt on my tongue. Her child stood behind her patiently. He held a now red washcloth over his nose. The clock on the wall says 3:13. What could of possibly happened to the kid at this hour. Perhaps he fell out of bed. One could only hope it was such an innocent cause, a thump in the night and the parents awoke from their otherwise peaceful sleep. My thoughts drifted back to the swinging doors at the end of the hallway. It was only two days ago that she came home from work early with a headache, and now she’s dead before they could even fly in the specialist. I looked around me, a man slept on the couch. The mom flipped through a magazine with her legs crossed. Her kid sat next to her kicking his feet. She looked up at me briefly and then her eyes darted back down to the magazine. I looked ahead of me I saw her. I swear. I swear it. I saw her rush through those doors. Her smile melts me, and, though my legs tense, I feel frozen to the chair. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me!” I yell. My throat is clogged from the tears and music. She is dressed in her favorite red sweater, black tights, and boots. Her hair trailing in the wind, her diamond nose ring reflects the light. I want to so much to move. I let out a wail and she disappears. I look around, I hope to see her somewhere. But I’m left only with a scowl from the woman reading the magazine.

[thehouttakes-blog]

Houttakes #005

First Line: Her life is essentially the story of Alice in Wonderland, only sexier.

She was one of those functioning addicts who could get baked right before work and go through the day without anybody none the wiser. Perhaps it was because she was always high, it met that her normal was the surreal mind-bending trips that would cause a novice to lock themselves in their room. Could be that she acted how she felt, but nobody noticed. It was a mild morning for Kira. She put a cup into her coffee maker and while that dripped into her thermos she took a few hits of her bong, Dormouse, and then munched on a couple of mushrooms before she made her way out the door. Kira walked in through the hotel doors in a confident stroll. On the outside she looked like a professional. A black pinstripe blouse and matching skirt, topped with a pair of black flats and stockings. She wore minimal make-up. Some red lipstick, mascara, and a little concealer to hide the bags under her eyes. Her straight dark hair done up in a pony-tail with straight bangs framed her face. On her right lapel was the red insignia pin of the hotel chain. “Kira… Good morning.” James said. “Uh, yes, good morning,” Kira said. She made sure to walk between the other two front desk stations. Blonde and fat, James looked average overall. His pale skin accentuated his rosy round cheeks, and seemed like a relatively harmless person. But Kira saw a troll. His lustful eyes bled orange and his long crooked fingers were covered in warts. “Kira! Hi, can you run these to the events office for me?” Kira couldn’t help but smile when she saw Ross. A prairie dog, he was always upright and on his toes. Ross was the manager of the front desk. He was someone Kira knew she could trust, but not confide in. What made him so trustworthy is what made him vulnerable. There was no deep thought, he only focused on what was in front of him. The only thing that matters is the guest who wants to check-in or the call from the concierge to tell the kitchen they were out of eggs. Tomorrow is an infinity away and yesterday was so long ago it might as well have not existed. Kira tilted her head slightly. “Of course I can, Ross.” She reached out her hand for Ross to hand her the stack of papers. The events office was in a hidden hallway across from the pool and behind all the conference and meeting rooms. The hallway spiraled into a red and gold vortex that seemed to have no ending. The longer Kira walked the faster everything spun. It was a tempting journey into an unknown world. She felt herself spinning, floating, her arms and legs falling into this spiral. She watched as they stretched, spinning into the vortex like stretched taffy and she loved the feeling. An echo started. A sound-wave punctured the vortex, straightening it back into the hallway. She came to with Anna from events in front of her. Her smile hadn’t yet evaporated and the pat on her shoulder drew an automatic smile from Kira. “Oh, I’m glad I found you,” she said in mock relief. “Ross wanted me to give these to you.” Delight spread across Anna’s face. “Oh good. I’ve been needing these.” She continued talking though the sound faded into a shrill caw. A vibrant red snood bounced up and down. Kira followed that, fixated, bobbing her head. The cawing stopped and Kira responded automatically. “Well, I better be getting back,” she said. The tiles rose and fell as she walked, but Kira maintained composure and rushed to the bathroom. She knew this was all in her head, no imminent danger was to be had, but she did know she needed at least some grasp on reality. Her purse was sitting in the office, a long journey to get there and to a bathroom. She focused on the tile, telling herself repeatedly that it wasn’t real. The hallway turned into a wide expanse. Light emerged from all angles. Kira looked up, there was the troll. She grabbed her purse and came back into the lobby. “I have to use the bathroom quick,” she said. The troll snorted. She pulled a pink capsule from her purse. She tapped a couple drops of the white powder onto the top of her hand. The world was bright when she excited the bathroom. Every sound had a beautiful melody. Ross popped his head out the door as she turned the corner. “Kira,” he said. “Yes Ross?” she tried to suppress her smile. “Can you go help Evan in the concierge?” Kira knocked on the door. Evan opened it, a while smile filled his face, accentuating his dimples. Tall, blue eyed, and with dirty blonde hair tussled on top of his head. A yellow aura shone around him. His muscles showed through his suit jacket, a white stallion to ride, and that is what Kira intended to do. Kira helped him load dishes and re-fill the coffee until the rush let up slightly. Her buzz began to wear off, an edible when she reached the lobby was in order. “Thank you,” Evan said. He dried his hands on a towel next to her waist. “Do you smoke?” She asked. “Uh,” Evan darted at the door. “Smoke what?” Kira smiled. “Let me give you my number. Maybe we can smoke together tonight.” Evan hurried to pull his phone out of his pocket. Kira bit her lip and imagined where the night that lies ahead. A new adventure perhaps,  she became curiouser and curiouser.

[thehouttakes-blog]

Houttakes #004

First Line: I've found that all terrorists lack any understanding of perversion. “And, also,” Kevin took a drink out of his beer. He looked inside the tab when he learned it was empty then tossed it into a metal garbage can in the corner of the garage. “Yeah...And, secondly. They all don’t understand that some of these things are up for interpretation. Bob sat back in his metal folding chair, the hood of his sweatshirt pressed between his chin and Carhartt jacket. Bob stared solemnly at his cards, it was clear he was the only one who was still invested in the game of Spades. Marco wasn’t even sitting at the table anymore, instead he was off looking at the four-wheeler in the other stall. “You know what it is,” Craig said. His camouflage hat pushed down low on his head. “It’s the god damn city. It makes people crazy.” Kevin responded with an amplified headshake. “Yes! Exactly! My girlfriend always wants to go in to town to go shopping and shit. I hate that shit...can’t park my truck anywhere, people always in the way. Isn’t it crazy?” “Doesn’t help that they’re all some god damn socialists,” Craig said. Bob slowly put his cards down on the table and sank in his chair. The night quickly devolved into a political discussion. He took a large swig out of his bottle. “Oh, fuck...” Bob accidentally said out loud. “Need another beer Robert?” Kevin said, a smug smile grew on his face. Craig pushed Kevin in his chair. “That’s Mr. Robert to you.” Craig turned to Bob and snapped his can of dip. “He’s got his fancy beers, eh.” Craig flashed a tobacco smile and offered some to Bob who took him up on the offer. “I told you guys, I don’t like the taste of that shit.” “Might as well be drinking Catfish water, eh,” Kevin said. Marco barged back into the garage. “Yo,” he announced. “Let’s take the four-wheeler out.” “Marco there's like six inches of snow on the ground. Let’s get the snowmobile out.” Bob shook his head. “Y'all we’ve been drinking since Supper.” Bob was greeted with a couple irritated looks. Marco finally broke the silence and blurted out, “pussy.” Kevin ran inside the house and grabbed the keys to both the snowmobiles. Marco hopped on one and Kevin and Craig got on the other one. Bob was standing in front of the garage watching them rev their engines. Marco did a doughnut on the driveway in front of Bob. “Let’s go bro, we’ll go get you some more fancy beer.” Marco turned and smiled at Craig and Kevin laughing on the other snowmobile. “No, I’m good.” Bob waved them off. “I’m just gonna head home.” “What?” Kevin said. “Faggot,” Marco added. “See, shit like that.” Bob tossed his hood over his head. “Y'all keep saying dumb shit. It’s annoying.” “Fuck,” Craig said. “What you so sensitive for? We’re just fucking around.” “No, you guy’s keep talking about shit you don’t even know about. Terrorists, and politics, what celebrities you wanna fuck. It’s ignorant.” There was a strong silence. Bob looked at the ground sheepishly. “Is this because Marco is Mexican?” Kevin blurted. “Hey! Yo bitch I’m fucking Guatemalan!” Marco threw a chunk of snow in Kevin and Craig’s direction. Bob fumbled with his keys in his pocket and started to walk toward his car. “Bob!” Kevin called. “C’mon, we’ll have a civilized discussion. What do you wanna talk about?” “I don’t wanna talk about anything. You guys keep saying this close-minded stuff thinking it’s funny.” “Really? Like what?” Craig asked. “Like Kevin’s terrorism rant.” Kevin threw his arms up. “I was just jokin’-” “It’s not something to joke about.” Kevin flipped the key off of his snowmobile and kicked his leg over the seat. “If we can’t joke about the terrorists then the terrorists win,” Craig said. Bob just shook his head. “It’s a serious issue. Acts of terrorism have gone up worldwide in the past decade, and many of them have been targeted at small communities in the-” “I would be tempted by those virgins too,” Kevin interrupted. Craig burst out laughing and Marco started humping the air on the snowmobile. “Forget it,” Bob said. He started to walk away. “C’mon Bob,” Kevin shouted. “I know not all Muslims are terrorists.” Bob turned and spat his words at Kevin. “But some people do.” “That’s what makes it funny...” Craig said. Bob walked to his car. Marco and Kevin diverted their attention to arguing about who Craig was going to ride with. He got in his car and checked his phone while he let his car warm up. He saw in his peripheral vision Marco waving his arms. He rolled the window down as he thought they were trying to get his attention. Instead all he heard was more bickering from the three of them. He started to roll up the window but before it was all the way up he heard Kevin clearly say, “Well none of this would be a problem if Bob wasn’t being a stuck-up little bitch.” Bob shook his head and then drove away.

[thehouttakes-blog]

Houttakes #003

First Line: It was summer, the season of wisdom and resting Charlie sat below the Weeping Willow tree in his backyard. He had a book in his hand, James and the Giant Peach. He just checked it out this morning from the library. That was a luxury of living in a small town. Freedom. Because of this freedom, Charlie was left mostly to his own devices. If he wanted a candy bar, he rode his bike to the grocery store on Main Street, he could go to the library whenever he wanted, and some of his classmates always seemed to be out in the yard where the old school was. Even with his nose in the book, Charlie wasn’t reading as much as he was just thinking. A caterpillar caught his attention. Vibrant and green, it stood out from the patch of dirt under the tree. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it Mr. Caterpillar?” Charlie smiled. “Or should I say Mrs. Caterpillar?” He reached down and it crawled up his fingers into the palm of his hand. “If you think it’s beautiful here,” said the caterpillar. “You should feel the weather out in the yonder.” Charlie stared at the caterpillar. in his hand. It was now in a ball in the middle of Charlie’s palm. He looked around suspiciously. “Did you- Did you just talk to me Mrs. Caterpillar?” The caterpillar uncurled. “It’s Ms. Caterpillar. I’m far too young to be married.” Charlie smiled. He put the book face down on his lap and caressed it with both hands and pulled it closer to his face. “What is the yonder?” He asked. “Oh... well,” the caterpillar looked away. “We usually don’t allow humans in there. Oh, I shouldn’t of said anything, I’m sorry.” “What do you mean?” Charlie asked. “Why can’t us humans go there?” “Because you’ll break everything, silly. The yonder is much too delicate for you folk.” Charlie pouted. “Well...” Charlie said, pondering. “Can you, maybe, tell me about the yonder. You know, describe it to me.” “Oh, I really shouldn’t.” “Pleassssssse….” Charlie said, flashing a couple of his missing teeth. “Oh...well, since you asked nicely.” Ms. Caterpillar lifted her arms as tall and wide as she could manage.“The yonder is a place where mushrooms grow as tall as trees and the sky is a fluorescent green. Imagine this,” she said. “Delicious food is around every corner, and more than enough to fill you up twice over. It’s never too warm or too cold, and when it rains, beautiful lakes form right before your eyes.” Charlie stared into the distance imagining this mythical place. “Wow, Ms. Caterpillar this place sounds amazing.” His arms suddenly felt heavy. Charlie looked down and the caterpillar was now as big as his as his hands. It’s yellow and orange stripes were so bright, almost luminescent. Charlie put her down, gently, next to him. “There’s so much more!” said the caterpillar. “There are mounds as tall as skyscrapers. And do you want to know what’s inside those mounds?” “What’s that?” Charlie asked. “Nobody has ever proven it, but some say there are intricate underground tunnels filled with hidden treasures.” “Wow!” Charlie exclaimed. “I really would love to see it.” Ms. Caterpillar was nearly as tall as Charlie now. He looked up to the sky. The branches of the Weeping Willow tree seemed so high they might as well be stars.   “One apple could feed you for the rest of your life!” The caterpillar drifted in her thought briefly, rubbing her belly. “My goodness, that place...” “I don’t see how it could get any better,” Charlie said. “Oh, I haven’t even told you the best part!” “What’s that?” Charlie asked. He was staring at the bark on the tree. He rubbed it gently and admired how each splinter was as wide as a river. “Charlie...” “What?” “Listen to me...” Charlie stopped rubbing the tree and turned to Ms. Caterpillar. “One day, you’ll wake up and you will have wings!” Charlie stared, slack-jawed. “I wish so much, you could take me there.” Charlie said. “Oh, I know,” said the caterpillar. “Maybe if you come back tomorrow, I can tell you some more stories about the yonder.” “I’d like that,” said Charlie. Just like that, he felt a jolt and the tree was it’s normal size again. His book resting on his lap. He heard his mom calling and rushed to stand up. He closed his book and dusted himself off. Before he left, he saw a caterpillar where the branches nearly touched the ground. It was standing on it’s hind legs, nibbling on a leaf. “Until next time,” Ms. Caterpillar.

[thehouttakes-blog]

Houttakes #002

First Line: Fame was a breathing lady living in an asylum, but nobody knew that.

Sheldon, in particular, didn’t know. His desire to be famous turned into an obsession, even worse, a failing obsession. Sheldon had most of the social media outlets. Well, everything except for Facebook of course. Ironically it was Sheldon’s desire for fame- and only fame- that was ultimately holding him back. He didn’t care to be liked, that was never of any interest for him. This led his videos down more shocking and degrading stunts. His most famous stunt, which earned him a couple thousand views on YouTube, was a video where he bought a homeless man a burger and then promptly slapped it out of his hand. Since then Sheldon decided his ticket to fame was to take fan suggestions. Most afternoons were spent in Tyler’s room, his camera-man/assistant, reading him fan suggestions. This path has led Sheldon to some questionable places. Over the past few month’s he has chugged a gallon of hot sauce, hit his big toe with a hammer, and jumped out of a car on the highway. All of which sent him to the hospital. It didn’t matter how ridiculous the requests got, Sheldon would do whatever his fans wanted. “I don’t know, man, these are starting to get really out of hand.” Tyler said, scrolling through the comments. Sheldon flipped his hair, pacing back and forth in front of Tyler’s bed. “We have to do something crazy. People are starting to lose interest.” He turned and grabbed the back of Tyler’s computer chair. “I lost 17 followers yesterday.” “I mean, look, I feel ya man, but...” “But what?” Sheldon replied. “You act like this ain’t helping your career either.” Tyler opened his mouth briefly but said nothing. This has been a resume builder, mostly among people who had no idea who or what Sheldon Braun was, but it led to a semi-successful freelance business and he was about to start a paid internship at KRIG, a local TV station. “Yeah. That’s what I thought,” Sheldon said, and returned to pacing the bedroom. “Let’s do a tally, the most requested one is the one we’ll do.” Tyler scrolled through the fifty-something comments on their latest video. “Like just on here or...” “Everywhere.” Sheldon lunged toward Tyler’s desk and searched through his drawers. “Where’s a notebook, c’mon, let’s tally these up.” Tyler started with the YouTube comments. “Okay, so...You ready?” He turned around and asked Sheldon who was fumbling a pen. He clicked it three times and then nodded aggressively. “Let’s go,” Sheldon said. “What are you waiting for?” “Okay, so the first one...umm, they said they want you to jump off a skyscraper...or any tall building, really.” Sheldon flipped his hair and clicked the pen again. “Okay, okay...That’s do-able, I guess.” “Umm, the next one here says they want you to chug a fifth of Vodka...” “Easy!” “Hold on,” Tyler interrupted. “Through your rectum.” “Okay,” Sheldon said after a brief pause and started to write it down. “This dude says he wants you, oh, umm, he said he wants you to kill yourself. He says he doesn’t care how.” “Interesting,” Sheldon said and started to write it down. Tyler and Sheldon spent most of the afternoon going through all the comments on different outlets. They grouped all the comments into categories and then counted them. By the end of it Sheldon and Tyler were standing staring at a sheet of torn-out notebook paper that laid on top of Tyler’s blue comforter. “We can just do the second mos-” “No,” Tyler interrupted. “This is what the people want.” There it was, staring at them. Tyler circled it before reading what it said. Kill yourself, it said, with the most preferred method to be jumping off a building. “I think we can do it,” Sheldon said finally. Tyler retched his head. “Dude. Sheld-hey man...what?” “I fake a suicide.” Sheldon turned to Tyler looking for confirmation. “No.” Tyler backed up slowly, as if he suddenly felt threatened. “Just, no.” “It’ll be easy. Think about it Ty,” Sheldon started to walk closer to Tyler, his eyes wide. He held his hands in half-circles near his head. “I make a video where I pretend to kill myself. Go offline for a few days, everybody thinks it’s real, and then we come and make another video and go like sike!” “No,” Tyler said again, this time much louder. “Yes. Yes. We can do it. Ty, we can do-Ty… Ty! This is fucking brilliant!” Tyler cupped his head in his hands. “No. No, no.” he said shaking his head. “I think we can green-screen it. We’ll build a-” “No!” Tyler shouted. “It will be really easy.” “That’s not the issue, and the fact that you don’t see that is really concerning.” “It’s the internet!” “That’s not an excuse.” Sheldon took a deep breath and sat down. He flipped his hair, and let out another sigh. “You’re either with me or against me, Ty. If you bail out now I’ll just find a new cameraman and he’ll ride me to fame.” Tyler shoved his laptop backwards and put his head down on his desk. After a few second he rose again. “Can we at least sleep on it?” “No. I wanna shoot tomorrow. Tomorrow morning.” Tyler looked out his window into the backyard. It almost looked abandoned, barely any grass was left, and only a rusty swing-set and the sad remnants of a sandbox filled the area near the privacy fence. He remembered spending whole days in the summer out there with Sheldon. They used to build castles in the sand. Sheldon always insisted on being the king. Then he thought about his internship. He realized that he probably has enough experience that YouTube extraordinaire wouldn’t be needed on his resume anymore. “Okay, fine,” Tyler said. “But I don’t want my name associated with this. Or any of your videos, in fact.” Cool, great” Sheldon responded. “Here’s what I'm thinking...”

[thehouttakes-blog]

Houttakes #001

First line: He was eternally a boy with an odd house.

If this were a cheesy 80’s teen movie, Paul Gleason would have already written him off as a loser. Instead, he was labeled as eccentric, an artist, non-traditional. All those new words that people who get real degrees call losers now days. Ronny walked to the side door of what can generously be called his basement apartment. The basement was unfinished, with only a sink, a small basement window well, and a drain in the middle of the floor. A large comforter stapled to a floor joist separated Ronny’s room from the Washer and Dryer area. All the lights were off when Ronny entered the house. It was slightly past 1, and the homeowners, John and Cindy were clearly already asleep. Ronny stepped quietly down the creaky wood steps and pulled the light string. The basement was eerie, especially when he came home high, like he was right now. The pipes creaked, sudden thuds occurred throughout the night, and the spider problem was pretty significant. Ronny rushed to his bed, turned Netflix on his iPad and then ran to turn the light back off. He woke up only a few hours later to the sound of John and Cindy arguing. He could hear them clearly. That’s the thing about basements, they don’t create much of a sound barrier. “You told me it would be a couple weeks!” Cindy shouted. “It’s been three months John.” “I know, I know… But-” “But what? John? I mean...I don’t even know when he is and isn’t here.” “He said he would stay out of the way...” “That’s not what I meant, John.” Ronny heard stomps lead out of the kitchen above him, into the living room, and then up the stairs before the sound dissipated.  Ronny remembered he told John it was until he could save up to replace the engine in his 1993 Econoline, that he currently had parked in their driveway, blocking their garage door. There was a long sigh, the sound of porcelain clinging together, and then the sink running. This was the third argument regarding his stay there that he heard. Ronny did tell them it would be short term, but he never specifically told them a couple weeks, he thought, although he can sort of remember he said something like that in a more general sense. Regardless, John has never brought up the issue to him personally, so it must not be a big problem. They have known each other for years, Ronny continued to rationalize. John and Ronny met when they were both barista’s at the Casa de Java. John was getting a degree in Bioengineering, and Ronny was struggling to pass his classes in Interior Design. “I’ll see you after work, hunny,” John called before the side door slammed shut. Ronny laid in bed a while, looking at Instagram, and tried to fall back asleep. He had to use the bathroom, but decided it was best not to potentially run into Cindy. So he stumbled over to the light string, then over to the drain. He pulled his shorts down and leaned forward against the beam next to the drain to achieve the proper angle. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “What the fuck are you doing!” Cindy called from halfway down the stairwell. Ronny’s eyes flung open and he tried to conceal himself. “It’s not...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to see...” Cindy was standing on the steps, with a hamper pressed against one hip and her hand pressed against the other. “I’ll clean it up. I’m sor-” John continued. “Get the fuck out of my house,” Cindy demanded. She pointed toward the door with her free hand, “Right now!” Ronny stood frozen for a few seconds, and Cindy broke the standoff by stomping down the steps. She slammed the hamper on top of the washer and then yanked down the comforter. “Cindy, Cindy,” Ronny tried to reconcile. “Get...out!” she grabbed his shoes and threw them onto the blanket. She went to grab his clothes, but stopped and looked at her hands which suddenly became sticky. “Ugh,” she scoffed. “Disgusting.” She turned to Ronny who was trying to pull a shirt over his head. “You have five minutes to get your shit and get out of her or else I'm setting everything on fire.” She tried in vain to wipe her hand and then pulled her phone out of her pocket as she walked up the stairs. “John. You won’t believe what I just fucking saw,” Her voice was interrupted by the sound of the door slamming. Ronny sat down on his bed and tried to collect himself. “Shit...” he sighed. Ronny took out his phone and looked through his contacts to try to find a friend to stay with. It had been a couple minutes when he heard the basement door open. “Get the fuck out Ronny!” Cindy yelled, and then threw a camping lighter down the steps, breaking against the cinder-block wall at the bottom of the steps. Ronny pulled his mattress up the steps and then loaded it, awkwardly, into the back of his van. To his surprise, it didn’t take long to load all his stuff. Cindy was now standing in the driveway dressed in a pinstripe pantsuit watching him. “I want the van out of here by the end of the day.” She spoke in a near-whisper, but with a harshness that frightened Ronny. “But Cindy...” Ronny hesitated. “The engine doesn’t wor-” “Get it the fuck off my property!” she yelled and pointed to the street. She walked to her car parked on the curb and zoomed away. Ronny tried briefly to go back in the house, but couldn’t since she locked the door. After a few failed attempts to get help to move the van Ronny concluded that he had to try to do it himself. He put the van in neutral and gave it a slight push down the driveway, he then tried to guide down the pavement, and jumped into the van, turning the wheel while it bounced into the street. He pushed it a few blocks straight down the road until he reached a residential road that didn’t have any parking restrictions. He guided it next to the curb and put it in park. He looked around briefly and noticed a bus stop at the end of the block and a gas station the next block over. “Oh, nice.” he said to himself.