The Old Man and the Tree – Part 2

*If you missed part 1, start here!

“You’ve got to be goddamn kidding me,” He said.

Harker was in disbelief that the neighbor’s kid had brought along four others, all around his age. They were all worthless when it came to removing a tree the size of the one on Harker’s lawn.

“What do you kids want? I don’t have any Nintendos.”

The children looked at one another with confusion.

“We want to help you,” said Jhonny, who had returned with his friends. Jhonny wore black rubber boots that ran all the way past his knees. They were adult sized.

“Help me?” Said Harker, with a haughty laugh. “No thanks. I’d rather get rid of this tree on my own.”

“But you can’t,” said Jhonny. “It’s too big for one person.”

Harker’s eye caught hold of Gerri-anne as she walked by with her three dogs. She walked her three dogs every morning and always donned a white tennis jacket.

“Hello Harker, how are you?” she said with a wave.

“Good Gerri-anne, how are you?” said Harker.

She smirked and continued on her way.

He had met Gerri-anne a few years earlier, shortly after her husband had passed away. He was a son-of-a bitch and left her with nothing, spoiled their kids everything. Her kids never visited or called, he had heard. Still, Gerri-anne always kept in shape and managed to smile. Her lawn was a mess though, but that wasn’t really her fault.

Harker shook his head, then returned to Jhonny. “Well you’re too small to do any good,” said Harker. “This job requires men.”

“We’re men,” said Jhonny.

“Oh yeah?” said Harker. “Saw that trunk for me.”

Harker dropped the saw on the lawn and laughed.

“Let’s go Jhonny,” said the little boy with the blue cap, named Fred. “This guy’s a dick.”

The children turned around and started walking away as Harker laughed. Jhonny began walking with them, then stopped abrubtly. He returned and grabbed the saw, than began sawing.

“What the hell are you doing!” yelled Harker. He jumped and grabbed the saw away from Jhonny. “Don’t you see the edge on this thing? It’s too sharp and dangerous for you.”

“But you said-”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, son! Why don’t you go on with your friends and play paddleball or something?”

“Jhonny, c’mon!” said Fred. “He doesn’t want our help, he said it himself.”

“I’m staying,” responded Jhonny.

Jeremy, the biggest of the kids, wrapped his hands around his mouth and hollered: “Stop trying to replace your dad, Jhonny! He’s dead, and this guy’s more of a grandpa, anyway!”

The other children erupted with laughter as Jhonny gazed down at his rubber boots. He itched his eye and started walking away.

“Good luck,” he muttered to Harker, without bothering to face him.

Harker scratched the back of his head.

To be continued…

• Thomas M. Watt

Master – 5.2

Click here to start from the beginning!

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

Ch. 5

Something’s wrong. I feel it in my gut. I reach out to my phone to text Loretta, but stop when I notice the motorcycle cop in my driver-side mirror.

“Dammit.”

I’d flip a U-turn right here, but it’s a double yellow. I decide to turn into a neighborhood street on my right and lose the tail. He follows me. Three turns later, he’s still on my ass.

“You win,” I say, then sigh.

I pull over, turn the engine off, and dial my wife. It rings, and rings, and rings.

“C’mon.”

Loretta picks up.

“What’s up, baby?”

“I know how bizarre this sounds, but I want you to take Avery and go to your mother’s house for the day.”

“Are you serious? You’re really starting to scare me baby!”

I pull the phone from my face and think to myself. Then I see the cop again – drive by on the road ahead. He stops the bike, whips out a pair of binoculars, then stares at me.

“What the hell…” I mutter.

“Talk to me, baby! Tell me what’s going on! You’ve been acting really strange lately.”

I return the phone to my ear. “Nothing… Just do it for me, ok?”

“Hold on.”

“What’s up?”

“Someone’s at the door. Is the pipe-guy coming today?”

“Babe, I want you to get out of there!”

A loud BOOM. Phone call ends. I dial again. The phone rings, and rings, and rings. Nobody picks up.

I start the truck, turn around and accelerate. A police siren sounds off behind me; I’m being pulled over.

“Dammit!” I pull the car over, then slam my hands against the steering wheel.

I don’t know what I’m being pulled over for, and have no idea why this cop has it out for me. He takes his time parking his bike, and walks slow as hell over to me. I grab my license and registration, roll my window down, and smack my documents against the outside of my door as he takes his sweet-ass time strolling over to me.

“Write me up, I need to get home.”

I toss the documents at the officer.

Rather than mouth a word of protest, rather than so much as bother with a rebuttal, the officer merely nods, and picks the documents up after he fumbles them. He’s nervous; sweating even. Guy looks like he’s ready to cry.

“You alright?” I ask.

He nods. “Huh? Oh, yeah.”

I’m angry and frustrated – yet I can’t help but worry for this officer. Why is he acting like this? Are criminals more courteous these days?

The cop travels back to his bike like he lost a war.

I scoff, then try Loretta again – no answer. I text her.

U ok?

I wait. Two minutes, but it feels like twenty.

Yes 🙂   

I’m not exactly at ease – Loretta says smiley face text messages are for pedophiles. I call her again – still no answer. Another three calls, then I text her.

“Everything alright??”

I wait another four minutes. No response this time. I squint and check out my rearview mirror. The officer is crying and staring at his gun.

CLICK HERE FOR 5.3!

• Thomas M. Watt

Master – 4.2

Click here to start from the beginning!

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

She’s hidden beneath the covers, and I know she hates being woken up. The only exception is Christmas morning. Then again, she’s wide awake every Christmas morning.

I peel back the cover just enough to see she’s facing away from me. I rest my hand on her brown hair, and she doesn’t move.

“I know you’re sleeping right now, Brussels-sprouts. I just wanted you to know-” I pause.

I lived a very lonely life. That’s what people don’t get about me; that’s what they miss. Until you’ve gone without love, you have no idea how powerful it can be when it finds you. It’s not just a saying, and it sure as hell isn’t something I tell myself to feel better about giving up football. I don’t mean to get sappy, but as I stand here at my daughter’s bedside, knowing a short hallway away rests a beautiful woman who loves Phil Gordon the pool guy, I can’t help but thank God for all the life I have, and forget to give two shits about the one I gave up.

“I love you, Brussels sprouts.”

She turns over, and I finally see her face. Avery puts her hand in mine, then rubs her eye open.

“What time is it, daddy?”

I smirk. “Too early for you.”

She giggles.

I kiss her on the forehead, then get up.

“Wait!”

“What is it?”

“Come over here!”

I sigh, then do.

“Pinky.”

I grin, then hold out the finger. She locks her tiny pinky around mine.

“Say it, daddy.”

“You sure? Figured you’re too grown-up for that.”

“Say it!”

I smile. “Daddy cauliflower always returns for princess Brussels Sprouts.”

“Yay!” says Avery, kicking her legs and feet. I can’t help but laugh along with her – she hates vegetables.

I proceed to the kitchen, scoop out some Columbian roast, toss it in the filter, then add about four cups worth of water and turn the coffee pot on. I wait with my hands on the counter and my head dangling over my chest.

It was a dream, I remind myself. Nothing but a dream.

Still, ‘Master’ seemed so real. The entire scene did. Some dreams are so ludicrous you realize you’re dreaming while you’re in the middle of them. Other dreams fool you a little more, but as soon as you return to consciousness you realize you’d been tricked.

The coffee finishes brewing, and I pour myself a cup.

But then there are those other dreams, when long after waking, you are still convinced that you were in the presence of another being. Maybe not physically, but maybe metaphysically. The universe is a strange place.

“Are you trying to freak me out?”

It’s Loretta – she’s standing in the doorway, glaring at me.

“Yes, just the dream. Don’t worry-”

“You don’t spook easily, Phillip.”

“I know.”

“So why do you look so disturbed, baby?”

I think for a moment, and some primitive part of me urges me to warn her about Master. I almost want to stay here, just to watch over my family and make certain everything remains alright.

“Like you said, it was just a dream.” I hand her the mug. “Here, I don’t even want this. Have a good day, babe.” I kiss her and head for the front door.

“So why are you so upset?”

“Just being paranoid, like you said.”

“Love you, Phillip,” she says as I leave.

CLICK HERE FOR 5.1!

• Thomas M. Watt

Master – 3.1

Click here to start from the beginning!

Ch. 2

CHAPTER 3

A muscular trashcan clothed in a pinstriped suit sits across from me. Hair slicked-back, big square glasses, and a fiery glare so intense I swear he wants to kill me.

“You’re scared,” he says, scribbling in his notebook.

The sun shines in through the window, where parked cars, trees, and a graffiti-ed fire hydrant can be seen down below. I’m in a psychiatry office, but I have no memory of driving here.

“Talk about your failure as a football player.”

“What?”

“You were a great college player; one of the greatest ever to play the game. If you would have continued, you could have been a superstar. But you quit.” The psychiatrist pauses, then looks up from his notepad with a flick of his eyes. “Why, did you stop?”

“I don’t recall your name, doctor… what was it again?”

“Master.”

I laugh. “Master? That’s what you want me to call you?”

“Yes.” ‘Master’ pulls a lighter out from his pocket, then flicks the flame on. He lets go of the switch, then does it again. “Why did you give up on your lifelong dream, Mr. Gordon?”

“I don’t see it that way, doc, never have. I was in love, and my daughter Avery was on the way. To be honest with you, professional football isn’t really the right environment to start-”

“Fear.” Master stands up, then walks over to a desk. On top of the desk is a canister of gasoline. He begins to walk in a big circle around the room, carrying the gasoline at his side. “Fear drives us to make desperate decisions. In your case, you quit because you knew it was a matter of time before others discovered the truth.”

“What truth?”

Master pauses, then smiles kindly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gordon, but I feel it would be rude to leave you wife waiting for a minute longer. Do you mind if she joins us? I know it’s a bit of a surprise, but I can assure you this session will be better spent with her present.”

CLICK HERE FOR 3.2!

• Thomas M. Watt

Too Perfect Marriage – Part 2

If you missed Part 1, click here!

A long black limo pulled up and parked by the curb. The driver walked around the vehicle and opened the door for them.

When Bridgette crouched down to enter, Calvin noticed a handgun tucked away in her purse. He stopped where he stood.

“All aboard the S.S. Jackhammer!” said Brody.

Cheers and laughter followed, along with a few clanks of bottles and glasses.

“Hey, can I talk to you about something?” Calvin said to Bridgette, his wife.

“Uh-oh, he’s getting cold feet, you were right about this guy!” said Brody.

“You’re not even inside, and you already want to argue?” said Bridgette.

The laughter and chatter died down.

“It’s just…” said Calvin. “When did you get… Are we going someplace dangerous?”

For a moment the limo went quiet. Then Brody let out an explosive chuckle, yanked Calvin inside by his tie, and everybody returned to their previous festive mood.

“Grab a drink guy, lighten up. It’s Friday!”

Bridgette laughed. She took the seat right beside Brody. Calvin moved around at a hunch until he squeezed in between two women.

“Name’s Calvin by the way.”

“What’s that?” said Brody.

“My name is Calvin. We haven’t met before. I’m a firefighter.” He scratched under his jaw. “You know, my name isn’t guy.”

Brody raised an eyebrow.

“Ignore him. He’s a party-pooper.” Said Bridgette.

“No, no,” said Brody. “I’m a stand-up guy myself. My name is Brody, and it’s a pleasure to meet you, Calvin. Your wife has nothing but wonderful things to say about you.”

“Oh, that’s a surprise,” he said with a laugh. Everybody chuckled along with him.

While the party guests indulged in the jovial mood, Calvin sat with his knees pressed together. He reached into his pocket for his phone, and started to text Bridgette.

When did you buy a gun?

“Baby, hold this for me!” Bridgette tossed her phone through the air.

Calvin made a jerky move to catch it. He wanted to ask her out loud, but her eyes darted to every spot he wasn’t.

Calvin shook his head, then slipped Bridgette’s phone into his other pocket. When he did, he inadvertently elbow-jabbed the breast beside him. Calvin instantly crossed his arms close to his chest, then sighed, shut his eyes, and let his head droop backward.

“I’m here, in my mold,” he muttered to himself.

“But I’m a million different people, from one day to the next.”

Calvin’s eyes shot open. The woman who he’d just bumped into had sung the rest of the verse.

“Bittersweet symphony?” said Calvin.

“I know, don’t you hate that song? Slaves to money then we die? Sorry, but money equals happiness.”

Calvin raised his eyebrows and grinned politely.

“That was a joke… kind of a bad one. Not sure where the laugh goes. The verve? Please. I love that song.” She mumble-sang the melody and bobbed her head.

Nothing about her screamed super-model. Especially not the freckles spotting both her dimpled cheeks. But she was… simple. And simple was better than ideal. A lot better.

“Another bottle,” Shea!” said Brody.

The woman beside Calvin nodded, then reached into a cooler and took out some Pinot Noir.

“Throw it,” said Brody.

“Well I don’t want to break-”

“Throw it, throw it, throw it!” began Brody, slapping his hands to his thighs. The rest of the party followed his lead, while Calvin had his eyes on Shea. She blinked rapidly, shook her head, then chucked it like it were a dead rat over to Brody. He and Bridgette tried to grab it at the same time, and in their haste they knocked the bottle straight to the floor, where it shattered. Wine spilled over Brody’s slacks and Bridgette’s ankles. The cheer halted.

“Dammit Shea,” said Brody. He fanned out his wet hands.

“Shit, I knew I shouldn’t have thrown it. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, don’t you worry doll. Brody bought more than enough,” said Bridgette. She flashed a picture-perfect smile.

Calvin twisted his lips, then pressed out the creases in his slacks.

“I know, I’m clumsy. Here, I’ll pass you another,” said Shea.

She retrieved a new bottle from the cooler. Brody crouched low then made ‘chuga-chuga’ sound effects as if he were a train, and ‘chugged’ over to her.

“Hey, here’s an idea? Why don’t you just hand it to me?” He chuckled loud, then snagged the bottle from Shea. “You’re the best,” he said, then returned back to his seat beside Bridgette. He popped open the bottle, then poured those around him a glass. He met eyes with Calvin, who sat with his arms crossed.

“Would you like a glass?”

Calvin scratched under his jaw. “This is your wife, right?”

Brody glanced at her, then tugged his lip corners up with his cheeks. “How truly awful of me… I’ve been so excited to have fun tonight, formal introductions must have slipped my mind. Calvin, you’re sitting next to my wife, Shea.”

Calvin nodded with his tongue pushed into his teeth.

“Hi,” said Shea. She held out her hand, but Calvin’s eyes were trained on Brody.

“I’m not used to these events, so help me understand… why am I sitting next to your wife, while you’re sitting by mine?”

Bridgette glared at Calvin. Brody raised his eyebrows. The other party guests quietly sipped their drinks.

Brody opened his mouth, but Bridgette grabbed hold of his wrist.

“You don’t have to answer that,” she said. “Calvin… babe? This an adult event. Try to act like one.”

“It’s ok, B-ridge,” said Brody, returning Bridgette’s hand to her lap. “Now Calvin, it’s my fault for not giving you the four-one-one, but typically at events like this, you actually don’t use any seating charts. Had I known you would have felt more comfortable, I would have been happy to draw one up for you.”

Many of the party guests bit their lips. A few chuckles escaped.

“B-ridge?” said Calvin. “What’s that, your pet name for my wife?”

Bridgette’s palm smacked against her forehead. Brody wore a tight-lipped smile.

“Why don’t you tone it down a notch, huh guy? You didn’t pay for this limo. You don’t know anybody here. You wouldn’t even be here if weren’t for B-ridge. So take a drink, and enjoy the good vibes.”

Calvin mirrored Brody’s tight-lipped grin. “Sounds radical.”

Shea rubbed Calvin’s kneecap, then whispered in his ear. “Just ignore him.”

Calvin turned and they met eyes.

Shea darted her hand back, shook her head, then scratched behind her ear. She turned to Brody and smiled. “I’d like a drink!”

Brody’s eyes fidgeted between her and Calvin. “…sure.”

To be continued…

• Thomas M. Watt

CLICK HERE FOR PART 3!

Too Perfect Marriage – Part 1

“We’re doing great, really great… I just needed to listen better… No, a kiss goodnight and in the morning… not a chance, my parent’s divorce ruined me… she’s their mother, man!… Sounds good, you too.” Calvin ended the phone call and put out his cigarette. He hung his head, then smiled and opened the sliding door. He returned to the bedroom.

“Oh my god,” said Bridget. She scrunched her nose and sniffed. “You smell like cigarettes.”

“You quit, not me.”

“Smells repulsive.” Bridget finished shimmying into her red party dress. “How do I look, baby?”

Calvin plopped down at the foot of the bed, hands in his pockets. “Great.”

Bridgette slipped her thumbs under her spaghetti straps and flipped her top down. She wiggled at the hips, so the two hills filling her push-up bra jiggled around.

“This better, baby?” she said with a laugh.

Calvin smiled. “Didn’t think you were dressing up for me.”

“You’re my husband!”

“…why don’t I come along, for a change?”

Bridgette scoffed. “We’ve been over this. You don’t do good at social events.” She tugged her red dress back up over her breasts, then smiled and pecked Calvin on the cheek. “You’re the one I come home to. You’re my protector and guardian… but sometimes I need you to protect and guard the kids.”

Her phone beeped. She peeked in her purse, then scurried with it out to the hallway bathroom.

“I was thinking maybe I could join you this time,” said Calvin.

“Why? It’s just me and people from the dealership.”

“But it’s a club, right?”

“You won’t let me dance now? God, give me a break-”

“Never said that, babe. But you’re going dancing, so I’m sure bringing a spouse is fine.” Calvin sighed, then dragged himself out to the hallway. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. “You said you wanted to spend more time together, right?”

“At the dinner table! The dinner table, baby! When I’m here alone, and you’re working, or whatever it is you’re really doing.”

“Ok… well maybe it would be fun, like the old days. It’s good to go out together sometimes… I already hired a babysitter and cleared my plans-”

“Aw, baby,” said Bridgette. She came over to Calvin and planted a wet kiss on his cheek. “You cancelled your date with your guitar, all for me?”

He forced a tight-lipped smile.

“I told Brody I’d be his date tonight,” said Bridgette, before glancing at Calvin through the corner of her eye. She scratched her eyebrow. “If you really want to come, I’ll let him know.”

“I do… You’re important to me.”

“Aw! You’re important to me!” Bridget smiled, then pinched Calvin’s cheek. “Fine… you win.” She grabbed her phone, tapped out a text, then waited for the response with her fingers in her lips.

“Who’s Brody?” said Calvin.

“Huh? Oh, my boss.”

“Ah. Ok.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know. You don’t say much about work.”

Bridgette’s eyes went wide. “I don’t say much about work?”

“I’m a firefighter… I work with all guys… Three days in a row.”

Her phone beeped. Bridget laughed so hard she snorted, then covered her mouth.

“What?”

She grabbed her purse and left the bathroom shaking her head.

“Babe?”

“You wanted this, not me!” Shouted Bridgette. She opened the front door and left the one-story house.

Calvin remained where he stood. He noticed something in their wedding portrait he’d never noticed before – Lying on the hill in the background was an old couple. Calvin squinted and moved for a closer look to be sure – the woman, easily seventy five, had her hand in her husbands pants! The husband, who might as well have had ‘grandfather’ written in wrinkles on his forehead, was smoking something that was far too fat and green to be a cigarette.

“You dirty dog…” said Calvin.

The front door swung open, and Bridget stuck her head back inside. “Well? Aren’t you coming?”

“Yeah, sorry,” said Calvin. He met her on the driveway then followed her out to the curb. Calvin plucked out another cigarette and lit it.

“Let me,” said Bridget, summoning the pack with her fingers.

He lowered an eyebrow, then handed her the lighter.

“The cigarette,” said Bridget.

“I thought you quit?”

“I did,” she said, then nabbed one out from his pack. She sucked half the life out with one puff. “We’re in for a show tonight, babe.”

“Oh… why?”

“Brody’s bringing his wife,” she said, exhaling a stream of white smoke.

“Oh,” Calvin said.

Bridgette pet down his hair. “She’s a bitch, honey. Imagine Cruella de Vill’s vagina. Everyone at work hates her. If Brody wasn’t such a sweetheart, he’d have divorced her already.”

Calvin lowered her wrist away from his hair. “Maybe he feels marriage is his best option… No matter what.”

Bridgette cracked up laughing and soon was in tears. “Yeah, right. Brody? Honey, he’s got more options than he can count! His wife’s a leech… married him for his money. Plus she’s dumb as a rock. Words won’t do justice, you just have to see for yourself. I kind of feel bad for him. Even her. She’s what’s known as ‘Fugly’.”

Calvin nodded. He lit another cigarette, but Bridgette plucked it from his lips. She smoked it, tossed it on the ground and stomped it out with her heel.

“No more smoking. We’re in this together.”

Calvin twisted his lips, then rocked back and forth as he waited with his hands in his pockets. Bridget texted.

A long black limo pulled up and parked by the curb. The driver walked around the vehicle and opened the door for them.

…To be continued.

• Thomas M. Watt

CLICK HERE FOR PART 2!

The Groom’s Song

Hello my dear unselfish one please come right here you will be spun.

Under my hand you soon shall dance, my hand, your hip, a step or two.

See my eyes tell me the color I do not know your eyes are fuller.

Give me your cheek, take back your tongue and feel my heart transcend you love.

I see your lips the way they pout the way your sad the way you frown.

Not today my little lady just for once give up the heavy.

Just for once this world of sharks can fuck itself and disembark.

Take this dance, this dance with me, take both my hands and smile please.

I’ll smile too, at least I’ll try, I want to feel the joy inside.

I want to be the pair right here that dances fine that looks happy.

Take a whirl, not yet a bow, see my eyes and hear that sound.

Yes my darling this songs for you I know, I know, its not your tune.

You don’t like slow you like it fast, you like to move and speak with crass.

But not today my sweet sweet muse ’cause on this day slow is for you.

Why you ask? Why must this be? You’re not the type for romance things?

Hush hush my darling, my baby love, I know you claim you’d rather fuck.

I would too, at least I’d claim it, but not tonight this night’s been saving.

All your life you’ve been pushed down and told to quiet and to crouch down.

For much too long you’ve stood aside and laughed and clapped for other brides.

But on this night, this night my love, there is no other, you are the dove.

Please do see this songs for you, your beauty breathes out true love too.

Do not cry, not yet my darling, the song still plays please stop your running.

Step on closer, head to my chest, cry a tear but fuck the rest.

This is your night my baby doll. This is the time you are not small.

See it clear please look around. We all love you and love your gown.

We want you to just laugh for once, not at expense but at joy’s brush.

Baby will you please come here, will you please just flee from fear.

Try to see that once in a while it’s a-o-k to feel like a child.

Okay to dream and hope and love, it’s not so bad to just give up-

all your fears your terrors too, all your thoughts of end and gloom.

Baby how I love you now, how much I want you to feel found.

See this night the star is you, to love my wife I say I do.

– Thomas M. Watt

Let the Little Girl Dance

The Irishman staggered up his front lawn, acknowledging his granddaughter, Anetta, as he went. She was dancing lively on the grass, moving excitedly to the grooves blasting from her portable pink-barbie-radio.

Shamus waved hello and rubbed her mess of blonde hair, then helped himself to a cold brew and two bags of ice once inside. He set an ice bag over each of his knees, popped open the brew, then picked up the phone from the receiver and dialed.

“Hello?” Said the voice on the other end.

“Yes, this is Shamus. How goes my daughter?”

There was a short pause. “Excuse me? How goes it?”

Shamus groaned and rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger. “How is she?”

“Oh.” The voice on the other end sighed sadly. “You know, she’s still in recovery.”

Shamus nodded, then had another swig from his ale. “Ah shit. Well that’s fuckin’ great, isn’t it? Any idea when she will be better?”

“No, not really. How’s Anetta?”

Shamus adjusted the ice bag on his knee as he smiled. “Ah, she’s lovely. You’ve raised yourself a beautiful girl there, ya truly have.”

“Thanks,” said the man on the other end. “I’m sorry to keep her at your place for so long.”

Shamus furrowed his brow and shook his head. “No, no. It’s good to have the young ones around. They keep me smiling.”

“Yes, well… I’m glad to hear she’s doing well.”

Shamus swiped the ice bags off his knees and stood up. “Here she’s right outside! I’ll fetch her for you she’d love-”

“No, no!” The voice exclaimed. “I’m sorry but I’m really too busy with work. And Anetta, you know how much she likes to talk.”

Shamus scratched behind his ear. “Well, yes, but, she is your fuckin’ daughter.”

The voice laughed. “I know. Listen, I’ve got a meeting to go too. Give her my love.”

“Fine,” said Shamus. The man on the other end started to speak some more, but Shamus just clicked to end the call and tossed the phone on his couch.

The front door whirled open, and in stormed Anetta, crying hysterically.

Shamus picked her up in his arms. “Annetta! Darlin’! What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, as she smeared the mucus dribbling out from her nostrils.

“Anetta?”

She sniffed. “Mr. Avery’s boys all laughed at me and told me not to dance in public.” She sniffed again. “Anymore.”

Shamus set her down. “They did, did they?”

Anetta nodded.

“Come on. Let’s go for a walk, sweetie.”

Shamus took Anetta by the hand and led her outside. They walked across the street to the Averys’ residence. Shamus walked up the steps then rung the brass doorbell, all the while holding his granddaughter’s hand in his.

The front door opened, to a middle-aged man wearing a green tie and a red sweater vest on top of it.

“Yes, hello! How are you?” Said Mr. Avery.

Shamus looked into the living room, where the two boys were playing video games. “Yes, sorry for the inconvenience sir, but your boys harassed my granddaughter.”

“Oh?” Said Mr. Avery, folding his arms.

“Yes, nothing terrible, but she was dancin’ in the front yard and they told her to stop.”

“And?”

“And that was that, so I was think they ought to apologize to her.”

Mr. Avery stepped forward, still smiling brightly. “And why is that?”

Shamus shot upright. “Why is that? Bloody hell mate, she’s eight years old! If she wants to dance outside she has right to fucking dance outside!

Mr. Avery stepped still closer, rubbing his chin his hand. “Well, to be quite frank with you Shamus, I myself don’t appreciate looking out my window and seeing her make a mockery of this neighborhood. The homes have been going down in value, you know, and I can’t help but wonder if displays like that are the prime culprit. You know understand, right?”

Shamus suddenly elated in a smile. “So you don’t think my daughter should dance, do ya?”

The man looked down, then smeared his loaf of blond hair back. “Not like that. I just don’t think it’s appropriate, sorry. Oh, would you and your daughter like to come inside, though? She can play video games with the boys if she wants!”

Shamus nodded some more, than smiled from ear to ear. “No, no. That’s alright.”

The man grinned, then bent down to a squatting position. “And how about you little girl? I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings, it’s just that when you dance it makes the street look bad.”

Anetta looked to Shamus, who shook his head then tugged her away. They walked back to their own home, and Shamus immediately climbed into the attic, searching through his old belongings. He found a pair of his old soccer cleats, then took them back down to the sofa and struggled to put them on. He grabbed an old album he had saved since his last visit to the motherland, then started towards the front door.

“Come on Anetta.”

“Where are we going, grandpa?”

“We are going back to the Averys’ to apologize some more. Bring your pink music-player-thingy.”

She did, and soon they were back at the same house as before. Only this time, Shamus stopped at the front lawn, inserted his C.D. of Irish Medleys, and turned the pink portable radio on full blast.

As soon as the bagpipes and mandolin started playing, Shamus started to dance. He did the steps of an Irish jig, with strong, precise stabbing toe kicks. The neighbors all around quickly came by and circled around, clapping on the surprisingly agile old man as he tore up the formerly pristine lawn with his soccer cleats.

Mr. Avery, however, didn’t look as pleased, as he watched from his front door with his two boys beside.

By the time the jig was finished, mud and grass was heaped everywhere.

“I hope you’re going to pay for that,” said Mr. Avery, closing the front door as he stepped forward in a slighly aggressive manner.

Shamus smiled, then started charging at a hurried pace towards him. “And I hope YOU’RE going to apologize to my daughter.”

“I thought I already told you-”

Before he could finished his sentence, Shamus grabbed him by the throat and pinned him against his own front door.

“I said, you are going to apologize to my granddaughter.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” Said Mr. Avery, waving his hands at his sides.

“Good, now you little ones,” said Shamus to the two little boys standing beside.

“We don’t have to listen to you,” one of them responded.

Shamus released the father, then looked up to the sky. “You know what, I think you’re right.” Shamus turned around, bent forward, then farted loudly on the two little boys.

He hopped off the stairway, grabbed Anetta by the hand, then started walking back towards his own house again, with the pink barbie radio propped on his shoulder as it continued to play into his ear.

“Grandpa, does this mean I can still dance outside?” Said Anetta, pulling his arm for Shamus to face her.

Shamus smiled. “Yes sweetie. In fact, the next time someone tells you to stop dancing, I want you to tell them to go fuck themselves.”

Anetta giggled and looked straight ahead. “What’s that mean grandpa?

Shamus laughed, then picked Anetta up off the ground and held her up into the sunlight, kissing her forehead once before hugging her into his chest and going on. “It means life has a lot of tough times. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to quit singing and dancing because some pussy with a sweater vest tells me to stop.”

“I like that grandpa.”

He set her down, and then smiled as they resumed their walk hand in hand. “As do I, sweetie. As do I.”

– Thomas M. Watt

When Men act as Men

The tree stump was rooted deep in the soil. It was time for a new tree to be planted, but before it could, the old stump needed to be uprooted.

The father and son stood at odds on many things. Career choices, personal views, political views, even thoughts on what was right and what was wrong. But the tree stump needed to go, and they were the only two willing to do it.

So they chopped. They took the axe and chopped, again and again, for hours. Still, the tree wouldn’t budge. Their hands were blistered, their bodies were tired, but the tree stump still remained.

So they pushed on. They pushed on and chopped at that damn tree like it was the scum of the earth, like it was the true root of all the world’s problems.

More time passed, but the stump still hadn’t budged. Their hands were bloody, their faces were red and sweaty, and every and all intellectual thought told them it was time to quit, and wait for another day to uproot the old tree stump.

But the father looked at the son, and smiled as he said, “Boy, I don’t know ’bout you, but I want this sucker out soon.”

The boy looked at his pop and returned. “Dad, I don’t know about you, but I won’t sleep if this stump still has roots.”

So they returned to the axing. Swinging and chopping, grunting and heaving. Gradually, the stump began to break loose from the soil, and, pretty soon, after a strenuous effort of tugging and pushing, they finally managed to pull the old tree stump out from the ground.

The father and son shared a brief grin, before simultaneously struggling to catch their breaths as they panted heavily. Eventually, the father stood up straight, put his hand on his son’s shoulder, then said to him, “Boy, we may disagree on things, and we may dispute a time or two. But when it comes down to it, I’m the same man as you.”

The son crossed his arms. “I don’t see that dad, I’m sorry pa, I think I disagree with you on more than all.”

The father laughed, then picked up a cold beer from the outside fridge, popped it open, then took a swig. “When I was your age my papa done raised me to see just as he, to see what he sees. But time done unfold and as I grow old, I realize that things ain’t all which they seem. For in relaxed state all men tend to hate, despise one another, make enemies outta brothers. But when it comes down to it and problems arise, difficult tasks which some folk despise, their must be a force to tackle the issue, there must be some men who don’t need a tissue. So when it comes down to it and it’s time to face woes, men act as men and fuck up their foes.”

The son smiled, opened the fridge, then took a beer for himself. He clanked the beer with his dad, and the two men enjoyed a swig together.

– Thomas M. Watt

The Weary Mother

The weary mother could find no rest. She had two young daughters, both of whom were wearing garments which were ripped and torn, and one of whom was crying incessantly.

“Don’t cry, Isabelle. Everything is going to be okay.” Said her oldest daughter, Mariana.

The weary mother scooped her crying daughter up and into her bosom. She took Mariana by the hand, and the small family stood up from their rest under the shade of the tree and started down the sidewalk.

“Where are we going?” asked Mariana.

“I don’t know,” The weary mother responded. “I don’t know.”

The weary mother was a young mother, aged well past her years, and had gotten pregnant some time ago, by two different men, both of whom walked out after the news of her pregnancy.

“Mommy,” said Mariana.

“Yes, little one?”

“Do you think you will fall in love again?”

The weary mother shook her head, then bumped baby Isabelle up and hugged her into her shoulder. “I have all the love I need right here.”

Mariana laughed. “Come on, mommy! We need to find you a new prince charming. We need to find us a daddy.”

The weary mother laughed, then stopped at a trashcan, and sifted through its contents. She retrieved three soda cans, smashed each of them under her heel, then set them into her trash bag, which she held over wrist as if it were a purse. “We need to find us a pot of gold.”

Mariana and the weary mother laughed, but Isabelle started to cry. The weary mother pet down her black strands of dirty hair. “There there, dear. All will be alright.”

They continued on down the sidewalk, until coming upon the local priest, two ladies in fine jewelry and two men in fine suits. The weary mother waved half-hardheartedly, but her gesture was given no return, other than blank faces and a turn away by the priest.

The small family continued on.

“Mommy,” said Mariana, again.

“Yes, little one?” Responded the weary mother.

“Why does everybody look at you like that?”

The weary mother laughed slightly. “Because I am a very poor woman, little one, and they don’t like to see you two being raised by someone who can’t provide.”

“Why?” She asked. “We usually eat and have a bed.”

The weary mother nodded. “Yes little one but you need more than that.”

“Are they bad people?” asked Mariana.

“No, not at all little one.” Said the weary mother, feigning certainty. “They just don’t like to see little girls suffer like you two. It is my fault.”

“Why?” asked Mariana.

Isabelle continued to cry, so that the weary mother patted her bottom and shook her over shoulder. “There there, baby. Don’t cry.”

“Don’t cry, Isabelle!” Said Mariana, taking her from her weary mother’s shoulder, than hugging her baby sister into herself. “Why though, mommy?”

The weary mother grinned slightly, until another couple passed, arms interlocked, at which point the weary mother looked down and avoided their glance. “Why what, little one?”

“Why is it your fault?”

The weary mother pressed her eyes close closed for a moment, coming to a stop. After a deep breath, she returned to walking as she answered.

“Because little one, I am your provider and I am not very good at it.”

“Oh,” said Mariana, as she swung hands with her mother. “Why don’t you get married, mommy?”

The weary mother laughed again. “Oh, little one, marriage is not for me. Maybe you can get married one day. That will make me happy.”

Isabelle stopped crying, and Mariana kissed her face. The two sisters chuckled together. “I would like that mommy. And my husband is going to be so rich he will pay for all of us.”

The weary mother laughed again, then ran a finger under her eye. “That would be wonderful, little one.”

They walked in silence for a bit, passing more than a few on the sidewalk as they did. None waved or said hello.

“Mommy?” said Mariana, finally.

“Yes little one?”

“Where are we going?”

The weary mother sighed. “I don’t know, little one.” She sighed again. “I don’t know.”

– Thomas M. Watt