Month: August 2018

THE DANGEROUS GAMES WE PLAY

The Sicilian Storyteller

Tuesday, 10/27/1961

Dear Diary: There’s a new boy in school named Carter. He’s so cool. He’s part black .. light mocha skin with amazing green eyes. I dig him. If my parents find out I’m dead! They’re so prejudiced! Gonna dream about him tonight. 

Wednesday, 10/28/1961

Dear Diary: Fabulous news! Carter is now my Biology partner! I know he’s into me. He winks whenever he sees me. My friends giggle; they’re so childish. Really! We’re 15. The black girls are giving me dirty looks. Beverly bumped me hard when she walked by. Carter likes me! He’s so hot! 

Thursday, 10/29/1961

Dear Diary: We were sitting real close in class, sharing the microscope. Carter’s arm brushed against my breast and I liked it. I leaned in closer and placed my hand on his leg, slowly moving it higher. Then the bell rang! Carter whispered “Give me your phone number”. I scribbled it down and he winked at me. 

Friday, 10/30/1961

Dear Diary: Teacher’s Conference Day. No school but my parents had to work. The ringing phone woke me. I was stunned to hear Carter’s voice: “Pretty Lily White. I’m bored. Come to my place. We’ll listen to music.”  I said “Okay“, and got his address. I walked the three blocks to his house. The radio was playing Motown and we started dancing. He gave me a drink .. Scotch, I think .. and he laughed when I coughed. Taking my glass, he kissed me deeply. Just then three boys from school arrived. We were partying – drinking, smoking and dancing. I must have passed out. I came to in Carter’s bedroom, naked. Somebody was on top of me while the others watched. I could vaguely hear the Miracles singing “Ooh, Baby, Baby”. Next thing I know I’m dressed, being helped down the stairs. Carter told someone to “clean up the condoms“. He opened the front door and I staggered out, the cool air clearing my head a bit. I smelled like sex and booze. Somehow I made it home, showered and crawled into bed. How could this happen? 

Weekend, 10/31-11/1/1961

Dear Diary: Faked a headache and skipped the Halloween dance last night. Today I just hung around the house. I can’t face anyone. 

Monday, 11/2/1961

Dear Diary: This morning at school I saw Carter walking with his arm around Beverly. He winked at me as we passed. His friends laughed. I want to die.

NAR © 2018

WATER, WATER EVERYWHERE

The Sicilian Storyteller

DAY 1 – Today, as I walked the hills, God spoke to me. We’ve had many talks before, but today was different.  There was a certain unhappiness in his voice and he didn’t say much. Later, right in the middle of dinner, I heard God calling: “Noah? NOAH!” Oh, for Christ’s sake! Always when I’m eating! I got up and went to our usual spot. God said that he was going to start a torrential rain that would flood the earth, essentially killing everyone. Then he told me to wait for instructions. OMG! This is heavy stuff. 

DAY 32 – Three weeks later God called again and told me to build a boat .. actually, he called it an ark and it had to be a certain number of cubits (Note to self: Google cubits). After it’s built I can only bring my wife, sons and their wives. In truth I did ask if I could leave the ladies behind but God just laughed and said there was a method to his madness. Now, here’s where it gets really crazy: I had to bring two of every animal, male and female, and enough food to feed all of us for forty days and forty nights. I don’t think even he knows what a major project this is.

DAY 35 – Tonight I told the family what we had to do and they looked at me like I was from Mars. My sons helped me build the ark while the women prepared plenty of unleavened bread and picked legumes, vegetables and fruit. 

DAY 318 – Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, we finished the ark. Now came the monumental task of collecting the animals and gathering provisions. The whole family worked tirelessly getting that done. Just as we got the last of the animals on board, it started to rain. We pulled up the plank, making sure everything was totally secure. 

DAY 327 – It’s only been a little while and I realized I should have brought three of every animal because I’m dying for a piece of meat. Now I’m a freaking vegetarian? Oy vey! 

DAY 358 – Today my wife says “Noah. There’s a problem. Where are the unicorns?” Well, I sure had a good laugh over that one. “You believe that fairytale??” I guffawed. “Next thing you’re gonna tell me is someone’s gonna write a book of biblical proportions about us. Woman, you crack me up!” 

NAR © 2018

LONG STORY SHORT

The Sicilian Storyteller

Windsor Kelly entered the Washington Square brownstone and walked to the elevator. He tapped his toe impatiently, waiting for it to arrive. Finally the wooden doors opened and he entered, pushing the button for the fifth floor. 

Exiting the elevator, he slowly walked to the staircase, his footsteps echoing through the hall as his shoes made contact with the marble floor. He then climbed four flights of stairs until he reached the ninth floor. He walked to Suite 9D, glancing at the name on the bronze plaque on the door: Dr. Eugene Balthazar, Speech Therapist. He rang the bell before entering, as the sign on the wall indicated, and sat quietly in the waiting room. A few moments later the doctor opened the door to his office, inviting him to have a seat. 

“So tell me, Windsor. Have your been practicing the instructional syllables I demonstrated last week?” 

“Yes, I h-h-have, but i-i-it’s been s-s-six long w-w-weeks and I h-h-haven’t s-s-seen much of a d-d-decrease in the f-f-frequency of my f-f-frustrating s-s-stuttering; h-h-however the vulgarism is m-m-much b-b-better”, stammered Windsor. 

“Well, as I mentioned at the beginning, it’s a process. Keep practicing and I’ll see you next week.” 

Windsor did as instructed and returned the following week. His goulashes made squishy noises as he sloshed through the rain. Closing his umbrella, he entered the brownstone and took the elevator directly to the ninth floor. Again he sat in the waiting room until Dr. Balthazar called him in. 

“Windsor, before we begin I’d like to ask you a question. There are security cameras set up on every floor of this building. I can see everyone enter and use either the stairs or the elevator. I’ve noticed you usually take the elevator to the fifth floor, exit and climb the remaining four flights of stairs to my office .. except on rainy days when you take the elevator directly to the ninth floor. Why is that?” 

“Oh, you noticed that, did you, you little dickwad? Well, shithead, have you noticed that I’m a fucking dwarf .. all Goddamn three feet of me?!?  If you’d pull your noggin out of your ass, you’d realize I can only reach the fifth floor button. But with the tip of my umbrella, I can reach the ninth floor button. Get it, dipshit? Hey! Whatthefuckedness?! I didn’t stutter once! It’s a bloody miracle! I’m outta here, you pompous asshole! Process that!”

NAR © 2018

DOG DAY AFTERNOON

The Sicilian Storyteller

“Windsor, you son on a bitch, get your ass off my lawn! Go on .. get the hell outta here!” 

That was Old Man Jenkins. He and his wife Margaret live next door to us and the source of his rage was none other than our pet bulldog, Windsor. My husband Tom would run out of the house, apologizing profusely. 

“Sorry, Mr. Jenkins! Windsor’s a handful but he’s just playing. He’s really lovable once you get to know him.” 

“Get to know him!? Are you freaking nuts, Peterson? That bastard just crapped on my fruit trees!” 

“Fertilizer, Mr. Jenkins?” Tom suggested sheepishly and dragged Windsor away. 

“FERTILIZER!?! I think you mean shit! 

“Hush now, Aaron!” chastised  Margaret. “Using such vulgarism .. why, there’s children next door!” 

“Don’t hush me, Margaret! That damn dog’s a menace! If you can’t control your frigging mutt, Peterson, I’m gonna call the cops. Or maybe I’ll just put a bullet between his beady little eyes.” 

And the kids started crying. 

“Now, Mr. Jenkins, please don’t say that. You’re scaring my kids.” 

“Well, that’s just too damn bad! You solve this problem or I will .. permanently.” 

Tom brought Windsor back inside, promising the kids everything was going to be ok, that Old Man Jenkins was just sputtering angry syllables that he didn’t really mean. 

The next few days we kept Windsor on a short leash. Old Man Jenkins seemed to calm down and busied himself with his fruit trees. 

On Saturday morning Margaret Jenkins approached me in the grocery store. “Thank you, Alice, for keeping Windsor out of our yard. Now Aaron can care for his beloved fruit trees in peace. In fact, he’s been so preoccupied he hasn’t noticed the family of critters living in our wood pile. They’re just so darling, I even named them – Caspar, Melchior and Balthazar!” 

And off she went, chuckling surreptitiously. 

Sitting down to dinner later that day, we suddenly heard Old Man Jenkins yelling at the top of his lungs. We never heard him scream like that before so we knew it had to be something awful. Please .. not Windsor! We raced outside, stopping dead in our tracks: there stood Old Man Jenkins, pricked by at least 100 porcupine quills.

“Excellent aim, Balthazar!” exclaimed Margaret. “Guess he knows you’re just a mean old ‘prick’, Aaron!”

Old Man Jenkins learned a lesson that day: don’t mess with Margaret; she’s one smart cookie!

NAR © 2018