Kiss, In French

a short story
by Astor W. Heinemann

The telephone rings a few times, he doesn't feel like getting off bed to pick it up, but he does it anyway. It was Elena. Happy Birthday!!! came out loudly over the earpiece, he had to move the phone off a few inches away from his ears, he had been drinking heavily the night before and loud sounds felt like hammer blows on his head.

What? he said. Happy birthday, you drunken fool! It doesn't matter that you didn't call me on my birthday, I'm still gonna bug you. It was just like Elena to be that way. He said thank you and apologized for forgetting her birthday just a few days before. I didn't even remember it was my birthday today, I must be getting old. And like everyone, he was getting older, but at 22 he already felt like an old man, heavy drinking always takes it's toll eventually. We gotta do something tonight, and there's no if ands or buts about it. He hesitated for a bit, then said 0k. She said they'd go see a movie and that she'd come to Greenwich Village, that he didn't have to go all the way to Long Island, after all, it was his birthday, he shouldn't have to. At six in the afternoon she'd be buzzing his apartment.

Lee laid on his bed, belly up, watching the ceiling, paint peeling off, spider webs at the corners where it joined the walls. He lit a cigarrette and thought about Elena while the smoke filled the small room. He was working on his third book, he felt lucky to have been published so early in his life. His new book was not a work of fiction, it was based on his life and mostly around his relationship with Elena in the last few years.

He got up and off the bed, sat at the window with the fan at full speed fixed on his bare chest. It was a hot mid-summer day, the sun at one in the afternoon was as a broiler cooking pedestrians like bacon, sizzling and crackling. All kinds of bohemian characters walked around Greenwich Village all the time, but today it seemed that the more bizarre of them all were out. He wondered if they'd still be out there at night. He didn't relate to these people and the only reason why he moved there was to be close to his editor and because it was the center of the art scene in those years, he always felt out of place ever since he moved there from the Long Island suburbs and he missed seeing Elena.

Telephone rang again, he paced across the room and picked it up. It was his father. They had a short pleasant conversation, it had been a while since they spoke. After he hung up the phone he thought about his father for a bit. He felt real close to him, though they never spent much time together or had much in common. Nostalgia filled his heart as he decided to wash up and go down the street to Mr. Chow's to have something to eat and hang around his peers for a while.

After about an hour of intense philosophical arguments he remembered it was his birthday again. None of his buddies mentioned it and he questioned himself as to why he even bothered hanging around these guys. Sure, they were fun and interesting, but they didn't mean anything to him, and he sure as hell didn't mean anything to them. They were a group of artsy poets and painters. Over the years, many folks come and went from this group. I'll see you bums later, he said, only one or two of the group even acknowledged he had spoken and replied just with a casual glance in his direction.

He stood outside the place for a bit, lit up another cigarrette and felt the city move quickly below his feet. Standing there on the sidewalk, looking around, he felt static and a bit blue. Visions of Elena filled his mind and all of a sudden it was pleasant. He looked forward to their date...he hesitated for a second, thought about it, is this a date tonight?

With fresh thoughts of her, he went back to his place, sat down at the typewriter and wrote for a few hours, Chivas, a small desk lamp, ash tray with several cigarrette butts and a half way burnt one letting smoke up, like a charmed cobra peeking out of an Indian canister, a stack of empty pages and yet another stack of written ones decorated the old small desk, while the light breeze from the fan blew his hair around lightly.

The buzzer rang, he had lost track of time being completely engrossed in his writing. He didn't invite her up because she would see the suitcases. Putting his shirt back on, racing down the stairs, opening the door to the street, then he saw her. Standing there with her awkward pose, like she was letting the whole weight of her body loosely rest on her legs, shoulders relaxed, arms hanging down at her sides, a big smile on her face, his face lit up and she hugged him. She had brought a present, a record he had talked about buying sometime ago.

They walked the few street blocks towards the theater, having a pleasant conversation, same as always, he cracked some witty jokes and she laughed, as she always did, until her eyes teared up. She picked out the movie, it was a french art house film called simply Kiss. Elena had always been a very independent woman and wanted to pay for her ticket, but he insisted that it would not be gentleman-like for him to allow that, so she let him pay. At the snacks stand he ordered two popcorns and two sodas. She said she didn't want anything, he insisted, but she still declined, so he walked in with two popcorn bags and two sodas for himself.

Sitting close to the screen, their heads rested on the back of the chairs, the movie started, it was boring for him, but he didn't pay much attention to it anyway. He spent most of the film just watching her face flickering to the rhythm of the scenes, she either didn't notice or didn't want to acknowledge he was looking at her, he tried to move his arm close to hers, but hesitated because she wasn't returning the gesture. This memory would be fixed in his mind for a long time, her profile on again, off again.

As he walked her to the subway his mind raced with thoughts of kissing her. He had never dared to tell her about his feelings, and now it seemed pointless. He weighed whether he'd rather remember her like that, pure and spotless, or would a single romantic rendevous be more dear to his heart. Finally there, they stood silently facing each other for a long time. She was nervous, stared at her shoes and held her arms behind. He couldn't take his eyes off her, yearning to lean forward and steal a kiss, before it was time to say good bye. A final good bye she didn't know about and he didn't want to experience. So he just said good night and kissed her on the cheek. She hugged him and, as if she knew this was the last time they'd be seeing each other, held on to him tight for quite a while, then walked away without looking into his eyes. He stood there, waiting for her to get on her train and thought to himself that this is how he wanted to remember her.

Years after he had arrived in Paris he still remembered her all the time. One afternoon while sitting on a sidewalk coffee shop he thought he saw her walking by across the street holding hands with a tall, handsome man. He yelled out her name, but there was no response. His thoughts went back to that last night and he felt it was better that way. If it was her, he would still have that night at the movie theater, the last images of her at the subway station.

Ende.

Mirror

a short story

by Astor W. Heinemann

for Ivana

What do you see when you look in the mirror? Most of us don’t think much of it, other than fixing ourselves up. This was also true for Gerald Holmes, that is, until the night of his eleventh birthday.

Gerald’s parents were busy people and rarely spent much time at home, that’s the price the nouveau riche have to pay in nineteen sixties New York City. Dad was a successful economist for a large financial firm and Mom just enjoyed being a socialite among the wealthy young mothers of the city. They owned a big townhouse on the upper east side and left Gerald’s education up to his nanny, Nancy, with whom he was very close.

He resented that his parents never spent much time with him, they were focused on enjoying their own lives. This made Gerald a sad and withdrawn child with no friends. He had a big imagination and complemented his loneliness by having imaginary conversations with his pet hamster, Chicky.

Tomorrow was his birthday, he was turning eleven, and he had big hopes that this year would be different. He was certain this year his parents would remember.

“Chicky, don’t be so pessimistic, they are good people and they do their best to give us a good life, they do love us and I know this time they will remember.”

Some fictitious response from the animal.

“No, you’re wrong, they do love me!”

He went to bed very excited, nanny reading him a story from The Brothers Grimm while putting him to sleep.

“Your a good boy, Gerald, and your parents love you very much, don’t ever forget that. Sigh, you sure are growing up fast!”

Nancy comforted him as she kissed his forehead.

He had nice thoughts as he got sleepier and sleepier gradually fading into dreamland.

Next morning he was awakened by the sound of the curtains being drawn, sunlight coming in through the window, warm against his left cheek and one of the servants from the kitchen singing happy birthday while pushing in a cart with a navy blue and yellow frosted cake with eleven candles flickering on. He stood up on his bed and excitedly jumped up and down with a huge smile on his face.

“Thank you, guys!”

He blew off the candles and made a wish with his eyes shut. As he did so he remembered Mom and Dad. They were not there.

“Nanna, where’s Mom and Dad?”

“Oh, Gerald, your Mother is still in bed, she’s not feeling well, she came home very late last night and needs her rest. Your Father had to leave for work very early in the morning. I’m sure he didn’t want to wake you up and will call later.”

Gerald’s excitement quickly turned into disappointment. Once again, just like before, like it had always been, they didn’t remember. Nothing’s different this year, might as well have been any regular day. He got up, brushed his teeth and dressed in his best clothes, still feeling miserable.

He didn’t want to spend his birthday doing the same thing he did everyday, take his lessons from Nancy, lunch, then play in his room alone and have imaginary conversations with Chicky. He convinced Nancy to skip the lessons today as a birthday present.

Wandering around the huge four story home was far from the ideal thing to do on this special day, but there was nothing better, really. He wasn’t about to let this be like any other day. He remembered the attic storage room where he wasn’t allowed. And made plans to sneak in.

Nancy was worried about him, noticing his disappointment at his parents forgetting his birthday and didn’t want to leave him by himself, trying to make up games to cheer him up, but Gerald convinced her that he was fine and he wanted to play alone. Nancy retired to her room and he went into the kitchen to get the key to the attic. It wasn’t hard to find, the big old house had been remodeled many times over the years and this was the only lock that had never been changed, so the key looked like one of those old keys, a metal rod with small tabs on one end and a ring on the other.

It was the first time ever he was walking up the stairs to the attic. It was out of bounds, forbidden, a no-go zone. But this was an exciting opportunity and a special day, so he firmly continued up.

As he opened up the door his imagination ran wild with the things he could find inside. He thought of old stories Nancy had told him, maybe a princess in the tall tower, a fierce caged monster, a genie or magical elves that would grant him wishes!

But it was no real surprise to find dusty old furniture, stacked up boxes, locked up trunks and dozens of things covered with dusty blankets co-joined by spiderwebs. He flipped on the light switch and walked in looking around, exploring this new space. The dust made him sneeze lightly and his nose was turning red from him rubbing it clean.

His attention was called to a big old piece of luggage, one of the only ones that was not locked, a large dark leather lined trunk with rusted metal corner protectors and a massive fastener. He opened it up and it was full all things people usually collect for posterity. Photos of people with serious faces and old time clothing, a civil war era tarnished medal, old buttons, a black wool hat and a small jewelry box. He continued to sort through all these old treasures when he found a small ring with a clear red stone on it, he thought it was a ruby, so he held it up to sunlight shining in through a small window, that’s when he noticed the old sewing machine and table. He thought it was odd that most of the things were covered and this thing was not. So he put down the ring and went in for a closer look.

Reaching the foot driven rusty old machine he noticed that there was a photograph of a young girl beautifully framed, sitting on top of an elaborate doily. He picked up the picture frame for a closer look. The girl looked a lot like his mother. Maybe this was an old relative, he thought.

Next to the sewing machine was a tall something covered with a blanket that seemed newer, cleaner and with less spiderwebs on it than the rest of the concealed things.

“Hmm, this is weird, looks like someone has been here before.”

He grabbed the blanked and pulled it off the object. Dust flying off, he covered his face and shut his eyes tightly. As he rubbed the dust off his face the image of the object in front of him became clearer and clearer. It was a big oval shaped mirror.

“Oh, it must have been brought here after everything else.”

He was turning around to continue his exploration when out of the corner of his eye he noticed that the reflexion on the mirror was brighter. He went back and indeed the room seemed a lot better lit on the reflexion! His eyes widened, still the sad expression on his face from the earlier disappointment had not faded, but in the mirror Gerald’s reflexion looked happy.

“Weird…”

He lifted his hand and touched his face to make sure that was him in the mirror, and it was. He reached out to touch the other Gerald. Expecting his fingers to be stopped by the glass between him and his reflexion he was startled to see that his fingers continued on beyond the mirror. He quickly pulled his hand back, spooked. Still, the other Gerald looked happy, but he moved as Gerald moved.

He again tried to touch the mirror and instead his hand went right through it.

“How could this be?!?!”

What’s the right thing to do? Should he go and get one of the adults? His body trembled as he thought about what lay on the other side. He moved his face closer to the glass, his breath slightly fogged the mirror and as his nose touched the surface he could feel nothing, so he moved in some more. His whole face went through the mirror and he could see the room on the other side, everything was the same, except the light was brighter, and there was no dust or spiderwebs. He pulled his head back again and looked around him, still the room was dusty and dark.

“This is just amazing!”

He sat down on the old trunk where he was going through old treasures before, stunned. What else was beyond the glass? His imagination wandered again through the fantastic stories he knew. But he wasn’t really sure what to expect on the other side. He got up determined to find out and walked towards the mirror.

He put one hand through, then his head, then a leg, eventually walking whole into the other side of the mirror. He stood there, amazed at all he was seeing. It was like a parallel world. Everything seemed opposite of the world he had known. He immediately thought about the rest of his home, his family. He rushed out the attic door and down the stairs.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he found.

“Gerald! Where have you been, we’ve been looking for you all morning! You’ve been playing hide and go seek again, haven’t you?”

His opposite mother said with a big smile on her face, galloping towards him, she embraced him in the warmest hug he’s ever felt. He couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear.

“I love you, Mom.”

He said, as his eyes got teary.

“Oh, honey, I love you too, sugar bear.”

“There’s the birthday boy! If you keep growing that fast you’re gonna be taller than me in two years time!”

It was his opposite father. He was home. Gerald could not believe he was not at work. As he turned his starry eyes to his dad, still unable to wipe that big smile off his face, opposite father lifted him up in the air and sat him on his shoulders.

“Come on, Ace, let’s leave the women to do all the birthday party preparations while we go open up your present.”

This was all just too much, he was as happy as anyone had ever been in the whole world. For a second he thought he must be going mad, and pinched himself to convince himself he was dreaming. He rubbed his eyes and as he removed his hands he expected the mirage to fade, but it didn’t.

He rode his opposite dad all the way to the living room where a long big box wrapped in the brightest of wrappings with the biggest of bows was waiting.

“There it is, Ace, go ahead and open it up!”

Opposite dad said as he gently put down Gerald. He looked at the box, then up at his dad, standing there mightily, with his shiny shoes and diamond pattern sweater, fists to his waist, smiling back at him with expectation. He gestured with his head for the boy to go ahead, that it was alright.

He ran to the box which was taller than him, long and narrow. He ripped the gift wrapping paper off the box faster than any gift had ever been opened. It was a fishing rod, and not a toy one, a real professional grade fishing rod. He looked over at his opposite dad, teary eyed, about to cry from happiness.

“That’s right, Ace, you’re becoming a man now, we’ll spend a week at the lake, just you and me, and I’ll teach you all about fishing, just like you always wanted.”

It was the best gift ever. Better than any gift he could have ever imagined. His father was going to spend time with him, and a lot of it, too.

They spent the rest of the early afternoon in the living room while opposite dad showed him all the different parts of the tool and how it all worked together. Opposite mom popped in every once in a while to smile, kiss and say hello. Brought lemonade and freshly baked cookies. A while later she came back.

“Alright men, it’s time to break it up, Gerald has to go up and get ready for his party, his friends are going to arrive any minute now!”

“Sure thing, mom!”

He ran to the stairs, thinking friends! He stopped at the second step, looked back at his opposite parents, standing there looking back at him proudly, big smiles on their faces. He ran back to them, hugged them and told them he loved them.

“I love you, guys. This is the happiest day of my life!”

“Oh, honey, you say that everyday! We love you too.”

Said opposite mom.

“You’re our pride and joy, Ace. You’re the best son a father could have”

Said opposite dad. In his mind, everything had changed. These were not his opposite parents, these were the real parents he was always supposed to have. The opposite parents were behind in the old world, on the other side of the mirror.

And Gerald ran back up to his room to get cleaned up and dressed for his birthday party. As he was doing so, he noticed the same clothing he was wearing in the old world had been arranged on his bed by his mother. He couldn’t help but think about this old life. He became sad and started to cry as he remembered how desolate and sorrowful his life on the other side of the mirror was. He wiped the tears off his face, slowly walked out of the bedroom towards the attic stairs. He looked up, making up his mind was not a difficult decision. He went into his father’s office, took out two sheets of paper and an envelope, wrote a cold goodbye note to his old, now opposite, parents on one, addressed to Julia and Gerald, Sr., he did not consider these people his parents anymore. The second note he addressed to Nancy.

Dearest Nanna,

I’m very sad to have to leave you, but I have found my real parents. I’m looking forward to a truly happy life now and hope that you do not feel sad about my departure. Please take care of Chicky for me, I don’t need him anymore. I loved you the most.

Gerald.

Stuffing them into the envelope he walked up to the attic.

As he stood there, in this new happy world looking through the mirror at the dark dusty room on the other side, he thought about Chicky for a moment, and all their conversations together. They all seemed silly now. He walked through the mirror, covered it with it’s blanket, placed the envelope on the doily next to the framed photograph of the girl that looked like his distant mother.

He lifted the blanket and walked once more through the mirror, down to the noisy party full of joyous children singing happy birthday for him.

“Goodbye, mean and miserable old world. I am happy now.”

Ende.

Roadside

a short story

by Astor W. Heinemann

Penny and George fought often. It usually didn’t bother him much, and because it was more important to him to have peace and quiet over the satisfaction of an argument won, most of the time he just bit the bullet and admit wrongdoing, just so it would end.

Tonight, such was not the case. Penny took it new level not previously experienced by George. No woman in his past love affairs had ever insulted his manhood in such way. He blocked out what the argument was about and could only hear the piercing words Penny screamed at him. She said she had never been satisfied with their sex life. It was not that they didn’t make love often, which they did, three or four times a week. George felt that for a couple that’s been living together for over five years and were practically married, it was pretty good.

She called him humiliating names and said she rarely came, that all her moans and heavy panting had been faked for quite some time, now. Penny told him of how she would wait for him to go to sleep or was out of the house so she could pleasure herself while fantasizing about past lovers. “They were all better than you! You can’t even get me hot anymore, you disgust me!” She yelled at him.

George was no contender for this kind of fight. He was out of his league. All he could do was hang his head down in shame.

As he walked out of the apartment to the piercing tune of her insults, with a march reminiscent of a concentration camp jew walking naked into a gas chamber, they said their fuck-yous and he slammed the door behind him.

Her muffled screams still audible through the thin non-insulated sheet rock walls, amplified, it seemed, by the long hallway, reverberating violently against his eardrums. They made the wait for the elevator feel like months. Like an ancient civilization criminal tied to a post, he could not escape the painful and denigrating lashes that were these words.

Ding. The most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. “This must be what convicted felons feel like when they’re released.” He thought to himself. Doors couldn’t close quick enough after he pressed the button that had a star next to the number on it located in the control panel on the left side of the claustrophobic box. It didn’t light up, it was broken. One was never sure if the first push worked. So he did as he always did, as everybody else did, he just kept on pushing the button. His hands were shaking, and it made the machine-gun rapid fire button-pressing easier.

The streets were brighter that night. It had been raining during the day and large puddles of rainwater reflected the street lights back up doubling their luminescence. He couldn’t get it out of his head, all the things she said. She was probably still yelling at an imaginary George back at the apartment. He worried if all these things were true or just constructs designed to mortally injure an enemy in battle. Not that it made much of a difference, she said it and it hurt…bad.

Several miles and countless blocks hadn’t softened the pain. He crossed paths with strangers on the street, looked at their faces, the women, hoping for something, a smile or anything that would help calm his sorrows. None even noticed his presence.

Thoughts of revenge, payback, retaliation now wedged out the feelings of shame and disgust. But he could never physically hurt Penny. He wasn’t that kind of man, and there was nothing he could do to hurt her emotionally. Women are much more patient and smart, more powerful, than men in relationship wars.

That place with the flickering neon signs, liquor brand banners decorating the darkly tinted windows also serving the purpose of blocking the view of passer-byers so they could not sneak a peek inside, people had to pay for that. That’s where he went. A gigantic dark samoan-looking man took his $20 bill and stamped the back of his left hand while he panned his eyes through the several stages that were home that night to young women, some spinning upside down on the metal poles, others lay on their backs with their legs up in the air slowly arching apart, toes pointing up at the red, green and blue gel filtered bulbs, yet others on their hands and knees, all working hard to earn a bit more moolah than they would waitressing, or as cashiers at department stores, or as nurses, or as boring housewives.

He sat at the leftmost stage where a tall, fit, short haired brunette graced the sounds of a most appropriate tune for the occasion. I don’t want anybody else, when I think about you I touch myself. Scotch and soda was ordered, a quick glance over at the only other man sitting at there just a few chairs away before he even paid much attention to the show.

The girl was a perfect Venus goddess. He rolled his eyeballs all over her body and finally locked into her light brown eyes. He stayed there, in that zone, for all four songs. She gave him much more attention than any of the other men sitting there. By the second tune the audience at this stage had tripled. They all saw that she was the best of all the girls. She oozed of carnal pleasure, had them all in a trance with her smooth, slow moves, but as all of them focused their full attention on her naturally almost hairless pussy, pear shaped ass or small tits with large flawless pink nipples, slipping in bills to get her attention, George was dead locked on her eyes. It was like he somehow managed to extend his hand in through them and touch her soul.

As she gyrated on her knees, arms crossed down on the stage floor, head rested sideways on them. Her eyes turned towards George and she smiled at him. Lights shone off her body that was so smooth one could think she was wearing a skin tight satin bodysuit. She winked at him. Her left eye. His heart skipped a beat. He murmured “hello” while tickling the space between them with the fingertips of his left hand, his scotch and soda held on the other. They glanced into each other’s eyes and didn’t disconnect for quite a while until they were interrupted by the DJ announcing a break for the girls. “Quite the timing, chief!” George yelled at the DJ.

Some old mississippi delta blues softly played through the PA. Lyrics reminding the patrons that woman been mean to them, she done ‘em wrong. He called the waitress over and after requesting a refill, asked if she knew the name of the girl at this stage. “Yeah, that’s Misty” she replied. “Of course it is! Couldn’t have been anything else!” he said, and before he finished the sentence a graceful whisper caressed his left ear. “Hello”, her lips briefly touched his ear’s skin. He closed his eyes and embraced the feeling. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He could have stayed like that for hours, the electricity rushing through his body, all the current directly flowing towards his cock. But it only lasted a fraction of a second.

He turned around and saw it was her. Oh, how much had he wished it was so! George invited her to sit down and shook her left hand as he said “hello, Misty”. She serenely pulled him closer and gave him a kiss, the kind where moist lips nuzzle your left cheek. He gestured for her to sit down next to him, to his left, still unable to decouple from her eyes. She didn’t even noticed he already knew her name.

They both knew it. It was not the kind of rendezvous designed to foster any sort of lasting relationship. It was about scratching an itch. One that neither of them really had before they saw each other. For Misty, it was unheard of that a customer would focus on her eyes instead of her body, and that turned her on. For George, never before had a woman like Misty been interested in him. He ordered a martini for her, still Tesla coil sparks shooting back and forth between their eyes, only visible to them.

“You were making love to me from the inside out with those eyes of yours” She said. “Was it as good for you as it was for me?” George said from in between his teeth imitating Bogart in one of his old Noir movies. They both laughed. As their conversation turned hotter they both grew increasingly excited. George was hard. Misty was wet, worried that it might show through the back of her white miniskirt when it was time to go. “Listen, what do you say? Let’s scram out for a ride?” she said as she leaned her head forward, like she was giving him the winning horse for next day’s race. George placed a few bills on the table, used one of the empty glasses as paperweight, took her by the left hand gently pulling her up. They giggled as they walked out that door, big dark samoan-looking guy shaking his head in disagreement as they soared past him before he resumed organizing the bills in like-denomination stacks.

When they got to Misty’s car she slammed him against it, face first. She petted his chest from behind, fingernails almost tearing through his skin, pushing her breasts against his back. Slowly sliding her left hand down into his pants. He turned over and held her head with both hands, stared into her eyes for a few seconds before passionately kissing her. She pulled back, “Let’s go somewhere before I explode!” she said, squeezing his behind. “There’s a motel not far about ten miles off of route twenty seven”, George remembered and they were on their way. She gave him the keys and asked him to drive.

From the moment they got into the car they could hardly keep their hands off of each other. Misty drove one of those old muscle coupes from the seventies that had a single row seat in the front and she took full advantage of it all, as she slipped closer to him and unbuttoned her blouse, rubbing her bare breasts on his cheeks. He touched her bare back and moved his hand down into the skirt, fondled with her. She moaned and wailed in pleasure, kissing George’s neck, she as wet and soft as ripe papaya. She throbbed back and forth breathing heavily and pushing her body harder against his hand, grabbed his head and pulled it to her chest and those large, hardened pink nipples.

Suddenly, he felt her pull back and yell something. He couldn’t understand exactly what it was, he was hard of hearing from his left ear and his right one was obstructed by sweaty Misty flesh. A bright light called his attention to what was in front of them. Two of them, no, four, more! Some reddish yellow dots joined the topmost outer lights. George had become so lost in the moment, all the excitement, that as his body cringed with pleasure he pushed harder on the gas pedal and drifted into the incoming lane to their left. They were going over eighty miles per hour heading straight towards an eighteen wheeler. George savagely turned the steering wheel to try and get them out of harm’s way. The car turned left and right out of control and he put all of his might into trying to regain control of over three thousand pounds of American engineering, made even worse by the high speed. Tires skidding on the pavement and leaving behind an outré pattern of dark squiggly lines. Misty shrieked in panic as the car twirled around, George’s heart pounding even faster and harder than just a few seconds before when he was about to explode in sexual pleasure.

It felt like ages before George could wrestle the old car back in control. When it finally did stop, He just hanged his head down, breathing heavily, his mouth open to allow more air flow in with a hint of spit dripping from his lower lip. His arms suspended from the steering wheel, hands clenched in such a tight grip they were turning pale from the blood circulation being cut.

“Are you alright?”, he turned around…nothing. He whipped his head to look back, but the car was stopped across the road, looking back he could only see the darkness of barley fields. He looked to his right, in the direction they were driving, more darkness. Then he looked to his left and although it was just as dark, the rear lights from the truck speeding away revealed a small lump of something right smack in the middle of the road. He rushed out of the car yelling for her. “Misty, are you alright? Misty!”.

Kneeling down, he continued to call for her, asking if she was Ok, but there was no response. Shiny thick dark liquid was flowing from the back of her head spreading on the pavement. He rushed back to the car and drove it closer so the headlights would reveal what was happening. Nothing could have prepared George for what he was about to see. She lay there, the back of her head split open, parts of her brains were visible inside, some scattered next to her head. Face bloody, abraded by the pavement, it was turned a full one hundred and eighty degrees so it was on the same plane as her back. Couldn’t even tell it was Misty, there was so much blood. Her left leg was broken, it was completely under her, covered by her torso. George gasped and stepped back, horrified.

Panicked and without knowing what to do he acted without thinking. He pushed her body out to the ditch on the left side of the road. He turned on the engine, revved it a few times before finally committing. “I’m out of here!” he muttered to himself. Away. From it all. Tires screeched and smoked, the smell of burning rubber filling the air all around, George drove west through barley fields on both sides of the road. He could see the sky turn bright reddish orange from his rear view mirror, the color, he thought was probably the same color tone as the soft skin inside Misty’s labia, which he never got to taste. He thought to himself “I’ll turn left at the next intersection”.

Ende.

Black White

a short story
by Astor W. Heinemann

Isn’t it true that you start your life a sweet child believing in everything under your father’s roof? Then comes the day of the Laodiceans, when you know you are wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked, and with the visage of a gruesome grieving ghost you go shuddering through nightmare life.

- Jack Kerouac

Ah! The White family. This is your average upper middle class caucasian family living in heartland American suburbia. Rabid liberals, they were guilt ridden not only about being relatively wealthy in the U.S.A., but also about their name being White!

When Laura and Paul White were youngsters in the late sixties, they were heavily involved in the civil rights movement, burning bras in D.C., protest, demonstrations, the works. Today, being older and more mature, their values have grown as they have, a bit less anarchic. Both of them have respectable jobs, Paul works as a human resources manager at a nationwide car rental company and Laura works as a dental hygienist.

Now they use their free time working as volunteers in several racial equality organizations where their guilt over the suffering of the old time black folks can be somehow simmered. Still, they were always plotting what more they could do.

The have one son. A healthy, bright youngster of age nine. They named him Black. Although he was often the punch line of schoolmate jokes, he was a happy kid with many friends. His name, Paul and Laura though, would be a living, walking testament of their values, a boy in which they would inject all their racial equality ideas and, of course, it's implicit guilt. He was always encouraged to be kind and friendly to black kids, they made play dates for the children and dinner parties for the adults more frequently with the black families with whom they rubbed shoulders than any others. It was a conscious effort, which in their minds, was meant more as helping and giving back. Paul, in particular, had chosen his career because it allowed him the chance to give better opportunities to black people and this he always did.

Their neighborhood was racially diverse, they made sure of that when they were house shopping. They lived a comfortable happy life with very few problems.

Little Black was a very inquisitive child, very intelligent as well, for his age. He was always hungry for knowledge especially about people. He noted the differences between his family and the black families they were friends with, not only because of their skin color, but also the way they talked, the way they carried themselves, their hair. This fueled his curiosity and he was determined to know more about why these things he observed were so.

His parents were always very loving and protective of him, not in a smothering way, but rather to shield him from the evils of the world as his tender young age. They would gradually teach him about those things as he grew older, was their plan.

For the child it was almost like a gift from above when a new family moved next door. The Wright family had come to the neighborhood from North Carolina because the father, Jackson, had been transferred there for work. Angela, the mother, was a stay at home mom and she cared for their thirteen year old daughter, Corinne.

As was their tradition, the Whites prepared a welcome basket and all three went next door to welcome their new neighbors about a week after they had moved in. Paul rang the door bell that night as he straightened his shirt and removed lint from his khakis. Laura next to him with a big smile proudly holding the welcome basket, wearing a light cotton dahlia printed summer dress, radiant with great expectations of befriending their new black neighbors and little Black next to her standing up straight with his polo shirt tucked in, his bright blonde hair slick and combed to the side. The door wasn't answered right away and Paul pressed the button again a few seconds later, and as he did so he turned to his wife and son to give them a reassuring smile.

Some light, mostly unnoticeable racket was heard from inside and shortly the door opened. A large black man stood there staring at Whites with confused glassy eyes, barefoot, work pants unbuttoned and an old sleeveless undershirt with a light wet spot around the chest area. Behind him a multitude of unopened moving boxes and sporadically placed furniture garnished the home. A little girl sat on top of one of the boxes wearing a ragged old blue dress, her hair in braids, staring blankly at nothing in particular on the floor. Pots and pans clanking in the kitchen suggested there was either some cooking or dish washing going on.

"Who are you? Whaddaya want?"

Jackson grunted. A potent stench of alcohol almost forced Paul back and in a quasi-hesitant tone he announced their intentions.

"Hello there, we are the White family, we live right next door to you and we wanted to come by and give you a small token as a welcome to the neighborhood gift. My name is Paul and this is my wife Laura and my son Black."

He stretched out his hand for a handshake...

"Black? What the hell's black 'bout that kid?! He ain't even got black hair."

Paul smiled nervously as he tried to muster out the words to explain why they had chosen the unusual name for the child, pulling back his hand and wiping off sweat that wasn't there on his trousers when Laura chimed in.

"We are very happy to have you as our neighbors and we wanted to let you know that if there is anything at all that you need just come on by or holler."

She put forward the basket and it seemed like Jackson didn't want to take it, a few seconds of tense silence and a fading smile on her face and he finally reached out and took it from her.

"Well, thank you very much, it's nice to know we have such good people as neighbors."

Jackson said in a tone that mocked Laura's voice and accent. Laura turned over to Paul, shrugged, and a few more seconds of intolerable silence were interrupted.

"If there ain't nothing else you best be on your way back."

Still with the same tone and he shut the door.

The Whites looked at each other, baffled, and Paul promised they would all be like old family in no time. Little Black was excited about this event. The new neighbors were even stranger than the other black families he knew. He thought this was a great opportunity for him to learn more and use that new detective kit he got for his birthday. Immediately when they went back home, Black rushed to his room and took out his detective notepad and started jotting down clues that will help him put all the pieces together later on.

Tall dirty black man with smelly breath.

Sad girl.

No couch or TV.

Boxes, a lot of them. What's in them?

Investigate Mother.

Interview girl.

The next day Black watched by his bedroom window waiting for Jackson to leave for work. Once he saw the old pickup truck smoke on down the street he set his plans in motion. He rushed down the stairs skipping every other step, darted through the long narrow kitchen hallway and leaped out the back door. A single board was missing from the fence that divided both backyards and it was gap barely wide enough for little black to fit through. As he tiptoed towards the neighbors’ house he was startled by loud barks from a large dog chained to a metal post on the other end of the Wright's backyard.

"Shut up, Puffy! You ain't gittin' none!"

Yelled someone from inside the house. It was the voice of a little girl. Black's imagination wondered for a second as he remembered the sad little girl from the previous night, then the dog calmed down and he resumed his mission.

Black peaked in through the screened door and saw a woman sitting on the kitchen table smoking a cigarette, still on her night gown, reading something. He heard the girl hollering at her mother saying she was going to play outside, but there was no response from the woman. He quietly prowled off the back porch through the little garden on the side of the house, leaping with agility from one old concrete stepping stone to the next on the high, muddy grass, making sure not to make a lot of noise.

As he reached the front of the house he hid behind some bushes and started recording the events he witnessed.

Day 1:

9:35 am Mom smoking and reading in the kitchen. Little girl playing jump rope barefoot on the front yard.

Another neighborhood kid was riding his bike when he noticed the new girl and stopped to say hello.

"Hi, are you new here?"

The girl ignored him and kept on playing. The boy raised his voice slightly and asked again.

"Hello! Did you just move into this house? Are you new in the neighborhood?"

Still no response. Black wrote it all down.

9:37 am Skittles stops to say hello to girl. Girl won't respond.

The boy stands there wondering why the new girl won't answer him for a few seconds before the front door violently opens, knocking down some empty flower pots that were on the front porch beside it.

"Corinne, what the hell you think you doin' child?! You come back in the house right now 'fore I smack you!"

The woman yells. The child stops her game and starts running back into the house before the shrieking stops.

9:38 am Mom doesn't like girl talking to strangers

NOTE: girl's name appears to be is Corinne.

As Corinne walks back into the house her mom smacks her in the back of the head making her braids flutter around.

"Do you know what your father would do to us if he saw you hookin' up with boys again!? He will kill us both if he sees you! We just can't go through this again, child!"

9:38 am Why doesn't dad like friends that are boys? Why is mom so scared?

Black's curiosity was now at a boiling point, it was impossible for him to control his impulses. This was now an even bigger mystery. It wasn't just about how different the black families were to his own anymore. Why was the girl always so sad? What was the mom so afraid of? What is it that they can't go through again? He wrote all these questions and more fervently on his detective notepad and spent the day eavesdropping on the Wright women. He too, was now afraid of Jackson because of the way the two spoke of him.

There were a lot of things he didn't understand about what Angela and Corinne talked about, but he wrote them all down. He went back home at lunch time, ate and ran back out hollering out to his mom letting her know he was playing on the backyard. But he was really working on discovering all the mysteries this new family brought with them to the neighborhood.

1:22 pm Mom teaching Corinne how to clean up split peas.

He was so engrossed in his spy work that he didn't hear the pickup truck pull up in the driveway a few hours later. The front door opened and quickly slammed shut.

"Angie! I'm home, where my dinner at?!"

The Wright women sprang out of their seats and started setting up a place at the table. Black was subdued by fright at the sight of Jackson walking into the kitchen scratching his groin, large and fat with a shadow that almost darkened the whole room. The poor boy was shaking for a few seconds, finally overcoming his brief fear induced paralysis, jumped back on his feet and zipped on home as fast as he could, knocking down a metal bucket on his way. Puffy barked again.

"Who dat? I'mma get my shotgun, mo'fuckah!"

Black made it through the missing board on the fence right on time for Jackson not to see him squish by. He peeked through a small hole in one of the boards and just saw the big black man looking around dumbly with a paranoid expression on his face. The boy grasped his chest, his heart beating so fast he felt it was gonna burst out through his ribs. He didn't breathe.

"That's right, mo'fuckah, run! Ha, ha!"

Jackson muttered as he dragged his work boots back into the kitchen. Black finally calmed down and went back home, straight to his room to write about the experience.

6:38 pm Dad arrives home yelling at everyone and throwing things around. The girls are scared. I ran away, almost got caught.

That night at the dinner table Black asks a question.

"Paul, what is a bertion?"

You see, Paul and Laura encouraged Black to call them by their first names. They felt it would allow him to grow with a stronger sense of individuality.

Paul stopped chewing on his chicken and glared with googly eyes at Laura from above his eye glasses. He finished chewing, swallowed his food, took a sip of water and wiped his mouth clean with the white cotton napkin.

"Now, son, where did you hear about this?"

Black certainly did not want Paul and Laura to know about his detective work, and definitely not that he was spying on the new neighbors, so he lied.

"I was watching TV the other day and they were talking about this girl that had a bertion."

Laura took hold of one of his hands and asked Paul if maybe it was time to talk about the birds and the bees. Paul smiled and said:

"Well, Black certainly is a mature boy for his age. I think his intelligent little mind can now understand these things."

And so, after dinner both the White men sat in the living room couch while Paul explained how babies were made. He also explained how sometimes babies are made by mistake or other unwanted situations and he justified the concept of abortion in little Black's mind. Throughout the conversation Paul made it a point to refer to the baby as it, or the fetus, reassuring little Black that this was sometimes necessary and when this was done it was not a person yet, that it was safe and normal and no one was being hurt in the process.

Young Black took this in very well for a boy his age. He understood the concepts and that this abortion business was sort of a way to reverse a mistake or an attack, but he still wondered about the baby inside. Could it feel anything? Was this like a mercy killing? He wondered about the girl and he thought back to that kitchen table conversation between Angela and Corinne. Black now understood that before they moved here Corinne had a fetus inside her and it was taken out with an abortion as his dad explained.

All these things made the mystery even more alluring to him. Now he knew why the girl looked so sad, but why were they so afraid of Jackson? He needed to know more.

Everyone went to bed and Black kept his eyes and ears open. Listening for the sound of the end of his parents' night routine. Doors locking, windows shutting and finally their bedroom light flicks off.

Black waits a few minutes and then slides out of bed, he had gone in fully clothed minus the shoes and hid between the sheets when Paul and Laura had come to his bedroom to tuck him in earlier. He grabs his detective kit, flashlight, notepad and shoes and covertly sneaks out his bedroom window. He turns around and sees there's a single window lit at the Wright's and he sneaks in closer. He sits on the ground below the window, looking around, thinking what mysteries will be uncovered just a few seconds from now, his excitement was indescribable. Smiling to himself he slowly starts to get on his feet, quietly, steadily, heart pounding.

Standing there, his back and arms firmly against the house, his face sideways towards the window next to him, he moves in slowly to see through the light yellow shades. It looks like it's the girl's room. There are girl toys and clothing lying around, more boxes. As he continues he sees the end of a small bed. Then feet, big feet, big black feet, hairy legs. Now his mouth is starting to open slightly, this is a reflex product of his amazement. Small feet, black. Big black hands. It's the girl, Corinne. Big black hands touching her body. Black is frightened but he wants to know what's going on in there, he needs to know, he moves a little more to the side, his foot snaps a twig on the ground as he does so.

"Muthafuckah! Who dat?!?! Where my shotgun at!"

Big black feet leap out of the little bed, running out the room. Little Black jumps back and ducks below the window, he's frozen, fists clinched tight, he starts to quiver. As the back door of the house smashes against an outside wall when Jackson kicks it open, Black makes a run for the missing board gap on the fence.

Paul is savagely awakened by a loud noise. A spine-chilling sound that makes Laura almost fall out of bed. He goes for the lamp switch, confused. Swipes his glasses off the night table and puts them on.

"What in the hell was that?"

Paul asks. Laura looks at him confused as she cringes into a corner of the bed holding the sky blue fluffy bird feather filled comforters on firmly. He looks out the bedroom window and sees some shadows and lights, some sort of commotion at the neighbors'. A woman wails in the night, a few more windows in the neighborhood light up.

As Paul ties his robe around his waist he reassures Laura that it's probably nothing, but he's going to check it out anyway and out he goes. Laura, still confused stares at the lamp shade, half asleep. Suddenly her heart pounds so hard one could almost see the skin over it bubble up and down. She jumps off her bed and rushes to little Black's bedroom.

Paul closes the back door behind him, takes off his glasses to wipe them clean using the robe, this only makes them foggier. Just as he's cleaning them for a second time with his pajama shirt he hears someone talking on the other side of the fence.

"That's right mo'fuckah, you don't mess with my shit!"

Wailing continues on from the other side of the fence. Paul is suddenly startled by screams coming from inside his house. He turns around quickly, even more confused.

"You come fuckin' around my house and now you dead on the ground, mo'fuckah"

Says the voice on the other side of the fence. Paul whips his head back and forth, looking at the fence, then looking at his house.

"Please God, don't let it be true!"

Laura cries out as she storms out of the house towards Paul.

"What's the matter, what's going on?"

"It's Blackie, he's not in his bed!"

Laura cries. Paul holds her tight and turns his glare at the missing board on the fence. He sits her on one of the teak chaise lounge chairs they have on the back porch and carefully walks towards the fence.

Dropping to his knees, Paul sees Jackson nodding anxiously at the ground near where he was peeking through, shotgun on his hand still blowing up smoke. He looks down and sees a small figure in lying the dark, muddy grass close to him on the other side of the fence. He looks back at Laura still crying and howling and sobbing and tears begin to run down his cheeks. He gets up and runs rapidly through the kitchen, grabs a butcher knife out of the first drawer and storms out towards the house next door. The night breeze makes his tears feel cold on his face as he steadily thrusts through the bushes and brick passage ways and random wooden things that obstruct his way. Eyes red, he grips the knife tighter.

He stops right before little Black White lying there, lifeless, Angela still shrieking and bawling. Jackson mumbles:

"Mo'fuckah got what he deserved comin' here to my house."

Laura weeps on the other side of the fence and Paul soars on to his child's killer, as he does so Jackson pulls up the shotgun. Click.

Still not willing to believe this is happening Laura gets enough sense back to stand up and go towards the fence.

There, on the house next door, Paul on his knees crying, bloody knife on the ground next to him. Large black man bleeding from the neck, stomach, back. Several stab wounds let blood quickly flood the back porch of the house. Inside a black woman holding her little girl tight, crying why! And to the side, in the dark, muddy, high, unkept grass, Black.

Ende.

Short Plane Ride

a short story
by Astor W. Heinemann

My Bradbury was really good, I didn't want to stray from the pages and just wanted to keep going and going, but during one of those moments when Clarisse just vanishes I got distracted and looked up around me, then I saw her. She had just laid her suitcase against a wall and dug a cigarette out of her purse. As she lit it up, she looked around, puffed out the first cloud of smoke and whipped her bright blonde hair away from her face where the wind had blown it. I was standing about fifteen feet away from her, in the shade of the bus stop shack to protect my face from direct sunlight, she walked around, slowly breathing in the nicotine and paying attention to noone in particular, but just like the sun, she attracted all the planets in our little solar system and we orbited around her in compliance to her gravitational pull. She was tall, slender, long blonde hair and wore a tight green blouse and black mini skirt. She was as confident as any woman who was popular in highschool. But I wanted to get back to Guy and his new friend, so I panned back to my book and read on, turning away from the real fire next to me, back to the fire in the pages.

I rode the bus for about thirty minutes before it dropped me off at the airport, something prompted me to look back as I was walking the long, glossy, mostly empty marbled floors, and she was walking several feet behind me pulling on her big leopard patterned carry on, talking on her cell phone, still whipping her long bright hair off her face. I thought it was so cute the way she struggled with her purse, phone and suitcase while trying to walk rapidly towards the check in line.

Most of my life I've hated flying. It was something my mother injected in me from a young age, all the stress and nervousness about the boarding process, freaking out when the plane goes through clouds or turbulence, I was messed up for life. I hadn't taken a plane by myself in a long time, today I was flying south to see some old friends and for whatever reason I was relaxed. I packed lightly, just a backpack with a change of clothes, toothbrush, deodorant and some tunes. My earphones were on the whole time and I may have had a bit of a skip to my step, I was feeling particulartly good. Standing in the security line I was nodding in time to my songs when I turned a post and glanced at the people in line behind me, by now running in parallel facing me. She was there looking kind of anxious, my mind raced with thoughts of what was going on with her, was she escaping an abusive lover? affraid that security might find drugs on her? scared of flying like I was on other days?

After the security check point I went and had something to eat, as I hadn't eaten all day. I took a few anti-anxiety pills to help me enjoy the ride. While I awaited the boarding procedures I talked on the phone for a while, about this and that and the other with whomever.I looked around for the girl in the green blouse, hoping she would sit close by, if she was even on my flight, at least on at one of the other nearby waiting areas sitting in my line of sight. She was beautiful and I couldn't get her off my head.

As I boarded the plane the weirdness started. I was convinced I had asked for a window seat, since I enjoy watching the miniature world from above and pretend I could destroy it with just a finger snap, but instead I found a little girl of about eight crying on the window seat and the most beautiful flight attendant that has ever existed, young...about twenty two or so, I guessed. Her eyes were big and bright blue, her hair was short and naturally blonde and her face and skin were like that of a porcelain doll. I stood there silently watching her comfort the crying child. She must have sensed my presence because she turned around, looked at me smiling the most gorgeous smile in the world and said "oh honey, I'll be out of your way in a minute, let me help this child calm her nerves". I was forcefully keeping my jaw from droping down at the amazement that such beauty even existed. "No problem, take your time". I just sat on a seat across the isle and just watched her work. She was good, too! She had such tenderness about her, caring for the child, comforting her like she was her own. When the child stopped crying a few minutes later she got up, shot that killer smile back at me again and said, "here, all yours" while she did a little tippy toe hop and tilted her head to the side gesturing towards my seat. She stayed there until I was seated. I could have easily fallen in love with her right there and then. But she was just nice, just nice to everybody, I wasn't any special case.

My seat ended up being the isle seat, not the window as I had requested, so there was an empty seat between me and the little girl. I set my backpack under the seat in front of me, got my tunes out again, and got ready to enjoy the ride. The pills had already started doing their job and I was feeling good. I lifted the seat's arm rest on my right out of the way so I could just hang my arms comfortably and the weirdness continued on. A Lady in her late forties with some mental problems was trying to get to the lavatory, she talked to the angelic flight attendant before going by (she was standing next to me helping another passenger), the lady asked if we were going to Hawaii, "No, sweetie, this flight is going to Charlotte, South Carolina! are you sure you're in the right flight?", "Yeah, Charlotte, that's what I meant". The angel looked back and me and giggled, looking for someone to share the funny moment with, I suppose. "Weird flight" I said, she winked at me.

I strapped on my seat belt and pulled out my Bradbury to find Guy now questioning his life, his job, his society. That's when I felt someone which I thought was gonna walk by towards the lavatory, but instead just stood there. I looked up and to my incredible surprise it was the girl with the green blouse. She was there smiling at me, waiting for me to take my earphones off, and I did. "Hi, I guess that's my seat over there". I said "oh, sure, let me get out of your way so you can get in". I helped her put away her suitcase on the overhead compartment, as any gentleman would do with such a lovely lady, and stepped aside to let her sit down. I spent what seemed like hours contemplating her, my luck, which never goes this way, the beautiful girl I saw at the bus station about a hundred miles back, is now here, sitting next to me, but it was only a couple of seconds and then I started to get a little nervous. I said "hi", she turned to me, whipping her blonde hair, again, out of her face, smiled and said "hello!" with a beautiful southern accent and voice.

The little girl started crying again, and she stroke up a conversation with her. She asked me if I knew what was wrong, I said she's scared of flying alone. The girl was heart broken by this and started to talk to her about random kiddie stuff to get her mind off it. I was glad to see she had such a kind heart. Then more bizarre events started to happen. "Hooooolleeeeer! y'all take off your ipods or whatever it is you have blocking your ears and pay attention to the safety announcement". The girl and I looked at each other, almost simultaneously, and we laughed. "This is one weird flight!" I said, "I know!" she said. It was the only man out of the three flight attendants which spoke with an affeminate voice, but got a bit more serious when he started explaining the safety features of the plane. The other two female flight attendants could not hold their laughter and were just cracking up while trying to keep composture at such a serious presentation, but they couldn't. Everyone in the plane was just laughing out loud.

And we took off. The girl next to me pulled out a book, something about "Good In Bed", which I thought was so typical of a girly girl to be reading a chick book. The little girl asked her about the book, she said she just got it at the airport so she would have something to pass the time during the flight. That sparked my curiosity, but at that moment the plane's PA came back on, this time it was the captain speaking. "Hello everybody! I just wanted to say 'hi' and let you know how thrilled we are that you decided to fly with us...", I looked over at the girl and she was already looking at me laughing. "I'm telling you! something's going on here! This flight is just too weird!", she laughed harder. "...and in addition to that I wanted to call your attention to our beautiful and talented flight attendant Angela..." YES! I thought, she couldn't have had any other name! "...not only is she beautiful and extremely efficient at her job but she is also an accomplished professional choreographer who has worked on music videos by leading stars like P-Diddy, Britney Spears and the such. She will be leaving us to participate on the TV show 'Dancing with the Stars'. So please take a minute to congratulate her and wish her the best as she serves you refreshments for today". I could see the poor little thing blushing and smiling trying to keep cool and continue doing a good job. The girl next to me and I looked at each other again, and at the same time said the same thing "this IS a weird flight!", and we laughed.

We both continued reading our books, I on the other hand, could not concentrate much on mine. I keept looking to my right at her, examining her face, her hair, her hands, the skin on her legs...she had a few freckles on her thighs and I thought those were the sexiest legs in the world. It was very hard for me to control the urge to caress them softly and feel the satin beauty that they were. She noticed that I looked at her, I could see her panning her eyes towards me everytime I turned my head around. I started to get nervous as I thought I'd share one of my stories with her, see what she thought of it. I couldn't get up the urge to ask her, just start talking out of the blue, so I resumed my faked reading and listened to my music.

As she started to get more comfrotable on her seat her elbow moved and it touched my arm. I could feel all the hair on the back of my neck stand up and then I noticed she just stayed there, our arms touching, connected as if by magnetism and suddenly I was transported to my youth, my early teens, one of my first real loves, Gia the girl from across the street, older of four sisters. We used to sit across from each other on the front porch of my mom's house and play cards. Both of us barefoot, I used to slowly slide my foot close to hers, in an almost squid like motion barely touch our toes. I remember she didn't move, so I tickled her a little and she just smiled, but never looked up from her cards, she blushed. It was the same feeling now, I was getting aroused. Her soft skin against mine, the hair on my forearm felt like rye fields on a breezy late spring afternoon. I moved my arm closer and she didn't pull back. Only then did I remember than a few minutes after she sat down, she looked to the adjustable arm rest that could have separated us, like steel bars on a jailcell separate the free from the imprisoned, but she hesitated for a second, then put it back up and out of the way, leaving just air, nothing between us. I got more comfortable and moved my body close to hers so our hips were touching, and again got no resistance. She moved around a few times, moved her arms, crossed her legs this way and the other, always remained in bodily contact. I put my book down, pulled out one of my stories, took off my headset and hesitated for a few seconds. I turned to her and spoke in her ear softly, she leaned towards me curious. "Can I ask you a favor?", she said "of course". "Would you mind reading a short story I wrote and tell me what you think of it?" I said. "Sure! I'd love to, let's see it." I handed it to her. She started to read and I just sat back, rested my chin against my left hand and listened to her body language speak to me in response to my story.

In only a few minutes I felt like I was getting to know everything about her just by watching her. She smiled, laughed, opened up her eyes wide in amazement, covered her mouth with fright and suspense. I couldn't blink. She was done, put the book down and stared straight a head, then her eyes looked up and down, she was doing some deep thinking, a slight smirk she hinted before turning to me. "It was really, really good" she said, in a very serious tone, but with smiling lips and glassy eyes, it looked like it made her sad. I thanked her and asked if there was any critique she wanted to give me. She said, no, "apart from some minor grammatical things, it's a very good story and very well told, it makes you think about things", "what kind of things?" I inquired. "You know, about people, prejudice, how we really are". Those were some very deep comments and I was glad to hear how much meaning she found on it, some her own interpretentions, things I never consciously intended. I was glad she was not a "dumb blonde".

"Well, thank you very much, I really appreciate you taking the time to read my story". She replied "no, really, it was my pleasure, I really liked it a lot!". I smiled and stared into her eyes for quite a while, she smiling back, I introduced myself. She said her name was Jenny. We got into a really nice conversation, made the rest of the trip end too quick for what commonly feels like an eternity in normal situations. I wanted the plane to remain flying forever, so that I wouldn't have to leave her. She was a geniune southern belle, native of South Carolina, traveling south for a friend's wedding. She said "They're dropping like flies! I feel like I'm a bride's maid every other month!", I flirted and said I was glad she was still available. She blushed.

As the plane landed the child started crying again, people trying to get up off their seats before everybody else, trying to make a run for the door as if the craft would take off again with them still on board. She took the child into her arms and held her and told her nice things. She would look at me every few seconds smiling. We talked a bit more before it was my turn to leave. She said she was going to stay with the child until Angela, the beautiful and talented flight attendant, came to get the child. As she said so, her eyes remained on me, as if she wanted me to say I would stay with her, but I didn't. All I said was "Jenny, you will never know how nice it was meeting you. This flight, you, this experience, has given me a morale boost that has probably saved my life". She laughed, said she had a nice time too and that she hoped we would see each other in the future. All I could think was "I hope you are still a bachelorette", I leaned and gave her a kiss on the cheek and walked out.

Walking down the isle inside the plane, towards the exit, I somehow felt I was leaving a very good thing behind, experiences that were to be, a part of me that I hadn't yet come to grips with. Jenny will stand out in my thoughts for quite a few years to come. For some reason, at that moment, I felt like it she should have been walking that isle with me, same as her friends would be walking the isle towards what would hopefully be years of happiness together. And all I thought was "why did this have to be such a short plane ride".

Ende.