Pen Pal Goodbye.

Dear Friends,

Hello! I have had a lot of fun talking to you this semester. It was interesting learning about your culture.

I am sorry that I have been a little distant lately I've had prom and finals and projects and the play. The play and working my job has eaten up so much time. At least our performances are going well. It's hard knowing that this is my last play in high school. Graduation is coming up. I'm not sure how I feel about it all. it is strange. You see, I will be moving on to college soon. I love the fact that I can finally have some freedom, but honestly it all feels so serial.

This summer should be interesting. I will be working a lot. I will go to a few trips to the lake and a week long vacation to beach down in Florida. I am excited about that. I will have time to work on dream catcher sales,and a graphic novel I am writing with my friend Erin. I will also have a lot of time to play my new ukulele, which was a graduation present from my parents.

I know this may sound like a goodbye letter, but I would like to keep writing to you all. I'ver really enjoyed our letters and I would love to stay in touch.

I hope you are having a good week and I bid you all a nice summer

Sincerely,
Cassie

Crash (Inspired by Millennium Photo)

It’s rare for everyone to survive a plane crash. It’s eerily rare. Impossible even. After we crash landed into the sea, everyone swam to the shore. Some were dragged. Some were injured, but after the chaos died down and the pilot took roll, it was evident that we all survived. Every passenger. Every stewardess. Every single one of us.

I stood on a lump of sand, clutching my doll to by chest. The air was salty, as the tide washed up wreckage of the plane. My father stood beside me, his toes bloody. He had taken me into his arms and he plunged for the shore, his feet scraping against sharp shards of metal, and rough tropical rocks.

I watched with awe as the sand turned a cold crimson around my father's feet. There were two doctors on the plane, both in their early forties, and married to each other. They were a cute couple but with seemingly opposite personalities. My father's injuries were minor, he was toward the end of a moderately long line to be inspected for infections by one of the two.

By nightfall, my father and I were sitting on the sand around a fire with the rest of the castaways. I sat on his lap and stared vacantly at the makeshift-masking tape bandaged toes. I ran my fingers through my doll’s headful of sandy yarn. I began pulling her red locks into a long braid, slowly going strand by strand. I attracted the attention of a little girl with pigtails. She was much younger than me. Her wide brown eyes watched me diligently as I patiently braided my dolls hair.

In that moment I was very content. Too content for the trauma that I had went through that day. It was as if I was just sitting in the waiting room at the dentists office, without a care in the world.

I didn’t even feel blessed.

I was too young to know what that feeling was.

End~

The Cowboy Doll: Part one

Author's Note: This is only part one of three. This is for the post we had to do about the old photographs. The main character is inspired by the little boy on the left. Enjoy~

Lizabeth did not have a lot of time to play. She was the oldest of the five of us, so suitably she had more responsibilities. But after Pop passed, she became like a second parent to my three other sisters and myself. Mother tended to the house, laundry, our clothing and ourselves, while poor Lizabeth fell into the role of Pop. She took over the farm, abandoning her studies to tend to the livestock and plow.

Being the second youngest, as a child I did not fully understand the situation. I was only a toddler when Pop passed. I remember running barefoot across the dirt toward my sister many times over, as she bent to feed the chickens. I clutched my toy soldier to my chest, as I shielded my eyes from sunrays with a chubby hand.  I would ask Lizabeth if she would play with me. She always sighed and wiped her furrowed brow, sometimes a bit of chicken feed would stick to her sweaty forehead. She always gave me a stern “No” before turning back to her work, her ragged cowboy doll hanging out of the back pocket of her dress. I would always eyeball it before huffing and running back into the house, hopefully out of Mother’s notice.

Mother always spoiled me. I guess it was because I was her only boy. Margaret, the second oldest, born 2 years after Lizabeth, once told me that mother babied me because I was all she had left of Pop. I never got the chance to ask mother if that was true but I didn’t have to. Looking back on it now, it was evident in the way she treated me. She practically coddled me. As a young boy she wanted me to stay away from the farm and my sister. When she found dirt caked into the plastic crevices of Private Green, she would scold and whip me for playing outside. It may sound a little drastic but her fears, while extreme, were not ill placed.

Pop passed from a heat stroke.

This is...

This is my mother,

bright in her youth

her dark curls cascading,

contrasting her red lips.

The pink silk fabric,

a mirror to her heart.

The familiar dress,

I once almost ripped,

the summer before

seventh grade. 

This is my father,

young and tan,

his shirt tucked in,

his mustache thin. 

He holds me close,

between himself and Mom.

The familiar arms,

that still hold me,

and give me the 

support I need. 

These are my parents,

posing together

for my grandmother's click.

This is their wedding day.

And this is me,

a chubby baby.

in the middle of it all. 

Keeping it Real Questions

I honestly think it is really important to write about what you know. Anytime I write, I make sure and pick a topic I know about, whether it be fictional or not. I always do research on the things I write about. That is actually one of my favorite parts of the writing process, the research and planning.

Despite all of that, I know that I would never work for a newspaper. I feel like writing for me is just a creative outlet. I don't think i could go through the processes of it if what i was writing wasn't very fictional. Maybe I could do a few opinion based columns but even that feels like a stretch. I am not sure i can handle my opinion being attacked and criticized in such a public way. In my life, I have learned to keep my opinions to myself.

As far as life goes, I kind of agree that it can be full of disappointment. There are ways to deal with it though, positive ways. I feel like too many people these days let life get them down. Honestly it's all about perspective, like that "glass half full/empty" argument, I'm a glass half full type of person, or at least I try to be. I have had to learn how to deal with disappointment. I feel like people who don't learn how to deal with it properly are weak at the core.

I don't remember my parents really giving me a lot of nicknames. They often shorten my name to just Cass. My grandma used to call me "Little". I ended up accidentally giving my dad a nickname, and later my mom. Honestly it is a long story that I don't want to write out, but I call my dad Gig and my mom Mig.

I have had trouble getting over a few people in my life. One was a loss, the other a relationship. I lost someone really close to me a few years ago. My aunt DeeDee was like a grandmother to me. I still miss her everyday. Honestly I am not completely over her.

I actually stole a friend's "mate" once, it's also a long story that I would rather not get into.

A perfect day in the life of me would be quite a dozy. It would be a day of adventure. I wouldn't want one thing to go wrong. The weather would have to be nice. I'm not sure exactly who i would want to spend it. Maybe a lone would be better; i tend to be really introverted. I'm not sure if a perfect day in the life of me would even be possible. Maybe everyday could be a perfect day if I let it be. Maybe everyday is a perception issue, like the day is half full of goodness, not half empty. Or maybe it is half empty, but of badness. That's probably not even good grammar. I feel like a perfect day would only consist of good grammar too.

Photo Hunt

Something that irritates me:
Football is really annoying to me. I am not trying to bash people who are involved with it, but it irks me to see it being favored over other activities.
#footballcausesconcussionsanyway

Something that is beautiful:
Trust me, when you have been at rehearsals for all hours of the night, nothing is more beautiful than the sight of a pair of vending machines.
#foodgloriousfood

An interesting angle:
This is an interesting angel of a painting by one of our students who graduated a while ago. I've always really liked this painting.
#interestingart

Something from Nature
There isn't a lot of nature around campus. These trees are a lot prettier in the fall...I promise.
#sadtrees

Something Round:
I have always like these floral chairs we have in the library. One day I might steal one.
#stolenchair

Something a Child Might Notice:
On the Class of 2016 panel, I drew one of my original characters; a little mouse who doesn't understand. We probably weren't supposed to do that but I couldn't help myself.
#derpmouse 

Something that brings back an important memory:
I took a trip to the Kickapoo library to photograph the title page of my favorite book. This book is one of the many things that have gotten my through high school.
#bookbegettingmethrough

Something that makes me smile:
In the theater classroom we have posters for every musical Mr. Butcher has ever done. Lucas Grabiel played Ryan in High School Musical and he also played one of the leads in a Kickapoo production of Footloose. 
#pubescentdisneystars

Something handwritten:
This is painted over the mirror in the girls dressing room. 1999 was the first musical that our drama director Mr. Butcher, did here at Kickapoo. I like to look up at the inspiring words from girls who graduated form our theatre program all those years ago.
#thetop

Something Square:
This is a square window over by the theater entrance to our school. I have looked through this window many times during rehearsals, waiting on buses, etc.
#specificwindowsbelike

Someone I would like to be more like:
This is a promotional poster for FCA. It is a Christian club here at school. I can honestly say that someone i want to be more like is Jesus Christ.
#praiseHim

Something quintessentially American:
Room 112 is the most American place in Kickapoo High
school. This is the place where "history comes alive."
#'merica

Something that will always remind me of being at KHS.
My sophomore year, our theatre production put on a production of Monty Python's Spamalot. I got to play as the role of the Head Ni Knight of the Knights Who Say Ni. Every time I see anything Monty Python, I will think of one of the favorite roles i played in High School.
#Ni!

"Reel" Life

One of my all time favorite movies is Disney Pixar's Toy Story. It has been my favorite movie since before I could even form words properly. As a kid, the animation fascinated me, along with the story line. The idea that all of our toys are really alive seemed like an excellent theory to me. Sometimes I still find myself staring into the glossy eyes of my favorite stuffed animals and wondering. I love most of Pixar's films and Toy Story alone may be one of the first things that sparked an artistic interest in me. I still really enjoy the movie as an adult, maybe even more so. Watching it is comforting almost, reminding me of when life was simpler for me.

I don't watch movies as often as I used to. I find it difficult to go with my parents, because when my Mom wants to go, my Dad doesn't and vise versa. I don't really have a lot of time to go myself. Usually when I am at home, I don't have time for Netflix. Maybe one episode of something before bed or during dinner. I find myself often missing new releases that i really want to see, and that really irks me.

Another one of my favorite movies is Dumb and Dumber. The movies itself is really stupid, but the humor is clever. I really didn’t care for the sequel, I feel like the humor wasn’t the same and Jim Carrey and Jeff Daniels just seemed too old to play those roles. The first movie is a family favorite. My Dad enjoys it more than my mom. I feel like me and my Dad have similar tastes in movies. Dumb and Dumber is quoted between us regularly, along with the Back to the Future trilogy, Will Ferrell's Elf, and a few of Adam Sandler’s movies.

I took the movie quiz, and I feel like it was pretty accurate to my motives for watching movies. It is very correct when it says that I don’t watch movies as a way to get rid of my boredom. I don’t usually watch movies for artistic value either (believe it or not), and i am not one for most mainstream movies (I never enjoyed Harry Potter. Books or movies. Sorry everyone).

I wish i could watch more movies when they come out in the theaters. I’m trying to go see Batman V Superman here soon. Fingers crossed that I will have time.

My Favorite Movie Quotes

Dumb and Dumber

Toy Story

Forrest Gump

The Spongebob Squarepants Movie 

The Incredibles 

 

Billy Madison

Hopper Inspired No.2

Boxcar 

It was, by no means, a good hide out. The old man said it was “only temporary”, but Sam and I were skeptical. The old man had a bad habit of setting up shop in poorly-picked places. It wasn’t hard to see that the run-down box car was a terrible place to hide from the walkers. However, there was a creek on the other side of the tracks, just over the hill. With a decent supply of water, a brief stop was understandable. We’d have to take turns sleeping. I wasn’t looking forward sleeping in the teetering lump of metal, much less sitting on the ledge of it with a shotgun loaded in my lap and a machete strapped to my jeans keeping watch. Oh well. We needed the water. Sam was getting dehydrated and could use a few days rest anyway. Hopefully we’d be back on the road in a day or two. Lord know’s we needed a more stable place.




Authors Note: I might continue this, I'm not sure yet. This one along with No. 1 is over three hundred words. 

Hopper Inspired No.1

The Station 

Hal told me to take out the trash. I fished out the last hunk of chew and put it against my lip before yanking the bag out of the can and throwing it over my shoulder. The summer breeze hit me as soon as I pushed the door open. The dry heat seemed cool compared to the stuffy heat inside. The air-conditioner was broken again and wasn’t going to be fixed anytime soon, as if the station wasn’t run-down enough.

Old gravel crackled under my chucks as I lugged the bag across the lot to the dumpster. I passed Frank, who was filling up a few gallon jugs with gas. I nodded toward him, straightening my ball cap. He gestured back. Frank never said much, but seemed pleasant enough. Hal told us to always be friendly to regulars.

The stench of the dumpster was strong enough to drown out the fumes of gasoline. If i didn’t know better, I’d think someone was rotting in there. I tried to take few whiffs as I tossed the bag in. Glass bottles broke underneath the weight of it. Wiping my hands on my pants, I headed back inside, spitting on the ground in the meantime.

Window View

An old yellow truck,

and a young heart.

Today the leaves are changing,

as they fall into the bed.

The boys next door,

trying to catch them before they do. 

The grass is dying but cut to an edge.

Distantly, I can see the start of the path, 

that brought this heart here,

along with the owner of the truck,

the same. 

This is My Home

Authors Note: This is my piece on the pig art posters we looked at in class. The one I picked was a picture of the ocean. The haiku at the bottom of the post however, is based on a different print (I think it had trees on it? I can;t remember now.) Enjoy ~

            When I hear the sound of waves crashing upon the rocks, I feel so alive. Some may say that the beaches along the coast of Washington state cannot compare to the sunshiny getaways in Miami, or the island paradises in Hawaii. I think those people are wrong.

This is my home, a cloudy little place along the edge of the land where the ocean meets rocky dirt.  A place where there is rarely enough sun to attempt to get a tan, and where some people don’t even entertain the idea of applying sunblock.

 Unlike wave-goers down in Cali and the beach bums slumming around the Gulf, I don’t need sunshine to enjoy the ocean. I can smell the water from the beach, I can hear the birds and the white caps rolling in. I can feel the tide rise and fall as it attempts to carry me away. I don’t need suntan lotion and surf boards. All I need is ocean.

             I have taken a few accompanied trips to beaches such as the previously mentioned and I don’t understand the hype. The beaches in Miami were hot. The sweat dripped off of me almost aggressively. Apparently that was the case for everyone else too because it reeked. The air was so thick of human perspiration and spray-on sunscreen that I couldn’t have caught a whiff of that beautiful ocean aroma if I tried. The crackle of crashing waves was drowned out by screaming children and squealing women, and of course the occasional, “Riotous Dude!” Sure I could venture into the water, but it was too crowded. I ran into another sticky body every time another wave rolled in. Needless to say, I could never relax. The trip, a total loss.

I don’t need sunshine beating down on me to experience bliss. I don’t need a sandy match of volleyball or a waxed piece of wood. And I most certainly do not need a palm-treed paradise with the bluest waves as far as the eye can see.

All I need are waves and my white cane. 

I am looking up

finally I get to rest

autumn, the best way

Boy's Are Stupid (Narrative Poem Based on a Scene from Brody's Ghost)

Boys are stupid,

This I have learned to be true.

For trusting this one,

Maybe I'm being stupid too.

This one is upset,

and all bent out of shape.

Maybe, just maybe,

If I can get him to cooperate,

I will finally be free,

and of his burden, 

so will he. 

Akiko's Morning (A Narrative Poem Based on the Illustration Below)

I'm here waiting at the bus stop,
My pal Poog floating at my side.
It's raining today.

Drip, Drip, Drip.

It's early in the morning,
So it is still dark outside,
But the streetlight is illuminating this area.

Beaming, Beaming. 

Today should be a good day,
Don't you think so Poog?
At least it's dry here under this umbrella.

Nod. 

The Marionette Man: Chapter 1

Authors Note: This is a story that got away from me, much like one of my previous stories, Stripes, this one exceeds the amount of words we had to write by hundreds. I got super excited about this, and this is actually only going to be Chapter One of a longer tale to come. It seems pretty light right now, but just like in everything I write, it will eventually become dark (or at least a little creepy). Strap yourself in because this one is going to have some plot twists.

The prompt for this story was “First and Last Famous Lines.” My first line is from Catcher in the Rye, and is underlined at the beginning of the chapter. My second line is underlined at the end of the chapter and it is from the 19^th century novel called Vanity Fair. A previous blog post of mine explains each line and the book they come from in more depth. As always I hope you enjoy my little tale and happy reading!

If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is were I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like getting into it, if you want to know the truth. No matter what I tell you, you are going to try and trace every recent event in my life right back to my childhood. So I'll save you the effort and tell you that yes, my bunk of a father and my hoochie mom are probably part of the reason why I am they way I am today, but don't go blaming all of this on them. Since they weren't around all that much anyway I doubt they can have a lot to do with all of this. No, most of it was probably me just being me. After all. I'm  the one who did it, aren't I?

A better place to start is when I turned 21, and was hired at Bongo's Pizza Buffet. Bongo's is one of those sticky kids places, y'know, with ball pits and arcade games, kinda like Chuck E. Cheese. Well I had just quit my buzz-kill job at Domino's a couple months prior, which had seemed like a good move at the time, but after about a month of being jobless, I realized that strumming by beat up guitar on the street corner of Fremont and Sunset wasn't gonna pay the bills. I turned in a few applications here and there, mainly record stores and a few shoe shops, never getting past the first interview. I eventually tried other food joints as a last resort. Bongo's was more of a joke than anything; a dare from my roommate Vince. Ended up being the right place since it was within walking distance, well, maybe not so much the right place now, but it sure seemed like it at the time. Dave sure seemed to agree; hired me after one measly interview, probably because the place was low on bodies and about to run outta business. What else can you expect from a crappy knock off of Chuck E, Cheese?

My prior experience with pizza landed me a job in the kitchen, which was good because I didn't want to be around all those snot-nosed brats, but as I said before we were short handed, so after I had been at Bongo's for about two or three weeks I had to take a floor shift here and there. Floor shifts were also known as "Watch". A watchman sorta just stands around and makes sure the kids don't sneeze into the buffet, or try to get on stage with the animatronics, or try to pull the puppets off of their strings, or wipe their boogers on the arcade games, or piss in the ball pit... yeah, you get the idea. It's pretty much just a glorified babysitter position. If you could even call it that.

The most annoying part about floor shift was probably the uniform. Back in the kitchen, we wore simple white t-shirts and hairnets. On floor we wore black pants and those awful violet shirts with off-grey sleeves. We had to tuck those puppies in too. Still, that wasn’t the worst of it. We had to wear these ball caps that matched the off-grey of our sleeves. The ball caps resembled Bongo’s likeness, with flappy elephant ears on both sides of it and an obnoxious trunk that hung off the bill of it. Boy, did Vince and the other guys give me hell about that one.

Aside from the elephant hats and the sticky surroundings, after two months or so at Bongo’s I realized that working there wasn’t all that bad. I got used to the kids – at least as much as someone who dislikes children can anyway – I even began to learn some of the regulars’ names. Believe it or not, my job had benefits to it (besides my $6.50 an hour hook up, which was tight). Working at a kids place, you meet a lot of chicks; chicks bringing younger siblings, co-worker chicks, hell, even a few of those teen mom chicks were pretty hot too. I managed to snag some digits here and there, went on a few dates. You’d be surprised how many girls like a guy with a mullet and chin scruff once he tells them that he works with children. I got in a few relationships; dated a cute blonde with a chubby nephew who frequented the joint. She was 19 and fine, but she wanted to get serious after a few months so I bailed. Dated a brunette not too long afterword. She was 20 years old and boy, did she like to party. She threw slammin ones at her dad’s house. She invited me over after I met her while working floor; she was dropping off her little sisters at the place. I knew her sisters well, they came in almost every weekend and spent over a hundred dead presidents on arcade tokens. Their father sure was swimming in it. That one was short lived as well. Turns out girls that like to party don’t stop liking it. It didn’t tear me up too bad when I found out that she had cheated, not like I liked her all that much anyway.

I had been at Bongo’s for almost eleven months when our puppet guy quit. Dave pulled me into his office and asked me if I would like the position, but I told him I would stick to kitchen and watch, that I wasn’t much of a puppeteer. Dave sighed and scratched his head, mumbling about how we really couldn’t afford to hire another person right now. He let me off the hook though, saying he’d ask around and see what he could find. Turns out a girl from the night crew took the position. Her name was Cali, I didn’t really know here much since she worked on the night cleaning shift and only worked hours after I had left, but Dave told me she was hired around the same time as I was. On her first day as puppeteer I was watchman. Dave told me to keep an eye on her; maybe strike up a conversation or two, so she feels welcomed by the day-shift crew. When I saw her walk in that Saturday morning, I knew that I would be doing a lot more than keeping an eye on her. Cali was one of the most beautiful girls I had ever seen. She was small, probably stood at 5’1 or so. Her dark hair, made a long ponytail which swung with pep back and forth with every step she took. She had stunningly green eyes and a smile like I had never seen.

She greeted me, before I even had the chance to make a move on her.  

“Hi!” She smiled. “I’m Cal. You must be Vlad, the watchman?”

I grabbed the bill of my hat and took the flappy thing off of my head, bending at the waist.

“The one and only,” I smirked, rising from my bow and placing the cap back on my head. Her red lips curled at the tips. “Cal huh? Short for Cali; I like it.”

Cal tucked a stray strand of hair that had escaped from her ponytail back behind her ear, “Actually, it’s really short for California.”

I raised an eyebrow chuckling, “California?”

“My father was a stupid hippy obsessed with the sunshine state,” before I could comment she went on, “It’s not a big deal but I’d just rather go by Cal than California, but for the love of all things on strings, please don’t refer to me as Cali ever again.”

I couldn’t help but let myself smile a little at her seemingly quirky personality, I found it endearing in a way, as if I hadn’t just met her a minute before.   

“My bad,” I smiled, shoving my hands into my pockets nonchalantly. She smiled back. I started to say something else, but before I could two boys ran in-between us towards the arcade games. The tall one pushed the chubbier one into Cal, making her stumble back a bit. The chubby kid looked up at Cal, his face beat-red and sweaty. His friend was already halfway to the ski ball machine.

“I’m sorry lady!” The chubster said, before trying to take off again. I stepped in front of him, cutting him off.

“Not so fast kid, go tell your buddy to come over here and talk to me.” The kid ran over to his friend. I looked over at Cal, who looked intrigued enough to see what I was going to do. I gave her a wink before turning to the little brat who had scampered up to me.

“What do you want?” he asked impatiently. I bent at the waist, my hands resting on my bent knees, to get on the little rugrat’s level. Up close I could smell anchovies on his breath and see all the sauce stains on his Raiders jersey.

“Listen here kid, see that guy over there behind the prize counter?” I pointed over to the pimply new kid Jeremy, who was struggling with the ticket counter. “He’s a friend of mine y’see.” A prompt lie. “If I ever see you running around in this joint or pushing someone else again, I’ll tell my friend over there that your tickets are no good. Got it?” The kid nodded, still fidgety, but now in a different way. “Good. Now tell this lovely lady that you are sorry for pushing your friend into her.” I looked up at Cal, who seemed to blink at the word "lovely".

“I’m sorry ma’am,” the little bundle of nerves spouted quietly before looking back at me.

“Alright, you can go play ski ball with your friend now, but walk, you hear me? And play nice.”

The kid nodded, walking back to his friend with his eyes on the ground. I straightened, crossing my arms over my chest before turning back to Cal.

“Wow, you sure showed him,” she quipped, smile playing on her lips. I stiffened. Realizing that telling off a little kid is probably not the smoothest move in the book.

“Ah, well y’know,” I shifted my hat, scratching the back of my head, feeling awkward. “Kids gotta be put in their place sometimes, especially around here.” I looked around the arcade area, lamely trying to avoid eye contact with Cal. I blew it, I thought to myself. There isn’t anything impressive about a guy who takes joy in telling off kids, and it’s too late to play the whole “I love children” routine now. Dammit. I was wallowing in my mistake when that angelic voice brought my thoughts to a screeching halt.  

“Damn skippy. I hate kids.” 

It felt like my jaw had hit the floor. Nothing sexy about a guy with his mouth all agape; I quickly tightened it back up, closing my lips into a smirk, “Honesty I’m not a huge fan of them either.”

“I couldn’t tell,” she laughed. I chuckled with her, there was a strange warm knot forming in the pit of my stomach. “Tell me then, Vlad,” she continued. “Why work at a place crawling with kids if you hate them?”

I scoffed, shoving my hands in my pockets again, “I could ask you the same thing, California.”

She twitched a bit at the name, but her playful smile only widened, “Well cleaning up at night didn’t involve children, just the aftermath of them. I could deal with that. The only reason I accepted this new position,” Cal turned toward the puppet booth, eyeing the lifeless marionettes that hung out of the reach of children. “…is the puppets themselves. Puppets have fascinated me since I was a child, marionettes especially.” She came to face me again, her long hair whisking by my face. Suddenly she was blushing, “That probably sounds really strange, I’m sorry.”

I couldn’t help but smile at how cute she looked with burning cheeks, “Nah, it’s cool. It didn’t sound strange at all. Everyone is passionate about one thing or another.”

Cal flashed me a happy grin, “That’s right!” Her smile softened. “And, what is your passion?”

I smirked, leaning in closer to her, like I was about to tell her some sort of secret, “My passion is playing guitar, but even more than that, it’s talking to beaut-” I was interrupted by a big fuzzy hand that landed on my shoulder, making me jump a bit. I could be wrong but I would have sworn I spotted Cal stifling a laugh at my scare.

“Well, well, well! Look who’s distracting the new crew, the one and only Vladimir Fishback!”

“Hey Derrell,” I sighed, I didn’t have to raise up Bongo’s big furry head to know who was wearing the suit. Derrell was our main mascot man, and probably the most annoying co-worker I have ever had to co-exist with.

“Hey little man! What’s shaking?” he patted my back, hard. I heaved a little, rolling my eyes. Since Derrell was about 6’4, he called anyone shorter than him a little man.

“Not much Big D.” I exhaled halfheartedly. I glanced over at Cal, only to find her turned away, trying not to laugh. “What?” I asked her.

“Your…” she stopped herself with a snort. “Your last name is Fishback?”

I could practically feel the color rising to my face. I furrowed my brow, “Unfortunately.”

Cal giggled looking out at the children, probably to keep from embarrassing me further. 

I turned to Derrell, his trunk almost whacking me in the face, “Shouldn’t you be giving sticky rugrats hugs or did you have something to tell me?”

“Oh yeah, right,” Derrell turned toward Cal, almost giving me a smack with his trunk again. “You’re the new puppet lady right?” Cal turned to him smiling, as if she was still holding back a laugh. /she nodded. “Cool, cool," Derrell went on. Shows got to start soon see, I’ll give you a few minutes to set up before I round up the kiddos for ya, kapeesh?” Cal seemed a little startled to be thrown into her puppeteering without a warning. She rubbed her hands on her black pants, as if her palms were sweaty.

“Alright,” she nodded. She then looked to me, “I’ll see you later then?”

I raised my eyebrows, then lowering them, I tried to be cool. “Oh, um yeah sure thing.” I gave her a lax half wave before stuffing my hands back in my pockets and leaning nonchalantly against the wall behind me. I then looked toward Derrell and watched her turn and make her way to the puppet booth from the corner of my eye. Maybe hard to get was the right way to go with this girl, or at least, slightly hard to get?

Derrell gave me another one of his signature, hard pats on the back, “Hey little man, I gotta dip.” Before he left, he leaned closer to me, shoving his big fuzzy ear against my face. “By the way, you gotta 39 over in the ball bit, might wanna go take a looksee before Bossman gets wind.” With another pat, Derrell was off towards the middle of the dining room, to make a big announcement to the kids in his annoying elephant voice. I went over towards the ball pit then, trying to catch the 39 Derrell mentioned.

At Bongo’s we had a code for certain issues that could happen with the kids. Everything from 30-45 evolved food. A 39 was when someone takes food out of the dining or buffet area and into another area. I skimmed the pit, looking for the little brat who was the culprit. My eyes landed on a few slices of pizza that had been tossed into the pit, and when I found the little devils who were guilty I cursed under my breath. In the middle of the colorful sea of plastic orbs sat the chubby kid and his pushy friend from earlier.

I dealt with the 39 accordingly, getting someone to help me rope off the ball pit and deal with the mess and whatnot. When the boy’s parents came to pick them up I had to tell them what happened, and why I took their tickets away and all that. The rest of my shift consisted of pulling brats off of the stage, cleaning tables here and there, and the usual child who falls trying to climb onto their table that I have to pretend to console until I drop them off at the prize counter and put them in Jeremy’s care. Every now and then I would glance over at Cal’s puppet shows. For someone who really didn’t like kids, she was a really fantastic puppeteer, at least from what I could tell. I guess she wasn’t kidding about it being a passion of hers.

My shift ended at 2:30 and boy, with the day I had had, I was more than ready to get out of the joint. I walked by the puppet booth on my way out, Cal was doing another show, this time with hand puppets. I watched as one by one the puppets jumped out of the booth, as if they were falling. She had a distinctly different voice for each puppet as they screamed and landed in the children’s laps. The kids were in stitches: I found myself chuckling as well. I couldn’t imagine those voices coming out of little Cal. That knot feeling in my stomach tightened up again as I watched the final puppet poke his head out at the audience. He had a bow-tie and a little top hat.  

“Come, children, let us shut up the box and the puppets, for our play is played out.”  The puppet then flung himself over the side too. Immediately the children, started to place the puppets neatly into the little pull-out drawer that presented itself at the bottom of the booth. I felt my jaw drop a little again while watching them. As soon as all the puppets were in, the children in the front row shut the drawer. Cal popped up from behind the curtain, and the children clapped and a few even whistled for her. I stood there in awe, clapping slowly. She waved at them, bidding them a goodbye. They waved back, and soon they were all on their feet, scattering about the place; some to their parents, others to the prize booth, and about a whole line of them scurried to the bathroom. Soon I stood alone, still clapping. Cal looked up at me, her face turning beat red, but she smiled playfully nonetheless.

“Hey there, Fishback.”

I smiled back, that warm loop jerking in my stomach like never before. In that moment I realized, I was staring at the girl that was going to be the beginning of the end of me.

And boy, was I right.