"So, I hear you're from Johnstown."

I was nervous.

I walked with the group, older students catching up from summer, and freshmen like me, wondering whether a work study job in the biology department was going to suck.

They tried to scare us kids. The mean, towering, white-haired professor loved his library. Handle the books right. Don't slack off. Do a thorough job.

We were going upstairs to do the annual cleaning.

There was a girl in the group I secretly watched. A little quieter than the others, more watchful, but still part of the action. She seemed so comfortable with college life compared with me. I knew nothing.

I caught her eye for a moment.

Dark in the distance. Mysterious and pretty.

Lingering a little longer than anyone else's.

In that moment, I saw something different--how aware she was. That she was not just floating on the surface. She might be someone searching the same depths that I was seeking.

Months later, when I was close to her, I learned that those dark eyes were really green.

--September 1988, Franklin & Marshall College. The day I met Aine.


**********
On May 23, 1992, we were married.
Happy Anniversary, Aine!!! Sweet 16th.
**********

Never Too Late

This world will never be
What I expected
And if I don't belong
Who would've guessed it?
I will not leave alone
Everything that I own
To make you feel like
It's not too late
It's never too late
        Chorus
        Even if I say it'll be alright
        Still I hear you say
        You want to end your life
        Now and again we try
        To just stay alive
        Maybe we'll turn it around
        Because it's not too late
        It's never too late

--Three Days Grace, Never Too Late


He fished the cell phone out of his sopping pocket. The ring tone played a wild organ prelude by Bach.

Streams of water blurred his eyes. The shapes of slippery dark trees and neighboring houses danced.

"Hello?"

"Dude."

His best friend.

"What's up?" he said.

"Not much. You?"

He blinked. It didn't shed the water. "Nothing much."

"What's all that noise?"

"Rain."

"Close the window, man."

He tilted his face upward towards the black clouds. "It's not open."

"But it sounds like you're in the middle of it."

A little thunder trembled.

"I'm sitting my back yard," he said.

"What?"

"I'm sitting in the rain."

He pulled in his legs to sit Indian-style. Rain dripped from his fingers. Cell phones were tougher than he thought.

"You're not joking?"

"Nope," he said.

"Have you lost your fucking mind?"

"Probably."

He gnawed down the urge to cry. Hearing a familiar voice was tipping him over the edge.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said.

"Bullshit."

The downpour blanketed the grass. He watched it. And wished the phone would short out.

"Are you still there?"

"I'm just tired, man. Real fucking tired."

"Then take a nap! Instead, you're sitting in a mud puddle."

Slimy cold slithered down into his underwear. "I should go."

"This is not cool."

"Bye," he said.

"Come on, man. Get up and go back inside."

He shook his head. "I can't go back in there."

"Look. You're at your wit's end. I know that. But can you do something for me?"

"No."

"It's something you want."

He squeezed his eyes shut. Trails cascaded down his face. "I don't know what I want."

"You'll want this. Are you ready?"

"No."

"How about now?"

"I'm going to hang up."

"I'll just call you back."

"I'm tossing the phone."

"Can you hear me now?"

"No."

"Can you hear me now?"

"NO! Jesus Christ! What?!"

"This one word will change everything."

"Spectacular," he said. "Let's hear it."

"Nachos."

He laughed. Or maybe something else. "Nachos?"

"I want you to go inside and make yourself some nachos. Put a mess of jalapeno peppers on it. I don't care that they burn your ass on the way out."

"She hates hot peppers."

"Exactly."

Lightning fried some tree in the east. He winced, but the boom was delayed.

The storm was shifting.

"Why don't I hear a bag of shredded cheese opening?"

"I'm not in the mood for nachos," he said.

"Number one, I didn't ask if you were in the mood. Number two, I don't care if you're in the mood. Now get going."

A few minutes later, his sneakers bubbled water on the way to the back door. Toweling off his hair, he reached for a bag of tortilla chips.

Breaking the smallest of smiles, he also snagged a lime and an old bottle of Tequila.

He giggled after the first shot of Tequila like always. And the burn on his lips felt divine.

Trillium

Painted Trillium*
(Trillium undulatum)

~~~
Three by three by three
Odd Trillium symmetries
Older than the stones
~~~


Red Trillium*
(Trillium erectum)

*Taken in the mountains of Northeastern Pennsylvania this weekend before a high spring rain.

After Midnight

"I'm not going to fuck you," she said, glaring at him through raccoon-black eyeliner.

He choked. "W-what?"

"I am not going to fuck you."

He tripped a step backward. "That's, um...."

She stayed frozen.

"...good to know."

He yanked his gaze over to the automatic doors.

What the hell? Did he look at her wrong?

He peeked. The raccoon eyes narrowed.

"I really wasn't going there," he said. "But thanks."

She picked up the bread, and the conveyor belt dragged everything forward.

"What do you call these?" she said, thrusting out a produce bag.

"Artichokes."

"What are they for?"

"You, um, steam them," he said. "You eat the leaves by scraping them with your teeth. The heart is excellent."

She wrinkled her nose.

Or not.

Behind him, the gentle sound of metal stacking on metal clicked. He turned to see a mouse scurry around a dude building a display of canned mushrooms.

It shot down the next aisle and triggered the automatic doors. The darting shape curved off into the sleepy street noises.

"This is a pretty weird grocery store," he said. "The lady at the deli told me about all her menopause periods. She pointed to the trashcan and said she runs through like a dozen maxi-pads a day."

No reaction from the cashier.

"I'm not sure I want to eat the chipped ham now."

"I've never had a period," she said.

He nodded a few times.

She dropped a bag of apples on top of his Wonder Bread.

He shrugged and handed her the twenty.

Lead Poisoning

                           delicious.
                  are
Bullets

I've been walking the beach the hot hissing beach with bullets thumping sand poomp poomp poomp daring the piss poor shooters like the Colonel in Apocalypse Now standing tall and yelling at the heads cowering under hands and fetal positions and bodies pressed into every burp in the Earth. I'm asking for it right in the Kevlar. You can hit that right? Sure you can because everyone can have good aim sometimes and punch I take it in the stomach because I'm pretty hungry anyway and I bend down to pluck the metal mushroom salivating already down my chin and bites feel weird anymore not having teeth or maybe I do have teeth just metal turned to metal grrrrrriiiiinding but I'll never know because I pass the mirrors instead of break and look down down at anything except the other me looking down.

And back at home the paint is crumbling around the windows but damn does that shit taste good because it's really fucking old and someone I probably would've liked painted those layers gold-red-mustard-mint-white-mustard-mint and I snack in the closet creeping out when no one is looking since I might be turning into a worm but the mirror thing and all so I'm not sure and yeah that's funny because you wouldn't be looking either if you didn't hear my voice because it's not everyday you pass a window in the mood to hear someone dying from munching lead paint and vomiting little soldiers and dreaming about sand between my toes and bad aim and dreaming about learning disabilities but back under the cartoon sun the bullets poomping so hard I'm screaming and my stomach is too full to crawl anymore and my tongue is sailing away battleship grey.

You can laugh.

Because my blood is mercury and pops the glass in my brain. Arteries like thermometers popping when you play with matches. So what if my teeth marks are on the window frame.

I'm planning on staying a while. Munching just munching.

I'm polishing a nice caliber.

And saving the last one.

For
        last.