by Sarah Buhl
My mother was young when she had me, which made her just shy of fifty now. But she looked only a few years older than me. I hoped I looked as good as her at fifty.
She had a fling with Saul shortly before he married and it seemed she still appreciated his attentions. My mom searched desperately for any attention. But she told me her luck in love ran out the day my father died. She believed that love they had at one time couldn’t happen again, but that didn't stop her from searching for attention.
I began to check my online accounts. I could easily use my phone, but this gave me a reason not to have to watch my mother and Saul flirt. I've learned to be the queen of looking busy.
My mother pushed the back of my chair to give her room to exit. I shook my head as she straightened her skirt and sashayed toward the living room.
I leaned over and shut the door behind her because I didn’t want to hear what was going on in the living room. The volume went up on the stereo, notifying the house that Saul was now in charge of the music. He forced that—entering a room and making it his. I told him once that he was a self proclaimed alpha male lacking the respect one of such a title deserves. He didn’t appreciate that.
I turned to the computer —my account finally loaded— and I saw a message waiting for me.
Blake Lawson: Hey- I figured that since you didn’t give me your number, I could just find you online. Isn’t technology great? It makes it unnecessary to actually talk to people and ask questions about them. You can find out everything you need to know online.
What a dork. I had to admit to the truth in what he said though. I’ve been known to cyber stalk and I wasn’t good at getting to know people in person. I couldn’t help but smile at his photo. He grew up in the Power Rangers time, not He-Man, so his photo surprised me.
Me: He-Man?? And, there’s certainly more to me than my online persona.
I watched as modern technology notified me as he typed his response. This anticipation at waiting shouldn't happen. I should stand from the chair as I selected the block option and leave the room. But outside this room I'd have to watch my mother fawn over one of the biggest assholes in six counties.
Suddenly, Blake became more appealing. He was still typing his response, so I spun slowly around in the chair, looking to the ceiling and the posters of meditative scenes my mom placed above her bed. Then I heard the ding and turned back to the computer to read what he had to say.
Blake: Yes, He-Man. I understand he may be seen as juvenile in someone’s eyes such as yours. Especially since you are a tough rocker chick who does NOT have time to give me her number, but you have time to mock me. But I digress. I think what you should be asking is, “Why not He-Man?”
He-Man is a fantastic representation of me. The raging muscle, flowing hair—I’ve been known to wear furry boots and speedos too. Although my dad did give me a weird look when I came to a work site wearing them… but I told him don’t worry, it’s all in a day’s work. I shingled that roof regardless of the chafing I received. His response to me was, “Blake me boy—the chafin’ ye receive from tha is far better than the one yer ma will give ye if she caught ye doin tha.”
A shudder ran through me and I let my head rest in my hands as I rolled my shoulders. I’m a grown woman, I should not be shuddering at the thought of Blake dressed as fucking He-Man, roofing a house. That is some weird shit… but incredibly funny.
I contemplated my response and tapped on the keyboard, and deleted. I typed again—deleted again— until finally I responded.
Me: Wow. That’s kind of crazy. Your dad sounds as if he’s a trip—does he always sound as if he's from Ireland or are you exaggerating?
Blake Lawson: Yes, he’s Irish. But other than that I have to say—What?! That’s all you got for me? Come on, you’re an intelligent woman, you should be able to say more than that in response to thoughts of me in a furry speedo.
Me: Are you still out?
Blake Lawson: Nice change of subject. Yes, I’m still out, why? Are you going to meet me for burgers? I’m fucking hungry.
Me: Nope. I was just wondering why you were sending me messages about cartoon characters from the 1980s when you’re out with your friends. You should have better things to do with your time.
I thought of the girl I saw cuddle up to him at the bar. He didn’t seem to want her around, but if there was a possibility there was a girlfriend in the picture, this was going to end fast. Damn it, it isn’t even beginning.
Blake Lawson: There’s nothing I would rather do than spend time chatting with you about cartoons. Are you a fan?
Me: Of course I am. Who’s not?
Blake Lawson: The princesses seem to like the different variations of Prince Charming. I always liked those movies.
Me: lol
Blake Lawson: I’m joking by the way. I don’t want you to question my manliness. Don’t get me wrong, I love cartoons. But princess ones aren’t my thing. The majority of the princesses only want to meet a guy and be saved. I don’t think I could handle a chick just waiting to be taken care of.
I pulled my lips in and nodded in agreement as I thought of what he said.
Me: Took the words right out of my mouth. That’s why I called you Prince Charming. You were acting Neolithic.
Blake Lawson: Ouch. (Big word)
Me: It’s true. I had that covered. I could have kicked both their asses in less than two minutes.
Blake Lawson: lol
Me: Why lol? I’m serious.
Blake Lawson: I know. My lol is my defense mechanism at the fear you instill in me. You’re kind of intimidating.
Me: fear?
Blake Lawson: Yeah. I wouldn’t want to meet you in a dark alley. ;)
I scoffed at the screen. Patronizing asshole.
Me: Fuck you dude. You’d be surprised at how well I can hold my own. Maybe you should think on that for a while.
I logged out of my account and finished looking for viruses and other creepy crawlies on my mom’s computer. Fuck Blake. I didn’t need that shit. My first thought on him was right. I shouldn’t have let myself imagine he could possibly be someone worth spending time with.
I began comparing his humor to my father’s. He reminded me of him in that one way. My dad teased my brother and me incessantly. It wasn’t to be mean, he only joked. Damn it, he was joking Brecken-get over yourself.
My reaction was bitchy, but I learned over the years that when a guy mocks you or tries to be superior, it never stops. Half the time they are doing it not to flirt or tease, but because they have a need to remind you that they’re in control. Well, I wasn’t going to go that route with any man.
I left the bedroom and walked out the front door with a simple wave good-bye to everyone.
The old grade school on my mom’s street had become even more run down since the last time I saw it. Graffiti now covered its walls and one in particular caught my eye. Across the front door in bold, block lettering, someone had written, Why did you do it?
This wasn’t the first question I saw written across town. Who was this person and why the fuck did they keep asking these questions that pissed me off? Why did I do what? Why did I do anything in my life? Why does anyone? We adapt. That’s what we do as humans and sometimes when we adapt, we hurt others. It builds up our own scabs and pushes us to move forward with our lives. I’m moving on, that’s why I did it.
Or I did it out of my own fear. Fuck you and your questions. I rolled my eyes at my anger toward someone I never met.
I’ve spent the last few years establishing myself as an independent person. Granted, to an outsider my life now seems average—I work at my mom’s bakery. I play in a cover band. That’s it. I don’t do much else. But now that I’m back home, my family means the world to me and that is enough. Whatever I have done in the past doesn’t matter. I’ve learned to focus on this day, right now. So I wasn’t going to try to answer that question.
_______________
I made it to my apartment before th
e Tonight Show finished. I based my evenings on the time that shows aired. The Late Late Show was now my usual bedtime.
I didn’t watch the TV; it merely filled the background, reminding me life continues moving forward.
I got a bowl of fruit and sat on my couch and mindlessly stared at the television. I needed to reel in my emotions. I am a reactionary person. I found myself always reacting to something and this evening it seems Blake fell to the blunt end of it.
Guilt reared its horrible head for being a bitch to him earlier. I reacted without thinking.
I pulled out my laptop and thought of a response to send to him. The least I could do was accept his friend request.
After doing so I found myself sucked into the life of Blake.
I spent several minutes reading about him and found that his birthday was this month. Our age difference was closer to nine years rather than ten and my anxiety eased slightly. That one year made a difference. I laughed at my own juvenile way of thinking.
I clicked through his photos and saw many selfies in front of random inanimate objects. All of which looked sexual in nature. Instead of annoying me, it made me laugh. The farther I scrolled I found one album of older photos and each had him and another little boy in them.
Blake stood about a head taller than the other boy. The other boy was thin compared to Blake and seemed to have the same expression on his face in every photo. Blake always laughed, but the other boy seemed standoffish in the photos. But in the occasional photo he laughed along with Blake. In those photos the two of them didn't pose, but Blake acted goofy as the other boy watched.
The funniest photo had the two of them dressed as He-Man characters. Blake was He-Man and the little boy he referred to as Wynn in each photo was dressed as Skeletor. The costumes were homemade and the pants Blake wore looked as though he took the fur off a stuffed animal and tied it onto his shorts. He was something else.
I smiled as I scanned through more recent photos. The photos in the album shifted to the high school years and Wynn eventually caught up to Blake in height the older they grew. I paused on a photo of the two of them singing. The caption under it read, “Mom making us sing songs from musicals… again.”
It made the photo even funnier when I noted the fact that Wynn had tattoos and the contrast of singing musical numbers with his appearance was surreal and humorous. The two shared a deep connection in the photos that reminded me of my own brother and me.
I closed my laptop and laid my head on the back of the couch and looked at my ceiling. I misjudged Blake. But, I couldn’t base everything about him on his online profile. After looking through it though, I became even more curious.
I sighed as I resolved to the fact that I needed to apologize. Apologies were not things I was keen to give, but I’d do it.
A knock sounded at my door that made me jump and I quietly walked to it and looked through the peep hole.
“Auntie, it’s me. I know you’re up watching TV. You don’t work tomorrow.” Conall smiled down at me as he leaned on the doorframe.
I unlocked the door and let him into my apartment.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, stepping aside to let him enter.
“Jess has to get up early, so I didn’t want to stay there,” he said as he took a seat on the couch. “What are you up to Aunt Breck?”
“Just surfing the web and thinking,” I said as I sat next to him.
He turned toward me with a snarky grin, “So what's that smiley guy's profile say about him?”
I punched him in the shoulder on reflex. He resembled his father so much I regressed into a younger version of myself when Conall teased. “Shut up dude,” I said.
He gave me a steadfast expression, focused on waiting until I spoke further. He understood I had something to say. Yet another trait he shared with his father.
“Okay, yes, I looked him up online. I’m curious about him.”
“Ahh, you’re curious about him?” Conall asked with a raised brow.
“Yes, he’s so genuine,” I said as I closed my eyes, realizing I more than likely wore a dreamy expression. “I appreciate that about him and it feels abnormal. I shouldn’t be attracted to a guy that young.”
“Why does it matter how old he is?” Conall asked.
“I guess it doesn’t to me; I never imagined myself a cougar though,” I said.
“You’re awesome and he’d be crazy not to be as interested in you, regardless of how ancient you are. Besides you’re more like a puma than a cougar. Grandma’s a cougar.” He pulled me in for a half hug and a laugh.
I gave him a light shove. “I suppose so. But stop calling me auntie and ancient—and never compare me to your grandma again” I said as I pointed at his face and stood to go to bed.
“Good night, nephew.” I kissed the top of his head and as I got to my door I paused, turning back to him with a smile.
Day by day he reminded me more of his grandfather as well.
More people know about these now. They’re talking. Talking is good. The more talk, the more attention is drawn to them. The more attention, the more people will begin to think about things. Then the more people will want to know the truth behind them.
The writer only hoped with each of the questions posed, the reader will become aware—aware of themselves and the world around them. Aware of what they did to those they should love.
The painting this time was of a little boy tying his tennis shoes. The boy’s face held sadness and fear as those around him, just watched—judging to see if he gets it right.
Why did you run?
3
Blake
I dropped my phone next to my bottle and pushed myself up, squeezing the bar with my hands in frustration. I growled, and Gabe gave a mocking laugh in response.
“What’s your problem?” he asked.
“I’m an idiot. I couldn’t stop thinking of that drummer, Brecken, so I found her profile online. Yeah, so I sent her a message,” I said as I put my hands atop my head and let my elbows relax.
“That doesn't sound crazy to you?” Gabe smiled and looked to our friend Toby with a smart ass grin. Toby showed up a short time ago and Gabe filled him in on my day, making sure not to forget my Abby story. He also shared about my new interest in Brecken. These guys were worse than a bunch of old women.
“Yeah, I know it does. I looked up her band, got her full name, and then sent her a message. It’s crazy as fuck. She's pissed at me,” I said as I spun my phone around on the bar.
They both laughed as Karl came back to join us.
“Well, considering you managed to piss off Abby royally, it sounds as though you’re 2-0 for the evening,” Toby said with a pointed expression, taking a drink of his beer.
“And what’re you guys discussing?” Karl asked with a shake of his head.
Gabe leaned onto the bar and pointed at me with his beer, “Blake has it for the drummer chick, but apparently he pissed her off, which makes one worry for our friend Blake considering his track record with the female of the species this evening.”
“Oh, so you have a thing for Brecken?” Karl asked with a shrug.
“It's not a thing. I’m not going to ask her to the school dance or something,” I said, leaning both forearms onto the bar and flipping my phone over in my hand several times.
“She’s the one that used to babysit me,” Karl said matter of fact.
“For real?” I asked.
“Yeah, she grew up on the same street as my parents. Her mom still lives there, over off of Broadway,” Karl said.
“What's her story?” I asked.
“Well, she’s tough,” he said with another Karl shrug.
“Tough how?” I asked.
“Her mom raised her and her brother after their dad died. Her brother is a half brother who had a different mom that gave up her rights, and Brecken’s mom adopted him. I moved when I was ten, so she was twenty and by that time I hadn’t seen much of her. She traveled around for a wh
ile. She got into some shit. I’ve only seen her in passing. We weren’t close, other than she was my babysitter. Her nephew and I are closer,” Karl explained.
“Thank you for the brief history, dude. Should I need a further description, I know where to find a more detailed explanation in the future.” I laughed and nodded to the bartender. “Let’s get you another drink then my friend.”
_______________
We left a couple hours later, and I managed to not drink enough to make dumb ass mistakes. I did keep checking my phone like a tween though, wondering if Brecken responded to me.
Then, since I reminded myself of it, I checked my messages again.
Nope, still nothing.
“Okay, just apologize,” Gabe said as he walked next to me, pointing at my phone.
“I have nothing to apologize for, man. She overreacted,” I said on a scowl.
“Yes, you do. Just because you have a need to be the tough guy and not coddle women, doesn’t mean you can’t admit when you’re wrong. I read your conversation, you were patronizing and girl obviously has hang ups with guys taking the reins. So, that works in your favor considering how you hate it when girls want you to baby them. Apologize and talk to her as you do one of us. Quit treating her as a foreign being, man. Treat her as an individual,” Gabe said as he put his hands in his pockets and shrugged.
“Very insightful, Gabe. You’re in the wrong business,” I said. “You should be an online guru with your own ebook that people can download for three easy payments. People will eat the shit out of your knowledge like hotcakes,” I said with a sincere laugh. He was insightful.
He laughed, “I have no clue what that even means, and it sounds disgusting. But what you said is precisely why I am where I should be. Advertising, marketing—I understand people and their motives. It’s perfect. For instance, you’re now thinking of what you’re going to say to her and dreaming of building her a wood carving and wooing her with it,” he said.
“Oh now you’ve gone too far Gabe. Don’t mock my whittling.”
“Of course I'm mocking it—and I mock your jug headedness,” he said as he waved to a passing cab. The cabbie stopped and with a quick wave to me, Gabe climbed in, “On that note—later Blake.”