So. This is a Friday. And I am posting Flash Fiction. Unfortunately, this is actually last Friday’s Flash fiction. It’s horrible, I know, but I did write something, and wanted to put it up. I’m going to try to have another one up today, so, you know, treat it as a double-header. Two-for-one, or what have you.

So, for this (last Friday’s) piece, Crow chose the rule (and I shamelessly stole his graphic), and Robin and Caiti followed suit as always. Make sure to read their pieces when you can and try to guess at the common rule that runs throughout them.

To Old Friends

So, how are the ladies? I say, cracking a mischievous smile. He looks away. It’s the first thing I want to know with him, every time we come back home. He tells me there aren’t any, and I shrug it off. Only I’m thinking about how little has changed. His problem has always been that he’s just a little too annoying, talks to much. Talking right now about something. He desperately needs a girl who can stand him, who makes him settle down. Had one once, but let her go. I wonder why?

He stops to take a bite of his sandwich. I cut in, You read that story about COIN in Pakistan? His eyes light up. Yes, he tells me, and goes on to explain why he doesn’t think it’s going to work. The US is still having problems with it, how would a subpar military only loosely commanded by an evaporating government do any better? I’m not sure I disagree, but I’m not sure he knows what he’s talking about, either. He says he studied it in South Asian Policy class. Okay.

Next up, it’s sports. Baseball team bad, basketball team good. What are they doing to the Broncos? I laugh, and ask if he can still be a fan. He says yes, but he won’t enjoy it until all the remnants of JMD are gone.

There’s silence for a while. Food’s almost done. Do I want to finish it? he asks. No, I’ll take it home and eat it later.  It’s time to go already, doubly understood. Ball-game tomorrow? I pause. I’ve to about 30 games with him over the years. Most of them have been fun. Okay, I say. It’s good to be back, we both agree. Nice to see you. You too. And we leave.

Well, I’m late again…see if you can guess what I was up to this weekend from the story. But more importantly, see if you can guess the rule that connects all four stories this week from myself, Crow (rulemaker and creator of this weeks’ awesome FFF graphic I’m featuring), Caiti, and Robin. Enjoy. Or don’t. Whatever suits you.

Outfits and Rituals

As far as rituals go, unpacking after college is about as un-stately as they come. It’s just the transfer of your wardrobe and a few select items from a box to a drawer, and if you do it right, you don’t even have to refold. Not much pomp and circumstance, physically speaking.

But in a way, unpacking is a bit like sorting through old memories. Not that the outfit defines the moment or the person, but it’s hard to unpack and not remember things you’ve done and said while wearing your favorite pieces, and your least favorite.

Because clothing does influence, in a small way, how people characterize you from the outside, and you have to wonder if things would have gone differently had you, for instance, been wearing your nice black shoes instead of the dirty sneakers you rocked at the last party of the year. Unfortunately, you had already packed most of your nice things, and were making due with the tennis shoes, a practical red corduroy, and what your friends describe as “the middle school jeans.”

Of course, looking back on it, what really would have changed? Maybe you were just a little more self-conscious than usual, and maybe you were just a little less open than usual. Maybe it showed a tiny bit in conversations and interactions, but nothing would have been noticeable except on a subconscious level.

Still, it’s that subconscious level that drives you to dress better. You realize how important even the smallest choices can be, and that attention to detail means you already have plenty of insecurities about yourself as it is. Knowing you look good is just one less concern weighing on your mind that could derail a conversation, and possibly a whole evening.

Today, however, you have to remind yourself that it’s impossible to trace exactly what caused you to be off your game at the party, and equally impossible to live that way. That was three thousand miles and a weekend ago. You’re home now, just unpacking.

A hilarious comment from an Anonymous poster at The Sartorialist. Note the completely random lack of capitalization (one I, one i), the one-word sentence (containing a coordinating conjunction, no less), the misused semicolon, and the awkward phrasing that makes it seem like everyone walks around naked these days (I know I do). It may very well be from a non-native speaker, but I think this is still the most unintentionally funny comment I’ve ever seen on a reputable blog.

the fabric is a bit different from my taste. however! I am i am in great appreciation of the details like; the the sleeve length and complementing shirt cuff. The well pressed pants and pinky ring are all romantic hallmarks of a time when people got “dressed” when leaving the house. it’s very nice to see. very handsome.

 

 

 

 

 

You know the drill. Every Friday your four intrepid FFF bloggers write a short story on a common rule, which you, dear reader, are encouraged to guess in the comments of the four posts. This week, I chose the rule, and although I’m late as always, Robin already has hers up (amazing!), and I’m sure Crow and Caiti will soon follow. So enjoy, and then head over and read the rest. See you next week.

My Mother Would Know

One of the first things we learned in ethics class was that determinism may not be incompatible with morality in everyday life. I think even my mother would be okay with this notion. Despite her constant nagging to “put on a jacket, because I’m cold,” “wash your hands first,” and not “go outside in the snow in flip-flops,” she knew that just because I never listened, just because she didn’t prevent me from catching all manner of colds and illnesses, it didn’t make her love for me any less real.

My mother was obsessed with every negative study she read in a magazine. Non-whole grains, aspartame, fried potatoes of all varieties, and even antioxidant supplements were at various points banned from the household. On the rare occasions when a positive study made its way into her bubble, of course, it was instantly invalidated as “junk science.”

I remember the first days of this outbreak, when the powers that be told us not to panic. My mom’s reaction would have been the opposite. We would have been forced to stay inside or face a severe guilt trip, wash our hands thoroughly every ten minutes while she watched over our shoulder to make sure we were doing it right, and stay five feet away from all other people at all times. She had a tape measure with a belt clip.

Now the whole world’s slipping from our grasp, but I can only lie here and wonder if things would have gone differently had my mother still been around. Plus, there’s something about your mother’s matzo ball soup that heals all wounds, especially those caused by illness, and unlike the Tamiflu stockpile that dissipated weeks ago, when she made soup, she never seemed to run out.

It’s too late to learn lessons now. It’s too late to change anything, even though we never truly had the power to. But I’d like to think that somewhere my mother’s spirit lives on, without the limits of human perception, seeing the infinite streams of cause and effect and cursing us for not listening to her wisdom when we had the chance. Not that she blames us, or loves us any less.

________

That’s it, now head over and read Crow, Caiti and Robin’s.

• “Go go gadget sexual pun!” — Hockeyfalls #
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• Long URLs in tweets are breaking my sidebar @ gabestein.com. Any reason why twitter hasn’t been auto-tinyurling lately? #
• Written in scribbled sharpie on the wall of the T: “Are You Happy?” Answer…daily double. #