There was something fossilized about the barn.
It looked like a sun-bleached femur, a humorless bone of a barn, sitting there in the pasture, lazier than all the cows around it. It had lost its red glory of a paint job decades ago, after Les had left. He and the barn peeled away by humidity, responsibilities, lightning, and the ever-after afternoon thunderstorm. This was all Les Grid’s fault. The cicadas seemed to chatter in agreement. Which wasn’t fair, for Delia, his daughter, who had to listen to not only her annoying inner voice but to those summer incessant insects. Her father had left his family in disarray. And that hulking structure out back needed attention–and its creaky boards seemed to be calling her out for it.

Why does stuff like Cirque du Soleil not impress me?
It does impress you–or it does while it’s actually happening. It doesn’t when it’s not happening.
What do you mean?
Well, when you’re in the thick of it, watching the actual feat, while they are actually performing, then you are up to speed with their awesomeness–you’re swept up. It’s like when you say you don’t want to be in a relationship but then one day you find yourself talking to an awesome woman, and all those curmudgeon notions go out the door.
I am a curmudgeon, aren’t I?
Yes. But so am I.
Who are you?
A curmudgeon.
Oh. Okay. Nice to meet you.

I haven’t looked at porn in years and when I–
How long?
Years. I just told you.
Two years?
More.
Ten years?
Less. Do you want to finish my story or not?
I want you to be truthful.
Porn isn’t the truth?
It’s a confession. And nothing more. A confession doesn’t have to be true.
YES IT DOES, YOU DUMB IDIOT!!!
Don’t be so dramatic.
Alright. Fine. Where was I?
Porn.

Oh. Right.

As always.

Hey!

It was daring. Her aerial feats agonized her parents, terrorized her boyfriend and thrilled everyone else. The flips in the air were unassisted and unprotected. But she landed on her feet, like a cat, every time.
Her fans tried to come up with names for her. But Catwoman and Wonderwoman were already taken.
Some thought that she should be named for what she was looking for, when she leaped so high in the sky. Reporters asked after sought-after items in the sky. At first it was odds and ends. Then later, little, multicolored beads on strings. Much later on trinkets, then boxes of Nabisco snacks. A tampon, once.

Nothing earth-shattering. But hardcore fans in the hundreds, puzzled her sundry items.

Eventually she returned from one particular long, high leap, with jewelry. From then on, she was a mega-star to all.

It was daring. She’d been the only one able to pull of a feet.
Deliver eighty-three babies in a one month period. It scared me. What else could she do? I wondered.
“Sleep,” she said, after her incredible feat, laying her head on my lap and almost immediately commenced to snoring.

It wasn’t that she recognized me for what I was. She just accepted me. I told her the truth; my false starts, the money troubles, the gambling, the cavorting and philandering.
She was unimpressed. She told me to get her another drink. A seltzer, heavy on the lime.
By the time I got back three men surrounded her. They were all laughing.
“Here you are,” I said, handing her the seltzer.

“Thank you!” she exclaimed. But her enthusiasm was more for her new-found company. But I was willing to wait for her. It was part of the game, I realized.

By the time she finally materialized next to me, at the pool table, I was already knee-deep in debt and she offered me cash.

I knew cash, from her, always came at a price.

I accepted very enthusiastically, with a “Thank you!” While she waited for the men around me to dissipate.

The flow never really reached its destination. It bumped up against stones that I kept setting before it. It was like trying to block a cat from going underneath your bed. You cannot stop this river.
Stopping going against her.  Let her flow. Leave her alone. She’s married. She’s in an stable marriage. Don’t ruin this for her.
Stop giving her–or yourself–false hope.

He’s not always anything. He’s sometimes a jerk. Sometimes kind. Sometimes energized. But I guess people want to know the proportions, the propensities of him. But do you, really? What business are those proportions to you?
Just suck it up like everyone you meet on the street on any given day and just take your chances with him as you do everyone.

We wrestled in the mud. We blamed the mud. We made up in the mud.
We blamed the mud again.

My friend came into the office incensed. He threw his briefcase on the floor and threw me a glare.

“What now?” I said.

“I hate how many girlfriends you have. It males me want to spit.”

“Males you want to spit?”

“You know what I mean.”

I did. And it males me smile. My friend was jealous because I got all the girls. But what he doesn’t know is that it’s a lot of work, requires little sleep and hyper focus.
But he doesn’t care. And that males me angry.