Short Story – Your Bro Moe

“What the hell?” said Moe under his breath as the mall bench shook. He was ready to kick into survival gear thinking it might be an earthquake.

The guy on Moe’s left glanced at him; at his phone and back at Moe.

Realizing what happened Alex said, “Bro. Sorry.” Alex showed his cell phone screen to his bench neighbour. “I just couldn’t help it. Robin Williams man. He is crazy funny,” said Alex explaining how when he laughed so much he made their bench shake.

“Comedy. That’s some of the best therapy there is,” said Moe

“Amen to that bro,” agreed Alex.

“Oh, boy! Hnhn,” Moe laughed despite himself.

Alex had asked him why he was sitting on a mall bench waiting for his wife to appear laden with shopping bags.

“When my wife found out I had a second Instagram account she freaked. So here I am paying for it.”

“How’d she find out?” asked Alex.

‘My 6 year old daughter has a friend whose dad followed one of the accounts I followed and somehow the 2 girls outed their dads.”

“What happened to the other guy?”

“Dunno.”

They both swallowed the loneliness of being in a place with thousands of people yet feeling alone. Seeking community Alex asked;

“What’s all the fuss about shopping anyway?”

“I hate shopping,” said Moe as the elevator music played Dua Lipa.

“What is it about shopping malls; they just suck the energy right out of me?”

Ya, I know what you mean.”

“Usually I can swing it so I only have to drop them off and pick them up,” said Alex.

“I look forward to that day.”

“Hey man, I’m Moe.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Alex.”

After their fist bump it felt weird to meet someone when you are sitting down.

“What do you do for a living Alex?”

“I’m a carpenter. I’m up for my red seal in a few months. How about you?”

“I’m in sales for a loading dock systems company,” said Moe.

“Very cool.”

“It keeps me outta trouble.”

“So do you do any of those huge Amazon distribution centres?” asked Alex.

“Ya,” paused Moe, breathing life into the doubt that blocked the sun out of his life. “I put in a bid a few months ago and they should be deciding. Any day now.”

In life there are beautiful pauses. Like, just before he says, ‘Will you marry me?’ as he is on one knee outside the restaurant. This pause wasn’t beautiful; it felt like it was filled with itchy scratchy fibreglass insulation.

“How did you get into dock systems?” asked Alex.

“I hurt my back framing and couldn’t do physical work anymore.”

“You didn’t want to continue in construction?”

“You know I did but my wife kiboshed that,” said Moe.

“Hmm,” Alex looked at the shiny floor between his boots.

“Ya, I know. Sounds pathetic,” said Moe.

“I didn’t say …”

“She was right.”

“What …?”

“Carrie, my wife, said, I can remember it vividly. She was standing sideways at the stove. She moved the chicken in the frying pan with the wooden spoon and said,” remembered Moe. “You have two tasks: the first is to get off the painkillers. The second is to get a job that pays.”

“Shit,” said Alex looking at the floor and then at Moe who was looking up at the ceiling.

“She was right. Again. I had been shafted too many times by general contractors. And I was hooked on codeine”

“So, whadya do?” said Alex.

“I got the pills from my truck, under my shirts in the bottom dresser drawer and the bathroom and poured them all down the kitchen sink as Carrie watched me. Then, I turned on the fan over the stove as she cooked the chicken and gave her a kiss.”

“Bro.”

“Sorry man. I shouldn’t have vomited my crazy life story. You’re gonna think I’m a…,”

“I can think for myself,’ said Alex. “So you stayed off the painkillers?”

“Ya know I did. I have.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Like 5 years. Hardest thing I’ve ever done,” said Moe. “But ya know what I miss the most? Talking smack on the job site. And the smells, believe it or not.”

You mean the sweet smell when you saw a piece a lumber. Or the porta potty?” asked Alex.

“Ya right! Nothing like the fragrance of a portapotty that has been on the site for a week baking in the August heat,” joked Moe. “But with two young children ya gotta do what ya gotta do.”

“I hear ya bro,” said Alex.

“So how long till you get your Red Seal?”

“By the end of the year I’d say.”

“Cool. What keeps you motivated to keep going?” asked Moe.

Alex was getting a little weirded out by how quickly Moe could get so personal.

“Same as you. Family,” said Alex.

“But what’s in it for you?”

“I love my family bro. It gives me satisfaction to provide for them” said Alex

“I believe you 100 percent. The thing is your life can pass you by and you didn’t live it.”

Moe had touched a nerve in Alex.

“Ya know who you remind me of bro?” said Alex detouring the conversation.

“Who?” said Moe.

The sailor in that poem Ancient Mariner.”

“I thought you were gonna say someone like Mike Holmes. Who the fuck is the ancient mariner?”

“He’s the wrinkled old man who stops the young people arriving at a wedding. He needs to tell them his story. Check it out,” said Alex.

“I’ll Google it,” said Moe. “But that’s a bit of a weird reference,” he said as he was used to a different reaction to his desire to help.

“Hey man, it was grade 11 English class. Mrs. Downs. Great teacher,” said Alex.

“Nice to meet bro, take care,’ said Alex as Moe saw his wife come out of the store with children and shopping bags. ‘You’re a bit of a weird random guy I talked to in the mall’ thought Alex as he watched Moe walk away.

Alex had related the conversation with Moe to Rebecca, his wife, as they were on the drive home from the mall. As he was merging onto the highway Rebecca asked him,

“So. Is your life passing you by?”

Short Story – Jerry Rig

“Ok guys, another session of Hot or Trot. You first Andy,” said Matt.

“OK, give me a second …Gigi Hadid or Scarlet Johansen?”

“All blondes! I like it bro. Gigi obviously. She’s a sultry minx,” said Matt.

“I agree,” said Hector. Matt didn’t trust Hector. Matt didn’t know why yet. Hector knew why he didn’t like Matt.

“Ok Sally,” said Matt using the nickname for Hector he takes from the fact he Hector was born in El Salvador. Nobody else uses it. “Your turn.”

“Selma Hayek or Eiza Gonzalez?”

“Hector and his smokin hot Latinas. Cheers,” said Andy.

“Who the hell is Aisha Gonzalvez?” asked Matt.

“It’s Eiza Gonzalez, you uncultured hack.”

Without hesitating Matt launches an immature missile back at Hector, “You know what the problem with …”

“Hey, Isn’t that the new guy right there,” squints Andy.

“Who?”

“Across the street. The guy who just came out of the fast cash place.”

The three of them look across the street and drink from their pint glass.

“Yup,” said Matt. “That’s him. He’s the guy prancing around in those Carhart overalls he doesn’t need. There he goes into that coin laundry place. Bubbles.”

“Cute name,” says Hector.

“Hector. Since when the fuck did you say something was cute?” asked Andy.

Matt, Andy and Hector were enjoying Friday afternoon beers on a patio picnic table. Monday to Thursday they worked hardscaping projects 12-14 hour days so Friday Fields, the boss, could leave the city early to beat traffic getting to his cottage north of the city.

Though they make decent coin, they do not have cottage bound incomes so they find a friendly patio and flirt like idiots with the waitress: Andy loves her perfume, Hector her eyes and Matt her boobs; all of them mentally promising a huge tip so they earn her wink as they leave. Today they were happy bread to the toaster of 4:30 pm June sun. That Tom Cochrane tune was finishing.

“Jerry,” blurts Andy.

“Bless you.”

“Jerry? Quien chingados es Jerry?” asked Hector.

“That’s the name of the new guy.”

“My man Jerry. He’s alright,” says Matt, wanting to be drunk.

“Listen guys …” Andy grabs his phone and puts a twenty on the table.

“No bro, not again.”

“Gotta go guys,” said Andy.

“But we just ordered our second pitcher.”

“I’d love to, but duty calls”

“Ya I know. I get that call all the time and I just send it to voicemail. Deal with it when I get home.”

“Not this time …,” hesitates Andy in a way that disarms all their ridicule.

“Whatever bro,” said Matt. “See ya Monday.”

Fridays are for grabbing a beer on a patio so, instead of driving to work, Andy rides the bus in the morning. Post patio Andy loves looking out the window at the scenery from the back of the Uber and disconnecting.

As the Uber waits at the light, Andy sees Jerry, the new guy coming out of the coin laundry, walking past the fast Cash place and going into the 2 for 1 pizza place. It’s pretty good pizza. But all they do is cut a regular piece into two pieces. Voilà: 2 for the price of 1!

Monday morning they couldn’t find the key to the Bobcat.

“Who the fuck has the key to the fuckin Bobcat?”

“Try Fab fuckin Fields.”

“He probably took the key Friday because he feared in a neighbourhood of homes averaging $4 million someone would steal his heavy machinery over the weekend just for kicks.”

“If he arrives and we haven’t done jack shit he’s gonna fuckin lose it.”

“Mother fucker. Start offloading the interlock up to the top of the driveway.” Fields was on his way. Driving south from cottage country he saw the calls on his Bluetooth but didn’t answer on purpose.

Using the wheelbarrow they were getting it done as if they had all just converted to being Amish. Having pulled back a bit the chiffon floor to ceiling curtains in the living room, Mrs Moosavi was observing the chaos outside her home.

“Mother fucker! Start offloading the interlock up to the top of the driveway.”

“Fuckin fields does this on purpose to reduce us to fuckin manual labour so he can justify not paying us more. He is the master of ‘an accident – on purpose’.”

“It’s brilliant and sociopathic.”

“You think that is an exaggeration but you have to see that he sets himself up to be the hero.”

“Relax. All I know is my paycheck arrives on time every two weeks. Baboom.”

Seeing that the two summer hires were setting the lines and had a handle on the task at hand Hector leaned on his rake.

“Andy, hermano, how’s your wife?” Hector loves strategically dropping Spanish into his conversation.

“What? Oh Ya she’s doin alright. Thanks for asking.”

Hector was fishing for gossip because Andy didn’t usually offer up to much info about his family like the other guys did.

It worked.

Andy hesitated “My wife has serious menstrual cramps. They just knock her right out. So I can’t just sit there Friday afternoon at a bar drinkin beer while she has to get up and feed the kids dinner and keep them from destroying the place.”

“Wow. That’s brutal.”

“For her, ya. But Xochi must have to deal with that too,” said Andy.

“Ya. She and her sister, apparently their cycles are synched or something so they just talk on the phone. I bring home chocolate and ice cream and she seems to get through it.”

“Hey guys, did you need anything?” asked Jerry encroaching on the supervisor bubble.

“Ya. A medium double double and a French cruller,” said Hector.

“Ignore that ridiculous, brown gnome,” said Andy.

“Thank you brother Andy. Now. Jerry, when the Guiness Book of World Records comes searching for the smallest Canadian penis in the history of Canadian penises – you just point them in Andy’s direction, will ya?” said Hector.

—

“Jerry-rig it for the moment brother.”

Not a chance! Get the fuckin come-along,” said Matt.

They needed to hold the 40 foot white pine back at the side of the house to get the Bobcat into the backyard so they could resurface the pool area. Since the client couldn’t peek out from the window to see what they were doing two of the crew said fuck it just yank on the tree and if it returns to its original position great; if not then Fields and his insurance can deal with it and yell at him later.

The three including Matt said no. Either they said no because it was a lazy solution to a small problem. Or they simply feared Fields’ rath once the customer complains.

“What he meant was to get Jerry to hold it. He’s standing right behind you.”

“Ok Jerry. If you’re the arborist in the family, what do you think?”

“I can make it happen. We just need a couple boards and the hand saw and we will wedge the space open. Also the ten foot ladder,” said Jerry.

“Ok, Jerry. Make it happen. We’re gonna take lunch and need this ready when we come back. Capiche?” said Matt who today was driving the Bobcat.

Driving to Tim Horton’s with nouveau riche mansions on either side there was a Filipino nanny wheeling a stroller and walking a schnauzer. In this neighbourhood because nobody who actually owned a house walked on the street there were no sidewalks. So the babies and their nanny’s walk in traffic.

“You know my neighbour got a ticket for not pickin up his dog’s shit”

“My neighbour was telling me he got a fine for not putting his dog on a leash. Then he went on this rant saying that he was going to submit a proposal to Elon Musk.” Matt told the story:

“You know what Elon Musk should do. He should program his Nueralink chip to…

What is the fuck is a Neurolink chip my other neighboour asks.

Neuralink. I corrected the guy. You haven’t heard of this? It’s another one of his big ideas to insert silicon chips into people’s heads to monitor their thoughts and help people with diseases like MS to be able to move because they think it, the first neighbours says.

So it can listen to your thoughts and do what you want. That sounds cool I said

Ya but the government is gonna want to listen to those thoughts too. You know it’s only a matter of time said another neighbour as we stood there watching our dogs play in the dog park. Anyway, back to my idea. Have the chip geo identify with your home and then have posts, kinda like charging stations, at various points, like in parks around your municipality that you have to get within say 3 metres of every so many days. Basically making you exercise – he says.” said Matt.

What if you have a broken leg – does the chip know that? And you can’t make it.

“No you have to go,” Matt whips out his sarcasm.

“Ya, even when the snow is 2 feet deep.”

“What’s the point?”

“He is saying, my neighbour, that why penalise the people who actually are out there with their dogs getting fresh air and exercise. Make the lazy twinkies get off their couches and take their beer belly for a walk to the park at least once a week.”

“And if they don’t?”

“And if they don’t then he says there is an automatic fine of like $15- 20 bucks,” said Matt.

“Holy shit!” and they all laugh like the time Hector told them he was thinking of importing exotic birds from El Salvador.

“Big Brother doesn’t need our help.”

“We need to shut your neighbour up!” said Hector.

“Shut im up or shut im down!”

“Ya he is a bit of a nut job,” said Matt

“Ya think?!”

___

Jerry Rig is from the Short Story Series Tool by Kevin Mcnamara

ON CULTS, COURAGE, AND PERSONAL BLIND SPOTS

Being blinded by out dated/inherited beliefs is not uniquely American.
really useful insights.

Kit Troyer Blog

Something in me loves a TV show about cults.

You name the group, I’ve watched the documentary — Scientology, NXIVM, The Family, Heaven’s Gate, the Rajneeshees, Branch Davidians, the Moonies, The People’s Temple.

Why am I interested?

On the one hand, I guess it’s like any genre; it’s fun to look at similarities and differences within a category. And it’s interesting to learn the various archetypes — the charismatic leader; the scary lieutenant; the miserable, brainwashed member; the courageous, but persecuted apostate.

I also like to imagine myself in the position of those who got sucked in. Would the same have happened to me?

When watching these shows, I’m often struck by how intelligent, spiritually-oriented, and impressive some of these former cult members are. I’m sure there are dumb, obnoxious ones, too. I guess they don’t make it into the documentary.

I won’t bother listing my favorite TV shows, podcasts…

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CONVERSATION WITH A SPIDER

8 legged friends are good friends …:)

Kit Troyer Blog

I always feel pretty good about myself when I relocate a spider from the house to the garden. But the experience probably feels different for the spider.

If the two of us could talk, the conversation might go like this:

“What the hell? What’s happening?”

“I’m taking you outside.”

“HELP!”

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m taking you to the garden.”

“No! Please! No, no, no –“

“Listen, if my wife sees you in the house, she’ll kill you. The garden will be much safer.”

“No, no, no, please –“

“You’ll be fine.”

“Oh god, it feels like I’m going to pass out.”

“I’m sorry you’re feeling this way. Can you try sitting with the discomfort for a second?”

“What?”

“In the human world, we sometimes say that if you — “

“NOT OUTSIDE, I’M BEGGING YOU –“

“Oh Jesus Christ, all right.”

“What just happened? You stopped walking.”

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52 Weeks – Week 6 – The Hitchhiker

Fabulous creativity!

Bridgette Tales

Prompt: Picking up a hitchhiker

Include: hospital, defer, interface, experiment, beaker, visualize, mattress, skyline, interpret, zap

Read Anna’s Week 6

Through the Glass Windshield

Alice can’t remember being this bored in her life. She flops down on her bed, disturbing a pile of textbooks and papers. Her tutors seem intent on overworking her since her sister left for college as if an increased workload could keep her from her feelings. Alice wishes it could.

Bianca, the fluffy white cat her sister left behind, jumps onto Alice’s stomach and begins kneading her belly with its paws. She should shove the cat off because she’ll get white hair all over her nice blue cardigan and white dress but she doesn’t think it’s fair. Bianca is sad too.

Alice reaches her fingers out in front of her toward the peaked ceiling of her attic bedroom. Her nanny Margaret used to say “adventure lies…

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Short Story – Odd Man Out

“I’m gonna start my own home services company,” declares Oddie as he and Reggie load the morning batch of 2×4’s onto the forks of the loader to lift them up to the second floor to start framing up there.

8 am on a chilly September morning, the summer heat has peaked and subsided.

Oddie imagines he is an angelic combination between Chris Rock and Lenny Kravtiz; funny and suave. If you saw him you would probably think he looked more like a cross of Kevin Hart and Danny Devito; short and obtuse.

Reggie, the ragged yet loyal employee, smirks out loud and pauses to straighten his back for a moment,

“Right you are.” The clean Spruce fragrance was a weird source of Reggie’s optimism over the years.

Oddie stands for Odd Man Out which is the lengthy nickname the forming crew gave him in his first week. They just had to look at him: his boots were too skinny, his hard hat was on crooked, his face was puzzled. He just looked odd. But he was quick on the job site.

“That’s right.”

“What’s your company called?

“I don’t know yet. It’s a service that connects the trusty handyman with homeowners needing odd jobs.” said Oddie as if it already existed.

“Right,” repeats a smug Reggie and turns to grab an armful of lumber.

“What now?!”

Reggie loved yankin this guy’s chain. He gets so hot under the collar at the blink of an eye. With his grey gloves he touched his left index finger to his right baby finger and started counting,

“First of all, you do know there are like at least 5 of those apps out there that provide those services and seconofall they have like, just a little bit of a head start on you. Third they have millions in financial backing and…”

“And what?”

And .. they aren’t you.”

“Meaning what?”

Reggie straightens up again and looks Oddie directly in the eyes and says nothing.

“Fuck you!” says Oddie.

“Right.”

“I don’t care what you think.” Declares Oddie.

“You don’t want to care but you do,” Reggie exhibits his clarity of mind as he straps on his tool belt..

“Fuck you, get to work,” Oddie orders Reggie

“Get to work, Fuck you”

“Be original”

“Hey Reggie, Gerry the site supervisor yelled from ground level, “Ya gotta sec?”

Reggie undid his tool belt saying under his breath “What the hell does this dipshit want now?”

Gerry was squinting up at Oddie framing in a door as Reggie got down there. Gerry starts speaking to Reggie while still looking up at the second floor.

“You have to be weird and know it to get a nickname like Odd Man Out and live with it.

And that the shoe fits says everything.”

“He loves it.” said Reggie staring at the side of Gerry’s ugly head. “We gave him a back door to being part of a team of foul mouthed framers and he took it,”

“Are you a fucking psychologist?”

“The guy needs what you need. He is shit at how to get it. About the same as you are at dropping in a plumb door header. That’s why they made you supervisor,” said Reggie.

As soon as Reggie heard Gerry say “Listen Reg.” His bullshit detector went off.

“I gotta bit of a situation. Sandoval’s son needs a job and the office threw it in my lap. You worked with him before, right?”

“That pip squeak would carry the same 2×4 from one end of the job site and hide on his phone for 30 minutes. Then carry the same 2×4 to the other side and do the same thing all over again.”

“Ya well he got in some kind of trouble. It’s either cars or drugs. Maybe both. Anyway the message from Sandoval is to keep him busy so they know someone is keeping an eye on him,” then Gerry laughs as he reads the text message he received from the office this morning. “So he learns the value of work.” Gerry looked to his right for confirmation from Reggie but didn’t get it.

A wave of humility and appreciation ran through Reggie. He realised what he already knew: that Rhonda, his wife, was his hero. She had been super strict with their son and daughter and that is why Cherise their daughter was on academic scholarship at McMaster University and their son Malcolm was in grade 10 following in her footsteps.

“He’s not the only one …”

“What’s that supposed to mean”

“Nothin”

“What can that miserable little shit do here without fucking up my job site.”

“Nothin.”

“Ya I know,” agreed Gerry. “Wait. Let’s put em with good ol Oddie.”

“Let’s not.”

Gerry pulled a purple e-cigarette from his inside jacket pocket and hauled on it.

“Oddie and I have a decent rhythm if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Listen Reg …” Hearing that phrase again Reggie just turned to walk away. “He starts tomorrow,” Gerry yelled at Reggie’s back.

Ricky parked his 2022 metallic blue Jeep Rubicon beside the portapotty at 7:45 because he was afraid that his dad would take away the Jeep if he was late. His dad was the owner of Sandoval Developments. If the forming crew thought that Oddie looked out of place, Ricky looked like he was modelling for the Home Depot website. Everything he wore was functional, just like Oddie and Reggie.

But the function for Ricky was to look good. New construction boots, tight hi-viz black sweatshirt with silver and yellow reflectors, shiny black hard hat with a Sandoval decal on the front, fresh yellow leather gloves and tinted safety glasses. He never took his ear buds out. He was instantly labelled Slick Rick. Reggie loved how this clown brought comic relief to his day.

Oddie hated working for $24 per hour for some rich fuck. He hated that the same rich fuck didn’t give a fuck for his own son. He didn’t hold it against Slick Rick. Oddie adopted him like a younger brother even though they were the exact same age.

“Bro, you’re holdin the hammer all wrong,” said Oddie.

“Ricky. What did I tell you about holding the nail between your fingers?”

“Dude, did you even put your level on this stud. From here I can see that the thing isn’t plumb.”

“Wow. Nice. Look at that. Fits perfect. Reggie did you see? Our man Slick Rick is good on the saw.”

“Dude. Look at me.” Oddie schooled limp Rick on the reality of belief in yourself. “Haven’t you realised that they think I am a freak. They have more in common with you than they do with me,” said Oddie even though it wasn’t true. As a young man lost at sea Ricky instinctively grabbed his phone to ground himself cyberspace.

People didn’t understand Oddie’s sense of tribal inclusion. In truth, neither did he. He simply felt like we are all in this together. Oddie had no reason to question because that was who he was. He also knew he needed to accomplish something everyday so he got some satisfaction. He wanted to share this.

Slick Rick was a textbook spoiled brat. A tragic teenager. His parents weren’t on the same page about children, marriage or money. His mom’s love wasn’t going to magically make him into a man. His absentee dad supplied everything but the intangibles.

Sandoval pulled up in a white Mercedes SUV to see how his son was being made into a man. To get out of the vehicle would have been to break the macho archetype he loved more than his son. The back seat tinted window came halfway down. Ricky looked at Oddie, looked at his phone, undid his toolbelt and climbed down to talk to the tinted window.

Reggie and Oddie unabashedly stood at the edge of the second floor watching the father/son debacle.

“For the last 15 or so years Sandoval has shown he doesn’t give a fuck about the well fare of his own son,” said Reggie.

“Dude, we are providing a babysitting service to Richie Rich,” Oddie said to Reggie. “The fuckin father needs to know that.” Reggie looked sideways at Oddie and said,

“You are not going to pity Richie Rich. That’s not gonna pay your bills much less fulfil your crazy dream of your Odd Man app.”

Oddie nodded at Reggie’s name for his odd jobs by a handyman app.

“Ya bro. Or do you want to be in the business of handy jobs?” Reggie laughed at his own joke.

—

Odd Man Out is from the short story series Tool by Kevin McNamara

Short Story – Papa and The Bertrand Brew House

Cappy survived the electrocution.

It was torture. Not stuff of Guantanamo Bay legend. The torture was not being able to use my hand, Cappy remembers saying as he turned over his calloused hand and listened to some pencil pusher tell him how the world worked.

The engineer who had signed off on the project, saying that it was ready to remove the old boiler, forgot to disconnect the power in the mechanical room. And Cappy got zapped with a near lethal dose of 240 volts three years ago.

“Ok. Ok. I will. Ya, you too,” said Cappy, hanging up the phone. He looked through the streaked windshield but was talking to his supervisor Sammy on his right.

“They agreed that we can bill them for the extra labour. The fuckin moron hadn’t even read the contract when he signed it.”

Sammy just sat there. He could feel it coming even though it hadn’t happened in something like a year.

“I just want to rewind the movie of my life to the day before I get electrocuted and just be there with that dumb ass engineer, and just ask him, ‘yo bro didya double check that the power got disconnected?’ And then when we both see that even though on his little officey clipboard it has his signature with his little P.Eng number right under it, that the fucker didn’t do his job. And I can see his reaction and look im right in the eye and say, ‘Bro!!? What the fuck?!”

Sammy had heard Cappy’s rant a thousand times. The vitriol towards the engineer, the engineering company, against life was on a gradual decline. Sammy didn’t clench his stomach anymore when he accompanied Cappy down this road.

Sammy waited a few seconds before saying, “You done?”

Cappy looked over at Sammy, the four days of whiskers slide across the collar of his hi-vis orange coat. “Ya. I’m done.”

“Ok great.” Sammy rubbed his hands together and then cupped them to blow on them. It was more theatre to break the moment and get a move on as opposed to actually needing to warm them up. “So now ya think you might be able to throw yer fancy truck into drive. That will help me get a little bit closer to my cup of coffee and my breakfast sandwich”

“Why in the world are you gonna get a breakfast sandwich? It’s noon.”

“At this rate I’m not gettin anything if we keep sittin here.”

After fifteen minutes of idling during the phone call Cappy finally started driving and as a joke slammed on the brakes while they were still in the parking lot.

“Whoa, bro, settle down.”

“You’re a fuckin joy to work with,” joked Cappy.

“I can see why your wife keeps sending you to work. She doesn’t want to have to look at your irascible face all day.”

“Wow. Irascible. That’s a big word. Do you need to take a nap now?”

Sammy laughed hard as he looked out the passenger door window and saw the temps coming down the stairs .

The boiler extraction had gone sideways because they couldn’t get the bin up to the loading dock to just dump all the metal. They had to hire some temps just to unload the debris from the indoor cart, carry it down the loading dock stairs and reload it into an outdoor cart so they could take it around the corner of the building because that was the only place they could put the bin because they weren’t permitted to block any of the loading bays. It was a shit show.

It had actually been decent weather for February. Minus 15 degrees or so Celsius. The temps made a good team and got it done. A temporary worker wants to impress the boss so they offer him full time work so it can actually work out really well for all parties.

Cappy got a pretty good pay out in the settlement with the engineering firm. They still do business together but who knows what happened to that forgetful engineer.

Cappy could’ve retired with his union pension and the payout but what would he have done. At the time of the accident he was 59 years old and didn’t golf. Even if he did he wouldn’t have been able to hold a driver properly. After 2 months of moping around the house his wife sent him back to work.

It made him famous. They wrote articles about him in construction safety journals and engineering publications. Even the guys taking down the perimeter fencing at one job site grew his legend:

“That’s the guy …”

“Wow! How is he still alive?”

“Much less working.”

“And at his age he should be at home. Unless his wife can’t stand him”

“How many watts was it?”

“Two watts?”

“Is that a lot?”

“Man, he is livin on borrowed time.”

“I’ve seen him before, what’s his name? I think I worked on the bridge repair with him years and years ago.”

“They call him Cappy.”

“Like as in Capitain.”

“I guess.”

Sammy visited Cappy at the hospital daily after the accident.

“We’re amazed that Mr. Moravic survived. And to be honest a little worried that he is so adamant he is going straight back to work after such a massive jolt of electricity lit him up,” explained the doctor. “We want to hold Mr. Moravic for observation for an extra few days.”

“Ok doc, he’s all yours.

“They don’t make em like that anymore,” said the doctor.

“Ya, Marty’s old school all the way,” agreed Sammy.

I am just so amazed. And very happy for Cappy.”

“Cappy? Who’s Cappy?”

“Ya they nicknamed him Cappy”

“Why would they do that?” asked Sammy.

“He shouldn’t be alive much less lucid after getting fried like that so we are bringing all our interns to come and see him so they can have first hand experience with his case. This group of interns gets a kick out of giving the patients nicknames. They don’t tell the patients. I really shouldn’t have told you,” said the doctor.

“But, what does Cappy mean?”

“Ya, of course. Well you probably know better than me but capacitance is the ability to hold an electrical charge. And your boss can hold more charge than anyone we have ever seen. And lived to tell about it. So they called him Cappy for capacitance.”

Sammy thought this doctor was a real cowboy.

“And what are the side effects and timeline to recovery and all that?”

“He will need to come back in for revision in two weeks and once a month for 3 months and then we can give him the all-clear to go back to work. Or not. Depending on his progress. We have to ensure there are no motor or cognitive issues.”

“Three months?”

“Well he can do stuff. He just can’t work for the time being.”

“He is going to be bouncing off the walls,” said Sammy.

I can see that he is such a hands on guy that he might get a little antsy.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Ya he has been somewhat impatient already, said the doctor”

“”Ya, and he is only getting more irritable the longer he isn’t working. You might see him again. If he has to stay home for very long his wife will start throwing pots and pans at him.”

Tomas was Veronica’s dad’s name so she wanted to honour him by naming their first born after him. Five years later Cappy liked the name Bertrand for his second son. Tomas is a lawyer who moved to Ottawa to work in government so they don’t see him too much. Tomas looked for a job in Ottawa because first Sheri landed a job out of law school working on intellectual property law. Tomas got a job in the Department of Innovation, Science and Industry. Veronica doesn’t like such a long name or that his wife took her son so far away.

Veronica tells Tomas,

“Are you losina weight? Cherry should start to cook a little for you,” Veronica mis-pronounces Sheri’s name on purpose. Even though she has been in Canada for over 40 years Veronica still blames it on her accent. It used to drive Tomas crazy but now he just glosses over it. He just visits by himself because Sheri called her relationship with his mother temporarily suspended in the best interest of everyone. Sheri came for the funeral but hasn’t been back since.

“She is just as busy as me working so I can’t just expect her to …”

“That’sa right. It should just naturally be what she wants to do. Anda do it,” interrupted Veronica as she stirred a steaming stew on the stove to prove her point. Veronica gets all theatrical with her old country accent when she feels she is being left behind by her sons. By life.

“Anyway Cherry is no a very good cook so maybe it’s even betta, that Cherry doesn’t cook so much.” Veronica stuck to her one more time.

“Ma, Sheri is a good lawyer and focused on her career. Plus, Sheri makes more money than I do.” Both Veronica and Tomas know he never says she when he talks to his mom about his wife just so his mom knows he doesn’t accept her mom’s pronunciation.

“Ti in tvoj denar. Just like your papa,” said Veronica.

“Ma, that’s totally unfair. I gave Bertie twenty thousand for his brewery business.”

“Twenty?” said a surprised Veronica. “Your papa told me you gave only ten.”

“Only ten?! It’s a lot of money, ten thousand dollars! Listen ma. I told papa I gave Bertie ten in case, if papa were to ask Bertie if he can help that you wouldn’t feel pressured to give more if I had given more. Also I figured if I gave him twenty then maybe he would feel what he brought to the table and that he wouldn’t take money from you and papa.”

“We gave ten. I wanted to lend them more money but papa said no-no-no. ” said a proud Veronica.

“Have they paid you back yet?” asked Tomas.

“Mashee, don’t be like dat!” Veronica scolded Tomas using his childhood nickname. But, yes they had.

The other son, Bert, partnered with a friend from college and they started their own microbrewery. The brewery was just getting off the ground when he died. Killed by a drunk driver on a beautiful spring night as Bertie rode his bike home after visiting his new girlfriend.

The closure, as a couple, they never had about Bertie’s death has felt like a really bad hangover since he died. It was the drunk driver who did all the drinking and now Cappy and Veronica feel like shit everyday. Cappy couldn’t deal with the stupidity of it all. So he boxed up his grief in a strong box and purposely forgot the combination to the lock.

Bertie had been a really good soccer player in highschool but lost interest after no American schools gave him a scholarship. Upon graduation he immediately focused on learning about business. He took business courses at night at the college campus downtown. Even though it was easy to take on-line courses he liked doing the group work so he could meet girls. He also met Chad at school.

Chad and his dad Ross brewed beer at home as a hobby for years. Chad and Bert put together a business plan and took it to Ross. Ross put up most of the money. Bertie needed three credits for his diploma when they signed the lease for the brewery. Between working full time, opening up a brewery and his new girlfriend finishing a college diploma took a back seat.

With all the supply chain delays they had to postpone the opening of the brewery so for the last six months Bert worked at Chad’s dad’s accounting firm learning the ropes of corporate taxation. Bert was more of a numbers guy, Chad was the beer guy and Chad’s half brother Brad was supposed to be the marketing guy. Brad came up with a cheesy name and logo for the brewery but after Bert died they decided to call it The Bertrand Brew House.

Through the church Veronica tried to get Cappy to go to grief counselling. Then they tried anger management as a back door to get Cappy to talk. Cappy stonewalled them all. Gently enlacing his massive fingers on his friendly belly he would just sit there. It’s not that he didn’t listen to them. He actually couldn’t hear them. He generated a force field to block out anyone who wanted to fix him. He doesn’t even remember the funeral. No one saw him get drunk and weep, look at pictures of Bertie or even scream in anguish at the gods demanding to know why. He just couldn’t deal.

Almost two years after Bertie was killed, Cappy got electrocuted.

That is why Veronica doesn’t want Cappy at home. When he’s home it’s like there is a pinata filled with grief hanging from their living room ceiling, slowly swinging back and forth like when the air conditioning is on. And what Cappy just needs to do is grab the stick and bash, smash and crash that pinata. Make it bleed sweet grief. And rejoin the party.

The coffee shop is buzzing with Saturday afternoon millennials typing and talking into their laptops. Sitting down with his brother-in-law Paulo Sammy gets distracted by all the attractive young women sipping chai latte thingamajigs and just stops talking mid sentence.

‘“Focus Sammy Focus,” said Paulo.

“Bro, I think I am officially old. The girls are so young and …”

“So you called the ambulance and …,” prompted Paulo.

“Ya so anyway, I went to the hospital with Cappy. We’re in the ambulance and I am just shitting myself. I am practically yelling at him, Don’t die you stubborn fuck. And the paramedic guy says for me to cool it. So I’m looking at Cappy lyin’ there thinking Marty, If you are gonna be stubborn – today is the day – now is the time – you’re gonna live. In those days we still called him Marty. Cappy refused to die like the stubborn mule that he is.

“Once I knew he was gonna make it I went over to his house to speak with his wife. So I go get my truck and I’m driving over there. Actually I am amazed that I didn’t get in a car accident. You know when you are imagining something inside your mind and that is where all your focus and your consciousness or whatever goes. Then you are just totally on autopilot. Well, that was me driving all the way to his place imagining how I was gonna tell Veronica Cappy was in the hospital.”

“At least you didn’t have to give her worse news,” said Paulo.

“True enough. Anyway I was so surprised when he asked me about you,” said Sammy.

“Well, I am happy to be of service if I can help. I’m pretty sure I met Martin, or Cappy, years ago at your place for a barbecue, a birthday party, something like that.”

“Ya, I think so too,” said Sammy.

“So according to you what would be a good result from our meeting?”

“Cappy needs to talk. After that if he commits to follow up or something with you that would be awesome.”

“Would you say he is reserved or introverted?

“No. We have great banter at work. He’s just, gotta get comfortable and feel that you, or whoever, is sincere. Not yankin his chain.”

“That makes perfect sense.”

“Ya, and I doubt he will do the whole small talk thing; how are the wife and kids. I think he will want to … Hey there he is.”

Sammy and Paulo stand up and shake hands with Cappy.

“Grab a seat there handsome,” Sammy directs Cappy who was dressed in his church clothes: checked button-down long sleeve, v-neck sweater and his navy blue windbreaker.

“Cappy. You remember Paulo. He was saying you guys met at my place one time.”

“Hey Cappy.” Paulo felt weird calling him that.

“Paulo, how ya doin.”

“Can I get you a coffee?” Paulo asked Cappy.

“Green tea if they have it.”

“Since when did you start drinking green tea?” asked Sammy.

“Coffee is giving me bad heartburn all the time and my family doctor said green tea is good for me”

“Green tea it is,” said Sammy. “Let me get this. Paulo, did you want anything?”

“No I’m good, thanks,” said Paulo.

“It’s one of those March days ya know when the warm sun on your face feels great but once you turn the corner and you are in the shade of a big building it drops like 10 degrees.” Cappy is talkative because he is happy it’s spring which means the days are longer so they can work later.

“I guess I should call you Cappy.”

“Ya. Your knucklehead brother-in-law over there just had to go tell anyone who would listen about that nickname they gave me in the hospital. And now here we sit. It stuck like flies to shit.”

“Cappy it is.”

“Doc. listen. You’re a doctor right?”

“No, I’m a psychotherapist.”

“Sammy told me you were a doctor.”

“It’s confusing, all the different titles. A psychiatrist is a doctor. I focus on behaviour change through something called Accelerated Experiential Dynamic Psychotherapy. All that means is we talk about options for how you are going to grow.”

Cappy was almost stunned by the word grow being applied to him and not referring to his round belly.

“Keep talkin.”

Phillips: A Short Story from The Tool Series

Where’s Debbie?” asked Tim.

“She went in the house to talk to your mom,” said Oscar Phillips. “Hey, I heard you had a new girlfriend.”

“Yep.”

“Is she coming?”

“No, Trish had to work. She’s a nurse.”

Tim leaned against the workbench and picked at a scab on his index finger. Oscar sat on the chopper with the sparkling silver gas tank. Everyone, including Oscar, knew the theme of this family barbecue was to offer him a hand up as he lurched in the quicksand of depression. The radio effortlessly played classic rock; Spirit of the West ushered in the moment. Spirit Of The West “Home For A Rest” – Official Music Video

“So, did Debbie bring home any boyfriends. To do the meet-the-parents thing?” asked Oscar instantly regretting using air quotes.

“I remember one guy. He was really smart, tall and polite. Debbie was still in college but he was working a full time job. He had a pick up. My Mom didn’t like him. Dad did.” Oscar straightened his back and bent his neck to crack it. Oscar feared Tim’s dad Stan.

“Debbie is like, 10 years older than you?” said Oscar.

“Yes, 10 years and 8 months apart. In school Debbie always had a part time job. I saw her on weekends. Kind of like visitation rights with your own sister while living in the same house. Basically we grew up in two different families with the same parents. Debbie was before the accident.”

“Right,” said Oscar.

“She wasn’t perfect or anything but she didn’t cause my parents so many headaches like me. We never really had any big brother-sister fights. Never lit the kitchen on fire heating the pizza box in the oven or anything like that”

“Right,” said Oscar.

His shoulders deflated in a whatever surrender. Depression is usurping his mojo. It’s a pesky grinding of his tectonic plates causing landslides of conflict between him and Debbie.

Tim took in the Oscar’s theatre in response to his question.

“What the fuck do you want me to do,” Oscar imitates an exasperated Debbie.

Then nodding to Tim. “And you know Debbie never swears.”

“So …?”

“So what?”

“So bro,what … do you want Debbie … to do?” asks Tim.

“I don’t know what I want to do,” Oscar throws his arms open. “So how the fuck can I tell her what to do?”

“Dude. Fake it till you make it. Ya know, tell ‘em you wanna buy a house. Or have children. Or to go for that promotion.”

“What promotion?” Oscar needed to know.

“I am making it up. It doesn’t fuckin matter. They just need to hear that you are the man. They need you to make them feel they made the right decision bro.”

Tim and Oscar nodded as they sipped their beers.

“Sorry man,” Tim tried to redirect the heavy silence that was weighing them down, “I’m just tryin to help.”

‘This family therapy gig is getting old quick,’ Tim thought during yet another awkward pause. Oscar kept himself busy by thinking, ‘I just need to keep the conversation going.’ But he couldn’t find anything to say so the bottom fell out of the conversation again. Tim turned around to face the workbench and grabbed a long, red handled Phillips screwdriver. He spun it in the air, caught it and turned back and looked at Oscar.

“Look bro ….”

Oscar looked at him.

“It has everything to do with you and nothing to do with you all at the same time,” Tim pointed the red screwdriver handle at Oscar.

As Oscar’s soul mined him for traction, he heard his instinct, ‘Reflect.’

Like a witch Tim says,

“Listen bro, you just need to reflect on, you know, the situation. But, you have to fuckin swear you will not sit there and stew in your own regret. You cannot, cannot mire yourself in your own, you know, bullshit.”

Like the open garage door, Oscar gaped. Tim was proud of how he used the word mired. He had never used it before.

“Dude, I can see why Debbie is so frustrated. Your mojo, your fuckin chi!” Tim extended his neck at Oscar, “Has been sucked out of you like you were a cherry freezie on a hot summer day. Know what I mean?”

“If I don’t, Debbie does. And she isn’t shy about telling me. Daily,” said Oscar.

“Is she right, daily?”

“Is this a yes or no question?”

“Yes.”

“Yes. I mean, sure we had all those immature marital squabbles cuz our parents didn’t orient us about marriage. I know now that’s nothing personal. But now we are a fuckin tsunami of feces even before we wake up. We don’t talk, we argue. We don’t speak, we yell. We don’t love, we dread. It’s real. It’s horrible. I want to fix it,” said Oscar with the humility of a porcupine before a gale force wind. His own words stood him up from the motorbike. Tim was impressed. Oscar looked at himself standing as if he just woke from a dream. He sat back on the motorbike.

Bobcageon by The Tragically Hip reminded the radio of younger times.

Oscar and Debbie lived in a condo downtown Toronto. Having recoiled from most of their relationships, Oscar squats at home all day coding; becoming paler, losing valuable hair and gaining stupid pounds so he can be a better punching bag for depression.

His man cave was either: early morning concrete coffee cross legged on the 5 x 10 balcony overlooking the Gardiner Expressway or: seated on the ground in a clutch of red pine trees in the lakeside park across the street from the condo. In other days, these ‘encuentros’ would have provided better dividends.

The garage was Stan’s man cave. Storage boxes stuffed with sentimental anchors among aged yard equipment collected on his shelving unit. He was a salesman for Global Racking Systems. One day a client wouldn’t pay for one of Stan’s sales, so the install team took back all the racking and put it in his garage.

Tim had never seen his dad in work mode. Stan started out really appreciative of the install team bringing it over and installing the racks. Then in the flip of switch he was really bossy when it came to the installation. Then he gave the guys pizza and beers. It was fun for Tim to observe others caught in his dad’s passive/aggressive jousting.

Tim shuffled his feet on the gritty garage floor painted slate grey, looked back at the racking and realized he was proud of his dad. He decided he would ask his dad about how to invest in a house.

The earthy air of the garage buoyed Oscar from falling deeper into the abyss of depression. There was a hint of oily rags coming from the corner. The ceiling was high enough and the garage wide enough so you didn’t sense you were missing out on the day when you were inside the garage.

“Lemme see that thing, said Oscar reach for Tim to pass him the red handled screwdriver

“This thing is probably older than you,” Tim said.

Oscar exhaled laughter, “You know I am actually named after this fuckin thing.”

“Get outta town.”

“Ya. My dad is a total tool geek and he insisted my name be Henry Phillips – the guy who patented the cross screwdriver. He didn’t tell my mom until after I was born. I’m pretty sure that is why they got divorced.”

“What?!”

“Well not exactly, but it couldn’t have fuckin helped. Anyway, I was like three. My mom made sure from then on everyone used my middle name.

“Oscar,” Tim said.

“Nice to meet ya,” Oscar raised his empty beer bottle and they both laughed. Tim wanted to get them another beer but feared breaking the moment by going to the kitchen.

“Guys.” Stan opened the door connecting the garage to the laundry room with his left hand and held up his right hand carrying two green bottles of beer. “Do I have any customers?”

Oscar jumped to his feet.

“Right on. Perfect timing dad.”

“Where’s your beer Stan?” Oscar asked.

“Back at the barbecue. Burgers are gonna be ready in 5 minutes,” Stan said, closing the door.

“Thanks dad,” Stan loved hearing those words. They ferried beautiful meaning.

“Nice and cold, thanks Stan,” said Oscar as he grabbed a metal scraper with a wood handle from the workbench and popped the bottle caps off.

“Boys, dinners on the table,” Tim’s mom chirped and then she knocked on the door. Tim and Oscar chuckled at the backward sequence of it.

ar Oscar imagined that the granite boulder of depression weighing on his shoulders was crumbling into shiny grains of crystalline red, black and silver sand that fell off his back spilling around his feet.

—- Phillips is part of the Short Story Series called Tool by Kevin McNamara

Kuari Pass Trek (Lord Curzon Trail)

The Perceptions Square

When nothing in life makes sense, when you feel lost in the polluted urban jungle which you call home, then you have to go back to your roots, the wilderness from where your species evolved. That place, those mountains from where you truly belong.

After another difficult year , I decided to go for another Himalayan trek in the last week of October 2021 and my destination was Kuari Pass which lies at 3876m height (from sea level) in the Garhwal region of Himalayas ,Uttarakhand.

It was an autumn season in the Garhwal Himalayas and the entire trail was coloured in green , brown and golden colours. You can only see snow above 4100 meters at various mountain peaks that surround you through out the trek.

Some of the peaks that takes your breath away during this trek are Mt. Dronagiri…

View original post 322 more words

Short Story – Timber

“Hey, let’s go grab a beer and wings at the pub. They probably have the Leaf game on.” said Stan.

“Wow, ok, ya dad.” Tim said. “ But where’s mom?”

“She went over to visit your Aunt Magda.”

“Again?”

“Nothin to worry about. Grab your coat.”

Stan poured them both more beer from the pitcher.

“Thanks dad.” Tim said without looking up. Stan had trained himself to savour those phrases. Tim really liked this father-son moment sitting at the bar watching the game and licking the bbq sauce off their fingers.

“Ya know, one of the other sales guys at work says his numbers are down because of the pandemic. Everyone else’s have gone up. What do you think is going on with that guy?” Stan asked.

“Dunno. Lots of factors: pandemic, budgets, competition. Or it could be something personal”

“Exactly. Those are the same factors for all salespeople. So why would his sales be lower?”

“OH yes. Oh, no. Shit, nice stop by the New York goalie. Nylander should have gone 5 hole. Sorry dad. What was the question?”

Stan made himself busy gnawing on a chicken wing.

“Right, why are this one guy’s numbers lower than the rest of you? Ummm. Well I don’t know the guy personally so it is tough to say.” Tim distanced himself from the question.

“He doesn’t know what he wants.” Stan said.

“Well, who actually wants to sell industrial racking systems?” Tim grabbed another wing from the plate between them with a rapid glance at his dad. “I mean does it bring him satisfaction?”

“With all these Amazon fulfilment centres mushrooming up all over the place it is an amazing opportunity to build a career.”

“Are you suggesting that I apply for a job there?”

“If that is what you want.” Said Stan. “You see, I don’t see you passionate about graphic design.

“Well, in a way, you’re right. It’s my entrance into the gaming world and the whole Metaverse and NFTs. Remember I explained that whole scenario to you.”

“I remember you told me Eminem invested thousands of dollars in a pdf.”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“My point is Tim, it has been a year and a half since you finished high school and I haven’t seen any, you know, growth. I see you in your gaming chair and hear you scream when one of your buddies shoots you. But don’t hear anything about your on-line courses. I haven’t had you come up to me with a notebook and specific questions you have for growing a business or finding clients.”

Tim wiped his fingers with that noxious moist towelette they give you and grabbed his beer,

“So what happens now?” He arched his back after being hunched over his plate of wings and looked straight ahead at the big screen tv.

“You start paying rent the beginning of May.” Stan said

They stared at the same screen but were miles apart.

“If you want to go to college, for graphic design or anything else, I will pay 50% of the tuition while you live at home. And at that point we can negotiate the rent.”

“That was over two years ago.” Said Tim grabbing another nail from his pouch.

“So whadaya wanna do, bro?” Asked Manuel

“I wanna buy a house. I dunno, maybe flip it. We’ll see.

“So what’d your dad say when you told im that?”

“Well of course I didn’t talk to my dad the whole Uber ride home like any self respecting 20 year spoiled brat would do. Then lying on my bed with a pleasant beer buzz.”

“Wait, who says pleasant?” Interrupted Manuel.

“Hey, it’s my fuckin story pal?”

“And who says pal?” Manuel teased.

“Do you want me to push you off this fuckin floor? Pal?”

“Chill bro, chill.”

They were framing the second story of this new house they had been working on for 2 weeks. They were supposed to have finished by the end of October but they didn’t get started till the beginning of November. And still the general contractor was putting pressure on them. But it wasn’t their fault. The general contractor didn’t want to pay such a high price for the lumber so he delayed hoping the price would go down.

The price didn’t go down so that backfired and Tim and Manuel had to pick up smaller jobs in the meantime. Tim had signed up on one of those handyman apps. It was called Odd Man. Horrible name but they paid. He wasn’t supposed to because he was in the union. And the thing was the local carpenters’ union had worked out really well for him.

That Friday night Tim went out with his gaming buddies Raf and Tony. They were attempting to meet women so they were at a bar with Tony’s sister and a few of her friends.

“So chillin there, on my bed with a mild beer buzz I felt the house really, I don’t know, empty without my mom there. I grabbed my phone but focusing on that kind of killed the beer buzz and only made me angry.”

“Angry? Why?” Asked the friend of Tony’s sister.

“I have lots of reasons, bro.”

“I’m not your bro.”

“Sorry, man. Sorry again”

“Like…?”

“Like what?”

“Like what reasons.”

“Like… Well in this case ‘cause my dad was harpin on me about my entire future right. Anyway, I, like I say, I don’t know but I was driving myself crazy so I went down the hall and my dad was reading at the kitchen table and I said,

“Hey dad …?”

“Tim…”

“Sorry for not, you know, for not talking to you on the Uber ride home.”

Stan looked at Tim slouching in his dropping sweat pants that had never seen a drop of sweat in their life.

“I remember, I took a big breath making me stand up straight and I said,

“What about Marco, Vince’s son? You said he joined the carpenter’s union and makes good coin.”

“That’s right.”

“Well that’s what I want. To make some good coin.”

“Give him a call.”

“I don’t have his number.”

“He lives right around the corner. Knock on his door.”

“Dad, nobody knocks on anybody’s door these days.”

“Then be a nobody.”

“And that was over 2 years ago.” Tim said.

“So, Are you a nobody?” She asked.

“Look at my hands. Are these nobody’s hands?” Tim displayed his scratched hands, palm and back, to Trish, the friend of Tony’s sister, for her to appreciate his calluses and cuts.

Trish put her phone in her back pocket “Look at my hands. Are these the hands of a nobody?” Turning over her manicured hands, palm and back for Tim to appreciate her silver rings and bright red fingernails.

“Those are the hands of …” Tim had nothing.

“The hands of the cute young woman at the bar you are going to offer to buy a drink.”

“That is … exactly correct.” Said Tim, briefly bowing his head. “What’s your poison?”

“You sound like a bartender, You’re not a frickin bartender.”

“Ok. Hey there cute young woman with ravishing red fingernails, can I interest you in a beverage?”

“That was cheesy but better. I’m going to the bathroom. Order me something you think I would like.” Trish nodded to one of the other young women in the group of friends of the sister and they headed to the bathroom.

Tim turned to the bar.

“What’s your poison?” The bartender asked.

Tim shook his head quickly.

“Did you see the woman I was talking to? What do you think she would like to drink?”

“I actually don’t recall seeing her specifically but you can’t go wrong with a Tom Collins.”

“I’ll get one of those and another pint of Creemore?”

“Do you remember my name?” Trish asked as she accepted the drink.

“Do you know my name?” Tim countered.

“Tim.” Trish placed the limp slice of lime on the napkin on the bar and sipped the Tom Collins. “Your turn”

“I don’t … recall.” Said Tim, copying the bartender.

“Do you live with your parents?”

“If you can believe it I would prefer the answer to be yes. I’m trying to save up to buy a house. I actually live with 2 other guys in a shithole with a filthy bathtub that hasn’t been cleaned in months.”

“Then clean it.”

Alcohol Intelligence is the original AI. It has been the modus operandi of many a shy/angry/ill-equipped-for-life man. It has worked well in the moment thousands and thousands of times. It has damaged lives thousands of times. It is the algorithm of getting sufficient alcohol into the body of at least one of the participants so they disconnect from reason, standards and dignity leading to sex within the first night, if not hours, of meeting each other. Whether they want to or not.

This, not surprisingly, was Tim’s default strategy. He had not encountered any other creative techniques for flirting . Stan was a good father/husband in that he was there day to day. He provided. Regardless, he didn’t know how to speak about women with his son. Which is a major reason why now, at the bar, Tim was preprogrammed to align all mental and verbal efforts towards sex tonight.

“Tina ..?” Tim raised his eyebrows making a stab at her name.

“Trish.” Trish wished Tim would stand up straight. Three beers in, Tim wished he could smell her long back hair.

“Trish, you wanna get outta here?”

“And go where? To your place. Not until you clean it.”

“Why me? I am waiting for my lazy roommates to clean it. We all have our responsibilities in the home. I am responsible for the kitchen. Raf, did you meet Raf? That’s him in the brown Atari t-shirt still holding his first beer of the night – he takes care of the garbage/sweeping mopping and shit like that, and that guy beside Raf …”

Trish shook her head and then leaned in to look into Tim’s eyes to make him stop.

“And why in the world would I be interested in your dysfunctional bro show in Nerdia?”

“Bro show in Nerdia?” Tim’s brain was temporarily blocked as her cool blue eyes hijacked his arterial system. “What the fuck is Nerdia?”

“Oh that is what we call the imaginary place a gamer’s mind goes to when he enters his video game zone. It’s a combination of nerd and Narnia.”

“It sounds like you are pretty proud of yourself for coming up with that … title.”

“It works doesn’t it?” Trish smirked with her eyes and sipped from the pink paper straw. “I can tell you actually like the whole idea of having your own little niche in the Metaverse.” Niche got its own punctuation: a wrinkling of the nose

“Are you actually talking with me or am I like that half dead mouse that a cat plays with?”

“You did pretty well with the drink.” Trish referred to the Tom Collins not wanting another one but wanting to keep Tim’s focus on her.

Monday morning was light years away from the here and now of Friday night at the bar. Right now Tim was the man of the moment.

“Timber or lumber. What’s the difference? Tim asked.

“It doesn’t matter.” Manuel puffed out clouds of steam in the cold morning. He hated working outside in the cold so he came to work pissed at Woodley, the GC because he delayed the project to save a few bucks and they ended up framing outside in late November.

“You’re right it doesn’t matter, It’s just I like to learn stuff, to understand stuff.”

“What a fuckin waste of time.”

Tim stopped hammering for a second as he felt the bubble he was in after going out with Trish again on Sunday afternoon was now being burst.

“The problem with you is you’re a lazy paycheck to paycheck typical idiot.” Tim puffed.

“Do you lay awake thinkin all these high school insults?”

“You’re worse than the fuckin spolied Canadians.”

“What de fuck you talkin about pendejo feo? Yer Canadian.”

“You don’t know what you’re talkin about.”

“If it was my choice, I’d fire your lazy, insubordinate ass.”

“Insubordination?! What are we in the fuckin army.” Laughed Tim.

“Shut your face and pass me another 2×4 before I freeze to death.” Manuel said.

“Entitlement is usually reserved for white trash Canadians, not immigrants who usually have a better work ethic. Unless they hate their parents. Do you hate your parents?”

“What the fuck. I’m bein paid to frame fuckin houses. Not be psychoanalyzed. This is bullshit. Esto es una mierda.”

‘Someone always ends up paying for the bullshit of others’, Tim thought as he dropped his toolbelt with a thud on the plywood floor of the open second story. Their friendly barbs had never landed them actually angry at each other.

He didn’t really need to take a piss but he needed to create some space between the two of them. He learned this technique from his dad. Also it would put him in a better mood because he just loved the inventive names the portable toilet companies had like Willy Make it, or Royal Flush. The one at the end of the driveway was Urinbiz.

“Here.” Manuel made up with Tim by getting him a coffee he didn’t ask for.

“Thanks bro.”

“Bro, this is the last job I do for Woodley. If you wanna keep workin wit em, man it’s totally your right. But me bro, this is my last. I’m done” As Manuel sipped his double double he was holding onto a loose 2×4 like it was a small tree. He let it go and as it began to fall he said in a whispered yell,

“Timber.”