MY FICTION: Lamour Looks Something Like You

by

Al Bruno III 

 

 

The bed was too small, the room was too warm and her clothes were too tight but in a matter of moments one of those problems would be solved for her. Kate felt his hands snake up along her back and take hold of the zipper on the back of her black dress.

She couldn’t believe she was doing this! He was half her age, half her age and beautiful. He still lived with his parents but he was undressing her like an old pro.

The dress fell away and Kate felt a flush of uncertainty, these weren’t the perky breasts of a college hottie, these weren’t the hips of a girl flush with the promise of youth. Her shape was still lovely enough to catch a man’s eye but she knew her body had been marked by the passage of time; there were stretch marks and a tattoo that had seemed like such a good idea at the time.

What would she do if he flinched away from the sight of her? She would die, she would just die.

He didn’t look away and a little smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, an appreciative smile. Then he was pulling her close and closer still.

There was stubble on his chin, his breath smelled like gum and his kisses were like candy. His name was

Robbie. He was a valet and he had flirted with her as she dropped off her car and headed into the grand old hotel for the wedding reception. She was sure he gave the eye to all the middle aged broads that crossed his path, but he’d walked off the job to be with her hadn't he? Walked off the job with a breezy laugh of “They won't fire me.”

What was it her old friend Debbie had said about cougars and cubs? Debbie was always one for smutty little remarks. She’d even made them when she was in hospice, trying to make the orderlies blush while she’s still had the strength to speak.

What would Debbie say if she could see her now?

Robbie had stripped Kate down to her plain cotton underwear. The panties of a woman with no expectations. His touch skirted the old scar that marked the place where the doctors had gone in to remove her cancerous womb. Did he know what that scar meant? Or was he too busy kissing just below her navel and working his way down?

In spite of everything Kate giggled when those kisses reached their goal and he made himself busy. No one had done that in a while!

Or with such thoroughness.

It had been the wedding of a daughter of an old acquaintance, someone she had lost touch with since college and then found again thanks to the dubious miracle of Facebook. Kate decided to go on a whim, thinking it might be fun to see her old home town again. To see what had changed and what hadn’t. Maybe she would even rekindle an old friendship or two.

She had avoided the actual ceremony however, wedding ceremonies left a bad taste in her mouth. She had been burned twice and that was enough, the only thing more expensive than her weddings had been her divorces.

Now it was her turn to undress him. The terrain of his body was familiar but there were surprises. A pierced nipple, washboard abs and he was more than a handful in all the right places; and he was ready to go! No purple pills and pregnant pauses here.

Pregnant.

There was a word she didn’t like crossing her mind. Especially considering what she had lost at such a young age, even more so when she realized who else was at the reception.

Of course she should have guessed. Hadn’t the invitation come from an old and mutual friend? Kate was civil enough when Scott her old fiancee called out her name and told her it was long time no see. He hugged her in a way that showed he still didn’t have the slightest idea how much he had hurt her way back when.

He had smiled and told her she hadn’t changed a bit. He bragged that he was the manager of this hotel and he had charged the bride’s family half price for the affair. Then he had introduced his wife and offered to show her his wallet full of kids. The need for those kids was the reason he had left her within months after the hysterectomy.

It was a clumsy move but she had excused herself by pretending her cell phone was on vibrate and there was an important call coming in. She made a show of talking

to someone that wasn't there and made as dignified a run for the exit as she could.

She hadn’t even known that she was crying until the handsome valet had asked her if she was all right. This was not the distracted concern of a well- trained employee but the tentative reaching out of a would-be friend. Ordinarily she would never have gone off with some stranger but Kate already felt like she knew him.

It had been good to have someone to talk to, better than good, they found a booth in a little diner and talked for hours.

Then he brought her home sneaking her into the house like they were a pair of horny teenagers. With the door closed behind them there hadn’t been the need for small talk.

And now here she was holding him while he made love to her, running her nails along his wide back until he shivered. When she climaxed she cried out blissfully, carelessly.

That cry brought Robbie's parents running into the room. Covering herself quickly Kate said the only thing she could think of, “Hi Scott, long time no see!"

 

Uncle Al's Halloween Hoedown Day Sixteen: A SON'S DUTY

A Son's Duty

by

Al Bruno III

All through the long drive Sidney kept thinking, This is a mistake. He thought it as he parked his car on a side street, he thought it as he made his way up the walk, he thought it as he rang the bell. Every moment of the journey he had felt like a man trapped in a dream, fighting every step but unable to turn away from the jaws of the nightmare.

The sound of footsteps moving through the house made Sidney’s mouth go dry.

Sidney thought, Too late to run now.

The door swung open and his older brother David looked at him with a combination of surprise and relief.

“You’re here.”

Sidney nodded, feeling self conscious in his worn out jeans and flannel shirt. David, as always was neat as a pin.

Was it a touch of reluctance Sidney saw in the way his brother stepped aside to let him in? The inside of the house hadn’t changed but it felt so much smaller.

“Where is he?” Sidney asked.

David nodded, “Upstairs, in his room.”

In his room. Sidney’s parents had slept in separate rooms for as long as he could remember. Whatever love they might have shared had dwindled away by the time he was old enough to notice. He had grown up in a world of icy silences and sudden outbursts. The experience had left him angry and haunted but somehow his brother had learned to survive, developing the skills he had used to become a successful local politician.

“How is he?” Sidney asked as he started up the stairs.

“He’s been asking for you,” was David’s only answer.

Sidney made his way up the steps wondering why. Why would Father want to see him now? Reconciliation wasn’t part of the old man’s repertoire.

The first room at the top of the stairs had belonged to Sidney’s mother. It had been kept locked and empty for years. There had been no funeral when she passed, Father had buried her hastily and without a trace of mourning.

The next room was the one Sidney had shared with his brother for 18 years. The door was open and Sidney had no doubt his brother had been going through old mementos, his pennants, awards and trophies. Sidney wondered if the hollowed out copy of Moby Dick he had stored his pot in was still there. He had left in such a hurry he had left it behind, he wasn’t sure but he might have left a roach behind. Probably not, but it amused Sidney to imagine it had been there for years right under the old man’s nose.

Next was Father’s room, the smell of antiseptic and shit flooded Sidney’s nostrils. He barely recognized the figure on the bed. There was an uncomfortable-looking chair at the bedside, Sidney slowly sat down.

He dreaded his next words but he knew they needed to be said, “Dad? It’s me.”

“Took your time didn’t you?” Father’s eyes snapped open, “I would have thought this was something you wanted to see.”

Sidney kept silent, wondering to himself how his old man’s body could be dying when his eyes were so very alive. He felt himself shrinking under their gaze.

“You think I’m a bastard don’t you?”

“Please don’t be like this,” Sidney said, “not now.”

“Your Momma was lucky. She was dead before she hit the ground.”

“I’m sorry,” Sidney shifted in the chair, not even sure what he was apologizing for.

“I was so proud of you, but you changed on me. You got weak.”

“Maybe...” Sidney looked away, “Maybe you're the one who changed.”

Father laughed just a little at that.

“You used to be my whole world,” Sidney said, “you were my hero but suddenly I wasn’t good enough.”

“Still whining, like an old woman. Like your Momma.”

Suddenly Sidney was on his feet, the chair clattered over. He expected his brother to shout and come running but where ever David might be he was keeping silent. “What do you want from me? Is this why you called me here?”

“Close the door,” Father said, “close the door and come closer.”

He wasn't sure if it was some last vestige of a child's blind obedience or a kind of morbid curiosity but Sidney did as he was told. He leaned in close and realized again how bad his old man smelled.

“I'm dying,” he spoke quietly, “I'm rotting away.”

“I know,” Sidney said, but a lot worse replies had come to mind.

“It hurts. You can't imagine how bad it hurts.”

“The doctors can give you-”

Father shook his head, “The doctors are assholes. They don't care.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” Sidney asked, “What do you want from me?”

“I need you to do...” the old man's hands spidered back behind his head and pulled out one of the pillows, “...what you've always wanted to do.”

When the warm pillow was pressed into his hands Sidney almost dropped it. It wasn't a soft, his father had never been a man for soft anything.

“Do it...”

Was this really what I always wanted? Sidney thought but he already knew the answer. He pressed the pillow down over his old man's face.

Sidney had expected more of a struggle, but Father stayed still until the very end, until some involuntary response set his arms flailing. A ragged yellow fingernail cut Sidney right below the eye.

Is he having second thoughts?

If he was it didn't matter, Sidney was determined to be strong enough for the both of them.

Just this once he was going to make his father proud.

ORDINARY WONDERS AND BLEAK MIRACLES: An Invitation To Disaster

ORDINARY WONDERS AND BLEAK MIRACLES

An Invitation To Disaster

by

Al Bruno III

Chester Bush sat on his front porch waiting for the sunset and what the sunset would bring. It was a warm spring day, cloudy with a hint of rain in the air. He had multiple windows open on his laptop and with each one he was checking for news in a city a timezone away.

Three days ago at 7 o’clock in the morning a tornado had come through the town of Drummond, Oregon destroying everything in its path. From his comfy chair Chester could read the incoming stories and watch the video feeds from local and national news sources.

The body count kept rising, it seemed that for every miraculous survival there were three lives cut short. The tornado had destroyed the firehouse but spared the police station. It had avoided the school but leveled an entire wing of the hospital.

There was booze in his free hand, expensive brandy in a cheap glass. His ex-wife Rosie would have said that was typical of him and she would have been right. He had a lousy house full of expensive toys, he had a rusty car with a high quality stereo system. That was just the way he liked it.

He opened one browser window and opened another and listened to the streaming feed from Drummond’s AM radio station. The traffic reports and right wing pundits had been replaced with constant updates. They took calls and tried their best to help people track down loved ones that had gone missing in the disaster.

Chester was two years away from sixty and he was proud of how well he handled the technology at his fingertips. Too many of his friends shied away from it all, intimidated at learning something new, afraid of looking foolish when they made a mistake. Chester had no fear of mistakes.

His cell phone rang and he dropped his drink in his fumbling to get it to his ear. He hung up almost immediately, another one of those damn idiots that kept looking for the previous owner of his cell number.

There had been a time when he would have cursed the person on the other end of the line out until they hung up, then he would have called them back and cursed at them some more. All through his life his temper had been a problem but not anymore. Had he finally mellowed or was it just that at the age of fifty-eight he didn’t have the energy for feuds and fights?

The puddle from his spilled drink had spread out across the bare wood floor. He frowned at it for a moment and then closed his laptop, there wasn’t anything new it could tell him anyway.

He knew that the house belonging to Rosalie Price, formerly Rosalie Bush, had been flattened by the tornado. Just like every other house on that unlucky street.

Chester retrieved a towel from the kitchen then got down on his knees and dabbed at the spilled brandy. The house he had shared with Rosie for seven years was gone, it seemed almost hard to believe. The last time he had seen the place was after the signing of the divorce papers.

He still remembered his last words to her, “Drop dead.”

That damn temper of his again. And hadn’t he enjoyed holding a grudge?

In the eleven years since that day his one great joy had been hearing about his ex-wife’s troubles. He still had enough friends in Drummond to keep him apprised of the gossip. He laughed when he learned her second marriage had crashed and burned. When he heard she had gotten Bells Palsy he’d joked that now the rest of the world would see the scowl he’d had to live with for far too long.

He brought the wet cloth and glass back into the kitchen, he gave the both of them a quick rinse and set them out to dry. For a moment he toyed with the idea of getting another drink but he decided he'd rather be sober.

For now anyway.

The sun had fully set, the sky was a darkening purple.

Eleven years. That was a long time to be angry but it kept his other feelings a safe distance away. Better to be angry than to look back.

That had changed three days ago. News of the disaster had set him trying to call and email friends. Within a matter of hours he knew that all his old buddies were fine, a little shaken up but otherwise untouched. Then they told him about Rosie's street, and Rosie's house.

At first he just shrugged off the news but as the day wore on it tugged at him until it became a sickening worry. It robbed him of his appetite and the ability to sleep. In the silence of his house all he heard were old conversations, when he closed his eyes they filled with twenty year-old memories.

The next morning he started making calls, he contacted all his old friends and even a few enemies, he made inquiries to the civil authorities, he even called in to the radio station to plead for information.

Headlights in the driveway stirred him from his thoughts. Chester hurried out to the porch steps. He almost didn’t recognize the woman getting out of the taxi. Her hair was short and going gray but even in the dusk he recognized her eyes. “Do you have any bags?” he asked.

“I don’t have anything,” Rosie said, she moved slowly and painfully.

“Come on inside,” Chester paid the cabbie and then helped her inside, “I’ll get you something to eat.”

She paused in the doorway, “Why are you doing this? You didn’t have to-”

“-Yes I did,” Chester smiled, “besides it’s too quiet around here.”

“Oh. Well I’ll see to that.”

“I bet you will.”

The porch door swung to a close behind them.

ORDINARY WONDERS AND BLEAK MIRACLES: A Son's Duty

ORDINARY WONDERS AND BLEAK MIRACLES

A Son's Duty

by

Al Bruno III

All through the long drive Sidney kept thinking, This is a mistake. He thought it as he parked his car on a side street, he thought it as he made his way up the walk, he thought it as he rang the bell. Every moment of the journey he had felt like a man trapped in a dream, fighting every step but unable to turn away from the jaws of the nightmare.

The sound of footsteps moving through the house made Sidney’s mouth go dry.

Sidney thought, Too late to run now.

The door swung open and his older brother David looked at him with a combination of surprise and relief.

“You’re here.”

Sidney nodded, feeling self conscious in his worn out jeans and flannel shirt. David, as always was neat as a pin.

Was it a touch of reluctance Sidney saw in the way his brother stepped aside to let him in? The inside of the house hadn’t changed but it felt so much smaller.

“Where is he?” Sidney asked.

David nodded, “Upstairs, in his room.”

In his room. Sidney’s parents had slept in separate rooms for as long as he could remember. Whatever love they might have shared had dwindled away by the time he was old enough to notice. He had grown up in a world of icy silences and sudden outbursts. The experience had left him angry and haunted but somehow his brother had learned to survive, developing the skills he had used to become a successful local politician.

“How is he?” Sidney asked as he started up the stairs.

“He’s been asking for you,” was David’s only answer.

Sidney made his way up the steps wondering why. Why would Father want to see him now? Reconciliation wasn’t part of the old man’s repertoire.

The first room at the top of the stairs had belonged to Sidney’s mother. It had been kept locked and empty for years. There had been no funeral when she passed, Father had buried her hastily and without a trace of mourning.

The next room was the one Sidney had shared with his brother for 18 years. The door was open and Sidney had no doubt his brother had been going through old mementos, his pennants, awards and trophies. Sidney wondered if the hollowed out copy of Moby Dick he had stored his pot in was still there. He had left in such a hurry he had left it behind, he wasn’t sure but he might have left a roach behind. Probably not, but it amused Sidney to imagine it had been there for years right under the old man’s nose.

Next was Father’s room, the smell of antiseptic and shit flooded Sidney’s nostrils. He barely recognized the figure on the bed. There was an uncomfortable-looking chair at the bedside, Sidney slowly sat down.

He dreaded his next words but he knew they needed to be said, “Dad? It’s me.”

“Took your time didn’t you?” Father’s eyes snapped open, “I would have thought this was something you wanted to see.”

Sidney kept silent, wondering to himself how his old man’s body could be dying when his eyes were so very alive. He felt himself shrinking under their gaze.

“You think I’m a bastard don’t you?”

“Please don’t be like this,” Sidney said, “not now.”

“Your Momma was lucky. She was dead before she hit the ground.”

“I’m sorry,” Sidney shifted in the chair, not even sure what he was apologizing for.

“I was so proud of you, but you changed on me. You got weak.”

“Maybe...” Sidney looked away, “Maybe you're the one who changed.”

Father laughed just a little at that.

“You used to be my whole world,” Sidney said, “you were my hero but suddenly I wasn’t good enough.”

“Still whining, like an old woman. Like your Momma.”

Suddenly Sidney was on his feet, the chair clattered over. He expected his brother to shout and come running but where ever David might be he was keeping silent. “What do you want from me? Is this why you called me here?”

“Close the door,” Father said, “close the door and come closer.”

He wasn't sure if it was some last vestige of a child's blind obedience or a kind of morbid curiosity but Sidney did as he was told. He leaned in close and realized again how bad his old man smelled.

“I'm dying,” he spoke quietly, “I'm rotting away.”

“I know,” Sidney said, but a lot worse replies had come to mind.

“It hurts. You can't imagine how bad it hurts.”

“The doctors can give you-”

Father shook his head, “The doctors are assholes. They don't care.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” Sidney asked, “What do you want from me?”

“I need you to do...” the old man's hands spidered back behind his head and pulled out one of the pillows, “...what you've always wanted to do.”

When the warm pillow was pressed into his hands Sidney almost dropped it. It wasn't a soft, his father had never been a man for soft anything.

“Do it...”

Was this really what I always wanted? Sidney thought but he already knew the answer. He pressed the pillow down over his old man's face.

Sidney had expected more of a struggle, but Father stayed still until the very end, until some involuntary response set his arms flailing. A ragged yellow fingernail cut Sidney right below the eye.

Is he having second thoughts?

If he was it didn't matter, Sidney was determined to be strong enough for the both of them.

Just this once he was going to make his father proud.

ORDINARY WONDERS AND BLEAK MIRACLES: Waiting For Zachary

ORDINARY WONDERS AND BLEAK MIRACLES

Waiting For Zachary

by

Al Bruno III

Ken Grady hated the drive to the Muldwych Assisted Living Facility. He hated the place itself even more. He hated the staff with their trained pleasantries, he hated the pre-fabricated buildings and the layout that made him feel like he was an unwanted guest in a second rate country club.

Most of all he hated the residents; so many of them had allowed age to turn them into the walking wounded. Some of them couldn’t even do that, they rolled to and fro in their wheelchairs and motorized carts. Ken was seventy-five years old but he looked ten years younger. Plenty of folks asked him his secret, was it genetics or clean living? Was it diet or prayer?

His only answer was that staying young was looking Father Time right in the eye and telling him to fuck off. That was something he did a lot these days.

The nurses heard him knock and buzzed him in to building four, the tallest building in the facility. It looked half like a prison and half like a hospital because that was just what it was.

After another change of empty pleasantries with the staff he made his way through the locked glass doors that served as checkpoints and entered room 814.

Jennifer was sitting in a chair by the window, the television was blaring nonsense but she didn’t seem to notice or care.

“How are you feeling today?” Ken asked as he took a seat next to her.

His wife didn’t look at him when he spoke, she just kept watching nothing. Her hands were clasped together and her fingers moved with mindless precision, a lingering memory of the rosary she had used to count on Sunday mornings.

On the TV some poorly dressed fool was winning cash and prizes. Ken sighed heavily.

Friends and family had told him this daily ritual was no longer necessary, that Jennifer would have wanted him to move on, but how could they know that? How could they know that when Alzheimer's had robbed her of the ability to speak?

Besides Ken couldn’t abandon her, not after almost forty years of marriage, not after all the laughter, love and the occasional spectacular argument.

Jennifer paused in her finger counting, then started again.

As they had grown older they had spoken frankly about deathbeds and do not resuscitate orders. Somehow what was happening now had never come up. Was that foolishness? Or hope? Ken supposed it was a bit of both.

Her illness had begun with forgotten names but had quickly progressed to lost hours and terrifying confusions. Ken had tried to care for her himself but as more and more of her memory had eroded away he had been left with no choice but to entrust her in the care of professionals.

The day he had left her at the Muldwych Assisted Living Facility had been a terrible one. Jennifer had been lucid and spiteful. She had cursed and spat and worst of all she had told him he had never been her first choice, that she should have waited for Zachary.

The name had haunted Ken. He had tried to dismiss it as ramblings but every night as he lay alone in his too-empty bed he turned it over and over in his mind.

Jennifer had a younger sister in Calgary and after some consideration he called her. It took some prying but eventually he learned everything. For decades it had been Ken and Jennifer against the world but before that there had been Zachary. Jennifer had been little more than a teenager then but she had been so very much in love. He was three years older and already on his way to making a life and a career. They would have been married after she graduated from high school but the draft had robbed them of that dream. He had been declared missing in action.

She had promised she would wait, she had been waiting for almost four years when Ken had met her and fallen in love. He had worked tirelessly to win her heart, but he had just thought she was playing hard to get. He had never suspected he was trying to get her to break that promise.

It had hurt to know there had been someone else, someone his wife had loved enough to spend a lifetime keeping a secret. Ken wondered how often she had allowed herself to think of her first love, if in the best moments of their marriage there had been a part of her that secretly mourned what might have been.

Ken didn’t think so because through the good times and bad he had always been able to make her smile.

He could still do it, even now.

“Hey...” he leaned forward in his seat and took her twitching hand in his, “...it’s Zachary.”

Slowly Jennifer’s eyes brightened and she broke into a grin.