“Can I go next, Chris?” Collin asked shyly, peeking over the handlebars of his brand new Mongoose bike. Chris didn’t even turn around from the ramp he was fixing when he responded, “What did I tell you about asking dumb questions, fatass?” Without a word, Collin got off his bike and laid it down.

Half of the neighborhood was lined up to try out the new bike ramp Chris had gotten for his 12th birthday, but not everyone was worthy. Chris wasn’t the oldest boy in the group (one of the newer additions to Oak Street), but he commanded the most respect. He had compiled a posse of five loyal followers: Dev, Steven, Ryan, and the Kilgore brothers from the block over. Together, they built the best ramps, fastest bikes, greatest tree forts, and worst reputations. Everyone wanted in.

Chris had taken the first ride off his ramp and after a solid two seconds in the air landed it perfectly. “Nice bro!” Steven hollered, and the others joined in cheers. “No dude that was bullshit, I want another go.” Chris pushed his way to the front of the line, stood up on his pedals and took another rip. After five turns, he allowed his boys to hit the jump. One at a time they landed and circled back to the yard with wind-whipped hair and big grins. This was way better than the dirt ones they had built down by the canal.

The rest of the boys from the surrounding streets rode their turns, but not Collin.

No, Collin Deitz, the overweight whiner, had lost his chances at riding. The day Collin’s mother charged across the street and explained to Chris’ mother that he and his boys had been shooting Collin with their pellet guns only made things worse.

“Cut me down you guys! Please! I’m sorry – I’ll do whatever you want!” Collin screamed as he hung, tied upside down from a tree branch by the canal. “Well you shouldn’t have run and told mommy then dipshit,” Chris answered Collin, who had now started to cry. After only a few minutes, the boys couldn’t take the annoyance. “You do realize what a huge wimp you are, right?” Ryan said, disgustedly as he brought Collin to the ground with a thud.

But the boys still let him hang around to keep his mother off their backs. So here he was sitting in the grass cross-legged, admiring the other boys and keeping track of the air they were catching. Chris made him get up and fix the ramps every other ride, and sent him down the road to buy Gatorades after a while. “Collin, you have been surprisingly good today,” Chris said, “I mean, nowhere near cool, but at least you haven’t said much.” Everyone laughed.

After Collin had fixed the ramps, Chris patted him on the back. “Alright dude, you can take a ride off my ramp.” “Really!?” Collin gasped. “Yeah, really, “Chris nodded with big, mocking eyes. Collin mounted his bike, almost tipping over the first time. He set his right foot, and glided forward, picking up speed toward the ramp. But it wasn’t enough. As his front tire left the ramp, the back one got stuck, flipping his bike forward and landing on top of Collin.

“Ah, shit,” Chris muttered as the boys walked over to a shell-shocked Collin. Bone was showing on his left arm, and the right one was most likely broken too. The boys all looked to Chris for what to do, as Collin geared up to cry. “Dude,” Chris looked at Collin with wide eyes, “That was so badass. You ripped the hell outta that jump.” Collin peered up at him with a small smile, “I did?” “Yeah man. Didn’t he guys?” They all agreed and sputtered compliments – anything to keep him quiet. “Cool. Cool man,” Collin grinned, “Thanks for letting me try your ramp, but uh… can you go get my mom?”

Chris walked back across the street calmly after a hysterical Mrs. Deitz, and the neighborhood boys helped load Collin into the minivan. From that day on (and much to Mrs. Deitz’ dismay), Chris took Collin under his wing, teaching him control and toughness, and to Collin, it was totally worth two broken arms.

Fiction Ideas

1. I stood, sweating in the fitting room, looking from the dress I was holding to my purse, and back to the dress. I hadn't stolen anything before, well - except for that pair of butterfly earrings when I was four that Mom made me take back with a letter of apology (my ears weren't even pierced). I looked at myself in the dirtied mirror, disgusted by my own desperation. How did I get here?



2. The only thing that was ever hard for me growing up was trying to get into trouble. I can't remember a time I didn't have a girl by my side, I've never had to have a resume or study for a test, and I've never had to worry about anything or anyone but me and football. But things sure change quickly, and now - things are hard for me, but I can't imagine how much harder they are for him. If only he'd kept his head up in that tackle... everybody knows that.



3. "Here, give your arm a rest Rach - I'll pull and you hold the throttle," Riley said as he switched me places on our pull-start four-wheeler. Ten miles or more out of camp, the sun was setting behind the mountains a canyon over, and goose bumps were rising on our arms. Exhausted after 20 pulls, he glared at me, "Why the heck did you let it die?" I just looked away thinking, We'll try again when it's not flooded, and if that doesn't work, somebody'll come lookin’ when they notice two 7-year-old kids and a 660 four-wheeler are missing.



4. With business conferences held monthly in different states, and attended by some of the most intelligent, affluent, and beautiful people in the world, I was proud of myself for staying faithful to my wife of twelve years. I was proud of the three wonderful children we raised together, the lovely home we built, and the traditions we established. I was proud when Stuart let me off early that Thursday night to take my family on a pre-paid bonus vacation. But all that pride died as soon as I saw the grief in her eyes as she held the man I had just shot, the dead man who was with her in my bed.

Don't Need a Damn Holiday

Now I don’t use the ‘L’ word,
‘cause my old man never did.
And I ain’t much for huggin’
since I didn’t as a kid.

And hell no I don’t cry none –
that just idn’t for real men.
Don’t talk about my feelin’s much
‘cept for now and then.

Can’t say I’ve ever 'cuddled',
and don’t think I’d care to.
I don’t give out no compliments,
and don’t need none from you.

But you know where my heart’s at
when you look me in the eye.
To the only woman who’s seen my soul:
I’m yours until I die.

My Crime

Frozen in this wooden chair -
The leg it wiggles just a hair.
Cold floor’s a haven for my stare.
My pulse – it races round…

Wall to wall, the whispers rush,
And burn my sweaty cheeks – full flush.
His gown it flows and feet they brush.
The gavel makes its sound…

He calls my name – my spit is caught.
I want to look, but I cannot.
Frantic mind, torn and distraught,
Just seeking safer ground...

I wish I HAD committed a crime
That I – not THEY – was putrid slime.
I’d let down ALL – not one – this time.
An innocent child clowned…

Welcome Home

Keys dangling from the handle -
Coat shading that lamp’s light
A day too long - soon repaired
by a much longer night

Shuffle up the staircase -
One knotted, breathless mess
Burst into the bedroom
…But slowly we undress

Toss you back late in the evening -
Get my moonlight fill
Drunk off your alluring taste
And wanting you more still

Chests rise and fall with satisfaction -
Entranced in this embrace
20,000 mornings more
Together, love - we face.

I Swam the Shores

I swam the shores,
Fully immersed,
And came out dry –
My body cursed.

I flew for hours
In the skies,
With hair untangled,
Moistened eyes.

I walked for days
Through mountains high –
No aching foot,
No burning thigh.

I lay in flames
That burned hot white –
My skin unharmed
The challenge trite.

And though I hate to lose,
I say –
What I’d give
To hurt one day.