I've been taking Ben to school lately.

I woke up with the grog of the blog on my mind. The air stuck to the walls, like tubes of old oil paint. I coughed, the kind that makes you wheeze when you are done. Last night had been the same. I was full of shit, snotting everywhere and tugging at the sheets to resume the blackness of the pre light switch era. Oh well.

I got up and grabbed at Charlotte, my wife. She was bathed in the sweat from the night dark and looked sweet smiling at me with crusty eyes and pretty little lips. I laughed, a chunky laugh. "Good morning love." I smiled. She smiled back and we both sat straight up and slid our legs off opposite sides of the bed in search of the cool concrete floor. We found it.

With a big push I was able to find myself in the bathroom with a mouth full of sudding bubbling teeth cleaner and the brush that accompanied such rituals. I was fully aware of the day before me, and seeing as I had slept an extra eleven minutes it took great effort to not rush the minutes spent sharing a sink with my love and my lady. "Cleanliness is next to nothing short of a brisk low country creek My Dear." she screamed over the roar of the shower steaming and heating behind us. I nodded and thanked her for encouraging me in my efforts.

Sounds of large bumps and scuffles could be heard on the first level of the house in which we rented the basement. The Jackson's owned the living quarters upstairs and were kind enough to allow us to live below their modern country American dream television show reality station. We enjoyed it just fine. Our dogs allowed free roam throughout the varied landscapes that surrounded the home, they had been out since six AM lurking for mice, or rabbit, or deer, or skunk, or birds, or bugs, in the deep greens and browns and purples of the early sunrise.

I was able to caress my tempered ankle into my old black shoes and standing upright as one should, take steps towards the steps rising to the Jackson's living area. The steps were painted Red and had a crook at the third step leading you to a right turn and up to the smells of coffee, and bacon, and eggs, and medicine, and soap, and floor cleaner. They were, as stated, a wonderfully modern and comfortable country family: with all the trimmings, happiness, sadness, and hurt and healing.

The smells hit me strongly as I caressed the door handled downward and pushed my way into the living room where I was greeted by Donna, a small and caring woman of Fifty Six with great big eyes of blue. She would hug you at first sight, to which we had been acclimated. "Want some coffee?" She sang as she walked towards the pot, her decision to pour coffee for us already made. "Sure, Mrs. Jackson." I called back across the large living quarters.

"Now, you know you're supposed to call me Mom." She darted my way with a large cup of steaming Black coffee. "I know." I responded. "How is Mr. Jackson?" I asked. Mr. Jackson, John, was a nice man who spoke very little. His directions, so I could gather, was one of What needs saying, will be said, etc.

"He is fine," she said lowering her head and hands, "as well as can be expected. The doctors say they will let us know in a few weeks." Her voice had gone very solid as she spoke. They had been having a tough time these past few weeks since Mr. Jackson had become sick. We were trying to stay out of the way and do our part to help out and stay innocent.

Coffee in hand I heard the basement steps and entered Charlotte via the side door, latch handle down and door calmly creaking open. "Hello dear." She cooed, looking around at Donna and myself and the coffee and televisions playing the morning NEWS programs. "How are we all this morning?" Her words directed at Donna the same way mine had been. "Just fine." Donna replied, her lips a bit pursed, the conjured thoughts clearly expressed in the lines of her fore head.

"Ben ready yet?" I asked in Donna's direction. I had been taking Ben, their son to school every morning since Mr. Jackson had become sick. Ben was a delight. In my dealings thus far I could tell that he had never met a stranger, old sayings sometimes do tend to be true it seems, Ben proved that. "I think we will go by the Dairy Center for breakfast before school if that's okay with you Donn...errr, Mom?" I said, as I walked towards the kitchen sink with my empty coffee cup with the Nationwide Is On Your Side slogan laden on its side. "He will enjoy that, here is some money." She replied, handing me twenty American dollars. She was always giving me money for Ben because Ben could not count American money very well, or any money well for that matter. Ben was mentally handicap(able), and a delight to share a ride with.

As I tucked the bill into my left side jean pocket Ben came around the corner, freshly showered, brushed, combed, i-poded, with Metallica blaring from the headphones that hung aloof around his neck. "Sup, man!" he shouted in my direction. "Not much Big Man." I returned. "Ready for another day in the world?" I asked, as he came in for his and my morning hug. There were at least fifteen morning hugs, but the first was always the best. It was good the cherish the good things, and allow them to happen organically.

"See you guys around Three Thirty," Charlotte called over her coffee, "we've got Wii Bowling this afternoon." Ben was quite the Wii Bowler and smiled greatly at this news. He then reached over and gave me my second hug of the morning saying, "Oh yea, its gonna be a good day buddy." To which I smiled and said, "You dang right man, now lets get your lunch bag and head to the car, it's getting late."

There came another hug, and further glancing around the living space at Charlotte and Donna and Myself and the television, and the morning NEWS program, and the coffee pot singing in the background, and the headphones around Ben's neck blaring Metallica. "Ready to do this?" I asked Ben as I gestured towards the front door and my truck idling just outside. "Man, oh yea, let's get it." He replied, as he reached over to hug his mother, then Charlotte, then point at the dogs out the glass of the rear French Doors, and turn to grab my shoulder as we both headed for the front door and the day ahead.

"Gonna be a good one." He said. And I agreed.

SHORT STORY

The man I didn't know

By: William Jackson

Sasha was therapeutic, handsome, and kind. He was the sort of man that encouraged everyone around him to feel empowered simply by being themselves; and in a time when lives were taken daily, he was a man who made sure those around them were comfortable just where they were, lost.
"He will be missed, his life was an example of how to truly care for others, he was a dear and devoted father, husband, and son." These are all things I have heard since eleven this morning, and I knew nothing of the man.

The holding bay was its usual deep blue. The small track that split its difference showed is silver glow illuminated by the spots of light that followed its path towards the holding bay doors. The doors which began sliding open, followed by the greenish hue of the force shield just beyond; a reminder to us all just how close death is at all times.

About a quarter of an hour into the ceremony the murmur of the crowd began quieting, and an elderly man stood from his front row seat and paced slowly towards the deep blue podium that was bolted to the beginning of the glowing track between the divided patrons of this grievous gathering.

“I have only a few things to say about my son.” he began. “The first being how proud I am to have called him my son.” a woman's sobs could be heard a few seats behind to my left and I saw the man reach to his breast pocket, pulling something small and pretty from it.

“His actions have awarded us this medal I hold here,” he rose a small emblem, an eagle gripping a triangular shield, purple, yellow, and red, “the purple stands for bravery,” his voice shook, held, then steadied, “the yellow for intelligence in action,” he glanced the crowd, “and the red...the red stands for sacrifice...something we all know too much about. I thank you all for showing your support, this body we send into space is just one more reason for us all to remember our duty, to show our passion, and to fight on so that one day there will be peace...and relief.” A teared eye blinked causing a flash from light catching the single tear the father had shared.

The crowed began stirring as the father moved back to his seat where he shook hands with those surrounding he and his wife, her tears visible behind the shaded vale she wore atop her deep purple dress, the colors of the colony pinned to her breast. As the father sat down I noticed the next speaker stand and exit her row from behind me. It was the same woman whose sobs had disturbed me earlier, I tensed as I thought of what she could say, or who she was in relationship to the dead man from my division. She wore the typical gray top coat of an officer, but upon closer look I noticed the yellow leaf pinned to her breast among her other numerous decorations; she was an admiral.

I felt strange sitting there with no feelings at all for the man whom I was to be grieving over. He was one of the best of the best of the best, and as far away from me in friendship or brotherhood as anyone could be. I was a mechanic, a man of metal and sweat, not of thinking and bravery and honor. If it was broke and your could get your hands on it then I was your guy. If you needed a shoulder, or a hand, or a kind word; good luck. The woman began talking.

“Sasha meant a great deal to this unit, to all of us.” she beamed as others around me smiled and gripped friends hands. I still felt nothing.

“He showed us how a single man could unite a people and solve problems even in the darkest reaches of war and emotional poverty.” I tensed again, trying to feel.

“I can remember when he was a child and I was serving with his father, Commander Drianan, and we would sit and observe as comets and other celestial matter wizzed by.” I could analyze her face, but not connect. She continued.

“Shasha loved the stars, he even had a joke as a child...” her notes shook in her hands, “How many stars can you fit in a light bulb?” the crowd was silent, and she pointed out into the space between the two open airlock doors in front of her, “that many, you just need a really big lightbulb.”

I smiled, and so did the rest of the crowd. The smiles were genuine and I knew for sure that everyone felt that much better about what was happening.

“With that fine thought I ask you all to stand as we commit this soul to the great space, may it allow us further passage into its depths so that we may find the truth our ancestors set out for so very long ago.” And with that the silver pod with its dark screen began slowly down the track towards the doors and their reminder of what lay beyond. And then it hit me, this young man was that star he had jollied at as a child, he had spared his life for the opportunity for two worlds to maintain peace, much more than I would ever do. It was for that reason that an Admiral of our fleet could come to tears in such a way, and it was that reason that our entire squad had been called to honor this man. It makes me think just how wide our universe is, and just how important it is to be a part of this fleet and the humans who populate it. And with that I felt something small, maybe not for the man in the pod before me, but for the job that he did, and the job that I do, and the connection we all share therefore.  

I almost killed a cat this morning,
and it made me think, sorta,
because if you put a "r"
in cat, you get CART, which
is, in a sense, just the same as
the thing I was driving when
I almost killed the cat.