Connecting with Reality
Posted by Aaron Springer on July 23, 2010 under General | 
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Well, I am getting started on a new project. Not Lego®, not tech, not New Media (well, kinda).
Updates to follow.
Let’s just say it’s legal, moral, and has a point.
Posted by Aaron Springer on October 29, 2009 under General | Read the First Comment
Yes, peebles, it is NaNoWriMo time again.
Some of you might know what that means. For those who don’t, it means I will vanish for a month.The only people likely to see me are other NaNo writers, family, my wife, and those at work.
I am actually writing science fiction this time. I will post daily updates to Twitter, and, therefore, Facebook, so be of good cheer.
Now, to do some plotting and character development…
Posted by Aaron Springer on August 12, 2009 under General | Be the First to Comment
A gift of wisdom
I used to believe in the whole white bearded dude on a throne surrounded by clouds bit. You know, with the singing choirs and streets of gold and the mansions and all of that shit. My parents were Catholic. They tried their best to keep me doused with holy water, and the idea of God in Heaven and the angels watching out for me was nice and comforting, you know what I mean?
It didn’t stop me from becoming a thief. No sir. Even if it meant killing. Pulling a trigger, slicing with a knife, pressing my hands into some poor cat’s throat just seemed to come natural, like that was what God wanted me to do. Here I am, with my gun at this guy’s head, him shivering and slobbering, and begging for his life. Before now, God in Heaven would not have stopped me for nothing. He wasn’t here, He don’t pay the bills. I do.
But, I can’t do it now. I stumble back, and the guy gets up and runs away. I sit back against the alley wall and hold my head in my hands. The gun is cool against my cheek, and I used to love the feeling, but now it don’t mean anything.
It was Monday when I saw the guy in the jumpsuit. He was just sitting with the normal folks on the number fifteen bus. I mean, he didn’t look different than any of them. He just sat there, smiling, in between Bertha and some other guy. I guess I noticed him because of how clean he was. Teeth, hair, even his jumpsuit was spotless. Bertha, she ain’t no Donna Reed, let me tell you! She’s been digging through dumpsters since way back. The other guy, I don’t remember him too good, but he was probably none too tidy, either. But this guy, this guy was clean and well done like nothing else on the fifteen bus that day.
He was staring at me, and I wanted to put the end to it, so I cut out two blocks before my pad, near the diner, and decided to book the rest of the way. He got off, too, and followed me. Now, I could put up with the staring and freaking me out, but that was too much. I turned on him.
“Hey, jackass, what the hell is wrong with you?”
“Jerry,” he said, putting his hand out to me, “I think it’s time we had a talk.”
“I don’t know you from Adam. Get lost,” I said, pointing back down the street.
“Jerry,” he said, his voice still calm, “can I buy you a coffee?”
I stopped. It just hit me that he was using my name, and not the name I went by, neither. Any guy who knew my real name got my attention. I shrugged and turned toward the diner. If I didn’t like what he was selling, I could always just roll him and leave him in the gutter, minus his cash. We walked into the nearly empty greasy spoon.
“Hey, pops!” I yelled to the guy wiping down the counter, “Two black coffees.”
The mugs dropped in front of us, and the old man poured out the hot java. I leaned forward at the bar, trying not to look at the guy next to me.
He wasn’t talking, so I started, “What are you, some flower child or somethin’? And how do you know my name, anyhow?”
He took a sip of the steaming black coffee, waited a moment, then said, “Jerry, it’s not important how I know you, just that I do. You can call me Josh.”
This guy was a nut, but it still bugged me that he knew my name, so I wanted to hear him out. “Whatever, pal. Why were you following me? And tell me how the hell do you know my name?”
“I wanted to talk to you. I’ve been watching you.”
“Hey, I know all about your free love crap, and I ain’t havin’ none of it. Say your piece, then leave me the hell alone,” I said, slamming my mug on the counter. Some coffee splashed out, and the old man shot me a dirty look.
“As you like. I’m going to give you a little gift…” he began.
I looked at him as I cut him off, “What’s your bag, man? You stare me down on the bus, now you’re trying to sell me this jazz?”
“I’m just trying to help you, Jerry”
I turned, raising my mug and taking a swig, “That’s another thing. My mom calls me Jerry. Where do you get off using my name? And how did you know it to begin with?”
“Jerry, you are asking me questions that don’t really matter. Let’s just say I have given you a gift, a gift of wisdom. You’ll know what I mean.”
I heard coins hitting the counter and looked back at him. Thing is, he wasn’t there. There was enough change on the counter for both coffees. I turned to the door, but he wasn’t outside.
I turned back to my coffee. “I must be wiggin’ out,” I muttered to myself, downing the last of my drink.
* * *
I walked home, tired and wanting nothing more than my bed. I let myself in, and hit the sack. For some reason, I couldn’t get any shut eye and just stared up at the ceiling. It was hot in my room, so I sat up, intending to take off my shirt. A roach walked across my foot, as happy as you please, so I grabbed a shoe and swung at it. There was a satisfying crunch, but for a split second I felt the oddest feeling, like someone was getting a bead on me and I was about to buy the farm. I rolled on to the floor, and waited for the shot, but when it didn’t come, I got up, feeling like a ditz.
“Don’t sweat it,” I told myself, hating the silence for a moment.
I got dressed, stuffed my piece in my pocket, and decided to head and get some cash.
It took me a few minutes to find a sap waiting on the number fifteen. I pulled my piece and poked it in his back.
“Give me your wallet,” I hissed in his ear.
Suddenly, I felt sick to my stomach. I dropped the gun and fell to my knees like someone had punched me in the gut. The guy split, leaving me on the ground with the dry heaves.
It took me a bit, but I got to my feet and picked up my gun. It was small, but for some reason it felt very, very heavy. I tucked it back in my pocket. The sirens made me beat it back to the flop house.
I went to sleep when I got there, but tossed and turned all night. In the morning, I felt like I had tried to make out with a truck. I sat up, rubbed my chin, lit a joint, and tried to calm down. I threw on my rags, loaded my piece, and headed out to score some dough for the day.
Every time I tried to roll some cat, my guts would turn off the wall and I couldn’t do it. All day long, I would fink out of even the easiest job that any two-bit hood could have pulled off.
“Okay, Jerry, you got to get it together, for real,” I would tell myself before every stick-up; it did no good. One minute, I’d be jamming my muzzle, the next I’m by wanting to puke. I was hungry, tired, and feeling ill.
I was leaning against a sign— waiting for the flip flops in my gut to stop— when I saw the guy in the jumpsuit sitting on a stoop, reading some book. I thought it was about time for some answers, and he was probably the one who had them.
“What did you do to me, man? Did you slip something in my coffee? This is a bum trip, man.”
He looked up at me, smiling that damned smile again.
“Jerry, I told you. I gave you a gift.”
“What kind of gift does this to a man?”
“You feel what your victims feel. That’s all.”
I took a step back.
“How the hell…? What are you, a hypnotist?”
“Oh, nothing that mundane. You can call me Josh.”
“I know what your fuckin’ name is. How did you do this to me?” I demanded.
“Is it important? The important part is that you know.”
“I don’t know nothing. I know you are trying to trick me. I’m just trying to figure out your angle.”
“Oh, men other than you have tried.”
“You know what, fuck you,” I turned away from that damned smile, “fuck you.”
* * *
I figured by that point the only way to get back in the groove was to pop some square. I remembered that after the first guy I did I couldn’t be stopped. I mean, I was jazzed after that. So, I loaded up and headed out.
By then, the sun was down and the streets were bare enough that it wasn’t hard to find a mark. Some guy stumbled past, a call girl from the strip on his arm and both of them blitzed, and I figured I could do one or both of them quick and dirty. I grabbed his arm and pushed him into an alley. In one move I had him tripped and on the ground. I brought out my gun with the hand that wasn’t on him, and put the muzzle behind his ear.
“Give me your wallet or I’ll splatter you right here,” I said to him, nice and cool like.
Suddenly, I pissed myself from fear. That’s when I knew I couldn’t do this anymore.
So, that’s where I am, pants full of piss, gun in my hand, mark running like a rabbit, heat about to come down around my ears and nothing ahead of me but five to seven in the state pen. By all rights, I should be hauling ass out of here. I should be finding that guy in the jumpsuit and pounding him flat. The guy said he was giving me wisdom. All I know is that I am screwed. This is the only way I have ever known, and now, I can’t do it.
So, yeah, if you ask me what I believe in now, I believe that a guy in a blue jump-suit can turn a man on his ear for nothing more than shits and giggles.
Posted by Aaron Springer on August 11, 2009 under General | Read the First Comment
She Recognized His Laugh Lines
The snow drifted down, falling like it didn’t really want to hit the ground. The air was bitter, and the river was speckled with small pieces of ice that weren’t melting. The wind had slowed, giving an almost peaceful air to the town.
Jerry belched loudly. Even he could smell the chitterlings on his breath, and gave a half laugh, half hiccup. Rob, in the passenger’s seat, sneered at him in disgust, but Jerry either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Jerry was a bowling ball of a man, and his bulk contrasted with Rob’s slight frame. They had been partners on this run for two trips to Elkhart now, dropping off merchandise that had been tagged and picking up the fresh donations.
Jerry pulled the big Goodwill truck into the Sunoco station as they had to fill the tank before heading back to the hub. He handed Rob the money and motioned towards the interior of the station. When he had first ridden shotgun, the driver had usually just shoved the money at him and sat there. Jerry had a bit more compassion, hoping that Rob would warm up a bit in the station’s interior while Jerry pumped the gas.
Rob wound his scarf around his face, leaving only his eyes exposed to the frigid Northern Indiana air, and stepped down out of the cab. Jerry slid out of the other side, towards the black tank and its insatiable desire for diesel.
Rob- mind flitting between thoughts of his mother, his sister, his dog, and the fact that payday was coming up- looked up at the young woman coming out of the station, not really intending more than a cursory glance. In that moment, however, she stopped.
“Rob Springer?” she said, “Is that you?”
He was a bit surprised that someone had recognized him, considering only his eyes were exposed to the cold. He grasped for a name, which surprisingly came to him rather quickly. With it came a rush of images from an earlier life, one to which he was trying to return.
“Sue Howard?” he said. He was honestly glad to see a woman smiling at him. “I didn’t know you were still in town,” he blurted, unsure of what to actually say to her.
“Back in town. And you?”
“Got back a few weeks ago. I was in Texas. You want to get together and do something?”
“Sure!” She pulled a pen and a receipt from her purse and jotted down her number on the back.
The first time they met, back when they attended different high schools, she had been friendly towards him. He found her to be cute, but quiet; not at all like their mutual friend Lori. Susan had been distant, although there were a few times that he thought that she might break down and kiss him.
After a long shift the next day, Rob sat on a dilapidated couch in his apartment, looking at the number. He noticed his hand was a bit thin. While he had been traveling, he hadn’t been eating well, and his body was beginning to show it. Even though his roommates had been feeding him, it had mostly been rice and the like. That, combined with loading and unloading the trucks had kept him trim. He had let his dark brown beard and hair grow, just like the other members in the band back in Austin, and he was proud of the wild look. He picked up the phone and dialed.
“Hello?”
“Susan, it’s Rob. Do you want to do something on Saturday?”
The other end of the line was silent for a moment. He frowned, thinking she might be trying to brush him off. She didn’t seem the type to do that, but he wasn’t sure.
“How about Farrell’s? Out at Scottsdale?”
Ice cream? Interesting place for a date… He was already thinking of it as a date. That was quick.
“Sounds great. I’ll meet you there?”
“I’ll have Aaron with me. Is that okay?”
Was he ready to meet her three year old? What was the worst that could happen? He decided the answer to that question was worth the date. There it was again.
“Yeah, that’s fine. My treat.”
Farrell’s was busy with families stopping for a treat as they shopped the after Christmas sales. Even though the weather outside was similar to tundra, somehow Scottsdale Mall was boiling hot, most likely a combination of human bodies pressing for deals and an aging heating system that couldn’t quite tell the difference between comfortable and too hot.
Everything went well as they waited in line. Aaron was quite patient for a three year old; he was quite a few things for a three year old. He was tall, nearing the size of most five year olds, and he had his mother’s straight brown hair, and below his bangs he looked out upon the world with very blue eyes; Rob assumed they were from his father. The boy was excited about the prospect of ice cream, and kept talking about what flavor he wanted. He seemed a little in his own world, and was talking to no one in particular. He would look up at Rob and smile occasionally as they waited.
She told Rob that she had just gotten back into town from the east coast. She had gotten married, then divorced, and now had a new last name. On her own now, she was desperately trying to maintain a handle on Aaron, her rambunctious three year old. She had crossed the gap between South Carolina and South Bend in a white Volkswagon Jetta with Aaron strapped into the back, clutching a stuffed puppy she had found at a small store on the way. He had begged for it, and she had broken down and bought it for him.
The couple kept the talk as light as possible. When they reached the front of the line, Rob paid and they took their treats to the table. Aaron was big enough to sit in a booster, so Susan lifted him up and into the hard plastic seat. They settled in to their desserts, although Rob looked more at Susan than at his ice cream.
She had long brown hair that covered the sides of her face, but did not hide her eyes. He was trying to decide if it was those eyes that had grabbed his attention those years ago. Her eyes were a soft brown, and he found that not getting lost in those eyes was becoming more and more difficult.
“So,” Rob said as they sat down, “what have you been doing since high school?”
“I went west, and ended up with the kid.”
Her smile was a bit sheepish, and he got the impression that she wasn’t telling the whole story, “Huh, me too, except I ended up with a dog instead. Thought you said east coast?”
“I thought you said Texas? Yeah, that’s where I ended up. We moved a lot.”
With this, Aaron promptly slid out of his seat and ended up under the table. Whether it was the sudden lack of ice cream, the change of scenery, or the mere impact of his little bottom on the tile floor is still unknown, but he uttered a scream that pierced the already noisy restaurant, adding to the din of bells, whistles, and the occasional birthday song. The scream did not stop, save when Aaron took a short breath so he could continue to wail. Susan looked absolutely horrified, and Rob got up and walked out of Farrell’s.
She slid under the table to retrieve the errant toddler. In full mommy mode, she was somehow able to calm him down, although it took bouncing, retrieval of the ice cream, and soothing words. She looked around for Rob, and her face fell when she did not see him through the front windows of the store. Her shoulders slumped, and she gathered up her own and Aaron’s ice cream, and headed out of the store.
As it turned out, Rob was standing just outside, to one side of the store, contemplating the water falling from the large fountain. He stood with his bowl of ice cream, his peaceful attitude a complete contradiction to the noise he had left behind.
“I’m so sorry,” she began. Her eyes played across his face, failing to find any trace of what he might be thinking.
“It’s okay. He’s little,” he said finally. He had only left because he wasn’t about to scold his date’s child, and didn’t know what else to do.
After a moment of near silence, the only sound the greedy slurping of the three year old, Rob surprised her.
“So,” Rob said, smiling, “What do we do for our second date?”
Posted by Aaron Springer on August 10, 2009 under General | Read the First Comment
A Sense of Place
San Jose, California, 1977
A scratchy beard
The smell of the ocean
Coffee and submarines
New London, Connecticut, 1979
Orange walls and glass brick
A thirsty bird and orange juice
Climbing up, and a toy truck
South Bend, Indiana, 1981
Cigarette smoke and yelling
Strong rose scent and cold wind
Grey wood and the weight of time
Windsor Village, Indianapolis, 1985
Schools and friends
Bikes, mud, and trees
The green house with the hill
Irvington, Indianapolis, 1993
Broken bike, bruised body
First taste of Seattle coffee and lips
Movies at the Irving
South Side, Indianapolis, 1996
Bus rides and first pointless jobs
Rattrap house and Circle Centre
Train roaring overhead a Union Station bathroom
Chicago, Illinois, 1997
Bus station and playing cards
Pizza and waiting all night
The morning coming at last
Seattle, Washington, 1998
Long nights in the shelter
Long days at the library
A ring returned for no good reason
Indianapolis, Indiana, 1999
Breadsticks and incense
Fatherhood, diapers, green paint
The smell of a campfire and vodka
East Side, Indianapolis, 2003
Four week old stew
Betrayal after betrayal
Nights alone, letting my ex-wife go
Crawfordsville, Indiana, 2004
A broken door
Spilling coffee
Beef, not pork
Brownsburg, Indiana, 2006
A bed, but only to look at
My girlfriend’s ex in her niece’s bed
The sound of a toy piano playing itself
Indianapolis, Indiana, 2007
The smell of coffee
Lox and bagels
Love like titanium this time
Meridian Street, Indianapolis, Present
The cool stillness of a summer night
Home office, dark and comforting
My wife, my love, sleeping in our bedroom
Theme:
Balance of Blue
by Brandon Cox.
