Writing Prompt #14: Write about a souvenir you have bought or received.

There is a scrap of paper in my wallet with a phone number and a name written on it. It is the only scrap of paper in there. It’s been there for years. The phone number is no good anymore, but I can’t bring myself to throw it away.

The scrap of paper dates back to a time when I knew I wouldn’t have access to a phone for several months. Most of the phone numbers I have are saved in my Google account so I can always access them on my cell phone, but not this one. This one was too important to be out of reach for months. I wanted to make sure I always had it because I never knew when I might need to use it.

The person who used to be at that number was very important to me, someone I could always talk to and feel a little bit better even when I’d had a crap day. They always gave me a better perspective on things, and they always pushed me to be a better person.

I haven’t used that number in a long time. It’s disconnected now. I haven’t talked to the person whose number it used to be in months. I may never talk to them again.

But I can’t bring myself to throw it away.

Writing Prompt #13: What do you look forward to every week?

In 2015, I used to volunteer twice a week as a bus captain for my (then) church. We went around Perris and picked up kids and teenagers and took them to church for the youth ministry. I did that for a few years and ended up having a really good relationship with a lot of those kids. They reminded me of my own, and as time went by they got comfortable talking with me about whatever was going on at school or in their lives. Every week, I looked forward to Tuesday and Wednesday nights, and when the church eventually shut it all down I really felt like I had lost something important.

Writing Prompt #12: Has something you dreamed about ever happened in real (awake) life?

These days, most of my dreams seem to center around either work or whatever I’m reading or watching on TV. None of it ever comes true. I haven’t had that sense of déjà vu in years.

I do remember it happening from time to time when my kids were little, and I remember being really weirded out by it. At the time, the kids occupied most of my waking hours, so it was pretty natural for my dreams to be about them, but I don’t specifically remember what the dream was that ended up happening while I was awake.

One odd thing that comes to my mind right now, though, is that when I dream about my kids today they’re still perpetually 12, 10, and 6 years old. They’re all in their twenties now, but I never dream about them as adults. For some reason they’re frozen at those ages in my mind.

Writing Prompt #11: Take a famous scene from a classic story and rewrite it in a completely different era.

One of my favorite classic film scenes is from Casablanca, starring Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman, and Paul Henreid. The key moment I love, though, wasn’t performed by any of the three stars; it was performed by Claude Rains.

The film is set in the titular North African city. The year is 1941, Nazi Germany has occupied most of Europe, and Allied forces (including the United States) would not land on and capture Normandy beach for another two years. Morocco was ostensibly governed by France, but France itself had been occupied by Germany in 1940. As a result, French officials in Casablanca answered to German authority, and the city itself was portrayed as a last port of exit for refugees hoping to flee across the Atlantic.

Claude Rains portrays French Captain Louis Renault, the “unabashedly corrupt” commander of the Casablanca police force. The film makes clear that Renault’s only real concern is his own survival and prosperity, so he is quite happy to cooperate with visiting German military officers so long as he can remain in command and continue enriching himself at the expense of desperate residents and travelers. Early in the film, he cheerfully assures a visiting German official (in search of some letters of transit taken from a pair of murdered German couriers) that he has rounded up “twice the number of usual suspects” as a show of cooperation with Nazi forces.

Humphrey Bogart plays Rick Blaine, an American expatriate who settled in Casablanca and purchased a nightclub that hosts a purportedly secret gambling den in the back room. Despite gambling being ostensibly illegal in occupied France, Rick’s gambling operates with a wink and a nod to the right people and is perhaps the worst-kept secret in Casablanca. Rick enjoys a special understanding with Captain Renault: he allows Renault to gamble in the back room and in return Renault pretends the gambling den doesn’t exist.

Midway through the film, Renault is under intensifying pressure from the visiting German officers to locate the missing letters of transit and arrest someone they can blame for the murdered couriers. Renault, less interested in law enforcement than he is in graft, has no prospects but understands that his continuing survival depends on satisfying his patrons. (Or as Rick wryly puts it, “Gestapo spank.”)

When German Major Strasser orders the nightclub closed, Renault immediately uses the gambling den he already knew full well existed as justification for the shutdown. When Rick approaches from the back, demanding to know what’s going on, Renault loudly declares for everyone to hear:

“I’m shocked! Shocked to find that there is gambling going on in here!”

At that moment, with impeccable timing, a cashier approaches Renault with a stack of money.

“Your winnings, sir,” he says to the French police chief. Renault doesn’t miss a beat, smiling pleasantly at the man and pocketing the cash.

“Thank you. Thank you very much,” he says, politely, before going back to shouting at customers to leave immediately.

Rains’ line, and the ironic contempt with which he delivers it, has come to represent the hypocrisy of any corrupt authority figure who feigns shock at discovering his own criminality. Unfortunately, Casablanca is such an old film at this point that most people don’t understand the reference anymore.

The other memorable thing about Casablanca, for me, is the song that represents Rick’s impossible romantic relationship with Ingrid Bergman’s character: “As Time Goes By”. It always gets a reaction out of me.

I know I was supposed to rewrite it in a different era, but I think I wrote enough about it. Don't be surprised if it pops up in one of my stories at some point, though, probably in a very different setting.

Writing Prompt #10: You look outside: Ah, it is snowing! But look closer. Those are not snowflakes falling from the sky! What is it snowing at your house?

I live in Southern California. Specifically, I live in Temecula, which is a naturally dry, sparsely vegetated area. It’s not quite a desert, but it’s not a lush, green area, either. The summers are hot, the winters are cold, but it doesn’t rain a lot and the ground never freezes over. I’ve seen it snow here a couple of times in my life, but it’s exceedingly rare and it never sticks around long. So what could fall from the sky that might resemble snow?

In 1980, something happened that shattered many Americans’ sense of security and safety. On the West Coast, deep in the State of Washington, a mountain exploded.

“Exploded” doesn’t do it justice. On May 18, at 8:32am, Mount St. Helens abruptly woke America up. The initial blast triggered a landslide that traveled at over 110 mph down the north slope and across nearby Spirit Lake. Debris suddenly filled the North Fork Toutle River up to 600 feet and covered an area of about 24 square miles. Trees were flattened, ridges destroyed, and a 600-foot wave rose up from the lake and devastated the northern shore. The pyroclastic flow (hot ash and magma) flash-boiled much of the lake to steam, creating a secondary blast that was heard as far away as Montana and Idaho. The explosion was the equivalent of 26 megatons of TNT, more than 1,000 times more powerful than the nuclear bomb dropped on Nagasaki in 1945. (Believe it or not, while the eruption of Mount St. Helens is the most destructive volcanic eruption in the history of the United States, it doesn’t even come close to the 1815 eruption of Mount Tambora in Indonesia, which is estimated to have been around 30,000 megatons.)

The eruption column rose 80,000 feet into the air, injecting ash and dust into the stratosphere. Drifting at about 60 mph this ash drifted in a mostly northeasterly direction but was still reported as far east as Colorado, Minnesota, and Oklahoma. Yellowstone National Park and Denver, Colorado, reported ash on the ground as early as the next day. It looked like snow, but in reality it was something much, much scarier.

Writing Prompt #9: Write about a memory that makes you feel warm.

I like kids. I always have. When my oldest son was born, I was 19 years old and scared to death, but that feeling passed surprisingly quickly. In just a few weeks (as soon as we figured out how to mix his formula right and he stopped crying all the time), I realized babies are not nearly as fragile as I thought they were and that they’re actually a lot of fun. I mixed bottles, I changed diapers, I stayed up with him when he wouldn’t go to sleep and I learned to take naps when he did. I delighted in making him laugh, and I felt proud when he started to learn things I was trying to teach him. Even though I was young, becoming a father was the best thing I had ever experienced and I never felt like I gave anything up; from the time he was big enough to put in a carrier and take him with me, I just had a little partner with me wherever I went. I did everything and went everywhere exactly as I would have if he hadn’t been there, just with company. I loved every second of it.

Over the next few years, my (then) wife and I had two more boys, who I tried to treat exactly the same as my first. As of this writing, they are all in their twenties and they’ve all turned out to be good and kind young men. They’re generous, quick to offer help or empathy, and they all live reasonably happy and productive lives. I’m proud of them all.

But I do miss having little kids.

Writing Prompt #7: What is your favorite way to spend a lazy day?

Lazy days are nice, but like everything else money dictates the way people spend them. We live in a world that has been thoroughly monetized, so it’s hard to step out the front door without feeling like I’m suddenly hemorrhaging money. (But that’s a topic for another day.)

If money weren’t an object, I’d like to go someplace different, not necessarily someplace exotic, but someplace different from my day-to-day where I could maybe sit out next to a hotel pool and read a book. Or maybe I’d like to go somewhere I can go to plays or shows or concerts. Las Vegas sounds nice in that regard; I’m not much of a gambler, but I’ve always wanted to visit Las Vegas as an adult so I could see some of the shows. I just looked, and it seems that Penn & Teller still perform regular shows in Las Vegas.

I saw them once at the La Jolla Playhouse what feels like a lifetime ago, but before that I had seen them in an appearance on Babylon 5, where they portrayed a fictional comedy duo named Rebo and Zooty. They made such an impression on me that when I found out they’d be performing a live show near where we were living in San Diego, my (then) wife and I ran out and bought tickets. As it turned out, their comedy bits (which were very funny) took a backseat to their magic act (which was very good). I’ve seen my share of magicians in my time and never been terribly impressed until I saw Penn & Teller. Seeing them again is one of the items on my bucket list.

As far as lazy days go, I’ve actually spent a few just going through my comic book collection (when it wasn’t all digital), organizing them and changing plastic bags and backboards. There’s something very satisfying about just immersing myself in a big project like that, where I can satisfy my mind need for order. I don’t have any physical comics anymore, but that might be a good argument in favor of starting my collection again.

Writing Prompt #8: Come up with a mathematical formula to express something you know/believe. (Example: Long Saturday run + Frappuccino = Happiness.)

Logic + values = wisdom

“Logic, logic, logic . . . logic is the beginning of wisdom, Valeris, not the end.”

-Spock

Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country (1991)

I’ve long argued that logic does not exist in a void. There is no such thing as pure, objective logic. Logic has to start somewhere.

In scientific fields, that starting point is relatively easy. Logic begins with observations. Sir Isaac Newton studies Johannes Kepler’s laws of planetary motion and used logic to deduce that those same laws must apply to the Moon’s orbit around the Earth and also to all objects on the Earth, such as the (possibly apocryphal) apple that fell from the tree. Jean-Francois Champollion used logic to compare the Greek text on the Rosetta Stone to the Egyptian hieroglyphics on the same stone to decipher the ancient Egyptians’ written language. Logic is a method of drawing conclusions from observations, but it always needs something to start with.

Spock’s statement at the top of the page has its roots in a Biblical passage, Proverbs 9:10, which states “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom,” but its use in Star Trek VI is in many ways the opposite of its use in the Bible. The passage in Proverbs calls the reader to look to the Lord, first and foremost, for knowledge. However, in the context of the film, Spock’s use of the phrase is an admonishment to his protégé, Valeris, to regard logic as only the beginning of the path to wisdom, and to look beyond logic for further enlightenment.

Logic does not exist in a void.

Logic springs forth from observations in the scientific world, but in terms of a society, logic springs forth from values. Every society, consciously or not, makes decisions about what it values and holds dear. Every society is based on a set of beliefs, sometimes religious in nature and sometimes now.

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed . . .”

-Thomas Jefferson

The Declaration of Independence (1776)

This was how Thomas Jefferson, on behalf of the brand-new United States, answered one of the most important questions of anyone’s life: “Who are you?”

The answer to that question is what we base our logic on. What we believe and what we value sets us to reach logical conclusions, but those conclusions can be wildly different from one person to the next depending on how they answer that question. There is no such thing as pure, perfect logic because there is no such thing as a pure, perfect person. That’s why it’s so important to think carefully about the decisions we make and the conclusions we reach; it’s vitally important that we reach them based on the values that are truly important to us.

Writing Prompt #6: Give your city (or town or region) a new name that reflects what type of place it is and explain why you chose that name.

When Temecula was incorporated in 1989, we were told that the name meant “sun rising through the mists” in a local Native American tongue. The only other option on the ballot at the time was “Rancho California”, which was another way our unincorporated region was often referred to back then. I was only twelve years old at the time, so I wasn’t old enough to vote on what to name the new city I lived in, but I was old enough to be aware of the issue.

In 1989, the town was so small that there was barely a grocery store here. When I was much younger, I remember making trips all the way to either Escondido or Oceanside just to buy groceries at one of the old Gemco stores. I remember Gemco as a sort of 70s-esque version of today’s Super Walmarts. My mother would spend a few hours in the front of the store going through the various departments of men’s, women’s and children’s retail clothing, household items, and other things before ending the trip at the back of the store in a full grocery department. Then we would load up the car and make the hour-long trip back home.

So it was no small thing when the grocery chain Stater Bros. opened a store on Jefferson Ave in the lot that is occupied today by a bowling alley. (This was the Stater Bros. I mentioned the other day where I first discovered comic books, by the way.) The majority of the town was still undeveloped at the time and consisted mostly of empty grazing land for the local ranchers. I was in middle school in the early 90s before we got our first Target department store. Believe me when I say it was cause for celebration.

Today, Temecula is still small by city standards. The population is estimated at around 110,000, but to those of us who have been around since before the 15 freeway was completed it’s been an incredible change. I wasn’t able to find any good population estimates for Temecula in 1978, the year I was born (at the hospital in Fallbrook some fifteen miles away because Temecula didn’t have a hospital), but I did find an estimate of about 56,000 for both Temecula and neighboring Murrieta for that year. Today, Murrieta alone is estimated at around 110,000, meaning that since 1978 the Temecula-Murrieta region has more than quadrupled in size. It’s still sometimes a shock for me to drive around the area and see all the “new” development.

I’m honestly not sure what I would rename Temecula if I ever had the chance. Rather than “sun rising through the mists”, I think something along the lines of “place of great growth” would be more appropriate. I tried looking up the phrase in Spanish but I didn’t find anything that rolled off the tongue like a city name should. I do think “Temecula” is more appropriate for a small, peaceful town than it is for the busy, commerce-driven city it’s become. I might have to give it more thought.

Writing Prompt #5: Do you prefer taking risks or having a safety net?

I have a set of rules. They’re rules for me, no one else. They started out as Gibbs’s rules from the television show NCIS, but over the years I’ve removed a lot of the ones that didn’t apply and I’ve added a lot that were more specific to me. This is one of them.

Rule #17: Risk is part of the game.

"Risk is part of the game [if] you want to sit in that chair."

It’s a quote from Star Trek: Generations, in which Captain James T. Kirk gently admonishes a young, rookie captain that if he wants to sit in the Big Chair, he needs to understand that his job is not to play it safe. A captain’s job is to risk.

That’s not to say that anyone should take undue risks. Kirk has often been known to advise caution, or to get his ship and his crew to safety, or to not make stupid decisions. Although often remembered as reckless, Kirk was never one to take unwarranted or unnecessary risks. He wasn’t a loose cannon. But when the situation called for risk, when lives were at stake or his ship was on the line, he wasn’t afraid to take risks in the name of a greater cause. He wasn’t afraid to take personal risks to achieve his goals or complete his mission. Jim Kirk was the epitome of taking measured, calculated risks, and that’s what he was trying to impress upon his younger counterpart.

In my life, I’ve often tended to play it safe. I don’t enjoy rejection or failure; no one really does. But I’ve often felt that I’ve been rejected or hurt or embarrassed so often in my life that I never wanted to experience that again. I especially wanted to play everything safe when my kids were little because they were the most important people in my life. I never wanted them to suffer for any risks I took.

The problem, I’ve only realized in the last few years, is that isn’t living. Life involves risk and failure. Life involves picking yourself up and trying again. Sometimes life involves taking a chance in the name of something that’s important. I’ve never been very good at that, but I’m trying. I’ve never been very good at going after what I want; I always prioritize other people or other needs or the rules or anything other than myself. Sometimes it’s really just an excuse to not put myself out there, to stay in my safe place and not to engage with the world on its terms. Sometimes I lie to myself.

I’m 47 years old; breaking out of that habit isn’t going to be easy, but I’m trying.

Writing Prompt #4: What is your favorite work of art? What do you love about it?

The interesting part of this question, to me, is how to define a “work of art”. Is it a painting? Is it a selection of music? Is it a statue, a piece of architecture, a poem, or a novel? Could it, perhaps, be a dance performance, a script, a play being performed, a film or television show? Maybe it’s a mission patch from one of NASA’s Apollo missions, or a logo designed for a company. Maybe it’s even a spraypainted mural on the side of a building.

There’s so much art to choose from that it’s nearly impossible to make a single decision. Maybe I’m overthinking it, but I see art everywhere in nearly everything. We express ourselves in so many myriad ways that it can be overwhelming.

One possibility for me is The Starry Night, a painting by Vincent Van Gogh. There’s something about the colors and the swirls and the darkness juxtaposed against the light that’s always appealed to me. Painted in 1889 while Van Gogh underwent self-commitment to a mental asylum, it is considered one of the most recognizable paintings in modern art.

Another personal favorite of mine (and here’s where my nerd shows through) is a concept-painting of the USS Enterprise-D created by Andrew Probert and Rick Sternbach during the development of Star Trek: The Next Generation prior to the show’s premier in 1987. Originally intended to demonstrate the proposed look of the new ship, it was so well-received that it was hung on the wall of the captain’s ready room set for the entire seven-year run of the show as well as the film Star Trek: Generations.

If anyone is ever wondering what to get me for Christmas, a framed print of either of those would make me very happy.

At the end of the day, though, I’m such a voracious reader that my “favorite” work of art has to be a story, either something written in prose or something filmed. Even narrowing it down that far leaves almost too many possibilities to think about. There are so many short stories, novels, comic books, television shows and films that have moved me over the years that I could teach several college courses on the subject and still only scratch the surface.

Of all the possibilities, I’m going to go with a simple one. It’s a comic book limited series called Midnight Nation, written by my favorite author, J. Michael Straczynski. It’s the story of a detective, shot dead by a suspect, who gets stuck in a place between life and death and who goes on a cross-country road trip to regain his soul from the Devil and in the process discovers who he really is as a person. Along the way, he discovers a multitude of lost souls who have been discarded, ignored, or forgotten by the daylight world we all inhabit. I won’t spoil it for anyone who hasn’t read it, but in my twenties the ending struck me in a way that I don’t think anything else ever has. The thing I love about it is the self-discovery: our hero starts his journey wanting one thing, but at the end he realizes what he actually wants is something very different.

Even so, at the end of the day, I think trying to choose a favorite is an exercise in futility. There are far, far too many works of art out there that demand our attention, that demand our respect, to ever narrow the list down to just one or even two or three. If life is an exploration of possibilities, of ideas, then surely art is one of the tools we use in that endeavor. No matter how much we expose ourselves to, there’s always more out there, and I take comfort from that. The exploration will never be over.

Writing Prompt #3: Write a diary entry, dated 10 years in the future.

February 16, 2036

It’s been a long road.

With apologies to Star Trek: Enterprise, that’s not just a song lyric. It’s been a long road for me. I’m about to turn 58 years old and my life has been a series of nothing but ups and downs; most of the downs have been my own fault, either because of choices I’ve made or the way I’ve reacted to things. I’m not going to lie: I still have a lot of issues to work through, but at least I haven’t had a drink. It’s been ten years, in fact. I was in denial for a long time, but it took getting hospitalized and having to move back in with my parents for a while to get me to really recognize that I just can’t drink. Ever. I can’t pretend that I’m like other people. I can’t hide my alcoholism. I have to be open about it, and I can’t be reluctant to turn down a drink when it’s offered. I can’t go on a date and pretend I’m a normal person.

But the bigger issue was always that I can’t deny who I am. The alcoholism is part of it, but I can’t deny myself the things I want to do or the people I want to be around. I didn’t like living at the Hacienda or the Salvation Army or in Fontana because that’s just not me. I don’t want that lifestyle. I gave up most of the things I wanted to do years ago, but when Lindsey and I were together, in fact, because I felt guilty spending money on myself. I stopped buying comics, going to conventions, playing card games, and lots of other things because it all costs money, and in doing so I gave up parts of myself. I pretended I didn’t need anything and, especially after Lindsey left, I didn’t allow myself to do things that brought me joy or that I could look forward to on long days at work. And so I started drinking more and more. Part of staying sober is letting those little moments of light and joy into my life and not feeling guilty about it. I had to give myself permission to be happy.

And it’s been good since then. Things have improved. I’m working a decent job and, while I’m not rich, I have a decent amount of money. And I have people in my life now, people I enjoy talking to and spending time with. I’m not afraid to be myself anymore, and that’s helped me stay sober. If I have joy in my life, why would I want to give that up for a drink? I don’t, and I hope I never will again.

Writing Prompt #2: Have you ever spoken up when you saw something going on that was wrong? Were you scared? What ended up happening?

I absolutely have. The most recent example is a place I worked at until a couple of years ago where I was the office manager and later the assistant director. This was a residential facility for men with a history of substance abuse, and it was intended as a place dedicated to recovery and staying sober.

Within the space of about a year, both the CEO of the non-profit corporation and the director of the facility both passed away, which led to a major shakeup in leadership. The new CEO pursued a very different agenda and had very different priorities than the previous one, and major changes started happening. Necessities were cut. Essential property and equipment were sold. Standards were lowered or eliminated. I spoke up about all of those, every cut or sale or elimination that negatively impacted the residents that we were supposed to be caring for and helping. My boss, the new facility director, agreed with me, but the CEO wasn’t listening.

Eventually, we were asked to overlook or bypass admission requirements. The CEO asked for an admission letter, signed by the director, for someone we had never met or heard of. The normal process was for me to do an intake interview with potential new admissions to determine their history, medical status, and legal status before committing to bringing them in; this was to make sure they didn’t have any medical conditions we weren’t able to provide for and to make sure they didn’t have any outstanding warrants or pending court appearances at distant locations (local appearances were fine) and were in compliance with any terms of parole or probation. It was against policy to issue an admission letter without conducting an interview like that, but the CEO insisted on it anyway. My director instructed me, over my objections, to prepare the letter and send it to the CEO.

Months went by and we completely forgot about that letter. We issued several of those letter every week, which inmates at local jails would often present at a hearing in support of their request to be released; it wasn’t uncommon for us to never hear from that individual again, so it was easy to lose track of any one letter. Then, one day, the CEO sent a guy over unannounced to live on the property with us. The instruction wasn’t to admit him, which would have involved having this individual live with the rest of the residents under supervision without a cell phone or privileges to leave and return at will. Instead, he brought a trailer with him and was allowed to live by himself in that trailer and to come and go as he pleased. We had problems with this person immediately: he barricaded himself into his trailer, came and went at all hours of the day and night, behaved erratically, and things started disappearing all around the property. But he was there at the direction of the CEO, so there was little we could do about it.

Then, one night as I was getting ready to go to bed, one of the staff came banging on my door. The individual I had been referring to had apparently collapsed in the middle of the courtyard and needed help. By the time I got out there, he had been helped onto a nearby bench and was having trouble catching his breath. I started asking him questions about what had happened and if it had ever happened before; at that point, I had already decided to call 911 out of an abundance of caution, but as I was asking my first couple of questions his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell off the bench onto the cement. I immediately called for an ambulance while one of the staff performed CPR, but by the time the paramedics arrived he was already dead. It seemed obvious at the time, but it was confirmed later that he had died of an overdose, and some of the residents confirmed that he had left the property earlier and returned with a backpack, though we never did find out exactly what he returned with.

This was someone our CEO had met while doing prison ministry in San Bernardino, who had apparently agreed to do handyman and construction work around the property in exchange for permission to live on the property for zero rent. He had a history of drug abuse, which wasn’t disclosed to us because he didn’t go through the proper admissions process. I watched him die on the front porch of my office because the CEO bypassed normal policy to get free work from someone he barely knew.

That was the beginning of the end for me. I stayed on for a while after that, but the changes didn’t slow down; if anything, they ramped up. More and more things were eliminated or sold off, more and more things were prioritized over the recovery program, and gradually the facility became something it had never been intended to be: a flophouse. A few months later, the CEO was scheduled to make a presentation to the remaining residents about a new direction for the facility, a direction that didn’t involve recovery or programming but instead focused on revenue generation and a change in mission. That morning, I resigned. In my role as assistant director, it would have been my job to be supportive of this new direction and supportive of the CEO, neither of which I felt I could do at that point. I packed up as much of my belongings as would fit in my van and left, and that was the end of a long chapter in my life.

Writing Prompt #1: What person in your life knows you the best, and how did you meet?

Years ago, this would have been an easy question to answer: it was my kids. When they were little, I was the parent who mainly cared for them and we spent a lot of time together. I always tried to be honest and up front with them, and they knew me better than anyone, including their mother. As the years have gone by, though, we’ve drifted apart. I suppose that’s normal, but it bothers me. If I’m being honest, it breaks my heart every day. The fact of the matter is that they just live too far away for us to have a really close relationship. They’re all adults now, of course. Ben and James live in Sacramento, and William was living in New York until he decided to move overseas to London.

The reality is that I don’t have anyone in my life right now who knows me terribly well. I’m getting along better with my parents now than I have in years, but I don’t think they really know me that well. We don’t have a whole lot of deep conversations and we don’t have many shared interests, either. At one point, a couple of years ago, I would have said Rose Marie knew me best, but we haven’t been able to talk much for over a year and a half now. I don’t even have her phone number anymore. Until just recently, I was hoping this would just be a phase we’re going through, I’ve finally had to accept that it’s not going to change, so I stopped going to church (which was the only place I could even say hi to her at all) and I’m just going to stay away from her. I’m going to try to stay out of Perris altogether. It’s best for everyone involved, but it means I don’t have a best friend anymore and I don’t have anyone who knows me very well.

Obviously, I met my kids when they were born. I was in the operating room when all three of them were born, so I have literally known them their entire lives. Rose Marie was someone I met by accident at a Memorial Day barbeque. She came up to me while I was standing in line to get a hot dog and a hamburger and she asked me to watch the two little dogs she had on leashes while she used the bathroom. While she was gone, one of the dogs (the little troublemaker) turned around and yanked his head out of his collar and went running around the property. I had to leave the other dog with a friend of mine and go chase him down; I finally caught him after he was too exhausted to sprint anymore and I was able to return him to her, after which we started chatting and struck up a friendship that lasted almost ten years. She’s had two kids since then and I know both of them very well; whenever they see me, they want to tell me stuff and show me stuff and play, and they like to walk around with me and explore places while I watch to make sure they don’t get hurt. That ended a while back, though, and I don’t talk to any of them anymore.