Dave Archives

April 5, 2007

Dave: Hero

He died a hero, they said. Served in the Marines -- saved his platoon and a dozen innocent hostages. Ran for office when he got out, eventually got elected to the House, finally the Senate. Became the VP twelve years later, after his Independence Day speech saved the election for the man who became President.

And, of course, there was that final, fateful day, when he took a bullet for the Pope.

He died a hero.

But none of that’s the real reason he got the state funeral. Only three people know why, and none of them were mentioned above.

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April 6, 2007

Dave: My Big Date with a Surfer Dude

“Are you sure about this?” Alicia asked. “I mean, blind dates are always tricky, but -- well, I’ve heard some funny things about this guy.”

“Don’t be so grim,” Sue said, adjusting Alicia’s dress. “You’ll love him. He’s so -- polished.”

At that point, the gent under discussion flew into the room atop a gleaming surfboard. His silvery metallic skin was spotless, buffed and burnished to the point where it almost glowed on its own.

Of course, it would have helped a lot if Alicia could actually see him, Sue thought. Ah, well. I’m sure their evening will be fantastic.

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April 9, 2007

Dave: Fair April

"You? You? Are you joking?"  She stared at him, then broke into a pretty little laugh.  "Oh, my God, you're not!  You actually think I'm going to the Spring Thing with you?"

"But -- but you said --"

"You can't tell a joke?  How ironic you're playing the fool."

"I'm -- I'm trying to be --"

"'Out like a lamb,' isn't that what they say?  I'm looking for something who can be lion-like all -- month -- long." She smiled, a glint in her eye.  "I think May's the month I want to be with.  Just -- go home, March.  Go home and pop some bulbs."

Her laughter echoed after him, the same as every year.

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April 10, 2007

Dave: Muse

She tickles with her tongue,
And she pokes with pitchfork tines,
Enticing with seductive voice,
And wheedling with whines.

She flees when I pursue her
But creeps up unawares,
Striking at most awkward times
With lightning-bolted snares.

Keyboard tapping mutters
And calls to contemplate
Offspring wild and wonderful
With her to procreate.

I ignore her at the peril
Of guilt and shame and woe,
For every child I didn't birth
Right when she told me so.

She's a harsh but lovely mistress
Who weeps when I refuse,
Ah, what will-o-wisps call out to me
When sings my fickle muse.

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April 11, 2007

Dave: Haunted

"What you want to do tonight?"

"I dunno.  What you want to do?"

"I dunno.  Hang out at the cemetery?"

"Dude, we've been doing that every night the last thirty years.  Getting old."

"What, you're blaming me?"

"Dude, it's not my fault someone lost the frickin' ferry tickets."

"That was so not my fault.  I think it was that guy ahead of us in line stole them."

 "Why would he do that?"

"He had a mean look."

"Dude had an axe in his head.  That's gonna make anyone look mean."

"It was him."

"Whatever."

Pause.  "So ... cemetery?

A chill sigh, just like every night. "Sure."

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April 12, 2007

Dave: Perspective

"So!" I said, excited, clapping my hands together.  "A real ranch!  And you, a real cowboy!"  I laughed.  "Yippee-ki-yay and Lonesome Prairie and harmonicas and Marlboros and all that, ha!"

The man turned to me, every inch a stereotype of weathered skin and boots and hat and denim.  He looked me over.  "Mostly not enough sleep an' too much sweat an' blisters an' sunburn an' rain an' snow an' pretty piss-all for insurance or a pension, 'an' all that,'" he commented.

"Um -- oh."

He turned his back, facing the glowing orange horizon.  "Sunsets are damned fine, though.  Makes up for bit of it."

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April 13, 2007

Dave: Twilight

The spirit trembled, wavered.  "What is it?" Roger asked.

"The sunrise," she whispered.  "Day returns.  Darkness ends."

"We're in the basement. The ceiling light's still on, no windows, so nothing's changed. Wonders of the Atomic Age and all that."

The spirit shook her head, voice receding like mist from the valleys.  "Day comes.  That is the wonder.   Once, your people understood, lived or died by when it happened, prayed and sang hymns for the dawn.  Now -- your electricity, your cities -- none of you still understand what it truly represents."

Roger recalled of a sunrise he'd seen -- barely -- in Romania, in '44.  "Some of us do."

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April 16, 2007

Dave: Landmarks

Roger paced slowly up the front walk, bricks matted with leaves.  He could still see his mom at the doorway as he headed off to Basic.  He could still see Tommy Pierson on what had been a tire swing of the big oak in front, a decade before that.

His eyes flickered across landmarks and years.  Over there had been the old barn, burned down a few winters back.  Over there was where he'd buried those beer bottles.  Over there was the Hamilton place.  Over there was where he'd first kissed Sally Coe. 

And over there was where he'd found his first body.

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April 17, 2007

Dave: The Pause that Refreshes

"You realize this is wrong," he said.

She smiled, and almost purred. "But so right."

A chuckle.  "I'm just saying, you know the consequences if we get caught."

"Ooooh -- 'consequences.'  Big word.  Big --"  She pressed her lips against him, and the rest of her body as well.

Several long moments, or perhaps hours, passed.  At last, breaking for air, he said, "Well.  I suppose there's no reward with no risk."

"No pain, no gain."

"Well, I hope the pain's minimized."

"Not me."

He chuckled again, then abruptly they were kissing once more, breathless, frantic.

"Ahem," came a voice from the doorway. "Am I interrupting?"

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April 18, 2007

Dave: Pot Luck

"So, what do folks do for entertainment around here?"

The night manager kept right on playing cards with her friend.  "There's a bar down the street.  And there's the festival going on tonight at the church."

"Bar sounds a lot more fun."

"Festival puts on a nice spread.  Lotta folk stop there to eat, head over to Buttons for a drink after."

He considered.  Home-made cooking sounded good.  "Thanks."  He sauntered out.

The other woman clucked her tongue.  "Course, most folks need to get drunk after what goes on in that church.  Especially to strangers."

The manager shrugged again.  "He's paid up."

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