DIATRIBE
What is our end game? We seek refuge or understanding from the mainstream, though that is to say mainstream in the most intimate of areas. So we flock to this forum. I have extolled the community’s greatness before and do not seek to reiterate what is so clearly known. There is of course the “real life” factor. I am blessed with a friend who knows full well that when it comes time to swap stories mine will not be mainstream. So I suppose these stories are dedicated to him. Not only to my friend, but yours as well, I can be so selfish but this is for all of us. I hope that we all have someone, be it a friend or something more, that we can be honest with. We of course have each other, never forget this, but sometimes it is easier to talk than to type.
STROY
“I cannot believe this place is shutting down,” Brandon said as I unlocked the door. I was with him fully. We were all blind sided by the store’s closing and I did not mind that we would be the only two around for the morning shift, the looks and remarks of my co-workers were far too much to bear. Still here we were our last shift, our last chance to take a walk with nothing to worry about. No management to speak of, it was us alone and, though I would not know it till later, our first time to talk honestly as men, well maybe still boys.
“We sure had some good memories,” I said as we began walking around the registers looking for bits of garbage and notes discussing the need for various price changes, because some customer said…blah, blah, blah. My friend shared my sentiments but in an entirely different regard. He told me of a very intimate relationship with a former colleague. I could not help but laugh. He looked hurt.
“Like you’ve done better!” He said offended. I of course was not judging him; I decided to take a bold step, one that in an odd way would cement our friendship.
“I do have some stories, but they are probably not what you’d expect,” Lord knows why, I guess you have to tell, some secrets are really just not worth keeping, “Bran, my interests are very, very different. Do you remember our old manager Stacy; well she hired me well before you came along…
I was in early, my third day on the job. No one liked me at all because I had to replace an elderly man named Jonas who was very sick. So I was viewed as the man Jonas wasn’t. I, naturally, did nothing right then, which was true in a way. The part of the job I simply did not understand was the floor maintenance. So many chemicals and so little time.
It was simply Stacy and I in at this hour and as you would expect she wanted to check on my progress. She walked on up and made some bitter remarks that I let roll off my back. I had met and respected Jonas and knew that this transition would not be easy. As Stacy walked away however I saw that her shoes were leaving rather distinguishable pink foot prints on the carpet.
“Stacy stop!” I cried, she turned around and saw what I noticed. “You must have walked into the cleaner, I can get it out, but-” before I could finish she removed her shoes and stamped away entirely barefoot.
Bran then interrupted me, “Is this going some where?” I assured him it was, but it is not easy to talk about. All will be revealed.
As I saw my boss leave I felt awful, not to mention treating the rug would be a chore unto itself. I recognized the tension and decided that I should say something or at least bring my boss her shoes back.
I went to her office but the door was slightly ajar. I nudged it and saw…well I saw her feet.
“So?” Bran asked. I implored him to let me finish at my own pace if that wasn’t too much to ask.
Anyway I saw her feet. She had perfectly even toes. I cannot stand it when the toe next to the big one is longer…let me finish. Her arch was pronounced and her soles pink.
“Uh…Andy?” Bran, I believed, saw where this was going. Stop interrupting me.
I then noticed her. A mess. Crying like a fool but I was too concerned with her…well, you get it.
She saw me, the selfish part of me was glad she did not move her feet. She explained how she was sorry and worried about Jonas. I dropped her shoes and entered my heart racing and my mind swimming. I sat on her desk right next to her bare, size 8 (I checked the shoe, not in a creepy way) feet. I told her that Jonas was a member of a generation that did not know how to quit, much less to die. If Korea could not take him I reckon cancer could not either. Still she wept.
“You see here Bran here is the truth, the God awful part of being a human or maybe just me. I wanted nothing more than to tickle her feet, Jonas meant little to me,” I waited for his response. He looked not shocked, but not enlightened. He simply asked me to go on.
I reached over and gingerly touched Stacy’s foot. The feeling was electric, I of course felt awkward about using a dying friend as the means to my end, but that is what happened, I could romanticize it, but that would be a disservice. This is excruciating to say, but I said “I know a way to cheer you up,” Lord forgive me, Jonas forgive me, everyone forgive me but that is what I said.
I moved Stacy’s foot into my lap sure to hold her ankle against my thigh. I ran a single fingernail down her sole. A giggle. I raked my fingers with purpose all along her sole, I scratched under the toes. A gale. Stacy’s laughter flooded her office. I lazily dragged three fingers up and down her sole. Stacy’s laughter was hypnotic. I was completely enveloped in her wiggling toes. What felt like an hour for me and my youthful mind was in all actuality less than a minute. I made an attempt at her other foot, she seemed hesitant but weak.
“Not my left foot, it is too ticklish,” She warned, or teased? It was a warning. She thrashed and kicked as I tickled her left foot but in a manner that was not enticing or desirable. I stopped and was flustered.
Bran nodded knowingly, “You two banged, didn’t you?” I merely shook my head. That is not how these stories work friend. I am not like you, you are not like me. This is the story. Bran nodded again, only this time I saw he knew. It was a refreshing understanding. Then he ran a few steps ahead, I suddenly realized what he was going to do.
I met him just as he moved a small fixture to reveal a stained foot print.
“You got any other stories?”
END
There it is. My first piece of non-fiction fiction. Have at it.
What is our end game? We seek refuge or understanding from the mainstream, though that is to say mainstream in the most intimate of areas. So we flock to this forum. I have extolled the community’s greatness before and do not seek to reiterate what is so clearly known. There is of course the “real life” factor. I am blessed with a friend who knows full well that when it comes time to swap stories mine will not be mainstream. So I suppose these stories are dedicated to him. Not only to my friend, but yours as well, I can be so selfish but this is for all of us. I hope that we all have someone, be it a friend or something more, that we can be honest with. We of course have each other, never forget this, but sometimes it is easier to talk than to type.
STROY
“I cannot believe this place is shutting down,” Brandon said as I unlocked the door. I was with him fully. We were all blind sided by the store’s closing and I did not mind that we would be the only two around for the morning shift, the looks and remarks of my co-workers were far too much to bear. Still here we were our last shift, our last chance to take a walk with nothing to worry about. No management to speak of, it was us alone and, though I would not know it till later, our first time to talk honestly as men, well maybe still boys.
“We sure had some good memories,” I said as we began walking around the registers looking for bits of garbage and notes discussing the need for various price changes, because some customer said…blah, blah, blah. My friend shared my sentiments but in an entirely different regard. He told me of a very intimate relationship with a former colleague. I could not help but laugh. He looked hurt.
“Like you’ve done better!” He said offended. I of course was not judging him; I decided to take a bold step, one that in an odd way would cement our friendship.
“I do have some stories, but they are probably not what you’d expect,” Lord knows why, I guess you have to tell, some secrets are really just not worth keeping, “Bran, my interests are very, very different. Do you remember our old manager Stacy; well she hired me well before you came along…
I was in early, my third day on the job. No one liked me at all because I had to replace an elderly man named Jonas who was very sick. So I was viewed as the man Jonas wasn’t. I, naturally, did nothing right then, which was true in a way. The part of the job I simply did not understand was the floor maintenance. So many chemicals and so little time.
It was simply Stacy and I in at this hour and as you would expect she wanted to check on my progress. She walked on up and made some bitter remarks that I let roll off my back. I had met and respected Jonas and knew that this transition would not be easy. As Stacy walked away however I saw that her shoes were leaving rather distinguishable pink foot prints on the carpet.
“Stacy stop!” I cried, she turned around and saw what I noticed. “You must have walked into the cleaner, I can get it out, but-” before I could finish she removed her shoes and stamped away entirely barefoot.
Bran then interrupted me, “Is this going some where?” I assured him it was, but it is not easy to talk about. All will be revealed.
As I saw my boss leave I felt awful, not to mention treating the rug would be a chore unto itself. I recognized the tension and decided that I should say something or at least bring my boss her shoes back.
I went to her office but the door was slightly ajar. I nudged it and saw…well I saw her feet.
“So?” Bran asked. I implored him to let me finish at my own pace if that wasn’t too much to ask.
Anyway I saw her feet. She had perfectly even toes. I cannot stand it when the toe next to the big one is longer…let me finish. Her arch was pronounced and her soles pink.
“Uh…Andy?” Bran, I believed, saw where this was going. Stop interrupting me.
I then noticed her. A mess. Crying like a fool but I was too concerned with her…well, you get it.
She saw me, the selfish part of me was glad she did not move her feet. She explained how she was sorry and worried about Jonas. I dropped her shoes and entered my heart racing and my mind swimming. I sat on her desk right next to her bare, size 8 (I checked the shoe, not in a creepy way) feet. I told her that Jonas was a member of a generation that did not know how to quit, much less to die. If Korea could not take him I reckon cancer could not either. Still she wept.
“You see here Bran here is the truth, the God awful part of being a human or maybe just me. I wanted nothing more than to tickle her feet, Jonas meant little to me,” I waited for his response. He looked not shocked, but not enlightened. He simply asked me to go on.
I reached over and gingerly touched Stacy’s foot. The feeling was electric, I of course felt awkward about using a dying friend as the means to my end, but that is what happened, I could romanticize it, but that would be a disservice. This is excruciating to say, but I said “I know a way to cheer you up,” Lord forgive me, Jonas forgive me, everyone forgive me but that is what I said.
I moved Stacy’s foot into my lap sure to hold her ankle against my thigh. I ran a single fingernail down her sole. A giggle. I raked my fingers with purpose all along her sole, I scratched under the toes. A gale. Stacy’s laughter flooded her office. I lazily dragged three fingers up and down her sole. Stacy’s laughter was hypnotic. I was completely enveloped in her wiggling toes. What felt like an hour for me and my youthful mind was in all actuality less than a minute. I made an attempt at her other foot, she seemed hesitant but weak.
“Not my left foot, it is too ticklish,” She warned, or teased? It was a warning. She thrashed and kicked as I tickled her left foot but in a manner that was not enticing or desirable. I stopped and was flustered.
Bran nodded knowingly, “You two banged, didn’t you?” I merely shook my head. That is not how these stories work friend. I am not like you, you are not like me. This is the story. Bran nodded again, only this time I saw he knew. It was a refreshing understanding. Then he ran a few steps ahead, I suddenly realized what he was going to do.
I met him just as he moved a small fixture to reveal a stained foot print.
“You got any other stories?”
END
There it is. My first piece of non-fiction fiction. Have at it.
