I raised my hand.

“Yes. Buzz.”

“I noticed the catered lunch arrived. Can I eat my sandwich now?”

“Uh. We break for lunch in fifteen minutes.”

“So that’s a no?”

“Can you wait fifteen minutes?”

“If I have to.”

“Good. Thank you... any other questions?”

I raised my hand.

“Buzz.”

“Can I serve myself a small plate of fruit to snack on while I wait for lunch.”

“The fruit is part of lunch.”

“So that’s a no?”

“That’s a no. Lunch is in fifteen minutes.”

“Fourteen minutes,” I corrected him. “A minute has passed already. Stop stalling. We’re all hungry.”

“Uh. Sure. Whatever. Fourteen minutes. Any other questions? No? Okay, good. So if you direct your attention to the flow chart over here, what we intend to do is—ahhh Buzz? Where’re you going?”

“To get a coffee.”

“You can’t wait fourteen minutes?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Conflict in schedule. I’ll be eating lunch in fourteen minutes.”

“Ahh Buzz? What are you doing, mate?”

“I’m taking an apple Danish.”

“Those are for lunch.”

“Oh get real. An apple Danish isn’t a lunch food. That’s a snack you eat with your coffee. A nice little sweet treat to brighten your day. It’s not lunch.”

“Buzz?”

“No. Before you even ask, my answer is no.”

“No what?”

“No I will not bring you back a coffee. I want to enjoy mine in the cafe, take my time with it.”

Everyone was staring at me. They must think I’m being unreasonable. Better explain myself.

I addressed the room. “What I like to do is take a bite of the apple Danish and then while it’s still in my mouth, I have a mouthful of coffee, and I swoosh it around in my mouth while the apple Danish is still in there, and then the apple Danish becomes all warm and soggy. Kind of like when you dunk bread into soup. That’s why I have to dine-in for my coffee and Danish. I wouldn’t feel right about swooshing in here. In front of all you guys. It feels unprofessional.”

I turned to leave. Then I spun back around.

“Oh. And one last thing. I know there’s technically only twelve minutes to lunch now. But can we please reset the lunch break countdown back to fifteen minutes. I don’t want to feel rushed. I want to be able to enjoy my swooshing.”

Notes from the author-ground:

I published another free PDF / audio collection here. Feel free to check it out. Or not.

“Here’s your drink, darling.”

“Your coffee’s ready, sweetheart.”

The women in my office absolutely hate it. Me, on the other hand, I felt like I was missing out. Men need compliments too, you know? And my compliment well was running dry. I was dying of compliment thirst.

Until one Monday morning, I ordered a coffee and when the guy with the ponytail handed it to me, he said, “Here you go, legend.”

Legend?

I blushed hard.

The next day, the same thing happened. The guy was calling out names for coffees. “Ben? Tina? Charlotte?” But when it came to my turn, he lifted my coffee, stared right at me, looked me in the eye and said, “Your coffee’s ready, legend.”

I couldn’t believe it. That’s twice now. That makes it a real nickname. I must admit, for a minute there, I was worried the first time might be a fluke. But no. They really did know me as legend around these parts.

I checked to see if he had written Legend on my cup. He hadn’t. I didn’t mind. To expect as much would be greedy. Being a verbal legend was more than enough for me.

I told the women upstairs, “Guess who has a pet name at the coffee shop now?”

They gathered around me, as they do.

“Oh my god, what is it?” one of them begged on their behalf.

“Brace yourself…”

“Come on. Spill it.”

“At the coffee shop they call me… legend.”

“Legend? Really?”

“Yes, really. Downstairs, at the coffee shop, they call me legend. They refer to me as legend. That’s the nickname they gave me.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it, sister.”

“Don’t call her sister,” a lawyer suggested.

“Sorry. Believe it, Michelle.”

The next day, a different guy was working there. A guy with a shaved head. I ordered my coffee. He didn’t call me legend. I grimaced. No big deal. One day he’ll see ponytail-guy call me legend and then he’ll realise that’s my nickname and then he’ll start calling me legend as well.

Friday came, and three female coworkers and I went downstairs to order some takeaway coffees.

It was my turn at the counter. Goddamn it. It was the shaved-head guy again. I ordered my coffee.

The shaved-head guy said, “Can I get a name for that?”

My female coworkers were watching me.

I lowered my voice and flashed the guy a sheepish grin. “Legend,” I told him.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Legend,” I repeated.

“I need a name, mate. Do you have a name?”

I leaned towards him and further lowered my voice. “My name is Legend.”

“Legend’s not a name, mate.”

“Do you have to be so loud?” I snapped.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is my normal voi—”

“I am legend,” I whispered through gritted teeth.

“What?”

I took a breath. “The other guy who works here. The one with the ponytail. He calls me legend.”

“Enrico?”

“YES. Enrico. Enrico calls me legend.”

“Enrico’s not here yet.”

“Okay. When does he get in?”

He checked his watch. “Should be here innn fifteen minutes. Can I get a name for your ord—”

“Cancel my order.”

I stood beside my female coworkers. They were all holding their coffees.

“Where’s yours?” Michelle asked.

“There’s a delay,” I said. “We all need to wait fifteen minutes.”

“A delay?” Grace asked. “What sort of delay?”

“Err. The coffee machine has had a temporary malfunction. He described it as dangerous.”

“Should we return to the office?”

“NO. We all have to wait. I would wait for you guys. Come on. We’re supposed to be a team.”

I made sure my face showed how disappointed in them I was. They didn’t seem to care. One of them even huffed.

I tried to distract the restless women with some of my trademark small talk. “Tell me about your pets?” I asked. “Any goldfish owners? Or just cats and dogs?”

But it was no good. My coworkers couldn’t help notice the people after me ordering their coffees, and receiving their coffees, and saying thank you for their coffees, and then leaving with their coffees.

“I thought you said there was something wrong with the machine,” Michelle said. “I’ve seen four people collect coffees now.”

“They must have fixed it,” I said.

“Well what are you waiting for? Go order your coffee.”

“The guy said fifteen minutes. I don’t want to be rude.”

“It’s been twelve minutes. Come on. We need to get back to work.”

I grimaced and slowly approached the counter, trying to make the journey last three minutes. I wanted to buy Enrico some time. But there was only so much I could do. I only had ten steps to work with. I’m sorry Enrico.

The shaved-head guy said, “You ready to order now?”

“Not quite,” I said, with an uneasy smile. “Is Enrico here yet?”

“He’s not coming in.”

Through gritted teeth: “What do you mean he’s not coming in?”

“He called in sick.”

“What the goddamn hell—why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know I had to.”

I glanced over my shoulder. All three of my female coworkers had their eyebrows raised.

I swallowed.

“Hellooo?” the shaved-head guy said.

I opened my wallet. A ten-dollar bill was all I had.

“How about this,” I said, leaning over the counter. “I’ll pay you ten bucks, cash, if you refer to me as legend.”

“Legend? You?”

“Yes. Me. All you have to do is refer to me as legend when my coffee is ready… and maybe write legend on my cup too, and I will give you ten whole dollars.”

The guy shrugged. “Okay.”

I slid the ten-dollar bill across the counter, careful to make sure my body was blocking the view of the transaction. Then I tapped my credit card on the machine to pay for my coffee.

“Thanks a lot, mate,” I yelled over my shoulder as I joined my coworkers. “It won’t be long,” I told them, showing them a confident smile. “Remind me. Did any of you say you own a goldfish?”

A few minutes passed and then…

“Here’s your coffee, Legend.”

I raised my eyebrows at my female coworkers, sighed, and shook my head as if a little embarrassed. “Legend.” I snorted. “Can you believe that?”

I collected my coffee and approached my coworkers.

“OI LEGEND,” the shaved-head guy yelled.

I turned.

“Your credit card bounced, legend.”

I glanced at the women, then back at the guy, then back at the women then back at the guy. “I paid you ten bucks, cash.”

“That was for me to call you legend, remember? You paid me ten bucks to call you legend. That was the deal.”

I turned to my coworkers. “I don’t know what he’s talking about. The guy’s nuts.”

“I’m serious, legend. Your card bounced. How are you going to pay for this?”

I smiled at my coworkers. “Can one of you get this? I’ll pay you back next week.”

Notes from the author-ground:

I published another free PDF / audio collection here. Feel free to check it out. Or not.

The priest believed there was good in everyone. People were pushed by circumstance onto dark paths and became stuck in their ways. Even when a man felt no remorse for his crimes, he might still regret the moment that had set him on the path towards them.

Imagination could unlock the hardest of hearts. To reveal the light buried beneath the darkest of souls, you simply had to ask the right questions.

The priest said to the convicted murderer, “Tell me. If you could go back in time to any moment in history, when would it be?”

“I’d go back and see Jesus—”

“Good one—”

“ON THE CROSS.”

“Okay…”

Notes from the author-ground:

Added an original sketch for this old classic (self-confessed)…

AND

I published another free PDF / audio collection here. Feel free to check it out. Or not.

“Why would you do that?” I asked. “Waste of money. You already know me, Tracey. I’m an amateur psychologist. I’ve read a bunch of books about it. To be honest with you, I’m probably more of an expert on the subject of psychology than most of the experts are themselves. So if you need a psychologist, look no further than right in front of you.”

“Oh. Okay. You want to be my psychologist?”

“Sure.”

“Gee, Buzz. I don’t know. We’re friends. And for a moment we were a little more than that. And now we’re friends again. And now you want to be my psychologist. It seems—”

“Exactly, Tracey. We were friends, who then slept with each other, then became friends again. Our relationship has taken many forms. But we know how to isolate those forms and keep them separate. There’s no crossing lines. Unless you want to sleep with me again, of course—do you want to sleep with me again?”

“No.”

“And I respect that. Because right now I’m in friend mode. Psychologist and patient mode, will simply be another mode for us.”

“Client.”

“What’s that?”

“Psychologists refer to the people who see them as clients. Not patients.”

“I know that, Tracey.” I rolled my eyes. “I was making a silly joke, suggesting you have to be ‘patient’ with me because it’s my first time doing this. Anyway. What matters is I'm so well read on the subject, I am actually overqualified to be your unqualified psychologist. Get your head around that.”

“You really think this is a good idea?”

“Of course I do. I know my stuff. Trust me. Now tell me, Tracey, what’s on your mind?”

“…Okay.” She took a breath. “I know this is going to sound weird.” Her cheeks turned rosy. She lowered her voice. “But I’m really attracted to men who look like me.”

“Is that why you stopped sleeping with me? Because I don’t look like you?”

“Buzz. I thought you said you were going to keep things professional.”

“Oh shoot. Oopsie. Yeah, yeah, yeah. My professional apologies, Tracey. Ahhh let's try this again, shall we? Reset. Forget that ever happened. We’ll take it from the top. Um. Entering professional mode, annnd go.”

“Again, I know this is going to sound—”

“Stop. Don’t say ‘again’, please. We’re supposed to pretend this is happening for the first time, remember, Tracey?”

“Oh. Okay. Um. Sorry.” She swallowed. “As I was saying—”

“Don’t say ‘as I was saying’, Tracey, that’s as bad as ‘again’, isn’t it? I’ve got it. I know what we’ll do. To properly reset the scene, I’ll ask the question again, and then you answer like it’s the first time you are giving the answer to anyone ever.”

“Um… Okay.”

“Hey Tracey.” I looked into her beautiful blue eyes. “Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind? What’s been bothering you?”

“I know th—”

“Stop. Sorry. I accidentally asked a double barreled question. That’s not what a professional psychologist is supposed to do. It’s just meant to be one question at a time. Goddamn it. I’m so sorry, Tracey. Okay. We’ll take it from the top again and this time I will only ask one question… ahem… Professional psychologist mode switched on in three, two, one. Hey Tracey. Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”

She stared at me. I widened my eyes and gave her a nod of encouragement.

Tracey took a breath. “I know… this is going to sound weird… but I’m really attracted to men who look like me.”

“Have you tried drawing a moustache on your mirror?”

“Uh. No. Why would I do—”

“TO SEE HOW HOT IT MAKES YOU.”

Notes from the author-ground:

I published another free PDF / audio collection here. Feel free to check it out. Or not.

“The duel is tomorrow at 9 a.m.,” Sir Robert said. “On the corner of Mitchell and Percival Avenue. Be there.”

“Oh, I’ll be there all right.” I swallowed. “Don’t you worry about that.”

“Good. I’m glad. I look forward to it.”

“I’m looking even more forward to it,” I said. “I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

“Ha. He won’t be able to sleep tonight because he is a scared little boy.”

“WRONG,” I said. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I meant I won’t be able to sleep because I’m so excited for the duel. Because I know I’m going to win. I’m like a child on the night before Christmas. And you know that’s what I meant, Sir Robert. You misinterpreted that on purpose.” I addressed two nearby women. “He knows what I meant. He knows. Trust me.”

“What do I care,” Sir Robert said. “As long as you arrive to the duel on time, I shall be most happy.”

“On time?” I said. “I will be there early. Three whole hours early.”

“Then why don’t we make the duel 6 a.m. instead of 9?” Sir Robert suggested.

“Because then I would have to arrive three hours early for a 6 a.m. duel, which would be 3 a.m., and to be honest with you, Sir Robert, that is too early for me. I find myself to be groggy at that hour, regardless of how well I’ve slept.”

“Okay,” Sir Robert said. “Then let us stick to the original plan. 9 a.m. On the corner of Mitchell and Percival Avenue. Be there.”

“One last thing,” I said. “How do I get there? To be honest with you, I’ve only ever been there once. Could you be so kind as to perhaps draw me a map?”

I approached him with a pen and paper. The pen slipped from my sweaty grip. I tried to catch it but fumbled. The pen bounced on the pavement.

“Ha. Look at him,” Robert cheered. “What a fool. Shaking in his boots already.”

I glanced at the crowd forming around us. I showed a cocky grin. Robert didn’t realise it, but his petty insult had played right into my hands.

“Shaking in my boots, you say?” I circled on the spot to address the crowd. “Ha. I will have you know—I will have ALL of you know—I bought these boots on sale and they only had one size left, which was two sizes too small for me. Right now, as we speak, my toes are all bunched up at the ends of my boots. There is literally no room for me to shake in my boots—it is physically impossible for me to shake in my boots.” I glared at Sir Robert. “So who is the fool now, Sir Robert?”

Sir Robert’s mouth hung open, speechless.

I smiled.

And then I waddled away in a tremendous amount of pain.

“LOOK AT THE PENGUIN,” a crowd member yelled.

The crowd erupted into laughter.

I stopped and glanced around but could not locate the penguin. Which is a great shame, as they are my favourite bird. Still, even out of sight, a nearby penguin was a good omen. The Gods, as always, were on my side.

Two days later, from heaven, through my binoculars, I spied my obituaries. They were surprisingly unflattering.

In my will I left my boots to my twelve-year-old nephew.

My nephew’s obituary in the paper to honour me went thus: “These boots are even too small for me, and I’m a foot shorter. What was my stupid cheap ass uncle thinking? Who cares if they’re on sale? If they don’t fit, you shouldn’t buy them, simple as that. The stupid cheap ass should have paid full price for boots that actually fit him. What a stupid cheap ass piece of sh—”

There was a lot of repetition in his message, I noticed. These things charge by the word. If he cut a lot of the repetition, he could have saved himself some serious money.

Notes from the author-ground:

I published another free PDF / audio collection here. Feel free to check it out. Or not.

As the night went on and things calmed down, Derek the Dork told me about his gun collection.

He showed me pictures on his phone. He had a lot of them.

One of the guns even had a scope.

I was so impressed by his gun collection, I apologised for all the jokes I made at his expense.

And I mean ALL the jokes. Every last one of them.

Because Derek is so organised now, he had every joke recorded in his diary.

The next time I catch up with Derek the Cool Guy—that’s what I call him now, Cool Guy Derek—he said it will be at my own surprise party, in that I won’t see him coming.

Notes from the author-ground:

I published another free PDF / audio collection here. Feel free to check it out. Or not.

Everyone is always so surprised to see me there.

They’re absolutely shocked.

God knows why.

They say things like, “Who invited him?”

and

“Who let him in?”

and

“Who brought him along? Find out and kick them both out. We need to set an example.”

To that I say, “Can I take this half eaten French onion dip with me? It’s barely been touched. The party has been going for two hours. I think we’d know by now if it was going to be a hit. If I don’t take it with me, as well as this unopened bag of Doritos, they will probably just go to waste.”

Notes from the author-ground:

I published another free PDF / audio collection here. Feel free to check it out. Or not.

WARNING: Hmm. This one probably works better as an audio listen…

*

Someone once told me your ears and nose continue to grow as you age.

Currently I have a big nose and small ears.

This means when I hit 70, I’m going to have a tremendous beak but perfectly sized adorable ears…

Decades into the future, I make my grand entrance to the royal ball, and with my perfect ears I can hear all the whispers, all of the gossip.

“Look,” she says. “It’s Count Kantwrite. Look at his perfectly sized ears. The rumours are true.”

“I disagree,” he says. “His ears are far more perfect than the rumours suggest. No words can capture this level of perfection and beauty. Just magnificent.”

“What a big dumb nose though—”

Buzz: “I HEARD THAT.”

Notes from the author-ground:

I published another free PDF / audio collection here. Feel free to check it out. Or not.

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Part 1 can be found here:

Aphorism 1: Analysis of a confession

“I never learned to ride a bike,” she confessed.

“How old are you?” I asked.

She blushed. “Thirty-two. But I still get asked for ID when buying alcohol.”

I said, “That’s because you arrive at the liquor store on a bike with training wheels.”

*
Aphorism 2: History is corrected by the winners

I just got escorted out of another museum for gluing feathers onto the model dinosaurs.

Sorry for valuing accuracy.

*
Aphorism 3: The space animals of Earth

The state of public bathrooms is the reason the human species has yet to be invited to join the intergalactic space federation.

And for the love of God, wash your hands. The Martians might be watching.

*

Aphorism 4: Open your mind

“Here it is,” she said. “Cerebro. The helmet Professor Xavier wears to read the thoughts of everyone in the world.”

“Whoa,” I said. “My turn! My turn! Give me a go.”

I put the helmet on. I closed my eyes and clenched my jaw.

“Oh my God,” I said. “I can hear them… the thoughts of all the people. The whole world! They’re saying… I’m great… they’re calling me the greatest writer to ever do it… they’re saying… I’m more handsome than Alain Delon in the 1960s… they’re saying—”

“It’s not plugged in.”

*
Aphorism 5: The perfect recipe for criticism

I’m not a very good cook.

But I’m an expert at telling people what’s wrong with their cooking.

*
Aphorism 6: The long big sleep

“Last night someone’s snoring kept waking me up. I never found the culprit. They stopped every time I woke up. Slippery as an eel. When I find the bastard I’ll make them pay.”

“Did the snoring sound like your own?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, “and right now, that’s the only lead I have.”

I found myself standing tall with my hands in my pockets, too shy to initiate.

To my surprise, a woman nearing her sixties, with eyes that sparkled with years of wisdom and the title of Executive Director on her name badge, approached me with a delicate stride.

“Excuse me,” she said, “Monsieur Buzz Kantwrite, if I’m not mistaken?” Her voice wavered slightly, betraying a hint of anxiety.

Considering the disparity in our ranks, her nervousness caught me off guard. I was thirty-eight years old, but I was new to the public sector and thus held a low-ranking position.

“That would be me,” I replied, offering a polite nod.

“By any chance are you related to Neil Kantwrite?”

“He happens to be my uncle,” I affirmed.

“Remarkable,” she said. “Your face bears a striking resemblance to his. I think it may be the beard.”

“You flatter me,” I said.

“I had the privilege of being under his guidance, you know? And I must confess, he remains the finest superior and educator I have ever known. Neil had this amazing ability to guide one through challenges, and by the end, one emerged with a newfound confidence.”

“Such kind words,” I responded. “I’ll gladly convey them to him.”

“Ah, Neil,” she gushed, “such a prodigious individual. You know, we could really use a man like Neil on our team.”

“Is that so?” I said.

“Are you looking for a new position?”

“As a matter of fact, my current contract is almost complete.”

“Oh. Then this meeting may be serendipitous.”

She flashed me a knowing smile. A long silence passed between us.

I leaned in and lowered my voice. “I possess a rather amusing tale regarding Neil during his adolescence. Would you care to hear it?”

“Yes, yes, very much so.”

“While Neil was the age of fifteen and my father was but thirteen, their family embarked on a summer holiday. It was during this trip that young Neil was utterly engrossed in War and Peace. My father often recounted how Neil was ensnared by the narrative; it was as though he was part of its world. He finished the entire book within four days.”

She looked at me, intrigued. “That’s quite an undertaking for a boy of fifteen.”

“On that very same excursion,” I continued, “my father amused himself with a ball and cup game. You’re familiar, aren’t you? A simple game where a ball, tethered to a string, must be tossed into a cup. You know the one I’m talking about, right?”

She nodded slowly.

“Despite my father’s numerous attempts throughout the summer, he could never succeed in getting the ball to land inside the cup. Decades later, when he owned a garage, curiosity led him to measure the string. As fate would have it, the string was woefully short, rendering the ball and cup game unwinnable.”

She forced a smile and swallowed nervously. “That’s quite the revelation.”

“I too was skeptical upon hearing this, but having tried to conquer the game myself, spending numerous hours trying to get the ball into the cup, I can attest to the toy’s flawed design.”

“I see,” she smiled uneasily. “And how old were you when you ran this test of yours?”

“This was last week,” I said. “I spent the whole weekend doing it. Forty-eight hours without any sleep.”

“I see.” She looked around the room as if searching for the nearest fire escape.

“Anyway,” I said, leaning to my left to capture her gaze, “about that job offer.”

People are always saying things to me like, “You went to the beach and walked HOW close to the water?” and “You rode that elevator HOW many floors up?”

The truth is, as it’s happening, I barely even think about the danger.

UNLESS the elevator goes above floor 8.

At that height, if the cable snapped and the elevator fell, even if I perfectly timed the jump inside the elevator right before ground impact, I’m pretty sure I would still sprain my ankle.

And the thought of that terrifies me.

Photo by Edwin Chen on Unsplash

My older brother and Liam were reading the TV Guide when they stumbled across the horoscope section.

My older brother said, “Whoa. Check this out, Liam. It’s a thing called a horoscope. It’s like a form of magic. Our birthdates represent a symbol, and then they tell us our future or something.”

“That’s rad,” Liam said.

“Look how cool the pictures are,” my brother said, “I am a Leo, and check this out. My picture shows me as a lion. Look at this.”

“Awesome. What picture am I?” Liam asked.

“When’s your birthday?”

“November 29th.”

“That makes you a thing called a Sagittarius.”

“Whoa. What’s my picture?”

“You’re a half-man, half-horse, with a bow and arrow.”

“THAT’S AWESOME!”

“Do me next,” I said. “What am I?”

I expected to be something with wings. A dragon. Or some kind of half-man, half-hawk. I could picture myself soaring through the sky with my golden helmet and blood-soaked trident. Ready for war.

“When’s your birthday?” my brother asked.

“September 14th.”

“That makes you a thing called a Virgo.”

“AWESOME,” I said, imitating Liam’s words, showing him that we both spoke the same cool language. “What picture am I?”

“You are two naked ladies standing by a well.”

Photo by Viva Luna Studios on Unsplash

I had booked a window seat, 22A. Left side of the plane, just forward of the wing. Statistically better odds in a crash.

When I got to my row, a young boy—maybe eight years of age—was already sitting in my seat, staring out the window. Next to him, a man in his forties, presumably his father, was chatting softly with him about clouds or whatever.

I said, “Excuse me, sir, I believe there’s been a mix-up. I think your son is sitting in my seat. In fact I’m sure he’s sitting in my seat.”

The man looked up. “Oh, I’d prefer it if my son had the window seat.”

I nodded politely. “I understand that. But I booked that seat, so I need to sit in it.”

The man tried again, gentler this time. “If it’s not too much trouble, we’d really appreciate it if you’d let him stay there.”

Bureaucracy was trying to stifle me again. To achieve my aims, I would need to go over the boy’s delegate’s head.

I crouched slightly and addressed the young master directly. “Listen here, young man,” I said, “I need to sit in that seat because if the plane crashes, they identify the bodies by seat number. If I’m in the wrong seat, they’ll think I’m you.”

He blinked.

“Imagine this,” I continued. “The plane goes down. Everyone dies. Including me and especially you. They scoop up what remains they can find. They burn the bodies. They assign each person’s ashes to their own urn. Your mum flies in to collect your ashes. She’s crying over your little urn. Tears streaming. She’s inconsolable. The whole family’s crying. But the ashes? They’re not yours. They’re mine. Your mum is weeping over the wrong ashes.”

The boy stared at me.

“How would you feel about that?” I asked. “Your mum and sister crying over my ashes by mistake. It’s embarrassing, isn’t it? They’ve never even met me.”

Speaking of crying, the boy started to cry.

The dad leaned in, whispered something to him, stroking his back.

The boy yielded. I sat in my seat. The window seat. MY window seat.

The boy sat next to me. The middle seat. HIS middle seat.

He cried the entire way. Such is the burden of the brave truth-teller.

It was a long, short flight. But I had told the truth and stood my ground against a bully. Therefore, my mother would be proud. But if the plane were to crash, she would never learn of my heroics. The truth would die with me. At least I can go to Valhalla knowing she would be crying over the correct ashes.

Photo by Matt Benson on Unsplash

Yet even in perfect friendships, sometimes we need to hold our friends accountable.

*

Same as every Tuesday evening, my friend Jake picked me up from my house and drove me to basketball. It was only a five-minute drive from my house. Jake didn’t play last game. He had gone on a short holiday with his family to the Flinders Ranges.

I explained to Jake how we lost last week’s game.

“We needed you,” I said. “No ball movement. Too many threes. And people weren’t running back in defence.”

“That sucks,” Jake said. “Hopefully we win tonight.”

I agreed with him.

Jake was a great guy. He once punched a guy in the face for me. Don’t feel bad. The guy had it coming. Trust me.

Jake and I go way back. Over twenty years now. I was the best man at Jake’s wedding. He told me all I had to do was give a speech, as I couldn’t be trusted to organise anything else. He knows me so well.

We arrived at the basketball court, played our game, and lost again. There was nothing we could do. The other team utilised the power of youth to defeat us.

On the drive home I told Jake I watched Halloween Ends on the weekend. We’re both horror fans.

“The movie was stupid but entertaining,” I said, “and the first seven minutes were amazing. It’s worth watching just for that.”

“I’ll watch it with my wife,” Jake said.

“How was your trip, by the way?” I asked.

“It was a great trip,” Jake said.

After that we were out of things to say. We sat in silence. It wasn’t awkward. There’s no such thing as awkward silences when you are with a good friend.

So Jake drove and I just sat there and it was fine.

When we pulled up next to my house, my roommate Samuel was checking the letterbox for mail. He spotted us, waved, and approached the car.

Jake lowered his window and said, “What’s up, Samuel? How’ve you been?”

“Good thanks, Jake. What have you been up to?”

“I just got back from the Flinders Ranges.”

I was out of the car now, standing next to Samuel on the sidewalk.

Jake went on, “We saw so many wombats. I’ve never seen that many wombats. People always talk about kangaroos and koalas, but no one really talks about wombats.”

“Wow,” Samuel said. “You know what, now that you mention it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a wombat in person.”

“Not even in a zoo?” Jake asked.

“No.” Samuel shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“They were probably the highlight of my trip,” Jake said. “I love the way they scurry around.”

I snapped. “HOLD ON, WHAT THE HELL. We drove all the way to basketball and all the way back, and this is the first time I’m hearing about these wombats.” I placed a hand on my hip. “Be honest, Jake. If Samuel wasn’t here, were you ever going to tell me about these wombats???”

It showed a picture of a parrot.

Underneath it read:

Lost bird
Last seen in the sky, flying away.
Reward: $500

Unrealistic bordering on ridiculous, I thought.

That birdy has gone sky-high, say bye-bye, it is not returning home.

Yet I understood the true purpose behind the poster. The owner felt helpless. They had to do something.

And now, so did I.

Never do I pray. But that night, I prayed to God… for someone who owns a jetpack and a net to see that poster.

To this day, on my park runs, I still look up, searching for this little escape artist. Hopefully they grew bored of the freedom of the vast blue skies and rich green trees and returned home to their cage.

I suspect putting the bird on top of the cage, instead of inside of the cage, was the beginning of the end.

I hope you’re doing all right, little buddy, wherever you may be.

When they arrived the disinterested bartender didn’t even check their tickets. He just waved them through.

Ray and Iris walked across the old green carpet of the hotel restaurant and sat at their dining table for two.

The tiny stage was two feet off the ground.

Ray looked at his daughter and raised his eyebrows. “Great tickets, huh? Pretty much front row seats. Your old man did pretty good this time, ay? Came through with the goods.” He leaned towards Iris. “The trick is to book early. The moment they go on sale, you pounce.”

Iris glanced around the restaurant, confused. “There’s a lot of elderly people here.”

“Let’s face it,” Ray said. “Paul McCartney is no spring chicken himself. His fans have aged with him.”

“Dad, something doesn’t feel right about thi—”

“Wow,” Ray said. “Look Iris, the buffet is right there. I can pretty much lean back in my chair to serve us our food. And look they’ve got those creamy potatoes you like.”

“Dad.” Iris bit her lip. “This venue is really small. Doesn’t Paul McCartney usually sellout at stadiums?”

“He must be going back to his roots,” Ray said “Doing an early days in Hamburg Germany type of thing. You know, that’s how The Beatles started out, right? They used to play at these small bars in Hamburg. Probably smaller than this place. This is actually a step up in some ways.”

“Are you sure this is the real Paul McCartney, and not some—I don’t know—impersonat—”

“Of course it’s the real Paul. The real deal. Look at the tickets, see? Right here it says, ‘The music of Paul McCartney.’”

“The music of—”

“SHHHH. It’s about to start,” he whispered. He sat up straight in his dining chair. It creaked loudly.

An overweight man wearing a black wig and leather jacket, holding a pink ukulele, stepped up onto the small stage. He made it look difficult, like he was recovering from a serious hip injury.

The overweight man straightened his wig then leaned towards the microphone, cleared his throat and said, “This one’s called ‘Yesterday.’”

“Oh no,” Ray said.

For the next couple of months, things were awkward between Ray and Iris. Iris tried. She was her usual chirpy self. She wanted to cheer her Dad up. But it was hard for Ray. He was too ashamed. Couldn’t look his own daughter in the eye.

It’s natural for your kids to start thinking your Dad is uncool as they get older, Ray knew that. And he knew he was a good father. But he wanted to be more than that. He wanted to be her hero too. It’s not too late. It can’t be too late.

One morning while Ray was carefully trimming his goatee and curly moustache in the mirror, he snapped out of his defeatist slump.

He looked at his reflection and said: “I can fix this. I can make her think I’m cool again. It’s not too late. It’s never too late. I just need to come up with a plan.”

Then he took his razor and carefully added two strokes to his right eyebrow. Now all he had to do was wait for his hair dye to dry.

It took some time, but finally his day of redemption arrived.

Ray could barely contain himself as he knocked on Iris’s bedroom door. “It’s Ray,” he said. “Ray-Ray. Big Ray Dog. Your father.” He poked his head in. “Can I come in?”

“Sure, Dad.” She set her phone down and sat up on her bed.

Ray stepped into her room, glanced around, real cool like, then leaned on the wall and stuck his thumbs in his belt loops. He sniffed. Flashed her a cool grin.

“You know how it’s your sixteenth birthday coming up?” he asked.

“Yeah-huh.” She raised her eyebrows.

“Well,” he said. “I have an early gift for you, and by early I mean tomorrow.”

She covered her mouth. “The new iPhone?”

“Better,” he said. “Wayyy better.” He tipped his head up. “I know things have been a little tense between us since the Macca show.”

“Macca?”

“Yeah. Paul McCartney. Macca. That’s what they call him.”

“Dad, it’s nothing. I told you to forget about it. It was an honest mistake.”

He waved her off. “It doesn’t matter. Because, well, let’s just say your old man has made it up to you, and then some.”

“Dad. Can you please just tell me what you got me?”

“Let me ask you this. What’s better than seeing Paul McCartney live in concert?”

“Uh. I don’t—”

“I’ll tell you what’s better, seeing Paul McCartney live in concert with his three best freakin’ friends.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I got us tickets to see The Beatles. That’s what I’m talking about.”

She squinted. “Which Beatles are going?”

“Lennon, Harrison. The lot of them. All of them. They’re all going to be there. At the pub. Right after bingo.”

Iris stuck her hand out. “Can I see the receipt?”

Ray frowned. “Are you going to do this every time I buy you a gift from now on? You’re going to ask to see the receipt. Is that how it’s gonna be?”

“I just want to see if—”

“It doesn’t matter how much it cost, alright? Nothing’s too good for my daughter.”

“Show me the receipt, Dad. I want to see if it’s the re—”

“TEN DOLLARS, alright. If you must know, the tickets cost ten dollars. And let me just say, asking for the price has really cheapened the spirit of the gift, in my opinion.”

“But Dad—”

“Not another word. You need to get some sleep. We have an early start tomorrow. Five AM. It’s an eight hour drive to Andamooka. That’s where they’re performing.”

“Where?”

“Andamooka,” he said. “I hadn’t heard of it either. It’s a small mining town, about 400 miles north of here.”

My new manager, Samantha, was leading the meeting. She connected her laptop to the big screen. A spreadsheet appeared.

“The red cells indicate completed tasks,” Samantha explained. “All the green cells mean the task is still in progress.”

“Wait,” my co-worker Mary interjected. “Doesn’t red usually mean something needs attention? Shouldn’t green be for completed tasks? You know like green is good, and red is bad. In this case, a completed task is good, therefore it should be green, right?”

Samantha clenched her jaw. “This is how I do it. If someone wants to redo everything, be my guest.”

“Wow,” I said. “Samantha is seeing green right now.”

No one laughed.

“You know, like seeing red,” I said, “but I switched it to green.”

Silence followed.

My co-worker Tom cleared his throat and said, “Just a heads up, I’m on leave tomorrow.”

“Doing anything special?” Samantha asked.

“I’ve booked an Airbnb by the beach,” Tom replied.

“That sounds amazing,” Samantha said.

“Wow,” I said. “Samantha is red with envy right now.”

Again, no one laughed.

“It’s usually green with envy,” I said, glancing around the table. “But I changed it to red for the joke. You guys get it.”

Silence persisted.

After the meeting, Tom pulled me aside and said, “Just so you know, Samantha doesn’t really appreciate jokes at work.”

“That’s so weird,” I said. “Because before I started, I asked her if she liked a bit of humor around the workplace, and she gave me the green light.”

I wrote a list of everything I wanted to discuss:

1. I rolled my ankle three months ago and it’s still too sore to run on. Because of this I haven’t been able to go on my park run, which is great for my mental health. It’s so frustrating knowing my body has let me down like this. It’ll probably be another month before I can run again.

2. I didn’t get the job I applied for. It would have come with a $10,000 raise. I’m not desperate for money, but I prepared well for the interview, and they didn’t even ask questions related to the position. It felt embarrassing and like a waste of time. Later on I found out that someone had already been earmarked for the role, so the whole process was pointless.

3. When I was fifteen my dad made me change high schools. After I learned we were moving, I found out that a bunch of other people knew about it before I did. It’s like I was the last to know. Changing schools was hard. Overnight, I went from being a somebody to being a nobody. My parents are great people, and they did their best, but that was not cool, man.

When I arrived at therapy the receptionist showed me a warm smile and told me to go right in; the therapist would be with me shortly.

What a friendly smile, I thought. I smiled back and entered the room.

I was still smiling when I took a seat.

Remember why you’re here, I reminded myself, wipe that stupid smile off your face, you’re here because you’re depressed.

I took my list from my pocket and unfolded it. I read it again.

The door opened. I glanced up from my list of troubles.

A woman in an electric wheelchair rolled into the room, maneuvering carefully. She was missing her left hand. Closing the door with her right took some visible effort. After a moment, she buzzed over to me and reverse parallel parked her chair, aligning herself to face me directly.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m Julia Walters.”

“Y-you’re my therapist?” I asked.

“Yes, that’s me.” She smiled. “So, Buzz, what would you like to talk about?”

I looked at my list. “Ahem. Well, I’ve got a list here. You know. So I wouldn’t forget anything.”

“Wonderful. What a splendid idea.”

“Yes, thanks. I thought so too…”

“What’s first on your list?”

“Yes, well, first of all, number one… my right ankle…”

“Yes? Tell me about your right ankle.”

“... it’s sore.”

“Okay.”

“And now I can’t… Forget it. It’s no big deal. These things have a way of fixing themselves. Just need to rest. Be patient. Ummm, let’s see here. Number two. I didn’t get a job I interviewed for.”

“That sounds really tough.”

“… Yeah… yeah, it was… I mean, it’s not so bad, really. Plenty of jobs out there.” I laughed nervously. “Ummm, where was I… number three.”

“I’m so sorry to interrupt you, Buzz. But before we go on, I noticed you’ve been staring at my stump.”

“Your stump?” I asked.

“Yes.” She held up her left arm. “Don’t be ashamed. I’m used to it. Most people are surprised to see someone without a hand. It’s jarring, isn’t it? It’s really not a big deal, but, just to address the elephant in the room, growing up I had an abusive father, and one time, when he was drunk, he dragged me into the car, and we ended up in an accident, which resulted in me losing my left hand. Any questions?”

“Are you right-handed?” I asked.

“Well, I have to be now. Not by choice. I was left-handed before the accident.”

“Unlucky,” I said.

“Very. Any other questions?”

“Is the wheelchair from the car accident?”

“Unrelated.” She smiled. “Anyway, where were we… number three on your list?”

“Yeah, number three… ahem… my dad…”

“Yes. Go on…”

“When I was fifteen, my dad enrolled me in a new high school. We had to move in a hurry because he got a new job.”

“I see.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t tell me about the move until much later.”

“Okay.”

“It sort of felt like I was the last to know.”

“Oh my God, that must have been so tough for you.”

I tore the list in half. “You know what? Forget it. Your immense suffering has cured me.” I stood up. “I shall be recommending you to all of my friends. Thank you so much for your time. I will never forget what I’ve learned here today.”

I went to shake her left hand. Big mistake.

Original art by Gerhard Human

I said, “We build the platform and then let the buyers approach us. It’s a good product. There is no need for us to shove it down people’s throats.”

“Yes,” Delores said. She was twenty-eight years old, sharply dressed in a navy business suit, the youngest and newest member of the leadership team. “If we build it, they will come.”

I clicked and pointed. “Field of Dreams.”

“Excuse me?” She blinked.

“Field of Dreams,” I said. “Kevin Costner.”

“Who?”

“Kevin Costner. You’ve never heard of Kevin Costner?”

“No. Sorry. What floor does he work on?”

“He doesn’t work here. I mean, I wish he did. But come on, Delores. You’ve never heard of Kevin Costner? The famous actor?”

“No, I can’t say I have.”

“OH GET REAL. Waterworld? Dances with Wolves?” She stared at me blankly. “Bodyguard? You must have seen Bodyguard?”

“Sorry. I’ve never heard of it.”

“With Whitney Houston?”

“Who?”

My mouth hung open as I looked around at the other managers in disbelief.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I said. “You’ve never heard of Whitney Houston? The famous singer? She sang the theme song for the Bodyguard movie as well. And I Will Always Love You? And III will alwayssss love youuu.”

“It doesn’t ring a bell,” Delores said.

“It was a huge hit.”

“When?”

“Early nineties.”

“I wasn’t even born yet.”

I clenched my jaw. “That doesn’t matter. It’s timeless. It’s a timeless classic.”

“I’m sorry, but I haven’t heard of it. I don’t know what to tell you, Buzz.”

I took a breath. “Oh, I know! Kevin Costner is in that show Yellowstone. It’s a big show. It’s a new show. You probably know Kevin Costner from that.”

“I think I’ve heard of the show, but I haven’t watched it.”

“JESUS CHRIST.”

I glanced around the room. Everyone was staring at me. They should be staring at Delores. She’s the crazy one. Doesn’t know who Kevin Costner is.

“All right,” I said, flustered now. “I think we can call an end to this meeting. We will continue this discussion tomorrow.”

They stood to leave.

“Roger,” I said. “You mind hanging back for a second?”

“Ah, sure thing, Buzz.”

I closed the door and returned to my seat.

“What in God’s name was that about?” I said.

“I know. It got a little tense there for a minute.”

“This younger generation. Unbelievable. What’s wrong with them?”

“Gen Z are tough to work with,” Roger said. “It’s like they’re from a different dimension. They all want to show up when they feel like it, set their own hours, wear sneakers. I assigned this one Gen Z guy on our floor, Jared, a task, and he looked at it and told me, ‘I don’t think this is a good use of my time.’ What the hell? Back in my day, when I was his age, I wore a suit and tie and said, ‘yes sir’ to whatever was asked of me.”

“Does Jared know who Kevin Costner is?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I never asked him.”

I sighed. “Forty-two isn’t old, is it, Roger?”

“I hope not. I’m forty-four.”

I glanced up at the ceiling. “I just can’t believe Delores doesn’t know who Kevin Costner is.”

Roger shrugged. “It was before her time.”

“Yeah. But still. Waterworld. Come on. Everyone’s seen Waterworld. The movie is literally the reason everyone’s scared of climate change. It’s why I started recycling.”

“You know what I think? I think it’s pretty strange that she would quote a movie when she hasn’t seen it.”

“YES,” I said. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. I was going to say the same thing, Roger. That is MESSED UP.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re right, Roger. She’s a ticking time bomb.”

“I never said she’s a ticking time bomb.”

“You don’t need to. It’s obvious, isn’t it? Think about it, Roger. If she’s quoting stuff but doesn’t know the source, one of these days we could be in a meeting and she could quote from something messed up like... like...”

“Mein Kampf?”

I clicked and pointed. “Yes. Like Mein Kampf. Imagine that. We are in a room full of investors and key stakeholders, the who’s who, and Delores starts quoting Mein Kampf with no idea she is actually quoting Adolf Hitler, of all people. Oh my God, she’s a ticking time bomb.”

“She is very smart, though.”

“Oh. She’s extremely bright. Probably the brightest person I’ve ever worked with.”

“Highly competent too.”

“Oh. SO competent.”

“Hard worker.”

“Hardest worker!”

“She climbed up to management quickly, but she earned it.”

“Every step of the way she earned it. EVERY step.”

“One day, Buzz, we might be working for her.”

I squeezed my skull. “Can you imagine working for someone who doesn’t know who Kevin Costner is?”

“What should we do?” Roger asked. “Then again, it’s probably just a one-off thing, Buzz. I mean, it’s not that bad really when you think about it. People quote stuff all the time without knowing what they’re quoting, and a lot of people her age probably don’t know who Kevin Costner is—”

“Say no more, Roger.” I raised my hand. “I will defuse this ticking time bomb myself.”

*

Delores sat across from me in my office. It was a difficult conversation. I was handling it well. Delores was not. Her face rested in her hands.

“I can’t believe you’re firing me,” she said.

“We’re not firing you. We’re letting you go.”

She peered up at me from her hands. “What’s the difference?”

“For starters, the wording is more gentle sounding, isn’t it?”

“But it means the same thing, right?”

“Yes. If you want to get technical.”

“I don’t understand your reasoning.” She sat up. “So I quoted a movie I haven’t seen. Big deal.”

“You’re a ticking time bomb,” I explained. “Roger agrees. We can’t have you in a meeting with important stakeholders and then all of a sudden you accidentally quote Mein Kampf.”

“But I’ve never read Mein Kampf.”

“And therein lies the problem, Delores.” I leaned back in my chair.

“Are you saying I should read Mein Kampf?”

“NO. No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. Don’t read Mein Kampf, thank you. What I’m saying is, you have a habit of quoting things without knowing the source. And we can’t have you in a room full of key stakeholders only for you to start accidentally quoting Mein Kampf. Our company is not the Nazi party. In fact, we are trying to distance ourselves from the Nazis as much as possible.”

“Is that a Hugo Boss suit?”

“Yes it is and thank you for noticing but I’m afraid flattery can’t save you.”

“That wasn’t what I was do—”

“Stop changing the subject, Delores. This isn’t easy for me either, you know? The point is, you represent this company, and this quote thing you do could land us in some serious hot water. You’re a PR disaster waiting to happen. And that’s why we’re letting you go.”

“There must be something I can do to keep my job,” she pleaded.

I stood firm. “I don’t think there is. Just being honest. I’m sorry.”

She chewed a nail. “Okay, how about this. What if I watch three Kevin Costner movies tonight?”

I bit my knuckle. “Which ones?”

“The water movie you mentioned.”

“Waterworld. That’s a good one.” I bit my knuckle. “What else?”

“Umm. The dancing one?”

“Dances with Wolves. That’s another good one. That one actually won a bunch of Oscars, you know? Of course you don’t know, I forgot who I was talking to. Even so, despite all the accolades, I will say this, Dances with Wolves is a long movie.” I massaged my forehead. “You know what,” I said, giving Delores a serious look, letting her know I meant business, “we’ll count Dances with Wolves as two movies. Because it’s so damn long.”

“Okay,” Delores said. “Um. That sounds fair.”

I thought long and hard. Her puppy dog eyes won’t work on me. I needed to do what was ethically right.

I joined my hands and rested them on the desk. “I tell you what, Delores. If you watch Waterworld and Dances with Wolves tonight, you can keep your job.”

Delores exhaled. Her posture straightened. “Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll watch both of them tonight. I promise.”

She stood and made her way to the door.

“Delores?” I said.

She turned at the doorway. “Yes?”

“…Thank you.”