Erica 

It seemed to Erica that she was constantly being invited to parties. Endless spinning rooms of faces, crudités and clothing patterns. Plaid, polka dot, stripes, shiny vinyl, paisley, animal prints and celery stalks dizzyingly floated around Erica. With each soiree, her enthusiasm and willingness to socialize evaporated. She found less people to be interested in, and less people interested in her. No matter the event or party theme. There was her cousin Kate’s engagement party. Kate’s work friends were all clustered together gossiping about work, especially about someone named Andre. Erica stood nearby with a pained smile and tried to act interested. After a round of giggles and raised eyebrows regarding Andre, Erica attempted to join the happy group by breezily asking, “Whose Andre?”. “You don’t want to know” came the reply as the group shuttered down, thus ending any further exchange. The group all looked at Erica and like a dandelion facing a breeze, slowly floated away. Erica stood for minutes not knowing where to go. 

In January she went to a party for Kevin, who was one of her best friends in High School. They took the same art classes and hated the same teachers. She periodically stayed in touch with Kevin. In their early 20’s they went to museums, galleries and free outdoor concerts together along with a rotating cast of others who appeared like guest stars. In particular there was Kurt. Erica thought Kurt was interesting, thoughtful and attractive. He worked doing fund raising for not-for-profits, enjoyed lite jazz fusion and was an avid bike rider. They spent one night together after exploring used bookstores and having dinner at a hip Japanese/Cajun fusion restaurant. Kurt promised to call her once he got back from his cross country bike ride. She never heard from him again. Kevin told her that Kurt sent him a card stating that he had several enlightening experiences during his journey and decided not to return and to never bike again. Erica was disappointed yet understood. In a way she wished she could journey to someplace where it was not a strain to be social. Where people would “get” her and share similar interests. 

The party for Kevin was to celebrate a job promotion to district something or another. Kevin was a dear friend, yet Erica felt that the qualities, lifestyle and interests they shared were slowly melting away. She was introduced to what Kevin referred to as the cool people he worked with. Kevin whispered to Erica that these folks were “crazeee”, into the arts and she would love them. The conversation turned to film. It was an animated conversation with names of movies that she had only heard of on TV commercials and seen in the Young Adult Fiction section of bookstores. Lots of excited cooing about Aliens, Killers, Terminal Illness and Affairs. Burt, who shared an office with Kevin asked Erica if she had seen any good flicks. “Yes!” said Erica. I really loved “Le Cri du Coeur Adolescent Effrayé”\*! Is that Spanish someone asked? I think it’s an Italian cop comedy another said. “I don’t like movies where I can’t understand the language”, Burt said. “Except for kung-fu movies! Getting smacked around sounds the same in any language.” Everyone cracked up except for a puzzled Erica. 

It was at Janet’s 10th annual holiday get-together that Erica truly felt isolated from those around her. Being that it was the 10th year, Janet went all out and rented Roxanne’s Lair and invited everyone she knew to bring friends. Janet invited Erica who she did not really understand but respected her as an independent thinker. Janet felt that knowing Erica reflected well on her. Many times, friends would ask Janet, “Who was that quite woman who seems very smart? How do you know her?” Roxanne’s had been a hot club a few years back but was now lukewarm. It still had a powerful sound system which was great for dancing but not for talking. Not that anyone wanted to talk. They wanted to drink, dance, feel good and dance some more. It was a bombastic frenzy of whirling arms and legs. Everyone was having a fantastic time. Everyone except for one lone figure who found the music tedious, the inability to carry on a conversation because of the volume annoying, and the short attention span of those spastically pirouetting around her irritating. As the fervor increased, Erica receded. She could not relate to the crowd. She needed to make a change. It was not fair to blame others if they did not enjoy her company and see her as she saw herself. It was at this point Erica thought that she might take up bike riding and plan a very long ride.

\*"The Cry of the Frightened Adolescent Heart".

  

Erica...

“You become absorbed into it. It floats and transports you. It grips you and you feel you can’t move but are moving. It is the most sublime ride. It expands your ideas of what is really happening and presents the truth. It takes over not only your senses but your whole body, you can’t resist reacting. It is a stunning kaleidoscope frenzy of stimulation. People don’t take it seriously. People are scared. Afraid of how they will really see themselves and what they crave. You are revealed. People are innately weak minded, not open to moving past their accepted notions.” Ariadne’s pontifications were akin to a zealot uncovering secrets. She treated the orb as a life necessity, and like any sustenance, it should be taken in moderation. You live with it, but not overindulge. That would become gluttony and lead to a lifestyle that cannot be contained, it would control you. Way too potent. It should be a fundamental part of your routine and the way you see and approach life. Like a super mental vitamin. Too much and you would become a staring lifeless figurine. You lose the discretion to really appreciate all it has to offer. 

Too much of a good thing leads to taking it for granted. 

For Wendell, the exposure and acceptance has been overwhelming. He had seen many before on his nights out, but was either too distracted or lost in the din of conversation to take notice. Sometime, what is best for you is so apparent and obvious, you don’t see it. Or maybe, probably, he was just too buzzed to become aware of the wonder a few feet above his head. But this time was different. It could have been the angle and the piercing light with impossible colors that invaded him. A beam that was endless and inviting. He froze. He had never seen anything so beautiful. It was not the beauty of nature, not the beauty of a person, not the beauty of an idea. It was beauty with such force that it encased him in a glowing nurturing womb. Energy and brilliance bursting from it, providing stimulating nourishment.

They were not friends, just obsessive devotees of the sphere’s might and its astonishing beams. The few details they knew of each other were the most important – name, phone number and email address. Their relationship was neither sexual nor chummy. There was no interest in how they or where they spent their days. They knew nothing of each other’s lives. Or cared to know. That would be superfluous to their objective of sensuous and sensory stimulation. Occasionally, they would encounter another who they thought might be similar minded in their spinning zeal. Mimi was the closest one that came to joining their nucleus. But when she asked too many questions like “Are you both a couple?”, it was time to cut her loose. Bryan was a prospect, but when he spoke highly of the light show at the Planetarium, Ariadne and Wendell agreed that Evan was not a serious believer. He was one of many who only cared about pretty lights, not transformative luminosity. Once there was a whiff of anything personal surfacing, there was no reason to continue. It’s an empty relationship where only one side truly understands. Such an association would only hold back the believer and lead to resentment. It would be a time waster. 

Time is vital when you are benefiting so much from something that looks so simple. It is there, just waiting to be appreciated. It surges dynamic energy through one’s veins and accelerates thinking. Cluttered trash thoughts evaporate from your brain and frees your mind. You are now invincible in mind, body and soul. You feel you have consumed the power of the sun! But this is better, much better. It is always there for you. You don’t need daylight. Evenings will do. Remember, nothing exists except for light, even when it’s artificial.
  
  

Power Ball...

Stan’s

It was old, worn and nondescript. A dark rectangular shape, with an exterior battered in thick grime. Was it brick? Concrete? It was impossible to tell without scrapping off years of grime. There was one entrance and a long window which allowed a hazy dim view of the interior. If this structure had a personality, it would be considered sullen. It was the exact opposite of what spread across and around it – a panorama of amusement rides, surf, sunshine, and brightly colored foods. Salt and mustard floated in the air. Squinting eyes adjusting to piercing sun rays. The sudden explosion of sounds, colors, aromas, and excitement of what laid in front further blotted out this large, cheerless shoebox. Embedded under the multi-level subway station at Culver Beach, it made an extreme contrast to the shops around it. While nearby were cheerful vibrantly hued beach balls and radiant sweet treats, here sat this solitary, gloomy loner. 

After years of sea air, layers of paint and neglect, the sign above the door led to various interpretations. Some called it Mike’s. Others said no, it was Mick’s. One old timer said it was Stan’s. Wafting through the door was the mix of stale cigarette smoke and sour, very sour, beer. Mike’s/Mick’s/Stan’s was a bar that while unnoticeable, really stood out because it seemed so out of place. Why was it there? Why did it remain while all around it grew and changed? It was like an uninvited guest who takes their place on the couch and never leaves. Through the smoky haze, dim bulbs outlined hunched figures. No matter the time of day or night, there they were. Early morning, dusk, night, no matter. Figures like melting candles, moving slowly, if moving at all. A lone pale figure, in extreme contrast to the crowd of tanned bodies, would on occasion, emerge. Time too seemed to stall at Mike’s/Mick’s/Stan’s as nothing about it ever changed. Holidays and seasons did not matter. It was not lost in time but existed in its own stagnant time.

Abel was hoping that his constant headaches would ease. Symptoms ranged from a dull thud to a head gripping intensity. The only way to ignore it was to drink and sit in the bar’s cool shadows. It was his therapeutic routine. He felt he was understood by the others who too, were treating their various conditions. The somber mood was broken by the lurching energy of Blue. Blue’s real name was Irv but was nicknamed Blue because of his fondness for the color and the tint to his dyed black hair. Blue liked to laugh, hug, “dance” and sing and was oblivious to the moods around him. He knew everyone in the bar and believed he was enjoyed by all. He could not wait to see his friends and spend day into night with them. Abel was having an especially painful episode. Upsetting memories began to seep into his mind and he began to shake. It was not unusual for Abel to shake. Some would cry, some nodded out, a few mumbled to themselves. Blue saw his buddy Abel, leaned on him, wrapped his arms around him and with a loud, exuberant laugh said, “Hey! How’s it going! Next ones on me!”

Off to the side Ida began to drift off while talking to a mummified looking Vince and muttered, “my past does not define me.” Blue heard this and yelled “Good one, Ida! You are so funny!”

  

Stan's...

Jace

Jace lived in a perpetual state of anger. Everything annoyed him. It could be something as inconsequential as receiving his neighbors mail by mistake or as serious as being rear ended when leaving the deli. It all had the same importance and level of seething frustration. He found it impossible to relax. He was a kettle always boiling. He tried herbal teas, but the mellow and sunshine demeanor of the health food store staff set him on edge. His incessant and quickly accelerating finger tapping on the check-out counter brought on a request to chill. But telling a guy like Jace to chill only has the opposite effect. Bellowing “who are you telling CHILL!” was met by wide eyed bewilderment and a request to never return. He worked out at a gym to try and ease his temper. Tense scenes were created by Jace’s bitter mumbling, grunting and irked slamming of weights. The plus was he did make friends with some very large and just slightly less angry people. 

Therapy was tried. But as each week’s session neared ending the therapist would peek at his watch. At first Jace tried to ignore it. Each week the expectant glance at the watch ate away at him. Jace tried deep breathing exercises to distract himself, but this only made him breath heavier and focus even more on the “looking at the watch”. At what was ultimately his last session, Jace brought in an alarm clock and hurled it at his therapist. 

Cora always seemed to be crying. It did not matter if it was an upsetting memory, a great joke or spicey food. Sad tears, happy tears, laughing tears, pained tears, and tears that could not be understood. Remembrances of late family members or commercials for animal shelter would cause misty watering eyes. Good times with friends celebrating career advancements, her nieces and nephews’ graduations, weddings, favorite sit-coms, and videos of chihuahuas with little sombreros brought joyous tears. Her close friends expected Cora’s tears and always brought along extra tissues for her. 

Saturday night at The Bella Terra Dinner and Dance Club. Cora was there to celebrate her little sister Carla’s birthday . Sitting at the bar waiting, sweet memories of Carla as a little girl came to her. Her eyes moistened. Cora then thought of her late father. He would have been so happy to see how grown-up Carla had become. She was only 12 when he passed away. Moistened eyes now led to trails of running tears. 

Jace was also at The Bella Terra to dine and share peeves with his weightlifting pals. He was early and went to the bar to get a drink. All the seats were taken, which exasperated him. Trying to get the bartender Billy’s attention, he wound up standing behind Cora . The music was loud, which further irritated him. He started to wave his arms to get service. The tender at the other end of the bar nodded at him, but kept talking on his phone. Now Jace was wildly gesturing. Finally the bartender came over. He mistook the rage in Jace’s eyes for being intoxicated. Jace yelled out, “I want a Negroni!”. The bartender replied. “A Martini?, on ice?” “No!”, burst Jace. “A Negron!”. “All right, a Zombie no ice.” was the distracted reply along with a mutter of “jerk”. Jace’s temper was really erupting now. Enraged eyes, muscles tightened, hot blood speeding through veins and arms gesticulating in a frenzy. Cora did not notice this. She was lost in her memories. And crying. 

Jace’s frantic gyrations started to draw attention. Depending on where one stood, it was not clear what exactly was going on. Some saw an upsetting scene of a furious angry man yelling at a crying woman. Others, like Mimi and her friends only saw Jace and mistook his movements for cool dance moves. Inspired, they copied them. 

  

Jace...

Cousin Neil

“He always has to do something, and this is one of his stupidest,” Travis said in a mock subtle manner, hoping to be heard.

A resigned shrug from Carla. “What can I say? He thinks it’s funny. You gotta give him credit for always coming up with something different.”

“If he wasn’t your cousin, we would never invite him." 

“Is that so? I guess you can do without the cases of wine he always brings. I don’t see your friends bringing anything. Oh, wait, there was the time your buddy Dave made the Peppermint Fudge Cake that tasted like toothpaste. Yea, real gourmet stuff.” 

“Ok, ok," countered Travis. “Yea, I admit he is generous, but it comes with a steep price, his showing off. Plus, Neil never lets anyone forget that he brought all that wine or goat cheese dip or whatever. Besides, Dave apologized for forgetting to add chocolate to the cake mix. Personally, I thought it was a very refreshing cake.”

Carla sighed. “It’s real important to Neil that we invite him. He does not take criticism well and I don’t want to hurt his feelings. Totally agree, he is embarrassing, but everybody gets it and expects it. They know he will make a fool of himself; it is only a matter of when. He is my cousin and that it is just the way it goes. Don’t be surprised by anything he does."

"I’m surprised that you are saying I shouldn’t be surprised. So his crazy behavior should not be a surprise? If he chose to do nothing, that would be a surprise. So, acting normal would be the surprise, but doing something ridiculous would not be a surprise?"

"I have no idea what you are saying. I think you are putting too much into this. Give him a break."

“He is like a little kid on a sugar rush with a big allowance," a frustrated Travis responded. “Neil wants everyone to notice him – he craves attention. Remember when we went to the Natural History Museum? Little kids were crying they were so scared. Idiot thinks dressing as a caveman carrying a club is funny? And those boxers he was wearing under his loin cloth! Security stops him and what did he say? ‘Caveman good. Dinosaur bad.’ Lucky he did not get arrested. Or when he invited everyone to a surprise birthday party picnic for Gia and he skydived onto the blanket. Should have known something was up when Gia said her birthday was not for months. “

"But you have to admit he provided a nice lunch. He gets the best olives. Unfortunate that he dropped the bottle of champagne while floating down," defended Carla.

"Serves him right, getting caught in a tree. He talks a load of bullshit. That story about saving his company millions and that he was voted employee of the year. I thought he said he was a nautical accountant with his own business! And who asks for quiet and then gives himself a toast? How about that model he said he was dating but we never met? Seemed she was always away on an exotic shoot. I don’t believe for second that she drowned in a lagoon because her bikini got caught on coral."

"Listen, give the guy a break. He wants to be liked and does not realize he is going about it the wrong way. He wants to be the life of the party. Although I will never forget that bathing suit he wore to the beach. I did not realize they make thong swimsuits for men."

“He called it his Neil-kini. Too much Neil, though not enough kini,” Travis sarcastically replied. 

Beth smirked and protectively stated, “He really does not mind people laughing at him. Not at all self-conscious. Kind of an admirable quality in a way.” 

 “Who’s the guy standing on his head?” asked an amused Tara. 

“Oh, that is her Cousin Neil,” Travis scoffed. 

“Why is he doing that?”

“He always does screwy stuff like that. He will be glad you noticed him.”

“I am impressed! That is a surprisingly good headstand.”

“Not a surprise. It was expected,” said Travis. “Not standing on his head would be a surprise." 

  

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Scott Lewis