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Roy Buss

Roy Buss ran away as fast as he could. He’d be whipped n’ tied to a hogs back before he’d go back there. Jasmine green was a basket case if he ever did see one. A man like him didn’t play with dolls. A man like him wrestled, got dirty, and spit. Roy Buss wouldn’t for one second let anyone think he was sissy.

Roy Buss was a man.

Roy Buss ran his long fingers across his face. The corners of his mouth took their sweet time, tugging up towards his brow. The red hairs that were just spotting across his face were just poking their way through. Roy Buss didn’t care that there parts that were as patchy as his Grams back yard garden, he knew it would all fill soon. Just took a bit of patience.

Roy Buss was a man.

Roy Buss picked his way through the woods that surrounded his house. Since he was armed with a sturdy brown stick he felt invincible. Raising the stick to his eye level he took aim at a butterfly that dared come in his path. The butterfly was perched on a flower.

It stared at him and he stared at it.

Sweat began to bead on his upper lip. He inhaled like his Pa had taught him so he could properly absorb the kick of his weapon.

“POW! POW! POW!”

He watched the butterfly flutter away in terror. Roy Buss wasn’t scared of nuthin but everything was sure enough scared of him.

Roy Buss was a man.

Roy Buss went deeper into the woods, brandishing his stick at trees, birds, and small bees. The trees threw their leaves up in surrender. The birds chirped pleas for their lives. The bees buzzed, busily backing away. Nothing could touch Roy Buss. Nothing could harm him…

A twig cracked to his left.

Roy Buss jumped and people bumps raised themselves to each surface of his skin. He whirled around, weapon ready for action. Early Grey poked his head from behind the tree, raising his milk jug above his head in surrender. Roy Buss let his breath out in relief. Earl Grey grinned and the two greeted each other as men do. Roy Buss and Earl Grey began punching one another in the arm.

Roy Buss and Early Grey were men.

Racing to the pond they discarded their clothes in a hurry and dove into the water. Early Grey filled up his empty milk jug and poured water all over the top of Roy Buss’s head. Roy Buss and Early Grey were so busy splashing they didn’t notice the small figure that crept in the shadows, collecting pants, shirts, and undergarments. Only the socks and the shoes were left.

Jasmine Green smiled to herself.

“Oh Boys,” she called.

Roy Buss and Earl Grey crouched deeper in the water. Snowflake curls dancing in the breeze as she laughed and twirled away. Roy Buss and Earl Grey watched the retreating form of Jasmine Green and knew it would be a cold walk home.

Jasmine Green

Jasmine Green’s tiny hands throbbed. Her  tiny pink brush lay on its side looking even smaller against the expanse of her vanity. Early Grey was not her prince charming.

No Sir.

Jasmine Green’s daddy always said that if a boy didn’t make you feel like one million buck-a-roos  he was a frog, not a prince. Jasmine Green believed him.

Stupid Early Grey.

Earl Grey had dumped his disgusting, warm Milk all over her Hair. Earl Grey said the Milk matched her hair and that the Milk and Hair should therefore be best friends forever.

Jasmine Green’s Brain in her Head disagreed. Jasmine Green’s Hair was never meant to be friends with the Moo Juice.

No Sir.

Early Grey could run himself back home as far as she was concerned.

Jasmine Green’s dark blue eyes flashed fire in the mirror. She was practicing the look she would give Earl Grey the next time she saw that nasty toad. Her cotton candy pink lips pursed together and an …

“Urrrrrrhhhrrrr!” escaped her small self.

Jasmine Green’s feet turned and led her outside. It was here Jasmine Green could play with her friends the Butterflies. They always made Jasmine Green feel better when Pin Head Earl Grey was such a Ninny. Jasmine Green watched the Whites, the Blues, and the Greens flutter from flower to flower. Jasmine Green wondered why Butterflies were called Butterflies. She had never seen a Stick of Butter Fly EVER.

No Sir.

Jasmine Green’s white skin matched the fluffy clouds that played shape making all day above her Head. The shapes shifted and changed and Jasmine Green knew that the heavens were painting pictures just for her. Jasmine Green sang songs to these things that changed form and waved her hands above her head, spinning, snowflake curls billowing and settling.

Jasmine Green’s scabby knees knelt in the green shoots that rose from the ground. Jasmine Green’s eyes searched until she saw small Earthy Wormies burrowing their agile bodies into the dirt. Jasmine Green was amazed by how the Wormie Worms not only pushed but ATE the dirt. Jasmine Green’s Momma once yelled at her when she tried to eat a mud pie. Jasmine Green’s Momma didn’t like that one bit.

No Sir.

Jasmine Green’s Heart lifted. Jasmine Green sang and the notes swirled over and above her Head. Jasmine Green loved it when the Sun smiled down at her and the Wind tickled her Nose. Her small Hands reached out and let one of the Flutterers land on her tiny Finger. Jasmine Green’s Momma called from the house, “Jasmine Green, would you like a glass of milk?” Jasmine Green’s Blue Eyes flew open .

No Sir.

Earl Grey

Early Grey ‘s short stubby legs grabbed each stair one by one. Once at the bottom of stairs he flew into the kitchen. The milk was out of the refrigerator and into his fists. He lifted the glass to his lips and drank. His throat made sounds of appreciation. His adam’s apple bobbed up and down. Milk was the ultimate breakfast.  Not just any milk, Whole Milk, NOT skim or 1%, goat’s milk, none of those sissy imposters. He spat on those who partook in the activity of the drinking of soy milk. Whole milk was the reason for his excellent stature and muscular build. He began pumping his fists in the air so as to build momentum for what was going to happen this fine day.

Early Grey’s short stubby legs ate the carpet as he skidded around the corner and shuffled to a stop in front of the hall way mirror. Fuzzy dark brows crawled across the bridge of his nose, the ends furling out like a butterfly waiting to take flight. He wiggled them up and down, grinning like it was school picture day. He impressed himself with the high count of teeth that claimed residence in his gums.  All teeth but the third one from the right was there. He began to flex his most impressive biceps. They rose and fell like waves in an abandoned kiddie pool.

Early Grey’s short stubby legs ate up the pavement as he ran. Sweat melted off his brow like butter dripping from the spoon to popcorn.  People on the streets would often stop and stare at Early Grey as he ran. He knew they were astonished by his looks. He was a most dapper person to look at.  His bitten nails dug into the glass of the jug he still clutched in his hands.

Early Grey never left the house without his jug of milk.

Early Grey’s short stubby legs stood still. He lifted the milk and as he drank the frothy bubbles ran like small waterfalls, making the yellowed cotton that clung to each bulge and ripple on his back and abdomen, white again. The bus people stared. He stared back, wiggling his brows in a most intimidating manner.

Early Grey stood alone, glass jug empty.

Earl Grey’s short stubby legs began to shake. He had been standing without moving for a time so long that 17 busses had passed him by.  Early Grey knew he could not sit. Sitting was for weak baby men. Sitting was for little girls in pink lacy dresses. He was not weak. He was stronger than Everest. He was as long lasting as the mouth wash that fought off the germs that took up residence in his Mouth.

Early Grey was waiting.

Snap Shots

It was silver, glinting as the florescent lights bounced off its barreled chambers. You wouldn’t look at me. Your eyes were fixed, pupils dilated, absent. Thunder cracked outside the thin walls of the garage that we had caught a hummingbird in just days ago. There was laughter as your mustached lip turned up at the corners. We smiled as you let the small bird go.

Blue skies whispered above green trees that stretched their nimble hands and swayed. You were mowing the lawn stealing glances at momma. You admired her as the breeze lifted her blond strands and weaved them together. Our laughter lit the air. Sister chased brightly colored butterflies and her small foot fell over our cat’s tail. He moved quickly, knocking a bird’s nest to the ground next to me. My small, dancing feet were soon covered in yellow and white, and sister had screamed. Your sure arms wrapped around her and I as you carried us to the house.

It was silver, glinting as the florescent lights bounced off its barreled chambers. You wouldn’t look at me. Your eyes were fixed, pupils dilated, absent. Thunder cracked outside the thin walls of the garage that we had caught a hummingbird in just days ago. There was laughter as your mustached lip turned up at the corners. We smiled as you let the small bird go.

We were screaming. This time, you didn’t hear. You were too busy yelling to notice our begging and pleading. Or perhaps your thoughts were muddled and your ears stopped by that amber liquid. It seemed to slosh over and float down into your mouth as you cursed. The thunder cracked again and the lightening lit up the room.

The smiling characters made from those orange glowing globes grinned eerily at us as we cleaned the gooey mess. Handfuls of the stringy ooze had found its way to the four of us.

Sister’s honey blonde pony tails flew behind her as she ran into the house. Momma followed slowly behind, white in the face. You looked down at sister and smile.

“Daddy” she said, young eyes crinkling at the corners, a small giggle escaping her rosebud mouth.

“Momma said that I not a’pposed to tell you that she hit the mail box again”.

 

You came home and were confused by the red marks that wrapped their way around my head. Momma look at you, smiled, and shot sister a look. Sister’s head went down.

“Sister wrapped duck tape around her head today” momma said pointing at me. I grinned at you, pressing my sticking cheek to your legs.

“I just got so tired of her following me around all day saying “Didder, Didder, Didder” sister said throwing her small hands up.

That Sunday your cornflower eyes were luminous as you sang, ‘Jesus Loves Me’ to the congregation from behind the pulpit. Your tears found their way to the altar.

Your voice seemed too loud in the silence. Headlights lit up the small living room as people passed by, unaware. Momma had her arms wrapped around us as you spoke. The ground beneath seemed un sure of even itself. We were pulled out the door into the night. You wanted us to leave with you.

You looked strong and unmovable with the baseball bat slung over your shoulder. Your mouth turned up at the corners as the dust devils played around your feet. This was how you met the community. This is how you got them into the hard cool seats of our building. You had wanted to make a change.

Often I would find crumpled pieces of toilet paper in the bathroom’s garbage. There were streaks of black that colored the soft white surface.

I didn’t want to meet her that first time. When you came to get us I buried my face against momma’s tummy. Her shirt was wet after you pulled me away from the embrace I hadn’t wanted to leave. Not yet. The other woman looked at us, two small, dark haired urchins were clamoring for her attention from behind.

We giggled in the back seat as momma drove up the gravelly road. Grandpa was waving at us. Your eyes grew large as momma excellerated. They jumped out of the way and the car drove up the tree. Momma wasn’t laughing.

“I told you she wasn’t ready for her driver’s test yet” you said.

The urchins and my sister and I giggled from behind the cloth walls of our impenetrable fortress. A great figure moved outside of it. You roared like a bear. Underneath the pile of blankets we laughed and you held onto all of us.

You told me those words and I stared at the phone. The woman and her urchins were gone. Tell your sister, you had said.

————————-

It was silver, glinting as the florescent lights bounced off its barreled chambers. You wouldn’t look at me. Your eyes were fixed, pupils dilated, absent. Thunder cracked outside the thin walls of the garage that we had caught a hummingbird in just days ago. There was laughter as your mustached lip turned up at the corners. We smiled as you let the small bird go.

We were screaming. This time, you didn’t hear. You were too busy yelling to notice our begging and pleading. Or perhaps your thoughts were muddled and your ears stopped by that amber liquid. It seemed to slosh over and float down into your mouth as you cursed. The thunder cracked again and the lightening lit up the room.

Maybe in that instance you saw us and realized you weren’t alone. Maybe in that moment you knew that this wasn’t the way. You took the gun and set it down. The world began to shake as the salty tears poured from my eyes. I fell to the floor as you stumbled over to me. Picking me up by my hand, you kissed my forehead as though you had not just considered leaving me for the second time.

“Go to bed honey,” you said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

I swear my body has more pores per square inch than the average person has in their entire body. I am not making this up. One thing I hate about summer is that everyone wants to sit outside. I hate sitting outside. If I wanted to take a bath I would do it in the bathroom… not at a table, outside a random coffee shop. I swear though, I’m the only one who suffers from this ailment. My roommate looks beautiful, glowing, while the breeze runs its fingers through her silky tendrils of hair. Not me. Nope. I’m slouched in my chair, red in the face, while little rivers run down it leaving skid marks from my mascara. I’m the before picture. This is something that is not new.

Once again…

I am Lila Spruce.

The gorgeous person sitting across from me is my roommate… Remember the Goddess? Of course. Her perfectly tanned skin stretches on for miles off of those legs. They go on longer than the Sahara desert. I don’t even see the slightest hint of liquid coming out of her. Her green blue eyes miss nothing. She discreetly hands me a napkin, which is doused within seconds of contact with my skin. Her perfect, full mouth, flashes me an apologetic smile.

Goddess is moving soon. I know you’re probably thinking that I should be rejoicing as said Goddess will not be around to remind me of how the words ‘anti-per spirant’ mean nothing to my strong willed body. However, on top of being stunning, she is also one of the most genuinely nice people I know.  

Figures.

She’s the whole package.

Her boyfriend sure thinks so.

I call him dread boy. He is as white, long muscled, and as skinny as they come. However, he insists that dread locks are his look. Truly, Mr. White. Marathon Running Man… doesn’t look so bad in his hair style of choice. I must say his knotted up locks is quite the gutsy style of choice for a manager at J.C. Penneys. He often reminds me that soon he will be promoted to the ’privilege’ of  hiring people.

Jerk.

Of course he is.

He knows I need a job.

But at J.C. Penneys…

I close my eyes

 And imagine middle income housewives asking me for a size 14 to cover their size 16 rears. Shuddering I vow I will never, ever  work for Dread Boy or his Chain Style Clothing company. I may be average but I have my standards.

I will find a job. Maybe I can be a barista at one of the coffee shops I like so well…

I close my eyes….

And imagine the frothing milk over heating, bubbling over, and somehow finding its way to my un-protected eye balls…

No.

I could never be a barista.

Maybe I could be a dog walker…

I begin to close my eyes…

And stop myself as I feel wetness on my leg. Startled I look down only to find a small pooch pittling on what he must think is a stump. Goddess is horrified but kursnuffling across the table.

No, I could never be a dog walker.

Sometimes when a song comes on the radio I find myself pretending like I am the one who is actually crooning the notes through the air waves. It is my song, the one I spent millions of hours and feelings pouring into to make it radio worthy. When in reality, I am rather average in the vocal department.
 
I am Lila Spruce.
 
If you want the truth, I’m an average person in general. To give you an idea of how average I am, I go to the same six coffee shops every week and order the same thing every time… The baristas there have yet to recognize me or remember my drink.  Though, it isn’t their fault. I look like everyone else and am therefore their standard customer. Though my tipping habits are better in general… I can at least say that isn’t average.
It’s currently a Friday night and I’m sitting alone in a café’ I’ve never been to before, sipping my drink, and pretending like I am typical 20 something individual on a Friday night. What I am doing now is simply prep before I head out later and party it up with some friends… err… something.
 
My Friends.
 
All of my friends seem to be really good at everything. Some are accomplished travelers, others writers, photographers, musicians… They’ve all found their niche’.  And my roommate… Did I mention she looks like a goddess without even trying? I’m feel as though I am the prime example of Darwin’s theory of evolution… constantly evolving, trying to catch up with the rest of the species.
 
Since I am on the topic of extraordinary people….
 
My boyfriend is one who easily falls into this category. Of course he is exceptional and I’m not just saying that because I feel required to. Everyone likes him. Everyone talks about him. He is like an 21st century Midas, all gold everywhere.
 
Typical Situation in Public
 
Spartan (Not my actual boyfriend’s name but it seems fitting)- Role- Boyfriend
 
General Public- Role-  Self exclamatory isn’t it?
 
Me- Role- Average Girlfriend, with magnificent Spartan
 
GP- “Spartan! We heard of your exceptional accomplishments as of late; do give us the secret to your success. You saved the village from being plundered and single handedly over threw the government!”
 
Spartan- (He says nothing because when you’re that awesome words aren’t needed)
 
GP- (All but worshipping him)
 
Me- … Well… I’ve been standing here the whole time, in his shadow. I’m not sure if they even noticed me there… BUT who do they think packed ‘Spartans’ lunch so he could have strength to overthrow the government?
 
As you can clearly see, I’m surrounded by brilliant people. And as such, I’m often confused why such ‘brilliant’ people choose to be with me.
 
The conclusion- We’re attracted to individuals who are our opposites.
 
Anyways, a small bit about me. I promise I’m more than just someone with an inferiority complex. As I said I am a young 20 something living in Minneapolis. I’m finished with my degree and working an incredibly average job. I’m waiting for greatness to strike in my life. I’ve decided to keep a blog to perhaps help me to progress and figure out what I am good at.
 
A few tidbits THAT I love-
 
Coffee- Good Coffee… Starbucks and Caribou give me the ee-bee-gee-bees.
 
Books- Brilliant authors. A plethora of stories… I get lost
 
Running- This is my most dangerous activity as I am prone to tripping often
 
Dogs- What can I say… They are man’s best friend. They just happen to like women too.
 
Sail boats- Don’t ask… I grew up in Rhode Island so naturally I like boats.
 
And Yoga … Which I know about and do to try to combat my clumsy self…Verdict… Though I am bendy I still trip at least twice a day. Perhaps the graceful part comes in later?
 

Stumbling

 It was silver, glinting as the florescent lights bounced off its barreled chambers. You wouldn’t look at me. Your eyes were fixed, pupils dilated, absent. Thunder cracked outside the thin walls of the garage that we had caught a hummingbird in just days ago. There was laughter as your mustached lip turned up at the corners. We smiled as you let the small bird go.

We were screaming and you didn’t hear. You were too busy yelling to notice our begging and pleading. Or perhaps your thoughts were muddled and your ears stopped by that amber liquid. It seemed to slosh over and float down into your mouth as you cursed. The thunder cracked again and the lightening lit up the room.

 Maybe in that instance you saw us and realized you weren’t alone. Maybe in that moment you knew that this wasn’t the way. You took the gun and set it down. The world began to shake as the salty tears poured from my eyes. I fell to the floor as you stumbled over to me. Picking me up by my hand, you kissed my forehead as though you had not just considered leaving me for the second time. “Go to bed honey,” you said. “I’ll see you in the morning.” With that you walked away. And I was alone, shaken.