Charlie sat on the bleachers with his head in his hands.  He blew it this time; he knew it.  He could feel it in his bones.  Maybe I was too tough, he thought.  No, wrong is wrong and right is right.  I’ve been telling her that for years, and I’m not stopping now.

            After the fight… fight?  Was it really a fight?  No, she was fighting.  He was talking.  That’s the way it’s been for that last month or so.  She’s at that age.  They’re all the same when they’re at that age.  She isn’t the first one he’d worked his way through, after all.

            But she was different.  She wasn’t really his; he was a stepparent.  Boy was she angry…  but she was wrong.  Somebody needed to tell her that.  She was wrong.  And she hurt somebody in the process.  He won’t be the only one she’ll have to deal with before it’s over.

            He ended up at the stadium after excusing himself from the conversation to walk for a while.  It was going nowhere, and she was getting to wound up.  She needed time to think – and not speak.  It was when he walked out the door to walk to the stadium that his strongest fear hit him.  He could feel it in his bones…  “You’re not my real father!”  It was coming; he could feel it building up in her. 

            He had friends that had stepparents, and he remembers how their relationships crumbled with their steps.  He remembers how angry his friends were when they called him after a knock down drag out with a step dad or a step mom.  He also remembered how they regretted saying something that can never really be taken back. 

He could only imagine how the stepparent felt after devoting so much time and love to their child.  To be shot down in flames by one sentence from a child.  I’m sure they knew deep down inside that the child did not mean it – but the hurt will last an eternity.

            He grew up in a rough environment, had gone to war before he was eighteen years old, and then joined the biker crowd for years after that.  He was afraid of nothing, except that sentence.

            One could not count on both hands the number of times that he wished he were her father.  How much easier could it be?  “Because I’m you’re father, that’s why.”  He remembered the power and the strength in those words.  Instead, he was in a place that allowed him to be judged and rated against a real father.  The other choice the child never got to choose.  The grass is always greener…

            Despite the sentence, he always stood his ground.  He swore when he married her mother that he would be her dad.  Dad.  Not some guy trying to always please the kid.   He always lived with the fear that his “dadness” would provoke her into launching the ultimate sentence.

            When he got back home he went to his daughter’s room to check up on her and found her asleep.  He covered her up, kissed her on the forehead, and sat by the bed for a while just looking at her.  He found his wife in the living room and asked her how long their daughter had been asleep and found that she had cried herself to sleep soon after he walked out the door.

            The next morning he woke up to a kiss on the forehead and a smile.  “Happy Father’s Day!”  She handed him a homemade card.  He sat up sleepily, said, “Thanks Honey!” and opened it:

Dad,

Thanks for all of the times that you have been there for me, especially those times when I thought I didn’t need you there.

Happy Father’s Day.

And all of his fears were gone…

The two men stood and watched the youth in the garden.

“He fades yet more today.”

“As many of our children have.”

“Yet we remain.”

“Why, do you think?”

“I do not know?”

“Do our Gods fail us?”

“Do we not yet remain?”

“Our people fail us.”

“That must be true.”

“Come, let us see if we can bring our child away from the garden.”

“You go.  I shall remain here.  There is a thing about this that disrupts my very soul.”

“Come child, you must leave the garden.”

“I cannot.  There is nowhere for me to go.”

“What of your servants, your women, your home.  Can you find no comfort there?”

“They are all gone, my home is empty.   For three thousand years, I have been here.  Surrounded by all things that bring me peace and happiness.   They are all gone, yet I remain, such as I am.  I am alone.  I am afraid.”

“Come with me to my home then.  There you shall find comfort.”

“I cannot.  I fear that if I rise from this spot I shall not be any longer.”

And then without warning, without a cry, without a sound – he was gone.

 Elsewhere: 

Today, in far away Egypt, renowned archeologist Howard Carter has made a discovery that astounded the world.  After thirty-one years of searching the Valley Of The Kings, Howard Carter, and his sponsor, Lord Carnarvon have uncovered what they believe to be the tomb of the Pharaoh Tutankhamen. The two men stated that…

Submitted by Tarhead Mugwump

“Let me go!!  Leave me alone!!  This is none of your business”, Sam yelled as he pulled his arm free. 

Free, finally free.  Jerks.  Where do people get off trying to always control everybody else’s life?  I’m so tired of this.  Jerks.  I’m tired of always being a target.  I’m tired of always having to do the right thing.  And just what is the right thing anyway?  Drag a poor idiot’s heart around in the mud until you’ve had enough fun with him and then dump him?  Yeah, well, I’ll teach them all.  I’ll show them.  Jeez, I didn’t realize how cold it was.

And what about those pin heads at work?  Where do they get off firing me?  It isn’t like I’m late every day. Shoot, Cindy is late as much as I am, and she still works there.  She’s cute.  I’m not.  That’s gotta be it.  I hate this world!!!  They always let the girls get away with…wow; I never noticed how beautiful the trees are when the leaves start to change.  I don’t remember ever seeing so much color.

Where are the nice people?  Why do I always have to run into the jerks?    Everywhere I turn there’s another person trying to ruin my life.  Why do people follow me?  Are they so bent on doing me in that they have to follow my every move?  I’ll bet there’s nobody following me now.

 I hate when I feel like this.  I hate when I do things that destroy my life.  I hate starting over.  Why do I always have to crash and burn before I realize that most of the things that I thought were real were in my head?  Hey.  Wait a minute.  I’ve never thought that before…  I’ve never thought about the fact that I may be the problem and everyone else is just living their lives until AFTER I’ve ruined mine.

Maybe I’m taking a step towards healing?  That would be so nice.  Until some jerk comes along and … no, I can’t think that!  I have to stop thinking like that.  I have to keep thinking that I’m in control.  I make the decisions.  I make the choices.

I realize now that they fired me because I acted like a total jerk.  I didn’t want to work hard.  I really didn’t want to work at all.  I must be a pain to be around.  I know Sherrie didn’t dump me because she didn’t care.  I mistreated her.  I’m sure of it.  I treated her like she didn’t deserve me.  Truth is, I didn’t deserve her.  I’m such an idiot.

I can’t believe how blue the sky is! Wow!  I guess I just never really looked.  The air smells so good.  The earth colors are so bright.  I had no idea how many colors a tree can take on.  I always just saw green and dead, living and brown.  I related to that.  Living and dead, that’s how my life went.

I see so much now.  Now I know how people can be happy.  Now I know that I am capable of being happy.  This has got to be the best thing that I’ve ever done.  Well mostly, I guess.  Hmm… that lady was just trying to help.  And I thought she was just another jerk.  I feel really bad about the things I said, maybe she can hear me if I yell – I’M SORRY!  THANKS FOR TRYING!

I remember all of those times we sat at the lunch table at work and wondered what our last wishes would be.  I remember wishing that the whole world would just disappear from my life and leave me alone.  That seems so long ago now.  Things look so different now.  Much clearer.

Now, I just wish I had brought a parachute…

           Boy, that hot air balloon is getting smaller and smaller…

George looked at the number on his pager and sighed, “The Mori lathe again.”  This was the third time today that he had to check on the lathe, and his irritation was showing.  He took one last gulp from his coffee cup and headed to the other end of the plant.

“Okay James, what’s the problem?”

“This jerk can’t get anything right!”

“The outside diameter on this part is too small and I can’t adjust it out.”

“Maybe if mister fumble fingers actually put in the right command…”

“Every time I input a change, nothing happens.”

“How many parts have you scrapped so far?”

“Mister potato head has ruined five perfectly good housings!”

“So far, five have gotten messed up, including the initial part.”

“Can you believe it?  Five parts turned into door stops!”

“I keep trying to fix it, but the machine keeps messing them up.”

“What are you trying to adjust?  Show me what you are doing.

“I need to move the outside diameter two tenths of a thousandth.”

“He needs to move his head out to where there’s oxygen.”

“Fine.  Show me how you would do that.”

“Okay.  First I go to the geometry-offset screen.  I move the cursor to highlight the offset I want to affect.  I enter the number I want to move it by.  I hit the input + button.”

“Maybe if he used the right format it would work!”

“Did you notice the screen when you did that?”

“What?  Actually LOOK at the screen?  Now you’re asking too much!”

“No, what did I miss?”

“Do it again and watch the screen”

“Oh, I see.  It didn’t take the command.”

“Really?  Oh, really?”

“When you inputted the number, you didn’t designate which axis to affect.  You should have put a Z in front of the number.  Try it again and watch the screen.”

“It worked!”

“Of course it did you idiot!”

“You will also notice that the number has changed to indicate your change has been made.”

“Thanks, George.  I’m sorry about all this.”

“You’re welcome, Henry.  I know it’s not your fault.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing James.  I’ve got to go check on the new machine, got everything under control?”

“Yeah, I think so…”

          “He thinks?”

Sam and Karen sat at the end of the pier watching the sun go down and listening to the gulls flying about looking for shrimp and squid left behind by the fishermen..

“Look,” Karen said suddenly, “There’s Ethyl!”

Sam replied coolly, knowing there was no help for her, “First, all gulls are named Fred.  Second, how on earth can you tell that’s Ethyl?  All those blasted birds look the same.

Unaffected by his words, she just smiled, “Nobody sounds like Ethyl.  Hey, dork boy, tell me the all American boy dream again.”

“I thought you didn’t like that dream.”

“Some parts I do, some I don’t.”

“Okay.  It starts off with me and iamsam.”

Karen interrupted, “You mean Sam I am”

“No, I don’t…  that’s my get the girl trick.  What’s your dog’s name?  Iamsam.  Then she says, “No, not your name, your dog’s name”.  It’s a cute play on words, get it?”

“Yeah, got it.  Cute play on words.  Sorry, continue…”

“Okay.  It’s a beautiful spring day.  The sky is brilliant blue, the sun a beautiful yellow ball in the sky.  You can see the green beach grass swaying slowly in the breeze like they’re waving hello.  The children are running all over the beach in their bright colored swimsuits.  I’m running down the beach with iamsam, stopping every once in a while to toss the Frisbee.  Then I spot this beautiful girl.  I grab the Frisbee and toss it lightly in her direction so iamsam will go to her.  It lands at her feet.  Man is this woman beautiful.  She is so beautiful…”

“Okay, enough with the beautiful girl”

“Well, okay, sorry.  So iamsam walks up to her and she immediately falls in love.  And yes, the iamsam thing worked on her.  We sit on the beach and talk until the sun goes down.  The sunset is beautiful.  The sky turns an awesome shade of orange, and bounces a rainbow of colors off of the clouds.  The birds are singing.  We talk awhile longer and I find out that she’s a beach volleyball player.  She is a 100% percent sports addicted athlete just like me.  We meet a few times more, we fall in love, and we have a pair of beautiful children.  End of story.”

“So, how did it really turn out?”

“I ended up with the most beautiful blind woman in the world”

“Hmm…  I’ll certainly take that compliment. Ready to go home?”

“Yeah, I think so…  hey, dork girl, what parts do you like about the dream?”

“The colors”

“Yeah, me too.  Turn left here.  Hey! You did that on purpose!”

“Did what?”

“You ran me into the wall!  You know, one day I’m going to get an electric wheel chair and put you out of business!”

“Naw, that won’t put me out of business, that’ll put me on your lap.”

“Creep!”

“Dork!”

“What do you think our children will look like?”

Tom hated reporters in his lab.  He especially hated college reporters in his lab, and this particular reporter was a jerk.  Once he made the decision to allow Bob into his lab he immediately regretted it.  Bob, being the typical college reporter, had no brain.  His only motive for arranging the interview was to ridicule the science that he, Tom, had spent his last five years researching.

Tom had hoped that the interview would give him exposure to bigger things.  Too late for that regrets now, though.   Bob was being escorted through the doors into the clean area.

“Hello Tommy”

“Tom.  Hello Bob.  How are things at the paper?”

“Dull.  So, where’s this wonder machine you were talking about?”

“It’s not a wonder machine, Bob, it’s a time machine.  Follow me.” 

Tom exited the room, not caring if Bob was following him or not.  He already knew what was going on in Bob’s little mind.  That “kill your grandfather” thing that all of the amateurs play with.  That or the “there won’t be a planet in that physical space when you return to the past” argument.  Idiots.

After walking through a few doors Tom stopped in front of the crypto-lock to enter his code.  Bob stood and watched attentively.

“What, are you nuts?  Turn around Bob.”

What a jerk.  Tom entered the room first and turned the lights on.  As soon as the room was illuminated, Bob dashed immediately for the machine sitting quietly against the back wall.

“So, this is it – the wonder machine!”

“Time machine, Bob, time machine.  Don’t touch anything.”

“How does it work?”

“Scientifically Bob.  Surely you don’t expect to be able to understand how it works if I explain it?  Let me set it up and I’ll give you a demonstration.  You can write about that.”

Right next to the control pad there was a two-foot by two-foot pad on the floor.  Taking a stopwatch from his pocket, Tom turned the watch so that Bob could see that he was turning it on.

“I’m going to place this stop watch on the pad and push the button to active the machine.  If you watch it closely, you will see the hand actually move backwards in time.  Okay, it’s ready, watch the hands.”

Moving slightly to the left of the pad so that he could push the activation button, Tom watched with pride as the hand moved every so slightly backwards.

“There!  Did you see it?”

Bob saw it.  He also saw opportunity; he could be the first man on earth to travel back in time.  Visions of grandeur exploded in his head as he imagined himself being interviewed by the press, by the scientific community.  He would be the envy of every scientist and reporter on the planet.  He needed a plan, though.

“No, Tommy, I didn’t see anything.  I think the hands are too small on the stopwatch.  Do you have something bigger you could use for the demonstration?” 

Tom thought for a moment and then his eyes caught the large wall clock positioned above his desk.

“That’s Tom, and yeah, I think I do.  Hold on a second and I’ll get that wall clock.  I’m pretty sure that will work.”

As Tom turned his back to get the clock, Bob immediately stepped on top of the pad that the stopwatch had occupied and pushed the button to activate the machine.  Tommy continued talking.

“There is one thing about my machine that I haven’t been able to work out.  It’s the amount of time that I can move an object back.  It seems that this machine has a limit – about half a second.”

Noting the silence from a normally abnormal chatterbox, Tom turned around from where he stood on his desk, holding the clock in his hands.

“Bob?”

Tom barely noticed the knock on the door.  He very nearly panicked when he felt the tap on his shoulder.

“Tom?  Where’s Bob?”

Tom just pointed to the machine.  Bob would appear just long enough to utter the last words of a sentence, “…. going to be famous.”, as he reached over and pushed the button to activate the machine.  Then he would appear again, about half a second later.

“… going to be famous.”

“… going to be famous.”

            “… going to be famous.”