Tag Archives: children

The Z Word Origin Stories – Joey

The following story is a prequel to my first published novel, The Z Word. If you enjoy the prequel check out the other prequels available on my blog, like it on Facebook or order the book.

“C’mon kiddo, we’d better get back or your mother will kill us both,” Joey’s dad said to him from across the baseball field.

“Just a few more throws!” Joey yelled, and his dad just laughed and loosened his tie a bit.

“Fine, a few more,” he said. He’d really started to cherish the few minutes they played catch between the time he got home from the office and dinner. Five minutes later they were walking down the street toward home.

A man was walking behind them slowly and moaned. Joey turned and looked but his dad pulled his arm.

“What’s wrong with him dad?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. Let’s just get home.”

Joey peered over his shoulder at the man and saw the blood running down his chin and an odd look in his eyes as if he were far away.

Another tug forced Joey to look ahead of them and their house came up on the right. Joey ran ahead.

“Bet I can beat you!” His dad laughed and played along to the front door where Joey was standing bent over, panting.

“You beat me, you win.”

“What do I win?”

“You get to run right upstairs and wash your face and hands. You’re covered in dirt from the baseball field. If your mother sees you like this she’ll kill me.”

As his father opened the door Joey started to go in when he saw Marie across the yard waving from a window. She looked a bit upset, but a large hand grabbed him and pulled him into the front door.

“Let’s go! Get washed up! Honey, we’re home!”

As Joey ran up the stairs two at a time his father went into the kitchen to see what was for dinner. A quick sniff made Joey wonder if anything was being cooked in the house.

A change of clothes and a minute in the bathroom had Joey looking like new so he ran back down the stairs, jumping the last four and then looking back at them, impressed with himself. That’s when he heard a whimpering combined with a crunching sound.

“Mom? Dad?” he called as he ran around the bend into the kitchen and stopped with a squeak of his sneakers on the linoleum.

His dad was sitting on the floor as his mom seemed to be eating his neck.

“Mom?”

His dad suddenly opened his eyes and pointed at the door. “Joey! RUN!”

Joey noticed the blood dribbling down her chin and that same weird look in her eyes as that strange man on the street and knew something was wrong. She stood from his father, the man’s body limply falling to the ground, and started in Joey’s direction.

“Mom?” he whispered.

She growled and he turned and ran for the front door. Outside he noticed a few people wandering around and they all stopped as soon as he let the screen door slam behind him. They all had that same look, and Joey knew he was in trouble. He thought about places to hide, somewhere they would never find him, and his mind went back to the game of hide and seek he’d won, beating all of his cousins, even the older ones. He knew just where to go.

Come back tomorrow for the story of Marie, and who knows, maybe even a continuation of Joey’s story…where will he hide? Will Marie survive too? Find out tomorrow!

Waiting

She stood there, waiting, and she wasn’t even sure what for. One foot on the grill, one on the solid sidewalk, she watched people walk by. Not too many for that time of day. An oddity. She wondered where everyone was, where the few stragglers were going, what they were doing, what their futures held. An old cab drove by, an aged, antique model that she’d never seen in real life, only in the movies. The checkers on the side, bright yellow dimmed by time, the driver maybe even older than the car itself. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and for a second she felt as if she could see into his soul, his whole life of pain, torment, wars, soldiers, Nazis, pain, suffering, but also the love of a good woman, meeting her on leave, bringing her flowers, dates, love, family, children, grandchildren, one great-grandson and as quickly as he drove by and he broke eye contact the moment and the visions were gone. She tugged at the black sleeve of her cardigan and scraped the cement with her left boot tip, looked down into the grill and saw trash accumulated in the underground sewer. When she looked back up she was once again curiously alone on the street.

Photograph of Manon by the amazing Laura of Instant Flowers and Nonsense of the Truth. They are quite talented, please check out their work. They inspire me often.

Barkley, Mister Hooper and the Farm

He’d left his giant pile of Legos and I’d gotten so used to the noise of him rooting through for specific pieces that the silence pulled my attention out of my book. He was looking out the window watching the rain.

“Guess no playground today, huh dad?”

“Probably not, kiddo. It’s raining pretty hard.”

He went back to the Legos and started sifting through again. I have to give him credit, he handles bad news well.

“Okay, how about we dip into the yard sale stuff?” He perked up instantly and ran to the closet where we keep the “new” toys I yard sale for him. I get so much that my wife and I decided to keep a storage closet of toys for when he deserves a reward or something. It keeps him from being overwhelmed by all of the toys at once and kind of makes it fun for everyone.

“Okay, we have some superheroes, this stack of books, some old wooden puzzles…”

“Wooden puzzles!” he exclaims. I pull down the stack and hand them to him. “Why are they wood? Wood’s so heavy.”

“That’s what some of the puzzles were like when I was a kid. As a matter of fact, I had this one as a kid!”

I found the Sesame Street puzzle and pull it from the pile. Instantly I remember playing with this one in the 70s with my dad and mom. He looks at it and looks up at me.

“You had this one? You watched Sesame Street? Did you love Elmo too?”

“There was no Elmo when I was a kid. But yes, I loved the show. I used to ask for aqua instead of water, that’s how much I watched it.”

I love how slow and deliberate he is with new toys. Any other kid would dump the pieces out, start the puzzle and then move on to another, leaving this one for me to clean up. But not him. He runs his hands across the shiny wood, feels the little knobs and then starts naming Muppets.

“Big Bird!”

“Yup.”

“Grover?”

I nod. Then he comes across the big, shaggy white, orange and brown dog.

“Who is this? I don’t know this dog!”

“That’s Barkley. I don’t know if he’s on the show anymore. I haven’t seen him. I’m surprised I remembered his name!”

He frowns and looks at me. “Where did he go?”

“Um…maybe he moved to a farm.”

“Were there others who moved to the farm?”

“Mister Hooper…kind of.”

He starts pulling the knobs and realizes there are more characters behind them. “Whoa! Oscar was behind Big Bird! Look there’s Big Bird’s nest!” I smile. I can’t believe I remember this puzzle so clearly. I must have been three or four when we had it. “There’s The Count! One! Ha ha ha…” I try not to laugh at his impression. It’s not very good. “Cookie Monster! He’s eating a cookie! I hope he ate his carrots first!” I find that a little disturbing, but only a bit.

He goes through each piece, looking at what’s behind it and then gently placing it back until he’s checked them all twice, then pushes it away.

“Want to do another? I have a Bert and Ernie one, Cabbage Patch Kids and Wuzzles.”

“What’s a Wuzzle?”

“I have no legitimate answer to that,” I say.

Goats Can Be Heroic, Too

“This is the part of the zoo where you can feed the animals,” mom told us as we walked to the cage. “Only feed them these pellets. Dennis, are you listening?”

My older brother had that smile at just the edges of his mouth, the one that meant trouble. Mom put a hand on each of his shoulders in an attempt to grab his attention. “Did you hear me?” His fake smile appeared and she fell for it. Again.

I was the good one. My brother was always causing my parents trouble, and I hated seeing my mom cry over his ridiculous antics. He always came home with unexplained bruises and cuts, or being chased by older, faster kids. My mom automatically defended him against upset neighbors, teachers, and officers. So I always tried to keep my nose clean. It just seemed fair. She worked so hard around the house, and my dad was always on emergency calls, being the town doctor.

After doling out half of the little pellets she got out of the penny machine to feed animals, she sat down on a nearby bench. It wasn’t even two seconds before Dennis ran out of the pellets, which of course he was throwing at a duck that was more interested in dodging them than eating them, before he came and wrenched my wrist to steal mine. Luckily I knew him well enough to expect this and had pocketed a few as soon as my mom handed them out.

“Hey!” was all I said. I turned to my mother, who heard my cry and looked up, so I just smiled and waved. It just wasn’t worth getting her upset. I turned my attention back to Dennis, who was easy to spot in the crowd considering he was wearing the same red and white-striped shirt as me. I carefully followed behind (he’d caught me following him once and I could still feel phantom bruises from that lesson) and watched as he pelted a little lamb with the rest of the food before he came upon the goat.

He approached the fence where this huge billy goat stood almost eye to eye with Dennis (if memory serves it had a few inches on him, but you know how memories become distorted) and Dennis instantly reached his hand through the large spaces between the wire and yanked the creature’s beard, pulling it closer. I could see from my vantage point that the goat’s eyes widened. I was pretty sure we weren’t supposed to be pulling the animal’s fur. Dennis looked around for something to feed it but only discovered the lid to an aluminum can someone had thoughtlessly discarded from a packed lunch.

“Eat it!” Dennis said to the goat, who kept moving its mouth away from the garbage. “Come on! Goats eat trash, I know it. Eat the can!”

I’d watched Dennis bully people my whole life, including myself, and I couldn’t stand it. Even the boys bigger than him always took the worst of it in a fight. What chance did this goat have?

The goat opened its mouth to make a noise and Dennis’ quick reflexes had the lid in the poor creature’s mouth before a sound came out. The sides of the lid were sharp and may have cut the goat, I have no clue, but it made a screaming sound, lunged at Dennis’ hand and grabbed it between its teeth. Dennis screamed out “Mommy!” and of course she came running. I tried not to laugh when I realized my brother was crying, actually crying, and when my mom ran up and looked at his hand, she saw teeth marks.

“Oh Dennis, come on. Look at your hand! It didn’t even break the skin.”

He was sniffling and snot started running down his face. I never thought I’d see the day that anyone or anything would get the best of my older brother, the terror of our neighborhood.

“Billy,” my mother called to me. “We’re going to sit on the bench. Come find us when you’re ready to go.”

I nodded and reached into my pocket, pulling out the few pellets I’d saved from my brother. The goat backed away, but I used my best soothing voice and said “Come here, boy.” The goat approached and I reached my hand through the fence with the pellets in my hand and fed my new hero.

Ronald (A Story of Connections)

Ronald searched the jumbled shelves of the used book store. The owner told him the copy was here and even described the binding so he knew what he was looking for: off white with shiny red lettering. Shouldn’t be too hard to spot.

Ever since he met Liz he’d been infatuated with her. They spent so many hours discussing films, books, and everything else they both loved, and she’d recommended Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close the other night over tea at her place. He couldn’t get over how optimistic she was, her fun, artistic apartment, and even her quiet son who’d spent the night playing with his Transformers.

“I found it!” the owner called from behind a bookcase somewhere in the back of the store. She hobbled out and handed him the paperback that he took with care as if it were a newborn. He couldn’t wait to read this.

He paid her in cash as he always did, and she asked him how classes were since she always confused him with one of her other customers, a college professor, and reminded her that he was a chef. She smiled and apologized, fixed her small, crooked glasses and gave him change.

He walked out and continued down the alley that led to the main street where he made a left at a clump of mainstream stores, including a bookstore big enough to be considered a warehouse. He always went to Barbara’s store first for books since he liked to support independently owned stores that were quickly disappearing.

He stopped to flip through the book as he noticed some of the pages had photographs, some drawings, and even a few pages with color. He almost bumped into someone and without looking up walked around them. “Excuse me,” he said. When the person didn’t respond he turned to look at them and realized it was Liz’s son and he had a small, green handled shovel.

He’d have to bring that up to her next time they hung out. But that wouldn’t be until he’d read this book at least twice and was ready to tell her how wonderful it was.

If you enjoyed this and want to know more about the other characters, click on the Stories of Connections category on the right.

Bradley (A Story of Connections)

Bradley stopped to peer into the weird store with all of the rats. He always stopped by here to watch them run by the windows in the huge maze of clear plastic pipes. One jumped at him, starling him into dropping his little shovel.

He picked it up and looked at the small clumps of dirt clinging to his mom’s garden tool. The green handle looked so new and his mom would certainly notice that it had been used. She was a neat freak, a word he overheard someone call her when they learned of her many cleaning rules imposed on him. He’d laughed at the term and called her that sometimes when she wasn’t around.

The same conversation was what led him here. He’d heard them talking about movies, then books, tuning out the conversation as best he could since it was interrupting his Transformers war.  He tuned back into what they were saying once he heard the term “father” uttered, which always grabbed him since he didn’t know his dad.

“And his father spends time with him by burying items in the park and then leaving clues so he can find them.”

“Wow, sounds interesting.”

“Yes, and he goes on a quest to find his father’s final clue by searching the whole city.”

Were they talking about Bradley’s father? He was furious at first with his mother. She had known about these hidden treasures all along and not told him, not let him start the search? Maybe, if he started digging in the park he would find one of these treasures and somehow finally meet his dad. All of his friends had dads. Not all of them had one living with them, but they still had them, and Bradley always wanted to know his missing parent. Maybe this was his chance.

But he’d been digging for days now and only found a few squirrel bones (which were cool, he had to admit) and a few creepy bums tried to talk to him. Plus he’d saved that little dog from the bigger one. But still no treasure.

Maybe he should ask his mom. But she’d kept it a secret from him for a reason. He was on his own.

As Bradley realized he was probably late, he turned and started walking home. A car drove by and he saw a girl he knew from school, but he ignored her. He had bigger things on his mind.

If you would like to know more about the people in these stories, click on the “Stories of Connections” categories and read about some of the other people he’s bumped into or connecting events. Bradley pops up in other stories here and there. Tomorrow, learn more about what Bradley’s mom was talking about in “Ronald”.

Everything I Needed to Know I Learned From 80s Cartoons

Dennis Finocchiaro is the author of a few novels and loves everything 80s.

 

“Everything I needed to learn about being a good person I learned from 80s cartoons.”

“Really,” she responded with obvious dubiousness, one eyebrow raised and a sly grin on her face.

“Sure. G.I. Joe taught me to resolve my arguments with peace. And not to talk to strangers. And any other number of lessons. They had public service announcements after each episode. I learned from Slimer and the Ninja Turtles, Mickey Mouse and everyone else to say no to drugs thanks to Cartoon All Stars to the Rescue. I learned to treat my family right and to be good to people in general thanks to the television shows I watched.”

“Smurfs?”

“Of course! They were the kindest most congenial beings ever created. I can’t even watch them now…they’re so pure. It makes me sick.”

She laughed. “Okay what about He-Man? What could you possibly learn from him?”

“Are you kidding? Orko always caused some sort of trouble that I learned from. Don’t eavesdrop, don’t meddle, etc. That show had lessons after it just like G.I. Joe.”

“Okay, what about your precious Transformers? What could you possibly learn from them?”

“Seriously? They taught me the importance of doing the right thing, being a good guy instead of a Decepticon. Come on. Optimus Prime showed wisdom in every choice he made. I learned what a great leader possesses.”

She shook her head. “You’re ridiculous. Bugs Bunny?”

“That wasn’t 1980s, although I did watch it.”

“So what did you learn?”

“Not to fuck with a road runner? I dunno. That technically was the 70s and doesn’t count. The 80s were all about purity. Learning lessons. Being a good person. If I didn’t know better, I would think Humanists were running children’s programming.”

“Snorks? Centurions? Biskits? Shirt Tales?”

“Are you kidding me? You have got to be kidding. Snorks were practically an offshoot of Smurfs. Same comments apply. And the others? Trust me, every 80s cartoon was about teaching kids right from wrong.”

She looked at me across the table with pure seriousness.

“So you’re saying you don’t think kids need to go to church, so long as they watch 80s cartoons?”

“Exactly.

Dust

Image by Danielle Suzanne Photography.

“You’re going to miss me, right?”

She finally said it. Susie had been wondering if Tine would ever actually verbalize it, or if she would continue to keep her feelings bottled up.

“I love you Tine. You know that. I’m not going to go off to college and forget you.”

She shifted her weight on the old table in their secret place, an abandoned home on the outskirts of town. Her slight movement brought up a small cloud of dust. She sighed and then coughed a little when she inhaled. They laughed.

“We really should have cleaned this place up when we found it. When was that, eight years ago?”

“At least,” Susie said with a smile. “Right after we became blood sisters.”

Tine’s shoulders drooped a bit.

“I wish I could go away to school. But-“

Susie pushed Tine’s long curly hair behind her ear. “Your mom needs you. Nobody would be around to take care of her. You’re making a huge sacrifice, but it’s one of love.”

Tine tried to look her in the eye but only made it up to the blue and white stripes of her shirt. “I’m afraid I’ll resent her. I’ll keep seeing your facebook statuses, and everyone else’s and I’ll be able to see every single little thing about living away at school that I’m missing. I’ll see it but never experience it.”

Susie didn’t know what to say to her. What could she say? She noticed the handprints they kept leaving in the dusty surface of the table. The room was littered with their handprints from the past eight years.

“I’m sorry. You’ll visit me though, right? And I’ll make sure you have a whole semester’s worth of fun in a weekend!”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll even get you laid.”

At that Tine started laughing and shoved her in a hard but playful way, forcing Susie to jump off the table and land on her feet.

“Bitch!” she said with a humor-filled tone so Tine would know she was kidding. “Now I’m only going to hook you up with ugly guys!”

Tine started laughing at looked at her watch.

“I should really go. Mom will need to eat soon. And I have some chores.”

Susie walked over to her and took her hand. “You’re my best friend, Tine. And nothing will ever change that.” Tine held on for a brief moment and then made her way to the door.

“Love you.”

She stopped with her hand on the knob and didn’t turn back. “Love you, too.”

“I Wish I Had My Very Own Luck Dragon”

“Huh?” I asked her.

“A luck dragon, it’s-“

“I know what a luck dragon is, silly,” I interrupted.

She smiled. “Of course you do.”

“Would you name him Falcor?”

“No, duh! That’s too obvious. I’d name him…”

“Lucky?” I guess.

“No! That’s not what I was going to say.”

I give her a knowing look and she tries to hide in her oversized gray sweater-hoodie. After a few attempts to disappear under the hood she peeks out. I can tell from her eyes she’s smirking.

“You were totally going to say Lucky, weren’t you.”

“Yup,” she whispers.

“So would you ride him through Fantasia?”

“Who said he’s a he?”

“You just did. You called him a he. He’s a he.”

She thinks about it and shoves me a little. “Wise ass.”

“So what would you do with your luck dragon not-named-Lucky?”

She pokes her head out of the hood, more like the turtle in Neverending Story than a luck dragon. “First I’d scratch him behind the ear. They love that. Then we’d go for a ride and I’d see the city from above.”

“Well you better wear a coat. It’s only 20 degrees out.”

“Of course.”

“Where would you keep him?”

“You don’t keep a luck dragon, silly. He’s your friend. He’d be free to fly. Experience. Explore. Conquer. But he’d still show up whenever I need him most.”

“Really?”

“It’s just what luck dragons do. You know this.”

“I do.”

“You’re just messing with me.”

“Yup. I can totally see why you would want a luck dragon.”

“It’s not to skip out on tolls.”

“I know.”

“Or avoid traffic.”

“Or red lights. I know.”

“It’s just about the magic. That childhood tendency to fall in love with films.”

She sighs and pulls the sweater a little tighter.

“Come on. Let’s go get you some ice cream.”

Inspired by the most amazing post on Indyink here.

 

Madison (A Story of Connections)

Madison peered out the window from the back seat of the car watching the rows of stores and people passing by as they sat in traffic. A little black dog ran by, followed by a much bigger dog, and she wondered if they were playing tag.

“Mom?”

“Yes Madison?” Madison was her name because she was born in 2004, and every girl born in 2006 was named Madison, or so it seemed.

“I want a hamster.”

Her mom sighed as she looked for parking.

“What brought this sudden idea on?”

Madison saw a boy she knew from school and waved, but he didn’t notice her. She wondered what the shovel was for.

“I saw that pet shop where they have all the black hamsters.”

“Honey, I’ve told you a million times that isn’t a pet shop. It’s an art gallery.”

“Then why do they have so many hamsters?” She frowned a bit. “And I don’t think you told me a million times.”

Her mother chuckled but tried to hide it. “You’re right.”

“It’s probably more like ten. I just forget.”

“Well, if you want we can stop there and look at the hamsters. Mommy needs to go anyway and pick up something she ordered. If only mommy could find a parking spot,” she added, more to herself or God or fate than to her daughter.

They drove in silence for a few minutes. “Did you think about it yet?”

“About what, honey?”

“The HAMSTER.”

A spot opened up ahead so she put on her turn signal as she waited for the car to get out.

“I don’t know. I think you’re allergic to them.”

“You think?” Madison didn’t remember ever hearing this before.

As she pulled up towards the spot another car jumped the medial strip and stole it from her.

“God Da-“ she started to say, then regained control of herself for Madison’s sake.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

She continued driving as Madison debated if she should ask about the hamster one more time.

This story, along with many others, all tie together in smaller, and sometimes larger ways. Feel free to read the collection by choosing “Stories of Connections” in the categories box to the right.