Monday, August 8, 2011

thoughts on air

You can feel the air pressing against your skin.

Just a soft touch.

The fan's constantly twirling, but you still feel the air in gusts as if it were an outdoor breeze.

Your skin feels cool.

Like the feeling you get after you have a mint and you blow air from your mouth.

That tingling sensation.

You start noticing your breathing.


Somehow it feels like you could be breathing more. You could be living more. But there's something in your way.

You don't know what it is though.

Maybe the air is thicker than it should be.

Or maybe you just need to inhale more because there's less oxygen in this air.

Less oxygen in this air... as opposed to? You realize this is the only air you've ever breathed.

But you have the idea.

There's a different air you could be breathing.

One that your relatives breathed not that long ago, but you missed out on.

You wonder what your kids will breath.

The fan speeds around, chasing itself and never catching it. It kicks the old air around.

Against your skin,  you breath it in.

It's a soft touch.

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

the piano man

It was the fourth of July. It was also my friend's twenty-first birthday. Naturally, a lot of stuff happened that night, but this small moment in time stands out to me like a pin.


The girl I used to work with. She quit though, off to bigger and better things. Her name was Jenny. The guy I was friendly with, though we weren't friends. His name was Tyler.

The atmosphere was happy. It was the fourth of July and among our friends we finally established a reliable and permanent source of alcohol. Greg and Paul were setting off bottle rockets in the backyard, a few feet away from the deck where I watched their antics from a distance. My iPod was plugged into the stereo, blasting happy sounds into the night.

I was standing in a circle with half a dozen other kids. I knew some of them by reputation, some of them personally, and one kid recognized me from work. I looked around the yard to see if there was anybody else whom I could spark up a conversation with.

I noticed Jenny and Tyler then. They were sitting next to each other at the picnic table on the deck next to the stereo system. Tyler had his arm around her. I guess they've been dating for a while now. She smiled at him, but only with her mouth.

When they first arrived and I first ran into them Tyler stuck his hand out. "Jack! How the hell are ya?" I gripped his hand. A firm handshake I suppose. I gave Jenny a brief hug. "You should text me about going to Denny's sometime!" She turned to Tyler, "I still owe Jack Denny's! He bought me Denny's once."

Now they were sitting at the table. Billy Joel had come on the speakers. It's nine o clock on a Saturday. The regular crowd shuffles in. Jenny started to sing along, "There's an old man sitting next to me, making love to his tonic and gin!"

Tyler watched Jenny for a moment. Looking at her with a smile that was only on his face. As if taking a queue that this was in fact the proper and social thing to do in the situation, he began to sing along too, though I don't think he's really sure how it goes. But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete when I wore a younger man's clothes.

"Sing us a song you're the piano man! Sing us a song tonight. We're all in the mood for a melody and you've got us feeling alright!"
They looked at each other as they sung and they swayed back and forth, taking sips from their plastic cups full of mixed drinks.

Tyler sung, "He says "Bill I believe this is killing me." As a smile ran away from his face."
Jenny sung, "Well I'm sure that I could be a movie star if I could get out of this place"

I watched in amazement. (now Paul is a real estate novelist) Didn't they realize how sad it was? (who never had time for a wife) This wasn't a song meant to be sung between lovers. (and he's talking with Davy, who's still in the Navy) It's a sad song, yet they seemed happy. (and probably will be for life.) To be honest I never really thought their relationship made much sense. She was a nice girl, and Tyler always seemed a little sketchy to me. But who am I to label what should make them happy? I guess I'll let them decide that one for themselves.

Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness. But it's better than drinking alone!

Saturday, July 2, 2011

the old man and the beaver

"I wish I were a beaver," I said to the old man. He raised an eyebrow at me but did not respond. His eyes seemed to tell me to continue.

"Think about it. Nobody really does anything with their life anymore. We carry in the groceries while hauling out the trash, but in the end nothing changes. We pay our taxes and do our part so that other people can keep moving and doing their part for us. We're like a bunch of spinning gears without anything attached to the rod. What's the point?"

"And a beaver's life would have more meaning than this to you?"

"Yea," I smiled, "a beaver gets to build something. They can take a river, any old river, and build a dam. And when they build that dam they build a lake. It would be great to be a beaver. Throw a couple logs down, let the river carry driftwood into your branches, ensnaring them. I would make easy work of it. The lake would fill up with food for me, right at my doorstep. I would have a place to swim and play. Most importantly though, I would make a difference. I would create an entire new ecosystem myself. With my bare.. well. I don't know quite what to call a beaver's hands."

"Well what about new scientific breakthroughs. You have medicine we never dreamed of when I was a child. The technology is amazing. You can stand in this room and using a device you keep in your pocket, call somebody half way around the world in real time. You don't think the people who made these inventions. You don't think their life has a purpose?"

"Well... I suppose they do. But that's a lot of work. It'd be much easier to be a beaver. Besides, I'm talking about most people. Most people don't contribute anything to progress, to society."

The old man made a grunting noise and nodded slowly.

"You nod, but I don't think you agree with me."

"I don't."

"Well what about you. You worked your life at blue collar jobs. You never invented anything, cured anything, caused some great paradigm shift. What did you do with your life?"

The old man smiled, with only the smallest hint of sadness in his eyes. "Me?" he paused thoughtfully, "I lived. Isn't that something?"

Thursday, June 30, 2011

the path to all good things

here's the scene.

You're driving, your hands moist against the leather of the steering wheel. You can feel the engine's vibrations cursing through your fingertips, the roaring traveling up your leg from where your foot is gently pressing ever more downward on the gas.

Around you is only darkness and light. There is no in between. You can vaguely make out shapes to either side of you. The right, those must be mountains, but they are only an obscure black outline to you. The left, the woods, but you cannot make out individual trees; it is all one shadow.

You are traveling down a road that cuts between these two black shapes. Ahead of you, you can see a few other cars speeding along the road as well. Red lights occasionally lighting up and blinking back out. Ahead of you even further, beyond the end of where your eyes can see the road, is the ultimate darkness. A vast spread of black that is littered with specks of glowing light. The stars. They are beautiful.

Your eyes trace the path of a car, much like your own, racing along the path ahead of you. It speeds around a corner as it climbs around the side of the mountain, and disappears into the air, becoming one of the stars that litter the night sky.

Your heart beat intensifies. You can feel it pressing against your ribcage. You will soon be in the heavens. Finally, you will be in the heavens.

As you begin your curve around the edge of the mountain the lights of a city fill your view. The road does not continue it's upward ascent but instead dips downward into a bowl shaped valley. At the center there is light. Hundreds of glowing, blinking and moving lights.

These are the stars that could not make it to the sky. These are the stars that gave up on the path to all good things and instead fell. They sit there in their bowl of light, thinking that they followed the path and merely ended up here instead. You ease your foot off the gas.

Pulling over to the side of the road, you get out of your car. There is a mountain in front of you, but at the top of the mountain there is only darkness, and there is only light.

You begin your climb.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

just like my father

Break time.

"What can I get for you?"

"I'll just have a large iced caramel coffee, a grilled ranch snack wrap and a small fry please."

"You want your discount?"

"Yes please."

"Hey Sue! Can you come give Jack a discount?"

"Actually, can you punch this for a free meal for me?"


"And you forgot to punch it yesterday, could you punch it twice?"

I got a free meal card. It's good for seven free meals. I raised the most money for the Ronald mcDonald house or whatever. I guess that's cool.

I ate my food in the back. I ate my food in silence.

Throwing out my food, I walked out of the store.

Four quarters. I had four quarters. Good thing I got that free meal card. I walked to the grocery store. The scratch card machine didn't take coins here.

"Could I get a dollar for four quarters?"

"I'm sorry, I can't make change here. You can go to customer services though."

"Could I get a dollar for four quarters?"

"Ya. Here you go."

I rubbed the creases out of the dollar against my pant-leg. There was a man in front of me buying a scratch card. Lucky sevens. My mom always said seven was a lucky number. I thought loose change would be more appropriate though. I slid my dollar in after the man ahead of me had moved aside. Loose change.

You need the change in 6 spots to add up to over a dollar and you win the prize shown.

I didn't have any more coins to scratch with though. I used my fingernails, the gray dust gathering under my fingernail. Fifty cents. Good start.

But it wasn't good enough. Ninety-two cents.

Fuck that.

Is it narcissistic of me to think I deserve a break?

Friday, June 24, 2011


Me and my friend decided to go for a walk in the woods. As we neared the trees we studied the darkness that fell beneath them. We walked onwards, into the darkness, slowing our pace to a comfortable stroll. When we were completely hidden in shadows from those who still existed in the light outside of the trees, we brought some of our own light into the darkness. It sparked, and then there was glowing red.

As my friend and I continued to walk, I began to look around. The tree to my right had a face. I looked at him. You are in my woods. I could see the wind rustling the leaves of all the trees, yet it seemed to me that this one was rustling on its own. "Is it okay for me to be here?" I said this out loud. My friend glanced at me, but he was not paying that much attention to my utterances.

That is fine, my child, these are your woods too. I didn't understand. How could these woods, the trees, the moss, the leaves on the ground and the smell of flowering plants in the air be my woods too? Surely a tree, permanently rooted to a spot amongst the woods would have more claim to the land than one who is only a visitor. "These are my woods?"

"This is a park dude. This is public property, not yours." My friend responded to my question meant for the faced tree in front of me. The tree swayed his approval of my friends response.
"Public property. These are my woods."

My friend laughed, "Dude. You are so high."

Wednesday, June 22, 2011


Sorry if this writing seems sporadic, pointless, unnecessary, illogical, stupid or brilliant. Especially if you find it brilliant, because there must be something wrong with you. This is an insight into the workings of a delirious mind.


I was heading to my camp. I don't know if I'm still supposed to call it that. It was my camp when I was growing up as a child, but recently my dad moved in there and now it is his house. Should I be calling it my dad's house? Am I entitled now to call it my house?

Anyway, my sister was driving, and I was in the passenger seat. We were about two-thirds of the way there, when I saw the first of three unrelated (and yet oh-so-related) curiosities. There, on the side of the road was a deer. It was dead, crumpled into a shapeless ball on the side of the road. Yet, it seemed only to be taking a nap. We drove past it with out saying anything.

Around the next bend, there was a building. It was off the road a bit, with a few trees in front of it. On the side of the road in front of the building there was a sign. Tom's Taxodermy. The building was falling apart, to the point where it itself looked dead. I wondered what could be used to stuff it to make it look alive with marble eyes.

One more bend later and there was a billboard. Bud Light. Sure sign of a good time. I laughed, but it was sad laugh.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011


sorry I've been gone for a while, for anybody who actually cares. Actually, I take back my apology. You all smell funny anyway.


Comfort is a strange sensation.
telling you everything is ok.
you should be happy with what you've got,
there is no need
to look at the man behind the curtain
and wonder
why does he get to pull the drawstrings?

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

the end of the world

Earlier today I gave my brother a ride to some appointment in downtown. He needed to go meet with somebody to discuss getting some extra financial aid to buy art supplies or something. I don't really know, I was just giving him a ride.

I dropped him off and parked further down the road. No sense in driving all the way home if I was going to have to go pick him up in an hour or half an hour. I stole some change from the cup holder and paid the parking meter. Thirty eight minutes for eighty cents.

I decided I would walk around the streets of the city for a bit, take in the scenery. I walked around the block to a Dunkin Donuts. I bought a large caramel iced coffee. It was pretty good.

As a left, I was approached by a man. He was not quite elderly, but past middle-aged. His hair was gray and wispy. Strapped over him, was a sign. On the front it had a picture of two roads intersecting in the shape of a cross, consumed by flame. In big letters, white as innocence, it read "Heaven or Hell?"

He tried to hand me a pamphlet. "No thanks." I took a sip of my iced coffee and kept strolling, my flip-flops slapping the concrete with every step.

"You can never be too certain you know!"

I turned around, but kept walking away from him. "I'm pretty sure on this one, thanks."

"So you think."

I'll admit, my curiosity was sparked. How could he believe that the world was coming to an end? Especially if you could never be too certain. I decided to ask.

"Are you so certain that the world will end, that you are willing to stand on the corner wearing a sign handing out pamphlets?"

"Well, I'm not," he said with a grin, "but if the world does end, and we are judged before God, I am glad to have repented."

"And if I have not sinned?"

"Well then, you have nothing to worry about, but nobody lives a pure life."

I smiled, and walked away.

Monday, June 13, 2011

a good deed

"Hey dad."

I hadn't seen my dad in a while. He didn't live that far away, but we didn't have that much money, so getting there was still tough. It was about a forty minute drive.

"Hey Jack!"

We went for a walk along the canal. Idle chitchat mostly, pointing out any interesting animal I saw, discussing how he's been doing. He works at a cable factory, doing payroll or something. He was asked recently to put up a bunch of old cables that they stop making now on eBay to be sold. Instead, he decided to buy the cables all at once for himself so he could sell them for a profit later. I don't think he'll actually make any money doing this.

"See that girl?" he said to me. A plump woman just walked by us, with a fluffy white dog trotting ahead of her.

"Yea? what about her?"

"I saved her. But now she doesn't even say hello when I walk by."

"You saved her?"

"Well, her got locked out of her car up ahead over here a couple weeks ago. She asked me if I could help her, so I walked home and got a coat hanger and helped her jimmy her door open."

"That was nice of you."

"Yea, but she still doesn't say hello. She was nice when she needed something, but not now. Now I'm just some old guy who happens to walk on the same path as her. I'm nobody. It's like what I did doesn't even matter."

"But dad, you didn't say hi to her either."

Sunday, June 12, 2011


Last night I slept over at a friends house. I woke up this morning to the sound of the rain slamming against the stones in the back yard. I looked to my left to see another one of my friends lying face down on the floor. I snickered.

I put my shoes on, grabbed my backpack and headed for the door. I set my backpack down to the right of the door and went outside. There was an awning protecting me from the rain just outside the door, but beyond that I would be unprotected. I started jogging.

I had parked my car just down the street; the drive way was already full when I showed up. I got in my car and started it. I adjusted my mirrors, and turned my music it on. Have I told ya, have I told ya? You could really get it on yea you could really get it on.

I drove my car to his place again, ran inside and grabbed my backpack, and then left. Driving, the road was wet. You could see the mist being kicked up from your tires, creating clouds of fog in the air behind you. My windshield wipers were at the highest setting, water being flicked off either side of the window. My elbow rested on the console, but kept slipping off. I guess I was still tired.

When I got home, there was a red car in my drive way. It was slightly rusted. I pulled my car up and parked next to it. I got out and walked by it as I walked around the front of my car. It must be one of my sister's friends. They had fast food garbage in the front seat.

I went inside and took my shoes off. I walked down the hall to the kitchen, but wait. We have a mirror hanging on the wall there. I walked by it, but my reflection didn't. I stopped. Turning around, I faced the mirror. My reflection was there, staring back at me. I looked into my eyes, there was something peculiar there. I waved. Four seconds later, my reflection waved back.

Saturday, June 11, 2011

a short story

So today I wrote a short story. It was about this guy who had the amazing ability to go back and forth through time, changing whatever he pleased. He did this for a while, generally living a linear life but going back and changing things occasionally, whenever he made a mistake or didn't like something. He worked hard to create his perfect little world, and the work was paying off. After a while it seemed like the world he had created was wonderful, so he stopped going back and forth through time and just sort of went along with the grove of it. After a while, things started going poorly for my protagonist, and he didn't like how things were turning out. He ended up committing suicide because of it. After I wrote this part, I decided I didn't like how my story had turned out, so I threw it away.

Friday, June 10, 2011

introducing maggie the cow

This is the first part of the story of Maggie the cow. Hope you like it.


We lived in an old refurbished farm house when I first met Maggie. The farm a ways down the road had lit up in a blaze that could be seen for miles around. The old man who lived there and his wife ended up staying with some relatives down in the city while it was rebuilt. They gave the majority of their animals to the care of another farmer who lived not too far away, but left one dairy cow with us to keep safe. Her name was Maggie.

We kept Maggie in the garage, which had been a small horse stable before the farm was refurbished. I remember that night; my dad came into my room and asked me if I would like to meet Maggie. I giggled, "Sure, daddy!"

My father took me by my hand. My other one was occupied by the arm of a teddy bear named Berry. Berry had on a stars and moon nightcap and his nose was slightly twisted from the mouth of my dog, Boo. We crept down the stairs to the garage and went inside.

"This is Maggie."

Before me was a strange creature. It was taller than me, but only by a few inches. It had a funny brown tuff of hair on its head that was longer than the hair, that covered its body everywhere else. She stood awkwardly, as if her legs did not have enough muscle to completely support her; she swayed slightly to the side.

"Hello, Maggie!"

My father put pressure on my back with his hand, not pushing me but slightly urging me towards the cow. I took a step forward. Suddenly I fell back. The cow had licked my face. I turned, horror-struck to my dad. I don't think I've ever seen him sport a bigger grin.

"Maggie licked me!"

"She likes you!"

Thursday, June 9, 2011

the girl with the red hair

A beep came over my headset.

Hello, can I take your order please?
Hi, how are you?

I didn’t respond. She wasn’t really asking me. That’s just what people say instinctively, and then they follow it up by going directly into their order. There was a pause; she wasn’t saying anything. Three seconds.

I’m good, how are you? And what can I get for you today?
Good. Could I get an iced latte?
Would you like a flavor for that?
Caramel please.”
Can I get anything else for you?
Silence. I feel like this is the typical response by most people. They are done with their order so they lose interest in the order. They don’t have enough motivation to bother saying something. I don’t like this though. Sometimes I like to pretend that everybody just nods when I get to that part. I’m sure some people do that, quite frequently actually. But her silence wasn’t permanent.

Yea, that will be all, thank you!
three-oh-one to your first window please.

When she got to my window she was all smiles. I opened my window to the ninety plus degree weather, and smiled back.

three-oh-one please.

She handed me the money. She had short red hair. It was the shade of red that girls in high school would try to dye their hair when they felt like being pretty; but I think it was natural. It was pretty.
I counted out her change and opened my window again to hand it to her. I think I was humming an ABBA song. Money money money had been stuck in my head all day.

Seven dollars is your change. Have a great day!
Thanks! Hey, sorry…” I was in the process of quickly sliding the drive-thru window shut again, returning to taking the next car’s order. My hand pressed against the glass and stopped it from closing.
Yea? What can I do for you?
What’s your name?
It’s Jack.
Thanks Jake, you said Jake right?” She seemed flustered. She started looking around her car for something.
No, Jack. I’m Jack.” I smiled at her. Her eyes seemed to move under her glasses.

A beep came over my headset.

Hello, can I take your order please?
Yea, can I get three cheeseburgers, a large coke…

I turned and started hitting the correct buttons on my monitor. It only took about eight seconds; they knew exactly what they wanted, and did not waste anytime with idle chitchat.
Looking back out the window, the girl with the red hair was gone.

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

alarm clocks & babies

I meant to post this this morning, but I woke up late for work so I was in a hurry. Hope you like.


I hate alarm clocks. Not because of the way they always seem to go off at the good part of the dream, but because of that damn snooze button. Some evil corporation called Wesclox decided that it would be a great idea to add the button in 1959 to their clocks. I suppose, after all, the purpose of an evil corporation is to make money and they do this by providing the people with what they want, and who wants to get out of bed in the morning? Nobody does; mornings are meant for squirming around in bed wishing you had just set your alarm clock for nine instead of getting up and hitting snooze every five minutes for the last half an hour. I could force myself to actually get up and out of bed at eight-thirty if I really wanted to, but surely the benefits of that extra half an hour of being in that half-sleep-half-awake state outweigh the costs of skipping breakfast and showering at night instead.
Crying. Now that’s a way to wake up. I should amend that statement. Getting hit in the face with a pillow by your significant other who’s tired of dealing with the baby; now that’s a way to wake up. With a baby crying in the next room you’re sort of forced to go resolve whatever issue is perplexing your child before you’re allowed to move on to the next task, which is frequently going back to sleep because baby’s don’t work like alarm clocks in the sense that you get to choose when they go off, but they do however seem to be programmed to go off every five minutes. I had an idea about how to go about fixing my alarm clock/baby issues, but it quickly got shot down by the mother of the child. I figured I could just put my alarm clock in the baby’s room, and then when the clock went off, the baby would naturally start crying (since that is a baby’s response to every and any stimuli) and I would be forced to get up and take care of it. When I was done attending to the baby, which hopefully would just be a matter of turning the alarm clock off and cooing the baby a bit, I could get ready for the day and be on with it. I don’t know why she didn’t like this idea.
Today is a Wednesday. Wednesdays suck. Which is a very arbitrary thing to say, because really a day is a day and the only reason it’s a Wednesday is because everyone agrees that it is a Wednesday. I could completely reject the modern day notion of a ‘week’ and say everything runs on a three-day system, but that wouldn’t be very effective for interacting with everybody else. Really, it’s everybody else’s fault that today is a Wednesday, and thus it’s everybody else’s fault that today sucks.
Hump day they call it. It’s the middle of the week, and if you can just make it over this hump you’re coasting to the weekend. Well that’s kind of bullshit, because all my important stuff is due on Friday, which naturally means I’ll be doing all my work on Thursday. Wednesdays are boring because I’ve lost the motivation I had at the beginning of the week derived from simply having the energy to have motivation from not working on the weekend, but it’s not quite far enough into the week where I garnish some motivation to do work simply because I need to get the work done or face repercussions. Thus Wednesdays are boring and I will not get any work done today. Still, because my alarm clock is going off for the fourth time and I can sense that my significant other is about to hit me in the face with a pillow because our son has been crying for at least ten minutes I should probably get up and go to work anyway.
“G’morning, honey.”

Monday, June 6, 2011


The first feeling I remember is innocence, but the very acknowledgement of that means I was losing some of it that day. I was barely able to walk at this point, but I was running around all the time. I grabbed a crumpled up piece of paper, or maybe tissue out of the garbage can and ran into the next room. I can vaguely recall that my brother was getting annoyed with me. He kept telling me to put it back in the garbage. In my bliss however, I had other plans for this piece of garbage.

In the next room there was a wall. Nothing too special about the wall except that it had a hole about two feet off the floor in it. I really can’t remember why there was a hole there, but somebody had knocked a hole through the plaster at some point. I giggled and frolicked over to the hole, gently shoving the paper into the hole. My brother would come over and glare down at me; I would laugh. He would take the paper out of the hole, and throw it away again. I would keep getting it anyway.

After being scolded by my brother and my mom about this annoyance I stopped. I left the paper in the garbage, realizing that I shouldn’t be doing it. I didn’t know why I shouldn’t be doing it, but it seemed to annoy my brother and mom for some reason. Later, when they weren’t paying attention, I stuck the paper back in the hole, and I don’t know why.

Sunday, June 5, 2011

dream of a cat

So I had a dream a few nights ago.


I was a cat. Much like the cat I have in my waking life, I was orange and seeking adventure. I crept outside while my human counterparts were holding the door for some reason or another. Outside, I was free.

I ran around and frolicked for a while. Grass was fun to chew on, though I didn't really understand why. Eventually, as I was running around, I saw a mouse. He was tiny and cute. I Thought to myself, he would be fun to play with!

"Hey mouse! Wanna come play!" The mouse just stared at me blankly for a second, and then turned around and skittered away. I don't think mice could speak in this dream of mine, because they were merely animals whereas cats were somehow more. I didn't care though, we didn't need to talk to have fun, so I ran after him. "Wait up!"

My feline self thought back to my childhood. My momma cat would always come up to me and grab me by the scruff of my neck. She would carry me around like this. I couldn't remember it hurting at all; actually, it was kind of fun. It was like a free ride. I bet my new mouse friend would like a free ride!

I chased after the mouse and it wasn't long until I had him pinned down. "Come on," I purred, "I'll take you to my place!" I swiftly ducked my head down and grabbed him by his neck. He didn't seem to like it at first, but he slowly stopped struggling and became relaxed; limp and relaxed.

When we got home, I let him out of my vice. "We're home!" I looked down and saw the mouse.

Oh no. My friend...

an exercise of the mind

I was having trouble falling asleep one night last semester, or maybe I was just procrastinating doing my work, but I ended up writing this short piece:


I wasn’t quite asleep, but I was riding the tide. Whenever a wave came I was pushed slightly more towards the light, before being dragged back, deeper into the current, into the depths of the ocean of sleep. Every time the current grabbed hold of me, however, something stopped me from going under. I knew that there would be warmer water under the surface, that the top had grown chilled, but I could not break the surface. I would not fall asleep. The logical explanation for this was that there was a dinosaur on my dresser. Every time I came close to embracing the warmth that was this unreachable sleep, I was startled awake, dazed. I think that this dinosaur, maybe it was a pterodactyl, was trying to be helpful but it was a bit confused. It did not seem to realize that I was trying to sleep, and that it was disturbing my sleep, and that I wanted it to stop. “Dinosaur,” I said, “won’t you stop?” But it did not heed my pleas. To be fair, this might have been because of a language barrier, I do not know how to speak pterodactyl, and though I am pretty good at roaring like a tyrannosaurus-rex, I only know a few words and I’m not sure the pterodactyl would’ve comprehended those anyway. It may also be because I was half asleep and talking into my pillow.

The dinosaur just sat there on my dresser. Perfectly perpendicular to it, but with his beak angled slightly upwards. He seemed almost pretentious, but I knew he was not. He was simply watching. First he would look to the left, towards my roommate’s closet. After he was assured that no monsters were lurking there, his glance slowly oscillated around the room. He looked always at the same height though, which seemed strange because how could he then check underneath our beds? I figured he most not realize that that is an excellent hiding spot for a monster seeking to eat me in my sleep. Still, his gaze seemed to be protective. He surveyed the room from left to the right, and right to left, repetitively, insuring that nothing was amiss.

When his glance reached me, after he had scrutinized the rest of the room, I could feel his breath. I wasn’t sure if he was actually blowing on me, trying to cool me down, or if he thought he was a dragon, and was simply failing to produce any pyrotechnical performance. Regardless, it was appreciated. My back, which I had been laying on, was getting hot on the sheet, and the breeze cooled it nicely as I turned on my side, facing away from the dinosaur on my dresser. “I’m not turning away from you Dinosaur,” I said, “it is just more comfortable this way.” He didn’t seem to mind.

As I closed my eyes, my imagination took hold of me once again. I was lying on the beach, with the tide slowly rising around me. As it receded I could feel myself drifting. I was going out to sea again. As the current pulled me down, I was flung upwards. There it was again, like the sharp screech of a bird being attacked. How could I fall asleep something making such a noise? But I knew it was not a bird; no, this noise was a pterodactyl. “Dinosaur,” I said, opening my eyes slightly, “could you please stop making those noises?” It sounded like a fan that at the end of each oscillation was grinding into the outlet on the wall behind it. I closed my eyes again, but each time the waves came, so did the noise, and the sound would overcome the mighty power of the ocean and I would wake from my half-sleep.
I got up and moved the fan two inches away from the wall.
“Thanks,” he said.