Doorbell

Posted on by l2smathewson

She couldn’t tell, honestly couldn’t, if it was Carl or Bernice who came to the door and asked to borrow a cup of spit. They were spirit people (not nice to say ghosts) and new to the neighborhood. She told whoever it was to come back later, maybe after dinner, and promised to work on filling a cup, but now she had her doubts. Patrick called them her “bardo buddies” dismissing the whole matter so he was no help.

What did they need it for, and borrow? “Borrow” as in bringing one back to replace the first? She didn’t want anything back, not even the cup. What could they need it for? Why can’t they use their own? Maybe spirit people don’t salivate, maybe they do. Who knows? Oh crap, just give it to them.

Say it’s a Welcome to your afterlife in our neighborhood gift. But then Bernice or Carl or whoever might feel obligated to give her something. Well, it would have to be better than a cup of spit wouldn’t it? Some unwanted swag-bag bon-voyage pre-death memento.

As long as it wasn’t alive. God knows the cat is enough to deal with.

Doug Mathewson

Catching Up

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Dear Grandfather Gerard,

I hope you don’t mind me calling you that, but it’s how we referred to you all these years. We assumed you were dead; lost in the war with so many others. Your letter was full of news, and we hunger for more. Especially about your “whole new family”.

There is much news here of course, and I promise to share more in my next letter, but business first. I must decline your offer to bequeath our family’s legendary sword on to me. Being out of touch for so long you wouldn’t know, but I have been an ordained priest in the Church of the Everlasting for a number of years. As a man of the cloth I can not accept an ancient sword that draws unholy powers from shall we say “the dark side”. A 600 year old broadsword carrying a blood curse would be truly unacceptable.

My sister Geraldine is first officer on a merchant spacecraft that travels a circuitous route through the outer mining colonies and alien worlds. She and her partner Zinnia find themselves from time to time in difficult situations. Be it a misunderstanding or an imagined slight, the potential for violence is real enough and a huge sword with glowing runes that as you describe as “a drinker of souls” could turn the tide as they say.

I spoke to Gerri and Zinni and they are just thrilled by the idea and will gladly assume the stewardship and responsibilities that come with the sword. Their address is listed below.

Till next time, In faith and prayer,

Fr. Charles Metronome

Bucket Head Zid

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Everybody loved Uncle Zid. I know I sure did. He was hilarious, always with a joke. Like in the summer when he’d drive around in his old convertible dressed like Santa, blowing the horn and waving. He’d call the radio station and in a funny voice ask what day Cinco de Mayo was on this year (and the DJ would throw the question out to the listeners!). He was serious as can be though when he’d call in and insist they play the Tuna Fish Polka during Lent. What a guy, my Uncle Zid.

Grandma GiGi says he’s got an ice cream route on Mars now. He rings his bell as he pedals along through those tunnels. She says the kids love him, and he’s making good money. But then again, could be he’s back in prison.

Doug Mathewson

Perplexed

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Perplexed

Vernon was just as surprised as anyone when he hauled off and clocked stupid Buddy right in the side of his stupid fat head. Buddy when over backwards with a crash, and Vernon busied himself picking up the bar stool and wondering what in the world to say to explain his actions (which still remained a mystery to him).

Up from the floor came a groan and Buddy’s breathless voice. “No man, no… It’s not like she says!”

Vernon was perplexed. Who’s she? he wondered.

Doug Mathewson

Name Game

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I wrote this for a contest run by 53 Press. I don’t remember much about it except it had to be 53 words exactly, and I didn’t win.

Name Game

Rockwell Rhodes hated it when his cousin Patrice called him “Rocky Road”.

She would say it in an endearing manner so he would buy her drugs.

He didn’t mind scoring dope for her, but the sense of being manipulated just

fucking annoyed him. Maybe he’d buy her ice cream, and claim he misunderstood.

Doug Mathewson

Heroes

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Heroes

With a tip of the hat to Mr. David Bowie

The People Speak:

We love our frontline workers. They are most beloved and honored coast to coast and around the world. We show our respect, and gratitude with applause, and our home made signs. We all beep our horns and we bang our pots and pans waving joyfully and shouting out our thanks.

Then they march out some expendable corporate drone in a cheap suit and he says:

“Sure, sure, we love them too, but one dime, so much as one dime of increased pay is not consistent nor compatible with our court approved current compensation
matrix”.
Which just means no, and our heroes can take it or leave it.

Doug Mathewson

Monkey Brain

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Monkey brains love puzzles, love problems to solve.
Not enough gloves? Well sure, they are disposable and so many people need them now. Face masks? Same thing. Everybody needs them, and not enough to go around. And ventilators, I don’t know about them except that we need more.
Shortages, bare shelves, no supply. All problems for my monkey brain to solve.
What finally hit me was a cousin of my wife has a daughter who is an ER nurse
in a big city, and they ran out of body bags.
That’s not a shortage, that’s an excess. An excess of bodies, an excess death, an
excess of people slipping away. Too many people dead, too many people gone.
My monkey brain does not see the solution as getting more bags.

Doug Mathewson

4/12/20

Arizona

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The bone was human. A femur. Probably a woman’s. They found it just off the trail where they were picking up the rosaries and food packets the vigilantes had trashed and discarded–the vigilantes who empty the jugs of water. Other volunteers will put up a cross for this unknown woman just where the small evidence of her existence was found.

Doug Mathewson

Separate Ways

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She took her half of the money, got a nice brownstone apartment.
Third floor rear, doorman building.
She already has the dog, so with a big puffy down coat and sunglasses almost as big, she just disappeared.
Another dog-mom in Brooklyn.

Doug Mathewson

Lake Elmo

Posted on by l2smathewson

It’d been months since we’d gotten out as a family. The last time it was when Halloween and Election Day got combined. Voting in costume was quite a sight, or “quite a fright” as cousin Dickie said when he saw all those vampires with their plastic fangs and their “I Voted” stickers. With fuel bricks for the car being in such short supply me and Dickie ride our bikes mostly, but Mama and Jupie-June need the car to get around. The Sportsman’s Club across from the lake advertised a “Fisherman’s Breakfast Special” and nobody is going to say that a bacon, egg, and cheese on a hard roll served with a bottle of imported beer isn’t worth $5. Today being opening day they had a crowd. The start of Fishing Season and Easter are combined on the same day now.
There was an egg hunt next to the lake. It was fun for the kids, once they got used to the smell. Dickie went off to get us four breakfast specials and by the time he was back I had Jupie-June and Mama all set up in lawn chairs down by the water. There’s nothing worth catching in Lake Elmo, at least nothing you can eat, but the ladies had magnets on their lines instead of bait and we casting for those electronic mud skippers. They were robot fish who’s batteries had died years ago. The ladies would take them apart with pliers and use the pieces for making jewelry. They had a stand out on the state road and sold vegetables, fire wood and crafts to the summer people. Jupie-June loved making up “Ancient Legends of the Lake” to tell the tourists.
Stories about the gods of the lake or alien visitors from space, and all these gods and visitors had faces exactly like the robot fish! Her best sales pitch story was for the earring and necklaces.
Tourist ladies could wear then with the heads pointed up as birth control, or with the
heads pointed down to promote fertility. If you wore some up and some down I don’t know what the hell would happen. For the gents Mama had come up with these two headed money clips.
She always called them “Big Money” clips, implying that having one in your pocket was bound to attract riches. Between the jewelry and the produce they made out all right.
Now the story I heard about the robot fish, maybe true and maybe not, was the government dumped them into the lake years back to destroy the underwater marijuana crop the kids planted in the muddy bottom. They’d planted the seeds hoping things would go unnoticed with all the duck weed around. I don’t know much about hydroponics, but seems like all that would do is get the frogs high (as if you could tell).
Now Dickies gone back for at least thirds on breakfast, claims sea gulls or maybe crows
stole the first couple when he wasn’t looking. Doesn’t seem real likely. I’ll believe it when the birds bring back the empties for the deposit.

Doug Mathewson