Wednesday, February 28, 2024

If you did it, you don’t want her to know. And if you didn’t, you want to prove you’re being honest about it.

 

But, if she doesn’t believe you, she may say . . .

 

 

You’re Cheating

 

“You’re cheating, aren’t you?”

she asked, with a scowl on her face.

 

“No, I’m not,” I replied.

“It’s not my place.”

 

“You’re my partner

and I trusted you.”

 

“How did I break that trust?

What did I do?”

 

“Oh, you better come clean,

Or you’ll have a price to pay.”

 

“I’m clean as a whistle.

That’s all I have to say.”

 

“I see it in your eyes.

You’re one of those unscrupulous guys.”

 

“But I didn’t do anything,

and this may come as a surprise.

 

“I’m as honest as the day is long.

I play by the book.”

 

“Just keep it up, mister.

I’m not letting you off the hook.”

 

“What am I, . . .

some kind of fish?”

 

“Keep going on like this,

and you may get your wish.”

 

“I’ve had it.

Take my hand.

 

“You’ll see I haven’t been cheating.

Then you’ll understand.”

 

She grabbed my hand,

and stared at me.

 

No sign of a run, or even a marriage,

could she see.

 

“You’re worth nothing!” she screamed,

in a way that made me shake.

 

But she was right.

I’d made a huge mistake.

 

I threw my cards on the table

And admitted I’d overbid.

 

With my cheating behind us,

I put my face in my hands and hid.

 

 

Copyright © 2024 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Saturday, February 24, 2024

When we don’t move forward in life, we wonder why. We look for someone to blame.

 

However, the answer may be closer than we want it to be. For we may be . . .

 

 

Our Own Worst Enemy

 

I’m drowning.

Please help me

find my way.

 

I need

an answer

to survive.

 

Yes, I’m listening,

but you’re not

making any sense.

 

I’m trying

hard

to understand.

 

But the picture

you’re painting

is cloudy.

 

All right,

describe it

to me again.

 

Why

can’t I

hear you?

 

Where

did you

go?

 

This isn’t

funny.

Come back.

 

What?

You never

left?

 

This

is getting

weird.

 

What

are you

implying?

 

How

is it

my fault?

 

I need

to have

a what?

 

A plan?

What kind

of plan?

 

One to help

me escape

from myself?

 

 

Copyright © 2023 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Monday, February 12, 2024

Sometimes things occur when least expected. When you’re young, this can be quite confusing.

 

You try to make sense of what’s happening. But this can be a challenge in . . .

 

 

The Oval Office

 

      Growing up is hard to do. You surmount one hurdle only to move on to the next. My name is Jason Haggerty. I grew up in a single-parent home. My mother could be quite the character. She challenged me in ways that made me think, but not always to my liking.

      However, if it were not for her, I wouldn’t be the man I am today. I’m president of Haggerty, Styles, and Lee, a successful advertising firm.

      Let me share an example of how my mother interacted with me. I was ten years old at the time and had a mind of my own. It was then that our lives collided in a very unexpected way.

      The day was cloudy, with a chance of rain. We finished breakfast and sat staring out the kitchen window. Then Mom turned towards me, and . . .

      “Jason, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

      “How should I know? I’m only ten.”

      “Come on. You must think about it sometimes.”

      “Yeah, sometimes.”

      “Well . . .”

      “I’m thinking.”

      “So, you’ve had enough time.”

      “Uh, president of the United States. That’s what I want to be.”

      “Why?”

      “I don’t know.”

      “You must have some idea as to why. It’s a big job, you realize.”

      “Mom, I gotta go.”

      “Go where?”

      “Not go. Go!”

      “Oh! Okay.”

      I left the kitchen and raced down the hall to the bathroom. I didn’t think I was going to make it, but I got lucky.

      When I exited the bathroom, Mom was standing in the hallway. “Did everything come out all right?” she asked, with grin on her face.

      “Aw, Mom, stop it!”

      That night, I lay in bed thinking about becoming president. I would be king, I thought. I’d make all the rules and have my own office. It sounded so good.

      My eyes started to close and I fell into a deep sleep. “President Haggerty,” a voice called out.

      “Huh, what do you want? I’m trying to sleep.”

      “Sleep? You’re on the job, President. So wake up!”

      “Okay, I’m awake. Now what?”

      “You’re wanted in the Oval Office.”

      “Oval what?”

      “Oh, come now, don’t play games with me.”

      “I’m not playing games. Mom doesn’t let me play games at night.”

      “You’re forty-five years old. If you want to play games, you don’t have to ask your mother.”

      “Forty-five? What?”

      “You heard me.”

      “Who are you?”

      “Your Chief of Staff. But you know that. I make things happen for you.”

      “Like what?”

      “Whatever you’d like. Just name it.”

      “Anything I want.”

      “Generally so. There might be some exceptions. I don’t want to do anything illegal.”

      “Mom doesn’t let me do anything illegal. She says I’ll get arrested if I do.”

      “No worry, presidents don’t get arrested.”

      “You mean they can do bad things and won’t get caught?”

      “For the most part, yes.”

      “What about the other part?”

      “What other part?”

      “The rest, after the most?”

      “You’re confusing me. And you’re wanted in the Oval Office. So get up and come with me.”

      “All right.”

      I began to roll out of bed. It wasn’t as easy as it used to be. I was bigger and bulkier. I took my time and stood up. “Oh, my,” I murmured. Staring back at me from the mirror on the wall was a grown man in a suit. Who is this person? I wondered.

      My Chief of . . . was gone and the door of the room was open. I looked out and saw people—lots of people moving around. They appeared to be very busy.

      I started down the hallway. A young woman smiled at me, and said, “Good morning, Mr. President.”

      “Good morning,” I whispered, and continued down the corridor.

      A tall, well-dressed, older woman looked me in the eyes. “Mr. President, I need to talk with you. It’s very important,” she stated.

      I didn’t know where the words came from or why they flowed from my mouth, but I spoke as if I knew what to say. “Senator Wells, how can I be of assistance to you?”

      “I need you to consider a very important proposal.”

      “Proposal? Are you asking me to marry you?”

      “What? Oh, no! You’re joking, aren’t you?”

      “Why, yes. I guess so. What is the proposal?”

      “Can we talk in the Oval Office?”

      “Senator Wells, I gotta go.”

      “Huh, go where?”

      “Not go. Go!”

      “Oh! Okay, Mr. President.”

      “I ran as fast as I could down the hall. Seeing the sign, “Private Men’s Room,” I entered, pulled down my pants and sat on the pot.

      Then I heard someone knocking on the door. “Go away,” I yelled. “There’s only one seat in here.”

      A woman’s voice replied, “I know.”

      “Senator Wells, just leave me alone.”

      “Senator who?”

      “Stop playing games with me. You know who.”

      “All I know is you spend more time in the 'Oval Office' than any other ten-year-old, Jason. So come out, now!"

      “All right, Mom. I’m coming,” I muttered.

      “And remember to flush.”

      This story always will be a part of me, with a small addition. “Keep all your reading material in the ‘Oval Office’ a safe distance from the pot, and don’t flush while sitting on it, for you may go down with the crap. And no president wants to do that,” Mom would say, in a way I never forgot.

 

 

Copyright © 2023 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.