Treasure what you have on earth. Care for those you love.

 

One disastrous incident can ruin the future, as you travel down . . .

 

 

Heaven’s Highway

 

     My parents died two years ago in a car crash on Audubon Parkway. They were both ninety years old and Mom had dementia. No other cars were present and there were no witnesses. The police called it an accident.    

     Our family fell apart that night. I was a mental wreck. I couldn’t focus on my job. At sixty-seven, I thought it was time to retire, but I was single and alone. I became estranged from the family. I haven’t spoken to my brother, John, since the funeral. He blamed me, as the oldest sibling, for not insisting that our father stop driving. My sister, Cara, sixty-one, couldn’t handle the stress and suffers from severe PTSD. She’s shut everybody out of her life.

     I had to do something to reconnect, so I picked up the phone and called John. Although John is my younger brother by two years, he is stronger and had been the glue that held the family together. The phone rang twice, and then . . .

     “Hello.”

     “John, it’s me Julian.”

     “Julian? Julian who?”

     “Your brother, John.”

     “Brother? I don’t have a brother.”

     “John, I know we haven’t been in touch for almost two years, but I’m still your brother.”

     “I don’t know who the hell you are. Why are you bothering me? I’m hanging up.”

     “John, don’t do that. We need to talk. John . . .”

     The phone went dead. What the crap, I thought. Maybe I had the wrong number. John wouldn’t act that way. We were close before the accident—talked at least once a week. So I dialed his number again.

     The phone kept ringing and then a recorded message blew me away. “You’ve reached the castle of John Kingston. His Royal Highness is not available. As a subservient being, pray for his attention, and leave your phone number and request for his consideration.”

     I was speechless. Had John lost his mind? I hung up the phone and stood staring off into space with my mouth hanging open.

     Three days went by and I felt miserable. Do I dare try to call John again? I wondered.

     I believed I had to, so I dialed his number. Nobody answered. I started to hang up, when I heard . . .

     “You have reached the Kingston’s Diner takeout message line. We are happy to serve you. Please leave your name and phone number and we will contact you shortly to take your order.”

     I didn’t know how to respond. This phone message was more confusing than the first one, since John closed the diner just after our parents’ death. I held my head in my hands and tears flowed from my eyes. Was not stopping my father from driving something John would never forgive me for? I pondered.

     I needed to talk to him to make this right. But how could I do this, if he continued to avoid my calls? My life was a mess and I couldn’t straighten it out alone. Another week passed and I mustered up the courage to make one more call. If it wasn’t successful, I had no idea what I’d do next.

     The phone rang and rang and rang. I was about to hang up, and then I heard a click and . . . “This call has been forwarded to the Friendly Acres Mortuary. We are sad to tell you that the party you are trying to reach has passed away. Please accept our condolences.”

     The phone fell out of my hand onto the floor. Oh, my God! My brother, John, is dead. But when did he die? And how? The only way I was going to find out was to call the mortuary, so I went online and looked up the number and punched it in. It rang twice and . . .

     “Friendly Acres Mortuary, how can I help you?”

     “My name is Julian Kingston and I’m trying to find out how my brother John died.”

     “Please hold for a minute, while I transfer you to the Funeral Director.”

     “Okay.”

     “This is Martin Caldwell. How can I be of service?”

     “My name is Julian Kingston. My brother John passed away and I’d like to know the cause of death.”

     “Uh, Mr. Kingston, I’m afraid you’ll have to contact the police for that information.”

     “The police?”

     “Yes, the police. I’m not able to tell you anything more about his death.”

     “All right. Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Caldwell. Goodbye.”

     Puzzled and unnerved by not being able to get the answers I needed, I went back online and got the phone number for the police department. I dialed it and a robust voice answered,” Willow Oaks Police Department, Sargent Kane speaking. How can I help you?”

     “This is Julian Kingston. I’m trying to find out about the death of my brother, John. Can you help me?”

     “John Kingston doesn’t have a brother. Just a sister.”

     “Who told you that?”

     “His sister.”

     “What’s her name?”

     “Hold on for a minute and I’ll pull up the report.”

     I shook my head. This can’t be happening, I thought.

     “You still there.”

     “Yes.”

     “Her name is Cara Remington. And the report indicates that she was his only sibling.”

     I knew I wouldn’t accomplish anything if I continued asking questions, so I said, “Thank you for your time, Sargent Kane,” and hung up.

     I was wiped out. My eyes were burning and my eyelids drooping. I looked in the mirror to see what was happening to me and . . . saw nothing. I wasn’t there. I gasped and looked again. This time, I couldn’t believe what I saw—Cara smiling. What came out of her mouth blew me away.        

     “That was some car ride you took us on, Julian.”

     “Car ride? When? Us?”

     “Two years ago. The whole family was in the car. And you were driving.”

     “No way!”

     “Oh, yes. Dad was sitting next to you in his SUV. Mom sat in the back, with John and me. You seemed distracted. By what, I didn’t know. When you turned onto Audubon Parkway, you lost control of the car and plowed into a huge oak tree. . . .  We all died.”

     “That can’t be. I’m still alive.”

     “Look in the mirror again.”

     “I don’t want to. John’s avoided me for the past two years and now he’s dead. And you disappeared from my life after our parents died.”

     “That’s what you want to believe. But look in the mirror.”

     I gave in and looked. To my surprise, our family was in Mom and Dad’s SUV, and I was driving, with Dad sitting next to me. Mom, John, and Cara sat in the backseat. Dressed in white, with halos adorning our heads, we glowed, while "Heaven’s Highway" played on the radio.

     John chuckled and said, “I did what you wanted me to do, big brother. I kept the family together.”

    

 

Copyright © 2022 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Darkness can be frightening. We seek the light and a path to a brighter future.

 

However, the road may not take us in the desired direction, and we 

find ourselves back in . . .

 

A Troubled Town

A Triple Triolet

 

The bright sunlight of a new day gave the troubled town hope.
It illuminated the colorful leaves of the tall trees to everyone’s delight.
If this portended the future, all the townspeople felt they could cope.
The bright sunlight of a new day gave the troubled town hope.
It seemed almost magical—unlimited in scope.
A rainbow of fall colors was a wonderful sight.
The bright sunlight of a new day gave the troubled town hope.

It illuminated the colorful leaves of the tall trees to everyone’s delight.

The fears of the past began to fade with the sun’s light.

Doors opened and people chanced to walk the street.

Some smiled, others danced, with expectations that all was now right.

The fears of the past began to fade with the sun’s light.

Children ran with enthusiasm, rode bikes, and one even flew a kite.

Neighbors dreamed of what came next and whom they’d meet.

The fears of the past began to fade with the sun’s light.

Doors opened and people chanced to walk the street.

 

A paradise sought may not be what was found.

An eerie darkness fell upon the town that night.

People retreated into their homes without making a sound.  

A paradise sought may not be what was found.

Doors closed, streets became quiet and dark—not a soul was around.

Troubled again, not knowing what to do, people shook in fright.

A paradise sought may not be what was found.

An eerie darkness fell upon the town that night.

 

 

Copyright © 2022 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Is there an error in life you made that you deeply regret? Do you wonder if there is something you can do to make it right?

 

You know you have to give it a try. You sit gazing off into space thinking about . . .

 

 

The Mistake I Made

A Double Triolet

 

I had no idea what would work, but I needed to try.

She was the love of my life and I had to correct the mistake I made.

I struggled to piece the puzzle together, but failing, I began to cry.

I had no idea what would work, but I needed to try.

I screamed out for help, but there was no reply.

I bowed my head in shame, for I left when I should’ve stayed.

I had no idea what would work, but I needed to try.

She was the love of my life and I had to correct the mistake I made.

 

My world was in shambles and there seemed to be nothing I could do.

She gave me a chance to repent for my sins, but I flunked the test.

I turned my back and walked away, as I didn’t have a clue.

My world was in shambles and there seemed to be nothing I could do.

I prayed for a second chance to find a possible breakthrough.

But no matter what action I chose to take, she wasn’t impressed.

My world was in shambles and there seemed to be nothing I could do.

She gave me a chance to repent for my sins, but I flunked the test.

 

 

Copyright © 2022 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Do you know what to do to succeed in life? Do you need help in finding your way?

 

You may have to find someone willing to assist you. When you do, this person may tell you that you will have to . . .

 

 

Answer My Questions

 

Confused about where my life was headed,

     I sat, looking off into space, on my therapist’s couch.

I’d been seeing him for almost four months,

     and he considered me an absolute grouch.

 

He had trouble understanding why I acted as I did

     and wanted to help me find the reason why.

So he said he would ask me five questions

     to get to the bottom of the matter,

     and hoped I’d give the process a try.

 

The first question, “Who is the most important person

     in your life?” made me quiver and rattled my brain.

I looked at him with a puzzled expression on my face

     and muttered, “This is hard for me to address,

     please let me explain.”

 

Not accepting my hesitancy, he stated,

     “We must move on, but if we have time,

     we can come back to this one later today.”

The second question, “What do you see yourself

     doing ten years from now?” left me bewildered,

     so I said, “I’m not sure what to say.”

 

He looked at me with a weird expression on his face

     and groaned, “You’ve got to make an effort

     to make this work, and I wish you would.”

Before I could respond, he presented the third question,

     “What don’t I know about you that I should?”

 

I stared at him in disbelief and replied,

     “I have nothing at all to hide or, for that matter, to tell.”

“Since you seem to be reluctant to share

     your most personal thoughts with me,

     I don’t think our session is going well.

 

“If I can’t get you to work with me, I might have to resort

     to another technique called hypnotherapy

     and, in that way, delve into your mind.

“But first let us attempt to address another question,

     ‘What would you do if you ruled the world?’

     and through your response see what we find.”

 

“I would be a king,” I yelled, in my strongest voice,

     "and make all the decisions for those under my rule.”

This proclamation appeared to upend him

     in a way I couldn’t have predicted, and he shouted,

     “This session is over! You’re behaving like a fool.”

 

Well, we never did get to his fifth question,

     as I frustrated him to no end, and he became irate.

I thought about trying to calm him down

     by scheduling a follow-up appointment,                       

     but the glare in his eyes made me hesitate.

 

So I got up from the couch and headed for the door,

     without saying a word.

Not knowing I could hear him, he mumbled,

     “Choosing this profession was utterly absurd.”

 

 

Copyright © 2022 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

When you perform on life’s stage, what would you like your audience to see?

 

Do you want to hide your inner self? This may be the case in . . .

 

 

A Secret I’ve Kept To Myself

 

     “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Please take your seats, so we can begin tonight’s program.”

     The little theater, decorated with golden light fixtures and black and gold carpeting, served as the centerpiece of the gated community of Ocean Crest, a comfortable setting for about one hundred and fifty people. Looking out into the audience, I could see only three or four empty seats.

     “Nice crowd,” I mumbled to myself, as I prepared to address the audience. “My name is Dr. Adrian Fontaine. I’m a psychotherapist in our city of Ocean Beach. My office is located about four miles from Ocean Crest. I received an invitation about six months ago to make a presentation here this evening.

     “I’m familiar with Ocean Crest, as I’ve had the opportunity to attend functions held in your community, but none of you or your fellow residents are or have been my patients. My patients, although living in our city by the sea, tend to be a bit different from the conservative mainstream. They are more artsy-craftsy types of people—artisans who sell their wares at our weekly open markets, but are not involved in other city activities.

     “My therapy sessions are different than what you might think. They are not the run-of-the-mill talk sessions with which you might be familiar. My patients have both a fear of expressing themselves in public and, at the same time, a deep-seated desire to do so. In preparing for tonight’s forum, I wanted to share with you how both these conflicting feelings can be addressed.

     “One of the techniques I employ to do this is called role-playing. Can anyone tell me what role-playing is all about? Yes, the lady in the third row.”

     “I think it’s about acting.”

     “Can you be more specific?”

     “Well, I think two or more people become characters in a scene . . . like from a play. They interact with each other in a make-believe world.”

     “Yes, that’s pretty much correct. To understand each other’s feelings, they may play parts to express these emotions. Sometimes they become each other. At other times, they play roles in which they infuse the characters they are playing with their own personalities. In doing this, it may make it easier for them to communicate their feelings.”

     “May I ask a question, Dr. Fontaine?” a woman in the fifth row called out.

     “Please do.”

     “Isn’t it like dressing up in a costume for a Halloween party? When you hide behind a mask, you feel freer to say things you might not be able to say when you’re not in costume.”

     “That’s correct—a very accurate analogy.” I scanned the group. Lots of people were shaking their heads in agreement. It looked like they were with me, so I asked, “Would you like to role-play this evening? Let me see by a show of hands.”

     Hands shot up throughout the audience. They seemed ecstatic over the idea. I’d worried they wouldn’t want to do this. My only experiences with role-playing in the past had been in the group and couples therapy sessions I conducted at my office or in the classes I taught at the local community college. I’d never tried it in an open setting, where I didn’t know any of the participants. This was going to be interesting.

     “Since you’ve indicated you would like to try to role-play, let’s take a stab at it. I need two volunteers.”

     Many people raised their hands. For some reason I couldn’t explain, I selected two men, who appeared to be very different—one seated in the second row and the other in the sixth. Both seemed to have come alone.

     As the men walked down the aisle to join me on stage, I spoke to the eager gathering awaiting the performance. “I want to assure you I’m not acquainted with either of these men and they know nothing about what they will be participating in this evening.”

     The men climbed the stairs to the stage and stood next to me. I asked them to move to the front and stand before one of two microphones, which had been set up for the presentation. The audience quieted down and sat in silence, awaiting the scenario I would paint in which the two volunteers would engage.

     So I began. “Gentlemen, I would like each of you to affirm to the audience that you do not know the other participant.”

     Both blurted out in unison, “I don’t know him.”

     “Now, I’d like you to introduce yourself to the audience. Please state your name and occupation, so it is clear you’re not professional actors or, heaven help us, therapists. I motioned to the man on the right to begin.

      “My name is Michael Diamond. I’m a ‘diamond in the rough,’” he chuckled.

     To his dismay, the audience didn’t react to his attempt at making a joke. They just sat and stared at him.

     He continued. “I guess it’s obvious I’m not a stand-up comic. I am, however, a jeweler.”

     At this, the audience burst into laughter. It appeared they thought this had to be a set-up—a guy named Diamond being a jeweler sounded like the perfect punch line. However, he assured them he was a jeweler and this time he hadn’t tried to make a joke.

     The audience settled down and the second man began to speak. “My name is David Michael.”

     This sent grumbling through those gathered and a woman yelled out, “Yeah, this has to be a trick—a sham. Michael Diamond and David Michael—both with Michael as one of their names and with the same initials, but reversed. We’re being conned.”

     Before I had a chance to regain control of the group, David stammered, “This is my real name and I have no idea who this other guy is . . . and I’m a hospital librarian.”      

     Sensing his truthfulness, the audience relaxed, and I resumed. “Let me outline the scenario for our role-play. The two characters in the play are Sam and Justin. Michael, I’d like you to portray Sam. Sam is strait-laced, prim, and proper. Although caring, he might be a bit snooty. You will open our role-play sketch. Does this sound okay to you?”

     “It sounds great. I think I can have some fun with it.”

     “David, I’d like you to take on the role of Justin. Justin isn’t a mainstream type. He’s a little different and travels down his own path. He has fears about being accepted. This is all I’m going to tell you. The rest is up to you. Do you think you can handle this?”

     “Uh, yes, I think so.”

     “Okay, I’m going to give the two of you ten minutes to discuss with each other where your encounter will take place and how you might present your characters, as they interact with one another. After your discussion, we will begin.”

     Ten minutes went fast. Then, Michael, as Sam, and David, as Justin, again stood at their mics and Michael began.

     “Justin, you have to leave the closet sometime,” Sam stated.

     Closet? I had no idea where this was going. However, Justin had no trouble responding.

     “But Sam, I’m really frightened. It’s safe in the closet. I don’t want to come out.”

     “Justin, you have to. There’s so much more to life. You can’t hang in here and let your fears get the best of you.”

     “But it’s scary, Sam. I’m afraid of how people will act and what they will say when they see me.”

     “Oh, you’re being silly. Don’t be such a wimp. They’ll love how you look and what you are. You’ll see what I’m saying is true.”

     “But I’m different, Sam. I behave in a way that’s unique. I’m not like you or even others of my kind.”

     “Different is good. Your wonderful qualities will shine. That’s what you’ll discover.”

     “That’s easy for you to say. Your straight-laced, pressed, and people get what they expect. Me, I’m somewhat odd.”

     “Justin, you’re making a mountain out of a molehill. You’re intimate, warm, and quite appealing when you cozy up to your man. Your actions will make him feel good and protected from life’s cold ways. You’re very important in the Lord’s grand plan.”

     “That’s nice to hear, Sam, but I’m still quite uncomfortable. I want to hang in here and keep my distance from the world. Why can’t I be left alone?”

     “Justin, it’s not your call to make. When he comes for you, you have to suck it up and go with him.”

     “Gee, Sam, you’re making me quite uptight. I’m scared of the strange outside world. I’ve been in here a long time. I wouldn’t know how to handle myself out there. Oh my, I hear a plodding, rumbling sound. I think someone’s coming down the hall.”

     “Don’t worry, Justin, you needn’t fear. You know very well he’ll pick me first.”

     “I know, I know. You’re the fancy pinstriped suit that helps him dress to the nines. I’m a thick, loosely woven wool tie. Some say I’m part scarf and can be wound around the neck for warmth. Most of the time, I just hang there. But I’m also prone to swing and sway back and forth. I really don’t know why. Oh my, he’s tugging me off the rack. He bought me over a year ago, but has never worn me. I’d hoped he’d forgotten about me.

     “Okay! Okay! I’m coming out of the closet. I’ll do what you want me to do. I have only one thing to ask in return. Please, oh please, treat me with respect.”

     Michael and David bowed to the audience. In return, they received a hearty round of applause. Some people were laughing, but others weren’t. They had stunned expressions on their faces. I couldn’t help but think, Was this a fictitious story about clothing, or . . . ‘A Secret I’ve Kept To Myself’?

 

 

Copyright © 2022 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Love is complicated. We ask many questions.

 

We don’t always get the answers we want, and are often left with . . .

 

 

An Unanswered Question

A Triolet

 

“Do you love me?” she inquired.

She quivered and frowned.

They’d been together a long time—now both retired.

“Do you love me?” she inquired.

He has too, she thought, as their marriage license hadn’t expired.

She just wanted him to say it, but would he ever come around?

“Do you love me?” she inquired.

She quivered and frowned.

 

 

Copyright © 2022 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

I’m not who I wanted to be? I haven’t accomplished what I wanted to?

 

I’ve stumbled down life’s path. And yes, I need to rethink . . .

 

 

Finding My Way

A Triolet

 

If I could do it all over again,

I’d choose a different road to follow.

I’d make the right decisions then,

If I could do it all over again.

In my heart, I would know when—

In self-pity I would not wallow.

If I could do it all over again,

I’d choose a different road to follow.

 

 

Copyright © 2022 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

What will our future look like with self-driving cars? Will they eliminate personal car ownership?

 

Will we be caused to travel by Uber-like ride hailing services? Will an autonomous vehicle tell us what to do? Therefore . . .  

 

 

If You Listen To It, Do It Carfully

A Narrative Poem

 

I sat in the Nissan dealership waiting for my car to be serviced. I became bored and restless, so I perused the showroom area and saw a Nissan Kicks, a car I hadn’t seen before. I ambled over to it and grabbed the door handle on the driver’s side. Hey, don’t touch me, a low, harsh voice commanded.

 

I spun around to see who’d said that to me, but nobody was there. I decided to continue exploring the vehicle. Walking toward the rear of this small SUV, I reached down and began to open the hatch when I heard . . . How would you like it if I touched your butt, mister?       

 

Startled, I looked behind me, but didn’t see anybody. I focused my attention back on the car. I decided to check under the hood. As I opened it, I was taken aback by . . . What gives you the right to poke around in my mouth? Are you an oral surgeon? Why aren’t you wearing gloves? Are your hands sterile?

 

Not believing any of this was real, and feeling the presence of someone lurking behind me, I turned around to look. What I saw was a little guy, no more than five-feet tall, standing there, staring at me. “Nice game you’re playing. Throwing your voice into that SUV, so I’d think it was speaking to me,” I said.

 

“What’re you talkin’ about? I didn’t throw nothin’ into nothin’,” he replied.

 

Bewildered, I stood motionless. Then bellowing laughter erupted behind me. Shocked, I pivoted to assess the situation. It was coming from the open hood of the Kicks. Confused and frightened, I headed toward the door. Maybe I’d better get out of here. Wait outside for my car to be finished. 

 

As I made my way to the exit, someone called out to me, “Hey, fella, I think you dropped something.” I turned back to look and just stood there with my mouth wide open.

 

A sign I hadn’t seen before, in large, bold letters, read, “THIS CAR OF THE FUTURE WILL DRIVE YOU CRAZY, IF YOU LISTEN TO IT.”

 

 

Copyright © 2019 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

I wanted to get to know her, but didn’t know how to do it. Instead I kept my distance.

 

Then an opportunity arose, but should I take the chance to engage . . .

 

 

The Strangest Girl I Ever Knew

 

She never gave me a chance.
She went to prom on her own.
But she turned every boy down, when asked to dance.
She just stared into space, as she stood in the corner alone.

I was there, came by myself, as prom was something I didn’t want to miss.

As weird as she was, I wanted to get to know her better.
I wondered if she’d ever gotten a kiss.
And did she reject me, because I didn’t wear a letterman sweater?

However, we never got to talk that night.
And I never saw her smile.
She walked back and forth, moving from her left to her right.
Was she lost, or was this just her style?

Then, as the music played, she began to sway in a mysterious way.
I wanted to approach her, but didn’t think I should.

She seemed to be in her own world, so far and away.
I didn’t know if anybody could.

I hoped she didn’t see me looking in her direction.
I wondered how she’d act if she had.
In a place of her own, there was no way to make a connection.

Her appearing to be in nowhere land made me sad.

I wanted to clutch her hand—
Save her from the craziness she exhibited.

But I knew, she wouldn't understand.
And I was far too inhibited.

Then without warning, she made her way to the center of the dance floor.
She began to move like a girl in a strip club, for all to see.
And to my amazement, I couldn’t believe what I saw.
She started to take off her clothing and shake recklessly.

A young woman, out of control, she swung to the musical beat.
She motioned to me to join her, but I didn’t know what to do.

I wanted this, however, instead of moving toward her, I began to retreat.

She was the strangest girl I ever knew.

Copyright © 2022 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.