As a college freshman, if you choose to live in the dorm of the college you will be attending, it is common practice not to meet your roommate until the day you move in.

 

This person can be great and become your closet friend. On the other hand, this individual may turn out to be one big “pain in the ass,” as may be the case in . . .

 

 

Roomies—The Date

 

     I walked across the beautifully manicured campus at Midland College. It was Monday, May 3, 1985. Blue skies and a warm sun created a wonderful backdrop for the tree-lined hillside. My name is Jason Fitzpatrick. I’m a sophomore majoring in Business Administration.

     My life is almost perfect. My grades are good. My family supports me—with both love and money. And I have plenty of friends, but . . .

     Yeah, there’s a but—no girlfriend. I’d love to have one. And I’m not very picky. I don’t care if she’s gorgeous. Though she does need to be presentable. Smart would be nice. . . . Witty, . . . yes, that would help. And, most important of all, she has to like me.

     Now there’s one girl I’ve had my eye on since the second week of my freshman year. Her name is Rachel, . . . Rachel Lebecker. She’s charming, and bright, too. Her raven hair flows over her shoulders and frames her face in a way that makes me melt. I’d do anything to have her like me. However, I don’t think she knows I exist.

     I arrived at my dorm, Simon Kravitz Hall—an impressive two-story building with over two hundred dorm rooms. Mine is Room 99 at the end of the hall on the first floor. I share my palatial suite with my roommate, Murphy, Murph for short, O’Sullivan.

     We’ve been roomies for almost two years. He’s a nice guy, but he also can be a real pain in the butt. And when it comes to my wanting a girlfriend, he’s the last fella you want to have in your corner. He doesn’t understand. He likes girls, but he says he isn’t ready to get involved. His universe revolves around making my life miserable.

     I approached my room, which is right next to the Janitor’s Closet—perfect positioning if you like the banging of brooms and mops and the clanging of garbage cans. I placed the key in the lock and entered.

     “Hey, Murph!” I yelled. “I’m home.” Home is a two-bedroom suite, with a very small sitting area in between the rooms, just large enough for our twenty-six inch TV and two lounge chairs.

     “That you, Jase?”

     “Yeah, it’s me. Who else has a key to the door?”

     “What’s up?”

     “Nothing much.”

     “You sure?”

     “Oh, I ran into Rachel on campus this afternoon. I think I said hello to her.”

     “You think you said hello to her? What the hell does that mean?”

     “Well, we passed in the hallway in Frazier Hall and I sort of said, ‘Hi.’”

     “ Did she say, ‘Hi,’ back?”

     “I think so. However, we didn’t make eye contact. And her voice was low. Well, I don’t know. Maybe.”

     “You know, man, if you want to get a girl, you have to be more aggressive. And you have to remember if you did or didn’t say hello to her. If you want Rachel, you gotta make a move on her if you expect something to happen. Now me, I wouldn’t recommend wasting time on Rachel.”

     “Why? I’ve wanted to ask her out on a date for a long time. Just haven’t been able to get up the courage to do it.”

     “She’s not your type, Jase. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

     “I can’t believe you’re saying that. She’s cute and smart. I think about her a lot. However, the timing needs to be right.”

     “What timing? You’ll be seventy-five before you act on it. Maybe you’ll run into her again in an old age home.”

     “What are you talking about? I’ll show you. I’ll call her right now and ask her out.”

     “Okay, do it! I dare you. It’s your ego that’s at stake if she turns you down, not mine.”

     “Why do you always have to put a damper on my plans, Murph? You make it sound like I’m not good enough for her.”

     “I’m not trying to put a damper on anything. I’m trying to help you by giving you a good piece of advice. By the way, why not go after Taylor Price? She’s more your type.”

     “How can you say that? Her heads off in some strange place all the time and she never smiles.”

     “When’s the last time you smiled? Had a good laugh lately? Think about it. She’s just like you. You know, uptight, a bit confused, and not so bright.”

     “Not so bright? Look who’s talking. You’re the one almost failing Math and Chem. I thought you were my friend.”

     “I am your friend, Jase. And this is not about me. Think about it, Rachel’s in a league of her own. And you can’t play in that league.”

     “Shut up Murph! What do you know? You’re jealous I might actually succeed with Rachel.”

     “Not me. Getting involved with a girl now will mess up my whole life. And you, . . . I don’t think you can handle the truth.”

     “Murph, I don’t know why I call you my friend. And I’ll show you I can do it.”

     “Do what, handle the truth or get Rachel to go on a date with you?”

     “Both, my know-it-all roommate.”

     “For crying out loud! You live in a damned dream world, roomie.”

     “Come on now, Murph. Give me a break. This crap has got to end.”

     “End? Then pick up the phone and give Rachel a call.”

     “Okay, I will. I can’t wait to see your face when she agrees to go out with me. And then I’ll be happy to accept your apology for all you’ve put me through.”

     “I’m waiting. Call her. Though you won’t find her home. Probably out on a date with a jock.”

     “Just keep it up, Murph. . . . Look, I’m dialing. It’s ringing. I can’t wait to hear her voice.”

     “All right, I’ll stand here and watch you make a fool of yourself.”

     “Shush! She’s picking up. Hello, Rachel, this is Jason. . . . Uh, Jason Fitzpatrick.”

     “See, she doesn’t even know who you are.”

     “Shut up! No, not you, Rachel. My roommate’s being a jerk. . . . Uh, Rachel, I was wondering if you’re busy on Friday night. Maybe we could go to dinner. . . . Okay, I’II wait for your call.”

     “So, did she turn you down? Looks like you’re frowning.”

     “No, I’m not frowning. She said she’d check her schedule and call me back.”

     “That’s what they all say when they're preparing to blow you off. I’m checkin’ my calendar.”

     “I’m not going to argue with you anymore. We’ll wait for her call and then we’ll know who the real fool in the room is.”

     Murph switched on the TV and plunged into his lounge chair. Before he could get comfortable, the phone rang.

     “Phone’s ringing, Jase. I’ll get it.”

     “No, I got it.”

     However, before I could grab it, Murph picked it up. “Hello. Oh, Rachel. No, this is Murph, his roommate. . . . Wow, I’ll tell him. Bye. . . . Hey, Jase, she said she’d go out with you on Friday. Pick her up at her dorm at seven.”

     “See, Murph, what’d I tell you? Now what do you have to say?”

     “It ain’t over till it’s over, bro. She probably needs some time to think up a good excuse to cancel. The big ‘blow off’ will be comin’ soon. Friday’s only four days away.”

 

    

     Well, what did happen? Did Jason go on the date with Rachel or did she cancel?

 

 

Roomies—The Date???

 

     I couldn’t wait for Friday. A date with Rachel was my dream come true. But I also kept thinking about what Murph said about her canceling at the last minute.  As the week dragged on, I kept my fingers crossed that the phone wouldn’t ring.

     Thursday afternoon, when I came home after class, Murph sat in his chair staring at a blank TV screen. “What’re you doing?” I asked.

     “Can’t get into my homework and there’s nothing on TV. So I thought I’d kick back and think about what we can do tomorrow evening after Rachel cancels on you.”

     “You don’t know when to stop, do you?”

     “Why should I? It’s fun to see you squirm.”

     I shook my head in frustration and headed into my bedroom. As I entered, the phone rang. Not wanting Murph to pick it up, I rushed to the nightstand and grabbed it.

     I muttered, “Hello. Oh, Rachel. I wasn’t expecting a call from you.”

     Standing in the doorway smirking, Murph, said, “I told you so.”

     I ignored his insensitive remark. “Yes, I’ll try, Rachel. . . . No, I’m sure I can make it happen. Bye.”

     “Sounds like she’s making you jump some hurdles to keep the date,” Muph stated.

     “Well, not exactly.”

     “Then what?”

     “You do your laundry recently?”

     “What does that have to do with your going on a date?”

     “Because you’re going, too. And I wanted to make sure you’d be presentable.”

     “What’re you talking about?”

     “Rachel’s cousin, Julie, is in town, and I assured Rachel you’d be ecstatic about being her date for dinner.”

     “But I don’t do dates, man.”

     “You do now, bro.”

     I stood at the nightstand with a huge grin on my face. I’d gotten back at Murph in a way I’d never expected.

    

 

Copyright © 2021 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Love sustains us, as we make our way through life. It can be the reason for our being.

 

Partners share hopes and desires. They provide the strength for one another to make dreams come true . . .

 

 

In A Way Only Lovers Could

 

“I love you with all my heart,” she chanted,

her eyes shining from the passion within.

She took my hand and placed it against her cheek—

a closeness born from the mutual admiration we had for one another.

We embraced in a way only lovers could.

 

“You are all I want in life,” I whispered,

my fingers running through her golden hair.

Lips pressed together connecting two souls—

a closeness born from the mutual trust we shared.

We embraced in a way only lovers could.

 

“We love you, Mommy, Daddy,” our children shouted,

the two, a caring girl and boy, danced  in circles.

They brought joy to our home and warmth to our hearts—

a closeness born from our mutual desire to raise a loving family.

We embraced in a way only lovers could.

 

“I love you with all my heart. You are all I want in life,” we each murmured,

our eyes showing the signs of the passing years.

We clutched hands, so we wouldn’t fall as we walked in the garden—

a closeness born from the mutual support we have given each other.

We embraced in a way only lovers could.

 

 

Copyright © 2016 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Life is complicated. Love is confusing. We meet someone, but is it meant to be?

 

A relationship in bloom—I thought so. But as time passed. I was given . . .

 

 

My Last Chance

 

It was my last chance,

and I blew it

in a way I could not 

have imagined.

Ever since I met her

at the Valentine’s Day Ball,

I dreamed of her becoming

a part of my life.

I saw her a few times

since then, and I believed,

in my heart,

we might get together.

Then she approached me

that warm summer’s day

in late June and asked

if I would help her.

My eyes focused on her face,

a face draped in sadness.

She bowed her head

in shame for the act she said

she should not have committed.

“What have you done?” I inquired,

hoping to get an explanation

of the actions she had undertaken,

so I could understand her plight.

But she did not respond

as I thought she should

and just looked at me,

as if I had overstepped my bounds.

“I am here for you,

if you choose to take my hand

and let me stand by your side,”

I stated in earnest.

Still no words poured forth,

as she stood her ground

and focused her eyes on mine

to determine my sincerity.

With caution, she began to speak,

her lips trembling, as she stuttered,

“I have done something awful, and

I do not know what to do about it.”

She awaited my response,

as I searched for the right words

in an attempt to get answers

and not scare her off.

But my silence had the effect

I had tried so hard to avoid,

and she turned her back on me

and walked away.

 

 

Copyright © 2021 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Life is shaped in many ways. Some of these are expected, such as the teachings of our parents. Others seem to appear out of nowhere.

 

Sometimes what doesn’t happen has a greater impact on our life than what does occur. So embrace both the inevitable and the unexpected in . . .

 

 

Sunrise, Sunset

 

The things my parents taught me shape my life from sunrise to sunset as the years go by. Through their teachings I learned to be honest and fair, to treat others the way I wish to be treated, and to believe in myself. The seeds sown made me both passionate in my endeavors and understanding of the complex world in which we live.

 

We welcome gifts into our lives and these come in many shapes and sizes, some when least expected. The best gift I ever received was when my father put into words his feelings about me, the man. After a visit to my new home, as he turned to leave, he hugged me and whispered, “I’m so proud of everything you have done and of the man you have become.”

 

Life has its ways of delivering wished for opportunities and, to my amazement, it happened one night. A phone call in the early evening, in response to a personal ad I had placed in the Sacramento Bee, both challenged me and warmed my heart. The woman on the other end of the line said all the right things and, by the time we hung up, we scheduled our first meeting. Three years later she became my wife.

 

As I made my way in the world, I sometimes wondered what my life would be like if I were rich and famous. Today my lifestyle is comfortable and I don’t want for much, yet most would not consider me rich and famous has become an unreachable dream. Yet when I look at the plight of some of those who have succeeded in achieving both fame and fortune, I wish them luck and thank God I am not one of them.

 

With the rising sun, I try in earnest to find one statement about my life that explains the essence of who I have become. In my marriage, my relationships with friends and family, or in the life roles I choose to play and responsibilities I undertake, I have considered saying, “I am a success, I care about others, I am understanding.” But as I ponder these statements, as the sun disappears below the horizon, I hope that my accomplishments allow me the right to describe myself through the proclamation, “You can count on me.”

 

 

Copyright © 2016 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

The world is experiencing difficult and confusing times. But what can I do?

 

I’m a prisoner in my own home. I haven’t seen relatives in almost nine months. I’m sick to my stomach and . . .

 

 

Mad And Alone

 

Well, this is upsetting.

I can’t believe

what‘s happening—

a world in turmoil.

I try to recall

the past,

when there was peace

and sanity in my life,
a time

when I could leave home

without fear.

I wonder

if that time

will magically reappear?

I had a vision yesterday

of what the future

would be like.

I saw myself

reclining under a tree

in the park,
watching children play

on the swings and slide.

I saw birds

moving towards people

sitting on benches

to peck seed

being sprinkled.

I embraced the energy

and the innocence

around me.

I pictured

a renewed opportunity

to gather

with family and friends.
I was happy

and at ease

with what was happening.

 

Then reality

hit me,

bringing me

to my knees.
I prayed

for better times

and hoped

You would hear me.

I wondered why

You let us suffer

in such unimaginable ways?

But wouldn’t You

have done

something already,

if You could?

Why is the sun shining?

For it has no purpose.
Maybe rain will come

and cleanse

the ugliness

from leaders

who betray us

and guide us

down paths
to imminent destruction,

where we will drown

in a sea

of misery,

as sad music

colors our existence—
a place where children

no longer learn

or dream

of a future

blessed with opportunities

for growth and success,
where the homeless

march in a parade

that grows infinitely,

and people die

in numbers

beyond belief.

 

Why is the sun shining?

Has something changed?

Has saving mankind

become the priority

it should be—

one greater

than securing

individual wealth

and power?

 

Has the pandemic

made us realize

what is important?
Has the pandemic

made us realize

we are our own

worst enemy?

 

 

Copyright © 2020 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

Earlier this month, I asked for your assistance in helping me determine the appropriate ending to the story, “Sid And Janis—A Love Story?” On January 11, I posted three possible endings.

 

After reading the story, I invited you to let me know which one I should use. The choice that received the most “Yes” votes would become the story's ending. Please see the outcome of the vote below and visit the January 11 posting to read the story again to see if you agree with the conclusion. And now, the results . . .

 

 

Sid And Janis—A Love Story?

 Posted January 11, 2021

 

The last line of the story before the ending:  That night we slept cuddled together—capturing the loving past we’d both forgotten. In the morning, we awoke to the sun coming through the bedroom blinds. Our eyes met and my heart pounded, as I awaited her words of love, . . . 

 

Ending I

but what poured out of her mouth, was not what I’d expected. In a somewhat condescending tone, she questioned, “So what did neighbor Jones do? You’re not going to leave me hanging, are you?” Well, we were back where we started, and divorce was looking better all the time.                                                                             

 

                                            Percent of respondents voting “Yes”:  18.75%

 

Ending II

but not wanting to chance revisiting yesterday’s uncomfortable conversation, I grabbed her, wrapped my arms around her, and kissed her passionately. She was so taken aback, not another word was spoken about what I’d tried to tell her. I never pursued the subject with her again, nor did I ever find out the truth about neighbor Jones’s “casket.”

 

                                            Percent of respondents voting “Yes”:  68.75%

 

Ending III

but my world was rocked again by what came pouring out of her mouth. Her uncompromising manner was frightening, as she stated, “You were so right yesterday. You did start the argument, as always. And taking responsibility does not make it all go away. You need help. So, do I call a marriage counselor . . . or do I need a lawyer?”                                                                                                                                  

                                            Percent of respondents voting “Yes”:  12.50%

 

 

Alan Lowe, January 30, 2021

 

 

 

Some of you who responded to my offer to select the appropriate ending to the story asked the question, “Was it a casket that Sid saw and what was in it?” I would like to provide the answer in . . .

 

 

Sid And Janis—The Love Story Continues

 

     With the casket issue behind them, their marriage was still intact eight years later, in spite of the bickering that took place on an almost daily basis. This evening found Sid in his recliner staring off into space with the TV blaring, while Janis sat in her recliner glaring at him. Neither one said anything to the other until Janis, somewhat annoyed, said . . .

     “I told you I didn’t want to watch this awful movie, Sid. However, you had to watch it. But are you really watching it?”

     “Uh, yeah.”

     “Well then, tell me what it’s about.”

     “You were watching it, so you already know. Why should I waste my time telling you?”

     “You have no idea what it’s about. Do you, Sid?”

     “I’ve got to take a leak, Janis. Watch what you want. I don’t care.”

     “What do you care about? Certainly not me.”

     “We’ve been married forty years. Doesn’t that mean something?”

     “Sure, we’re both cowards.”

     “What do you mean by that?”

     “Neither of us has the guts to leave.”

     “I’ve had it with you, Janis. I am leaving to go to the john.”

     “Don’t get lost. You’ll miss the end of the movie.”

     “Just keep it up, Janis. I hope, when we go to heaven, we’ll both have a better life—alone.”

     “That would be a blessing, my sweet.”

     Well, as fate would have it, Sid passed away in his sleep not quite a year later. Janis, not having anybody to rag on, followed him six months after that. Both of them had decided to be cremated, so they never had to talk about caskets. One can only hope they got separate rooms in heaven.

     Now you must be thinking, that with both Sid and Janis in a better place, the casket issue had died with them. However, you’d be wrong. For two months after Janis died, the block they’d lived on for most of their life together shook like an earthquake.

     Sirens blasted, rattling the peaceful lives of the street’s residents. Of the forty-three people living there, all but two exited their homes and stood in awe at what was happening. Police cars lined both sides of the street. Cops were everywhere. And a SWAT team made its way to the house where Henry and Melanie Jones resided.     

     What occurred next was unbelievable. The team, getting no response from the occupants of the home, used a battering ram to bust the door down.

     Loud screaming could be heard coming from inside the house. The SWAT team leader commanded, “Everybody down on the ground. Place your hands behind your back.”

     Then two people, a man and a woman, in handcuffs were escorted from the house. “Oh my, it’s Melanie and Henry,” Margo Sampson yelled.

     As they walked down the driveway, a man, sitting in the backseat of a police car parked by the curb, stuck his head out the window and screamed, “She did it, not him.”

     All eyes focused on the car. What they saw was mind-boggling.

The man was Henry Jones. But how could that be?

     The confused crowd stared at the car and then at the couple being escorted from the house. “If that’s Henry in the car, who’s the guy with Melanie?” Roger Atwater asked. “He looks an awful lot like Henry. And what did she do?”

 

     The answers to Roger’s questions eluded the neighbors for almost two weeks. After the couple was placed in a patrol car, all the vehicles parked on the street disappeared, including the one with Henry’s look-alike, sitting in the rear seat.

     During this time, investigators appeared at the house, but conducted their business discretely. They removed crucial evidence late at night, when the neighbors were asleep. The residents wondered why the police had not questioned any of them.

     Then, on Thursday afternoon of the second week, a police van arrived at the Jones’s house. Neighbors peered out their windows, while others stood outside their homes and stared in the direction of the vehicle. An officer got out of the van on the driver’s side. Opening the back doors, two men exited, without handcuffs—the “two Henrys.”

     The officer said to them, “You’re free to go. Sorry for the inconvenience.”       The men walked up the front walkway, entered the house and closed the door, as the officer got back into the van and left. Perplexed, the neighbors muttered to themselves, “What just happened? And Why? And where is Melanie Jones?” As they were about to disperse, the front door of the house opened, and . . .

      A neighbor yelled, “Henry, what the hell’s happening? Who’s the other guy? And where’s Melanie?”

     “Henry” faced the group and said, “I’m not Henry. I’m Stanley.”

     The crowd was in shock. “Stanley?” they echoed in unison. “Where’s Henry?”

     “Henry has had a difficult time the past few weeks, while the police were trying to figure out what’d occurred. He needs to rest.”

     “Well, you look like Henry. If you’re not him, who are you?” Roger asked.

     “I’m Henry’s twin brother. I haven’t been here in years and had no idea what was going on. When I asked about visiting, I always got an excuse as to why the timing was inappropriate. So I decided to surprise them. And surprise them, I did. At first, Melanie wouldn’t let me in. And when Henry did . . .”

     “And when he did, what happened?” Margo queried.

     “The strangest thing. There were two caskets in the living room.”

     “Caskets?” The crowd shouted. “How’d they get there?”

     “Henry built them for Melanie, thinking they were flower boxes, about ten years ago. When he found out what they really were, he tried to get rid of them, but a neighbor saw him putting one in his SUV. After the neighbor left, that night, he dragged it back into the house. When he heard nothing about it from the neighbor or anyone else in the neighborhood, both empty caskets, with blankets over them, were laid to rest on the back patio. Henry thought nothing more about them.”

     “So, is that where the story ends?” Margo asked.

     “Not quite. Just before I arrived, Henry returned home from a business trip. When he did, he found both caskets sitting in the living room. He also saw Melanie’s mother’s inexpensive, designer knockoff purse on the coffee table. When he asked Melanie where her mother was, she pointed to one of the caskets.

     “Dismayed by her gesture, he inquired as to what was in the other one. She opened it and bills flowed out onto the floor.”

     “Where did they come from? I thought you implied her mother didn’t have money?” a small woman, standing in the street, questioned.

     “But she did. She was very wealthy from her inheritance from her fifth husband. However, she also was quite frugal, but not very careful with her money. She visited many times a year and carried thousands of dollars with her in her purse. Apparently, Melanie had been stealing from her for years and placing the cash in one of the coffins. Since she didn’t know how much she had in her purse, she never noticed the missing cash until this visit, when she found a hundred dollar bill under the coffee table. She confronted Melanie about it and Melanie killed her.”

     “Oh, my God!” Margo shrieked.

     “After putting the money back in the casket, Melanie instructed Henry to take both caskets to a storage unit she’d rented. He refused. She pulled a gun out from under the couch cushion, but before she could use it, I knocked on the door. She had no alternative. She stashed the weapon and opened the door. When I entered, I saw the two caskets but, otherwise, everything seemed ‘normal.’ Melanie smiled at me and gave me a big hug. Henry, not wanting to get me killed, didn’t say anything, and I didn’t ask any questions.  

     “However, that night, after we’d gone to bed, Henry snuck out of the house and went to the police station and told them what had happened. And you know the ‘rest of the story.’”

 

 

Copyright © 2021 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.

As a college student, I looked forward to winter break. It was a time to go home, relax, and enjoy the holiday season.

 

What I didn’t look forward to was the uncomfortable, long train ride home and the pressure my friends put on me to go skiing. This becomes clear in . . .

 

 

Winter Break

 

     The year was 1963. It was the winter break of my sophomore year at the University of Rochester in upstate New York. My two friends, Eddie and James, and I approached the taxicab driver I’d called, who stood next to his cab outside our dorm.

     “We need to go to the train station,” I said to the driver. 

     “The three of you?” he asked.

     “Yes,” I replied.

     He scanned our luggage and inquired, “Where’s the third set of skis?”

     “Only two sets. I don’t ski," I responded.

     “We’ll see about that," Eddie shouted.

     “No way!" I yelled. It’s too dangerous. If I was meant to ski, God would have given me extra large feet.”

     We piled into the cab. The driver set the meter, and we took off for the train depot. The drive was uneventful and we arrived at the station thirty-five minutes later.

     The cabby unloaded our baggage and placed it on the curb. “Thirty dollars,” he stated.

     We each gave him ten dollars. Thinking we should tip him. I grabbed a wadded up five dollar bill from my pocket and gave it to him. He unfolded it, stared at it for a second, and mumbled, “Thank you.”

     We tugged our luggage through the station doors and followed the signs to Platform Four. The sign read, “New York City.”

     Standing on the platform, we awaited the arrival of the train. We said nothing to each other. We just stood and stared at the “million” other students waiting to board. Just as I was about to go crazy from the wait, the train pulled into the station. 

     It was then I wished I had a life insurance policy. I thought for sure I was going to be crushed to death trying to get on. But we made it and, amazingly, the three of us were able to squeeze into one wide, but uncomfortable seat. 

     Now, our luggage was another story, especially the skis. We pushed our things under the seats and into the luggage racks, wherever we could find space in the train car. The conductor had us place the skis in the very back of the car, standing tall, behind a large trunk. I wondered how we’d get to them, as the crowd got off the train.

     The ride was so exciting, I wanted to scream, but we were packed in so tight, I couldn’t get up enough breath to do so. We didn’t say much to each other. We just stared out the window at the snowdrifts or slept for the almost eight-hour trip. 

     As we approached the New York City station, James breathed a huge sigh of relief that almost knocked Eddie and me out of our seats. We managed to gather up our luggage, including the skis, and exited the car. As we did, James looked at me and said, in a somewhat facetious manner, "See you on the slopes.”

     “Not on your life,” I groaned.

     Our parents were waiting on the platform. We waved good-bye to each other and left to enjoy our two-week vacation. 

     The two weeks passed faster than I’d wished. I had no contact with Eddie and James. My parents drove me to the station, parked in the loading zone, and helped unload my luggage. We hugged and said good-bye.

     I threw my small duffle bag over my shoulder and dragged my suitcase into the station and headed toward Platform Eight. I kept looking around for Eddie and James, but they were nowhere in sight. Then, I looked at my watch and realized if I didn’t hurry, I was going to miss the train. 

     Running, I got to the fourth car just as the doors were starting to close. Reaching in, they reopened. As I entered, what I saw blew me away. There, in the two front seats, were James and Eddie, each with a leg in a cast resting on his suitcase in front of him. Seeing me enter, they turned away, trying to avoid me, but they couldn’t. With a wide grin on my face, I sung out, “Wonderful winter ‘break’ you had. Glad I didn’t go skiing with you.”

 

 

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