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Paula pressed on, “WHAT MAN DO YOU KNOW
WOULD DO S OMETHING LIKE THAT?  ESPECIALLY THE LUNKHEADS IN THIS TOWN.”
    Heads and shoulders turned awkwardly as the four women
tried to gauge each other’s reactions to what Paula was saying.  “NO,
LADIES.  THIS IS THE WORK OF A WOMAN.  A MODEST WOMAN WHO – AS YOU
SAID - HAS BEEN AROUND THIS TOWN FOR A LONG TIME.”
    “OH, YEAH, AND WHO WRITES LIKE A MAN,” Paula added,
eyes cast to the side demurely.
    The ladies gasped.  Their jaws dropped.  Paula tilted her head down and put
her hand over her heart in a pose of confession.
    “YOU MEAN?” said Carol and Sally.
    “YOU WROTE THOSE LETTERS?” asked Phyllis.
    “OH, COME NOW, LADIES.  I DIDN’T SAY THAT.” 
She smiled and batted virgin eyes.  “NOW, HAVE I SHOWN YOU THE NEW WRINKLE
CREAM I JUST GOT IN?  IT’S FABULOUS.  THE ABSOLUTE
CUTTING EDGE IN ANTI-AGING SKIN TECHNOLOGY.”
    One hour later, all four ladies walked out of
Paula’s.  Each of them carrying a bag full of Mary Kay goodies and
sporting brand spanking new Model T’s, the paint still wet.
     

Mr. Innocent
    I saw and recognized Charlie Skinner the instant I stepped into Mustang’s Bar and Grill that
Tuesday night.  I’m not sure how I was able to so quickly recognize someone
I hadn’t seen in well over ten years, but I did.  Maybe it was his slouch
- even more pronounced than my own.  Like some street urchin, hunched over
and enclosed within himself to protect his last warm
thing – the beating heart inside his chest.  He sat propped atop a
barstool, elbows on the bar and a just emptied glass in front of him. 
    For a long time Charlie
Skinner was my best friend.  He might even still count as the best friend
I’ve ever had if such rankings are based on wiffle ball
games played, imaginary bad guys killed, and giggles.  Man, could we make
each other laugh.  
    But there was a marker in the history of me and Charlie’s friendship that was as defining for our
friendship as the carbon engine was to the horse and buggy.  It was the
arrival of Katie Cooper. 
    “Son off tonight, Stan?” he said to the bartender I
did not recognize.
    “Yep.”
    “Well, filler up for me would ya ?”
    “Yep.”
    Stan the bartender returned moments later with a full
glass. There were only four other patrons in the tavern.  The only one I
recognized was Old Man Keller who was sitting at the table behind Charlie and hovering over a glass of something dark
and icy.  Strange to see the Old Man sitting atop
anything other than that mower.   Like seeing a
cop out of uniform.
    I remained standing just inside the door trying to
decide whether I wanted to turn back around and go home or sit on the stool
next to Charlie.  There were no
other options.  “Is this seat taken?” I said.
    Without turning his head, Charlie said, “Depends.” And then he sipped the foam
off the top of his draught and sighed.  “You aren’t going to make me eat
grass, are you?”
    Charlie and I used to wrestle around a lot when we were kids.  There were a few times
that things got heated and I would pin him down, rip grass from the ground and
shove it between his lips with prying fingers until he surrendered and opened
wide.  It was such a ridiculous form of torment that invariably we both
laughed ourselves out of our rage.  At least that’s how I remembered it.
    “You were always stronger than me.  Why did you
let me do that?” I asked.
    “Because you were always angrier.”  
He motioned down to the bartender that I needed a drink.  “Put it on my
tab, Stan.”
    “That’s okay, I’ll get it,” I said.
    “Stan, put it on my tab,” he repeated in such a way
that Stan would not question further.  In such a way that told me that he
had heard about Ethan, which was as close as we’d come
to actually talking about him.
    We had the how ya doin ’ and whatcha been up to conversations.  We had the remember that time laughs.  We talked about our families