Player

My friends and I were sitting on the retaining wall in center field of our local Little League ballpark when my youngest stomped to a halt in front of me. He'd gone straight from a game to a sleepover the previous night and was back at the park to watch his friends play. The circles under his eyes spoke to his exhaustion.

"Can I have some money?" he demanded.

"For what?" I asked.

"Mom's being a jerk."

"Are you going to use it to have her whacked?"

He rolled his eyes. "It's for concessions."

"No candy," I said.

"You're worse than mom," he snarled.

"Probably. No candy, though."

"How about a cheeseburger?"

"If you'll go away," I said, giving him a $10 bill. "Bring me some change."

"That's stupid," he said, stomping away. "I gave you change yesterday."

"You make me feel better about my own life," said one of my friends.

"We all have a role," I said.

Coming Soon - Another Night Of Bad Choices

Biker Chick

"Why is there a moped in the garage?" I asked.

"It's ours," said the Lovely Bride.

"What?"

"We talked about it," said the Lovely Bride.

"And I said, 'no.'"

"You bought an iPod."

"There's a reason the bumper stickers don't say, 'Start Seeing iPods.'"

Reeling In The Years

"Hey, it's great to see you," I said as she stepped off the elevator.

"It's great to see you too," W. replied.

We stood for a quick moment, awkwardly, unsure whether to hug or shake hands. It had been fifteen years or more since we'd seen each other. We shook hands.

"Show me around," she said and I did, a quick tour of my office.

"Where do you want to go for lunch?"

"Anywhere's fine," she said.

"Chinese?"

"Perfect."

We walked to my car.

"Pull a muscle?" I asked.

"Mmm," she said, limping a bit.

W. was my boss a long time ago, at a big company, an MBA who was being groomed for a race to the top. Smart, driven, and a lovely person. After I left the company we stayed in touch until we didn't.

"I'm glad you found me," I said at lunch.

"The internet's a wonderful thing," she said.

We talked about our families, our children. We'd both had toddlers when we'd last seen each other. Now we're scouting colleges.

"You're looking for a job?" I finally asked.

"I got one yesterday," she said.

"That's great. Congratulations. What are you going to be doing?"

"I'll be an analyst," she said. "For the company we used to work for. Doing pretty much what I did when we worked together. That's me, clawing my way down the corporate ladder."

"Are you happy?"

"Yes," she said. "I am."

"You like the job?"

"It's fine," she said. "I like spending time with my husband, my kids. My son skis, you know, he's very good. I hope he goes to my alma mater. I loved it there."

"Family's important," I said.

"It is," she said. "I worked really hard for a while. Then I had kids, and then I found out I had MS, and then I couldn't work as much."

"Oh, Christ," I said. "I'm sorry."

"So it goes," she said, shrugging.

"Vonnegut," I said, and she smiled.

We talked some more, about our families, and friends we used to share until time peeled them away.

Back at my office, I parked and offered my arm as she stepped over a curb.

She shook her head. "I like to pretend I'm independent," she said.

"It's been great to see you," I said.

"You too," she said.

We hugged.

Galloping Gourmet

"Can I go to Mexico this summer?" asked my middle son.

"Leave me alone, I'm busy," I told him.

"Seriously," he said.

"Yes, seriously, I'm busy. I'm working."

""Why didn't you finish it at the office?"

"Because I had too much to do," I said.

"Where'd you go for lunch?" he sneered.

"That's not the point," I said.

"What did you have?"

"Hủ Tiếu Mì."

"What does that mean?"

"It means 'delicious.'"

"So you weren't working."

"Knock it off," I said. "You sound like your mother."

"Anyway, can I go to Mexico?" he repeated.

"Don't be stupid."

"You're stupid," he said.

"This whole conversation is stupid," I said.

"Does that mean I can go?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" I asked, finally turning to look at him.

"My friend S. is going and his mom said I could come too if it's okay with you and mom."

"How much does it cost?"

"I don't know," he said. "You'd only have to pay for the plane ticket."

"Plus a passport," I said. "Unless I sneak you over the border late at night. You probably wouldn't make it back, then. That would be very sad."

"Be quiet."

"I love you, buddy."

"So can I?" he asked, again.

"You're going to Mexico, your older brother's going to Australia and New Zealand, and where am I going? Nowhere. That's where I always am, right?"

"Dad, you're getting agitated. Besides, you're going somewhere."

"Where?"

"Little Rock."

"For three days. For a conference."

"You can go out to eat."

"Where?" I demanded.

"I bet they have good barbecue," he said.

"You're probably right," I said, turning back to my computer and typing in 'restaurant' and 'little rock.'"

"I thought you had work to do," said the boy.

"I'm doing it," I said.

Road Rage

Why would this make someone think of me?

It must be the mustache.

Flying Blind

"Do you want an earlier flight or a later one?" my assistant asked.

I shrugged. "An earlier one, I guess. What time does that get me back?"

"Saturday night, about 7:40."

"7:40? Why so late?"

"You have to change planes in Chicago."

"What if I take the later flight?"

"Then you have to change planes in Dallas."

"I hate changing planes," I said.

"Why?"

"Because it means I have to take off and land again."

"So?"

"I hate that part of flying."

"Do you like the rest of it?"

"No, I hate that too."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to die. At least not that way."

"The odds of a plane crash are so small it's not worth thinking about," she told me.

"Thank you, Little Miss Actuary."

"Seriously, why be afraid of something that unlikely to hurt you?"

"You were afraid of my lunch at the Chinese restaurant," I said.

"You ordered jellyfish," she said.

"I know," I said. "It was delicious."

"I wasn't afraid, I was repulsed," she said.

"Well, I'm repulsed by plane crashes," I replied.

She thought about my reasoning for a minute and then gave up.

"Anyway, you big baby, do you want the early or later flight?"

"Which one is T. on?" I asked. T.'s my colleague.

"He doesn't care," she said.

"Put us on the same one," I said.

"I can't."

"How come?"

"It's an organizational policy."

"What is?"

"You two can't be on the same plane."

"Why not?"

"In case it crashes."