Mr. One Eye sits in Bruno's office staring at black and white photos of former welterweights. He listens to the punching bags slap against their plywood ceiling. Grown boys with mouths full of rubber are hurling garbled insults. Bruno is yelling. Intelligibly. He calls the young fighters names like Poinsettia and Tinkerbell. He encourages them with phrases like, "Go back to secretary school, Poinsettia" and "Float back to Neverland, Tink. Peter Pan needs his nails done." Mr. One Eye thinks Bruno is pretty clever despite never meeting him.
Bruno stomps into his office. He wipes his forehead with a thick terrycloth towel and sees Mr. One Eye. "What the hell do you want, Cyclops?" Mr. One Eye pulls his notepad and pen out from his spandex pocket. Bruno pours a seltzer water, no ice, and says, "You deaf, kid?"
Mr. One Eye finishes writing and holds his pad up. "I WANT TO FIGHT FOR YOU." Mr. One Eye writes in all caps.
"Sorry, Telescope. I don't train the handicapped. Didn't you see the sign outside?" Bruno unabashedly refuses to be around people in wheelchairs. They depress him.
"I'M NOT HANDICAPPED." Mr. One Eye stands up and lifts each knee up past his waist. He leans over to write on his thigh. "SEE."
"Yeah, lovely knee bends Mary Lou. How about you somersault out of my office. My seltzer's getting warm."
"I CAN FIGHT." Bruno just stares at him. Feverishly he writes again, "JUST GIVE ME A SHOT."
"You have an eyeball for a head, kid. Do you own a mirror? You're very strange looking"
"I HAVE A MIRROR."
"Well..... both of my eyes find you very frightening."
"EXACTLY."
"Exactly, exactly. What the hell you mean, Monocle?"
"PEOPLE STARE AT ME."
"Hell yes they do! You have a giant eye where there should be hair and ears and a mouth! And you wear spandex. I mean....I'm sure you're a nice kid, but c'mon....you're a freak."
"THAT'S WHEN I PUNCH THEM."
"When they call you a freak?"
"WHEN THEY STARE." Bruno considers this while Mr. One Eye writes again. "I HAVE A NASTY LEFT HOOK THEY NEVER SEE COMING."
Bruno takes large gulp of seltzer, sets his cup down and shouts past Mr. One Eye, "Get your gloves on Tinkerbell. We're gonna have an old fashioned fairy fight."
Hosted my first creative writing workshop tonight. I think about 35 people came. I said that I felt like a tee-ball coach hosting at coaching workshop but that I had keys and the ability to turn the lights on at the field so we could all play. And that's exactly what they did. One of the exercises involved this photo of the Gert Johnnys. They wrote about these characters (names aren't actual). They laughed as they listed their likes, dislikes, fears, superstitions, ambitions, etc. I walked around and heard some pretty good ones. My new friend Isaac decided that Patrik has worked in the stock room at Sears for four years. Feel free to add your own observations. It's a pretty fun little exercise.
Bassets are like the lazy cousins of hound dogs right? They probably close their eyes and waggle back and forth to this song. "This is my jam, man" they say at family reunions. Their hound dog cousins get all self-righteous and racist. "You AIN'T a hound dog." The bassets correct them, "You ain't NOTHING BUT a hound dog." They both think the other is dumb but for different reasons. Meanwhile the dachshunds are hogging all the potato salad and Canada Dry. I've seen it a thousand times...
My first favorite thing: Making her laugh.
