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A part of him wanted to tell her,Tracy used to be so nice to him and he could use another friend at themoment. Now Luke was scared so he declined Tracy's reaching out hand. Hisformer friend's recent actions made the chance she might start making funof him again too high to take the risk.Not getting an answer hurt Tracy. She was being nice and Luke just blewher off. The little girl bit her lip and got the strength to repeat thequestion. The same question was met once again with no answer. Tracy washurt even more and wanted to share her pain and shouted, "Fine Luka bethat way."Luke was not going to take being teased by just one person if that oneperson was not Lori. He shouted back, "You are a meany." That was thebiggest insult he knew. Hearing those words were so hurtful. Not becauseof the name calling, but because Tracy knew that they were true. She wasa meany.This little confrontation just added to how bad Luke was feeling. It wasso draining to have to stand up to himself the entire. My twin brothersMark and James who were three years younger were into all sports whichpleased our Dad. I was content to spend time with my Mom. I developedfrom her a caring for people. Mom was a pre-school teacher I spent a lotof time with her in the kitchen and learned to cook. My Dad was anengineer and was in charge of a whole section at a factory. Our homelife was quite pleasant otherwise. One thing I did miss was the factthat we had no other relatives. Both Mom and Dad were orphans and had lived in orphanages till they left school. We had no uncles, aunts,cousins or grandparents.We had many happy days together as a family in which we went on campingand fishing trips although I did not like the fishing part. Often my Dadand brothers went fishing together on day trips at nearby LakeTanglewood. During these times, I would have Mom to myself, and I lovedthe time we spent together. We would take in movies and also listen tomusic at home. I enjoyed helping her prepare the family meal.
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A candle flickered in a dark green bottle with wicker around the base. She was exhausted from the constant jousting. The chips were down, the hand dealt. She closed her eyes and folded. Music My fingers were blistered. I was drenched in sweat and I was happy. The last notes faded, washing across the arena and I looked across the sea of bodies, blue lights waving back and forth in a hypnotic, surreal sway. I looked offstage to my left. She was smiling. She blew me a kiss and at that, I hammered into the encore with that familiar fat sound. The band kicked in and we soared. Water She stared at the painting. He’d done her in oil, a classic pose. Those were good times, when they biked and enjoyed lazy afternoons at the ballpark watching their mediocre double A team. They’d met at a jazz concert and shared a heat that refused to fade. Outside, storm clouds gathered. She stared at the painting and a single tear escaped. He was coming home after seven months over there, but not with the.

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