Giving Shit

Earlier That Day

It was ten-thirty in the morning. Edward Julian Watson always woke up on Sundays, at ten-thirty in the morning.
Only Edward Julian Watson was in a blue bedroom.
And Edward Julian Watson usually slept in a white bedroom.
Edward Julian Watson had a headache because he was on a bed, in a blue bedroom and it was a blue bedroom he had not been in before; at that. He rubbed his temples and that is when he noticed the crumpled green dress on the floor. Then, the rumpled, red hair and white pillow beside him.
Edward Julian Watson could taste the grit on his teeth; sour rum (the real reason for his headache).
"I have to go," he said, out loud.
"Okay," said the red hair; the red hair that did not move.
Edward Julian Watson always woke-up at ten-thirty in the morning on Sundays because Edward Julian Watson always met his mother for lunch at noon.


Becki walked through the automatic opening door that brought her into the mall. Dim lights and brown, glossed brick everywhere. Plants reaching for the sky lights.
Becki looked down to make sure her white shoes were still white. She smoother her yellow skirt. Then Becki looked around. There were corners to this mall and on one of the corners, Becki noticed a Flower Shoppe.
Becki loved flowers.
The Flower Shoppe had a lovely display of fresh cut tulips outside of its doors and Becki was looking at the tulips, when she noticed Lillian walking down the mall's brown paths towards her.
"Lillian," Becki said, loudly and smiled, when Lillian was within earshot. "How are you?"
Lillian stopped and looked at Becki.
"Oh-" Lillian said. "Oh, you are Becki, from the bookstore. How are you, dear?"
"I am good, Lillian. It is nice to see you."
"It is nice to see you, too, Becki. I have been meaning to come out to the bookstore. Aren't these tulips lovely?"
"Is that so? Is there anything I can put aside for you" Becki smiled, at Lillian. "They are beautiful tulips. I am thinking of getting the white ones for my mother."
Lillian looked at Becki out of the corner of her eye, and she said quietly, "Do you have the new Jackie Collins still in stock?"
Becki smiled and picked up two bunches of flowers, "I think I will get these pink tulips for you, Lillian."
"You are a very nice girl," Lillian nodded her head and further said, "Thank you."
And Becki smiled again, and as she turned to walk inside of the store, Becki almost walked into Edward Julian Watson.
"Oh-," she said.
"Oh-," said Edward Julian Watson and then he cleared his throat and looked passed Becki. "Hello, Mother."
"Hello, Edward. How are you, dear? I have been talking to Becki. You know Becki. She works next door to your store. At the bookstore."
Edward Julian Watson nodded, "Yes. Hello, Becki. How are you?"
"I am good and how are you, Edward?" Becki asked.
"Good," Edward Julian Watson replied, and then he looked at his mother.
"Becki is coming to lunch with us today," Lillian said.
"Oh-" said Becki.
"Wonderful," Edward Julian Watson concluded.
Edward Julian Watson still had a headache and Becki would keep his mother occupied.

Giving Shit

Later That Day

Edward Julian Watson took things for granted.
Edward Julian Watson was on his way home from Sunday lunch, driving in his blue Datsun. The oil light was on, flashing red.
Edward Julian Watson would stop at the gas station, close to home, he thought, as he ploughed through the streets.
But the gas station close to home was closed and he did not understand why. The gas station was always open.
So, Edward Julian Watson just drove his blue Datsun home.
And watched the football game on the television.

Becki was standing at the meat counter. In her yellow skirt.
“I gave you an extra half-pound,” John, the man behind the counter, said to her, as he handed her the package of cooked ham; wrapped.
“Thank you,” Becki smiled up at John.
“You deserve it,” John replied.
And Becki smiled at him, again.
But she wondered what it was she was so deserving of? She wondered if it was important; whatever she had done? And why was it so deserving, that it deserved this extra half-pound of meat?
Becki just stood there in front of the meat counter and Becki just plain wondered what she had done.
And she did not pay for the ham.
“Are you okay?" John’s voice finally broke through her thoughts.
And Becki smiled at John, one more time, but it was weak.
“I would be, if you could tell me what is the most important thing to be okay about,” she answered, as she handed him a five-dollar bill.

The oil light was flashing red still, as Edward Julian Watson pulled his blue Datsun out of his driveway. It was 10:30 at night.
Edward Julian Watson was going to see Becki.
After he parked his car on the stone driveway, and after he had grabbed a few of those stones from the driveway, Edward Julian Watson cut across some grass, to the side of the house, where Becki's window was.
He threw the stones at her window.
But Becki never came to the window. Edward Julian Watson had thrown five stones, so Edward Julian Watson cut back across the grass and he got into his car.
He noticed the flashing red oil light.
Edward Julian Watson would stop at the gas station, close to home, he thought.
But the gas station was still closed.
So, Edward Julian Watson just drove his car home.
And watched the football highlights on the television.
Edward Julian Watson had the suspicion that Becki had been home; ignoring him.

Iron Clothes

It was not a good day, the day Gwen’s mother never came back. Her father had made her sit in the corner, close to the fire all day. A hot day.
She played in the dirt and the soot, fingers opened or closed, the filth still seeped through her hands.
But all too soon her hands were streaked with sweat. A hot child.
She sat at the fire for a long time (three hours), before she realized the silence.
She wondered why. She knew it was Saturday. And Saturdays were feast days. And feast days were always loud.
Her father was with her all day long; she wondered why he was. Gwen could not see her father; she could only hear him breathe.
He had grabbed her, woke her from her sleep, earlier that morning. She screamed until she saw it was him, but he had dragged her to the fire anyway.
“Sit here and shut-up,” he had said to her.
They were the first words he had ever said to her, so Gwen had listened.
Gwen did complain when she became hungry, nor did she wonder where her mother was until nightfall.
She did not worry of her mother until she was cold.
Her father had not kept the fire going.

When Gwen had awoken the next morning, she was covered and warm and beside a lit fire.
When she sat up, she saw her father. Sitting on the ground, by the door.
“Go see Merkin,” he had said to her.
And Gwen listened to her father and left through the door, to go see Merkin. But Gwen already knew she had to go see Merkin. Back then, Gwen had to go see Merkin everyday.
Merkin would not tell her where her mother was.
“She’s not coming back,” was all Merkin had said.
Gwen believed Merkin because Merkin was always right.
"Go to bed," her had father said to her, when she walked back through the door, later that day.
Gwen listened to her father again. She went to lay next to the fire, where her covers still were. She laid down, on her side, with her back to him.
"I am leaving after next feast day," her father had suddenly said.
Gwen's heart jumped and she said nothing.
"You better not tell anyone. It is a secret," he had finished.
Gwen told no one, until she had to go live with Ban.

Ban was overseeing. It is what he did. Every morning, he would get up and he would oversee everybody, on the tiny hill known as Benwick. The hill, which was only six feet tall and very steep, plateuaed an area of land, big enough for 32 families to build their huts and businesses. Ban oversaw all 118 persons, who made their homes and businesses out of the sticks and mud of the earth, on top of this hill.
Gwen would often join Ban, while he was overseeing, when she came to bring Ban his midday meal. She joined up with him on this day, while Ban was overseeing the miller. The miller took care of the grains; he protected them, day and night and not just from the rodents.
Lodegreaunce was the real overseer of Benwick, but he had been gone for a full two years now. Lodegreaunce had been overseer for twenty years and he was much loved. Everyone from Benwick had called him King. Everyone missed him greatly, when he left Benwick, for no one had known Lodegreaunce was leaving.
Ban was never called King by anyone.
Ban was only the overseer because of Gwen. Gwen was Lodegreaunce’s daughter. One early, twilight evening, Lodegreaunce had come to ask Ban to take charge of his daughter while he went on adventure. Lodegreaunce had left for his adventure less than an hour later. He held his sleeping daughter in his arms, handing her over to Ban, before mounting his black horse.
Gwen did know, however; that her father was leaving. It was not like when her mother had left. Gwen’s father had told her he would be back.
“Have you kept my secret, Gwen?” her had father asked her, on the night he left Benwick.
“Yes, Father,” Gwen had answered him. It was the fist time he had ever asked her a question.
“I leave tonight,” he had answered her.
“Now that you are leaving and you are King, I shall gladly take over and make a grand Queen for you, Father, in your absence,” Gwen had suddenly spoke said, a steady trill.
Lodegreaunce wanted to laugh at how serious she looked. How determined.
“Now is not the time for you to be Queen. You are still just Princess,” he said instead, sternly. “Go to bed.”
Gwen turned to go to her sleep space, beside the fire.
“Father,” she turned, back to him. “Are you coming back to Benwick?”
“I am coming back,” he had said.
“Will I become Queen when you come back?” Gwen had asked.
“Shut-up,” her father had roared at her.
And Gwen had listened.
It was because Gwen told everyone this exchange, between her and her father, that Ban was not hung and the people of Benwick made him overseer.


Ban and Gwen had moved from the miller and were now overseeing the fuller. Ban instructed Bolden (the fuller) out of the vat, so he that he might inspect how the wool was coming along. Ban also had to smell the animal urine in the vat, which helped to cure the wool, to make sure it was clean. Bolden knew how to do his job. He walked in urine circles, in the large vat everyday, but Saturday. Ban knew Bolden knew how to do his job; Ban just liked looking at the toenails of the man. They were always so clean and white. He was marveling this thought for the umpteenth time, when he heard the trumpets sounding.
He grabbed Gwen by the arms and they smiled at each other and jumped, before both turned; running to meet the Romans.

Iron Clothes

489 A.D.

Everything felt new to Gryfflette, as he wandered through the thick grass; it was damp and his ankles were cold. Everything felt new to Gryfflette because in a sense, everything was new. Springtime had begun and the many rains over recent days had started the growth of life.
On this day, Gryfflette saw that the sun was sometimes hiding behind the clouds; they were rimmed in grey, but otherwise white. When the sun hid behind these clouds, Gryfflette would feel horribly cold; no relief he could think of for his bare arms. But this was not reason enough for him to go back home.
The wind whipped his blond curls; sometimes covering his eyes, so sometimes Gryfflette could not see.
Gryfflette was not far from home. He was only twenty feet away, down the small steep hill of Benwick, and his mother knew where he was. She knew her child and her child was always wandering, wandering.
Malaline was Gryfflette’s mother. Malaline had lost Gryfflette once, but only once. Just for ten minutes, just that one time, when Gryfflette had just turned to the age of three.
Just that one time, when Gryfflette was chasing that snake.
Malaline’s heart had pounded so, those moments when she realized she had lost Gryfflette. For Gryfflette was her only son and her husband would surely have killed her, had he been found dead.
However, Gryfflette had not been found dead because on that day, he had only been chasing that green and gold snake, which was fat in the belly, and slow enough for three-year old legs to keep up with.
And thankfully, slow enough for Malaline’s legs to catch up with, too. Her hands were also quick enough to catch the snake. She had made Gryfflette eat it for supper that night.
She had also smacked his face, when she had caught up to him.
Gryfflette was four and half, now, so he never wandered, wandered very far.


Gryfflette had only stopped wandering now, for he was enthralled with the white-lined body of wiggles he found beneath the rock, which he was holding in his hand. The wiggles were grubs, but he did not know. He was deciding whether to eat one and he did not hear the sudden silence, until the trumpets sounded.
Romans arriving.
Every hair on Gryfflette’s body stood on end. This was another new feeling for him. He knew everybody in the village would be excited, and he turned to run home because he was excited, too.
His mother was running towards him, down the hill; Gryfflette noticed right away. When they reached each other, she scooped him into her arms.
“Gryfflette,” she murmured, into his curly hair.
The rock in his hand dropped back onto the ground, killing a spider and severing off three of its seven and half legs. His mother began to run, tripping on her brown dress skirts, as she climbed back up the small hill.

Iron Clothes

So, the other night Charlie is over. Sitting on my couch. And Jake is sitting at the computer. Jake is giggling sometimes and it is sometimes worth looking over your shoulder to find out why.
Charlie has the television remote. So, me and Charlie watch an infomercial for ten minutes.
About these ceramic hair straighteners.
Made with REAL ceramic.

So, this very night, Jessyca and I are having a chat.
I am sitting in my living room. Hans Frauenlob is on my TV.
And Jessyca loves my hair. I know this because she always says she does. Tonight was no exception.
...A ceramic hair straightener...she also says these words to me. On this very night.
But, to get right to the point, Jessyca thinks I should try one.

Assholes.

Momma

They were walking home.
“I am not doing that,” Tommy yelled, and slammed his feet to a halt on the snow and sidewalk. He was not going to take another step. Ever again.
Tommy hated cleaning his room.
Momma stopped to turn and look at him and Tommy noticing, stomped his feet again, dirty, grey slush flying fast and hitting the white snow of someone’s lawn.
“I mean it!’ he yelled, at Momma.
And then Tommy took off his blue mittens and threw them. Into the snow bank. Turned to glare at Momma.
She turned around and continued walking down the sidewalk.
“I am not picking up these mittens!” Tommy yelled at her. “I don’t want them! I am staying here!”
Momma did not answer Tommy. She just continued walking.
“Momma!” he screamed at her, and again, “Momma!”
She hoped he would stop now, not further this. Then she heard his boots pounding the sidewalk to catch up with her.
“I am not going back to get them, either,” he said, not looking at her, when he did.
“Okay,” said Momma.
“I mean it,” he folded his arms across the front of himself, marching along.
“You will have cold hands. I will not buy you another pair,” she replied, her head was starting to ache.
And Tommy was silent, before he sighed.
“Will you walk back with me to get them?” the four year old asked.
And Momma said, “Yes.”