Rolling My Eyes

Friday at Almost 6 p.m. Lice lady The high school has a basketball net. It was the first thought Edward Julian Watson had, when his eyes rested upon the basketballs stuck in the large cage. Edward Julian Watson was in the sports department of the K-Mart. What Edward Julian Watson really wanted to purchase was a pair of kneepads. He liked to wear them when he scrubbed his white kitchen floor. So, Edward Julian Watson bought a blue pair of kneepads, along with a basketball. He was the last person to leave the store; an employee, of some-sort, locking the door behind him. Edward Julian Watson threw the kneepads, towards the couch, when he walked into the front door of his house, and Edward Julian threw on his sneakers, immediately after. He had not played basketball in a good five years. Along with his sneakers, Edward Julian Watson also wore a what-the-fuck-does-Larry-Byrd-have-on-me-? attitude, when he ran back out his front door, towards his blue Datsun. Edward Julian Wa...

Earlier That Day It was eleven-thirty in the morning. Edward Julian Watson always woke up on Saturdays, at eleven-thirty in the morning. Edward Julian Watson was in a white bedroom. It was Edward Julian Watson's bedroom. Edward Julian Watson had a elbow-ache because he was on the bed, in his white room, and it was a white room because Edward Julian Watson had not painted it. He rubbed his elbow and that is when he noticed he was wearing the same clothes that he had on the night before. Then, he noticed his watch on the pillow beside him. Edward Julian Watson could taste the grit on his teeth, soured salsa and hamburger. "I have to go," Edward Julian Watson said, out loud. "Okay," his body answered him, weary and aching as he upped himself onto his carpeted floor. Edward Julian Watson always did his weekly groceries and then met Bob for lunch, at noon, on Saturdays. Becki was running through the downtown streets, the same streets she walked everyday...

Later That Day Edward Julian Watson took things for granted. Edward Julian Watson was on his way home from Saturday 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 baseball game on the television. Becki was standing staring at the bank teller. In her yellow skirt. “I cannot give you advice on this,” John, the man behind the desk, said to her, as he handed her the green folder back; fast. “Thank you, anyway” Becki smiled up at John. “You deserve some help,” John replied. "I will call over to the main branch. I am sure they can help clear this up for you." And Becki smiled at him, again. But she wondered what it was she was so deserving of this h...

The yellow bike was everything. When Tommy was four years old, riding across Chapel Park, he had looked down and back, watching his training wheels cut through the grass and molding the dandelions to the earth. Tommy had felt happy, when the weeds did not pop back up. Now Tommy was six years old and Tommy was racing himself. Up and down the sidewalk, in front of his house. Where Momma was having the yard sale. Tommy would switch the gears on the yellow bike often. Tommy liked doing that best. He did not understand why he could pedal backwards and the bike would still go forwards. He felt like he was from a different planet every time he switched the gears, so Tommy would pretend that his skin was green and that he had yellow eyes, to match his yellow bike. Which was really his spaceship. Tommy was a well-liked alien on the planet Earth because Tommy The Alien could go fast. Tommy was pedalling fast around the corner, head down, crushing down the sidewalk, up along the side of his ...