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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book... “Hands that Hurt” Down in the Dirt, v145 (the May 2017 Issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

Order this writing in the issue book Random Thoughts the Down in the Dirt July-Dec. 2016 collection book		get the 418 page May-August 2017 Down in the Dirt issue anthology 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

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Have it, they shall

Liam Spencer

    It had been forever. There was always something. The sun hit his face as he exited the bus. It was going to be a hot one. Mid-August. A cold six pack of micro brew clanged in his backpack as he walked the trail through Carkeek Park. The chill of the shade refreshed his skin.
    His hobble slowed him from his usual speed. There was the job he had worked so hard for. A mistake. The fucker. If he had it to do all over again...
    USPS will chew you up and spit you out.
    “Your job sucks.” His most recent ex would always say.
    He grinned. He was one of the very few that “made it.” At what cost?
    Memories flood returned. The Her. They were always there. It was their beach back then. He hadn’t been able to make it in years now. First it was earning the job, proving himself once again. The most exhausted he had ever been. Then it was a severe ankle injury. Time, but no money. The usual. Plus, a bad ankle. Then it was work, again. Money, but no time. The usual. Now it was workers’ comp., and his bad back again.
    Now, however, he was determined. Years. How he loved the beach. A Thursday. His scheduled day off. It was time. Now or never, at least for another year.

    Women walked past, usually either in pairs or couples. Their legs shined and caught his glance. If only. Once in a while a lone person came along the path. They were usually joggers that looked unhappy or older people walking dogs. He nicely nodded hellos.
    Aside from pushing back memory’s flood from returning, he smelled the air, indulged in the cool breeze, and smiled at finally being back.
    Reaching the beach, he stood in the cold waters of Puget Sound. The punishing sun beat down, but was, for once, welcome. He wasn’t surrounded by eighty pounds of mail, sprinting up sixty feet of concrete steps, with sweat pouring out of him, today, at least. Plus, the cold water up past his knees invigorated him.
    “Ahhhhh.....yeahhhh......” The biggest exhale in history.
    He picked a secluded spot. The tide was low. It was his day. The cold beer went down so nice. Perfect. He grinned.
    Memories flooded once in a while, and he looked around sadly. A journeyman. The rollercoaster of his life haunted him to his very core. Notebook open, pen in hand, poetry began flowing. Romance, passions, loves lost, tragedies..... his handwriting could not keep up. Brainstorming always brought the highest of happinesses.
    “Some of this might be publishable.” He found himself saying out loud. There, poetically, was no one around, aside from the slowly incoming tide.

    A young woman came walking along. The expression on her face said she wanted to be left alone. He felt bad for glancing at her body, but couldn’t help himself. She was obviously much younger than he, perhaps early twenties. He was forty-two.
    She laid out a towel near some rocks, around twenty feet from him, leaned against the rocks, and began reading a novel. Her legs were amazing. He resisted, and went back to his own world; the waves, the smell of the ocean, the rare enjoyment.
    Once in a while, when he got too hot, he went out into the water. He stood there, watching the waves increase with the tides, inhaling deeply, cleansing, until his legs were painfully numb. Then it was back to the writing and reflecting.

    All good things must come to an end. A group of four young guys came along to set up camp. They were drunk and noisy. Frisbees flew almost as high as the annoying, drunken laughter. One hit Liam on the side of his shoulder. Their laughter erupted.
    “Sorry, old dude! You ok?”
    Ha ha ha. Indeed.
    “No. I’m mortally wounded from a Frisbee. Here. Go get it.”
    The Frisbee went into the water. Liam Laughed.
    “Oh dude!”
    Ha ha ha. Indeed.

    The woman looked his way. Their eyes met very briefly. A slight smile pronounced on each of their faces. She seemed more comfortable, somehow.

    “Go for her, man. Show us what you got, dude.”

    Immediately, she tensed. It was all too obvious. She pretended to continue reading her book, obviously bracing for bullshit.
    The Frisbee was thrown perfectly. A “heroic” catch. Laughter. A beginning of conquest. Feather in the cap. Young and stupid. Liam shook his head. This should be good writing material. Life is happening, just not his.
    The jive began. Humor. Usual lines. Her obligations to not crush him.
    Liam didn’t have such obligations. He didn’t care anymore. What he did have was laughter, and he used it. He was known as something of an asshole anyway, so what the fuck.
    “Really?!” Liam’s laugh silenced everyone.
    “What, old dude, what?!”
    “That is what you chose to say to her? Really?”
    Everyone suddenly looked worried. Was there going to be confrontation?
    “Nobody asked you, old man, ok?”
    “What, are you like eight? Really? That’s hilarious. Really. I used those lines when I was in junior high.”
    Liam’s laugh was hearty. She cracked up, echoing the laughter.
    “Come on, dude. There are hotter chicks out there. Ok.”
    “No, no. He ruined a good thing, man. I wanna kick his ass. Come on.”
    “A good thing?! You had no thing, other than making her uncomfortable.”
    “What?! Old man, I can kick your ass.”
    “Come on man, let’s leave, ok? It’s not worth it. There are hotter chicks, ok?”

    A rock whizzed past Liam’s face, landing beside him. His smile lit the dimming sky.
    It was him and her, and silence for minutes.
    “I’m sorry that happened. I just couldn’t help but hear and laugh, and well....”
    Her sly smile seemed to warm her. She set her book aside, took out a flask, and sipped. She let out a deep sigh, and began gathering her things. Liam found himself regretting that she was leaving.
    Him and his big mouth.
    Carrying what she had, she walked over beside him, unpacked, laid down on her beach towel, and handed him the flask.
    “This will scare them off.” She laughed.
    He sipped and laughed too, handing her back the flask.
    “What are you reading?”
    “Oh some novel. It’s the usual. So normal. So formula. It’s terrible in the usual ways, but it’s something to read.”
    “Ouch. I can relate. That’s why I’d rather write than read. It’s much more enjoyable. No formula bullshit.”
    Her face lit up like a Christmas Tree.
    “I write too! Not as much as I would like, but I love it!”
    Now both their faces were lit. The flask was passed with increasing frequencies. Brainstorming commenced. He showed her what he had written that day, eagerly pointing to lines that might be published. She noticeably shifted, nearly squirming in her seat, rereading her favorite parts. She then showed him her works on her blog. His eyes opened wide.
    He showed her his published works on Scars Publications page, and even read some to her as she glowed ever brighter.

    “So the old man gets to pop her cherry, huh?”
    She looked down. Liam looked hardened. His arm went around her. She leaned in.
    “Dude, dude....you had too much to drink, ok? We’re taking you home.”
    “No! I can take him! Come on, old man, come on!”
    The youngster’s moves made Liam stand up abruptly. His old “bad boy scowl” returned. Five foot eleven, two fifteen. Scars all over him, well earned.
    “Oh shit! Let’s go, man! Now. You’re going!”
    “No! I can take him!”

    His punch was more a glance. He missed, mostly. A little blood came from Liam’s lip. Very little. The youngster stood up to see Liam standing there smiling at him.
    “Yeah oops. Ya think?”
    The three others grabbed the youngster and pulled him out of harm’s way. Liam stood there, smiling, knowing ropes. How far he had come.
    She stood beside him, putting her left arm around his shoulders, her right hand on his bare, sunburnt chest.
    “Oh, sorry.”
    “Please don’t be. It felt really good.”

    They settled in on their towels as the tide rolled in, ever closer. Flasks and beers were passed. Poems, literature, and laughter echoed. Ideas flowed faster than the tides could move. She nestled against him. It felt so right.
    The beach emptied slowly. The tides made them move, and move again.
    “So, umm...this has been great, but I gotta pee.”
    “Me too. First, though.....I know I am older, but this is too good. Can I have your number? Maybe we can talk?”
    “Well, I do tend to like older guys....”
    “Hmm.....I wondered.”
    “Let’s go pee first. I gotta......”
    “Bushes? I’m ready.”
    “Yeah.” She laughed, before rushing off. He did too, and was now two o’ five.

    “Let’s make sure we have the right numbers.”
    Her text came through.

    The way to the cars was even more fun; laughing and carrying on. It was a far cry from the earlier shells, stuck in their own world. The world was now theirs to be had, and have it they shall.

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