Filed under: Fiction

But he was also a great running partner. That was summer when I was 12, and K was 13, we talked about the World Cup, and K told me about FBI, after heíd make me promise that Iíd never tell anyone because that might put his Dad in danger, and I told him about the teachers in our school. Somehow K had managed to stay out of school those weeks in May and June, and nobody seemed to miss him.

So I told him which teachers I liked, and which I didnít like, and why. And we ran. We ran those trails and paths, and we ran on track, and we ran around our town from the tennis courts to the beach and from the Dairy Queen to the library.

Ruuuuuun!

» Continued

Filed under: Fiction

The first time K and I became friends, I was 12 years old. He was thirteen, which made him the boss of me, because in that age, age is everything. I was also shorter, and a little skinnier, so even if I ever had decided to go against Kís ideas, he surely would have got me back in line, fast.

But there was never any need for that because we were the best of friends.

A runner.

K.

» Continued

Mar 19, '13 : Woulda coulda shoulda

Filed under: Fiction

Another March day. The sun is shining, after some light snowfall. The snow in spring is so light it looks fake.

ďItís like the snow in the movies,Ē said Wife when she took off with Son and Daughter this morning.

I waved to them from the front door, until I saw Sonís red hat disappear behind the garage. I closed the door, packed my bag and went to the gym because while you can make a change any given day, sometimes you have to keep doing the same thing over and over again to really make a change.

A Paksy original.

» Continued

Aug 09, '12 : Man's best friend

Filed under: Fiction

It got quiet in the back yard. Suddenly. Almost too quiet, and a little too suddenly so I decided to have a look. As I got around the house, I saw Daughter standing very, very still right at the edge of our lawn, looking out to the other side of the fence our neighbors had set up a couple of months earlier.

She didnít move one, but she looked happy. And I knew why.

I stopped, too. I didnít want to spoil her moment.

Non-fiction photo.

» Continued