Jump (an acrostic poem)

Just close your eyes and do it

Unless your mother ever gave you that speech

Mom loves the whole bridge analogy

Perhaps if there was a train coming though….

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The Hard Stare

“Do you understand your rights?” she asked.

I nodded glumly, my hands behind my back.  I couldn’t bring myself to look into her eyes.  I just wished this nightmare would end, but I knew this was just the beginning.

“So do you want to tell me again how this happened,” she asked as she gestured to the minivan that currently was missing its passenger side door and side mirror.  It had been pristine just thirty minutes ago, just like my life.  Now?  Well, I would be lucky if I just lost an arm to this one.

“I really wouldn’t,” I said as I kept my gaze on the blacktop wishing I could just sink into it and disappear.

Not getting what she wanted out of me, she turned to my friend, Smitty.  “What about you Byron?” she asked.

“His name is Smitty, not Byron,” I correct her, but all that earned me was another one of those stares.  I started to think about how friendly I was going to have to become with some guy named Luscious or Luthor or something even worse.  What had I been thinking?

“Which do you prefer to be called?” she asked, giving Smitty the hard stare.  I could see out of the corner of my eye that Smitty had already broke, and she had only asked him two questions.  I was going to do hard time for sure.

Smitty’s voice cracked as he answered.  “Whichever you want, ma’am,” Smitty said, stammering the whole way.  I now worried about the guy.  I mean, pissing himself couldn’t be far away now.

She caught me looking at Smitty and turned that hard look onto me.  I was ready for it though having seen it before.  I just threw my gaze back at my shoes.  They at least didn’t seem to be scuffed too bad.  I began to wonder if I could outrun everything, but then I realized I really couldn’t outrun the law, especially since she was right here.

“So Byron?” she asked.  “What happened?”

“We were going to shoot a bit of the movie,” Smitty said.  “Bentley told me to…”

She interrupted him immediately.  “Who is Bentley?” she asked.

“That’s my street name,” I said.  “It’s all about what I’ll be driving in a few years.”

She turned her attention back to me.  “Really, Bentley.”  She emphasized the Bentley as if it was a dirty word.  “You think you’re going to be driving anytime soon?” she asked.

“I wasn’t even driving,” I said.  I immediately regretted saying that.

“Is this your vehicle?” she asked in a hush tone.

“Well, yes,” I said.  I wanted to fidget so badly, but I knew any sign of weakness now was going to be the end of me.  Still there was nothing to do under her stare down.  I’m sure she has put hardened murderers to their knees with that look of scorn.  I’m just a sixteen year old kid.  I can’t handle that kind of pressure, even after all this time.  “Look, I know I did a stupid thing.  If you can just let me go this one time,” I blurt out.

Smitty looked at her and me with a look like he’s about to blow chunks.  She never stops looking my way as she waves her hand dismissing Smitty.  “Get home, Byron,” she said.  “Tell your mother she should expect a call from me later tonight.”

Smitty looked like he got a get out of jail free card and been tased at the same time.  Still, he wasted no time and ran out of there as fast as he could.  I so wished that was me, but she had who she wanted.  Heck I had even confessed.  “Look, I…”

She cut me off again.  “Just be quiet young man.  You’re lucky I don’t drag your sorry behind down to the station right now,” she said.

“You’re not even on duty,” I said.

She pointed at the deformed van again.  “When something like that happens I’m always on duty,” she said.

“Mom, I said I’m sorry,” I said, stamping my foot.

She shook her finger at me.  “Don’t mom me young man.  Right now I’m Officer Callahan to you,” she said as she reached out and dragged me into the house to call my dad.

And you thought your mom was tough.

A Broken Connection

His sword cut through the goblin like butter, but that just left room for the next one to step up.  Nathan had been hacking at these damn things for like the past fifteen minutes and his arms were getting tired.  True he could hardly be hurt by the things, but if he stopped swinging they could hurt and maybe even kill him.

At last he saw their king walking to the fray.  Nathan began swinging in wide arcs, ignoring his fingers complaining about their grip.  He had to make it to the king and end this once and for all.  Three more slashes and he was right there.  He sized up the king and began a combo, but before it could work the internet went down.  “Mom!” he complained, “Why did you turn on the microwave?”

“You said you wanted a Hot Pocket,” his mother said from the kitchen.

As the microwave beeped Nathan’s connection reestablished and he was able to witness the death stroke from the goblin king pierce Nathan’s character’s heart.

“No!” Nathan cried.

Nathan’s mom came into the room carrying a plate with the death dealing Hot Pocket.  “Nathan deary, it’s only a game.”

Nathan looked at her like she had told him that she had personally killed Santa Claus because his reindeer pooped on the roof one too many times, AND threw away all the presents.  “Mom, I was playing hardcore mode,” Nathan said.  “I was almost to max level.  My mage is now permadead.  Do you know what that means?”

“I’m afraid not deary.  You know that,” she said as she placed the plate on the tray next to Nathan.

Nathan swooped up the Hot Pocket, tearing into it like a medieval turkey leg.  “It means about thirty hours wasted,” he said while chewing.  “Thanks mom.”

His mom put her hands on her hips.  “Don’t you dare use that sarcastic voice with me!  All these hours you play seem like a waste.”

Nathan swallowed and picked back up the controller.  “Mom, you just don’t understand.”

Nathan’s mom shook her head and walked out of the room, but after just a brief moment she returned.  “I may not understand why you play that thing constantly, but I do know one thing,” she said.

Nathan didn’t even bother taking a look at her.  He continued to load his next character.  “What is that?” he asked.

“A thirty-eight year old should be able to heat his own damn Hot Pocket,” she said.  With that she left the room in a huff.

Nathan sat there stunned by what his mother had just said.  The idea of being thirty-eight and living in his mother’s basement made his mind explode.  Then he shrugged his shoulders, took another huge bite of Hot Pocket, and dove back into the game.  That goblin king was going to go down next time.  Go down hard!