Rainbow Night at Club Venus

James always looked sharp. His bell-bottoms always wore a sharp crease and his platform shoes never went out in public sporting scuff marks or cigarette butts stuck to their heels.

One day James convinced me to accompany him to Club Venus over at Perring Plaza to pick up women who were amenable to dancing under the big glass ball.

"But”, said James, “we gotta take you shopping for some new threads.  I have seen your wardrobe man and frankly it sucks. Might work for those big Mother Earth, Ms Natural types I see dragging you around, but the women over to the Venus need you to step up your game. They have some class.  They actually shave their armpits and use lipstick.”

He could tell I was a tad miffed.  He turned me to face the big glass doors on the front of the Towson State University library.  “Look at yourself fool.  You’re a schlub, what with all that tye dyed hippie shit cut off jeans flip flop look you are sporting. Really Bro, time to pick up your game.  No sulking, we are hoofing uptown to Hutzler’s. Besides, what are you going to spend that paycheck on anyway, more weed?” 

So we began the hike up York Road.  James strutting in his everyday best and me flip flopping beside him in my everyday worst.  After a short stop at the bank to cash my check, we crossed the street and entered the department store.

Forty five minutes or so later we strode out of Hutzlers looking like twin brothers of different mothers.  I had transformed from an ugly ducking into an imagined swan. Tucked into a pair of baby blue bell bottoms was the classic “Fever” shirt with the big collar and puffy sleeves opened of course to show off the authentic fake gold chain. Toss in those outrageous 3” platform Disco shoes and Jack, I was ready to kill me some ladies.  Least ways, Jack said I was gonna knock em dead.

Thursday night came.  James called me.  Something about being jammed up and he would meet me at Club Venus around eight.   Bummed a ride with some other folks from the dorm and walked in the club.  A banner over the entrance to the ball room claimed in three foot letters, that this night was the first annual “Rainbow Night”. 

Not placing any special importance to the notion of “Rainbow Night”, I walked onto the massive dance floor.  Disco Jacks and Disco Jills were getting their grooves on.  I was maybe halfway across the floor when it dawned on me that I was seeing mostly bucks dancing with bucks and does dancing with does. ……………

“That goddamned James, …..I’ll kill the bastard", I thought. I smiled instead.  James thought he had been safely living in the closet.  He had no clue most of his friends knew he was gay and didn’t care.  …… “But yeah where is that little bastard?”  I finished crossing the dance floor and found the 50 foot bar.  Ordered a shot and a beer, I settled onto a bar stool and watched the light in the loafer folks do their thing.

Into my second shot and second beer, I noticed a woman heading in my general location.  She was taking disco to an ultimate height, fashion wise.  She was wearing a one piece silver hot pants outfit, thigh high silver platform boots, and topped off with an albino afro, two and a half feet across.  Woah, she wanted everyone’s attention.  She would not be ignored.  She smiled at me and………..  Damned, if it wasn’t James, doing his best tranny act and pulling it off to boot.  He looked perfect.  But then James always looked sharp. 

All I could do was grin and head out to meet him on the dance floor for his first coming out dance.  Had a blast that night with him and all the friends he used to keep in his closet.

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 660 words -more or less

First written in Fall of 2018 for a writing class I was in.

Cross Published in the original "Lost in the Bozone"

Last Respects

The Prediction – Flash due Th – 11th of July

100 Words - word prompts - crave, plaster, upwind

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He wanted to relive the joy and pay last respects to the old before he created anything new.  He craved reliving these moments.  Closing his eyes and concentrating, it was almost like the first time.

Unfortunately he approached upwind from his last creation.  Lost in his reverie, he failed to notice the smell.  He was upon the statue before he knew it.  Two men in suits were holding handkerchiefs over their noses and gazing at his statue.

They turned and the tall one said, “This your work?”

He had no answer.

“Well, if it is, more plaster would have helped.”

Summer 1963

Times Past Challenge – 6/16/18

Reflect on a big change in my lifetime.

560 or so words ( originally over 1200 )

Links posted at 

~ Reflections and Nightmares

~ Carrot Ranch

Summer 1963

The State Theater was located on the north side of College Avenue between Monroe and Adams Streets in Tallahassee, Florida.  It was just four blocks down from the Travelodge motel my father (G1) had taken over after retiring from the US Air Force a couple of years earlier. It was the summer of 1963.  I (Boomer) remember it well.

Being from a military family who moved at the drop of a hat, exploration was first on my agenda.  Knowing the layout of the land was an imperative first step in acclimating to new surroundings.  Having a movie theater just down the street seemed  a good place to begin.  I would start there. 

The family's military lifestyle did not prepare any of us for the  nastier aspects of the world we would now exist in.  My parents had become used to the protective bubble a military life offered.  I was born on base and knew nothing else.  There was no such thing as segregation in my world up to that time.

I stepped up to the ticket window and bought a ticket. I remember the black woman inside the ticket booth asking me not once, but twice if I was sure I wanted to go into the theater.  I was adamant.  I was 12.  It was Saturday and I was burning daylight while the matinee was well into its first serial.  She handed me a ticket.  I went in, bought some popcorn and a coke and went into the theater.  Not long after I had settled into my seat, I sensed someone big sit down in the seat behind me.  They leaned over the back of the seat next to me and said, "Boy, are you sure you are in the right theater?"  

I turned and there was a very unfriendly looking black man staring at me hard.  I told him yes, I was in the right theater.  I lived just down the street at the Travelodge and my name was Mike.  I ended with "we just moved here."

"Son," his voice became friendlier, "you really are in the wrong theater. ....  You need to leave.  We don't want any trouble here."

I stood up and looked around.  It finally dawned on me there was not one white face there other than mine.  And it seemed to me all eyes were focused on me and not the screen.

I left and walked the four blocks back to the Travelodge.  When I got home, I told my dad I had been kicked out of the theater by a very scary black guy.  He looked at me.  He did not ask what I might have done to deserve getting the boot.  He just sighed and told me to blow it off, we would talk later.  I think he knew but had forgotten how the real world worked.

Thus began my exposure to the very real and ugly world of segregation in the US South in the early 1960's.  That summer I witnessed white people beating on black people while white police leaned on their cruisers and sucked on toothpicks.  I was shamed by a public librarian for drinking out of the wrong fountain.  I was told in no uncertain terms that my kind was not allowed to sit in the back of the bus.  And at a nearby rib joint, I was refused service again because I was white. It was an eye opening coming of age summer.  One I have never forgotten.

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The years 1962 and 1963 were absolutely crammed with more seminal moments than the rest of my life combined.  The above is the one I revisit most often I think.

To attempt some structure to my memoir here, I decided to try just focusing on one event while offering just enough background to give the reader perspective.  I am not sold on my effort, but it is different than some of my other stream of consciousness posts or my based on facts fictional narratives.

Any criticism, comment or hey der's welcome.

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Image from this site - and is not a copyrighted image

Lonely Joe

Mindlovemisery “Double Take” challenge – Due Fri- 6/15/18

Homophones - Use all four in one sentence.
519 Words

mail – postal delivery
male – masculine person

moose – a large elk
mousse – dessert of whipped cream and eggs

Lonely Joe

One day down to the local P.O., Bernard Bean, the postmaster, looked out to the parking lot.  Now Bernard was a good ole Mainer.  There weren’t much that could make him raise an eyebrow.   But what he saw in the parking lot that morning made both his eyebrows rise up, which in turn caused Alice Eaton , the local cat lady, to turn around and gasp.

There in the parking lot in all his glory was a male moose, his fur moussed up into spikes, standing on his hind legs in front of the mailbox.  Between his two front hooves, he held a large envelope.  The moose looked perplexed.

It takes an act of God to get Bernard to come out from behind his counter, what with him being a Mainer and a Federal employee to boot.  This situation he decided needed some personal attention.  He flipped up the passage part of the countertop.  The mail Alice was sorting flew into the air and scattered around the lobby. 

Outside, Bernard confronted the moose.  “Joe, what the Hell?  What’s up with the hair? You’re frightening Alice.”

Joe looked uncomfortable standing there on two legs sporting spiked hair.  “Well Bernie, Just want to mail this.”  He pushed the envelope in Bernard’s direction.  “Problem is I can’t open the mailbox.”

Bernard‘s gaze continued to pass over Joe’s huge body. The hint of a smile showed on his face.  His eyes began to glisten. “Jesus Joe, I’ll mail it for ya.  But really, what’s up with your fur.  Are the spikes hard?’’ Bernard reached out and felt one.

“No, they aren’t. Just a tad stiff.   But I tell you what, it cost me a fortune to buy enough packages of Paul Mitchell extra volume sculpting foam to spike up all the fur.”

“Well yeah, I can see that.”  Bernard just shook his head.  He took the package Joe offered him and turned it over so he could read the address.  He smiled and slid it into the box.

“Joe, you shouldn’t have to go this route, sniffing around floozies in some desperate singles mag.  There’s plenty of ladies right here in town I am sure would be proud to ……………….”  Bernard could not keep a straight face.  He began laughing and continued laughing as he went back into the P.O.

Bernard’s laugh cut through Joe like a knife.  The young bull moose was not used to being the butt of any joke, what with him standing seven feet tall and tipping the scales at a respectable 1350 pounds.  He thought the spike look made him even more intimidating, especially when he forced his lips into a snarl. 

Joe admired himself in the big picture window on the front of the P.O. “What cow could resist this awesome specimen,” he thought? Joe decided he liked what he saw and he was sure the ladies would not be able to resist.  He turned around and dropped to his four legs.  Joe lifted his head and puffed up his chest.   With a head toss and a fart, he trotted off into the woods across the road.
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This is my first flash challenge effort on Mindlovemisery

A Jazzy Gizmo

Prediction Flash Challenge - Due June 15, 2018
100 words or less - Prompts - Apparatus, Jazz, Deduct

Cyrus stood at the bus stop carefully cradling his latest invention in both arms.  Standing behind and to the left of Cyrus, a street person fidgeted and mumbled unintelligibly.

Street Guy shuffled around and faced Cyrus.  “What’s with the jazzy gizmo bub?” 

Cyrus’ face contorted as he stepped back.  “Sir, this is a carefully constructed scientific apparatus.  Deduct forethought and purpose and what you end up with is something created by accident and happy mishap.  That would be your jazzy gizmo.”

“I guess there’s no point small talking is there?”  Street Guy pulled a knife out.  “Give me your wallet.”
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Image courtesy of Henrik Pienge Jakobson

Man Glisten

Carrot Ranch – 99 words about “Man Glisten”

Due June 12, 2018

Joyce looked up at her husband John and said, “Oh great.  Look what you’ve done now?”

Oblivious to verbal cues, John just looked at Joyce and grunted.

“Hey, snap out of it.  I think we’re done here.  ………….. Would you please move.  Your sweat is dripping on me.” 

“Huh?”  John’s eyes said, “Nobody home.”  He composed himself.  “My Sweat? What about those sweaty handprints you left on me?

Joyce smiled at John.  “Women don’t sweat, they glow.”

“I see. ………… men don’t sweat either.  We glisten. …. Now let’s move on.  These fence posts aren’t going to plant themselves.

Crime in 99

Carrot Ranch Challenge – 1/11/18 – 99 words exactly

Prompt – Story involving Wet Ink literally or figuratively

Crime in 99

Outwardly, Harold was a picture of calm as the cop pressed his hand into the ink saturated blotter.

Sgt. Pine handed Harold a towel.  “Confirmation prints, Mr. Jenkins.”

“Confirmation prints?” Harold stopped wiping his hands. His stomach knotted. 

"You mean elimination prints, yes?" Harold felt his blood begin to rush.

“No sir. ... Confirmation ……. You said you saw the victim through the window and never went inside, right?”

“Uh, Yes,…that’s right.”

“Well, we found a print with a nick running through it.    We think the perp cut himself recently.”  The Cop’s eyes sparkled.

Harold slowly turned over his hand.

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This one came relatively easy this time.  Might have been the prompt.  But I do enjoy the fact it fell in place so well.