Day 3: Balls


JIngle Balls (As the french call them)


He didn’t like the way his father twisted and tinkered with the ornaments. It made him uncomfortable sitting across from his younger sister dressed in pink and red frilled dress. She looked so very upset, arms cross, and cheeks red from pouting so furiously. She had this absent look in her eyes like she’d forgotten why she’d gotten so cross but was too committed to her frown to stop now. His father twisted the green striped on over and again, the tree shaking and flaking. His mother walked over every so often in her black high heels sweeping the shedding under under the fake snow. She looked very sophisticated in her black dress, but his father always got so cross when mother looked so curvy.

The second ball ornament slid down the string and collided with the green stripped one, crushing a popcorn in the middle.

“Juan-Carlos!” His father’s voice came suddenly almost like he’d turned around and rushed at him with both arms. He was standing facing the tree his green sweater facing the boy. Juan-Carlos lept up and rushed, palms up to help, “Hold these!”

Juan-Carlos cradled the two balls in one hand and his cheeks grew red. Two red balls in his hands. He wanted to giggle. Make a snide comment the frills on his sister dress, the black heels on his mother, and the sweater on his father kept his kravatte tie tighten like a noose around his neck. Sweat globbed up on his hand and is father glared at him for a moment looked at his red face.

“Help your mother.” And he snatched the balls, separating them into two separate hands


Day 2: Coming


A coming of Age about a boy with a beard


The other guys couldn’t take pride in the stubble that Doug was admiring unknowingly with his fingers. The Middle School students had watched him wander around scratching and pulling at the little hairs, and they had too started rubbing red marks into their soft chins. Doug had a special gift. A gift that the college student peering into his bathroom mirror, groaning and shaving away the light soft patchy bits would die to to have been blessed with. Doug had a naturally scraggly beard. The matted, long, black hair, turning up and around. It tickled his nose durning P.E., face reddened and damp with sweat. He hated the hair. It made him sweat more than his friends. WHen he wiped his face it scratched his arm. The girls never liked to talk to him. They thought he was weird. Little did Doug know, It wasn’t nearly as hairy as it would get in high school. What he had now was stubble. In 4 years when he was lopping it off every weekend or every day when he got that managerial position at the local office supply warehouse¬†it would be a beard.