Open Road SongThe speedometer and the road sign match as we continue our cruise down I-75, the Camry chugging along as it faithfully obliges my ticks and taps. Ann is gripping the upholstery of her seat and gritting her teeth at my actions, while Thomas sits in the back, his head wedged into the window. His head is outlined by a flash of the cars lights behind us, and I press down further on the gas pedal as the needle drops and the pack of cars around us growls out threats to consume us whole.
“How much farther?” I ask Ann in an attempt to take her mind off my driving and release my passenger seat from her death-grip. It only semi-works, as she eyes me suspiciously but takes her phone from one of the cupholders and pulls up the map we had been following the entire day.
“Berea, yup,” I reply, altering her pronunciation slightly.
She swipes her finger a few times on the screen and sighs, waiting for the 4G service to kick in and update her map. A ha
Get It Together, Part 2Why had he listened to his brother's wife's uncle's daughter's hairdresser? There was no way this woman was a reputable lawyer, no way. There was a feeling that came from her employees alone – the three of them, lazing at their desks: one doing a sudoku puzzle, one hunched over textbooks, and one actually working but he had a ponytail so he was disqualified. Actually, they all looked impressively unprofessional, whether it be tattoos, piercings, or dyed hair.
Like this Johnson woman, the one who said she was a lawyer. Her name was the one on the sign and the business card so – she had to be one, right? Her hair belonged in an Easter basket, not in court, and certainly did not belong to the one who came with glowing recommendations. That hairdresser had a lot of explaining to do.
Greg was never so happy to be ending a meeting than right then, reaching his hand out for the expected shake that was to follow the offering. He could feel how wonderful it was going t
Get It TogetherDespite all the piercings, tattoos, and multi-colored hair at the office, Lorelei Johnson kept a tight ship. Her own mane of pastel green was very easily looked over by clients once she buckled down and went into “serious lawyer mode”. She figured that, as long as the work was done and your appearance was kept in good shape, why care about metal, ink drawings, and pigments?
It wasn't the separate items she had to worry about so much as the people they belonged to. Lorelei was reaching across her desk to shake hands with Mister Conner when a very loud, reverberating thump echoed out from the room that just so happened to be the one where her employees were typically located. The first noise was followed by a shriek, and Lorelei's hand froze cold mid-air.
She and Mister Conner made eye contact, him raising his brows high into his bald head, but she merely smiled, completing the handshake and offering to escort him from the office. He seemed hesitant to enter the room f
By Guilt or Annoyance"Where is that little shit."
If there was one phase in life Russell wasn't expecting, it was the "child rearing" one. He had given up on that thought a while ago, and had actually settled into the give-up pretty well before his current headache popped into his life. It was not a fun way to be inducted into parenthood, and he wasn't sure if it was genuine warmth or annoying guilt that made him take her in.
Russell's back ached as he walked around the living room. He had been rough housing with the kid the previous night - a phrase he though he'd never say, let alone participate in - and was unfortunately reminded of why middle-aged parents of young children had such a stigma against them. He simply couldn't keep up with the bundle of energy that zoomed around the apartment, climbing on everything, crashing into anything. Right when he would think they were taking a break, she'd leap off the floor like a whale crashing above the waves and insist on playing another round of 'I'll j