…na mana’o ulu wale…

i had asked my son what they did in chapel at school and he said that they had sung “school songs and pray songs.” i was curious–school songs? what school songs? and he goes, “you know, the rah rah rah one.”

rah rah rah? RAH RAH RAH? i looked at him incredulously. “you mean this one?” and i started to sing the alma mater. i sat up proudly, shoulders back, chin up, lifting the diaphragm, and sang. by the chorus, my voice started to crack. tears began streaming down my cheeks. memories came pouring in, as i remembered all the times we’ve stood in school and had to sing the alma mater. i could hear my fellow classmates around me, the low bass voices of the boys, and the high soprano voices of the girls, covering up my horribly flat voice. i couldn’t even finish the song as i became lost in thought.

it’s weird to think that things that happened 20 years ago just stay etched in your mind. i can remember those things like it was yesterday–all the feelings of teen awkwardness, those huge crushes, and the studying. i can recall our pledge with hesitation. i can sing the alma mater and fight song without missing a beat (except when i’m crying ). sights, sounds, and even smells of school overwhelmed me at that moment. it was very strange.

i looked back at my son and pulled open his homework folder, showing him the words of the alma mater that was printed inside, commanding him to memorize them. he read them over and over, but i kept trying to sing it to him (i guess he’s more visual than audio), though i could never make it through the whole song without the emotions taking over. he really enjoys his school, and i even caught in his prayer book that he had written that one of the things he was thankful for was that he got to attend that school. so hopefully one day soon he’ll be able to sing the alma mater, standing tall and proud, and i hope that it gives him many good memories 30 years from now, when he’s singing the song along with his child.

“Fresh-baked pecan brownie and rich vanilla ice cream topped with homemade chocolate sauce and chocolate shavings.”

YUM. Drooling yet?

That’s the “Chocolate Thunder from Down Under” from Outback Steakhouse. Doesn’t it sound heavenly? We were deciding between that and the “Chocolate Chocolate Tower” (”a towering chocolate layer cake served atop raspberry sauce”) when we went there recently for my birthday. My son really wanted the Chocolate Chocolate Tower but I didn’t want raspberry–I wanted chocolate and vanilla and more chocolate. I wanted cold and warm. I wanted different textures. I wanted something special since we rarely eat out anyway. Plus, it was my birthday. So I chose.

Oh, it was nice. We could’ve really enjoyed it if we weren’t stuffed from dinner. We barely made a dent in it. But the lovely chewy brownie drowning in the melting vanilla and hot fudge…oh my gosh. I am drooling as I type. That was so lovely.

I rarely eat dessert. I love it, but I just don’t eat very much of it, usually because I’m filled up with other things like steak Even at home, I don’t eat/buy very much sweets. I’m not sure why. We rarely had it when we were growing up, so I guess that stuck with me, unlike my sisters who totally rebelled that and eat nothing BUT dessert now (though they were blessed with good metabolisms, unlike me). It’s not so much that I want to watch what I eat, either. It’s just that I don’t crave it as much. I enjoy it, but it’s not like I *have* to have it. I can turn down desserts being passed around at parties. To me, it has to be special for me to take a bite.

When we were growing up, as I said, we rarely had dessert. It was such a treat to just have ice cream, which we usually got at Grandma’s house. But when my mom did make dessert, she’d go all the way and make burnt creme. OH MY GOSH. Soooooooooooo yummy. She’d take out her little tins and make her custard sauce, pour them in the tins, and place them carefully in the long pan full of water, so it can steam in the oven. Then she’d take it out, pour the sugar on, and then put them under the broiler, to get that thick, hard crust. Then they’d go in the icebox. We could hardly wait to eat one! We’d gobble down our dinner quickly, and urge our dad to hurry as well, so we could have a burnt creme (and he’d eat slow on purpose!). Then when he finally was ready, we’d get him the big dish, and we’d take our own little small dishes, crack the sugar crust, and dig into the soft, creamy insides. YUMMMMMMMMMM. Gosh, I’m drooling again.

A few years ago, I saw a creme brulee kit at Costco and all those memories of burnt creme came back to me. I excitedly showed my sister the kit, and we agreed we had to try it. I even went and bought the little butane torch thingie so I could burn the sugar, as I’d always seen on Food Network. But I tried it…and it really wasn’t that good. Not how I remembered it, anyway. My sister agreed. Something was lacking.

My mom hasn’t made it in years, but with all the work it takes just to get these little tins of burnt creme, I don’t think it’s worth it for her to slave in the kitchen making it for us. But I think I’ll have to goad my sister into trying to find the recipe in the old cookbooks my mom used, and to try making it the old-fashioned way, with the steam bath it got in the oven. Until then, I can just keep tasting it in my memories, tapping into that hard crust, and digging into the smooth goodness below. Yummmmm.

i don’t know what it is, but in the past few months, i’ve just really wanted steak more than anything. sorry, veggies. it started around my birthday. i had wanted to try outback steakhouse for some time now, so i thought why not a better time, than my birthday? it was okay–i don’t know that i’d go there again, for its price. but that wasn’t enough! when it came to the weekend, and my family asked what i wanted for a special birthday dinner, i said, nah, no need make anything special–though, steak would be nice! i didn’t know where that last part came from!!! heehee. but we ended up going to sizzler and that was pretty good, surprisingly. i think i actually enjoyed it better than outback’s one. then the following monday, again, i wanted steak! i don’t know why, but i was *craving* it. luckily, times has its steak plates on monday, and their steak is *very* good. yumm!

you’d think i would be steaked out, but really, i still want it! at a recent lunch for my mom’s birthday, i chose steak again. could’ve had prime rib, could’ve had the prawn thing, but no, i wanted steak. that’s all. nothing else but the steak. weird, i know. but gosh. my mouth’s watering just thinking about it.

i found a steak hidden away in the freezer yesterday. not sure how long it was there, but it seemed okay. i pan-seared it, but then covered it to let it steam, which was a big mistake. it was nice, but not as good as steak is with the grill-marks that i’ve been eating recently. it only made me want steak more! steak! yum!

then i saw this today and tried it and had to laugh at my monster name. i surely am a livestock-injuring abomination with all my cravings for steak lately! heehee!

Get Your Monster Name

cute huh?

there are 2 others you can get, your sexy name and your cyborg name. hilarious.

Get Your Sexy Name



Get Your Cyborg Name

it was funny; one of my students asked me yesterday what kind of ʻiniseka is a litterbug. he saw the “bug” part and automatically thought it was some kind of critter. when i explained what it was, he had never heard the term, and neither had the rest of the students. so i told them that it wasnʻt a real bug. we are the litterbugs. we had just finished our community service project, too, so it was a nice tie-in, and one can only hope that somehow it made a connection somewhere with them, and that they are actually applying it somewhere.

at least, i hope so.

practice what you preach.

er, yeah. i am not the neatest person in the world. or even in this town. or even in this house (and yeah, there’s only 2 of us here! ). well, i take that back. i am the neatest one in the house, but that’s not saying much. my son is just as bad as me.

i spent the better half of the morning in his room. i had asked him repeatedly to pick up his things or they will get thrown away. i am not one to just do whatever i ask for him–he has to learn that what he is asked to do, he is expected to do it, and i’m not going to cave in later and do it for him because he didn’t do it. otherwise, he’ll never learn to do it on his own–he’ll always think in the back of his mind, well, she’ll just do it for me, so why even bother? he’s actually pretty good about doing things that i ask him to do. but cleaning his room has just taken him a *long* time. and i know why. it’s because he’s exactly like me.

the apple does not fall far from the tree.

i’ve seen him “cleaning.” he does the exact same thing i used to do whenever my mom told me to clean up. i would start, with good intentions. then as i’m picking up something, it would remind me of something else. so i put it down and get started on that something else. then while i’m doing that, i’ll remember something else i have to do. and i put that down and start on that other thing. you’d think i was lying, but if you ever visited my classroom, you’d see unfinished projects all over the place. i’m still that way. i’ll be like, okay, i gotta do the book logs now. then i’ll start and see one student’s name and go, oh, that’s right! i was supposed to go and fix his attendance card! then i’ll stand up and go fix the attendance card. then while i’m putting that away, i see a book laying around and go, oh yeah, i was supposed to tape this! and i’ll go get the tape but on the way there, i see that the mailbox is sagging again, so i stop and fix the mailbox. then i see that one person forgot to check his mailbox and there was an important letter in there, so i have to go call home. and then i go call home and that conversation brings up something else i have to do … and you get the picture. the next day, i’ll come in to school and see the book logs on the table, where i had started them, and the tape out, next to the mailboxes, and this here, and that there. *blush* i’m totally scatterbrained, that way.

i was like that as a kid, too. i could never clean my room in a day. it took me several days, because i would always get sidetracked. and sadly, my son is the same way. he’ll start, see a paper, go to put it away, but then see an unfinished drawing, so he’ll sit down and start finishing it. i’m after him all the time to clean, and he’ll start, and an hour later, i’ll check back on him, and he’s doing something completely different.

several times, i’ve gone in there with him and sat down with the rubbish bag and started counting–whatever was on the floor was going in the trash. oh, then he’ll move. but i can’t do that all the time, with planning for the next day and other duties around the house. then he got to the point where he doesn’t even want me in his room. i’ll do it myself, he’ll say, and so i leave him to do so. but an hour later, he’s on his bed, reading a book he had found that he hadn’t read for a long time, and how can i punish him for reading?!

since the summer, when i went through a major cleaning mood for the entire house, i have been on him to clean the room himself, or *i* will clean it for him. and he knows what that means, because i was doing that with everything in the house–grabbing trash bags and just throwing stuff out. he’d cry whenever i’d come near his room, saying he’ll get to it. so i let him go.

but i had had enough. it was getting to be a safety hazard in there. i told him if he was not cleaning up, i’d clean up on the weekend, when he wasn’t there. now that soccer is over and baseball won’t start for a while, i have time on the weekends to just sit and clean. and he knew it, too, asking to come home on friday, instead of going to grandma’s, as usual. he knew the moment he wasn’t here, i’d be in there, dumping stuff.

i think he finally resigned to my nagging him. all thursday night he had told me he didn’t want to go to grandma’s on friday. when i asked why, he said it was because he knew i would throw away his toys, and that would make him “very sad.” and before you think i’m a meanie, it’s not like he actually plays with those toys. there’s toys in there from when he was a toddler. but he won’t give them up. i always tell him, “you don’t even play with those any more!” and his response is to immediately grab that toy and play with it. *sigh*

but friday morning, he woke up and said he was going to grandma’s. i asked if he was sure, and he nodded. “just don’t throw away any of my books, or any of my art stuff,” he said (the boy loves to draw).

so i went to his room this morning, ready with my trash bags. and i swear, i sat there for at least a half an hour, wondering where in the world do i start?!?! i had to take a break because it just seemed so overwhelming. after lunch and a short nap, i went in again, with my trash bags, and started.

but, again, i’m me. i find something and start reminiscing, and sit there, and think. oh it’s so hard to throw this away, look at how little-itty-bitty this thing is! *sigh* it took me 4 hours to fill up 3 giant trash bags, just because i’d stop with each toy and just smile and remember things. i wish i was more like my sister. she wouldn’t even stop to look at anything, just grab and throw, and she’d have been done with the room in an hour. i still have at least 2/3 of the room left!

two-thirds?!?! yes. my son has a lot of toys. blame his aunties and grandma who buy him everything under the sun. i think they think he suffers because his dad is not in his life, and i struggle to keep this house and all its bills going, so they think that for some reason he’s lacking. i tell him they’re wrong. he just loves a good book or a pad of paper and colored pencils, and he’s good to go. i mean, that’s the same stuff *i* did growing up. i had one or two barbie dolls, but otherwise, i didn’t have many toys. i did, though, have stacks and stacks of scratch paper from my dad’s work place, and that’s what would keep me content–drawing and writing my stories on those pads of paper. i mean, i would’ve welcomed toys, but i was happy with what i had. i tried to explain that to them about my son–he’s the same way. sure, he’s gloriously happy when you get him the newest dinosaur toy or the flashiest car set, and he’ll play with it for a day or two. but then it gets forgotten and put on the side. and then it gets buried under the next thing they buy for him, and it builds and builds, until you’ve got this mountain high pile of stuff, and yet, he’s still on his bed, drawing. that’s what i’m always telling him, when he insists he still plays with all his toys–really, he doesn’t. he did play with them, once in a while, but not on a regular basis. so that’s why i think he finally gave in. he really doesn’t need them, and it could go to a much needier family whose kids could really get some use out of them.

now that christmas is coming up, i’m beginning to dread all the toy stuff again. i’ve told all my family members for the past 3 years, NO MORE TOYS. but of course, they all still get him that. it’s gotten to the point where everything my sisters or my mom buys for him stays at their house, so now, they’ve got to look after it. and my sister recently complained about the room being filled with toys, and she was going to give some away. “see!” i told her. “stop getting him toys, then!” so hopefully, they have learned. no toys! clothes are welcome, money would be great, but NO TOYS. PLEASE!!!

i’ll probably finish a little more tonight and then do the rest tomorrow, before going to pick him up and seeing his “new” room, with just his shelves of books, a bin of stuffed animals, and a table full of his art supplies. hopefully it’ll stay that way for a while as he realizes mom is serious when she says she’s going to get rid of stuff if it’s not put away. one can only hope.

okay this is the song, i swear, i cannot get out of my mind every single friday! EVERY friday, this is all that runs through my mind. not only because of the song’s title containing friday, but because it’s such a happy song! and on fridays i tend to be very happy

so every single friday, i get an earworm. i am humming this allllll morning long and throughout the day. then when i come home, i immediate start itunes and put it on loop and just play this song over and over and over again. yes, i’m weird. but i just love it, and the song puts me in such a happy, celebratory mood. it’s friday! woohoo!

although the video is weird (if you want to see it, click here to see the video on youtube) and i can’t quite figure out what they’re trying to do in here (can you imagine the rehearsal for the video? or was there even a rehearsal? how in the world was it pitched to the band?) but i think it does convey the extreme giddiness you get on friday, with all the jumping around and general “party” feel, especially whenever friday is mentioned.

this song also gives me a twinge of sadness, too, though. i associate this song with someone i know and i can’t help but feel a bit of loneliness when hearing this song because i know that the two of us would never have the feelings described in the song. if a miracle does happen, though, this would totally be our song!

but mostly, this song reminds me of hula, strangely enough. we were on the big island, in a van, driving to the forests to pick lehua and liko for our lei. and this song came on, and man! we went wild. we were all singing at the top of our lungs, holding hands and swaying, hootin’ and hollerin’. yeah, we were weird. but i’ll never forget that feeling. back then i had no concept of how absolutely wonderful friday actually feels when you’re working full-time, but just the tight relationships we had as hula sisters, all hanging out and singing and sticking by each other…all great, great memories.

these past few years, though, another meaning came up for me. i *loved* fridays. loved them. i still do, in fact. i swear, there’s nothing i look forward to more than friday. friday afternoons, i’m literally leaping, i’m so happy. it totally does feel like the “i’m-in-love” part. the rest of the week is just bleah, and then here’s friday, and you’re so happy, and you’re dressed up and going out and having fun (well, okay, maybe i don’t do that…) and you’re just enjoying it. you’re loving the person you’re with and enjoying watching them just light up and let loose because it’s friday, and gosh darn it, you’re in love. what a wonderful feeling.

i can’t believe i just typed all that the most cynical, bitter person about love talking about it being a wonderful feeling? ah, heck. it *is* friday, after all

the man in the blue overalls looked up towards the sky. there was a rumbling, but there didn’t seem to be any clouds signaling a storm. this was something else.

he pulled the brim of his red cap down and absentmindedly stroked his large mustache. he searched among the red and green shirts that were thrown about the apartment, looking for a pair of clean, white gloves that fit him, and not his taller, thinner brother. after finding and donning a pair, he put on his big, shiny, brown shoes and did a few stretches. he was going to go and do something about all that rumbling outside!

he runs out, jumping over the objects that come hurling toward him. oh no! it’s worse than he thought. there’s that pesky girl who’s always bothering him! she’s whining and crying, and he decides he needs to get all this to stop! he continues on.

the things that come hurling toward him are on fire as they pass through the hot oil fields. he sweats and runs as quickly as he can, dodging the things that are flying towards him. he climbs a ladder to the next floor, since there are strange gaps all over the place. as he gets higher, he hears the thumping that is causing all the rumbling, and the crying of the girl is getting much louder.

finally, he’s at the top. he’s facing his nemesis, a big, hairy, goon–wearing a red tie?! how strange. it is this thing that is hurling the objects at him! he runs and dodges, and while his enemy is taking a breath, he runs over and pushes the levers–all of a sudden, the floors collapse beneath the enemy! oh my goodness! he fell! it’s the end for him!

sighing, our hero jumps over and is able to get the girl down. she covers him with kisses in return, and he blushes. all in a day’s work, he thought. at least, until the next level…

i have had quite a few people ask me for advice on being a teacher. they really are interested and excited about becoming a teacher, and it’s nice to see. but i don’t know why they’re asking me for advice–i’m the wrong person for that!!!

i just ran into my sister’s sister-in-law who happily told me her daughter decided to “follow in [my] footsteps” and become a teacher. i smiled but inside i was like gosh, what is she thinking? she thought she might like to teach high school, but after doing some t.a.ing, she decided she’d rather teach elementary.

i want to be encouraging, but really? i just can’t muster it up any more. i had 3 cousins all tell me the same thing as they were going through college–i’m going to be a teacher like you. and now? all of them hate it! one dropped out of the program, one just graduated, but then took an office job, far away from the school setting. the third one, and the one who is like a sister to me, because my mom helped raise her, is in her first year and is hating it. i get almost daily emails about how she hates it so much. and i don’t know how to be any more encouraging, because truthfully, i agree with her. there is a lot of junk that has nothing to do with teaching, and you’re not prepped for in college. but how do i tell new ones that, when they’re so excited to start?!?!

last year we had a whole bunch of new teachers, and they all want to leave now. i felt bad because i don’t think i helped their decisions very much with my negative attitude! and now my cousin is hating her first year. i myself think about leaving. and here comes this lady so happy that her daughter is thrilled to be applying to the education program. how can you not show your encouragement and enthusiasm? but then i also don’t want it when she starts, if she does hate it, come back to me like well, why didn’t you tell me?!?!

i don’t know. maybe i should encourage them, so a lot more will apply and graduate and become teachers and take my job please!

why are teenagers so loud?

why do all car alarms sound the same? do they all follow that same pattern?

why does listening to a certain type of music have to be so loud? no one seems to blast classical music?

why does the bus only come late on days when i’m not feeling so well but come early on the days that i happen to be running late?

where do these kids get the energy to run around like that after a long day?

why do people like to broadcast their telephone conversations? don’t they know everyone can hear them on those ptt things?

where does one look when the person in the next car over starts gushing sweet nothings very loudly to the person they’re talking to? what about when they start arguing?

why is this bus so late?

why do most people ignore a car alarm going off? is it not a deterrent any more? the third one just went off and no one seems to notice.

why do i automatically seem suspicious of the loud group of teens?

why is this device getting so hot? yikes.

why do heads hurt?

what is with this auto-capitalization thing?

why are people parking so close when there’s a whole empty parking lot especially when you don’t feel good and therefore have your seat reclined all the way so you can rest?

when is that bus going to get here?!?!?

we had a mini-family reunion this weekend. it wasn’t a very happy occassion, though. it was a funeral for my mom’s uncle. with his death, that leaves my grandma as the only surviving person from that generation. it feels weird, because at one time, there were ten of them, and with each having at least 5 kids, my mom had over 50 cousins. then as my mom’s generation started having kids, and now we’re the generation having kids–and probably soon, there’ll be starting the new generation! but now it’s just my grandma left. she feels it, too, as she often comments about how she’s the oldest one at these functions now. but if you saw my grandma, you wouldn’t know it. she still looks young, and her mind is sharp. she walks more slower than others, but otherwise, you’d think she was maybe in her 60s.

anyway, we got to see the newest baby in the family, and it was a treat to watch my grandma hold her. so many stories to tell. it made me think about my own life and all that’s happened. then i started thinking of my mom, which always gets me sad. then i started to think of my son, and what will be set forth for him. i did a lot of reflecting over the weekend!

seeing all my second cousins, the same ones i ran around with when we were younger, now chasing after their own children, was pretty mindblowing. where has all the time gone? i swear, it feels like just yesterday and we all gathered at my mom’s aunty house for new year’s, with all the second cousins running in and out of every room, playing with the huge pachinko machine they had, leaving our fingerprints all over their huge 70 gallon fish tanks, tromping in their backyard by the mango trees, looking for birds, various aunties and uncles calling out to us to be careful, come in to eat, don’t do that! and now all of a sudden, i’m the age my mom was back then. all those aunties and uncles were my mom’s age now. my great-grandma was the head of all that, but she has since passed (though she lived until 100!), and slowly, people stopped coming around to my mom’s aunty’s house. then she passed away–and soon, all her sisters and brothers passed. now it’s just my grandma left. and we rarely see the whole rest of the family, except on sad occassions like funerals, or more happier ones, like a graduation or wedding. we were all so close, but we are now all so separate. it’s kinda sad.

today made me more melancholy as it’s my mom’s birthday. i know, it should be a happy time. but we all kind of know that she’s getting weaker. she keeps saying things that makes me so sad, and even had my grandma commenting, parents are not supposed to outlive their children! i watched her interact with my son and my nieces and nephew and thought that wow, there’s so much love there. how different will it be when sadly, she’s gone? will we go our separate ways, too? will i hardly see my sisters and my nieces and nephew? will we be like the rest of the family, only brought together at funerals and weddings? i hope not, but i know that she’s a big force bringing us together almost every week, and i hope she’s around for a long time more! there’s still a lot of milestones that need to be hit with the children and i really want her around to see them, and see the great influence she has on not only us, her children, but her grandchildren as well. happy birthday, mom, and many, many more. we love you lots!

trying something different today. inspired from here, writing about a character while listening to the song below (press play to hear it).

The air is thick with a musty odor, dripping with humidity. The lights periodically flicker. A soft buzzing can be heard in the air, over the lilting melody in the background. One couple is speaking in hushed tones, sipping on their cool drinks, completely oblivious of the man in the corner.

He sits alone. Though it’s muggy, he wears a dark coat and has his hat pulled down to cover his eyes from the people passing by. Sweat drips down, over his eyebrows, into his lashes, and down his cheeks, mixing with the occasional tear that develops in his eyes. He stares coldly at the cards in his hand, never changing his expression, as his mind draws up memories of the past.

He fingers one card in his hand, feeling the smooth texture of the card, and running his finger along the sharp, crisp edge. He flicks it, making a sound he has become familiar with after all his years of playing cards. He grew up watching his father play every Saturday night in their garage. The men would all gather around the green felt table, smoking their cigars, and chugging down beers, causing a din with all their laughter and occasional outbursts and accusations of cheating. He would always sit under the table, near his father’s legs, listening to the ruckus, wanting to make sense of it all. Soon he would grow older and his father would include him in the games, but he still didn’t see the purpose. He would play along with the grownups, but was trying to get meaning from the cards. He was playing along the day his father, who was sweating profusely all night, suddenly fell over. Silence for once filled the room. Even when the ambulance showed up later, and the commotion began as the paramedics struggled to bring him back to life, all he heard was silence. Not even his mother’s wails, the roaring sirens, the bustle and zaps of all the machines–nothing. He heard nothing. The men never gathered any more to play cards on Sundays. Yet, he continued playing.

He was constantly studying the cards. What constitutes the next card being drawn? Is there a specific pattern? Some sort of cosmic law that presents the cards that come up? After every hand, he made a mental tally in his mind and made his own odds as to what the outcomes may be–but it wasn’t always correct. What drives certain things to come up? Why does one card present itself before another? Is it in a plan? Or is it all coincidence?

He picked one card from his hand and held it before his face. He closed his eyes as the symbol of the diamond etched into the shadows of his mind. He once played for money. He would win big some days, and wouldn’t on others. Why was that? Was it all luck? Was there a way to always make sure you were the winner? He strived to find out, but never did figure it out. He won a lot of money and was able to buy many things of luxury, but he gave up on playing for money after a while. Sure, money made his life nice for a while, but really, money was nothing, as far as he was concerned. That’s not the reason we’re all here, not his reason for going on.

He put the card back down with the rest of the cards. The next three cards in his hand were a clubs and two spades. He leaned back in his chair and remembered going off to war. They would play cards back then in the tents. The nights would be as hot as it was tonight. They would sit, flicking cards around, trying desperately to get their mind off what they were there for. He remembered all too vividly the night a bomb went off near their tent, killing his high school friend who had wandered outside, because it was just too hot in that tent. He shut his eyes and pulled his hat down further.

Never show your emotions, he remembered his dad telling him. Then they’ll know your hand. They’ll know what you’re going to do. You need to keep that all inside.

He opened his eyes. The last card in his hand was a heart. Strange that they call it heart, he thought. It looks nothing like the human heart. He studied it some more, until the red began to blur in front of his eyes.

She had always been there for him. She faithfully followed him in his travels and helped him with the more mundane tasks he didn’t bother with when he was in his card-playing mode. She was like an angel, in his mind, even though her hair was dark, and her skin a soft brown. He gritted his teeth as he struggled to remember her eye color, but realized he never really paid attention to her to really remember. He just recalled that she loved to wear red. She’d leave red lipstick-covered kisses over his cheek, but he really couldn’t be bothered. She would run her cherry red fingernails through his hair, which he would shrug off. She would twirl around in front of him with her long, red dresses, but she was nothing but a distracting blur to him. He was too focused on the cards, trying to figure out the way they lie, the order and purpose of the cards dealt. Then one night…

He dropped the final card. It fell to the floor and landed with a smack, heavy from the dampness in the air. He continued to stare ahead, emotionless, even though his heart was beating hard. A waitress walked by and picked it up for him and placed it on the wooden table. He didn’t look up, but just nodded his appreciation. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked, cheerfully.

He slowly shook his head. She smiled and cleared away the table. “Have a nice night!” she chirped.

He picked up his deck of cards and put them back in the box. Folding the lid in, he stared at the picture on the box for a long time. He slowly stood and put the deck in his pocket, flicked a few bills on to the table, and shuffled out.

The waitress returned and gathered the tip and saw that he had left behind that card that she had picked up for him. Shrugging, she picked it up and put in her pocket, to keep it safe for him should he ever return.