Mind Over Matter

     Jodi carried a steaming cup of coffee into the chilly garage. David stood at his workbench, cutting a piece of wood with a power saw. She waited until he turned it off before approaching.

     “Hey there,” she said, sliding up next to him. “How’s it coming?”

     “Slow, but steady.” David held up the half-finished project for her to see.

     “Wow, I’m impressed. I never had a boyfriend who knew how to build a birdhouse from scratch before. You’re just full of surprises. By the way, this is for you.” She held out the cup of coffee. “I figured you might be getting cold out here.”

     David smiled and reached for the cup. Just before he took it, Jodi sneezed, causing the hot liquid to spill over his hand.

     “Oh no! I’m so sorry!” She quickly grabbed a shop towel and began to sop up the mess. “That was really hot water. Do you have any burn spray?”

     “No, but don’t worry about it,” said David. “I’m fine.”

     Jodi looked at him as if he were crazy. “Fine? That water was boiling a minute ago. You’re hand must be in horrible pain right now. How can you bear it?”

     He smiled and gave her a calming look. “Pain is all in your head, Jodi. I’ve spent many years practicing meditation and learning to control my inner thoughts. Over time, I’ve developed the ability to channel away pain so that it no longer dominates my mind.”

     “For real?” Jodi stroked his scalded hand, now bright red. “You mean you don’t feel the burn at all?”

     David didn’t even flinch. “Not one bit.”

     She let go of his hand and moved closer, wrapping her arms around his waist “David, that’s the most amazing thing I ever heard! I can’t believe how incredible you are. Is there nothing you can’t do—wait a minute, did you just clamp your other hand in that vice grip?”

     David looked where she was staring. “Oh, that? Well… yes. You see, the best way to block pain out from your mind is to create a bigger pain that is even more distracting.”

     She thought about this. “You mean, you stuck that hand in the vice grip so you wouldn’t feel the burn… because the vice grip hurts more?”

     David nodded.

     “David, that’s insane!” She broke her embrace and tried to open the grip, but it was clamped too tight. “Your hand is turning purple! How are you supposed to ignore that?”

     “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve got it.”

     She backed away as he picked up a large hammer. Without another word, he held it upside down and let it drop—right onto his foot.

     “Ow!” David yelped. With his hand still stuck in the vice, he began leaping on his good foot. “There, you see? I don’t even feel the vice grip anymore.”

     “But now your foot is probably broken!” She stared helplessly. “How can you stand it?”

     “It’s not a problem,” he said. “Just hurry up and kick me in the groin!”

Showdown

     Buckshot Bill McCoy rode into town on his black horse at high noon. Most of the townspeople didn’t even notice him until he reached the Marysville town square. He stopped in the middle of the road and just sat there with the brim of his hat tilted down to cover his face. Lifting his head ever so slightly, he scanned the scene without any visible movement. In a flash, his eyes darted back and forth twice, and that was all he needed. Bill McCoy had traveled to enough dingy towns to know what to look for quickly.

     To the left, a blacksmith hammered horseshoes. Next to him, a local shop owner arranged a display of fancy-looking ceramic plates. On the right side, a preacher man stood on a barrel in front of a saloon and lectured a small audience, which included the unconscious town drunk. Straight ahead was the Marysville jail. The man sitting on the front porch was clearly a deputy, not the sheriff. The sheriff would have taken notice of a stranger who just rode up the street; the man on the front porch didn’t even look in his direction. That was good for Bill McCoy.

     The town of Marysville looked just like the other twenty small Texas towns Bill McCoy had visited, with one big difference: the man crossing the street between the saloon and the jail. He had a curly white mustache, round spectacles, wore a clean suit and walked with a long silver cane. The cane is what gave him away. Bill McCoy remembered that cane from the first time he saw it. That was many years ago, on the day this man ruined his life.

     Bill McCoy remembered that day well. He remembered the tears, the screaming. He remembered the hardships that followed. He remembered growing up tough and learning to fend for himself. He remembered working hard for a few morsels of food, and spending all his free time learning to shoot—learning to kill. Bill McCoy practiced shooting for many years to become the fastest shot this side of the Mississippi—he hadn't earned the nickname "Buckshot" for nothing—and it was all for this moment. He had waited for this day ever since his family lost their farm, and now he was finally going to get his revenge.

     Bill McCoy moved his horse to the side of the road. In one smooth move, he dismounted and tossed the reigns around a post. He didn’t need to worry about tying up properly because he wasn’t planning on staying long. Depending on how that deputy reacted, he may need a fast getaway. But getting out alive wasn’t Bill McCoy’s top priority. Revenge came first, at any cost.

     The timing was perfect. Bill McCoy walked up the street and intercepted the man with the silver cane when he turned to cross the square. He couldn’t have planned it better; it was as if fate brought him to this exact place and time. When Bill McCoy faced the man, standing directly in his path about ten paces ahead, he held his ground and threw back his cloak, showing the two shiny revolvers hanging from his belt.

     The man with the cane saw him and also stopped. They stood facing each other in silence for half a minute. The man looked at Bill McCoy quizzically, as though he struggled to place his face. Bill McCoy looked back at the man hard, his eyes filled with hate. Only then did the townspeople take notice. They didn’t know the stranger with the guns, but they knew he was trouble. Within seconds, the streets were cleared.

     “Doc Larson!” shouted Bill McCoy.

     “Yes, that’s me,” said the man with the cane. He squinted through his spectacles. “Do I know you?”

     Bill McCoy spat on the ground. He spent many sleepless nights imagining what he’d say at this moment, but none of the speeches he prepared seemed appropriate. Instead, he just said the words as they came into his head.

     “’I’ve been lookin’ for you a long time, Doc Larson. You took my family’s farm, took my folks’ money, took everything we had. You ruined my life, and now—“

     “Why, little William McCoy? Is that you?” Doc Larson took a step forward for a better look.

     “Sure is, Doc.” Bill McCoy spat again. “Now it’s your turn—“

     “William McCoy!” Doc Larson ran over to embrace him. “I’ve been searching for you for years! Yes, you’re right, I did take your family’s farm and everything you owned. It was a horrible mistake, but I’ve seen the error of my greedy ways and want to make amends. I’ve been carrying this deed around with me for years, and it’s made out to the McCoy family. I’d like give you a bigger farm than you’ve ever owned, and I’m happy to help you out financially in any way I can.”

     Doc Larson pulled a deed out of his pocket and showed it to Bill McCoy. Sure enough, it was made out to his name.

     “Well, how about that?” said Bill McCoy, looking over the paperwork. “That sure is swell of you.”

     And the plot thinned…

Acupuncture

     Elaine put on some soothing music, then sat on a rolling chair next to her patient. Victor had removed his shirt and socks and laid face-up on her table. He twitched when she felt his pulse.

     “I take it this is the first time you’ve tried acupuncture?” she asked.

     Victor nodded quickly. “Yes, but I’m ready for it. My brother has tried it and he told me what to expect.”

     Elaine smiled. “Don’t worry, most people are a little nervous at the beginning. Let me know if you have any questions.”

     “Thanks.” Victor took a deep breath and tried to relax. “I was wondering, where does all the blood go?”

     “I beg your pardon?” said Elaine. “What blood?”

     Victor lifted his head to look at her. “Why, all the blood you’ll be draining out of me, of course.”

     Elaine looked confused. “Victor, acupuncture isn’t bloodletting. The needles don’t even break the skin. There won’t be any blood at all.”

     Victor looked surprise, but also relieved. “Oh… Okay. I guess that’s a little different than I thought. Well, if you could let me know before you insert any needles then I’d appreciate it. I really want to brace myself for the pain.”

     Elaine smiled again. “They’re already in your right arm and leg.”

     He titled his head even further up to look down at his body. Sure enough, several very thin needles protruded from his arm and leg.

     “So… you don’t use a hammer?” he asked.

     “Heavens, no!” Elaine quickly finished his other leg and moved up to his left arm. “Victor, do you think it’s possible your brother was having a little fun with you when he told you about his acupuncture experience?”

     Victor lowered his head back down onto the soft pillow. “That’s not like him, although he did tell me his parakeet was poisonous and that my skin would melt if it bit me. I ended up calling poison control when it nibbled my finger, but they just laughed. And he once made me believe our parents had been replaced by aliens. He convinced me they would sneak into my room and eat my brain if I fell asleep.”

     Elaine let out a subtle laugh. “It sounds like he gave you a few scares as a child.”

     “Oh, no,” said Victor. “This was all last week. By the way, could you give me a warning before you remove my spleen?”

Stereotypes

     “Fine, I’ll pay for a new one!” Joan slammed her phone shut and looked out the passenger window.

     “Is everything okay?” asked Trevor from the driver’s seat.

     Joan sighed. “I borrowed a sweater from my friend Alice and now she says she can’t wear it because it smells like our side of town. You know, I hate to stereotype, but it seems like people from Abbyville are very pretentious.”

     “I have to agree,” said Gary from the back seat. “And while we’re at it, I think everyone who lives on Jackson Hill is a hick. How many old pickup trucks are jacked-up on lawns there?”

     “No kidding.” Trevor looked at Gary in the rearview mirror. “And I’ll add that anyone raised in Lewisburg is a lousy driver.”

     “Wait,” said Joan. “Aren’t you from Lewisburg?”

     “Yep,” said Trevor, as he cut-off the car in the next lane.

Job Security

     Brad stood on the tips of his toes, but he still couldn’t reach the ream of paper he needed from the top shelf. He finally gave up and looked around the busy office until he found tall Will standing by the water cooler.

     “Hey Stretch,” said Brad. “How about a little help?”

     Will smiled and followed Brad back to the office supplies, ducking to avoid hitting his head when he passed through the doorway. He snatched the pack of paper off the shelf without effort.

     “Thanks buddy.” Brad ripped open the ream and began reloading a printer. “It sure is a scary with all the layoffs happening around here lately, huh?”

     Will shrugged. “I guess so.”

     Marcie poked her head up from behind a nearby cubicle. “Pssst! Do you guys have any idea who’s next? I think it might be Cheryl from accounting because she’s totally useless. By the way Will, could you hand me another stapler? I’ve lost mine and they’re way out of my reach.”

     “No problem.” Will plucked a stapler off the supply shelf and passed it to her.

     “Cheryl, eh?” said Brad. “She is pretty useless, but I haven’t heard Mr. Jameson call her into his office yet. It seems like every time he meets with someone to discuss their job responsibilities, they end up getting the axe.”

     No sooner did he say the words than Mr. Jameson walked into the room. Brad returned his attention to the printer, Marcie’s head disappeared behind her cubicle and everyone else began looking very busy—everyone except Will, that is. He stood with his hands in his pockets and smiled at the boss.

     Mr. Jameson stopped in front of him and scanned the room. “Good afternoon, everybody.”

     “Good afternoon sir,” said several scattered voices.

     “Ah, Will,” said Mr. Jameson, looking up. “Would you mind stopping by my office later to change a light bulb? I’m sorry to bother you with it again, but it’s such a hassle for the janitor to haul his ladder up here.”

     “Certainly, sir,” said Will. “I could do it right now if you like.”

     “No, I’m afraid I have a couple meetings now. How about after lunch?”

     “No problem, sir.”

     “Excellent.” Mr. Jameson looked around again. “In that case, I’d like to see you, Brad, in my office in five minutes to go over your job evaluation.”

     Brad’s face dropped. “Uh… yes, sir.”

     “Good, good.” Mr. Jameson started to walk away, then stopped and looked back. “And Marcie, could you meet me in about twenty minutes? I’d like to talk to you about your job as well.”

     Marcie, who poked her head up when she heard Brad’s name, nodded and sank back behind her wall as Mr. Jameson walked away. The rest of the office employees let out a sigh of relief.

     As soon as he felt everyone was out of sight, Will went to work grabbing random pieces of office equipment and moving them up to the highest shelves. He also loosened a couple more bulbs in the breakroom and conference room. Then he returned to his desk, confident in his job security.

    

    

Flirt

     “Another round, guys?”
     “Bring ‘em on!” Malcolm pushed his empty glass toward the bartender and she took it away.
     “This has to be the last one,” said Tom. “I have to work tomorrow.”
     “Sure, sure,” Malcolm said, patting him on the back. “I’m just glad I got you out of the house. I haven’t seen you much since the breakup.”
     Tom sighed.
     Malcolm leaned forward and looked him in the eye. “Look buddy, I know this is hard for you, but you need to get past her. It’s been four months and it’s time for you to move on.”
     “That’s easy for you to say,” said Tom, pushing him back. “I’m not as outgoing as you and I never dated much. I don’t know how to flirt with women. It doesn’t matter anyway, since I’m not even attracted to anyone right now.”
     “What about the cute bartender?” Malcolm nodded toward her over Tom’s shoulder.
     Tom gave her a quick glance. “Why her?”
     “Because you’ve been looking at her all night.”
     Tom blushed. He didn’t think Malcolm had noticed. “I don’t know, Mal,” he said. “I wouldn’t even know how to approach her. I’d probably get nervous and say something stupid.”
     Malcolm put his hand on his friend’s shoulder and leaned in close. “Tom, you’re a great guy. You’re smart, handsome and incredibly nice. She'd be crazy not to like you. Start by telling her she’s pretty and just be yourself. Crack a joke. What have you got to lose?”
     Tom didn’t say a word. He kept his eyes down and played with a coaster on the bar.
     “Think of it this way, Tom,” Malcolm said. “Do you want to leave here tonight wondering what could have happened if you just took a chance? Do you want to walk away never knowing if she was the love of your life?”
     Those words struck a nerve with Tom, and Malcolm could tell from the look in his eyes. When the bartender returned with two more mojitos, Malcolm slid to the side and gave Tom a subtle kick.
     Tom took a deep breath, then looked up at the bartender. Their eyes met.
     “Can I get you anything else?” she asked him.
     Tom’s felt his heart pounding. “I just wanted to tell you… you’re very pretty.”
     “Sure,” she said with a playful smirk. “That’s easy for you to say. You’ve had four drinks.”
     “No, no,” said Tom. “I thought you were pretty after only two drinks.”

     “Maybe next time, buddy,” said Malcolm, as he walked Tom home.

Sometimes You Need a Yoda

     Teri let out a loud wail and buried her face in a tissue.

     “There, there,” said Christine, patting her crying friend on the back. “It’s going to be okay.”

     Teri lifted up her head, still sobbing. “Why did I ever fall for him? I knew he was a bad guy.”

     Christine handed her another tissue. “You fell for him because he was bad. We girls are just attracted to ruffians. Remember how Princess Leia couldn’t help falling for Han Solo, even though he was a reckless mercenary with a price on his head?”

     Teri blew her nose into the tissue. “I just don’t understand how he could leave me so fast. We were going to finish school together, and now he’s moving to Utah to be with that floozy he met on spring break.”

     Christine shook her head. “Just like when Luke abandoned Yoda and his Jedi training to be with his friends. It really shows what was most important to him.”

     “I just can’t believe it.” Teri dropped her head onto her friend’s shoulder. “It’s like he was powerless to her… and I just stood by when she made him dump me!” She began to cry again.

     Christine put her arm around Teri. “I know, I know… it’s like you’re in that scene when Luke thought he was ready to confront Darth Vader, but Vader cornered him and cut off his hand, causing his lightsaber to fall deep into the bowels of Cloud City.”

     Teri stopped crying for a moment and looked up at Christine. “Wait, who am I in that scenario? Luke or Darth Vader?”

     “Neither,” said Christine. “You’re the lightsaber.”

     Teri let out another wail and began to sob again.