The Swallow's Nest

Short's Gym, Part 2

Part one is here

Just so we're clear up front, it's not that I don't want to get married. I've got nothing against it. I have many friends who are married; in fact most of my friends are married. Almost all of them are not happy being married, but that's another story. Do I see myself twenty years from now bedding down with the same woman night after night in a home we have worked hard to pay off and finally enjoy, debt free? Yes. And I know there will have to be things I give up to see this prophecy come to fruition. I don't think I am wed to "this freedom," as my friend Nick Waters likes to call it. Sure, when my friends are asking themselves why they tied the knot I often feel this flash of relief that I am not all knotted up myself, but when I walk all alone back to the apartment, scrunching into my skivvies for bed I often wish the opposite. I think most single guys do. I think. 

So, then, what's the deal? Why, as my mother would say, haven't I "met a nice young lady and settled down"? I've got a couple of theories I've fine-tuned in response to Ma's question. Each time she asks me about it on the phone I can feel my eyes rolling to the back of my head as I launch into yet another defense of my actions, or shall we say, my inaction. For starters, I'm shy. I know this sounds like a dumb excuse, a lame way out. Princess Diana was shy and look who she married. But she was beautiful and she was the one who was pursued, not the one doing the pursuing. In the Asian context in which I now live I'll be the one who has to find out my gym mate's name, digits, and favorite night out before I can get an up close and personal. Maybe I should move to a place where the women are a little more aggressive. Indonesia's an option. It's not far from here and I heard the women there can be very forward. Yes, I must note that as an option. "Hey Ma, look who I met. Actually, look who met me!"

Being shy sucks. Take last week for example. I was out at Cobble's having a drink with friends after work and at the table next to us sat five good-looking women. They were celebrating a birthday and pretty supped up on alcohol when we sat down. Immediately Tom Peters starts eyeing the ladies and doesn't even bother to hide his lust, eventually leaning over to offer Sadie a tip of his glass "in honor of your 20th birthday!" I reached for a napkin to expunge dinner. Sick. What a poor attempt at a pick-up line. But, as is often the case, it worked! Within minutes the rest of us corralled around their table and soon we were all singing "Happy Birthday, dear Sadie, Happy Birthday to you." Fast-forward three hours. Tom walked off with Sadie and two of her friends. Paul had Rachel's arm. Dennis had Man-Li's. And I held firmly to my briefcase as I ran in the other direction to catch the last train home. When I got home I looked myself in the mirror with the same realization I'd had since Junior High: being shy sucks.

Unfortunately, being shy isn't my only problem. I'm also terribly anxious. My anxiety leads to fear and fear leads to inaction. I become immobilized around women, particularly attractive women. The fact I am so darn self-conscious doesn't help. This scenario gets played out over and over again: John sees attractive woman, attractive woman sees John. John steps toward woman. Woman steps toward John. Woman looks somewhat interested. John is very interested. Woman gets closer. John gets closer. John's palms sweat. Woman gets closer. Sweat breaks out in John's armpits. Deodorant defense breaks. Woman is still getting closer. See John? Now see John run. See women look away in the direction of some other guy. If I had a dime for how many times that's happened since college I would be rich enough to donate a new library to the school. I just can't handle the pressure, even at 41. What's wrong with me?

My friend Tom says my problem is women like cocky men and if I cant at least play the part then I have no chance. Carolyn (she is happily married) says the opposite: women like a man who is shy, retiring, and reflective. "You have a lot to offer, John, just be a little bolder at the start. Women will like you." Mark tells me my anxiety and fear has something to do with the way my Mom handled me as a child. "You know, the psychology of it." He's even asked me if I was held a lot as a kid? Did I spend more time with my Mom or my Dad? Were my brothers and sisters treated differently than me? If so, how? If not, why not? And Angela, my sister-in-law has a two-point plan for me: "Step one: lose 25 pounds. Step two: take a course in public speaking." Thanks. So, in order for me to ask a woman on a simple date I need to turn into a cocky, arrogant sort, stay shy and "retiring" but believe on the inside that women will like me, and I need to return to my Mom's loving arms and reprimand her for too much love and care, all while I kill myself in the gym and then sign up for a course on how to speak to strangers? Perhaps you can see why I'm immobilized. I wish the whole thing could be a lot easier, which leads me back to thinking about Indonesia.

If you ask me, my religious experience is what really put me in this mess in the first place. I grew up in what my most recent priest called a "quasi-Christian home." By quasi he meant half-hearted. And he defined this for me when I went to him with my 41-year-old virgin problem and he started asking me about my "family of origin." Dutifully, and out of respect for the old bird, I jumped right in telling him about my enthusiastic Christian mother and my I'll-go-to-church-kicking-and-screaming father. I shared with him how much my parents marriage sucked but how much the church just thought we were the perfect little family. My Dad was a deacon by day and a royal jerk by night. My mother was a volunteer by day and a nasty gossip hound by night. But in the eyes of the other families and "singles" (even then that word had a negative connotation) we were something special. It was like a star hung high above our heads and an angel of God shone light all around us wherever we went. I often thought how suddenly that angel could turn of his or her light as soon as we walked inside our back door. It was a sad irony.

As all you other "good Christian boys and girls" out there know, treating sex like the plague and girls if you're a boy and boys if you're a girl like people who had the disease was a top priority for all Christian parents, Sunday school teachers, youth leaders, and old, fat, hairy, angry church leaders who caught you in a dark hallway about to kiss Julie Davis. (I was so close, too, and then he came emerging from the shadows where he had been lurking, old Mr. Sanders. It was like he wanted to kiss Julie the way he practically ripped off my right arm, which had been resting perfectly normal in the small of Julie's back.) But I was an obedient little soldier in the Lord's army. No kissing, no hugging, no drugging, no drinking, no abomination, and certainly no good vibrations. This was the way I lived, and to be honest, it didn't feel all that unnatural or hard to do when I was 16, 17, and 18. Actually, it didn't feel strange avoiding these "worldly practices" when I was 23, 24, and 25 either. But at 41 I can say without any hesitation, it feels weird. It feels antiquated. It feels abnormal. It feels just plain dumb. 

And that helps to explain, to me anyway, why every time I go to ask a girl out I also feel antiquated, abnormal, and just plain dumb. And that's not a good combination for a guy who's looking to unlock the code on marriage. 

To be continued. 

Short's Gym

I'm John Short. I'm 41, single, and about 25 pounds overweight. I like sliced and skinned green apples, peeled and cut bananas, and one box of fresh blueberries for breakfast. I smother all of the above in honey, which I buy at Clark's grocery store along with all my other groceries. I like Clark's because it is owned and operated by a lovely couple that won't live forever. For lunch I like foot long Subway sandwiches (ham and cheese with pepperoni on parmesan oregano or veggie delite on wheat) and a candy bar (Snickers Dark). I wash it all down with a Diet Coke. Sometimes I replace the candy bar with a cookie. For dinner I like steak with potatoes or chicken with potatoes or fish with potatoes. Some green vegetable is acceptable but not a lot. 

Because I am twenty-five pounds overweight and my doctor keeps harping on it I am now going to the gym almost every morning. Maybe this happens to everyone who goes to the gym regularly, but the more I go the more I get to know the other people who frequent the sweat spot. Don't get me wrong; I have never actually introduced myself to any of them. I am too shy. Maybe when I turn this fat to muscle, I keep telling myself. But there is a core group of people that come downstairs everyday, pay their fare, and check in to "turn that flab into a rock solid slab" as the woman who gave me the tour of the place once told me (she makes extra money as a personal trainer on weekends). I've found relief in seeing these consistent attenders are not unlike me - they're always there, but their bodies don't necessarily reflect it. 

There is one particular girl I am concerned about. She's terrifyingly thin. She always wears her hair in one long, very long, braid straight down her back in that twisty fashion you sometimes see on a show horse's mane. The braid starts at the top of her head and winds it's way all the down to her butt. I suppose she needs to keep it wound tight since this woman loves the treadmill. One day, a Saturday, she ran so long a line of weekenders lined up three deep waiting for her machine. When she realized they were there she simply stepped off, went to the back of the line, and waited for her next turn. Skinny Minnie I call her. Minnie could almost be sexy if she weren't such skin and bones.

If Minnie is skinny and loves to run, then Bettie is sweaty and loves to lift. There is not one time I have gone down to exercise that I have not seen Bettie lifting her weights, lying back on those big balloons they have in the aerobic room doing her sit-ups or lunging through the middle of the gym with her fingers wrapped around the free weights. This girl puts in a tough workout everyday, including weekends. She fits the category guys at work joke about all the time, the "hot body, ugly face" group. Best I can tell she has three outfits - black shorts, but matching shirts and headbands - bright orange and pink, and a darker green. This morning she was wearing orange. It matched her eyeglasses that constantly slip to the rim of her nose. The pair are old school - oval lenses with thick orange frames. Real thick. It's not like I am stalking sweaty Bettie. She's hard to miss and the grunts she howls whipping those barbells around make it virtually impossible for the rest of us to miss her. Plus, no one sweats like her. Drench sweat. It just comes pouring out. Poor t-shirts. 

And often I pray Grandpa Lee isn't wounded by an inadvertent swing of Bettie's buff arms. I have no idea if Lee is actually this man's real last name, but I am sure he's a grandfather. He couldn't be any younger than 70 and what I have to love about this guy is that he wears the same outfit for his workout that he does around the clubhouse and down to the mall for lunch. It's a classic look too and one I may not be too far from wearing, especially if I don't get my act together and marry. High top block Adidas sneakers with white socks, big old pair of blue khaki pants held up around the waist by a pair of suspenders (blue with gold buckles). He sports a short sleeve polo shirt in summer and a long sleeve one in winter. Suspender Lee tops it off with a baseball cap - straight brim, mesh backing. Every time our paths cross, usually as he pushes himself off the rowing machine and I make my way for the door to exit, I feel inspired. Here is a man that doesn't care what people think about him. He's too old to care. His doctor probably advised him to do some light biking and rowing and he's being compliant. Meanwhile, I care very much what people think. That's why I am in the damn gym to begin with! It's those 25 pounds wrapped around my waist and hips. Hey Grandpa, thanks for a brief reminder that I, like you, should not care. Just do what you can and go about your day. That seems to be his approach, and it's working.

As with so much of my life overseas, I am one of the only consistent foreigners visiting this gym. But I am not the only one. My friend from Japan is pretty consistent too. I say she's my friend but I have no idea what her name is, only that she isn't from here, she's got a husband and kid (I saw them together in the supermarket downstairs one Saturday afternoon in the produce section where, ironically, they were buying Japanese oranges), and that this woman dominates a step machine. Plus, she is flexi Alexi. That's what I've named her.  

I try not to stare when she completes her 45 minutes on the step and glides into the aerobic room for her stretching exercise, but I marvel at her elasticity. She loves to plant her hands straight on the wood floor, then run her legs up the wall like Spiderman, twisting around so she is doing a handstand. Then she has the strength and the discipline to hang there, slowly pull her legs away from the wall and stand on her hands with no support sometimes for five minutes at a time. Once, I got caught staring, and felt embarrassed not so much by her finding me out but more so by those flabby 25 pounds that preclude me from ever standing on my hands upside-down! And this move is a small part of her daily repertoire of stretching that leaves me with little surprise the Japanese live forever. Alexi's core is stronger than dead center on a brick wall.

I've often wondered what drives these people. Why are they here? They're an interesting bunch that makes my 30 minutes entertaining. It's better than looking up at the televisions and having to guess what the news is since I do not speak or read Chinese. Why are they here? Why am I here? Well, it's obvious, isn't it? I need to lose at least twenty-five pounds! Oh, and one more reason. 

Of all my fellow weight losers and exercise buffs, no one's prettier, and therefore no one at the gym is more compelling to me, than this beautiful woman who makes an occasional appearance on the treadmill. She must run elsewhere more often because she has the legs, butt, and upper body to prove it but if I'm lucky I am on the treadmill when she is and that just makes my day. Again, I have no name but I'm working up the courage to ask. I run a lot faster when she's in there and my mind runs even faster. Is she married? No ring. Does she have a steady boyfriend? Not one that comes to the clubhouse with her anyway. Is she too old or too young (you never can tell a Chinese woman's age)? No. She seems around 40. Perfect. Is she divorced? I don't care. Does she work? Maybe, but if not I work. Ultimately, would she be interested in a guy like me? 

That's where I always get stuck. "A guy like me." My name is John Short. I'm 41, single, and about 25 pounds overweight.

To be continued.

The Curse of Jake Windsall (Part III)

Continued from yesterday and Friday

Right then and there Sarah knew what she had to do. There was only one person who could help her unravel what happened between Jake and his mom at that cabin all those years ago, but that man was hard to reach, not by telephone or a walk-in appointment but hard to reach in the soul. Nevertheless, Sarah pressed on to give it a try. In fact, she never went home that evening but borrowed a friend's car and drove three more hours to Williams where she accessed the Yellow Pages in her small hotel room and circled the pertinent details: Windsall Enterprises, 1701 Slant Street. Then exhausted, Sarah lay down for some rest.

When she awoke it was still dark outside but she could sense the sun rising and making its grand appearance in the cloudless sky. Sarah splashed some water on her face, swept her gnarly hair into a bun, grabbed the keys from the nightstand, quickly deposited the hotel key at the front desk and ran to her car. "If I can be the first to see him," she thought. "I stand a better chance."

Gregory Windsall was the type of executive who loved success, but firmly believed his success came by numbers not people. When his freshly washed BMW came pounding into the parking lot he thought he was going to enjoy the day as the CEO of his company in the same way he had enjoyed most days: tormenting the executive team who in turn would torment others to produce better results, greater profitability, and a larger piece of the market share. In fact, for Gregory Windsall this had become a bit of a mantra. He called it the Three-Point To Do. And just about everybody who worked for him knew what was expected of them even if they hated it or hated him. "Another day, another dollar" he thought as he ripped open the door of the car and made a brisk break for his office.

But this was no ordinary day for not far behind him on the walkway was his daughter-in-law Sarah.

"Mr. Windsall," she shouted, not quite sure what to call him. Sarah never had a particularly rosy relationship with him even after two years of being married to his son. But this didn't seem strange to anyone else. Jake's parents had been divorced since he was thirteen and Gregory Windsall had been withdrawn, distant, and mean ever since. Jake had warned Sarah about this while they dated and Sarah could see it was true from the moment she met Jake's papa.

"Sarah? What are you doing here, and so early in the morning? You look like awful!"

"I...I..." Sarah was searching for the right way to say it.

"Is something wrong?"

"No...well, yes. I wonder if I can have five minutes of your time sir."

"Alright. Come on in with me," Gregory said as he touched the small of Sarah's back and led her through the door to the office building and down to the corridor to his domain. "Is Jake OK? He's not dead is he? Or in trouble of some kind? Or maybe it's you who is in trouble?"

Sarah settled into a chair while the executive father-in-law hopped onto the edge of his desk and stared at his son's wife. "Spit it out, Sarah. What is it?"

"OK. Alright. Let's see. Alright, I'll just blurt it out. Do you know what it means when Jake runs around in small circles staring at the floor saying 'I had a leak. I had a leak.' and then only when his mother comes can she say some words to set him free from, sort of a...sort of a trance?"

Gregory swung his legs around the desk and onto the floor. He stood up walked over to the big bay window behind his desk and looked heavenward. "Oh, so that is why you are here. Well, I figured it was only a matter of time." Sarah tried to interrupt, almost sorry she had said anything, when he stopped her. Swinging back around to face her he said. "You know what. I am going to tell you. What the hell. It seems like you and I might be the only two who can understand what this means and what we might be able to do to stop it."

He was as surprised he'd agreed to team up with a family on this as Sarah was shocked by his offer to tell the truth. On the one hand she was anxious to know the history behind this odd behavior that was suddenly wreaking havoc in her otherwise calm life, but on the other hand she was scared stiff. She rolled her neck around on her shoulders to release some tension, leaned her elbows on her knees, relaxed her face in her hands, and looking up Jake's dad gave him her undivided attention.

"When Jake was about seven or eight years old he went for a walk one day in the woods near our home. His mother and I were still married at the time and we had some measure of happiness. But I grew concerned about her because she started to act strange, keeping weird hours, and sometimes she would disappear in the middle of weekday afternoons. I knew because I would sometimes call home and she would not be there. Jake answered the phone most times. And yet I didn't do much about it because other times she would be there. We did fight about this, but Gloria always assured me everything was OK."

"That was until one afternoon, mid-May, I will never forget it. I had gone to the dentist's office for an unplanned appointment to deal with a tooth that was bothering me. Instead of going back to work I drove home. When I got there I saw what I swore was a woman, about the build of Gloria, running into the woods with two or three children. Strange! I drove into the driveway, parked the car, and went into the house where Jake was sitting watching cartoons on television. When I saw that he was safe I ducked out the front door, without him knowing, crossed the street and ran into the woods to see what Gloria was doing. I made my way down a well cleared pathway and stumbled upon an old log cabin that I never knew was there."

By now Sarah was standing up pacing back and forth between the desk and two chairs with her right index finger squeezed between her teeth anticipating that she would finally know what took place in that old wooden house. She was extremely anxious. But Gregory was so into his story, he spoke about it so straightforwardly, as if it had happened yesterday. For the first time she'd met him three years ago he was showing a capacity to care about something other than business. He may even have been showing a capacity to care about his family. 

"I entered slowly. I am a very cautious person by nature," he turned to look at Sarah as he said this.

"I wasn't long in the home until I heard the sound of children singing, and running, and playing. So I saw this grand set of stairs and decided to find out what was going on. Could Gloria have brought these kids here to play and have left our little Jake home all alone?"

Gregory continued, "By the time my feet reached the top stairs all of the singing and running and playing had stopped and I had this strange, consuming feeling something was not right. Just then I swung open the first door at the top of the stairs and then I saw it. Ten, maybe twelve school children, in uniforms, all lined up in small chairs. To my left behind the door was my wife, Jake's mother. She was standing at a chalkboard wearing something I had never seen before. It looked like a teacher's outfit from the 1950s. If you've ever seen Little House on the Prairie, it was like the dresses they wore on there. It got even more weird when my wife introduced me as Mr. Windsall. The children cheered and clapped. Then Gloria turned me to the door and shut it tightly behind me. Sarah, I stumbled out of there, and down those stairs, and up the pathway, and across the street, and into our home, and right up my own stairs, and into my room, and into the shower, and it seems like I have been stumbling out of that old log house ever since."

"But what was she doing?" Sarah inquired, captured by the story.

"I don't know. The best way I can describe it? She was playing school with the neighborhood children."

Sarah and Gregory both shook their heads.

"Sarah, I am ashamed to admit this, but I never asked any questions of Gloria not even when Jake started waking up in the middle of the night, he stood staring at the floor, he walked in circles, and said 'I had a leak. I had a leak.' His mom always seemed to be able to handle it. And when it got worse and when I knew something naughty, or even terrible, was happening when I was at work that is when I filed for divorce and she and Jake moved up near where you guys are now."

He stood motionless, his face cringing in regret. Sarah came towards him. Placed her long arms around his back and hugged him. "Thank you for sharing this story," she said and just then, for the first time in decades Mr. Gregory Windsall, the CEO of Windsall Enterprises cried. "Oh my God, what have I done?"

Sarah settled him back into his chair, her mind working up a plan. "Mr. Windsall, we've got to do something about this now. Will you help me figure out what actually happened in that log cabin? Will you be willing to drive with me, right now, back to see Jake and Gloria?"

Without any hesitation, he stood. He flatted his suit jacked with the palms of his sweaty hands. "Yes. Let's leave right now before my employees start arriving. The time is now. For the sake of you and Jake I must do this." And with that Sarah and Gregory Windsall, a daughter-in-law and father-in-law made their way out of the office, down the walkway, and into his BMW for the short drive north. Sarah would retrieve her friend's car later. This was far more important.

THE END 

Writing short stories at the Swallow's Nest is fun because I hope to hear from you. What do you think happened in that old log cabin? Why does Jake have a leak? And how do Sarah and Gregory solve the mystery? How does this story really end?

The Curse of Jake Windsall (Part II)

Continued from yesterday

What Jake new was this: you can hold a secret only so long from your wife and then she's going to know. And when she knows there runs an incredible risk that she will deny she ever even knew young Jake Windsall. And this was the exact predicament Jake found himself in as they drove home together in Sarah's car. "OK," she said. "What the heck happened to you and why didn't you tell me this had happened before?" While Sarah was glad to have her husband back she was responding more to her mother-in-law's snarky attitude than Jake's long held secret.

To her surprise Jake decided he needed to get the whole truth out there and now.  

 Craaaa-be-dub-dub-leak-leak,
 Craaaa-be-dub-dub-leak-leak.
 Little Jakey sprung a leak
 Craaaa-be-dub-dub-leak-leak,
 Craaaa-be-dub-dub-leak-leak
 Little Jakey sprung a leak.

"That's the only way to make it go away. And only my Mom can say it, Sarah. It's the only way my leak will stop its spray." He spoke matter of fact and with little emotion. "When I was 11 I took a walk one day, alone, and into the woods. I wasn't long down a wide path that I had explored many times before when I looked over and saw a big log cabin. I had never seen it before, I guess because I had never walked in this area so late in the fall when all the leaves were off the trees. You know how curious I can be and that was as true then as it is now. So I wandered over and when I saw the door to the grand, old place open I walked straight in." Sarah kept one eye on the road and the other on her husband, as she drove spellbound by the story. She knew Jake was telling her the truth. She just knew it. 

"And then what happened," she asked.

"At first everything seemed normal. Just a regular log cabin. But the further in I went the more I got the sense something was there. I remember not knowing what it could be. I was, after all, only eleven. I was scared, but this place was so close to my own home and I felt a sense of security that was bigger than my fright. As I pressed on through the lobby a staircase with wide stairs appeared and I heard a noise coming from the floor above me that sounded like children laughing and playing. And so I decided to check it out."

By now Sarah had swung the car into their driveway and turned the key, shutting off the engine. She swung her body around and gave Jake her full attention. 

Jake continued, "The closer I got to the top of the stairs the more alluring the kids voices seemed. You will only be able to imagine my shock when I pushed opened the first door on my left and standing straight ahead, towering above me was..."

Just then, as if right on cue, a flash of bright light flooded Jake and Sarah's backs and a car smashed straight through the trunk of their car forcing the lovely couple very near the front windshield. The impact was significant, but Jake managed to grab his wife's hand, pulling her over the hump between them and out the passenger's side door. "Hold tight and follow me, Sarah. It's her. I just know it's her. She's coming to get me." 

"Who? Who is coming to get you baby?" Sarah screamed as they took off across the small lawn and into the park that abutted their apartment building. "It's her. It's the same person I saw that day at the top of the stairs inside that room." 

"But who was that? Who...is this?"

Ducking behind the first piece of shelter they could find, a park bench perched on the side of a slight slope, Jake screamed in a whisper (if there is such a thing) "It's my Mother!!" 

"Your mother? She's the person from the cabin? She is who we are running from? Her car just slammed into ours?" Jake's reply was eerie not just because of the circumstances but because he clearly feared his Mom and what she was after. "I don't want to scare you, Sarah, but we must run. She will kill me this time. I just know it."

"Wait. Just wait." Sarah clearly didn't understand the severity of the situation and she wanted to just slow everything down. Typical Sarah. If you could just get control of your predicaments in life, then you could make your problems disappear. But Jake's urgency told a different story. This was no time to try and reason with his wife. He yanked Sarah's arm and off they ran again. Sure enough! They were being pursued. Sarah could see a shadow on the lit pathway, about the shape of a middle-aged woman, pressing down hard on them. 

Then she heard her voice. "You cannot outrun me, little Jakey. And you know it! Stop!"

Jake froze. Sarah kept on running. She kept on running until she realized that she ran alone. When she realized what had happened she stopped, turned, and that's when her mouth dropped open wide.

"I had a leak. I had a leak." Jake was running in small, tight circles and he was repeating that dreaded chant from the two nights before. And when Sarah looked for her mother-in-law she didn't need to look far for by now Gloria was standing right in front of her, hands on her hips with a stern warning. "You can't have Jakey. He's mine. He's sprung a leak and he'll just keep leaking and leaking until I lift the curse. So I give you two choices, my deary. Leave. Run. Flee. Or...Or...I'll have no choice. I will kill you. And this time I will erase his memory of this event."

Sarah quickly decided to take the first option. She ran and ran until she sensed she was alone. And then she circled back around the park undetected and found that same slight slope where she and Jake had initially hid. She slouched down as far as she could, and from a distance, watched. What she saw was shocking. Jake still turned in those circles, and he still muttered those awful words "I had a leak. I had a leak." And Gloria pronounced the cure again, after she had looked around to make sure no one was watching:

 Craaaa-be-dub-dub-leak-leak,
 Craaaa-be-dub-dub-leak-leak.
 Little Jakey sprung a leak
 Craaaa-be-dub-dub-leak-leak,
 Craaaa-be-dub-dub-leak-leak
 Little Jakey sprung a leak.

Then, just as before Jake seemed to snap out of it. As far as Sarah could see he was normal again. But, strangely all of his fear was gone. It was like he had not remembered the crash and the chase and the terror of those previous moments. In fact, it seemed from this slight distance that Jake and his mother were just fine. They even embraced. And Jake's wife could not believe what she was seeing. What did it mean for Jake to spring a leak and what had happened in that cabin all those years ago and what kind of relationship did Jake and his Mom have as a result of that experience?

As the two approached Sarah's bench, she crouched down even lower so as not be detected, and then as mother and son passed by she heard all that she would ever need to know.

 Craaaa-be-dub-dub-leak-leak,
 Craaaa-be-dub-dub-leak-leak.
 Little Jakey sprung a leak
 Craaaa-be-dub-dub-leak-leak,
 Craaaa-be-dub-dub-leak-leak
 Little Jakey sprung a free break
 Little Jakey shakin' a wife he hates

To be continued tomorrow.

The Curse of Jake Windsall (Part I)

By the time his wife woke up Jake was standing in the middle of the living room floor screaming, "I had a leak, I had a leak." A sharp looking 30-year old with an outstanding academic record Jake had moved to Mulligan two months earlier to work in the law firm Wild, Buttress, and Ford. WBF knew a future Senior Partner when they saw one and the partners came to mutual agreement that out of all the hot young prospects they had recently added to their growing firm Jake would likely emerge as the best. That's why it was such a shock to everyone at the offices on the corner of Munich and George Streets when Jake's wife called his secretary.

"He had a terrible accident in the middle of the night," Jake's wife reported. "I'm at the hospital with him now but I wanted you to know he will not be coming to the office today or, most likely, for the rest of the week."

It seemed everyone caring for Jake was in the same stage - trying to assess precisely what the problem was and attempting to assure themselves and others that life would be different for the next little bit until the doctors, the nurses, the psychologist, someone could say what was wrong. But by the time the next evening hours were upon them, inside room 301, no one could tell what the leak was all about. Mrs. Jake Windsall had been over the area on the floor Jake was so disturbed about and she had found nothing. Not even a drop of sweat. What sort of leak could Jake have been going on about? He hadn't spilled anything, he hadn't even had a wet dream. And that's what remains a source of great mystery to this very day. 

By the time Sarah got out to her husband not only was he screaming but he was in a total tizzy. Walking in circles, small, tight circles, all Jake could do was look at the ground and murmur over and over again "I had a leak, I had a leak." He did manage to calm down a bit when he saw his young, attractive wife. Sarah was the kind of wife every young man dreamed of having. A few centimeters shorter than Jake she had a thick bushy head of curly brown hair, crystal clear big brown eyes, a long, sharp nose in perfect proportion to the rest of her face, salacious lips that had been the envy of many a girl and the sweet object of many a man's affection. Her legs were long and smooth, her breasts small but firm and Jake always got a pleasant handful when he reached over as they made love before the lights went out. There wasn't much about Sarah that did not satisfy and theirs was a young, dynamic love affair.

But how could she make sense of what was happening to her husband at 2.46 in the morning in the middle of their living room floor in the newly renovated apartment at the corner of Tuck and Rasmussen Avenues on that strange night? The problem was she couldn't make sense of it. The doctors had asked her plenty of questions and the clinical psychologist asked even more. It got to the point where Sarah couldn't handle any more questions about Jake's past and present so she sent everyone out of the room and turned her care back on her husband. She began by drawing the shades as the dusk sky quickly turned black.

And that's when it happened. One curtain and then the other and then Jake Windsall sprung another leak. It was the second leak in as many nights and this one really rattled Sarah and captured not only the imagination but also the fear of Jake's doctors and nurses when they eventually piled back into his room. "What happened," Dr. White asked Sarah. "I went to pull the curtains," she started, "and when I turned back around he was up in the middle of the floor screaming out his lungs again 'I had a leak, I had a leak.' It was similar to last night except this time he just stared at a spot on the floor and didn't run around in a circle." Everyone in the room except Jake looked at the floor. They saw nothing. Meanwhile, Jake was back in bed, still despondent yet smiling. He'd been in this state for almost 24 hours now and no one had a clue what to do about it.

That is, until Jake's mother arrived. If Sarah was young, tart, and smart, then Gloria was everything the opposite: old, ugly, and just not very sharp. (Jake got all his looks from his Dad and his aunt [Gloria's younger sister].) Like an ER doc plowing through a door downstairs, rushing to save another life, she came a blazing through the door in room 301. "What the hell is wrong?" "I don't know," Sarah offered aware that Gloria was the last person she wanted to see. "He just kept saying 'I had a leak. I had a leak.'" Gloria responded, "That was all?" This reaction surprised everyone in the room.

"Why, has this happened before?" inquired Dr. White.

"Well sure. Jakey springs leaks."

Sarah looked confused. "What do you mean, Gloria?" 

"He didn't tell you?" Sarah's mother-in-law dealt a blow. That wasn't strange. Ever since Sarah had come to Williams to meet Jake's parents she felt like an alien invading planet earth. But looking back at Jake just lying there staring off into space not even acknowledging his mother. That was strange.

"Stand back and watch," Gloria announced. She raised her hands directly in front of Jake's despondent eyes. She snapped hard three times and then she said it:

 Craaaa-be-dub-dub-leak-leak,
 Craaaa-be-dub-dub-leak-leak.
 Little Jakey sprung a leak
 Craaaa-be-dub-dub-leak-leak,
 Craaaa-be-dub-dub-leak-leak
 Little Jakey sprung a leak.

And as quickly as she said it Jake's head jerked forward and he returned to normal. And then Jake wondered if she knew.

To be continued tomorrow.