Author Mike OConnor: Gentle breeze

Author Mike OConnor: Gentle breeze: The days aren’t so bad, but the nights can be quite lonely. It wasn’t always this way when she was here. There was laughter and funny mo...

Gentle breeze

The days aren’t so bad, but the nights can be quite lonely. It wasn’t always this way when she was here. There was laughter and funny moments that left smiles on both our faces. Those were simple times when a seat on the front porch steps watching a sunset meant more to me than just about anything. She would sit so close to me it felt like we were joined at the hip. We didn’t speak much during those times on the steps, but words weren’t needed because our thoughts were the same. Her head rested on my shoulder, and with each gentle breeze, her favorite perfume filled me with love for her so deep it often hurt. Now I sit on those steps with a small empty space next to me where she once sat, her head on my shoulder and me hoping for a gentle breeze.

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Author Mike OConnor: Pink knitted gloves

Author Mike OConnor: Pink knitted gloves:       Her hands were covered with pink knitted gloves her mother made for her last birthday. They fit perfectly in his leather gloves like...

Pink knitted gloves

     Her hands were covered with pink knitted gloves her mother made for her last birthday. They fit perfectly in his leather gloves like a ball in a catchers mitt. They held hands like they always did wherever they may be. Covered in the cold, sweaty in the heat but perfect every day. They discovered the meaning of true love at the tender age of sixteen. Each kiss like a sweet soft expression of feelings being unleashed for the first time. Every touch gentle and exploring always finding new and different ways of showing each other the wonders of new love. He would walk her home from school dances, and football games then return home smelling his upper lip, the scent of her kisses staying with him on his journey home. The first time they made love took hours as they both knew it would remain with them for as long as they breathed life, and neither wanted to let that time ever be forgotten.

     Time and circumstance drew them apart as their teenage years flew past them, but the memories stayed as vivid as the times themselves. She passed at a very young age of a disease not yet understood back then, and a part of him died with her. He went on with life, marrying and raising children, always remembering the tenderness of their first love and stolen kisses under a mighty oak snow mixing with her tears of happiness. He goes back home every year around the time of her birthday taking flowers to her grave and gently touching her headstone with a gentleness only she understood. He's old now and the visits not as frequent, but he speaks to her often knowing that one day not too long from now she will greet him with an outstretched hand in pink knitted gloves.

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Author Mike OConnor: Frozen words

Author Mike OConnor: Frozen words:       Pulling the tattered blanket closer to his chilled body, the man continued behind the typewriter with cold keys. Frost gathered on h...

Frozen words

     Pulling the tattered blanket closer to his chilled body, the man continued behind the typewriter with cold keys. Frost gathered on his window sills forming tiny crystals with unique designs that distracted him momentarily, but he soon went back to the story he was desperately trying to finish before his thoughts melted like the snowflakes, never to be seen again. The room was dark except for the two candles in a jar that grew dimmer with each passing hour. Soon he would be straining to look at his words and would rely on his memory of the keys he had been banging on for time unknown. His cat whose age was also unknown sat on his lap creating a warm spot that he was grateful for and showed his appreciation by softly rubbing her behind the ears which she very much enjoyed, showing her pleasure with soft low purrs.

     Well into the cold night he worked, the words mostly coming to him quickly but at times he had to reach deep into his thoughts and hope to retain it as another piece of the puzzle he was writing. Outside the wind had picked up creating a kind of chaos within him but allowing for a much-needed break. Grabbing on to the glass jar he made his way to the fireplace that had all but burned itself out. He had to pay more attention to the real world and climb out of his typewriter. Piling a few logs onto the embers, it didn't take long for the warmth to return to both the room and to himself. Taking a seat in his favorite chair directly across from his typewriter, he lit his pipe and stared at the box of memories just sitting there waiting for him to return and resume the rat a tat tatting of the keys. But his mood had been shattered for this night, all his words remained prisoners of his mind remaining there in the darkness.

     Tomorrow would show up with freshly fallen snow and crystalized windows. His cat would eat a hearty breakfast then settle into her favorite chair waiting for him to sit down, pull the tattered blanket closer to his cold body and once again start the soothing sounds of the old typewriter keys banging out memories as fresh as that fallen snow.

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Author Mike OConnor: Mall Santa

Author Mike OConnor: Mall Santa:      The elderly man in a Santa suit prepared himself for his first day on the job as the Milton Valley mall Santa. He excelled at Santa s...

Mall Santa

     The elderly man in a Santa suit prepared himself for his first day on the job as the Milton Valley mall Santa. He excelled at Santa school developing a boisterous “HO-HO-HO” along with the patience of a saint. He had always dreamed of playing Santa, but his life seemed to always get in the way, and his dream was put on hold. The day he retired from the Union Pacific railroad his wife asked him what he was going to do with his time? His first and immediate response was “Going to Santa school” She smiled, patted his bald head and wished him luck, adding he may want to consider putting on a few pounds and growing a beard. The beard was easy but eating more took some doing as he never in his adult life tipped the scales more than one hundred and fifty pounds.

     Eight months later he was ready for school, his hair had grown, and his beard now long and snow white just like Santa himself. And, he had managed with the help of his long-time bride to pack on a whopping sixty pounds which he proudly displayed with a “HO-HO-HO- from the bottom of his big belly. He had ordered a Santa’s suit from the best costume shop anywhere each detail was flawlessly created just for him, and the result was indeed a vision to be seen. That first day at the mall found him sitting on a massive throne of a chair, behind him a winter wonderland of lights and sounds of Christmas. The children were lined up to sit on Santa’s lap telling him their wishes and him asking if they had been good little boys and girls the past year? At days end with the last child walking away turning her head for one last look, he winked, and she disappeared into the crowd.

     That night he reflected on the day and the children’s wishes. It surprised him how many little ones asked him to please bring their mommy or daddy home for Christmas as they were off at war and probably couldn't come home. He spoke to them softly telling them their mommy or daddy were giving the whole country the greatest gift anyone could ever give, the gift of freedom. He told them he would see their mommy or daddy on Christmas Eve no matter where they might be, and he would be sure to tell them how much they are loved and missed. This seemed to brighten their moods as they kissed his cheek and climbed off his lap a candy cane in hand and hope in their little hearts.

     He spent seven weeks representing Santa, every day better than the last. He saw the kindness in children he didn't know existed at such an early age as well as the pain they kept inside knowing full well the meaning of war and separation Once his job was over, and the Santa suit dry cleaned and put away for another year he sat down, lit his pipe and began the long task of reading letters to Santa care of Milton Valley mall. He had a hunch he would be there for many years to come. 

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Author Mike OConnor: Choices

Author Mike OConnor: Choices:       You could hear a pin drop as he walked into the dark kitchen. He didn’t need a light, he has walked the route from bedroom to kitche...

Choices

     You could hear a pin drop as he walked into the dark kitchen. He didn’t need a light, he has walked the route from bedroom to kitchen so many times before. He reached into a cabinet above the sink and filled a glass with water. Reaching out in front of him, he pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat in darkness drinking the not quite cold water. There was a basket on the table, and he reached inside feeling his way around the contents until he found a pack of smokes and a lighter. He never smoked in the house except for the nights he couldn't find sleep. Sitting in darkness, the red glow of the smoke lighting up a few inches of the room, the crackling of the burning paper a soothing sound to a man who didn’t fear the darkness, just that devilish red glow of doom. He finished his drink, snuffed out the smoke and headed back into the darkness of night all the while thinking to himself that when daylight came, he would throw those damn smokes in the trash but why not just leave them in the basket because he was sleeping better these days Yea that’s what he would do.

     QUITTING SMOKING IS A PERSONAL CHOICE. ITS DIFFICULT AND WILL TAKE AN EMOTIONAL TOLL ON BOTH MIND AND BODY.NO GOOD HAS EVER COME FROM SMOKING NO MATTER WHAT YOU MAY THINK. IT'S-A CHOICE, MAKE THE RIGHT ONE. 

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Author Mike OConnor: The box

Author Mike OConnor: The box:       He pulled the box from the bedroom closet, almost spilling the contents as his once “Guns” were now more like flabs of fear. Setti...

The box

     He pulled the box from the bedroom closet, almost spilling the contents as his once “Guns” were now more like flabs of fear. Setting the box on the bed he began to look through all the cards, letters, and keepsakes she had given to him over the decades they had together. As he went through each one, he took a moment to re-live the exact moments, each as beautiful as the others. A birthday card from his fiftieth saying not to worry he wasn't that old. There was a picture of a walker and adult diapers. He chuckled a bit and moved on. He pulled out a piece of red ribbon that he recalled she gave to him on valentines day. She had wrapped herself in ribbon and not much else. He could still see her dancing around the room laughing as he unwound the gift underneath.

     He held other pieces of their time like a movie stub to "Gone with the wind" and another from "It's a wonderful life" She spilled coke on her favorite blouse at that movie and cried. He assured her he would get her another just like it. There was a picture ID of her on a red cross volunteer badge she proudly wore as she helped those in need. He loved her for that, and so many other qualities she possessed. There were a few snapshots of them together at a county fair her holding a huge helping of cotton candy, and another of them holding each other at Niagara Falls on their honeymoon so very long ago. He finished going through his memories and replaced the box in the closet until the next time he had to see her face, smell her sent and remembers just how lucky they were to have had each other.

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Author Mike OConnor: The end of words

Author Mike OConnor: The end of words:       He sits at his desk trying hard to be creative, but the only words in his head were those of a time when all he had to do was look a...

The end of words

     He sits at his desk trying hard to be creative, but the only words in his head were those of a time when all he had to do was look at a blank slate and begin. Those words were used up, he thought to himself. Were there any new words, or combinations of words he hadn't used before? Every day he came down the stairs anticipating a day of writing, exploring new ideas and reaching deep inside of himself to find that perfect story. A story that would make the daily paper that so many depended on to start their day. His words are seeping into their heads as they sipped the first cup of coffee. Some would circle his work, so they could return to it when more awake. Every day for the last fifty some years he joined thousands of people for breakfast, now he ate alone. He sat down at his desk and sipped a cup of coffee waiting for the words that would once again join him and so many others for breakfast. I suppose a writer is just like others in most phases of life, but most people don’t realize without words, a writer is speechless both in sound and thought.

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Author Mike OConnor: A child

Author Mike OConnor: A child:       Nothing can pierce your heart more than a child who has grown up so quickly that he stands six feet tall but still needs help gettin...

A child

     Nothing can pierce your heart more than a child who has grown up so quickly that he stands six feet tall but still needs help getting his shoes tied the right way. A child lets you discover things he is doing for the first time and you get to do it again. A child makes you angry, but you always forgive because you realize you screwed up along the way too. A child’s laughter can make you laugh even though you have no idea why he’s laughing? A child’s path is one you hope will be without pain and sorrows, but you know he will experience these things and you try and let him know gently they are coming, be ready. A child will test you to the very limits every chance they get but that’s ok because little do they realize you’ve played all the games and even made a few of them up. A child is a reminder of what we once were and seeing yourself in the things they do and say is more gratifying than anything else I can think of. A child will always be that tiny person who needed you for everything but grew up way to soon leaving you to close your eyes and remember everything your mind will allow so you never miss a minute of all they have given to you. A child is the definition of “Love”

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