Co

By Edward C. Wells II

CO is a collection of poetry and short fiction by renowned author Edward C. Wells II. Here Wells explores the relationships between persons and things, individuals and groups, between objects and their human assigned symbolism. These boldly experimental yet highly readable works take us beyond post-modernism into the future of literary fiction and poetry. In these selections Wells has made the riddle of human experience and consciousness intelligible.

• Language: English
• Publisher: the Pedestrian Press
• Release date: Apr 16, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301924981

Book preview

The young college boy stops in his tracks while walking out. Hey, look at this. he points to the man stooped over the bar. His friend turns and seeing what has caught the boy's attention replies, Come on. We've got something we could be doing.

The boy looks from the man to his friend, then back, No, I'm staying here. He steps toward the bar and sits down on the round stool swinging back and forth at an acute angle a few times before settling as his friend walks out the door.

What happened to you man? the boy leans forward over the bar to level his eyes to the old man's.

Whatever could you be asking about? the man straightens up a bit and glances over at the boy. Why, the urine has been out of my shampoo for weeks now. he smiles and then after stirring the dark liquid in his cup lifts it to his lips.

What?! the boy shakes his head slightly and turns toward his body toward the man. A server walks over to the two with a coffee pot and asks, Do either of you need anything? The older man angles his neck without arching his back and still smiling thinly replies, Nope. He then turns and looks directly at the college boy who slides back on his stool before looking at the server and shaking his head abruptly, sending the tips of his hair swinging and crashing in soft piles against his head.

The server walks further down the bar and into the kitchen. You heard me, I presume, and you were only expressing surprise? The man waits a moment and on noting that the boy does not relax, but nods slightly, he continues, The urine gone from my shampoo, I'm guessing you were not inquiring about my odor. The various stains on my clothing are not likely captivating to someone, the man looks slowly down and then up the length of the boy's seated body, of your likely interests. So, I am at a bit of a loss as to what might have prompted to ask what happened to me. Was it my eye, which has seen better days? Was it my posture which is not as erect, again the man glances down and up, as once it was? Or perhaps there is some new tag about me that I am not yet aware of? The man slowly turns again and raises his cup with both hands and sips from it.

It was just all of it I guess. I thought I had seen you before, I thought that you seemed younger and fresher then. the boy turns to face the surface of the bar. His head is leaned forward and the reflection of the wall beams up at him from the bar's surface.

This is what everyone around me thinks it is to be a star. the man pushes a package of salad crackers over toward the boy. He begins to stir the beverage in the cup again then he continues, "I read an article about how having an accurate self-image is the most attractive thing. That was a psychic bomb waiting to touch down in the brain of some poor unfortunate.

Say you've got a bit of scar here on your left arm, or that you've got a crooked tooth, or that you are deficient in a subject. These things do not present themselves in healthy conversation. Moreover, the passive ways that for many accompany the knowledge of divergence from the common 'perfection' simply puts those subjects further outside of the topics of social people. The result there is a downward spiral that lifts up the ideas of superiority that exist.

Pishh. I buy drugs. Prop the system up since it won't change. It's the quickest way to get a bit more of what you want.

The way it works is when someone sees 'it' they gasp a little to themselves if they are not fully enculturated. They step to the side and they move along. The fully enculturated never let it touch the conscious mind, but that poor unfortunate is now walking around focused on when they should state cooly, 'You know, my hair is thinning here at the front of my scalp.'"

He stops and shakes his head smoothly in a wide arch, his hair swinging out away from his head. Then he looks down into his cup and blows. Without looking at the boy he asks, So, what's wrong with you?

The boy turns on the stool facing the man, who is still looking down into his cup. The boy begins slowly, You shouldn't think that there is something wrong with me simply because I am sitting with you and talking. He takes a breath and is about to begin with more volume when the man turns on his stool to face him. The boy's breath turns to a gasp that draws in the many odors that have mixed in the man's clothes and hair and which through slow osmotic action pass out of the man's skin. The man did not straighten his back so that his face leaned closer than it might have to the boy who stopped his gasp short to avoid further inhalation. Have you not been listening to what I was saying? the man asks and then straightening, provides room for the boy to turn and lean over the bar coughing slightly as he pushes out the bit of the gasp that had made it into his lungs, while managing, Yeah, right. But what's that got to do with this?

The man turns back and sips from his cup as the boy regains composure. I was setting you free from the conflict of social convention that I described. I gave you the excuse of politely answering my question while admitting that you have a healthy self-image by stating whatever you thought might be wrong with you., the man states beginning to tap softly on the bar. Ahhh. the boy exhales, again breathing smoothly and adding, I understand now, and I appreciate it more than you might expect.

The two sat there saying nothing for a while. A police officer walked in to the carry-out counter and looked around while waiting for an order. At one point after seeing the two, the officer had leaned down, nearly touching his cheekbone to the counter, so that he might catch the eye of one of them from the other end of the bar. Apparently becoming aware of the absurdity of his position and its potential for robbing him of authoritative appearance, he stood up, quickly looking around again. Neither the man nor the boy looked in the officer's direction. The server brought out the order and the officer tapped his hat as he left, glancing back toward the backs of the man and the boy, who still did not move.

Is it hard? asks the boy sometime after the police officer's exit. The man began to move his right arm when the boy commenced again, It must be hard, is all. He clears his throat quickly and before the man can begin moving his right arm again the boy continues, It's just that, well, I can't really not imagine, 'what if you were me'. And 'how would I get here to there'. And 'what could I do if I ever end up there'. And mostly, 'how hard it must be, because I don't think you get any of the things that I want in life; not even the simple pleasures that I enjoy now'. The boy sort of spins on the stool to the right as the man moves his right arm so that his palm rests on the edge of the bar so that he could push himself and turn the stool to face the boy. By this time though the boy is behind the stool and facing the door.

Pishh. I, the man had begun, with the same rhythm that he had been tapping the counter, but the boy has already reached the door, so he could not tell you what the man's reply was, or even whether the man continued his reply free from the awkwardness that many would have at answering a question posed by someone that was no longer in front of them in a diner in the late-early hours.

In 12 Hours Time

I'm sitting and sipping soy milk,

my days of animal consumption

are years behind me today.

Earlier, at work I stood in the aisle of the thrift store

looking through records and thinking of my Father and of the ways that he wasn't.

I'm not certain if I should kill you. simply doesn't seem

a fatherly thing in my ears.

Maybe you simply can't go home after being away in some cases.

Some places are simply not home after some occurrences.

I sip more Silk (soy milk) and look at the album on the floor.

He liked some of the music of his time: Three Dog Night,

Credence Clearwater Revival, The Beatles,