The Trophy:

The chair he sat in was uncomfortable and his left foot bounced up and down nervously.  He rubbed his face and just wished that the aches he was feeling in his joints were from running too long, too often.

He worked out five times a week, but he always had since he was in high school.  He didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him.

“Mr. Brody.”

The nurse with the starched scrubs stood in the doorway holding an orange chart with B R O stickers on the left hand side.  He assumed it was their filing system.  He stood up, and his right knee popped with his first step.

“Shit!”

“I heard that from here.  Follow me please.”

“I guess I’m getting old.”

“We all are.”

He watched as she walked in front of him, checking out her ass, and decided that his wife’s was better.

They had been married a little over two years now, and the sex was still phenomenal.  She was the world to him. Smart, funny, hot, personable and hot.  She was not run way pretty, but she had a certain something that turned heads whenever she walked into a room.  The best part of her was that she only had eyes for him.  She was oblivious to the leers of other men, and he loved her even more for it.

The nurse ushered him into a tiny room and handed him a gown.

“Opens in the back.”

“I know.”

“Ok smarty.”

She wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his arm over his blue tee shirt and began to inflate it.  They made small talk as she finished taking his vitals and jotted the small numbers down in his chart.  She left him to get naked and suffer the humiliation of being poked and prodded at the doctor’s office.   He left his underwear on, he couldn’t see any reason why the doctor may need to check out his boys.

Summer School

…A small smile graces Chelsea’s lips as the car starts to roll in the reverse direction. The Guardian sighs, his hands clasped in front of him as he patiently waits.  After the car passes them, Chelsea walks back to her spot in the road.

The ball in her hands stills as the car gains momentum.  Chelsea and the Guardian watch as the driver in the car struggles to open the door.  The woman’s panicked yells are muffled, contained within her moving prison.  Her lights come on, then the windshield wipers, then the hazard lights, as she panics trying to get her vehicle to stop.

Chelsea continues to watch her, her smile broadening, and she releases the ball.  The ball bounces after the car, following its path.  She looks up at the Guardian, and puts her tiny hand in his.  Together they watch the car barrel down the hill towards destruction.

“Chelsea there is an intersection at the bottom of the hill.  Innocent people.” The Guardian tells her quietly.  Their eyes meet, and she seems deep in thought.

The car slowly veers to the side of the road, colliding with a building.  The Guardian waits patiently for the woman to exit the vehicle.   He hopes he can contain her wrath before she gets to Chelsea.  That is his job, to protect her.   After a pause, nothing happens.  The woman does not come out.  The Guardian looks at the small child suspiciously.

“Chelsea where is the driver?  Where is the woman?” the Guardian asks her.  “Is she hurt?”

“All gone.” She whispers sweetly…