Harmonious Hearts 2017 Read online

  Now, I beg you to not mention this to the class. I have noticed many young ladies sitting across from me accidentally getting their eyes lost in my luscious curly hair. Once it was because I had gotten a piece of corn lost in my hair, and they couldn’t find a polite way of bringing it to my attention, but I assume every other time it is because I am the dashing man I dare to be. I usually use this to my advantage but, as you will learn in this email, last night became my greatest downfall.

  As I was hard at work writing about child star/ninja/musical philanthropist Jenny Louise Smith in my story (which is close to completion) I came to what you might call a writer’s block. This tends to happen to me whenever I sit down to begin my work and will last until I eat the All-Star breakfast at Waffle House located just a few streets down from where I live. Alas, last night I had no car, hence no way to make my pilgrimage to the true house of pancakes. How was I going to continue my story without freshly made pancakes with a side of bacon, hash browns, and scrambled eggs? Fear not, Dr. Owens, I had a backup plan to replenish my creative juices and smoothies. A standup comedian performing a free show at school was, at that time, my only option between completing my story and death.

  I arrived at the show with my best friend, Lisa. I think you actually taught Lisa last semester. She’s the girl with pink hair and you probably thought she had an attitude problem but actually, she was just afraid of everything. I’m pretty sure she wrote a fan-fiction romance about Bernie Sanders that you claimed was the most disturbing work you had ever read at this school. Anyway, when we got there, it was packed to the rim without any seats in sight until we saw two empty chairs in the front row. After removing the jackets someone had carelessly left on the seats, we sat down to enjoy the show. This is where my night took its first turn.

  The comedian, Gabby Summers, was average. I think she could have used some of your tips when it comes to plot and resolutions. Gabby was in the middle of some dating game with a female volunteer when suddenly a large man interrupted my creative intake. The stranger came up behind me demanding “his” seat back and wondering where his jacket went. I stood up to help him look, like the gentleman I am, when the crowd erupted in applause. I had accidentally just volunteered to be part of the dating game.

  Dr. Owens, as you know, I do not enjoy being the object of attention. I prefer a nice spotlight and for people to get the chance to know me for my true talents rather than as just a pretty face. I couldn’t sit down and explain how volunteering was a mistake. The world would never know how I would ace this dating game just like I ace all tasks. So with a heavy heart full of remorse, I slowly made my way up onto the stage while waving to my adoring fans whose applause had ended five seconds after I stood up.

  On stage I sized up my competition. It was a nice-looking guy whose name I think was announced as Derek, and he looked like he had a heart of gold. I didn’t know what this dating game would take, but I was pretty sure I could beat him. Gabby Summers asked Derek (?) a few simple questions any conversation might begin with. How are you? What are some of your hobbies? What are you studying? You might think a man possibly named Derek would have answered these questions with the ease and charm you would expect from a volunteer. Wrong. Every question Gabby asked was met with a flirtatious advance from Derek. I will never understand why Derek was trying to hit on this older comedian instead of the lovely female volunteer he was supposed to be winning over.

  This was my chance to show the world my flirtatious skills I had been practicing all these years. I threw every joke, rhyme, limericke (sp?), and poem I knew in order to win the girl over. To be honest, you never taught us what a liymerick (sp?) was, so I actually showed the audience a picture of Jason Segel’s face photoshopped onto a seagull that Lisa had shown me earlier. I’m not sure if that’s a successful lim rick (sp?), but it seemed to win the crowd over.

  I closed my eyes as Gabby took a quick audience poll to determine who would be the mysterious volunteer’s date. Well, I was supposed to close my eyes but between you and me, I took a little peek and found something disturbing. Obviously the majority of the room voted for me, but there was one important hand missing that was never raised to vote for me. Lisa’s hand. Was she jealous of my humor? Angry I had stolen her Jason Seagull photo? I had never been so offended in my life.

  The crowd erupted in applause when I opened my eyes and discovered I had won. The sound of the applause jolted Lisa from the apparent nap she was taking. This applause jolting Lisa awake jolted my brain awake, which jolted my common sense awake. This is when I realized the prize I had fought so hard for was a date with a girl. Thoughts raced through my head with my life regrets. Why had I tried so hard for a prize I really had no interest in? Should I admit my “homosexual tendencies” and say it would never work out? Why did my mother let me adopt another hamster in the second grade when she knew I would forget about it and let it die?

  After a little ruckus on stage, I sat down with the girl I had won the date with. Funny enough, her name was Jenny. I still find it interesting that I was set up with a girl whose name was the same as the main character of my mermaid/angel of death biography “Jenny Louise Smith and the Case of the Missing Left Shoe.” It turned out she was interested in running, outdoors, and the TV show Naked and Afraid, all of which are my interests too. I considered for a moment faking the straight thing for the rest of my life and living a peaceful existence in a cabin in the nearby Shenandoah Mountains with this woman. We would farm corn, raise mongooses, construct temples, and other things retired folk likely do when no one is looking.

  This fantasy was suddenly interrupted when a photographer from the school’s paper wanted to take a picture. After explaining to me that “no, you will not be famous because of this” and “I’m only taking this because I have to photograph this event,” the photographer was able to take a few glamor shots of me with Jenny. You should feel free to check the paper today for it. I expect to be on the front page and maybe gain a little fame from it.

  Jenny and I debated for what felt like hours, but was likely only a minute or two, as to where to eat. I wanted to explain to her that I had to get back to writing my story for your class, but the opportunity never came up. As you would expect, the opportunity to mention my preference for men also never felt overly natural, so I continued to wait for the right moment. In the end we decided on a place where all lovers in the night go for a quick getaway—Waffle House.

  Jenny had to drive us to Waffle House in her car because, as mentioned earlier, I lack any form of transportation. Instead of chipping in for gas, I paid her back by reading aloud my pseudo-romance/war thriller “Jenny Louise Smith and the Case of the Missing Left Shoe.” Jenny seemed disturbed, bewildered, and slightly offended by the context of my story. I don’t think she understood the underlying themes of death, incest, remembering to stay polite, and destruction of the heart. This just showed how much work I had to do on my story due the next day (today!)

  In order to avoid this disastrous date and get back to editing, I devised a plan with Lisa over text while taking a break from talking to Jenny. Lisa would meet me at Waffle House, inform me of a family emergency for which I had to get home, and I would be free to continue my work. This plot did not seem as extravagant as others we had devised in the past and seemed a lot easier than simply telling Jenny I had to stay home that night to work.

  We pulled into Waffle House. The only other people in the restaurant were four large men each seeming to devour two entrees. I decided to sit down at the table next to them on the off chance I would be able to overhear an interesting conversation. Now let me tell you, Dr. Owens, that was probably the only good decision I made that night. Jenny turned out to be a less-than-average date. During our time on stage, we’d connected like two pigeons eating from the same pile of crumbs on the street, but now nothing seemed to bring us together. She was a Packers fan while I don’t watch baseball. She liked cheesy romance movies while I prefer pepper jack or swiss. The only thing I thou
ght would work well is that she mentioned she really enjoyed giving gifts while I mentioned I loved receiving them, yet not once did she offer to pay!

  While she went off on tangents of small talk and medium talk, I was able to overhear the four gentlemen to my right. It turned out they were part of a failing lumber company that was under harsh times due to environmental restrictions they could not follow. I had always been pro-environment and pro-lumberjacks, due to their classic aesthetic, and this was the first time my two passions have clashed. Could the lumberjack culture I’ve learned to love survive if they were forced to find new jobs? Could a lumberjack still be a lumberjack if he no longer jacked lumber? I plan on making my next story for your class include this moral dilemma so we might discuss it as a group.

  Suddenly, out of nowhere, Jenny reached across the table and grabbed my hand. Here is the best I can do to recount the conversation we had together.

  “Robby… I think I know why you’ve been holding back. Your… secret….”

  “Oh… I, uh… how did you find out?”

  “Well, I’ve noticed you back away when we get to touchy subjects like politics and immigration.”

  “Funny that we were set up on—wait, what was that about immigration?”

  “Mexico!”

  “What?”

  “Robby, it’s okay. I know… you are… a Donald Trump supporter.”

  That is the moment my heart broke. Instead of discovering my homosexuality, this woman had assumed my secret was that I supported Donald Trump. In that moment I realized I could not decide what was worse, letting Jenny continue to believe that I supported a man whose views have endangered close friends of mine, or reveal to her my sexuality and that I only accepted this date for the ride to Waffle House. I decided to go with the most ethical option.

  “Yes. I support Donald Trump.”

  Unfortunately this was the exact moment Lisa decided to walk in. I’m sure you are the last person I need to remind of how big a Trump opponent she is. Here’s a brief description of how that conversation went.

  “What the fuck, Robby? You know my grandma is probably going to be deported if he wins. Do you know what kind of pain he is causing my family? I come and save you from your gay date with a girl, and I find you laughing and enjoying a good time with your Trump-rally lumberjacks here? I’ve done so much for you, and you had to vote for the one man who can take everything I have away?”

  Let me take a moment to note how she immediately recognized the lumberjacks due to their intrinsic aesthetic and the important culture they carry with them. Anyway, Jenny took the news as well as you would expect when a girl finds out her date is gay from an angry pink-haired girl with a passion for politics without knowing much of what she is talking about.

  “How dare you not tell me you’re gay!” Jenny yelled.

  “What, are you a communist now?” Lisa questioned.

  “No! You can’t make us pay!” screamed the lumberjacks.

  I forgot to mention that the lumberjacks seemed to be unhappy with their meal and found this the opportune moment to fight for a freebie. I highly doubt this had anything to do with their poorly performing business/lack of money and assume they had full intentions of paying when they originally ordered two entrees each.

  While I was in a daze thinking about those lumberjacks, it hit me. And by “it” I mean a hand. I’m not sure whose hand it was—most likely Lisa’s or Jenny’s—but something hit me and I fell. You know those moments when someone’s life flashes before his or her eyes? Well, that didn’t happen to me. All I felt was the weight of my betrayal as I watched Jenny and Lisa walk out seconds later.

  I strode in shame to the register as I was forced to pay for my meal. In an attempt to regain my internal integrity, I also paid for the lumberjacks’ eight entrees. This was partially because Jenny, my ride home, had driven away and the lumberjacks offered to let me ride in their truck if I paid. I would love to describe this life-threatening ride to you in detail, but this email is already reaching ten pages long and I fear you may be growing tired of it.

  Now, after a night of two angry women, a sexually confusing date, four lumberjacks, and paying for ten entrees, I am home to finish my deep existential literary work “Jenny Louise Smith and the Case of the Missing Left Shoe.” I’ve been working on it all night but, due to the emotional roller coaster I was forced to ride, it may not be as high quality as you had hoped. Please let the rest of the class know of my woes so that they might go a little easier on it. It would have been a lot better if these events had not happened and I had time to really finish my story.

  Thanks for understanding!!!

  Robert Seabrook

  File Attached “My bomb-ass story about Jenny missing her shoe”

  TO: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: Reply: I know this is bad but I have a good reason

  Hello Robert,

  Thank you for turning in your story on time. I will print enough copies to distribute to the class today. For the record, I took a moment to read part of your story and found it highly original. I don’t think anyone else could have come up with the idea of global warming being the secret agenda of PETA. I am still trying to understand the twist on how Jenny’s mother’s doctor’s granddaughter’s wife’s dog’s bone was actually buried with the wedding ring instead of with Voldemort’s wand as described in page seven, but that is something we can discuss in class.

  I cannot help but mention one issue I have noticed this semester. I have overheard you discussing with your classmate, Libby, concerns over being critiqued multiple times before class. The fear of other people judging you is a common one, present from the beginning of time, and is nothing to be ashamed of. I sense you are trying to make up for this fear with an overly confident demeanor. My request for you today when we critique your work will be to drop the attitude and truly open up to the class. Only in an environment where you feel like you can be yourself will you be able to learn and grow as an author.

  I see a lot of potential in both you and Jenny Louise Smith.

  Regards,

  Dr. Owens

  P.S. Waffle House is my favorite place to write, and I was there all last night. I am surprised I did not see your “situation” occur….

  Living in the Shenandoah mountains, JOEY SCULLY spends his time hiking, writing, and embarrassing himself performing stand-up comedy. His lifelong goals range from writing a made-for-TV Christmas movie to one day shaking Shakira’s hand. As a recent graduate of James Madison University, Joey is taking his first steps into the real world of adult life and is excited to see what life has to throw at him. Feel free to reach out to Joey at [email protected].

  Hoodies and Glasses

  By Sengtdavanh Kinnavong

  Swamped with work and stress, Salil plonks himself in the library, determined to finish off his school assignments as soon as humanly possible. Of course, not everything goes to plan, and he’s awakened by the hottest guy ever. The brief interaction remains in his mind for days, and he has to admit he’s under the man’s spell. Eventually Salil learns the man’s name is Aras, and the two of them grow close—it might even be love. So why does Salil’s every attempt at a physical relationship with Aras fail?

  IT’S A beautiful day outside. The sun is shining, birds are whistling, people are cheerfully chattering on the streets.

  So why the hell am I stuck in here?

  I groan in annoyance as my phone buzzes again. It’s most likely just another snap from one of the guys, but there’s an email that could come any second now, and I do not want to miss it. Sure enough, a glance at my phone only reveals an annoyingly happy message from my brother.

  You’re missing out man! the message reads, and I scowl at the image of Rashid sticking his tongue out at the camera, the sight of waves crashing against Bondi Beach behind him.

  Meanwhile, here I am, confined to this library until I can finish off this damn assignment for my Hist
ory 101 class. The professor set the deadline for tomorrow, meaning there is definitely no time after today.

  Another buzz, and surprisingly, it’s the email I’ve been waiting for. I quickly open it, a sigh of relief passing my lips as I read the information. Sweet Koa, always there for me when I need him. I quickly send a “thanks” before reading over the file.

  I let out a large yawn, my eyes tearing up and blurring the words in front of me. There is no more coffee left, though, and I grumble to myself while highlighting sentences and jotting down bits of info that could maybe be linked together in the end. Another huge yawn escapes me, and I finally relent, taking my glasses off before putting my head down on the desk and closing my eyes. I can afford a few seconds of sleep, after all….

  “—are you okay? Hello?”

  A warm hand touches my shoulder, and I jolt up, immediately grabbing my glasses. I manage to put them on without dropping them, and I blearily glare up at the person responsible for waking me. Can’t they see I’m trying to sleep, the annoying piece of—

  Oh no, he’s hot.

  A tall guy in a black hoodie is staring down at me, head tilted—adorably—to the side. Long lashes frame almost amber eyes, and my gaze wanders down to full lips. A bright red scratch—cat, maybe?—goes down his lips, and I wonder how it would feel against my mouth. Realization dawns on me that my jaw is still hanging open, and there’s drool running from the corner of my mouth.

  “I am so sorry,” I blurt out, and I note the confused look on his face with horror. Oh my gosh, he must think I’m a freak now. I’m an idiot. There’s no way he’s going to take me seriously.

  “It’s fine,” he says with an awkward smile. How in the world does someone smile so adorably? “Sorry for waking you. I just wanted to ask you something.”