Welcome back to Rainbow Snippets. 😀 😀

Continuing with “The Hippie Whisperer“, things are coming to a head with Carl and Ben. A little bit longer for context, and since it’s Labor Day weekend! Enjoy. 🙂

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“From your interactions with Chester, I can tell, even after such a short time, how much you live for him, do everything for him. When was the last time you did something for yourself?” Ben asked.

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you? Isn’t the real reason why you haven’t, say, changed your hair, or your Hawaiian shirts because you’re afraid to admit that things have changed? That your son doesn’t need you anymore, that you have to face a whole new world and fill the void, and you don’t know how to do that?” Ben hit too close to home this time.

“Okay, this is the last time I’ll take this kind of stuff from you. This is my goddamn house. How dare you come in here and claim to know me. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I’m the guy who’s trying to tell you it’s time to move on. Tonight, your son was trying to tell you the same thing. He feels it, too. Have you thought that you may be making him feel guilty because he knows he’s all you have?”

I got up and stalked to the front door, flinging it wide open.

“Get out.”

Ben got up and walked toward me, his confident stride only stopping when he was up close and personal, mere inches away from my face. Despite my ire, I found his eyes beautiful and mesmerizing. How could he be so calm while I was seething?

“Just think about what I’ve said, okay? Come see me when you’re ready to talk. I’m working on the wall near that
independent bookstore over on Wisteria Avenue, The Reader’s Den. I like you, Carl. I just want you to like you, too.”

He leaned in to kiss my cheek, then left.

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Welcome back to Rainbow Snippets. 😀 😀

Continuing with “The Hippie Whisperer“, Carl and Ben are having a beer after dinner. Longer for context.

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I (Carl) said, “Not to be forward, though our exchanges up to this point have been just that. How old are you?”

“I’ll be thirty-seven on the third of July,” Ben replied.

Wow, I definitely saw him as much younger than that. “Well, you don’t look it,” I grudgingly admitted.

“Thanks, I think. You’re about forty-nine, right?”

“Forty-seven.” We were doing so well.

“Touchy.”

“It’s been a difficult twenty-four hours.”

“Look, I know I can be a bit much to take all at once, with the clothes and plain-speaking. I tend to plough ahead, no matter the consequences. I won’t apologize for that, because it’s who I am, like it or not. But I have a question for you. Tell me the truth.” His eyes bored into me. “How long has it been since you did something just for you?”

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Morning, all! Welcome to Rainbow Snippets. 😀 😀

Continuing with “The Hippie Whisperer“, Ben’s “even white teeth” are distracting.” Longer for context.

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“I suppose you’re mostly nondescript when you’re working?” I gathered up the rest of the plates while Chester and Dre put away the leftovers.

“More or less. What about you? What do you do?”

“Well, nothing as glamorous as you. I’m a counselor at a community college.”

“I see. And you ask me what right I have to force people to—”

“Wait a minute! I don’t force anyone to do anything. I simply provide guidance and support for students in order to meet their goals.”

“But it’s according to what you think they should do, what you think is best for them, right?”

“Well, yes. That’s what I’m trained for.”

“Using art as a way to enlighten an audience, enhance human experience and thought, no matter how uncomfortable—that’s what I’m trained for.”

“Okay, okay. I get it.” One thing about Ben, you were never in doubt as to his true feelings on a subject. “Can we cry truce?” I asked.

“But we were just getting started,” Ben said with a cheeky smile.

Oh dear, the patriotic punk had even, white teeth. The universe had it in for me, surely.

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Welcome to Rainbow Snippets weekend!

I thought I’d share the new cover of my upcoming short story, “For the Love of Muscles” – smokin’, right? 🙂

Continuing with “The Hippie Whisperer“, Ben is still shattering Carl’s concept of reality. 🙂 A little longer than six sentences for context. Mea culpa.

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Ben said, “I don’t always dress like this. My hair, so you know, is part of the ‘show’ around the mural I’m working on. It’ll be done in time for the Fourth of July. At that time, my hair will go back to its usual blond.”

“So the picture online was—”

“I’m not online.” Before I could contradict him, I heard a cough. I looked over at Chester and saw him exchange a look with Dre. Guilty. Ben was a quicker study than I, however.

“Oh, now I get it. I wondered why Dre took that photo of me when I got to the house today.” Ben looked over at the mischief makers. “You guys created the account right after that, didn’t you?”

They both shrugged and smiled, neither confirming nor denying anything.

“I don’t do online dating,” Ben said, turning his attention back to me. “That is the epitome of subterfuge, in my book.”

Definitely something we could agree on. Damn it, but he intrigued me.

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Welcome to Rainbow Snippets weekend!

Ben explains why he dresses the way he does… “The Hippie Whisperer“… A little longer than six sentences for context. Carl is in the first person.

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“To answer your question,” Ben said, “sure, I employ the shock factor, if only because I get to see people as they really are, without artifice. First impressions always count. It’s rare to get a second chance. If something jars them or resonates on some level, and manages to open their mind, my job is done. If it doesn’t, then maybe it wasn’t time yet, and they can scurry back to that little box of staid reality they live in.”

“So is everything about making a point, with you?” I asked. “Forcing people to see or experience things they may not be ready for, according to your vision? What gives you the right to do that?”

“Just so you know,” Ben said, “when I dress like this, it’s usually to help me gauge the new people in my life. Their first response tells me all I need to know. I do like bright colors, especially in my art. But I like more mundane things, too.” He grabbed his
plate and got up to take it to the sink. I got up and took mine, too, drawn to him and his ability to cut through to the heart of things like a magnet, despite myself.

“So you’re saying you have a more subtle side?” I was  skeptical, as you might imagine, since my retinas had yet to recover.

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Welcome to Rainbow Snippets weekend!

The dinner from hell (in Carl’s opinion) continues as Carl finds out Ben is an artist… “The Hippie Whisperer“… A little longer than six sentences for context.

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“Is the shock factor a basis for your art and your attire?” I asked.

“Dad!” Chester protested, but he started this, so he’d just have to deal.

“It’s a simple question. I’m sure he can handle it, can’t you, Ben?” I wanted to find a chink in his armor, so I wasn’t the only one off balance.

Ben just smiled at me, not even fazed by my rudeness. He addressed Chester. “It’s okay. I meet people like your dad all the time.”

“Oh, this could be good,” my son chortled. Turncoat.

“I beg your pardon?” I said.

“I’m sure I was clear,” Ben replied.

“I’m sure you weren’t.”

“Let the man talk, Dad.”

“You’re not helping, Judas.”

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Carl meets Ben… “The Hippie Whisperer“…

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I tried to regroup. “Benjamin, I assume?” I held out my hand to shake his.

“Ben,” an unexpectedly sonorous voice responded as he took my hand in a confident grip, holding on long enough so I could feel the strength there. The warmth of it stole up my arm, but I tried hard to ignore it.

“Carl, right?” He smiled at me, a look in his amethyst-colored eyes that said he knew what I was thinking, and couldn’t care less about my opinion. Score one for Ben.

“Yes.” It was time to eat. Clearing my throat, I said, “Please sit, everyone.” I gave my son a glance that said, “you’re in trouble, boy,” and served the meal.

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Carl is shocked at his dinner guest’s…intriguing…outfit, among other things, in “The Hippie Whisperer“…

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I’m sure my facial expression was comical as I looked him over, but managed to close my mouth quickly enough, I hoped, barely remembering my manners.

Benjamin Brooker was about my height, which was fine by me. I liked that, usually. But, this guy wore tight pink pants and an equally clingy, bright orange T-shirt emblazoned with some trendy design done in a shiny motif. A narrow, blistering yellow scarf hung around his neck, even though it was eighty degrees outside. Who dressed like that in the real world?

The fact that he filled out his clothing to perfection might have made up for his shocking dress sense, but then I saw his—was his hair frosted? Oh shit! It was the patriotic skunk from the online dating site Chester had shown me earlier. That he was extremely good-looking didn’t even sink in—much—because I’d been setup. And he did not look like he was in his thirties.

Maybe twenty-five, the bastard.

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