Gather ‘Round, I Got Stories to Tell

Story # 1

On a late night drive in my super fast, super cool red 1993 Tercel Sport (yeah it’s a Toyota), I past a church that really caught my eye, not because I’m religious or anything, but because 5 feet in front of the grand entrance, on the edge of a curb was a fire that stood 3 feet tall. I stopped my vehicle on the deserted 2 AM road and stared at the dancing light while my brain contemplated on what I should be doing. Was it God? Was I the chosen one that would carry out her wishes, in turn, losing all the respect of realists across the globe? Or was this flame, which grew as I sat there, just a product of the dry fall season coupled with dead leaves and, maybe, a cigarette butt ill disposed? Either way, I decided the best thing to do was to put it out by scattering the dead leaves around with my feet. 10 minutes later, smelling like I’d been rolling around a camp sight, I was back in my car feeling like a raver at the moment when their glow sticks are brightest (unstoppable). Either I just saved a sanctuary for hundreds of worshipers or I just curb stomped God herself. Whichever it was, it's hell of a story.

“You should have called the fire department because what if you got hurt? There would have been no one there to help you! Even worse, what if you couldn’t control the fire and it spread to all the houses in the neighborhood? How will you explain that to authorities? Witnesses will say they saw a mad man [you] starting the fire. Blah Blah blah blah blah blah,” was the response I got when I told my heroic story to my girlfriend at the time. “Why do you put yourself in harm’s way like that??”

Story #2

I received a poke on face book one night from a Kindergarten teacher who knew how to make a man giggle like a school girl. Her words were like feathers to my bare feet and a defibrillator to my dying heart. We spoke of her children at work and what kind of guys she was into, none of which really matched my characteristics (yeah, she only liked dumb losers ohhhhhh burn) and yet, I accepted her invite to have coffee.

“Don’t do it!” exclaimed a female friend. “I know a girl that knows a girl that knows her and she’s bad news! She’ll rip out your heart and stomp on it!”
“Dude, I made out with her once,” said my right hand man, “She also had a thing with Ronald a year ago.” Ronald is a friend, also rumored to having an affair with Mrs. Samson, our grade 11 English teacher.

After a magical two weeks, things with Kindergarten teacher went sour. She stopped calling, resulting in long nights of crying and tree climbing, a restraining order, endless numbers of poems and songs, and countless ridicule from the aforementioned prophets. Maybe I thought that I was the one to tame her. Or maybe it was deeper than that. Whichever it was, it’s a hell of a story.

Story #3

I remember watching a horror movie with my dad at a young age. In one scene, a lady was creeping slowly towards a door to a dark cellar that had abruptly shut without explanation. Surely, the intelligent thing to do would have been to leave the house, call the police on the suspicion that there was an intruder in her house, and then run to a crowded public area and let people with guns handle it. But no, she’d rather investigate for herself.

“Why!?” I shouted. “Just run!”

And my dad replies, “If she just runs, there would be no story to tell. And without a good story the movie would be over. Do you want the movie to be over?”

Since I was so young, yeah, I wanted the horror movie to be over. Or did I? Whichever it was, it’s a hell of a story.