Yip, Yap, and Yup, Part 2 of 3 Parts (A Guest Post)

 dontravis.com blog post #597

 

Last week, we had the first instalment of Mark Wildyr’s story of triplets, two identical and one fraternal. We heard from Yip (one of the identicals), who seems to be a malcontent. Today we hear from Yap, the peacemaker among the three peas in a pod.

 ****

            YIP, YAP, AND YUP

By Mark Wildyr

YAP

I dunno what’s going on with Yip and Yup these days. Seemed like everything was okay, and then Yip went off on a tear. I know identicals—IDs, I call us—are supposed to finish one another’s thoughts, but maybe if the thought processes involve the “three peas in a pod,” the magic doesn’t work.

All I know is, Yip’s turned nasty lately. Last night, when Yup suggested he and I go on a double date, I thought my ID was gonna go gorilla on us. Made threats that didn’t even make sense. I know the thing with Cindy’s a thorn between them, but seems like I’m getting to be one too. Don’t want any part of that. They’re both my brothers, and that’s the end of it. I’d give up my life for either of them. Not willingly, you understand, but in a pinch. Aw, you know what I mean. We’re close… or were.

Mae Lin takes up a lot of my time these days. I never thought of girls as “delicate” until I caught sight of Mae Lin when she transferred in last year. She’s from one of those families that came over after the Korean War way back in the 1950s. So she’s as Americanized as any of us, but with a difference. She still managed to stay “delicate.”

Native-born American girls have their own delicious way about them, but I don’t believe delicate has any part in it. I didn’t say that right. Mae Lin’s native-born like all the rest of them, but she still has her ethnicity, I guess you could say.

Anyway, Mae and I finally did go on a double date with Yup and Cindy. Had a good time at the movie, the soda shop afterward, and a really good time parked out on the mesa after that. Almost—but not quite—made it to Nirvana that night. At any rate, when we pulled into the driveway, Yip was waiting with a baseball bat. He whacked on Yup’s car a couple of times, and I really believe he was working up to applying it to our brother when Dad came outside to see what the ruckus was and put an end to it all.

Now I’m—along with Mom—known as the family peacemaker, but there wasn’t a thing I could do to calm Yip down. He went to bed seething that night. Yup, up till then, was just puzzled over it, but he’s beginning to get his back up too.

I think that was the night I started to believe there was something more to it than just sibling rivalry… even sibling rivalry of the romantic kind. Triplets are supposed to be closer than the three musketeers, right? All for one and one for all. And we were for a long time. When I tried to pick the puzzle apart, it became clear right off the bat that Yip and I had no problem between us. Same goes for Yup and me. I love—and like—both my brothers equally, or as well as I can judge something like that. You know how it is. One or the other of your bros does something to tick you off and you momentarily move closer to the other, but the thing generally balances out. I’m beginning to wonder if this one will.

Can it be something as simple as Yup doesn’t look exactly like Yip and I do? He used to, but as we’ve grown up, his features took their own path. Yip and I can still fool other people into thinking we’re our brother—our ID brother. Everyone except family and Mae Lin and Cindy, of course. But why would Yup looking different put Yip’s nose out of joint?

Then I had a thought that jarred me right out of my sneakers. Maybe Yip’s jealous because Yup looks like his own person, whereas Yip looks like… well, me. If he’s jealous of Yup, is he resentful of me because my kisser mirrors his own?

Yip almost got thrown off the soccer team because every time Yup played goalie, my ID’d kick the ball straight at him, not even pretending to be trying for a score. We used to have great fun playing driveway basketball till Yip started playing dirty. He’d stomp on Yup’s toes, kick his shins, butt him into the brick wall. He put a dent in the garage door a week ago when he shoved—not butted—Yup into it.

Things are escalating, and, dammit, I don’t know what to do about it.

****

Well, if the peacemaker among the bunch is worried, so should we all be. Let’s see what Yup, the fraternal brother, has to say next week.

Stay safe and stay strong.

Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say… so say it!

A link to The Cutie-Pie Murders:

https://www.dropbox.com/s/ambxgy7e5ndmimk/CutiePieMurders%5BThe%5D.zip?dl=0

My personal links:

Email: don.travis@aol.com.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982

Twitter: @dontravis3

See you next Thursday.

 

Don

 New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time. 

Yip, Yap, and Yup, Part 1 of 3 Parts (A Guest Post)

dontravis.com blog post #596

 

Thank you for allowing me to remember Bobbi Adams in last week’s post. I miss my friend very much, and posting about her helped. Again, thanks.

 

As I also indicated last week, my Okie buddy, Mark Wildyr asked to post his short story, “Yip, Yap, and Yup” starting this week. It runs contemporaneously on his markwildyr.com site.

 

Without further ado, here, we go.

 

****

            YIP, YAP, AND YUP

By Mark Wildyr

 

YIP

I should tell you right away that we’re triplets… or so our parents insist. I think we’re twins with an add-on. Yap and I are identical, Yup might not even be a member of the family, much less the third triplet. That’s given me some heartburn over the years, I can tell you.

Our first photograph showed three peas in a pod. Dressed alike and looking alike... that is to say, wrinkled up little faces without any definition. The second one, a year later would get a passing grade. Dressed identically with pretty much the same kisser. By the third one, something was off. The duds were still the same, but one of the faces looked to be taking a different path toward maturity. Not a bad path… just a different one.

By the time we entered kindergarten, the difference was plain. That’s when we picked up our nicknames. Actually, we’re John, James, and Joseph Karlosian, but when Mom’s brother saw us for the first time, he shook his head and pronounced me as Yip, my identical as Yap, and the other as… well, Yup. Why those monickers? I have no idea, but that’s been who we’ve been ever since.

It’s not just the family who gets thrown for a loop by the physical difference. The kids in our group tend to treat me and Yap as a pair and Yup, well, not so much. And maybe that’s the source of the heartburn I mentioned earlier. I’m a part of a team, whereas Yup’s his own individual. He doesn’t even dress like us. Course, Yap and I have different tastes in clothing styles now that we’re seniors in high school, but, dammit, you know what I mean.

To be honest, it’s gotten to me this year more than earlier because Cynthia Sharpe started seeing both Yup and me. When I tried to put a stop to that, she looked me right in the eye.

“I know it’s weird. Yip. I like you and all, but when I’m with you, it’s like I’m dating Yap too. If you couldn’t make it one night, and Yap stepped in to cover for you, would I even know?”

“Course you would. We’re not that much alike.”

She fed me a line I’d come to hate. “Two peas in a pod. When I’m with Joey, I don’t feel like that. I’m seeing one guy, not two.”

Geez! She didn’t even call him Yup. He was Joey. But I was still Yip and my identical was still Yap. I tried to salvage things. “Hey, we have a good time when we go out, don’t we?

She nodded. “When I’m not feeling weird.”

“Come on, Cindy, let’s go steady. Look at it this way. With me, you get two for the price of one.”

She just glared at me. “That’s sick, Yip.” With that, she walked away, leaving me to watch her graceful gait, a sight that left me hungry for more and totally pissed at my disparate brother.

It got worse. We all made the basketball team, but Yap and Yup get playtime while I warm the bench. Once, Yap and I switched uniform tops so I wore his number and played without the coach knowing. Did okay too, until I fowled out. And when “Yip” did a better job, coach tumbled. We never tried that again.

But soccer is what really fried my fanny. That one sport I’m pretty good at. I surpass my identical in that sport. That’s great, right? Would be if Yup didn’t play goalie on the opposite team every time we practice. He really busts his butt blocking my shots, more’n any other player’s. I mean he really goes the extra mile to see I don’t score. He’ll literally eat dirt, leaping for my ball and taking hard falls to keep me from scoring. It’s gotten so, half the time I aim for his midriff hard as I can kick the ball. Giving him a good bruising every once in a while did wonders for my blood pressure.

Then Yup did the unforgivable. He started getting in between my identical and me. Dunno what Yap’s thinking, but he’s letting it happen. That was the last straw. I went from neutral to negative.

“Butt out, asshole,” I started my onslaught one day when Yup asked Yap what he was doing that evening. “We’ve got plans. And you’re not included.”

Yup got sort of a hurt look on his alien face—which sent a thrill up my spine—and stammered, “Why not? We used to do things together all the time.”

“That was before you left the family.”

“What the hell you talking about?”

“Before you started looking like a frog instead of a human being.”

“Now, Yip—” Yap started.

“Shut up. Don’t encourage him.”

Yup turned red in the face. “If I look like a frog, how come Cindy goes out with me?”

“Figured a kiss would turn you into a prince, I guess. Didn’t work, did it?”

“What brought this on?” Yup asked. “What’d I ever do to you.”

“Besides Cindy, you mean? Go away, man, you don’t belong here. You don’t even look like the rest of us. You’re parked in the wrong family.”

It went downhill from there.             

 ****

Like Mark, I never thought about triplets being like twins, sometimes identical, sometimes fraternal. At any rate, that eventuality opens up all sorts of possibilities. We now know Yip’s thinking. I understand that next week, we see things from Yap’s perspective.

Stay safe and stay strong.

Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say… so say it!

A link to The Cutie-Pie Murders:

https://www.dropbox.com/s/ambxgy7e5ndmimk/CutiePieMurders%5BThe%5D.zip?dl=0

My personal links:

Email: don.travis@aol.com.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982

Twitter: @dontravis3

See you next Thursday.

 

 Don

 New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.  

Kaleidoscope Eyes – Part One of Two Parts

 dontravis.com blog post #580

 Photo courtesy of Pixabay

 

 

I hope you enjoyed the story about the murder of John Jacob Kinsolver and the result of our intrepid protagonist solving the case. Off hand, I'd say he was well rewarded for his efforts. Got good hits, not much in the way of comments.

 

At any rate, here’s a new one for the next two weeks.

 

*****

Kaleidoscope Eyes

Green trees and blue skies and the prism of the rainbow. Derek Paulson saw them just like everyone else. But he had a trick of washing everything through a filter that clued him to his emotions. Kaleidoscope eyes, he called it.

Right at the moment, he lolled on a poolside recliner watching Julie though a blue-green screen. Oh, her hair was just as raven, her eyes as brown, her flesh tones as tanned as ever, but he observed them through a blue wash. Blue, he figured was him being shy.

The filter tilted more toward green—envy—as the guy sitting beside Julie on the far side of the pool reached over and touched her arm as he said something. The pair went into gales of laughter. Unable to endure it any longer, Derek got up and dived into the pool. He swam under water for as long as he could, long enough at least for the water to go from verdigris to clear. Damn Billy Bream, anyhow. They said he’d gotten nearly every woman in the Alma del Mar Apartment Complex. Couldn’t he at least leave Julie alone? And that name irritated him, as well. Soul of the Sea. What a name for a damned red-brick apartment house without a sea within a thousand miles!

He surfaced and took a noisy breath. He couldn’t help but glance toward where Julie sat through a decidedly red cloud. Flustered that she sat alone, he grew confused and got out of the water on the wrong side of the pool.

He felt her eyes on him as he walked around the concrete pond. What did she see? A man? A boy? He smothered a snicker. Probably a man-boy, even though he was almost twenty. But like his mother always said—before he’d left home for college—it was a “young” twenty.

Billy Bream, now. Not much question about him. A man, not a boy, even though he couldn’t be more than a year older than Derek. Still, everything about the guy screamed raw masculinity. And Derek had to admit… damned attractive masculinity. He wished his shoulders were as wide, hips as trim, abs so…. Well, he just figured he suffered by comparison to the Billy Breams of the world

He paused to pick up his towel before walking over to claim the now-vacant lounger beside Julie Raynolds. That a instead of an e in her name, seemed perfect. Set her off as someone special, someone who didn’t run with the crowd. Someone, he hoped, who wouldn’t be snowed by Billy’s super-masculinity. Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean she’d respond to Derek’s reduced brand.

“You mind?” he asked, as he settled on the chair.

“Not at all. You taking summer classes?”

“Yup. Getting physics out of the way, plus a couple of electives. You?”

“Nope. Taking the summer off. I start work at a hobby store Monday. If you decide to make a boat in a bottle, stop by and I’ll sell you a kit.”

He chuckled. “Might just take you up on that.”

“Maybe you can explain the ‘physics’ of the thing to me.”

He liked the silver peal of her laughter, and a light purple haze invaded his eyes. Love. Definitely love.

****

Derek spent the rest of the weekend alone. His nerve failed him when he was on the verge of asking Julie to go somewhere with him, do something, anything with him. And she started work this morning. As he prepared for class, he considered doing exactly what she’d suggested yesterday. He’d go in and ask for a ship-in-a-bottle kit and make a big joke of it. Then he’d ask her to go to a movie with him. He stared at himself in the mirror and noticed a yellow haze. Naw. He wouldn’t have the nerve.

Thirty minutes later, as his ancient Taurus idled roughly at a stop light, a red haze clouded his vision. Alerted to something, he glanced around and saw what his subconscious had already spotted. A delivery van approached him at a speed that would make it hard for the vehicle to stop for the light. He also saw the driver glance up from something he’d apparently been reading and try to react. A yellow Impala approached from his left, the driver oblivious to the danger.

Derek punched 911 on his cell before the crash even happened. The van caught the Chevy amidships… hard. Even as the Impala skidded sideways toward him, Derek wondered if the driver could have survived. The yellow vehicle struck the concrete median and tipped into the traffic light station—the only thing that kept it from tumbling into his Taurus.

He was out of the car before the Impala even came to a halt against the far curb, racing through a red haze for the wrecked car. Even the belated realization that Billy Bream drove an Impala just like this one didn’t hit his pause button. He approached the vehicle from the passenger’s side and jerked open the door.

The sight of Billy Bream sprawled on his back across the bench seat, green eyes half closed, as still as a possum playing dead, caused him to flinch momentarily, the red haze flickering toa dark purple that frightened him. He hadn’t figured out all the colors yet, but this one must mean something ominous. Death, maybe?

“Bream, you okay?” he half-whispered, knowing it was a senseless thing to do. The guy was dead. Derek’s eyesight flickered green for a moment. Maybe not. Maybe just unconscious. How did you know of someone was dead? A pulse. He put his hand to Billy’s neck. At first, he felt nothing. Then an uncertain flutter beneath his fingers.

Other cars stopped and people bailed, shouting questions, cursing the delay, whatever. At least, there’d be someone to check the other driver. But what about Billy? What should he do?

The unthinkable. He tilted Billy’s head back and put his lips to the unconscious guy’s mouth. The contact surprised him, or his reaction did, at any rate. Collecting himself, he blew into the other man’s mouth a couple of times, and then crawled onto the floorboard to apply pressure to Billy’s chest.

“Come on!” he yelled. “Breathe, dammit! Breathe.”

No response.

He put his lips to Billy’s again, trying to ignore his eyes flickering through all the colors of the kaleidoscope. But mostly purple, strobing from light to dark so fast it made his head swim.

“Billy, dammit! Wake up!” he screamed.

 ****

I wish I had eyes that warned me of my emotions. There have been times in my past when such a warning might have come in useful. We all get surprised by our emotions from time to time.

We’ll see how this plays out for Derek next week. In the meantime, have a great holiday season.

Stay safe and stay strong.

Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say… so say it!

A link to The Cutie-Pie Murders:

https://www.dropbox.com/s/ambxgy7e5ndmimk/CutiePieMurders%5BThe%5D.zip?dl=0

My personal links:

Email: don.travis@aol.com.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982

Twitter: @dontravis3

See you next Thursday.

                                                                                                                                 

Don

New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.

Zack and Zel Went Up the Hill

dontravis.com blog post #389

Courtesy of  commons.wikimedia.org

I’d say that the Brits liked “Liam” as well as anyone else. While normally US readers are by far the most numerous, readers from the UK almost equaled the locals. Saudi Arabia came in third. I’d hazard a guess there are some repressed feelings among that culture, wouldn’t you?

This week, back to flash fiction. The following is a story in 880 words. And I used a voice I don’t normally use when writing fiction: the omniscient. Let me know how it holds together.

*****

Zack and Zel Went Up the Hill

          Everybody in the little farming town of Leghorn knew Zack Cryer went loco over Zelda Milhous. But the young man had a problem. He broke into a sneezing fit whenever he was around her. Allergies, most folks figured. Lots of locals suffered from that ailment in this part of the country. Some had it hard when spring blossomed; others endured the malady during the hay baling season. But it seemed like Zack was allergic to his sweetheart, which meant he suffered “purt near year-round,” as old Mr. Williams put it. Except for the two weeks each year when Zelda’s family visited her grandmother down in Texas. Then he’d go from sneezing to pining, moaning about how much he missed his darlin’. The more sarcastic villagers muttered darkly about the mental soundness of a man who craved an absent allergen. Things got so bad the kids made up a little ditty about his predicament.

          Zack and Zel went up the hill, and Zack came down a sneezin’.

          The town folk were of three minds about this problem. Some claimed he really was allergic to her; others said her perfume got to him; and still others didn’t give a whiz about it at all.

          Those who leaned toward the olfactory explanation wondered aloud why she didn’t simply stop wearing the perfume. Opinions differed about that as well. Her closest friends claimed she really loved that particular aroma. Her not-so-close friends pointed out she favored the perfume over her beau. Snarkier minds opined it was her defense against Zack.

           Whatever the case, Zack kept hanging around Zel despite all his sneezing. Contemporaries in the perfume camp who claimed it as a defense against Zack, found purchase for their belief when Zel started seeing Mort Henderman, a bachelor farmer five miles down the road from Leghorn who was a tad older than her twenty years.

          Once again the town—eager for gossip that didn’t involve the price of hay or the lack of rainfall—took note and divided into different schools of thought. Some claimed Zel was being practical, not romantic, and was simply seeing to a secure future. Mort was known to own his 240 acres free and clear. Heck, there wasn’t even a mortgage on the white frame two-story at the front of the property.

          Others claimed the perfume wasn’t doing an adequate job, so Zel took up with Mort to further discourage Zack, although their belief looked a little shaky because Zel’s best friend Mallory Higgins confided Zel was actually fond of Zack… except for his sneezing fits.

          The more elderly among the town folk, nodded to themselves and tisk-tisked that the little strumpet was simply a gold-digger. How else would you account for the difference in their ages?

          And as usual, there were those who didn’t give a damn one way or the other.

          It all came to a head in the spring of ’19 when Mort Henderman suggested the honorable state of marriage to Zelda Milhous. Everyone in Leghorn knew about the proposal before Zel had the opportunity to show off her diamond engagement ring.

           Zack Cryer did not take the news well. He stopped sneezing enough to rant and rave and head straight for the local moonshiner. He stopped paying attention to life—didn’t show up for his job or swing by Ma’s Corner Café for his customary coffee and pancakes. He just holed up in his little house and moldered.

           There he stayed until he broke out the front door early one afternoon, unwashed and unkempt, to stagger into his old Ford pickup and weave his way through the town from end to end. Some said he went out to the Henderman farm but headed back to town when he didn’t find Mort’s Pontiac in the driveway. Others told about him checking in at the beauty parlor where Zel worked, scaring the bejesus outa beauticians and customers alike with his wild-eyed ranting before taking off upon learning Zel wasn’t there.

          The one thing everybody agreed on was that Zack found the newly engaged couple at Ma’s eating a late lunch and shot Zel dead with a big black revolver his granddaddy had left him.

          From there, the accounts differed. He pointed the Colt to his own head and claimed he was going to shoot himself right in front of them. Or he threatened Mort with it. But all agreed he turned toward Zel when she started screaming bloody murder. The muzzle of his six-shooter followed the direction of his eyes, and a shot rang out.

          Like usual, the town split into camps. The gun went off by accident when Zack started sneezing. No, it was deliberate. Maybe he was aiming at Mort. The gun was Mort’s, but Zack took it away from him. Ah, well, the villagers sighed, the law will sort it out.

          Children still chant their ditty in Leghorn, but it has a new verse to it.

                       Zack and Zel went up the hill, and Zack came down a sneezin’.

                      Zack and Zel went up the hill, and Zack came down a blazin’.

           But one wag at Zelda’s funeral probably put it best.

          “Guess that proves there’s a shot for every allergen.”

 *****

What camp do you fall in? Did Zack shoot Zelda by accident? Had he intended to shoot Mort… or himself, but fate dealt another hand? I have my own opinion and would like to hear yours.

Until next week.

The following are buy links for the recently released The Voxlightner Scandal.

Dreamspinner: https://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/books/the-voxlightner-scandal-by-don-travis-11285-b

DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/the-voxlightner-scandal-by-don-travis-537-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Voxlightner-Scandal-Vinson-Mystery-Book-ebook/dp/B07VL33P99

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-voxlightner-scandal-don-travis/1132632844?ean=9781640809260

iBooks: https://books.apple.com/ca/book/the-voxlightner-scandal/id1473985039?mt=11&ign-mpt=uo%3D4

Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=H3ilDwAAQBAJ

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/the-voxlightner-scandal

Universal Link: https://books2read.com/u/4AxPDo

Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

My personal links: (Note the change in the Email address because I’m still getting remarks on the old dontravis21@gmail.com. PLEASE DON’T USE THAT ONE.)

                                                                                                    

Email: don.travis@aol.com.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982

Twitter: @dontravis3

Buy links to Abaddon’s Locusts:

https://www.dsppublications.com/books/abaddons-locusts-by-don-travis-486-b

https://www.dsppublications.com/books/abaddons-locusts-by-don-travis-487-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Abaddons-Locusts-Vinson-Mystery-Book-ebook/dp/B07JLHKJLY

Apple: https://itunes.apple.com/ca/book/abaddons-locusts/id1439968525

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/abaddon-s-locusts

Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=R0Z0DwAAQBAJ

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/abaddons-locusts-don-travis/1129769593

See you next week.

Don