Tag: teenagers

Twozdaz Wandering Thoughts

The coffee shop is pretty damn full.

I’m in RoCo. It’s my new favorite coffee place, an old house converted to a business on the corner of 8th Avenue and East Main Street.

Every table is in use. Many regulars are in attendance. Like me, at a table, computer open. My eyes and ears are open even as I read, think, and type. Wonderful community and social energies swirl through the room like a strong, happy breeze. I love the noise and action, enjoy looking up at the faces, glancing at the fashion.

Most clients are, ahem, ‘my age’. They look like, ahem, boomers, like me. I’ll be seventy next year. I think I’m in the middle of the age spectrum here. Sure, there are so younger outliers. Teenagers who look like they’re wearing colorful fleece pajamas come in as pairs, order, take their stuff and leave. A few twenty-somethings, thirtyish, and fortyish folks are partaking of drink and food, chatting with others, reading, so forth. Hoka shoes are spotted on many, the shoes of my people. Columbia sportwear and Patagonia dominates. They’re the clothes of my tribe, but this is Oregon, where some of that stuff is produced, and where Columbia is headquartered, up north, west of Portland. Two children, about ten, are also present with an older woman. The children are on ice cream on this chilly, foggy, autumn day. The weather doesn’t daunt them from enjoying a cold but sweet treat.

The baristas take orders, prepare, and serve, all laughing and chatting as they do. Regulars come in and get greeted by name, including Sugar the dog, who waves their tail in happiness and await their standard treat.

Sunshine has burst through outside. Cold air storms me as the doors open and close. This is the United States, Oregon, Ashlandia, in 2025.

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Youth Encounter Dream

Dreams about being a hero or celebrity but also about being unknown or not recognized have proliferated the past dream week. One stays strongest in mind.

A minor celebrity, I was visiting somewhere after being on tour. I was my real age in this and had stopped at someone’s invitation and met a group of teenagers. I didn’t know them and they didn’t know me. They were cold, even hostile to me, which amused me. I didn’t care, but enjoyed watching what they were doing. On a stage, they were putting together a game. Their purpose and rules were totally lost on me but I was engrossed with trying to understand them. Multiple sexes, races, ethnicities, cultures were present. They were a bubbly group.

Supplies arrived. They were given to me. Seeing them, I had an idea for a game for them and began employing these stickers for the idea. The stickers were different shapes and colors. Halfway through, I realized, oh, shit, they had plans for these. I began putting the stickers back where they belong. One young woman came up and chastised me, then took the stickers, complaining that I’d ruined them. I apologized. It wasn’t accepted.

By then, I’d learned what their game was all about. I then criticized them about being insular and isolated. I told them they had some great ideas but they should share them with others. They soberly listened and then one identified me as a writer which she’d seen on television. Yeah, yeah, that’s me. They warmed to me then. One, in a white sweater and red pants, came to me and asked me about my foundation. Was it true? Did I really have it? Yes, I did, it was set up to help youth have food and shelter security and encourage education and learning. And, she asked, was I really supporting 5,000 children? The number surprised me, but I verified with my assistant, yes, that’s true. There are 5,000.

End dream

Note: Another post which WordPress refused to save or published, forcing me to do it in stages. Create a base, add and change, add and change more. Irritating AF.

0

The Break-In Dream

I began with my wife, in our home. This place was a townhome which reminded me of our RL HMB townhome where we lived 1999-2005, but with some odd differences.

I was in the living room because I was certain I’d heard a noise. I was investigating to see if someone had broken in. As I walked around, checking to see if anything was stolen, I realized the door to the garage was open. It wasn’t before.

I walked that way. My wife stormed out of the bedroom where she’d been sleeping. “Someone broke in,” she said. She went to the garage door and rushed down the steps.

I followed, overtaking her as we left the building. We were at its rear, all grasslands, with a few trees, bordering a river. My wife said that she didn’t see anyone and went into the house. I kept looking, picking up a large stick as a weapon, because I might need to protect myself.

I spotted two couples on the riverbank. Teenagers. I called to them. They ignored me. I headed their way. They moved off, careful to never look at me. This kept on for sometime before I gave up.

Darkness overtook the land. I was more than a mile from home. Rain was falling. I decided it would be easier to get to the street and follow it home.

I reached the street. A small brown dog was trying to cross it but was afraid of the traffic. It wasn’t much but I understood the dog’s fear. “Come on, I’ll help you,” I told it.

It came to my side. As we looked, it started across the lane. I saw a car’s yellow headlights coming toward us from the left. “No, not yet,” I said to the dog. “Come back.”

The dog did. We watched that car pass. There was a median strip. I told the dog, “Come on.”

The dog and I crossed to the strip. It stayed with me as we waited for traffic to pass and then went on.

I trotted along in the rain, the dog beside me. I saw no collar on him or tags, and talked to him, asking questions. As we crossed one street, he suddenly turned left and took off in a run. Going home, I guessed.

I turned right and crossed the street. I was home now. It was daylight. The rain had stopped, and I was dry.

I went into the house and armed myself with some hard plastic tubing. My wife was making dinner. I heard a noise from the garage and went to investigate.

A Filipino man was there. Seeing my plastic tubing, he became withdrawn and acted like he was leaving. I asked him, “Who are you? Why are you here?”

He said he had something to give me and held out a hand. I recognized a manuscript. “No, thank you,” I said. “You need to go.”

He took my hand and pressed the manuscript into it. I sighed. “You want this published?”

He nodded with eager smiles.

I repeated, “You need to leave. I’ll go with you and show you how to get this published.”

We went to his house. His family were waiting for his returned. They crowded back when I came in. Getting on his computer, I explained how to self-publish and the query process and how to submit to publishers and agents. He nodded, indicating that he understood.

I returned home. My wife asked where I’d been. Dinner was getting cold. Putting the tubing aside, I explained what had happened as I sat down to eat.

Dream end.

0

Wednesday’s Wandering Thought

It was Wednesday. As though scheduled by God, school children began filing into the coffee house at 2:05. Within five minutes, the number of people went from six quiet adults to six quiet adults and fifty noisy children aged ten through fifteen, at a guess. The volume rose. Their voices climbed louder. A fighter jet taking off would have been drowned out.

The cliques formed and routines were honored. Then one teenaged female raced back through the coffee house and out the front door. As she left, she screamed and then did a little dance. A girl outside ran up to her. The two surged into a long hug and began jumping up and down without releasing each other, joy overwhelming their expressions. Other girls in the coffee shop turned, saw the scene and ran out to join them. “Eva, Eva,” one running girl shouted as she raced out, answering one question.

Of course, other questions surfed his mind, like who was Eva and where had she been? She seemed very popular. It was like she was just getting back from prison, a hospital stay, or a very long trip.

0

The Bored

I rarely have contact with such people, and their noise levels were high, so I watched and listened. Five females and four males, I guessed they were fifteen to eighteen years old. I’d seen several of them in the coffee shop before. One of the boys, with disheveled, thick blond hair, was louder and goofier than the rest. One girl looked older, exhibiting an awareness of body and attractiveness that the others didn’t. The swarthy, muscular guy with tight, short hair trying to get attached to her could have been eighteen.

Oddly, their syntax hadn’t changed much from teenagers I encountered decades ago. Many “Oh, my God,” “OMG,” and “I know, right,” spiced their cryptic exchanges, along with staccato bursts of laughter and giggles. The biggest difference between what I’d known as teenagers and this herd were their phones. Even while talking to one another, their phones were sirens calling their attention. Most held them close to their faces or bent their heads and peered intently, like oracles searching for the future.

Something, perhaps overheard, or in their demeanor, kept me focused on them because I thought they were planning something. Then one girl, white, with a veil of dark heavy hair swept over half her face, looked up at the others and smiled. Her mouth, with lips painted bright red, was partially open. “Okay, everyone ready?” she asked. “Got a number?”

“Yes,” answered the group with an impatient chorus. The oldest male seemed less enthused with this. I suspected whatever was happening was an obstacle to interfering with the girl sexually, and he’d been ready to get some. The group started calling out numbers. As the numbers were announced, another yelled, “Mine.” They handed phones to one another with squeals of discovery. A phone swap, I realized.

“Okay,” the dark-haired girl said. “Everyone swapped? Everyone swapped? Okay, then. For the next twenty-four hours, until this time tomorrow, everyone uses the phone they have now, acting like they’re that person, okay? Then we come back here tomorrow to give our phones back. And you can’t tell anyone, okay? Those are the rules.”

New phones in hand, laughing but somehow seeming like they were a little more malevolent than before, the group broke up, heading for the door in pairs and threes, leaving the oldest boy walking slowly in trail.

He was the only one without a smile.

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