Steven Lewis, Writer

I told you so much during our time together that I don’t remember which were the lies designed to get you naked and which were the truths I needed to tell you to keep you from leaving. It was sex; then it was more. It was the way you tilted your head when you smiled, the way you slipped gracefully into your clothes, the way you stroked my cheek before the brief goodbye kiss. I wanted to tell you so. I wanted you to stay and share my breakfast, and my life.

                                                     ---Tom Nolan

Dad told you
“You are stupid.”

I told him
“Don’t say that.”

I told you
“Brother, don’t believe it.”

Dad told you
“You’re good for nothing,”
and threw you against the wall

I told him
“Don’t do that!”

I told you
“You’re OK
Believe in yourself.”

In 1992
you called
and told me

“I may have killed someone.”

The police told you : 25 years

I told you “We still love you.”

Three months later
I told you Dad died
and asked “Will you attend the funeral in shackles?”

You told me
“No.”
                                                     ---Ann C

I told you they weren’t listening.

Well, how bad do you have to go?

I started asking about an hour ago so I am getting close to pressure.

Jefe, Julie has to go to the bathroom.

See, nothing. They are in their own world. We don’t exist Eddie.

I’ll call him.

That’s a great idea.

I don’t hear it ringing.

Oh, God it’s on the dash board on his sticky pad.

It must be on vibrate.

Oh that is just genius.

Hi Steve this is Ed and Julie calling from the back seat, we were wondering if you could stop at the next rest area so we could go to the bathroom. Have a nice trip, we miss you.

They have no clue. We are the forgotten ones.

Look at them, so happy in the front seat, so unaware of the needs of others.

Well, Steve doesn’t pee, he is a camel. Doesn’t the stupid phone wiggle when it’s on vibrate?

Look a rest room. I loved that rest room. I miss that rest room.

Do you have to pee now?

Yes, I do.

 --- Julie Evans and Ed McCann (92X2=184 Words)

“I told you you shouldn’t have waited until the night before to write your piece.”

“I know you did, but nagging me isn’t going to help get it done.”

“I’m not nagging, Sweetie; I just want to help you focus.”

“Okay then; have you got any bright ideas?”

“Well, we could each combine the arbitrary 92 words Steve allowed us and maybe we could work together and write something more interesting, something that’s like, I don’t know, 184 words.”

“Hey, I like that, Julie; that’s a really fun idea. Hey, did you know that Alexandre Dumas’ publisher paid him by the word? That’s why his prose is so wordy, and why so much of the dialogue in The Three Musketeers and The Count of Monte Cristo is like, “Please pass the mustard.” “What? The custard?” “No, I said the mustard.”

“I know; you told me that already.”

“No I didn’t.

“Yes, you did.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Is that 184 yet?”

“No, but keep going, we’re almost there.”

“Didn’t.”

“Did.”

“Didn’t”

“Did.”

“Wait a minute; what are we arguing about again?”

“I don’t know.”

 --- Ed McCann and Julie Evans (92X2=184)

“Where the hell did I put my glasses?”

“Did you look next to the bed?”

“I looked everywhere and can’t find the frigging things.”

“Sorry.”

“For what?”

“That you can’t find your glasses.”

“Oh, I thought you were talking about the way you wrinkled your nose when I read you the piece I wrote.”

“You’ll never drop it.”

“Dropped, buried and the tombstone gone.”

“Sure you did.”

“Give me a break, will ya?”

“Break three microscopic wrinkles in my proboscis and now you can’t live with me.”

“I told you so.”

                                                     --- Larry Winters

So when you yanked that rib

from me, I think I mentioned

that I felt myself a tad

imbalanced, listing, as it were,

and that I feared, not that I am a fearful man,

that I would soon be walking in

circles. But you, knowing all—or so it seemed--

assured me that we’d see murder and mayhem,

screaming childbirth, babbling incoherence,

floods and boils, before that came to pass.

Yet here I am, post murder and all that mayhem,

one club-foot following another, an eternal satellite of

my own unintended creation.

                              ---Steve Lewis

It haunts you

when you remember

the Honeymoon.

You knew nothing

about boats but

you couldn’t resist

the lure of the

Chesapeake. He

was quiet as he

sensed the wind hoisted

the sails. You wondered

about his dreams

as he stared into

the horizon but

you couldn’t make him

talk. He was right

to worry about

getting back before

nightfall when you

went aground but you

cried when he made

you sit alone

on the boom

because all you

wanted was to

come back onboard

and share the avocado

you brought for dinner.

       --- Carla Carlson

I glance at the printed direction page

Co-piloting from the passenger seat,

While the car's navigation voice

Insists, "Turn right."

My son cautioned me,

after he programmed Steve's address

into the system.

"When in doubt, trust the written MapQuest."

We've both been led astray by

So-called traffic disruptions

And recalculations before.

My voices defiantly answers screaming

"No!"

At long last reaching anticipated exit 18

The car commands: "Exit the highway."

Moments later the voice that said:

"Make a u-turn," for thirty miles

Announces: "You have arrived."

I smile, "Told you so." .

                              --- Cathy Allman

They tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t listen.

No, not her. No, not this one!

They sized her up, they engraved her name

on a future spread out like a candyland game.

(Who knew, when young, we all were so transparent,

our souls open wide for our teachers and parents?)

And didn’t they care that they’d ruin the fun

When they took something rare and served it well done?

Look: You just can’t force chocolate down somebody’s throat.

And as life plays out, it’s no fair to gloat:

I told you so.

                                   --- Cathy Wald

Told You So

He came into contact with the untunable upright piano at four AM off a truck, outside an empty building. A piano for an eightball of cocaine. But he said it was so good, like he flew down to South America and picked coca leaves himself, clean like that, good like that. Thought he’d leave it here, it’s abandoned, he said. But the thing about abandoned places is that some people got lower standards. And so it was , those keys sang hot that night.

                              --- Elizabeth Bayou-Grace Lewis

I told you, Todd. There was no way they’d be buyin’ that story. I mean, really, quittin’ so I could keep fightin’?

Why do you let me go on like that? And that bit about the five kids votin’ “yeah” and “Hell yeah,” when any idiot

could figure out that Trig couldn’t do that. But they’re so smug. If any of those reporters spent a week in Juneau

in the winter, they’d get it. Another year there and I’d be blowin’ my brains out.

So now what, Todd? And pass the caribou.

                              --- Neil Selinger