Wayman Barnes is a humorist/poet. His work has been published in various publications, in particular: Funny Times, Comic Relief, Fetus Noise, and Vox Populi. He has studied sketch writing and improvisation at the Second City and the Improv Olympic in Chicago. He also performs his stories and poems at festivals and coffeehouses all over the USA. He is a founder of Litrave.com.
Just the other day, an upbeat and officious fellow stopped me on the street and told me I look like I might be dying of cancer. He informed me that he had once been a lifeguard so cancer was something he knew a lot about. He apologized for having to be the one to break this to me, but explained that he had recently made a vow to always tell the truth and "that's the way it is." He held up two fingers in a peace sign, smiled, and continued on his merry way — leaving me with yet another thing to worry about.
© 2002 Wayman Barnes
It's 6:24am. I am peeing. I notice that I have excellent aim.
Then the earthquake hits.
© 2002 Wayman Barnes
1. Never break up in the afternoon. Late at night is the best time. Or early in the morning before either of you have had your coffee.
2. Try not to sit on the couch. Too many good things have happened there. It will remind you of all the cuddling, the kissing, and the nibbling. You may be tempted to do these things again.
3. Remind yourself about your freedom. It is important to you. You need it badly.
4. Do not let her fix you a drink. That's how the two of you got together in the first place.
5. Say no when she offers to warm up some homemade lasagna. Forget how much you like it. You'll have to learn to live without it. Somehow.
6. Pretend she is not wearing your old sweatshirt. Your favorite from college. The one that looks better on her.
7. Ignore the cat. Especially, if you love the cat. You bought the cat for her. No one stays in a relationship for the cat. Not even you.
8. Avoid looking at all the photos hanging on the wall. You may look happy in them, but that doesn't mean you were. Pictures lie.
9. Try not to listen to the kid practicing piano in the apartment upstairs. It may sound like the music for a touching scene in a romantic movie, but it's not. You are not Brad Pitt. And this is not a movie.
10. Ignore the tears running down her cheek.
11. Keep from holding her hand.
12. Do not kiss her. Do not kiss her. Do not kiss her.
13. Never say, "I love you." If you say it, you will never be able to leave.
© 2002 Wayman Barnes
I'm lost in thought, idly window shopping, when I hear someone scream my name. It is a shrill and disturbing noise, frightening in its intensity.
"WAYMAN!!!"
I've always disliked running into people I know in public places. I hate having to talk to someone when I am not prepared for it. Usually, if I see them before they see me, I hide.
"WAYMAN!!!"
Reluctantly, I turn around to see who it is. Thinking it'll be a friend, or a relative, or someone I know from school. Instead, it is an extremely large woman. Standing about twelve feet away from me, snarling and wide-eyed. Her arms outstretched like she's about to lunge for me. I have no idea who she is, but she sure seems to know me.
"GET OVER HERE! RIGHT NOW!"
I'm in a panic. There is no doubt in my mind that this woman will destroy me in a fight.
"DON'T MAKE ME WHOOP YOUR ASS!"
As I turn around to run, I nearly knock over a small boy. He looks just as scared as I am. It occurs to me that his name must be Wayman, too. I have never met anyone with my name before. I always thought I was the only one. But here we are, two Waymans standing side by side at the mall. What are the odds?
I want to tell him. He probably hasn't met anyone with his name either. Unfortunately, for him, the timing is all wrong. He's about to get his ass whooped.
So I leave him with his troubles and continue with my window shopping, giddy at having finally found another Wayman in the world.
© 2002 Wayman Barnes
"They never ate the dead during the day time," the woman in the back of the crowded Greyhound bus tells us. "They always waited until dark so no one would know who was to blame. It is one thing to eat a member of your own family, but quite another thing to be seen doing it."
The woman is an expert on the Donner Party. She has been talking about them ever since we left Las Vegas. She knows each members name, how old they were, when they did what to whom, and even how they felt when they did it. I would probably find all of this very interesting if she weren't so scary. When she tells us that human flesh is tough to chew and very salty, I can't help but wonder if she found out the old fashioned way.
All the people riding in the back of the bus frighten me. They each have their own horrifying stories of violence and mayhem and are more than happy to share them with everyone else. One man even gives me advice on how to really hurt someone. He says, "You stab them in the neck with a pencil, kid. It hurts a lot more than a knife. Let me tell you."
I don't belong here. I have nothing in common with any of these people. I have no stories of being in prison. I have no bullet wounds. I have never been on the lam. I am riding in the back of the bus because I didn't know any better. These people are here by choice.
As we cross the state line, one man yells out, "Those bastards won't get me this time!" He starts bragging about all the warrants against him in the state of Nevada. Another man, not wanting to be outdone, tells us how he has gotten himself thrown out of every "goddam" casino in Vegas. The man sitting next to me tops them both with a gruesome story of how he and a buddy would keep stabbing each other in the balls during a bar fight in Henderson.
These people are outlaws. They don't give a shit about anything. And now that they are safe in Arizona, they are going to do whatever the hell they want. They start drinking openly, pushing each other around the bus, and smoking marijuana. The driver says nothing, so I assume that this must happen all the time.
Since I have no reason to be celebrating, I turn around and stare out the window at the passing desert landscape. Off in the distance, I see a group of cactus. They seem to be waving at me, so I wave back. One of them appears to be pointing up at a plain moving slowly across the sky. I nod in agreement. Yes, that is where I should be. Up there. Flying the friendly skies. Where no one worries about being stabbed in the neck or the balls. Where drinks are served instead of being snuck on in a duffel bag. And where one can eat their complimentary snack without having to wonder if peanuts are saltier than human flesh.
© 2002 Wayman Barnes