Lessismore Productions

Fiction by Phil Holt

(c) 1989

Albert was boiling water for his Friday evening macaroni and cheese dinner when he looked down and saw that his feet hovered four inches above the kitchen floor. Albert’s fingers tried to close around the macaroni box, but it wasn’t there anymore. He looked up from the boiling water and saw that his hand was suspended above the box. His heart began to race. He felt like he was being lifted up in an elevator.

“Oh, my! I’m floating!”

Albert felt his body was a balloon. He lifted off the ground until the bottoms of his shoes were level with the top the lampshades. His stout form was perfectly straight, as if he were standing still.

“I can’t believe it.”

He didn’t want the next door neighbors to hear. Albert was cautious. He was content to float carefully above the floor and drift slowly forward until he bumped into a wall. Then he gently pushed himself away and moved slowly backward. Albert was astonished that he could reach out his hand and touch the high ceiling with his fingertips.

He looked down as he breezed over his single chair and the table already set for dinner.

The placemat.

The silverware.

The bowl.

They all looked foreign from above.

He forgot all about eating.

“Oh, my!” Albert said.

His arms waived and tingled, and his breath became deeper. A joyous peace overtook him as he left his daily worries on the floor. He began to giggle—light, airy, childish—and his face widened into a broad smile.

This is so gentle, he thought.

Every inch he moved was slow and controlled. It was a graceful maiden voyage. The hours passed quickly as he drifted elegantly over his bed, his cluttered dresser, and his couch. The high ceiling of Albert’s apartment allowed him to practice ascending and descending. He found that he could control his altitude by will alone. Wishing to go up brought him near the ceiling and wishing to land brought him near the ground, though he never once touched the floor.

The more he practiced, the more speed and control he had. Soon he was confidently pushing off his apartment walls with his legs and executing slow, graceful midair somersaults: head down, legs up and over, head up again. He found that he could float completely upside down, and by making light contact with the soles of his shoes, he could walk on the ceiling.

By midnight, Albert was spent. He lay down perfectly straight in the air, but made sure he was over his bed just in case he fell when he was asleep. He played it safe. He reached down and turned off the light.

In his dreams, he drifted back to earlier that afternoon. He walked home from the city bus stop to his apartment. He saw a flock of pigeons flying through the air. He stopped and watched them beat their wings and go higher and higher and higher. He wished for an instant that he could fly away with them. He felt his heart skip.

That’s silly.

He walked on.

He opened the door to his apartment building and slowly walked up the stairs to his second floor apartment. Soon Albert was boiling water for his macaroni and cheese dinner and thinking about how the pigeons effortlessly left the ground.

That must feel wonderful, Albert thought. I sit in that office all day long, locked into that chair. Albert was tired of his job, of riding the bus back and forth to work, of his one bedroom apartment, of being balding and pudgy, of being painfully shy, of being trapped, of being alone.

He wanted to be free.

He wished he could fly.

In his dreams, he lifted off the ground and took off after the pigeons.

The next morning, when the alarm went off at 8 o’clock, Albert sat up, stretched, and yawned. He looked down and saw he was hovering above his bed.

“That’s the best I’ve ever slept,” he said.

By late Saturday morning Albert could float horizontally like a dirigible and replace light bulbs in the suspended ceiling lights. He fancied himself a blimp, hovering low over a packed football stadium with glowing messages on his sides.

All weekend Albert played an elaborate game where he pushed himself off a wall, curled up tight like a ball, and gently bounced off the floor, walls, and ceiling.

He called it Albert Ball.

I can’t tell anyone, he thought, as he watched the Sunday evening news. Nobody would believe me anyway. If I were show anyone they’d think I was some sort of freak! He decided to keep this secret to himself. He’d just float around the apartment after work and on weekends.

Each day of the week Albert awoke at 6 o’clock. He conducted his morning routine with both feet firmly on the floor. He showered, shaved, dressed, ate breakfast, and took the bus to work.

With each tick of the clock on the wall above his desk, he could feel his body fighting the swivel chair. When Albert first got his job, he thought the chair was plush and luxurious. Now it was a manacle. A trap. Albert yearned to break free of the chair and leisurely float above his coworkers, defying the rigid cubicles.

By 4 o’clock the pressure began to take effect on his body. Albert felt his stomach tighten. He could hear his heart quicken. He began to perspire. Yet the world seemed much lighter and brighter than it did in the morning. He smiled inside.

When 5 o’clock finally came, Albert walked quickly out the door, down the stairs, and into the busy street. He dodged construction workers, teens in T-shirts and blue jeans, men in dark blue suits with newspapers, women in trim business suits, clutching briefcases.

He caught the bus at 5:15, barely finding a seat before it began to roll. By now his heart was pounding. It seemed to get louder with each beat.

Surely people can hear it, he thought.

Nobody looked.

After twenty or thirty stops that seemed totally unnecessary, the bus approached his stop. He pulled the cord, stood up, and pushed open the door. He walked quickly to his apartment, burst into his apartment, locked the door, threw off his jacket, and soared around the room!

By Friday night, he could maneuver like a fighter jet. He raced around his apartment at Mach five. He dove low to the ground only to swoop up high and turn in tight midair ovals. Circles!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

He did nose dives, mid-air cartwheels, and the loop-de-loop: four full floor-to-ceiling circles! 

This is living! Albert thought. He laughed so hard his stomach began to spasm. His face hurt. Finally, Albert lay still, floating slightly above the floor, deliriously exhausted. 

On Saturday morning, Albert looked into the bathroom mirror. A pale, portly man stared back at him. He realized he had spent the entire week indoors.

Enough floating, he thought. I need some sun.

He decided to go to the park. In a blue T-shirt and white shorts, Albert walked five blocks to the park and sat underneath the trees on a green park bench. The sun warmed his arms as he looked up at the brilliantly blue sky. He heard the playful shouts of children and melodic songs of the birds.

Birds!

To float through the park! he thought. That would be fantastic.

He sighed and felt himself become lighter. He gripped the bench.

No! What am I thinking? I can’t do that!

He got up and walk hurriedly across the green fields to the lake. Someone would see me. I’d be found out. He walked around the lake three times and watched the ducks and geese take off from their water runway. He felt ill. He felt like he was being torn apart inside. His body tugged at his mind.

“What could it hurt?” his body asked. “I’ll stay in the trees. Nobody will see me.”

“Forget it!” his mind said.

The bickering went on in his head as Albert circled the lake another time and another. By the band shell, he bought a Popsicle from the man in a red, white, and blue ice cream truck. As he reached the wooden stick of the Popsicle, he knew what he had to do. Albert walked across the park to the dense brush at the edge of the park. He looked to make sure nobody was around. Once. Once again.

It was clear.

With a wide smile, Albert slowly lifted off the ground. His body caught the wind, and soon he crested the tops of the tall oaks and maples. He gently brushed his feet along the tree tops. The leaves looked like waves of a green sea rolling and cascading in the wind. For a long while he skipped across the foliage as he made the leaps and turns of a dancer in a graceful ballet.

The birds sang the lilting melody.

On impulse, Albert gave a strong push off one of the branches and drifted out over the field. He rose high into the air until he could see the ground spread out in all directions. He looked down and saw the tops of heads on little bodies. There were children and grown men playing softball on tan dirt diamonds. They hit the ball and scampered from base to base. He saw families who sat on red and white picnic blankets and passed out tiny lemonade glasses and sandwiches from square wicker baskets. Young men threw Frisbees and played volleyball with young women. Dogs ran to catch sticks. He saw the glass dome of the green house and the tiny fenced in yards of the zoo.

He drifted east until he hovered over the lake. It was a blue pearl that shimmered in the sunlight. Walkers and joggers orbited the lake. Albert noticed the slow, steady pattern. People would enter and leave the orbit, but the lake’s pull remained constant. There were always people circling the water.

Albert took a deep breath and began a graceful loop upward like a Ferris wheel that carried him arcing high into the sky. His lungs filled with air as he floated along on his back in the soothing sun. He could feel the gusts of wind on his arms, and as he reached the top of the circle and began to head toward the earth, he could see the earth spin around to greet him. Albert began a series of intricate and elegant turns. Each shift in weight or flick of the wrist sent him in another direction. Albert was an acrobat, tumbling and turning through the air.

Gradually, he began to drift back to the ground. The sun was lower in the sky than before. As he came closer to the ground of the park, he noticed nobody was playing softball. Nobody was tossing Frisbees. Nobody was jogging. Albert looked down on a huge throng of people. Hundreds stood with their eyes glued to him.

You fool! he thought. You just had to fly, and now look!

Cars were backed up for blocks. As he got closer to the ground, he saw white vans on the grass carrying satellite dishes and dozens of television cameras fixed on him.        Flashbulbs exploded.

As he drifted back toward the ground, he heard screams and saw the mob rush toward him. He panicked and shot back up in the air.

“Oh, no! Oh, no!”

He felt his head would burst. His heart was thrashing in his chest. His mind was going numb.

“What am I going to do? This is horrible!”

Tears dripped down his cheek. In the distance he saw his apartment building. He looked back on the growing crowd and took off toward home. He was a missile hurtling toward his target. Houses, yards, and trees were blurs under him. Under the rushing wind car horns and people shrieking.

Albert touched down in front of his apartment building and threw open the front door. A woman screamed in the street. Albert flew up the stairs, threw open his apartment door, slammed it shut, and triple locked it. Albert knew he did not have long. He became a blur. He pulled the wooden bed slats out from under his mattress. He pounded nails through the slats into the door jamb. Albert could hear his heart pound in his ears. His arms ached as he shoved the couch against the door. He felt his back twist as he hoisted the dresser on to the couch, scattering clutter everywhere. His breath grew short and sharp as he wedged the mattress against the top of the door.

The fox was trapped and the hounds were coming.

“He’s up there!” someone yelled. “He’s in that room!”

Albert looked out his window. He watched the monstrous crowd grow. He sat on his floor, and his eyes welled with tears.

The sky in the window was pink turning to dark purple when the phone rang. Albert picked up the receiver.

“Hello?” Albert said.

“This is CNN,” the voice said.

Albert turned on the television. He saw footage of himself arcing and diving. He saw close-ups of his own face. They showed his eyes closed and mouth in a blissful smile.

“Nobody knows who he is or how this man achieved his solo flight,” the television said. “Authorities say the man has apparently barricaded himself in his apartment.”

Albert hung up the phone.

The whole world knew. He plopped onto the couch and stared numbly at the television. He glanced occasionally at the ringing telephone. Soon he unplugged the phone but stayed riveted to the screen. He watched himself soar and dive over and over and over. Albert heard a loud amplified, tinny voice calling out to him.

“This is the police!”

Albert looked out the window. Squad cars lined the streets with banks of TV cameras behind them. A large crowd of onlookers stood behind yellow barricades.

“We want to talk to you,” the tinny voice said.

Albert stuck his head out the window. “Please go away!” he pleaded.

“Sir, we just want to talk to you.” 

“No! Just leave me alone!”

Albert imagined himself strapped to a large white table blinded by bright lights. Masked scientists probed him. He knew the rest of his life would be spent as an oddity. A human exhibit. People from around the world would flock to see the Floating Man.

Saturday turned to Sunday. The morning was slate gray. A sleepless Albert looked out the window. Red police lights flashed. The cameras fixed on him. Gawkers huddled under blankets. Albert knew what he had to do.

He climbed out onto the ledge.

“Look! There he is!” people shouted.

“He’s come out!” someone screamed.

Albert looked at his tormentors. “I just wanted to fly,” he said.

He leapt from the ledge. He drifted out over the crowd and hovered over them.

“He’s really flying!” people screamed.

Albert’s tears hit the hood of the squad car.

Slowly, he began to rise. He looked down and saw the trees. He saw the buildings. He saw the highways become more and more distant.

Up and up he fell.

Birds passed far beneath his feet.

He crested the white gentle clouds.

He felt the warmth of the sun tingle his arms.

He began to smile.

His smile lit up the sky around him.

Albert wondered if he would miss the earth. 

Fiction by Phil Holt

© 2020

Part 1

It had been hours by now. Walter was growing tired. His four-year old daughter, Kristi, was giggling with delight. They were playing the Pretty Pretty Princess Game. The object of the game was to move around the board and land on squares that allow you to earn a Princess Crown or earrings, or a necklace or a ring. Which you then wore, for the duration of the game.

Walter had won two earrings which he wore at Kristi’s insistence. His ears hurt. His daughter had collected all of the other costume pieces but she still needed the ear rings and the crown.

“Why don’t we just say that you get the ear rings and the crown automatically sweetheart?” Walter asked.

“But that wouldn’t be fair, Daddy,” Kristi said. “Besides, that’s cheating.”

She smiled innocently at him while his ear lobes throbbed.

The game dragged on for several more hours. Walter could almost feel his brain separating from the inside of his skull. It was soooooooooooooooooo boring. On and on and on they played until finally, blissfully, dinner time came and they could stop.

Still, evening after evening and day after day on the weekend, Walter played Pretty Pretty Princess even though he felt the seconds creep by impossibly slowly. 

He knew that she wouldn’t always be four and that these days were slipping by fast. One day, one day soon, she wouldn’t be his little girl any more. She would begin to pull away from him, to find her way. He wasn’t ready for that.

Part 2

Years later, Walter was out for a night with the guys. They were having pizza and a beer at Louie’s Pizza. It was clear that Walter and his buddies were all comfortable in their Dad bods. The Dads were discussing their teen age daughters and the changes they’ve seen in them.

“I just miss how we used to be,” Walter said. “She used to hug me all the time. Now she looks at me and rolls her eyes.”

“I hear you,” Bill said. “It’s like I’ve become the most embarrassing person on the planet.” Bill was an IT guy at Honeywell. He was pudgy and balding.

“I know,” said Pete. “All I ever hear is ‘DAD! You’re sooooooooo embarrassing.’” Pete was in Finance at UnitedHealthcare. He was a sharp guy, quick with a remark. He had black hair and glasses.

“She used to admire me,” Walter said, staring into his beer, avoiding eye contact. “I used to mean the world to her. I was her whole world.”

There was an uneasy silence between them.

“Hey,” Larry said. “How about those Twins?” Larry worked as an engineer at 3M. He was an amiable, likeable guy who liked to keep things light. But now, things were getting pretty deep. For a bunch of guys, they were getting dangerously close to sharing their feelings.

It got very quiet. Soon they all went home.

**

Walter was texting Kristi. It went like this:

Hi, Sport!

                                                              Dad?

Yup. How are you doing?

                                                              STOP

What’s going on with you?

      STOP TEXTING ME

Why?

     DAD!

All Right.

Walter looked down at the words on his phone. He could feel her slipping away from him.

Part 3

All the next day, Walter sat in sort of a blue mood. He couldn’t shake the feeling. In the afternoon, he sat in his chair, watching Kristi sprawled out on the couch, watching videos on the family’s iPad. She was laughing and giggling. On the screen was a group of young Asian men, in close synchronized motion. Walter had to admit. It was mesmerizing. They flowed like water, perfectly timed to the music and each other. He could see how much it meant to her. She looked at them in the same way she used to look at him, with love in her eyes.

That used to be me, he thought.

**

Walter asked the guys to meet him in his garage. They gathered together on a Saturday afternoon.

“I’ve got it,” Walter said. He was excited.

“Got what?” Pete said. “Ants in your pants?”

The guys laughed. That was a good one!

Walter had expected this and let it roll off his back.

“No. I have an idea of how we can win back our daughters,” Walter said.

“What?” Bill asked.

“So,” Walter said. “I was watching Kristi watch this Boy Band from Korea on our iPad. She was really into watching them. Do you know this group?”

“Yeah,” Pete said. “They’re called BTS. My daughter likes them too.”

“Well,” Walter said. “She looked at them just like she used to look at me.”

“So?” Larry said. “So what?”

“Don’t you see? If we form a boy band, we’ll win back our daughters.”

They looked at him like he’d lost his mind.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Walter,” Pete said. “How much have you had to drink? BTS? Are you sure it wasn’t IBS?”

Larry and Bill laughed.

“I’m serious,” Walter said.

“Come on, Walter,” Bill said. “You’ve had some crazy ideas before, but you’ve outdone yourself.”

Walter went all in on this idea. He tried to convince them that this would work.

“Think about it, Guys,” he said. “They see all these pop music stars and they pull away from us. We have to fight fire with fire here. We have to use their methods and practices. We have to show our daughters that we can be cool.”

“Man, Walter,” Bill said. “I don’t know.”

Walter used all his skill and experience as a salesman at Pitney Bowes to make a convincing pitch. He wore them down. They started to imagine dancing their ways back into the center of their daughter’s lives. It all seemed possible. It didn’t seem crazy at all. They could do it, if they only tried. They even came up with a name for their new group: Dad Band.

It was time to get to work.

Part 5

It was the day of the School Fundraiser Talent Show. Dad Band was gathered just off stage where they could see the other performers.

The MC was the bubbly effervescent music teacher, Mrs. Quibbly. She got the show off to a rousing start with a community sing-a-long. She lead the families in the audience through “This Land is Your Land” and “Yellow Submarine” and “Let it Go” From Frozen. The parents all looking sheepishly at each other as they mumbled their way through the songs, just like they did in church.

Then the acts began to perform. Lester McKinley did magic tricks. The McKenzie sisters sang Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen, which raised some eyebrows. This sure wasn’t A Mighty Fortress Is Our God. The Marching Band even did a rendition of Stars and Stripes Forever, marching around in the auditorium. Then it was time for an intermission, so people in the audience could stretch their legs and the Fundraising Committee could sell watered-down lemonade. Dad Band was to be first up after intermission.

Kristi found Walter backstage and pulled him away from the other Dads.

“Dad,” Kristi said. “Please don’t do this.” 

“Honey,” Walter said.

“Don’t go out there, please!”

“Kristi,” Walter said. “It will be okay.”

“PLEASE DON’T EMBARRASS ME!” Kristi shouted and stormed off. Walter watched her go and then looked over to see Wendy looking over at him, giving him that look. Walter swallowed hard and wondered what he’d gotten himself into. This could turn out to be a huge disaster.

Then they heard Mrs. Quibbly. 

“Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen,” she said. “It’s my privilege to welcome a group of dads with big, big hearts. I saw them in rehearsal and, well, they are just a whole lot of fun! Please welcome, Dad Band.”

The music started. Out they came onto the stage, not quite ready for any of this. Their nervous energy coupled with their eagerness to please and their sheepishness gave them an air of adorable awkwardness in the same way as a 12-year old boy wearing his dad’s suitcoat. They were adorable, vulnerable, and yet full of bravado.

They shuffled from side to side, they spun to the best of their abilities, even if they were a half beat behind. Their harmonies, if that is what they were, were slightly off kilter. The whole performance reeked of good intentions.

The audience reacted enthusiastically. They clapped and cheered. The members of Dad Band could see people taking cell phone video. They thought that maybe there was even a TV camera out there too. 

Holy Cow! It was almost overwhelming, they thought.

Dad Band didn’t win or place, but they definitely showed.

As they were walking off the stage, Bill was heard to say, “Thank, God that’s over.”

And it was, or so everyone thought. They all knew that was the end of it. It was the end of Walter’s cute, slightly misguided attempt to rewin their daughters. 

But they were wrong.

**

A week later, Walter was at work when he got an email.

“My name is Andrea White. I am a Talent Coordinator with America’s Got Talent (AGT). I saw a video of your group, Dad Band, on YouTube. 

I think your Dad Band would make an excellent contestant on our show.

We will be holding auditions at the Marriot Hotel Ballroom in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

We hope to see you there.

Regards,

Andrea”

That next evening, Louie’s Pizza was abuzz with excitement. Dad Band was ready to take it to the next level. Or were they?

Part 6

It was crunch time. Auditions for AGT were only a week away. As tension mounted in the garage, Kristi was whining and complaining to Wendy.

“Oh, my God! Mom. Dad’s going to embarrass me in front of the whole country!”

“Calm down, Dear. There is no guarantee they’ll even get on TV.”

Try telling that to the boys in Dad Band. They were all worried about that.

Bill was worried that the camera was going to make him look fat. “They say that the camera adds twenty pounds,” he said. “I’m going to look huge!”

Pete was trying to master the new choreography that Wendy kept throwing at them. “Is it Left, Right, Left or is it Right, Left, Right? Repeat? Damn it! I’ll never get this.”

Pete directed his frustration at Walter.

“Walter, this was a stupid idea from the start,” Pete said. “It was one thing when it was a school talent show, but this is network television. We’re going to look like fools.” 

“No, we’re not,” Walter said. “Not if we rehearse.”

“Easy for you to say,” Larry said. “My daughter is giving me holy hell about this. She’s afraid we’re going to embarrass her.”

“Trust me,” Walter said.

They plodded on. Left, Right, Left, Turn, Spin. Or was it Spin, Turn? DAMMIT!

The butterflies and the sleepless nights began for Dad Band.

They all lay in their beds, staring at the ceiling. dreading what lay before them. 

Even Walter, especially Walter. What the hell had he done?

**

It all came down to this. They stood in a long line waiting for a long time for their chance to perform for the initial audition judges. After waiting and waiting it was finally their turn. 

They did their routine. The choreography was almost there and their lyrics were completely memorized. The harmonies, if you could call them that, still needed work. Wendy knew that.

As they gyrated along and worked their steps, they could see the smiles on the preliminary judges faces. Were they smirks? They were not sure. But…they weren’t frowns of bored disinterest. Then just as suddenly, it was over.

The producers said. “We’ll let you know.”

**

They sat in a fast food joint and discussed their chances.

“I think they liked us,” Walter said.

“I’m sure, Walter,” Pete said. “That’s why they cut us off so quickly.”

“It’s hard to say,” Larry said.

They sat and wondered what would happen. They worried about what would happen if they get in. They worried what would happen if they didn’t get in. It was another sleepless night for Dad Band.

Then Walter’s phone buzzed. They’d qualified for the on camera initial auditions. They were on their way. Their sphincters got a little tighter. This was really happening.

Part 7

At the AGT televised initial auditions, they were scared out of their minds. Walter began to wonder what the hell he had done. This was all his fault, he thought. How could he be this stupid to think this would work?

Then the announcer called their name and on they went, out on stage.

They stood before the judges, Howie, Heidi, Mel B., and Simon. 

“And who are you?” Howie asked.

“We are Dad Band,” Walter said.

“Dad Band?” Simon asked.

“Yes,” Walter said. “We are group of dads who watched our teenage daughters drift away from us and start falling for Boy Bands.”

“Like BTS?” Howie asked.

“So, you are Dad Band,” Simon said.

“Yes, Exactly,” Walter said.

“We’re here to dance and sing our way back in our daughter’s hearts,” Walter said.

The was an audible sound of affection from the crowd. “Awwww…”

“That’s so sweet,” Heidi said.

“Dad Band,” Simon said. “I wish you luck. Show us what you got.”

The audience applauded encouragingly. The music started. The members of Dad Band moved in their awkwardly earnest way. They did their version of Happy by Pharrell Williams and then transitioned in Up Town Funk by Bruno Mars. They were better than they had ever been. They nailed it. Then the judges provided their feedback. Most memorable was Heidi’s comment, “I love you, Dad Band,” she said. The others said, “It’s a yes from me.”

They were going on to Judge Cuts.

That night they were so excited and happy. Maybe it was going to be okay. Maybe it was going to work. It had certainly gone better than expected.

That night, after everyone had wished each other congratulations, everyone went back to their hotel rooms. Walter and Wendy lay in their hotel bed, listening to the roaring of their air conditioner and staring at the ceiling.

“I can’t believe we’ve come this far,” Walter said.

“I can,” Wendy said.

They kissed.

It was time for lights out.

**

The rehearsals for Judge Cuts were a mess. There were arguments over which songs to sing, which costumes to wear, would Bill ever master the double turn at the end of the second chorus? Why did Bill sound so bad on the harmonies?

“Are you even trying?” Larry asked.

“Yes,” Bill said. “Yes, I am. You’re not so great yourself! I saw you trip after that second side to side sequence.” 

“I did not trip.”

“Yes, you did.”

The two shut up for a while. They all wondered if this whole scheme was even working. Their daughters seemed more mortified and upset than ever. 

Was this such a good idea? 

Walter wouldn’t hear of all this. He pressed on, undaunted, and undeterred, or so it seemed.

The arguments continued. Should they do a soul music medley: Heard It Through the Grapevine followed by Dancing in the Streets? Pete thought this was a terrible idea. Their daughters didn’t listen to soul music. “If our whole story is that we doing this to win back our daughters, how is this doing that? It makes no sense.”

“We are showing them the music we love,” Walter said, “So they will love us again.”

“That’s a stretch,” said Larry. “We should do Rappin’ Daddy.”

“Well,” said Wendy. “Whatever we are doing, we better decide fast. I have to teach you a new set of choreography.”

“Well, maybe we don’t need you to teach us the choreography,” Pete said. “We can do it ourselves. It’s always been too complex anyway.”

Walter looked at Pete, horrified.

“Fine,” Wendy said. 

She turned around, walked out and she was gone. 

They were stuck.

Part 8

With Wendy gone, Walter convinced them to do the soul music medley. They were all reluctant. Peter muttered complaints under his breath the whole time. 

They learned the steps.

They ran them over and over.

They drilled their routine until they were sick of it and sick of each other.

Tempers were short.

Then they hit a snag. There was a specific dance move they couldn’t master. Was it pivot, turn, outward arm? Outward arm, then twist? They kept bumping into each other. It just wasn’t working.

Walter decided that enough was enough. This wasn’t going to work. They were going to look like fools out there. He went to find Wendy. He searched and searched through the hotel and finally found her.

She was at the hotel bar nursing a large glass of red wine and eating a piece of chocolate cake.

“Wendy?” Walter asked.

“Hello,” Wendy said.

She had that look on her face, a frightening mixture of sadness and anger that broke Walter in two every time.

“We need you, Wendy. I need you. Please. Please come back and help us learn the dance steps,” Walter said.

Wendy stared past him. He was invisible to her.

“No.”

“Please,” Walter said. “We need this. I need this. If…if you could just understand. I need to see the way Kristi used to look at me. The way she used to look before…”

“Before she grew up?” Wendy asked.

Walter paused.

“It’s just….she’s growing up so fast,” Walter said.

“You know she’s embarrassed by what you’re doing, what you are all doing,” Wendy said.

“I know,” Walter said.

“She’s terrified you’re going to make fools out of yourselves,” Wendy said. “She’s afraid of being the laughing stock of the school.”

Walter was quiet for a long time.

“Please,” Walter said. “I saw her look at me, after the talent show. I saw her love, her pride in me, just for a second. I saw it in her smile. Wendy, I need to see that again. Please.”

Wendy looked into his eyes.

“Honey, it’s okay to let her go. She is going to grow up. Soon she’ll be in high school. Then before you know it, she’ll be off to college,” Wendy said. Then she stopped. I’m not ready for that myself, she thought.

“I know. I know all that,” Walter said. “That’s why I need to see that look in her eye again, before it’s too late. Please.”

Wendy looked at Walter. He was near tears. She hadn’t ever seen him cry.

She thought about it for a moment.

They got up and went back to rehearsal.

**

“Dad Band, welcome back for Judge Cuts,” Heidi said.

They stood on stage before the judges.

“Thank you,” Walter said.

“What are you going to do for us?” Simon asked.

“We’re going to do our show stopping Soul Music Medley,” Walter said.

Howie looked intrigued. Simon looked puzzled, maybe even a little skeptical.

“Good luck,” he said.

The music started. It was the vintage Marvin Gaye arrangement. 

“I bet you wondered how I knew about your plans to make me blue.”

Dad Band began bobbing to the groove, rotating in tight spins. The crowd cheered, surprised by the polished start. Then Dad Band broke into a slide to great applause and screams of delight.

Then…

Then it all went wrong.

Fast.

They forgot the moves and began to falter, stumbling like a herd of drunken oxen. Their daughters who were now on camera, were mortified. They wanted the earth to open up and swallow them whole. This was a disaster. The crowd fell silent, like they had witnessed a traffic accident.

Dad Band was stunned, not sure of what to do.

All was silence.

Then…Pete perhaps out of desperation or inspiration, started an improvised beat box rhythm with his mouth. The others, realizing what he was doing, started to beat box behind him.

Bump Bump Bump

Bump Bump A Bump

“Well, I’m Rappin’ Daddy and I’m here to say, I’m here to do things the Daddy way.”

Was this a planned routine or are they trying to save themselves from disaster? Nobody could tell.

The truth was that they made up lyrics as they went, off the top of their heads. And, for a while, it seemed to work. The crowd began to rally behind them, clapping along.

They kind of held it together until the end. Sort of…

But then, it came time for the judge’s decision.

Part 9

The Judges looked at Dad Band. There was a moment of silence before they spoke.

“Look,” Simon said. “When you first came out here at initial auditions, you were so cute and charming and goofy. I want to see you go on, but this was a complete disaster. It’s a ‘no’ from me.

“Sorry, Dad Band,” Heidi said. “It’s a ‘no’ from me.”

Mel B agreed. So did Howie.

Dad Band shuffled off stage. The show went to commercial.

It was all over.

**

They drove back to the hotel in their rented minivan. It was silent inside. Nobody wanted to lay blame or second guess any of the decisions that they’d made. They just wanted to get back to the hotel, maybe hang out at the pool, just try to put it behind them.

Finally, Wendy broke the silence.

“Don’t feel bad you guys,” Wendy said. “You made it to Judge Cuts. A lot of people don’t even do that.”

“Wendy,” Pete said. “We feel bad enough already. We don’t need you trying to cheer us up.”

“Hey,” Walter said. “That’s enough. She’s just trying to make us feel better, that’s all.”

They drove on for miles in silence, each of them thinking of how close they’d come. If they had only practiced a little more, maybe it would have turned out differently. Maybe they would have succeeded.

But they didn’t succeed.

They failed.

They all knew it.

The miles rolled by in silence. Only the whirring of the tires on the highway made any sound at all.

Then from the back of the van, Kristi started screaming.

Part 10

They heard Kristi screaming from the back of the van.

“Ohmygod, Ohmygod, OHMYGOD!!!!!! DAD!!!! OHMYGOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Uh oh, what now? Walter thought.

“What is it, Kristi?” asked Wendy.

“Somehow, someone put a recording of your Rappin’ Daddy song on iTunes and it’s climbing up the charts,” Kristi said.

“YES!!!!” Wendy said.

“What does that mean?” Walter asked.

“It means you’re a hit after all!” Wendy said.

“That’s amazing” Peter said.

“FANTASTIC!!” Walter said.

Kristi turned up the volume on her iPad. All the rest of the way back to the hotel, they jammed out to “Rappin’ Daddy”. The minivan was full of joy.

**

The song was a huge hit on iTunes, and on YouTube and soon all the FM Contemporary Hit Radio stations were playing it. It was the song of the summer! Soon Dad Band launched a national tour. People loved to watch them perform and sing along with their surprise hit. 

Their daughters saw how much everyone on their news feed loved them. Sure, there were haters who called them fat and pathetic and stupid and over the hill, but they just deleted those jerks, like you should.

When Kristi saw how much all the kids in school loved her Dad, she was much less embarrassed, she was even kind of proud. 

One time, she even said, “I love you, Dad,” while they were on the couch watching TV.

“I love you, Sweetheart,” Walter said.

**

Then, after a while, things settled down and their tour ended and the Dads went back to their jobs. Life went back to normal. Dad Band had retired from public performance.

One night, Walter and Wendy sat on their deck and talked.

“Do you miss the crowds, all the lights, and all that attention?” she asked.

“A little bit,” Walter said. “But I am glad we’re all home.”

“Yes,” Wendy said. “So am I.” She smiled.

Sure, Kristi would still roll her eyes at him from time to time. He was still her dad after all. But when she did, it was with a wink in her eye, a sly smile that underscored her words. She loved her dad, even as she grew up and continued to pull away from home.

On the deck, Walter and Wendy continued to talk.

“It was a sweet thing you did,” Wendy said.

“It was a sweet thing, you did, teaching us to dance,” Walter said.

“Oh,” Wendy said. “Is that what you were doing?”

Walter laughed and so did she.

Kristi still needed her space. She was out with her friends. So they sat up, waiting for her to come home.

THE END

Micro Fiction by Phil Holt

It seemed to him that nothing he was thinking or feeling was particularly interesting or insightful.

“So,” he thought. “This is what it is to be a view point character.”

He knew that right now, right now… strangers were reading his thoughts, trying to empathize with him.

Like you are. Right. Now.

Frankly, it ticked him off.

Who are you anyway?

Don’t you have a life?

How is this any of your business?

Geez.

But then…after awhile…

He forgot about all that and went back to thinking about Sheila, and what she meant to him. He thought about how he loved her with his whole heart, even though he could never fully tell her. He thought about how he loved to watch her as she sleeping on Saturday mornings and how her voice sounded to him as sweet as summer rain.

Then…he remembered you.

Reading.

Buzz off, he thought.

Fiction by Phil Holt

Cindy was checking her watch again and again. She hated slow days at her job working in the Women’s Section. For her, the time seemed to drag on forever before it was finally time to go home.

Norman walked up to the counter. She thought he looked shy and nervous.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I would like to purchase a silk blouse for my girlfriend. Would you help me?”

Cindy looked up from her cash register right at him and smiled.

Cindy looked up from her cash register right at him and smiled.

“Certainly, what size does she wear?”

“Well, you see, we haven’t been going out that long and I’m afraid I don’t know,” Norman said.

Norman looked down at the floor.

Cindy smiled. She remembered that he had been here before.

“Could you tell me how tall she is?”

“She’s about your size.”

Cindy paused. She was so bored. Stilted. She felt something well up inside her. It felt reckless and wild. She decided to take a chance, something she rarely did. She decided to follow her impulse.

“Let’s go find something that you like and I’ll try it on for you.”

Norman was surprised.

“Really?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you,” Norman said.

She tried on three blouses for him. They decided on a blouse and she talked him into buying a red scarf as well.

“I’m sure she’ll love it,” she said.

“I hope so,” he said.

“You have excellent taste,” she said.

Norman blushed.

“Thank you,” he said.

Norman left the store clutching the glossy red bag by the white rope handles.

***

Several months later, Norman walked up to the counter of the women’s clothing section. He’d been there many times since their first meeting.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I’d like to purchase a skirt for my girlfriend.Would you please help me?”

Cindy looked up from her cash register and smiled.

“Certainly,” she said.

She tried to help him pick out the perfect skirt. They couldn’t find anything in her size.

“Maybe you could check back on Saturday,” she said. “We’ll get our new shipment of merchandise then.”

“Well, her birthday is tomorrow,” he said. “I really need to find something now.”

“Well, there is a store right down the hall that has nice blue skirts. Maybe we could find something there.”

Norman was surprised.

“You’d do that?” he said.

“It’s fine,” she said. “I’ll go on break in a few minutes. I’ll join you in front of the store.”

They met in front of the chic store with its tall white walls and techno music urging you to walk quickly. Its headless mannequins holding their perfectly aloof and superior attitudes.

Cindy tried on a number of blouses.

They found the perfect one.

He smiled as they left the store.

“Thank you for all your help,” he said.

“No problem” she said.

“Would you like to come to Stacey’s birthday party?”

Cindy paused.

“What?”

“Well, you know. She’s heard a lot about you because and all of the clothes I got for her at your store,” Norman fumbled.

“Really?” Cindy asked.

“She thinks it’s hilarious that you’re the same size,” Norman said.

“Ah, I don’t think so,” Cindy said.

“Please just think about it,” Norman said.

He handed her a card with the apartment address.

They parted ways and Cindy went back to her store to greet another customer.  As she drove home and during dinner and into the night as she lay awake, she thought about the invitation and wondered what she should do.

***

The next day there was a knock on Norman’s apartment door. He opened it and Cindy was standing there.

“Hello, Cindy,” he said. “Please come in.”

“Thank you,” Cindy said. She stepped into the apartment and immediately she froze. No one else was there. She saw no guests, no party. She only saw glossy red bags with white handles placed all over the apartment. All open, with the merchandise still in the bags.

Pants and skirts

Blouses and blazers

The bags lined the walls of the small apartment.

Her eyes jumped from bag to bag. She looked up at Norman.

“Happy birthday?” he asked.

Micro Fiction
by Phil Holt

The calls always come late at night. After some small talk, Paul asks Julian, Sean, Dhani, and Zachary a simple question. Will they honor their fathers and join him to form a new band? The calls always end the same way, with a polite but firm decline. As they hang up, each of the sons know that the calls will come again.

It seemed to him that his story was very short.

Turns out, it was.