First Place Winner
submitted by Christina Smith of New Port Richey, Ohio.

“Hey, my pants are your pants. OK?” I turned throwing my favorite black pants towards the bed meaning for them to land next to her not smacking her in the face like they did.

She grabbed them and huffed at me.

“That’s not what you said last week.”

“Well things change Sara. Let’s just say I’ve reconsidered.”

“So, you’re not mad, Lexi?”

I turned to face the closet. Maybe if she couldn’t see my eyes she would believe my lie.

“Nah…I’m not mad. He’s…It’s not that big of a deal…”

“That’s not what Claire told me. I thought for sure you’d be pissed.”

Then why’d you do it; I wanted to bark at her. “Well, Claire has no idea. You know how she is around the office. Do you want to borrow them or not?”

“Not if you’re going to be mad.”

I kicked my stilettos back into the closet. I don’t think I’ll be in the mood to wear them any time soon, anyway. Maybe I could pull them out and see if Sara wanted to borrow them too. Maybe she could just have them. Have the pants, have the shoes, have him. I was mad, sure, but not furious. It wasn’t worth getting upset about. Sara wasn’t his type anyway.

“Just get dressed.”

“You’re coming too right? I can’t go alone. He’s bringing his friend.”

Great. Just what I wanted—first I’m a tag along on a date with the hottest guy in our firm, then I have to be set up on a blind date because I’m so pathetic I can’t get my own date, and finally, I have to watch him paw all over Sara in my black pants, the ones that make my butt look like a model’s. Sounds like I’m in some kind of pathetic Oxygen channel movie. Next I’ll be doing the speech at their wedding.

I looked back at her sitting on my bed, crumpled tissue in hand.

“I never meant to make you mad. He could’ve easily been into you but we just started talking, actually when I was waiting for you. Remember for lunch and I wanted a smoke so I went downstairs and he was there and we’re both smokers and we both like Breakfast at Tiffany’s. He said I had that Audrey Hepburn-esque quality and…”

I grabbed my sweater off the bed and threw it into my closet. No folding, just flinging. I couldn’t look at her when she did her wounded deer face. Damnit. Why do I have a female roommate let alone girlfriends? I can’t stand it. Audrey Hepburn. Maybe Katharine Hepburn and I mean the one from On Golden Pond, not the young version.

Sara had finally shut up. I looked towards her. She swung her feet and pursed her mouth in a way that she does when hiding a smile. It must have given her some satisfaction that he picked her over me. Sara could handle when we were both single, hated when I was in a relationship, and was thrilled beyond my expectations as I watched her imagining the possibilities with him. Watch me throw her a curve ball, end her delicious delusions.

“What’re ya thinking Saucy?” It wasn’t a nickname I made up for her—she’s anything but saucy. Her family passed it down to me. Apparently when Sara was 3 she had a speech impediment and called herself Sawy. Her brother must have had a hearing impediment because he thought she was calling herself Saucy. The rest is filed under cute things done by the Marks family. A nickname like this would never have stuck in my family because my mother with her clipped mid-Atlantic accent would’ve corrected my lazy baby tongue immediately and if not a highly paid speech therapist would’ve taken over.

“So you’ll go?”

Did I say yes? went through my mind but “Sure,” was what actually came out. It’s hard to lie to your roommate and tell her you’re busy. She pretty much knows when you go to the bathroom and what time of the month it is. Making up a faux commitment was not an option. And it was Friday. If I lied to her, I would have to be sick. That meant not even having the possibility of a lame date. My TV would be my date plus she would know I was faking it.

“Where?”

“What?” Sara asked. She must have been thinking about him again. Maybe she’s trying his last name on for size. Sara is convinced she’s going to marry every man she has a drink with. Of course, if you play the odds, one day she’ll probably be right.

The great thing about sweet Sara is her ability to forget. She forgets she was supposed to marry John Taylor of Duran Duran, that guy from MacGyver, River Phoenix (well, in all fairness he died so that kind of put a wrench it whatever plans she had), Brad Pitt, Phil (our dry cleaner), Adam (my cousin), Arthur (some guy on-line who stopped writing all of a sudden—my guess is he was arrested), Chris (works in the coffee shop behind our office) and Stetson (a guy transferred from our London office, who I think is gay). What do all of these fine specimens have in common? None of them even know Sara exists. In all fairness, John Taylor, MacGyver, River, and Brad never have gotten the honor of meeting her, but the others see her everyday. To them she’s just a wine stain that won’t come out, an irritating inhabitant of his cousin’s apartment (along the same lines as my Shit Zu, Mr. Bond), an over-age (aka legal) email amusement, a grande vanilla latte, and a stack of filing. For a moment, and only a moment, I feel bad for Sara and I understand how much this date means to her. I shouldn’t be angry if the new recruit, who obviously suffers from some kind of astigmatisms, believes that Sara resembles Audrey Hepburn. Maybe she does when her hair’s wet and you squint to correct your cross-eyedness during a full moon. Maybe I’m just a jerk.

“Where are we meeting these jokers?” It sounded like I was trying to make conversation, but I was really surveying my closet. What to wear? I fingered a couple of satin shirts, perfect for dancing. What color? “Well?” I faced her impatiently.

“Oh…umh…at the Metro.”

I tried not to roll my eyes but I didn’t have the strength to fight the obvious reaction, so in order to avoid a brain hemorrhage, I turned away from her and let my eyes roll to their content.

“Let me guess.” I grabbed a sweatshirt and turned towards her. “There’s an Audrey Hepburn movie playing at the old place?”

“Yep.” She smiled, cheeks reddening, eyes cast downwards, tiny fist grasping my black pants.

Although we were ready with plenty of time to spare, I made “Audrey” sit down and watch the end of What Should I Wear?. No need to be on time. Let the guys wait.

“OK, I have one trick of the trade to pass on to you, oh wearer of my favorite pants. When we get in the lobby, it is crucial for you to take off your coat. Let him see you in those pants in the light. If you don’t do it then, the date may end without him seeing you without a coat on. Get it?”

Sara looked at me and tilted her head like my dog does when he hears something that he can’t qeite make out. I figured I was wasting my time with her so I turned to the TV giving some overweight matron a lecture about style. Sara giggled a muffled little giggle.

“What’s your deal?” My words were a little harsh for her Bambi-like trill.

“I’m laughing at you.”

Now I was irritated. I’m doing Snow White a favor and she’s laughing at me. She did look nice in my pants.

“It’s just that you’re making fun of that woman and she’s someone’s mom. Moms aren’t supposed to be fashionable and here you are in your twenties and working for the New York law firm and you’re dressed…tonight at least…like a frumpy soccer mom. How’s that song go…Isn’t it ironic, I really do think…”

She trailed off in a less than amusing rendition of that overplayed top-40 song by Meredith Brooks or Alanis Morissette or Ima Angst-ridden.

I didn’t speak to her again until we found ourselves outside of the Metro, no guys in sight, well not the guys we were meeting at least. I’m not sure that Sara noticed that I wasn’t talking because she kept up a sweet string of nice-isms all the way from Bayside Hills to Manhattan. Outside of the theatre—no guys present—I grabbed her arm and led her up the block only then did her quaint conversation erode into “What are you…”

“We’re not going to sit here and wait for them. They will wait for us. Don’t you know anything about keeping a man’s interest?” My annoyance was showing, better tuck my fangs back in. I wished I was in my black pants and she was wearing the stupid jeans that kept chafing me.

“Obviously I have not had the kind of practice with men that you have.”

Was that a barb from Bambi? I ignored it. Sometimes it’s not a fair fight.

We walked up and down the street, pretending to window shop, ten minutes later she spotted his orange coat and motioned for me to follow.

“Who wears orange coats besides people who want to shoot things in the woods?” I asked.

“He said orange is this year’s red. Check out J-Crew. Orange is everywhere.” She raised her small hand in an almost taxi flagging way of a hello and crossed the street. Very Hepburn-eqsue.

As we entered the theatre lobby Sara said, “Benton, you know my roommate.”

“Yeah, hi.”

“Hi.”

I looked at Benton’s blue eyes. He was hot, even in orange. Wait, I’m supposed to be with his friend. I turned to him. Nice looking. Good hair. Might be a fake tan, not that I have a problem with that. No one introduced him so I extended my hand.

“Hi, I’m Lexi and you’re….”

“Taken.” He giggled and nudged Benton with his elbow. Benton bent his head like a swan tucking his beak underneath his wing for the evening and reddened.

“Oh David, stop.” Benton nudged David with his elbow.

Sara oblivious to what was going on with her Audrey Hepburn-adoring “suitor” chose this time to remember my advice about removing her coat.

When she did, Benton let out a quick intake of breath similar to what someone saves for car accidents and unbelievable deals at the mall.

“Those pants are fabulous, sweetie,” Benton admired. “Don’t you just love them David?”

Sara muttered an embarrassed thank-you-they’re-Lexi’s. Even reserved Sara knows what it means when a guy uses the word fabulous. She made a very Audrey Hepburn face, covering her mouth with her slender hand.

“I could just eat them up. Wonder if they would fit me?” David asked touching her arm and gliding Sara into a slow spin so he could gaze upon the full loveliness of my pants. Sara’s face was aflame. I could tell that this wallflower was out of her element so I said the only thing I could:

“Any time you want to try them. Hey, my pants are your pants.”

Second Place
submitted by David Hack of Cedar Rapids, Iowa.

To overcome inertia . . .

Ten pairs of pants, all black, all cuff less, all pleated, all neatly pressed, hung from their individual pant hangers in a tidy row barely touching one another in the roomy closet. It just didn’t make any sense, this indecision, and yet every morning Blane stood for long moments as though the pants were on an altar that required his meditative attention. A choice had to be made, and Blane’s morning persona felt completely inadequate to the task.

Life had not always been so demanding. Blane remembered a carefree youth who ran to the woods, the hills, the streams at first light and returned home as darkness fell only because he knew his mother would worry if he wasn’t safely at home when the night creatures began to roam.

He had never actually seen a night creature, so he didn’t exactly know what his mother was so concerned with, but she painted a vivid enough picture that he didn’t want to risk his very soul to their whims. If nothing else, Blane was a dutiful son.

Yet, during the free reign of his daytime hours, he was adventuresome, creative, and even whimsical in his youthful exploration. One particular memory stood out to Blane, although he now regarded it with suspicion, as though it had happened to someone else and he questioned its truthfulness.

A bayou existed a few blocks from Blane’s house. It was a swampy area created by backwater from the river and the town seemed to ignore its presence. Blane, however, was intimately familiar with each watery pool, overgrown brush and trails, clear and hidden, that transversed the area. Blane considered no day wasted that was spent wandering the muddy, bug-infested wasteland of the bayou.

Blane’s mother, on the other hand, considered the bayou a hazard and made Blane swear that he would never go there. Because Blane was a dutiful son, he promised his mother that he wouldn’t be caught dead in such a place. He felt reasonably sure he could make such a promise without giving up his freedom to explore or of going to hell for lying to his mother. One day he almost broke his word.

There was a small sandy piece of shore on the river side of one of the swampy fingers of land that comprised the bayou. The kids all called it B-A-B. Bare-assed Beach. Blane never bared it all, but on many occasions, he would strip to his underwear and pretend to have a good time in the muddy water.

There were often others at B-A-B. It was a place of risk taking, of good-natured dares, of frolicking free spirits. It was a place where casting caution to the wind was accepted, applauded and even encouraged. On those days when Blane couldn’t find a companion, he would set off alone and inevitably find others enjoying the cool muddy water of the river.

The day of Blane’s most vivid memory of the bayou was such a day. His friends were either not at home or occupied and unable to get away. As it was a perfect day for roaming the swamp, Blane couldn’t allow himself the missed opportunity. As his mother left for work, he dutifully kissed her on the cheek, promised he’d behave and quickly escaped out the back door as soon as she left by the front.

Blane made his was through neighbors’ yards and happily wandered the many paths of the bayou, watching and listening for kindred spirits. As he neared the B-A-B, he heard splashing, talking and laughter. His steps quickened anticipating his grand entrance into a group of friends until he realized one of the voices he heard was a girl.

It was not unheard of for a girl to enjoy the beach, but Blane had never personally witnessed it. He slowed his approach and listened carefully to figure out who might be there. Hiding in the underbrush, he struggled to see without revealing his presence.

“Steve, stop!” the girl’s voice giggled above the splashing of water. “You’re so bad!” More laughter followed.

“Come here, Marylou. I want to show you something.” More laughter, giggles and splashing.

Blane positioned himself a little closer to the clearing around the beach to see what was going on. Through the leaves, he could make out heads and shoulders above the water, close together, then arms flailing and pushing away, followed by more closeness. Definitely older teens.

“But Steve, what about Lindsey? I thought she was your girlfriend.”

“Marylou, I just hang around her because she has a car and lets me drive. Honest.”

“Stevie boy, I think you’re just saying that. I know what you’re after.” More giggles.

“I’m sorry you don’t think more of me than that. I guess you can just go on home, if you want.” The boy turned his back and moved away from the girl.

“Oh. Did I hurt your feelings? I’m sorry.” The girl moved to the boy and put her arms around him pressing herself against his body. “Maybe I can stick around for a little longer. Don’t be mad at me, Stevie. OK?”

The boy turned in the girl’s arms and lifted her up out of the water and Blane saw that the top of her bathing suit was pulled down. Blane had never seen an actual human girl’s breasts in real life before and his breath was literally taken away as he pushed even closer to the edge of the clearing to get a better view if Steve should lift her out of the water again.

“Who’s there?” Steve called out. “I know you’re up there and you better show yourself, or I’m coming out to beat the crap out of you.”

Blane was frozen in place, afraid of showing himself and afraid of trying to hide. Steve was older than Blane and was somewhat of a bully. Blane certainly didn’t want to be beat by Steve, now or anytime in the future.

“Uh, hi, Steve,” Blane muttered as he crept from the bushes.

“Why, Steve,” Marylou laughed, “it’s your little friend Blane. Hi, Blane. Wanta come join us? Do you have other friends hiding in the bushes?”

“No, it’s just me.”

“Next time I want you to whistle or something, so we know you’re coming,” Steve ordered. “I don’t want you to get embarrassed by what you might see.”

“Is that a tootsie roll in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?” Marylou taunted. “Why don’t you take off your jeans and come on in?”

“Naw. I just came to see who’s here, not to swim.”

“Nonsense,” Steve continued the dare. “Come on in here, peckerwood.”

“No, really,” Blane began to be frightened about what was happening. “I think I better go.”

“I think we’re scaring the little boy, Steve. Anyway, it’s time I went home. I’m late already and my mom will have a cow if I don’t have the house picked up before she gets home from work. Be a sweetheart and fix my suit.” Marylou turned her back to Steve and he tied the top of her suit behind her neck, but not before giving her breasts one last feel. At least that was what Blane assumed he was doing when Marylou started wiggling and giggling once more.

As she rose from the water and walked up the beach to slowly pull on her shorts and top, Blane could hardly keep his knees from shaking.

“Good-bye, Steve.” She blew him a kiss. “Give me a call.”

Then she turned to Blane and ruffled his hair. “Nice to see you. Hope it was nice for you to see me.” She laughed as she walked up the path.

“Well, Blane,” Steve called from the water. “I see that you’re growing up. Not too much, yet, but definitely you’re growing. Strip down and get in here. It’s time we moved you up the ladder.”

“I really don’t think I should,” Blane tried to hide his bulging pants.

“Hey. Look here, buddy boy. You’re lucky I don’t lick into you for spoiling my morning. But I’m feeling generous today. Don’t push your luck. Get in here.”

Blane turned his back to Steve and pulled down his jeans. Then he quickly turned and jumped into the water and sank to his waist.

“Since you want to be one of the big kids, I want you to act like it,” Steve said. “Swim out to the log there, climb out on that big branch and dive in.”

Blane was not a very strong swimmer and following this direction presented a problem. It was the biggest risk he had been challenged with and he was unsure that he could do it. He waded to the end of the log nearest shore and climbed up on it. Slowly he crept to the designated branch.

Blane looked back to the beach and Steve, standing with arms folded. It seemed as though they were miles away and he was sure he was going to drown if he tried this stunt.

“Come on.” Steve sounded impatient. “I’m right here. I won’t let you drown.”

Blane looked once again, closed his eyes, held his nose and jumped as far toward the beach as he could. He quickly reviewed all the things he had learned in swimming class. He knew exactly what to do, and yet he couldn’t seem to make his muscles respond the way they were supposed to.

Blane opened his eyes and realized he was still under water. He quickly dog paddled to the surface, poked his head up, gasping for breath and discovered he was facing away from the beach. He tried to turn and quickly gulped more air just before his weight took him below the surface once again. “Once” was all he could think. “I’ve risen once,” he thought. “Everyone knows you rise to the surface three times before you drown.”

His arms felt very heavy as he tried to continue his dog paddle stroke. Yet slowly he lifted himself to the surface once more. He could see where Steve stood, arms still folded. “Help me,” he thought he cried, but he wasn’t sure. He knew this was twice and one more ascent and he was dead.

He gulped air and tasted water. “This is bad,” he thought. “Why didn’t I listen to my mother? She was right. Maybe there are day creatures as well as night creatures. If I ever get out of this, I’ll never disobey her again.” As soon as he had thought this oath, strong hands grabbed his body and he was lifted into the light.

“Man, you almost made it. You had me scared for a minute, but you were so close. A few inches closer to the shore, and you would have been able to stand up. You jumped right into a hole in the river bottom. Next time I know you’ll make it. Good job!”

Blane looked up at Steve standing over him. “Thanks,” he thought he whispered before he started coughing up river water.

“Hey, man. What’s a buddy for?” Steve continued. “Buddies take care of each other and keep secrets. Right? I can keep a secret and I know you can, too. Right?”

Tears started to form in Blane’s eyes as he realized how close he had been to death. He knew he owed Steve big time, and he just wasn’t sure how he could ever repay the debt.

“Look, Blane. If it’s all the same to you, we’ll just pretend this morning never happened. You weren’t here, I wasn’t here and no one else was here, either. OK?”

Blane nodded in agreement and Steve rose to go. “Hey, little man, I know I can count on you. Now before someone else comes, you’d better hurry and get a move on.”

The shrill voice interrupted his thoughts. “Blane! Will you please hurry up! What can possibly be taking you so long? I’ve got to get to the office and so do you. I’ve told you before, it doesn’t look good for you to be late. The others already think I pamper you too much just because you’re my son. Now get a move on it. We’ve got that big piece of riverfront property to sell today, and I don’t want to miss out on this deal. Blane! Can you hear me? Get a move on.”

Blane stood motionless, hardly able to breath. A decision had to be made and he just couldn’t bring himself to make it. Ten pairs of pants, all black, all cuff less, all pleated, all neatly pressed, hung from their individual pant hangers in a tidy row barely touching one another in the roomy closet.

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