The mean little white boys down the road

Oyster Creek, Texas. No oysters, but plenty of mean little white boys. That’s the Oyster Creek I remember. If it offends some, so be it. Our experiences speak for themselves. Gilbert, me, and John. Louis was too small to remember.

A town of little under a thousand people, Oyster Creek is an hour south of Houston. Someone once called me crazy for saying that this town was an hour south of Houston. “You’re crazy, that can’t be. You’ll be in the ocean.” Well, we were a couple of miles off the coast. The point is, we were near Houston, and we were near the coast. But this town has nothing to do with Oysters. A creek does run through the north part of town, but only a couple of homes overlook the creek. The other creek, which I never knew the name to, splits the town into south and north. The highway, FM 523 splits it east and west.

Oyster Creek is the stepchild of Brazoria county. It’s surrounded by Freeport, Clute, Surfside, and Angleton. We Oyster Creeksters were backwards. I felt this as a child.

Liang Yu

I pictured how she must have sat there. Alone in the empty lobby next to a large window, staring at the rain puddles alongside the streets as they filled deeper. It was eleven o’clock; she was expected home an hour earlier. “Xiaojie. Neng gei ni jiao liang chuzu qiche ma?” asked the concierge. “Miss, can I call you a taxi?

You know it is a great thing to get your mail.I have been looking forward to hear from you for 1 month.Meanwhile,i have a little anxious.Because my writen English is poor,but just try to understand me as much as you can.Thanks.

he opened his eyes

an american spirits cigarette rested between his lips, the smoke swimming quickly through the air before disappearing. he stared across the street, but at nothing particular. a large oak trees acted as a shield from the sun. it was a hot day, one of the first of summer, and it promised to be hotter than before. the neighborhood streets were quiet. if anyone walked or drove by, he would not have noticed. his thoughts were too deep. he held his fifth lone star beer in his right hand, sipping in between cigarette puffs.

“where did i go wrong?” he thought to himself. he saw his daughter last week, the first time since four years ago. he had promised to return, but didn’t. all she knew was her dad was gone. where to? she didn’t know this, but she still loved him. she was still eager to hold him and listen to his stories about growing up in a small town on a farm. the pictures of horses and cows stuck with her. she wanted to experience this herself. her mother’s negative comments and insults about her father never changed how she felt about him. nearly everyday her mom would talk about him, saying how terrible he was. she was too young to understand these things. all she knew was that he was her father, and she loved him.

he pulled the cigarette from his mouth and sipped on his lone star. he felt angry and wanted to chunk the bottle at the street, but didn’t. no one was to blame but himself. somewhere, sometime, he gave up on everything. “what the fuck were you thinking?” he said to himself. he turned to look up and shut his eyes tightly for a few seconds. during this time he had escaped his predicament. for those few seconds he was free. the colors around him were clearer. the skies seemed bluer, the trees greener. he saw the huge smile of his daughter like he never had before. she was so beautiful, her long dark hair flying up and down as he pushed her on the swing. she yelled “higher daddy, higher,” and he did just that.

he opened his eyes. after a moment he took a puff from his cigarette and squeezed the beer bottle tightly. his fingers turned red and he yelled loudly, his veins on his neck growing large and green. the scream echoed throughout the street. the birds on the oak tree flewed away scared. he leaned forward and his bloodshot eyes produced uncontrollable tears as he looked at the ground. he cried like he never had before, this grown man. his cry couldn’t bring his back daughter, he knew this. seeing his daughter in a pine box was no way to say goodbye to her. every regret he held, every bad decision he made, visited him that day. with each beer sip and cigarette puff, he fell deeper and deeper into his own hell. he had prayed that opening his eyes would change the past. but it wouldn’t.

05/20/09