Issue 6:
Wish
Ron Gibson, Jr.
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He was born Francis Xavier Peabody. Francis Xavier because his mother had a vision six months into the pregnancy, while staring into the lobster display case at Mindy's. In that seemingly insignificant moment, she said, she knew she was carrying a bundle of sainthood.
Everyone else just called him Frank.
Hardily American and apt to call you a jerk to your face, that was Frank.
He grew up out of the grit of the Southside, skinned knees, front tooth chipped from a beanball. He traded the Eucharist for kissing with Amanda Wojiniewski, took his first drink off a wino claiming it would be his salvation, and dropped out.
Frank joined the merchant marine and dated a Filipino he called Baby.
He returned with a knife fight lisp to become a butcher; his white apron never white. He played the numbers, missed three Thanksgivings with his mother, swilled rotgut, and owed seven hundred to Fat Tony Leoni.
One Friday, Frank was found leaning against a dumpster full of lobster shells behind Mindy's, knife in his gut.
In his dying moments, he wished his mother had eaten at the Chop Suey Palace instead. It just didn't pay to be a saint.
~Ron Gibson, Jr.
Ron resides in Kent, Washington, and says he owes his writing success to
Pez candy and oxygen. Though not necessarily in that order. Email.
© 2001 by Ron Gibson, Jr. All Rights Reserved.
© 2000-2002 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved.
This page updated April 24, 2002.