I’m Broken, But Don’t Fix Me


Daily Prompt: Only Sixteen

Tell us all about the person you were when you were sixteen. If you haven’t yet hit sixteen yet, tell us about the person you want to be at sixteen.

When I was sixteen I had zits. Not a bunch, but just enough to let people know I was sixteen and dealing with stuff. Now I don’t have zits, I got age spots (at least that what they call them). Not a bunch, but just enough to let people know I’m over the hill and dealt with stuff. I have some arranged in a pattern that if play dot to dot it looks like a map of California. I have and ingrown whisker where Sacramento is. It is often infected.

Here is my short story for the day. It’s about all the broken stuff from sixteen that seems to work just fine.

I’m Broken, But Don’t Fix Me

Hank met Gregg for coffee at a quiet shop not far from Gregg’s work. They ordered the usual. They sat near the window to stare at the falling snow.

“I like the snow,” Hank said. “It reminds me of my childhood.”

“It reminds me of shoveling our driveway all day long,” Gregg said. “Hard work, that’s what it reminds me of.”

Hank sipped his coffee and thought for a moment.

“But there was always a pleasure in accomplishing it,” Gregg said. “One must take pleasure in his accomplishment, don’t you agree?”

“Certainly,” Hank said. “Otherwise everything is drudgery. The coffee is really good this morning.”

Gregg pulled the cup from his lips. “That’s why we go here. The coffee is always good.”

Hank smiled. “The barista’s take pride in what they do.”

“I read your blog this morning,” Gregg said. “It seemed depressing to me.”

“Yes,” Hank said. “I wrote it last night. I wasn’t feeling all that well.”

“You should have given me a call,” Gregg said. “My wife and I would have delighted to have you over for company.”

“That’s kind of you to say that,” Hank said. “But I would have been best by myself.”

“You seem to put a lot of time into you blog,” Gregg said. “Who reads it?”

“Well for one,” Hank said. “You do. But I think it’s more important that it is written rather than read.”

“Blogging seems so impersonal,” Greg said. “You sometimes spill your emotions to those who don’t care.”

“Like I said,” Hank said. “It’s good just to say things without bothering those who you know. You don’t always want or need help. Sometimes friends want to jump in and fix something and they end up breaking something. So I just write.”

“Don’t you want to be fixed if your broken,” Gregg said.

“All of my friends and most importantly me loves the broken me,” Hank said. “Who knows what the fixed me would be like. I may not like snow or coffee.”



Blather away, if you like.

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