The stories of Bryan Young

“Hello?” I said into the phone, accepting the call from a number I didn’t recognize. “Hey,” the feminine voice on the other replied, as though I should know the sound of her voice. At a loss, I said, “Can I help you?” “It’s Brooke.” Her name stopped me. It couldn’t possibly be her. We hadn’t spoken in years, a decade perhaps. “Brooke?” “Yeah, Brooke Baker. This is Mark, right?” Jesus Christ. It was her. “Yeah, it is Mark. Brooke. Wow. How are you? It’s been a long time since… well… since anything.” “I know.” “So, how are you doing?” “Okay, I suppose…” Her voice belied her words, though. Something was up. “I… It’s just been so long and I guess I wanted to hear your voice.” “I don’t think I had a number for you. Ever. I offered a couple of times, but…” “I was a brat back then.” And that’s how a random phone call turned into a two-and-a-half hour catch-up session. We spoke of everything under the sun: people we still knew, how different we were, h

You've told me many times before that we're nothing but "just-friends" anymore But I dreamt of you last night, and it was the sweetest thing I've ever seen. We were running from someone, arm in arm. He was after you, your beauty, your virtue, your love, but you couldn't surrender it, not to him anyway. And so there I was, just a friend. But I loved you anyway and there we were. He called out to you and we ducked under an outcropping, thick in the fog. We were pressed against each other, keeping from his sight, trying our hardest to stay quiet. And I could feel your heart beating so close to mine that your "just-friend" just had to do something about it. Softly, on your lips I kissed you, knowing full well that I shouldn't have. But you kissed back and for five brief seconds I was in bliss. But it was all just an impossible dream. I woke up and could still feel your lips on mine, and it broke my heart when I realized my dream might never come true

In honor Kurt Vonnegut's memory on this, the second anniversary of his untimely death, I wanted to share with you guys a letter I wrote to Vonnegut but regret never sending. Dated February 18, 2006, it was written just over a year prior to his death. I typed it up on an old Corona typewriter. I've also submitted this and accompanying column to the Huffington Post. Here's the link to that article. (For other Huffington Post columns of mine, click here. ) Also, It'll only be another day or two for me to be posting a new short story. It's being a little bit more troublesome than I'd like. Mr. Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., My name is Bryan Young and this is the second letter I've written you, but only the first I've sent. I read the first letter I wrote to you and crumpled it up and threw it in the trash. What it had to say was this: I'm 25, I've read almost your complete library every year since I was 15 and respect, admire, and cherish you and what yo