Saturday, July 21, 2012

Not a 49er, Your Story

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July 21st, 2012

This was my first requested story I wrote for a reader who entered information in the Design a Story section. He wanted it posted here. You can have one done too. Just click on the Design a Story link to provide some details and have your own story posted for free. Read the Be in Your Own Story link.

Not a 49er


 For my family and the love we have shared over the centuries starting here.


The ships were being prepped to set sail from New York on there way to California, “GOLD, THERE’S GOLD THERE IN CALIFORNIA!” a voice rang out in the hordes of people working their way to several ships that were getting ready to make the long journey west in search of wealth and prosperity.

It was the great gold rush of 1849 and people from all over the world, including my great, great, great grandfather, decided to make the trip to the region from North America by way of New York. California was one year from being a state and the great Pacific Railroad had yet to be build . My Grandfather decided a one year boat ride was safer then making the trek on the California Trail across country.

My grandfather was a big Irishman who immigrated in the 1820’s in search for a better life, like all immigrants during that time and as they still do today. With word of the instant rich being born in his new country my grandfather thought, "what’s a few extra thousand miles. I made it this far."

“Bar keep.” my grandfather shouted as he slams his mug on the table. The noise making a loud pound as it smacks against the handmade wood bar top. “Another round before my journey.” wiping the foam on his sleeve.

“Going to be a 49er are we?” the barkeep ask

“Yep. I figure a big Irish boy like me can haul away my fair share of gold. And I will.” He said with a stoic voice.

“You know, people die all the time on those trips. A big Irish man or not you'll die before you make it to California.” A tiny voice said over the piano and voices of other men sharing the stories of future riches.

“Who asked you?” The Irishman said taking a sip of his newly poured beer and slowly turning in his bar stool, to place a face on the voice who dared to knock his dream.

Once his eye locked on the person who spoke out, he nearly fell of his bar stool. Before him was the most beautiful girl the Irishman had ever seen, She was tiny, dwarfed by his size and looked like a kid among men as she cleaned up after their filth.

I’m just saying. Working in the bar I hear stories of burials at sea more then people who exit the ship on the other coast.” She said turning away wiping off a table.

She was the Barmaid and the bar owners daughter. She worked there taking care of her dad after her mother died of disease. It wasn’t her dream job but back then family was everything and she wasn’t about to leave her father.

“Well, it looks like I’m going to have to stay here.” My grandfather said with a smile on his face.

They married that year and never parted ways as she took over the bar from her father. A bar that is still there today in our hearts and minds and I am proud to say I’m happy my grandfather was never a 49er.










Christopher Fusaro. The author of Captain Imperfecto.

© copyright 2012. All rights reserved.


Also see us at www.captainimperfecto.com

Friday, July 20, 2012

White Water Rafting, A Short Story

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July 20th, 2012

Down the stream we go, on our boat into the white-water rapids.  The view is spectacular but soon it will be washed away, once the rapids take command and demand our attention.  At first the smooth surface gives us the illusion that we’re on leisurely stream.  But out life vests and helmets reminds us other wise.  The anticipation amps up our adrenaline and the laughter and small chit chat turns to anxiety once the first ripples appear in the water; it’s right then we realize we aren't on a rowboat merrily, merrily, merrily,  merrily going down the stream. 

The strong current pushes us left and quickly back to the right.  Wait, maybe it was the other way around.  I'm not sure, there's too many other things to worry about like paddling to steer this raft! The white water isn't throwing us around too badly, yet.  I can still hold my balance.  But soon the waves and current turn violent as the waves crash over our heads and our body rocks side-to-side more harder. The yellow raft jolts up and down like a seesaw. The momentum, slowing to a crawl while the raft climbs up the wave and then as we descend it intensifies and like a spike drives into the water. The exhilaration is free flowing through your body as we take on the massive river.

Like a prelude to a rollercoaster’s sixty-foot drop, our body can barely hold the excitement because in our mind we know what's on the other side of the great wave: the exhilarating sensation of a free fall like no other. The nose of the raft tilts upwards as the white caps of the waves spill over the top, flooding the inside of our boat with water. Spray of liquid hydrogen covers our face, as the wetness soaks our clothes saturating our body. The overflow of water engulfs the tip of the boat as it crawls up the sides of the yellow rafts synthetic rubber and begins to flood in from all sides, filling our raft to the brim with water from the river but quickly thrown out when our boat is tossed upwards. 

This bathtub of a boat fits 12 and we’re sitting in sits low to the water because of the heavy weight that’s pushing us down. The waves' flexes' its muscles and lifts us up over its peak. The nose tips slowly downward tittering on the brink of our anxiety as our heavy bodies, and the shifting water, begins to pull us down, Sir Isaac Newton’s law in full effect, pulling us in a hurried pace. The screams of glee fill the air, over taking the roar of the angry waves crashing about us, while the mighty river, try as she might, attempts to tip us over.

The news strikes the surface and the raft drives into the small flat surface that has separated itself from the rest of the rocky waves, sandwiching the boat between the eye of the storm and bliss, and for a brief second of calmness we are surrounded by utter chaos.

The calmness ends once the water regroups and with a ferociously and vengeance the bonding of water pushes back, it knocks the raft backwards and we are in midair which causes our bodies to be suspended in time and place. We are free of the gravity that once held us until the backwards raft can’t climb any longer and slide back under our hovering bodies and catches before we can get away. The waves pound us again and the raft moves forward to get back in the fight.

Paddle! Paddle! Paddle!

We paddle hard and strike the water as our way to tame this beast.  But the river doesn’t care.  She is to big and strong.  Mother Nature has her back and she won’t be broken.  Try as we might our paddling is fruitless, we just use the poles to balance ourselves from being swallowed.


The momentum of our body stops as our backsides park back in the exact place that we were ejected from just a second ago. Our neck whips back, striking our protected heads, into the other heads that are bobbling around us. The pounding of the helmets makes a loud collective pop, entwining itself with the sound of the river. The smile on our face quickly washed away, as the water pushes its way through everything in its path. But the enthusiasm is still there, and the smile returns while we exhale the oxygen we held-in prior to the water rushing in with thunderous speed. The anticipation of the next high-flying rapid is coming our way for yet another go around, in this never ending wave pool.

When the wake subsides and calm waters return, we celebrate with hi-fives and laughter.  We didn’t win, we survived!  No for a prize we get to enjoy the lazy river.


Being a dad of 2 little boys allows my imagination to runaway with me.  There's nothing like enjoying a lazy day on the lazy river with my boys at this water park.  Even if your reality is the man made concrete river, you’re taking a leisurely float around, and not the white water rafting being played in your mind it is worth pretending that you are to feel the joy in your kids laughter.


Please Like and share my blog if you enjoyed









Christopher Fusaro. The author of Captain Imperfecto.

© copyright 2012. All rights reserved.


Also see us at www.captainimperfecto.com

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

Live Your Life

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July 18th, 2012

I’m falling in the black hole of uncertainty. I lost my footing months ago and have been falling ever since. Being on the edge of a life changing moment is enough to rattle the brain. And when you slip, you hope to find the bottom in a short fall, where you’ll land ever so lightly. Everyday, we flirt with disaster by teetering on the edge.

When you feel your body being pulled into the deep tunnel of the unknown, the panic sets in. You reach out with a sense of urgency grabbing hold of the ledge. Your feet are swallowed first and while they dangle beneath you, your body instinctively kicks feverishly at the sides of the wall, where the balls of your feet slip. With the sense of urgency, you beg God for some traction. Your fingertips plant into the ground as you try and anchor yourself in. Your grasping with all your might, trying to find the strength to pull yourself up. Your breathing is deep and rapid as you exhaust all your energy. You cling with all your might while resting your chin on top of the flat surface looking for someone, a loved one, or anyone to come save you, but your all alone. The fear sets in because you can’t do this alone. You wish you were treading water where at least you’d have a fighting chance to stay a float, but you know now, in this predicament, there is nothing below you and your fate is unknown.

The question you ask yourself is “how did I get here?” You try to negotiate for a white knight in shining armor to come and save you. You plead your case before your judged, hoping for a pass.

“God, if you save me I promise I’ll be good. I’ll never do the things I did before, I got here in this situation I‘m in. Please believe me that I did not intend for things to happen. I beg you for the strength to pull myself out. And I, in turn, will be a better human being for it if you find that you can help me. Please God, just give a chance to fix it.”

Silence…

…A breeze fills the air…

The trees sway….

…The horizon fades in the distance on this clear day.

Calm sets over you as you maintain your position, perched squarely on the edge. Your partial torso resting against a mound of dirt that jettisons out, partially giving you a little bit of relief. Your eyes are closed as you imagine what heaven is like. You feel your body getting weaker by the second. Your fingers begin to buckle from your weight because your feet can not find a wedge to place them in to alleviate some of the load off your fingers. You open your eyes and look to the sky taking a  deep breath where you begin to blurt out, “I put my faith in you!” and then…

You let go…

…Your fingers pull the dirt as your fingers rake across the ground, and the free fall begins…

the particles of sand showering you with debris that cover your face…

…the exhilaration of the free fall over takes you

Screams begin to brew from deep within your gut as its forced out from your mouth. Your screaming is swallowed by the deep crevasse of the never ending free fall. Your voice gives out because of the beating your vocal cords just took from the excessive vibrations from the yelling . The only sound echoing off the walls now is the wind from you body cutting through time and space, displacing the air as it bounces of the walls and whistles loudly in your ears.

The  light disappears as you fall deeper into the abyss. You appeal again for the greater good, bargaining for a chance to save your life.

Your body picks up speed as your  heart pounds so hard you can feel your chest move. The decision comes that if you want to change things you have to do it yourself. So you stretch your arms out like wings and glide your fingertips against the wall. They bounce of f the rough edges of the uneven surface until the skin breaks and you start to bleed. Strength begins to build in your muscular system now and your refuse to give up yelling out, “NOT TODAY!”

Your body jumps from it’s slumber. You inhale deeply with relief that it was just a nightmare. The feeling of falling and suddenly waking in your sleep.

There is still only silence as you look around your dark room pausing to take in the dream you just had. It seemed so brief but hours have passed since you closed your eyes and fell asleep.

While sitting up in your bed analyzing what just occurred, you realize that you may be in a decent that seems endless in your real life, but there is a way to stop it. All you have to do is do it for yourself. And when you suddenly stop the madness, you wake up from your sleep and realize you still have a life to live.

So live your for the greater good, for your God and for the ones you love.










Christopher Fusaro. The author of Captain Imperfecto.

© copyright 2012. All rights reserved.


Also see us at www.captainimperfecto.com

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

Taking on the Run, Short Story Part II

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July 17th, 2012

I am ready to go on the chase. I was just waiting for the canine officer to arrive with the dog so we can begin our chase...

When the dog handler arrives, he removes his barking dog from the car. His animal is excited. His adrenaline is pumping just like ours. The officer takes his dog for a brief walk so the German Shepard can get some of the anxiety out of him and use the bathroom.

“Right there was where he was last seen.” I point in the direction of the long stretch of sidewalk that runs along the store fronts.

As soon as the handler brings his dog to the area he catches the scent and takes off running. It’s a good sign when the dog runs, that means he is hot on his trail.

We run down the sidewalk, the dog on his lead, stretched out front about fifteen feet from us. We are trying to keep up. Not very easy when your carrying twenty-five pounds of extra weight from the vest, gun belt and a long gun in your hands.

As we pass the places of business we yell out to the people to “stand aside, get out of our way!”

The dog is running fast like a greyhound. His handler keeping his pace by pulling back on his leash ever so slightly so we can keep up. As we step off the curb and to the roadway the sound of the traffic is drowned out by the motor of the helicopter that is arriving on our scene to lend a hand from it’s birds eye view.

“STOP!” We yell at the cars as they creep towards us, the drivers inside not quite sure what they're seeing, as we move across the lanes. There isn’t enough cops to block traffic so we must make do. We cross the eastbound lanes over the medium into the west bound lanes headed to the neighborhood just across the street. The dog hot on the bad guys trail.

The canine moves from the road and into the neighborhood of the neatly manicured yards right across the way. He lost the scent somewhere in the houses between 100 and 112 East Way. He stops and paces back and forth trying to regain his scent. We stop in our tracks, our guns raised to a low ready position. The butt of the gun into my shoulder, my left hand gripping the stock, my left index finger laying parallel to the trigger. my right arm is extend out, grasping the long gun in front of me as the barrel is partially pointed to the ground, ready to be hoisted forward if we are ambushed by the gun welding robber.

“That is it for me” the canine handler said. "He may be in between the houses' backyards, but there are other dogs there. You guys will have to manually go in those yards and search yourself, without us.”

So, here I am into the third house of our search, with the helicopter hovering over us, the wind slamming down on top us, the wind ripping through our ear drums making it impossible to hear, as we move about the heavy brush. There is only two of us, along with the man in the sky, searching for a man with a gun. My heart is racing. My adrenaline pumping and my anxiety was through the roof, it was a good day to be looking for a guy on the loose. Which brings us back to this:

“Hey! Hey! Over here, look over here!” My partner shouting over the blaring engines of the helicopter as he waves his right hand.

I take my eyes of the helicopter, as we move about towards some heavy brush. The pilots think he is in there but it is hard to see. We were calling for the Canine handler to come in so his dog could check it out. The handler couldn’t hear us over the loud noise of the whirley bird over head. So we had to go in instead.

We filed in to the brush, taking cover by squatting low. Are guns raised up as we waddled through. It was hard to look for anything that moved when the wind of the helicopter was shaking the ground. We moved slow as we pushed through the branches of the trees. We moved our bodies side by side until we saw a clearing just a head of us, I got on my knees to get a better look and found a hidden walk through that took him to the back of the other business from our location. So we crawled through.

The Canine officer met us on the other side, where his dog picked up the scent of the bad guy and put us back on the trail again.. We went on our sprint behind the business about two miles from where all this robbery mess began.

We work our way through the rear of the business moving a long quickly. The dog is doing great, pulling us along until he stopped in his tracks. His four paws standing in a puddle of water in an empty parking spot.

We all looked at each other bewildered with no place to go. Not a word spoken until the Canine officer spoke to us with a defeated tone.

“You see the puddle of water, where the dog is standing in?", as he points, "That’s the condensation of an air conditioner. The get away car was parked right here. That bad guy we chased? He got way, he’s probably now, somewhere on the interstate.”

The End










Christopher Fusaro. The author of Captain Imperfecto.

© copyright 2012. All rights reserved.


Also see us at www.captainimperfecto.com

Monday, July 16, 2012

Taking on the Run, Short Story Part I

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July 16th, 2012

The helicopter was low. So low that I could see what the pilot had for lunch by what food was still stuck to his teeth as he stared at us from up above. I was in awe of it. The blades of the chopper creating a down force of wind so strong I felt like I was in the biggest windstorm of my life. The wind cutting through the thick brush as sharp as the helicopters blades that were cutting the air. Forcing the thick brush to separate and making it easier to see inside the foliage. My focus redirected by an over bearing voice trying to shout over the whirling sounds of the chopper.

“Hey! Hey! Over here, look over here!” I turn my head quickly to my left, as if the wind slapped me in the face for my attention. It was my fellow officer who was on the man hunt with me. Just moments earlier a check cashing store was robbed by a man in a black mask, welding a semi-automatic hand gun. We were hot on his trail behind a row of houses not too far from where the robbery occurred.

Before I ended up below this flying machine and got on this foot chase. I had arrived to the scene of the robbery first where I met a frantic female worker. She was screaming, shaking and nervous. This had been the second robbery this week for her and this time the bad guy put her in the bathroom and barricaded her inside.

“Ay dios mio!” is what I heard  her yelling in Spanish as I exited my police car.

In her terrified state she reverted back to her native Spanish even thought she spoke perfect English. The fear in her eyes, the nervousness in her voice was evident the moment I made contact with her.

“Breathe for me, now, relax”, I said in a calm tone. “I want to help you but you need to calm down. Take it slow and tell me what happened so I can get the information out to my officers.”

“The man, the man come in and put on a mask after I buzzed the door open.” Her particular store had been robbed a few times so the owners installed an electric door so they could buzz in the people using a remote control.

“As he walked in, he put on a mask and pulled a gun on me!” She screams out the last few words and begins to cry uncontrollably.

“ Palm’s West” I begin to say on the radio, “ So far I have a individual armed with a gun and robbed the victim, it is a confirmed robbery.”

As I continue to calm her down I ask her more questions so I can get the information out and set up a perimeter. In essence a large net of police cars that will box a suspect in the area he was last seen. This way hopefully he will be contained when we search for him with a canine dog and other officer’s.

“What kind of gun was it.”

“Did it look like mine.” Pointing at it while it is still in the holster.

“What color was he?”


“What was he wearing?”


“Did you see facial hair?”


“Which way did he run?”

After I collect all the information I needed I began my broadcast of the information on the police radio for all the other police personnel to hear.

“Palms West to units, we are looking for a black male, wearing all black, unknown facial hair because he had a mask over his face, armed with a semi- automatic hand gun. His last known location was running northbound form my position.”

You see, as a victim of a crime, the quicker you calm down and talk to me without screaming, the faster I can get the information out. Easy for me to say I know since I wasn't the one with the gun in my face. That whole sequence of events only took four minutes from the moment I arrived to her distress call on 911 to the second I broadcasted it out..

While other officer were setting up their  perimeter in strategic areas. I went to the rear of my police cruiser and removed my Olympic Arms AR-15. The kind of guns you see the boys in green, our military, carry.

I am ready to go on the chase. I was just waiting for the canine officer to arrive with the dog so we can begin our pursuit of justice.

PART II, JULY 17, 2012 AT 4:00PM EST.










Christopher Fusaro. The author of Captain Imperfecto.

© copyright 2012. All rights reserved.


Also see us at www.captainimperfecto.com

Sunday, July 15, 2012

Peering through the Window

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July 15th, 2012


I glance out the window watching my son Nico climb the six foot wood, stockade fence, trying to make his great escape. I can’t help but smirk when I see his little head pop up from the portions of the wood slats. Parts of his black hair peaking over the top, just before I see his beady brown eyes pier over the top. He shifts them left and right, looking for the perfect spot to climb over as he looks for the guards, or in this case his daddy.

I sit on the couch, my knees  placed on the cushions, my butt resting on my ankles leaning forward with my chin on the windows ledge. I duck my head low as I peek out the window hoping he won’t see me. I laugh every time I see his little head bob up and down over the fence like a fisherman’s bobber in the water, as the fish tease the line below the surface.

I continue my gaze until I notice the tape that is placed over the glass of the window frame. The spot one of the boys broke when they threw a toy. Mimie, my wife, had placed clear packaging tape over the crack to hold it in place. The tape holding the glass together like a protector against the wind during a hurricane.

I run my hands across the edge of the tape. Feeling the edges and the length. Tracing it over and over with my finger, imagining Mimie sitting here in my very place. Struggling with the spool of 3M tape, trying to dig the edge out with her nail. Pulling it from the side as it tears down the middle dividing it in two. The frustration of getting the perfect piece that will fit perfectly over the crease.

I imagine my hands gliding over the tape in the same manner that she did. I rub my hand back and forth, trying to feel any excessive sensation that may have been left over from the friction she created when she was laying the strip flat, rubbing her hand in that same spot. There isn’t much there because this happened months ago but I can picture it in my mind and it brings a smile to my face, thinking about my hand and her hand in that very place.

I count the rows of tape she had to use to reinforce it and chuckle at the excessive amount. I can still remember the conversation we had over the incident, but it never equated to the way I am reminiscing.

“Nico broke the window today.” Mimie said as I walked through the front door from a long day of work.

“Really? How?” I said as I walked towards the kitchen never giving it a second look.

“He threw a ball and it cracked. But like MacGyver, I fixed it with just a little tape.” She said with a happy tone in her voice.

I started to remove my gun belt and walked to the window and stare.

“Nice tape job. Those crazy kids.”

That was the extend of the conversation. I never thought I’d think of it in more detail now. The tape staring at me like history, drawn on a caveman’s wall.  I examine the layers of tape like a professor documenting a valuable piece of time. I picture her face working hard on her project, what was on her mind? What did she say to him? The markings documenting that she was there too in this time and place.

I know there will always be reminders that I will have to face. The broken window reminds me that today marks the fourth month she’s been gone. It is amazing how life just moves on. I’ll laugh today while looking at this piece of history, using Mimie’s tape as an X  to mark Nico’s location as he peeks over the fence so he can escape. Little does he know me and his mom are lying in wait.

*Taking On the Run, a two part series scheduled for July 16th, 2012 at 4:00pm eastern and Part II 4:00 pm July 17th, 2012











Christopher Fusaro. The author of Captain Imperfecto.

© copyright 2012. All rights reserved.


Also see us at www.captainimperfecto.com