“Mama & Papa” is a silly little short story that appeared in my book, Both Ways Home. I hope you enjoy this weird tale of bravado, bruised egos, and a lucky bet. Enjoy!

Mama & Papa

Hemingway’s Poolhall on Wurzbach Avenue became a regular haunt in my final days in San Antonio, but I never expected to meet the man himself in that nefarious establishment. His reputation solidified into a thunderhead force within minutes of his arrival. Every time he shoved someone out of the way to get another beer, his buddies laughed and egged him on as he mugged and posed and talked in a loud, clean baritone about the men he’d seen die in Spain and Africa and how he’d outlasted them all. He shouted “Bully!” whenever someone played Foreigner or Bad Company on the jukebox. The little song the electric dart machine chirped out from the corner every five minutes made him roar with delight and he’d sing back in imitation. His beard and teeth glowed blue in the neon of the bar.

I used to think of myself as a good soldier when it came to sticking it out with a book, even if became dull in spots. I would push through, skim a bit if it got too rough, and often enough I was rewarded for my efforts with a solid ending. But the older I get, the less patience I have with a book that is lacking in captivation (or even worse, in quality storytelling or writing) and I have become comfortable with putting down a book that has lost me within the first 100 pages (my designated "do or die" line in the sand).

And yet, I feel ashamed for quitting on some books, great pieces of literature that have been impactful and important, but sometimes I just can’t keep the ship afloat and it becomes time to scramble for an exit and a sturdy inflatable raft. Here are five classic novels that I wish I finished, that I may yet finish one day, but for now I am ashamed that I quit halfway through.