tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9213238345629410742024-03-05T05:20:00.514-06:00Poetic JusticeSlave to the WordDanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986014894382899336noreply@blogger.comBlogger227125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-921323834562941074.post-62845881262083955722017-05-21T20:00:00.000-05:002017-05-21T20:00:16.674-05:00Autopsy of Circumstance<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">The fresh-faced detective sleeps well at night, content
cuddling the fluffy notion that there is a vast difference between the hunter
and the hunted. He doses off believing that he has the ability to easily
discern between a grizzled, steely-eyed beast and a sterile white, halo-appointed
saint. He dreams that his pursuit of an angel has carried him deep into the
forest. When he can longer resist the desire to see her face, he reaches for
the tail of her flowing gown. In a splintered second the woven silk within his
grasp becomes a writhing serpent he can’t turn loose of. The flickering fork
strikes him between the eyes. As the debilitating venom courses through his
veins his world of candy skies turns brittle black. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">The transformation may not happen in the form of a dream
turned nightmare, but it most certainly will happen. Twenty-three years
investigating homicide has changed my perception of people. Race, gender,
upbringing, and social status—none of it matters. Fast-food worker to C.E.O,
every member of the human race has both a killer and a crusader living inside
them. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Every homicide case is a stark white canvas waiting
patiently for its artist. He or she should approach the easel as undecided as
the medium. Their duty is to deconstruct the fragile chain of events that culminated
in the ultimate crime against humanity. The goal is to tell a story as completely
and accurately as the facts allow. To do so they must begin at the end,
‘walking things back’, or performing an ‘autopsy of circumstance’ as I like to
call it. Every murder scene begins with a series of what if’s. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">If Clarence Allen’s belly hadn’t sounded like a concrete
mixer with a bad bearing, he wouldn’t have stopped off at a dingy saloon. If
the Angus burger and onion rings had been average, he likely wouldn’t have
ordered the first shot of liquor. If that shot went down like swallowing a
razor blade sideways, like whiskey is supposed to, he wouldn’t have ordered an
entire bottle. If Marla Zander’s perfume had not smelled so irresistibly of
ripened fruit and vanilla, perhaps Clarence wouldn’t have offered to share his
bottle. If there had been no invitation to drink, she would have been less
inclined to have brushed her breasts across his forearm each time she reached
for the bottle. Even then, if Marla had not gripped his upper thigh and
whispered something into his ear at closing time, perhaps a great many
regrettable things might have been avoided that night. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">In a place as dilapidated as the Plain Cactus the last thing
I expected was two hours and thirty-seven minutes of high definition video and
audio surveillance, but years ago I learned to take what a case gives you. The
owner, who insisted upon being called Ace, was in his early thirties. Ace was a
hard, sculpted man, sporting a perfectly manicured flat-top. In a world filled
with posers and prophets, Ace was a breath of fresh air. He wasn’t just playing
the role of a bad-ass. Ace was an ex-special forces sniper who returned from
Afghanistan with what he called ‘a heightened sense of awareness’. Heightened
sense of awareness, mild case of paranoid schizophrenia, who am I to judge? Only
the conceited or oblivious refuse to acknowledge their own eccentricities. As a
man deeply rooted in logic, I’ve always adored formulas. Ace’s paranoid
tendencies plus a disposition to tinker equaled 15 cameras in 1100 square feet,
which in turn equaled one ecstatic investigator. Ace informed me that Delilah Jones,
the barmaid during the evening in question would be arriving for shift anytime.
He said Delilah was a college student tending bar part-time to make ends meet.
What Ace didn’t tell me was that she happened to be working towards a double-major
in….wait for it…wait for it…..criminal justice and home land security. To
borrow a line from a dearly departed colleague hailing proudly from Tuscaloosa,
Alabama, ‘Are you kitten me? What fer? Cat fur to make kitten britches!’ I
could almost hear his deep-bellied chuckle, laughing at the good fortune thrown
my way. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Under normal circumstances the information Delilah provided
would have seemed too perfect, but the surveillance supported her every word. Video
and audio don’t lie, unless they’ve been tampered with, and I didn’t see any
evidence of such. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">I left the Plaid Cactus with a pretty good cache of solid
information. It appeared this was a first time meeting of victim and suspected killer.
Player number one: Clarence Lewis Allen, a thirty-one year old burly, bearded
man, probably 6’2” and pushing 275 lbs. A little subsequent research revealed a
self-describe loner who made a decent living doing freelance work for a small
computer consulting firm in the city. He worked almost exclusively remotely,
and according to his boss, produced his best code in the wee hours of the
morning from the basement of his mother’s home. I worked hard to suppress the
neon marquee scrolling in my mind, flashing ‘Classic Serial Killer Material’. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Enter player number two. Marla Marie Zander was a petite,
attractive, thirty-three year old blond with shoulder length banana curls. While
I try to shy away from stereotypes, Marla looked like a runner-up for an
eye-candy tryout for an 80’s hard-rock video. The footage showed her wearing cowboy
boots, painted-on jeans, and a pale blue tank top with the acronym Y.O.L.O.
emblazoned across the chest. Delilah said she was a single mom and a regular; a
no-nonsense gal who by choice drank whiskey and by necessity was a stripper
downtown that went by the stage name Cinnamon. Necessity, because each of her
three children had different daddies, none of them willing to commit to
anything beyond the initial 15 steamy minutes in the back seat of Marla’s 74
Chrysler New Yorker. According to Ace, Marla had a penchant for ex-military
guys. He estimated she’d done more entertaining of servicemen in the back seat
of her car than the U.S.O had in the last 40 years. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Right about now you’re thinking this detective stuff is
easy, practically solves itself, right? A sexually deprived, introverted, computer
geek living in his mom’s basement, stumbles into an attractive and willing
stripper who swills whiskey like water. At closing time the odd couple zig-zags
toward the door looking to finish the night on a high note. But in the backseat
of a car with more square footage than a New York studio apartment, something went
wrong. Maybe she laughs at his inexperience. Whatever the reason, in a fit of
rye-whiskey fueled rage the mountain of a man crushes her skull with one swift
blow. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">That’s where this seemingly simple case turns sideways. Two
grade-school boys playing Army in a rocky ravine discovered Marla’s vehicle
around noon the following day. Neither Marla, nor her body were in the
immediate vicinity of the vehicle, but Clarence Lewis Allen was still at the
scene— dead as a hammer, slumped over the steering wheel of Marla’s Chrysler New
Yorker, presumably succumbed to blunt force trauma and brain bleed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Claremont High School didn’t offer Rocket Science 101 or
Intro to the Painfully Obvious, but something told me I needed to pay ‘Cinnamon’
a visit. I considered showing up at her rundown excuse for a double-wide, but then
I’d have been preoccupied thinking about the chair I was sitting in being
swallowed up in a massive floor collapse. I’d also be competing for her
attention with a trio of significantly cuter, curly-headed, crumb catchers. The
scenery and odds would be much improved at the Teats and Beats Night Club. Who
knows, if the stars aligned completely I might get to meet the marketing
brain-trust behind such a catchy and tawdry name.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">I never really understood the fascination with these kinds
of places—lots of fake women with plastic smiles and replaceable parts, trolling
the crowd in predictable patterns, each working their wares until collectively
they had separated the drooling patrons from the contents of their wallets. Word
spread fast when the well had run dry, and like satisfied buzzards they flew back
to their roosts, cleverly disguised as elevated stages from which they could circle
and watch for fresh opportunities. Call me jaded, but that’s how I see it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">I do have to admit, Teats and Beats delivered rather quickly
on both counts of their namesake. While the kid checked my ID, a strange aroma
wafted past me and out the door. I swear it was a 50/50 mixture, albeit the unlikely
pairing of cheap dollar-store perfume and costly, freshly implanted, silicone. Before
I could get my ID back in my wallet, the source of the aroma introduced herself
as Cheyenne. She had to yell her name twice because the driving base of the
sound system was not only on the verge of dismantling the interior of the place,
but dislodging my kidneys from their anatomical resting place. I supposed it a
statistical impossibility to keep from noticing her newly added
‘features’. They rested comfortably on
either side of the drink tray she carried in front of her. Practically
speaking, I supposed they were high dollar side-rails to keep the drinks from
tipping over. A flash of my badge erased her smile and redirected her to a more
receptive group of young men. The only connection I could draw with her chosen
name of Cheyenne was that hardened missiles of that magnitude belonged in silos
in the middle of Wyoming. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">My eyes hadn’t
completely adjusted to the dim lighting in this den of taboo delights, but I
moved expectantly toward a very large man perched on a stool near the end of
the bar. Rocky seemed like a nice enough guy, and did indeed provide security
for the place. After explaining the nature of my business, he escorted me back
to the dressing rooms. One would think said employee was benefitting their
employer rather significantly to rate their own private dressing room. My
assumption would be financially benefitting the employer, but fringe benefits
within such an industry brings up an entirely different level of mental conjuring,
the images of which are difficult to un-think.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Call it O.C.D., but I gave three hard raps between the
double n’s in her stage name stenciled upon the door. “Marla, this is Lt.
Reynolds from homicide, we need to chat.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">There was a slight pause before an agitated voice answered
back, “Of course you’re a cop, loser. You’ve got two seconds to get away from
the dressing room door, or I’m calling security!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">I nodded toward my escort. He laid a heavy hand against the
door several times in succession. “Hey Cinnamon, this is Rocky, the guy’s legit
vice. You need to let him in.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">When there was no reply or indication of compliance, I put
my ear to the door and observed a good amount of shuffling sounds going on
inside. I whispered to Rocky, asking if there was a back door or a window.
After receiving a nod of affirmation, I turned the knob and verified the door
was locked. I turned back to find a boyish grin sprawling across a grown man’s
jaw. In one fluid motion he brushed me aside and leaned hard against the door.
For a second the duo appeared equally matched, but then Rocky grunted and the
door exploded into a million splinters. While Rocky stutter-stepped to regain
his balance, I slipped behind him into the room. Inside the threshold, with my
sidearm fully drawn I began scanning. Just beyond the front sight of my weapon,
Marla stood in front of an open window, perched atop a wooden crate, facing us.
The woman was startled and naked from the waist up, mouth gaping, and eyes
bigger than areolas. Before I could issue a command, she dropped the duffle bag
she was holding, put her hands in the air, and began sobbing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">I holstered my gun, grabbed a tee shirt and tossed it at
her. “Put a top on and save the tears, Marla. Let me get that duffle bag for
you. I’ve reserved a table for you and me in one of our finest interrogation
rooms.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Some people come by the truth more naturally than others. I’m
not saying that everything Marla Zander told me that night at the station was
an outright lie, but her initial claims definitely muddied the water. Sometimes
you have to be patient enough for the fish to come up for air. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">At 5:03 a.m., approximately four hours after Marla and
Clarence left the bar, she showed up at the station to file a police report.
She claimed to be sexually assaulted by Clarence and her vehicle stolen. The police
report was setting on the table between us.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">“So let me get this straight, Marla. On the night in
question, you stated you left the Plaid Cactus around 1:00 a.m. with Clarence. On
the way to your vehicle, he pulled a knife on you, forced you into the back
seat of your car, and raped you for approximately a half-hour. Once he finished
he ruffed you up a little, tossed you out on the ground naked, and drove away
in your vehicle? Is that correct?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Marla never made eye contact with me. “Yep, if that’s what the
report says, that’s what happened!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">I thought her response odd, but I left it to simmer a bit,
and instead pushed the narrative forward. “So you would have me believe that
Clarence was so drunk that he accidently drove a quarter of a mile across a pasture
and plunged over a small cliff, or he suddenly got in touch with his sensitive
side and was so grief stricken with what he’d done to you that he committed
suicide by driving into a ravine. Do either of those scenarios sound plausible
to you?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">“I said he kicked me out of the car in the parking lot. I
don’t know what happened to Clarence after he left. I was traumatized, have you
ever been raped, Lieutenant?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">“No maa’m, I haven’t. But if I was raped, I’d certainly want
to do whatever necessary to catch the perpetrator. The reporting officer states
you declined evidence collection via a rape kit. Can you tell me why you didn’t
want the analysis done?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">“I’m not answering anymore questions until my lawyer
arrives.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">I rolled a cigarette the length of the table and offered a
light. “Suit yourself, but it’s the middle of the night, Marla, and he’s got a
two-hour drive to get here.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">We sat in silence until she finished the smoke. “Marla, to
be honest, there are a lot of holes in your story. I’m just trying to fill them
in. I figure the rape had taken place by 1:30 a.m., why didn’t you report it
until 5:00 a.m.?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">“Ace and Delilah had left, Clarence had my car, and my cell
phone battery was dead. I had to borrow the phone at the nearest farm house.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">“About a quarter of a mile up the road, Mr. & Mrs.
Tyler’s place, right? I’ve already talked to them. The report said you were
naked when Clarence kicked you out of the car, right?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">I retrieved Marla’s duffle bag. I unzipped it and began to
sift through the contents. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">“Hey, keep your mitts off my stuff!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">“Right now it’s evidence, Marla. You were naked right?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">“Yes, Clarence stripped me before he raped me!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">As I suspected, the duffle bag was filled with various
outfits Marla wore during her performances. I tossed a pair of shorts and
bikini top in front of her. “When Mrs. Tyler answered the door she remembered
specifically what you were wearing. Do these look familiar at all?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">“Yeah, minus the hat, it’s my cowgirl getup for Friday night
sets, but I swear to you I didn’t have a stitch of clothes on when I knocked on
the Tyler’s door!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">“Marla, surely you know Ace has video cameras all around the
Plaid Cactus, right? What if I told you that within the last month he added two
cameras outside? Would that help you remember anything differently?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Her atmosphere changed significantly, from one of defiance
to submission. I noticed a tear rolling over the apple of her cheek. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">“Look Marla, I don’t believe for a minute you killed
Clarence, but I do believe you know who killed him. Help me to help clear you in
this investigation?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">I rolled another cigarette her direction. Marla’s hands were
trembling so severely it took a concerted effort to do what normally came
natural. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">“After that much whiskey you probably don’t remember, but
the video inside shows you leaving the bar at 12:47 a.m. and return at 12:55
a.m. in the cowgirl getup. Soon after you re-entered the bar, you attract some
unwanted attention from a couple of bar flies, one who slaps your butt loud
enough it can be heard on the audio. Clarence moved in and sent the men grumbling
back to their pool game…not something I would expect from a man who is about to
violently rape you. You both take your former seats. At 12:57 you lean over and
kiss Clarence, squeeze his upper thigh, and whisper something in his ear. The
two of you immediately get up and leave together.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">After an extended exhale, Marla spoke. “You absolutely have
to protect me from him or I won’t say a word!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">“Clarence is dead, Marla, he can’t hurt you anymore.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">“Look, Clarence seemed like a nice enough guy, kind of a
computer geek, but with a kinkier side. He mentioned role playing in the
bedroom earlier in the evening, so I guess I went to the car and got my cowgirl
outfit. I don’t remember that at all. We piled into the back seat and started
making out. He was awkward and apologetic at first, because even though I was
straddling him and rocking back and forth, it was apparent all his parts
weren’t in working order, if you know what I mean? Then there was nothing, the
guy passed out on me just that quick. I was still moving back and forth when I
heard an explosion and felt glass pellets pepper my back. Next thing I know someone
grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked me through the window and onto the
ground. It was Harley, the daddy of my youngest. Harley’s mean when he’s sober,
and I could tell he was 10 miles south of sober. He opened the car door,
yelling ‘I knew it…I freakin’ knew it…who does that bitch think he is!’ Harley
grabbed my shorts out of the floorboard, worked Clarence’s lips apart and
stuffed the shorts into his mouth. ‘That’s about as close as you’re gettin’ to
bein’ in my old ladies pants!’ He screeched. Then Harley turned his attention
to me. He snatched me off the ground, bent me over the hood, and told me that I
was gonna get just what I was lookin’ for. He had his way with me more than
once, the second time slamming my face off the car with every thrust. When he
finished with me he demanded the keys to the car. He pointed to the back seat
of the car and said he needed to take the trash out. He slapped the keys to his
truck into my hand and told me to meet him in an hour and half. He’d be waiting
in the ditch along the side of the road just past the intersection of Laurel
and Switchback Lane, and if I didn’t show he’d hunt me down and kill me! I met
him and when I did, he had concocted the story I gave in the police report. But
Lieutenant, if you’ve got an ounce of decency in you, you have to keep me safe
from Harley. If he knows I ratted him out you’ll be investigating my murder.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">“Things are much clearer to me now. That explains the
extended time between the assault and reporting of it. No rape kit, because
that would have shown Harley to be the rapist and your whole statement would
have unraveled. Let me level with you on a couple of things, Marla. Mrs. Tyler
didn’t say anything about your outfit, actually she confirmed you were naked
when she answered the door, but I wanted to prompt you to tell me about the
shorts. Those shorts and what happened with them were of paramount importance.
You see, although Harley went to the trouble of pushing his victim over a cliff
in a remote location, Clarence was dead at least an hour before. The autopsy
showed the cause of death to be asphyxiation. The medical examiner removed
several white sequins from his windpipe, the very same as the ones adorning you
cowgirl shorts. I needed to know how they got there. Telling you that Ace
installed outside cameras was total fabrication, a calculated bluff. I was very
certain things didn’t go down as you first stated, but had no real way of
proving it, until now. There is enough evidence in your car with your
statements today to wrap this case up. If you’re willing to press charges for
aggravated sexual assault on top of capital murder, we’re going to put Harley
Daniels where he belongs for the rest of his days.”</span></span><o:p></o:p></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986014894382899336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-921323834562941074.post-44958426346405843222016-07-16T06:49:00.001-05:002016-07-16T06:49:55.506-05:00Penthouse Suite 3643<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Alex
Brumbaugh could literally feel a grin creeping across his face as he rolled
through the scenario in his head—frame by beautifully, vindictive frame. First,
he would ambush Michael Finch near the water cooler. Alex would forego the
usual morning pleasantries, and instead help himself to a handful of Michael’s
shirt collar while administering an incapacitating head-butt. With his
co-worker folded neatly on the floor, Alex would sidestep him as casually as a
gardener navigates a smoldering pile of compost. By now, the temporary
receptionist, Alicia, would have shrieked and bolted for the cover of the
ladies room. Poor girl would never see the leg-sweep coming until she was
spiting carpet fuzz and barrel rolling toward the unforgiving steel of ‘file
cabinet row’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Alex
fully intended to use the chaos of confusion to his advantage. Harried workers
scrambling in and out of cubicles would provide cover as he moved down the
hallway with purpose—destination, last door on the right, the over-sized and
elaborate dwelling space of Johnny Flynn, one of middle managements’ most
pathetic offerings. He’d begin the final assault by stapling Johnny to his
burgundy, Italian-leather, high-backed office-chair. With the threat of
interference neutralized, Alex would smash the glass and rip the samurai sword
from the display case. He would swirl the weapon overhead until he connected
fully with the fury of the blade. Fueled by a steady rush of adrenaline he’d
drive forward engaging the target until the once pampered bonsai tree became
nothing more than a pile of splinters. For the finale, he’d slap his boss
across the face with an open hand, on the way to retrieving a letter opener. In
a full frontal assault Alex would drive the opener, handle deep, into the
electronic brain of Johnny’s Keurig Elite while screaming, “Coffee anyone!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“Next
time they’ll think twice before recommending Las Vegas as the ultimate vacation
destination”, Alex muttered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">The
woman standing next to him at the luggage carousel shot a sideways glance. He
countered with a sheepish grin, as an insurance policy in case he had
verbalized more of the scenario playing in his head than intended.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">No
matter how dismal this trip turned out to be, the portly, forty-three year old
CPA would return to the office his customary half-hour early, and from there it
would be business as boring usual. Alex wasn’t capable of delivering a
head-butt, or a leg-sweep, and he considered blades of any kind a special brand
of dangerous. During the Winter Olympics Alex would flip the channel or leave
the room at the first mention of figure skating. His friends would say, “You’re
being foolish, Alex. It’s all about lace, glitter, and graceful dance.” But
Alex knew the awful truth. On any given day someone could lose their balance or
grip—and then what—bloody, severed, torsos spinning across the ice, entrails
chasing behind them. Only in the gruesome aftermath of high definition would
anyone come to their senses. Then, in a multi-national consensus of
twenty-three different languages, the stunned announcers would declare, “Sure
wish we’d left the room with Alex—what a
visionary!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Alex
Brumbaugh III lived in a hermitically sealed world consisting primarily of
glass office buildings, stuffy clientele, horrendously late nights, and
microwavable meals. His version of living on the edge was when he mixed up meal
plans and ate Thursday’s Salisbury steak on Tuesday. Alex operated in the
shadows of lesser things. Instead of clawing his way nearer the limelight,
rather sadly, he chose to settle there and eventually setting the bar
unrealistically low became a way of life. His only expectation for the ‘city
that never sleeps’, was to avoid the dubious distinction of being the first to
cause her to slumber.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">The
woman standing next to him reached for her carry-on and found a new waiting
spot. Despite a cushion of several bodies between them, she continued to swivel
her head. Alex supposed the nervous glances were an attempt to locate the
nearest security officer. “Fantastic”, Alex thought, “Ten minutes on the ground
and I’m being escorted off to have my cavities searched by some rent-a-cop with
extraordinarily large hands.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">He
glanced back at the carousel and saw an opportunity for escape. Alex gathered
his bag and settled into the middle of a pack of travelers heading toward the
exit, breaking only from the anonymity of the group when he spotted an
available cab waiting just beyond the sliding glass door. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">An
electric circus played on either side of the boulevard and well into the height
of a midnight sky. Miniature cyclones of neon light penetrated deep into the
blanket of night before colliding and melting into a warm glow. Sparks and
splinters of light cascaded down, content to have been seen in their finest
moment before drowning in the pools of elaborate fountains. Alex cracked the
window and a symphony of sound flowed through. An enticing din of life and
laughter filled the empty space between the commanding booms of cannons.
Sometimes even a tiny slice of life is too much for a man with a brittle soul.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Suddenly
his focus became the thin pane of glass separating him from the chaos of the
strip. Alex recognized the jittering in his belly, and feared a full-blown
panic attack waited for him in the next block. He closed his eyes, and tried to
forget all he’d seen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“First
timer, huh?” The cab driver smiled from the rear-view mirror.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“Yep”
Alex replied with his eyelids still clinched.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“A
few words to the wise” The cabbie offered. “Stick to the strip; it’s well-lit
and heavily policed. Don’t get too drunk and take to the streets. Just like any
large city, people do get robbed and killed. Definitely avoid making eye
contact with the ‘Flippers’, unless you’re into that sort of thing. Oh….and
welcome to Vegas, buddy!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Alex
did not intend to wander far from his hotel and as a rule didn’t drink alcohol.
“What’s a flipper?” he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“Generally
Hispanics, illegals for the most part, paid under the table to advertise for
strip clubs and escort services—it’s not legal to verbally advertise
prostitution so they click or flip the cards to get your attention and do their
best to shove a card or two in your hand. It’s a real shame that every day thousands
of cards and flyers end up tossed onto the streets and sidewalks. If you don’t
see flippers, Vegas ain’t open for business! And we all know she don’t sleep”,
the cab driver laughed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">The
cab slowed in front of the hotel and the prospect of leaving the
flimsy-windowed sanctuary became real. Alex lost his grip on the reigns of his
imagination, and doing a hard double take at the rear-view mirror did nothing
to change the fact the driver had morphed into a helicopter pilot. The
penetrating stare into the back seat screamed, “Like it or not I’m maneuvering
this aircraft into a hovering position.” Suddenly Alex became expendable, just
another fresh-faced and naïve soldier about to be dumped into a jungle of
sensory overload. Better to suck up his fears and jump voluntarily rather than
try and recover from a combat boot to the middle of his back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Alex
fished in his pocket and passed some cash to the driver. He glanced at the ID
badge hanging from the mirror. “Thanks for the advice, Mario, and keep the
change.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Via
a deep breath, Alex summoned the courage to fling open the door to a place he’d
already decided would swallow him up. Rather quickly, he waved off the
bellhop’s assistance, perhaps too quickly as the gaps between the brick pavers
made it impossible to keep a wheeled bag upright. Alex righted the carrier
several times. He recalled how ridiculous his neighbor looked each morning as
she waved nervously to him while pretending to be in control of the Great Dane
that walked her up and down the block. He considered grabbing the handle and
just carrying it, but if the bag were too heavy, the foolish move would only
compound the embarrassment. He glanced in the direction of the bellhop and
offered the same nervous wave as the dog walker back home. The gentleman leaned
against one of the columns as if the engineer had penciled him into the
blueprints. His arms were decidedly crossed, and he unfolded them only
occasionally to draw angrily on his cigarette. Alex lunged forward and
attempted a higher rate of speed. This time when the bag rolled, it carried a
significant amount of momentum. The swift rotation of the handle tweaked Alex’s
wrist hard enough that he squealed. It wasn’t at all a manly noise, like the
grunt of a wide receiver as he absorbs the energy of a hard pass in his belly.
It was more reminiscent of a high-heeled woman climbing for the sky when a
mouse scampers into the open. Even as Alex contemplated blaming a squeaky wheel
on his bag, the blaring of an automobile horn only inches from his backside
frightened him so badly that he screeched again. This time the sound rebounded
against the overhang and the echo lingered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“You’re
gonna get your stupid-self killed”, shrieked the doorman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">He
brushed Alex aside to reach for the door handle of the Mercedes SL 550
convertible. Saddling up to the owner he spoke in a hushed voice, but not
nearly soft enough that Alex couldn’t hear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“That
buffoon didn’t scratch the bumper did he? I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Dellheimer.
Let me get your door. I’ll see to it your bags are delivered to your suite
a.s.a.p.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Alex
glared steadily at the back of the bellhop’s head. He pictured himself
unleashing the flurry of angry and vile words swirling in his mouth, but opted
to swallow the poisonous sentiment instead. Alex had simply been out-classed
and no amount of bellyaching would change that. The driver of the murder-mobile
faced-up as sleek and polished as the automobile he commanded. His features
were sharp and precise; attractive, Alex supposed, or rich enough to warrant
the company of a beautiful female dangling from his right arm. A high-powered
businessman, no doubt—the kind of creature having no purpose in life if someone
removed the cell phone attached to the side of his head. Presently, he barked
into the device in short, angry bursts, as though he treated everyone with the
same amount of disrespect. His poor mother, Alex thought. He only hoped that by
now, she had grown too hard of hearing to realize his grumbling, and too feeble
minded to recall the disappointment of how her son conducted
himself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Alex
directed his attention to his bag. Gripping the handle, he gritted his teeth
and visualized the receiver taking the quarterback’s pass in his gut.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“Hey
you…walking away; I think this call is for you!” The businessman yelled
out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Alex
turned to find the phone extended in his direction. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“Yeah,
it seems Mr. Rogers has a gig on dancing with the stars and he needs his outfit
back!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Red-faced
and deflated, Alex wheeled around before the chorus of laughter reached a
crescendo. He gripped the handle with both hands, fingers interlocked as if
they were around the businessman’s throat, crushing his windpipe. Alex
navigated the revolving door without incident, but when the spinning cylinder
spit him onto the marble tile, his left knee buckled, causing him to stumble
noticeably. The bellhop watched him falter and took the opportunity to overtake
him, singing quietly between snickers as he passed, “Won’t you be my neighbor.”
The driver and his companion strolled past as well. When the couple broke off
towards the elevator, Alex cleared his throat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“Excuse
me, Sir, may I ask what cologne you’re wearing. The aroma seems quite
familiar.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">At
the prompting of his companion, the man reluctantly broke stride and turned
back. Following an extended sigh and a heavy roll of his eyes, the stranger offered
to answer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“It’s
Clive Christian, 1872. And I suspect you’re bluffing about the familiarity
because I suppose the management of any establishment selling such an exquisite
and rare fragrance would have better sense than to hire the likes of you, unless
they had floors that needed sweeping.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Alex
feigned a puzzled expression. “Hmmm…I’d have sworn it smelled like the south
end of a north bound skunk, and as for rarity, I supposed you might find it
along most any rural highway in North America. My mistake entirely. Carry on
smartly, good Sir. Or in your case, do the best that you can.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">As
the elevator door opened he yanked the woman’s arm—a subtle form of punishment
for coercing him to stop in the first place. Before the door closed, she
glanced at her suitor as to avoid his watchful eye. While he pressed the button
for their floor, she delivered a faint smile, an approving wink, and an almost
imperceptible wave of her free hand—all of them directed at Alex.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Alex’s
sweater pulsed visibly with every ragged beat of his heart. He couldn’t
remember having ever insulted anyone so directly, nor could he recall such a
deserving and smarmy recipient. But most remarkably, a mesmerizingly beautiful
woman had acknowledged him. Filled with the hope of promise, Alex puffed his
chest, grabbed his bag, and marched to take his place in
line. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">He
received a room assignment and as he signed the paperwork, felt a hand settle
on his shoulder. Thoughts of the gentleman coming back for revenge gripped him.
He braced in anticipation of the kidney punch that would plunge halfway through
him at any second. Instead, he felt a tickle on his ear, followed closely by a
whisper.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“In
light of the absolutely dreadful encounter with my boyfriend, I’d like to buy
you a drink. After you’re settled, of course. You’ll find me in the piano bar.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">A
double kidney punch would have proved less embarrassment. The hotel attendant
overheard the invitation and offered an exaggerated wink. “What happens in Vegas
stays in Vegas, Sir.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Thoughts
were arriving at blinding speed as Alex unpacked his bag; his mind like a
wood-chipper stuck in overdrive. It absolutely had to be a setup; six drooling
goons waiting in a dark corner of the piano bar, sitting around afterwards
grinning and picking their teeth with his remains. Maybe the delicious young
woman served as bait for a larger operation, feeding naïve men drinks until the
abductors arrived to usher them into an unmarked van that would transport them
deep into the desert where merciless torturing took place. She appeared too
sophisticated to dance with poles for a living, and too soft to collect the
souls of men for sport. Outside of a beauty pageant on television, Alex had
never encountered a woman so stomach-churningly exquisite and poised. While Alex
was pigtails and braces, this woman had been carved from ivory and polished
with a fine cloth. He paused in front of the mirror, scolding the reflection,
as he often wrestled with himself. “It’s one drink…I’m going.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Alex
lingered at the entrance until his eyes adjusted to the lower level of light.
He stared hard into the three corners visible from the door, scanning for
gangly shadows. Five people total in the entire place, including a bartender in
a tuxedo. On the far side of the bar where it made a ninety-degree turn, a pair
of empty martini glasses marked her seat. She spotted Alex, offered the same
faint smile, and summoned him with a very slow and seductive retraction and
extension of her index finger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“Whatever
he wants put it on my tab, please.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“All
night, Miss Lundquist, or just one drink for the gentleman?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">She
smiled broader and deeper as she made eye contact with Alex, “More than one, if
he’ll have my company that long.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Initially,
Alex found speaking or looking directly at her a most difficult proposition,
but each time he threatened to go she provided more incentive to stay. An
innocent touch of his hand over another drink, leaning forward so that her
dress drooped in the front, and giggling the first time she caught him looking.
She invited him to dance; Alex refused. The first time due to insecurity, but
the second and third because he learned to play the game of give and take more
wisely. Alex traded a dance for allowing Lola, if that was her name, to guide
his hand gently to places it had never been. They drank and laughed, and
laughed and drank, until the two required chairs with backs. For the first time
in his life, Alex felt like a man, and in her short amount of years, Lola
finally felt heard. She shared a story of discontent, of abuse, and eventually
a longing for escape. There, in the dim light of a piano bar, the two concocted
a plan as evil as the gin coursing through their veins.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“He’ll
leave the high rollers room between 4:00 and 4:30am. I need him to find the two
of us in bed together. I’m offering that to you, Alex, but either way we have
to give the appearance. I assure you he’ll be completely soused. Might knock
over some furniture, but that will support our story. Vince will definitely
come after you first, especially after you insulted him at the elevators.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Lola
reached in a sequin-covered purse and flashed a stainless revolver. “But that’s
when I take him out for good. Let him hit you once or twice, that’s all I’m
asking, so that the self-defense story is plausible.” Lola offered a glance at
a large roll of hundred dollar bills. “I’ll pay for any medical expenses, in
addition to a hundred grand for your trouble.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Lola
saw the hesitation building in Alex’s eyes. She took his face in her hands and
drew him close.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“I
really do want to make love to you, Alex. You’re genuine and sweet, and I’ve
never been with anyone like that. Your first time should be something you
always remember, and I can promise you that!” Lola giggled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Alex’s
head dipped without the support of Lola’s hands, bobbing several times before
settling a few degrees lower than it began. Lola tossed a wad of cash on the
bar and helped guide Alex in the direction of the elevator. He tried to
protest, but the alcohol gobbled up the majority of his words, leaving only incoherent
syllables dribbling down his chin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">He
remembered lying naked on the bed, his head resting on an unbelievably plush
pillow. When he opened his eyes again, locks of long blonde hair blocked off
his peripheral view. The close proximity and effects of alcohol had robbed him
of the ability to distinguish the subtle contour of Lola’s features, but he
could see them fresh in his mind. He felt the heat of her body where it touched
his. Her ample breasts were making impressions in his chest, burrowing dangerously
close to his heart. Her voice arrived soft and undecided as she requested
permission to make his parts function again. Alex managed a nod, or maybe his
head slipped on the silk pillowcase, but in either case, Lola inched back down
his frame and breathed life into him again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Alex
regretted his inability to play a greater role. When Lola placed her knees
outside of his, he couldn’t stop himself from unpacking the bundle of guilt he
dragged into the bedroom, but the moment she rested her palms on his chest and
lowered into position; the indulgence of guilty pleasures swept him away. As if
consumed by a rhythmic song playing in her head, Lola rocked and swayed. Stanza
after stanza, layer by layer, she peeled away every misgiving like an anemic
fog bending to the will of the sun. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Lola
had rolled from his chest an hour earlier and was sleeping in a fetal position
facing the wall. When he awoke, Alex had a vague recollection of the plan; a
plan he would have run a hundred miles an hour away from if not for the alcohol
and her charisma. The alarm clock showed 3:30 am. Alex had time to slip on his
clothes and head back to his room. Even as he scraped against one side of the
hallway then the other, he reasoned with his unreasonable self, that in no
shape or form should he be responsible for Lola. Just as the elevator chimed,
Alex blurted out loud. “I owe the lovely Lola absolutely nothing.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Alex’s
heart raced as he heard the door open and close again. The beating in his head
turned moments into millenniums. The instant the black leather jacket moved
through the opening Alex squeezed off the first round. His foot slipped from
the edge of the Jacuzzi tub where he’d been perched, but he hopped quickly onto
the tile and kicked open the bathroom door. The bullet struck Vince in the
back, just above his right shoulder blade. Alex observed Lola sitting upright
in bed, her mouth dropped open in horror. Alex turned back to Vince, his arm
whipping the air, stretching to reach the edge of the bed. Alex thrust the gun
at arm’s length, cocked his head and winced as he yanked the trigger. His
second attempt sent a scorching round of lead squarely through the back of the victim’s
head. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">The
room began to spin horizontally, then at a forty-five. Alex stumbled backwards
until he contacted the wall; his knees gave way and he slid to the floor. Lola
snagged her purse from the nightstand and leapt to his side. Between frantic
sobs, she scolded him, “Alex…..sweet Alex….what have you done? This wasn’t the
plan at all!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">She
steadied the trembling of his hands long enough to pry his fingers from the
grip. Lola wiped the weapon down with a towel and jammed it into her
purse. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Despite
Lola nearly pulling his arm out of the socket, Alex couldn’t will himself to
move. With his good arm, he motioned for her to leave without him—eventually
she did. He heard her tiny footsteps rushing down the hallway, each of them
carrying her further from danger. Free from the obligation of protection, Alex
fell into a deep stare, studying the steady stream of warm blood leaking from
Vince’s forehead, swirling and pooling, before it seeped into the snow-white
carpet of penthouse suite 3643.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #212121;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986014894382899336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-921323834562941074.post-38961878488748214972016-06-25T06:41:00.000-05:002016-06-25T06:41:24.891-05:00Infernoesque<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Those living in
the six-hundred block of Sidewinder Lane were overexposed; at least whereas it
pertained to the personal affairs of a particular couple living there. The
Feldman’s drove a chestnut colored sedan, owned a poodle named Sherman, and
raised two children who were presently away at college. Two people as ordinary
as paper, except that each subscribed to the school of thinking that the louder
of two points most often prevailed. It happened during the spring and fall of
the year when windows were thrown wide open and voices carried. Primarily their
disagreements revolved around toothpaste etiquette, missed trash days, and the
like. Pretty average, if not boring, fare, I decided. But all of that changed
one Saturday afternoon in late September when the dissemination of information
spilled into the street like poison. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“Yes, she’s an
attractive woman, Margaret, but the world is full of attractive women. In fact,
many years ago, you used to be….”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">In an attempt to
cut off his words, I sincerely hoped Mr. Feldman swallowed his tongue. Even
then, I wasn’t convinced a medical emergency could save him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“Used to be what,
Harold?” She screeched. “Attractive? Enough for you? I’ll tell you one thing I
refuse to be—that’s naïve!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">I’d just finished
raking leaves when their words turned sideways. Without question, the proper response
would have been for me to return indoors, but knowing the correct course of
action and executing it are two different matters altogether. For two full
years, I had endured every minor quibble. Now, having stumbled upon it, I felt
entitled to a serving of meat and potatoes as it were. Glancing across the
street, I discovered company—a familiar set of eyes hovering just above the
hydrangeas. Mrs. Jones had found a unique and depraved use for her gardening
stool—sandwiched between the garage and the landscaping she appeared to have
settled in for the duration. I had never officially attended an eavesdropping
before, but in the absence of experience, I supposed common courtesy prevailed.
As such, I raised my hand in her direction. It became painfully apparent that
she perceived my offering as an egregious and unforgivable breach of etiquette,
as Mrs. Jones left me standing like a school-crossing guard frozen in time.
This period of penance dragged on long enough that the connective tissue in my right
shoulder became a series of angry and knotted muscles. Perhaps out of pity,
even then rather reluctantly, she returned the awkward gesture, and I
understood our exchange to be a shared oath of silence rather than a greeting. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">We, Mrs. Jones
and I, would soon learn the mystery woman Mr. Feldman found attractive happened
to also be his twenty-something secretary, Giselle. A damning bit of
information that in my opinion only bolstered his underdog status. Mrs. Feldman
taught Literature at the university, and I supposed painting pictures with
words for a living made for a decided advantage in any argument. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“Come on, Harold.
Giselle hurdled past attractive in junior high and never looked back. Hot
doesn’t even begin to describe her. The woman is….she’s….she’s…infernoesque!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">It wasn’t a word,
but it didn’t matter. By the time Mrs. Feldman finished describing it, you’d be
looking for an opportunity to slip it into any conversation where it half-way
fit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“Those four-inch
stiletto heels barely provide enough clearance to prevent leaving scorch marks
everywhere she steps. Does she still wear those dangerously short skirts, and
the black stocking, turned down at the top to allow the steam to escape? And
who could possibly forget that first glimpse of skin lying just above the stocking
turndown—a healthy, three-finger width gap of flesh—delightfully and evenly
tanned, except when a man’s thumbs press it white again. Should we dust for
prints, Harold?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“That’s enough,
Margaret. Can we stop this now?” Mr. Feldman pleaded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">She steamrolled
his objection as if she’d gone deaf to the tone of his voice. “What a lucky bit
of flesh indeed, as it plays quietly in a ‘W’ shaped shadow with the lower
portions of the letter squared off—a shadow cast down by a plump and juicy
apple-shaped derriere.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Mrs. Feldman was
exceedingly good. Despite never having laid eyes on Giselle, in less than a
minute she carved the curvaceous, young trollop out of thin air. Suddenly, I
felt dirty for considering the image frolicking in the dead space between my
ears. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Mrs. Feldman made
it abundantly clear that she had nothing against attractive women, or an
apple-shaped derriere. At one point, she even stated that she could understand
a stolen glance now and again, but it became apparent that her understanding of
such a glimpse did not extend to the man whom she shared a bed with, when she
lashed at him with a renewed fervor. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“Did you look at
it, Harold?” His wife bellowed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">I sympathized
with Mr. Feldman’s predicament, if for no other reason than we shared the same
man parts. Saying nothing at all equated to a guilty plea, yet uttering a word
in either direction instantly made him a liar or a pig.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Sadly, Mr.
Feldman folded like a dove on opening day. His admission of guilt came out
mushed, as if she had his face firmly in her grasp, and by now, I supposed she
did. Her white knuckles milking the poison from his lips.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“Do you know how
incredibly unbelievable it is that after a glance or two, you might suddenly
find your conscience—unless, of course, it was pasted on the back side of your
zipper. Are you naïve enough to think I can’t smell her on your clothes? Tell
me, Harold, was there even a fleeting thought of me when you gripped her thighs
and pressed those bits of flesh white again? Did taking hold of something so
young and electric make your blackened heart race? And did you once consider
our children, as that wayward worm of yours burrowed deep into the core of that
rotten apple? The thought of it turns my stomach irreversibly inside out!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">I can only assume
that Mrs. Feldman turned loose of his cheeks long enough to slap one of them
soundly. A sharp snap sliced through the chilly air between houses, arriving
with enough force to temporarily dislodge Mrs. Jones from her gardening stool
and rattle the tines of my rake. In the silence that followed, I sensed a
checkmate. If he responded at all, I anticipated a frantic plea from a man
caught, in the most literal sense, with his pants around his ankles. But Mr.
Feldman recovered and countered rather quickly, his voice carrying an air of
sincerity that had been missing earlier.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Even with his
wife’s stomach lining exposed, he suggested that the abuse of alcohol and
prescription pills were more likely the cause of her digestive disorder than
his indiscretions. He recommended that if she ever stumbled upon a minute’s
sobriety she might eventually see her part in it. Mr. Feldman closed by
assuring her that a decade of frigidity and inattention will almost always
trigger a man’s appetite for apples.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">To my knowledge,
Mrs. Jones and I were the only neighbors outside that day. In the days, weeks,
and months that followed, we always found something else to talk about. Neither
of us admitted seeing Mr. Feldman throw a duffle bag in the back seat, before
crawling behind the wheel of the chestnut colored sedan and driving away. I
never told anyone that when he turned the corner and headed for the highway
that an avalanche of emotion filled my belly and backed up in my throat. Or
that I stared for a long while at the mound of spoiled breakfast covering my
shoes—trying to make sense of what had transpired. I simply couldn’t shake the
tremendous sense of loss, and eventually scattered the pile of leaves as to
erase the evidence I’d ever been there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Within a few weeks,
a knock came at our door. Mrs. Feldman announced she’d be searching for an
apartment in the city. Closer to her teaching job at the university she said.
After signing a lease and settling in, she’d return for her belongings. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Her words sounded
too rehearsed and I couldn’t get past the runaway look in her eyes. Even when
she tried to bluff, the wringing of her hands said something altogether
different. “Could you help move some of the heavy things? I mean…..when I…when
I come ba…..” Her voice cracked and the syllables crumbled completely. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">It wasn’t my lie
to tell, but I helped her anyway. “When you come back”, I offered. She managed
only a nod. The moment I reached to steady her trembling hands something moved
between us; she instantly knew that I knew everything….about the affair, her
drinking problem, and that if she survived the escape she’d never return to
this place of brokenness. When the tears of shame and frustration became too
many to disguise, she hugged me quickly before wheeling and heading down the
steps. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Mrs. Feldman
could have easily slipped away in the middle of the night, but she hadn’t. She
needed something from me. I searched for the words that might be appropriate
for the last she heard from me, but my mind malfunctioned under the pressure. I
called after her. “Infernoesque, Mrs. Feldman…you’re a classy version of
Infernoesque!” Her determined gate stalled and resumed more than once, I
supposed until she decided it was o.k. for me to see her cry. She turned and
mouthed the words “Thank you”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">After a few
months, the bank foreclosed on the property and auctioned off the contents.
Even when another couple moved in, I avoided walking past or even looking at
the place. Something significant died there. An accidental death, I supposed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">__________________<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Claire leaned
close to the mirror, waiting for the eyelash glue to set. She tossed her head
from side to side and blinked from every imaginable angle. I often wondered
what determined whether they passed inspection or she ripped them off and
started over again. Waiting for the sink, I picked up the box and looked on the
back for some type of ancient algorithm harkening back to the days of Cleopatra.
My first disappointment of the day—nothing but made in China stamped on the
case.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">She finished at
the sink and walked across the hallway to the bedroom. Waiting for the water to
get hot again, I spied on her from the bathroom mirror. Maybe spied wasn’t the
correct terminology, but I supposed even if you’d been married a hundred years,
people did things, or at least did them differently when they knew someone was
watching. Claire reached inside her slip with the opposing hand and yanked her
left breast into alignment before jamming an enhancer into the bra. She applied
the same violent method of compliance to her right breast. I imagined a migrant
worker tossing cantaloupes onto a wagon, and resented the fact I would have been
scolded for handling them so roughly. Sometimes I missed the youthful days when
we pawed at one another without permission—when we had to fight back the
impulses instead of trying to manufacture the moments. I wondered if Claire
missed those moments too, but long ago I determined finding out otherwise would
cause more damage than asking hard questions. I guess Claire decided the same,
as we didn’t talk about the old days. For a married couple, we didn’t talk much
at all. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">With the aids in
place, Claire leaned forward at the waist and shimmied her shoulders back and
forth until she achieved maximum boost. Over the years I’d quit telling her how
ridiculous and unnecessary I thought the enhancers were, but I did still
snicker when the packages arrived. Claire shopped on-line and ordered from a
place called the ‘Spillage Village’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“I wish the
Spellman’s would have cancelled.” Claire complained. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“What? I thought
you liked Mark and Sherry?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“Mark’s alright,
but that Sherry is so fake. Did you hear she’s got a new set of knockers…like
D’s weren’t enough.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">The word
hypocrisy flashed long and hard in my mind like a neon sign. Maybe Claire made
a distinction between her own temporary fake, and Sherry’s more permanent.
Maybe in a few days or weeks I’d mention the contradiction, maybe I wouldn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Claire appeared
in the bathroom doorway. Sometimes it felt like she heard me thinking. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“They’re like
38’s, you know?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">I said absolutely
nothing, but it didn’t stop her from pulling me in. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“You do know, Charlie.
I’ve seen you look at them, especially after a couple of beers. But looking’s
not cooking, right?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Remember when I
said that people do things when they think no one’s looking. The truth of the
matter was I had looked. I specifically remembered a Christmas party ten or
more years back. Sherry wore a red sweater with an embroidered Christmas tree
on the front. The designer’s focus was clearly the angel topping the tree, but
the combination of a plunging neckline and ten pounds of heaving breasts framing
the head gave the disturbing appearance that the cherub had been involved in an
accident with air bag deployment. The pressure applied equally from either side
contorted and creased the saint’s features into a slightly heavenly version of
Chuckie. Every time Sherry sauntered across the room and her goods began to
float and gyrate, I swore the angel winked at me. When I caught Rick outside
and asked his take, he relayed a similar version of a fallen angel living in
the valley deep. The simple fact that such vivid imagery had survived in my
mind for a decade was enough evidence to convict. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">I pretended that
the trimming of my beard required my full attention. I supposed much the way
Claire pretended my looking at another woman hadn’t wounded her. Claire didn’t
pretend well. The turned down corner of her mouth indicated extreme
disappointment—usually in me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“I need the
truth, Charlie. Do you think Sherry is attractive?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Low and behold,
it was the deadliest kind of Déjà vu. The attractive question—the loose end
that unraveled Mr. Feldman. Stretched across the doorway like a barricade,
Claire had loosed a question so heavy it displaced every ounce of oxygen in the
room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“No…the answer is
absolutely not.” I had blurted out of panic, but as soon as the words left my lips,
I decided if she turned up the heat I was sticking to it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“Then you must
find her breasts attractive.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">We both knew I
was operating from a point of weakness, but still I attempted a redirect.
“Mark’s a gym-rat and a pretty buff guy, are you attracted to his physique,
Claire?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“You’re not
leaving this bathroom until you answer the question….do you find her boobs
attractive?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">After putting
away my toiletries and wiping down the sink a second time, she still hadn’t
budged.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“I suppose a
little, but that’s the defective gene thing. Take a professor who’s got five
P.H.D’s in his back pocket; flash a set of boobs in front of him, and suddenly
he can’t work third grade math. Honestly, I think it goes way back to Adam in
the Bible. Remember, God created him from dust…..so according to divine design all
men are kind of dirty like.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">Claire gave me
the benefit of appearing to consider my absurd proposition, but only for a
moment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“A long time ago,
you used to look at me like that, Charlie. What happened to the way we used to
be?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">My initial answer
covered broad topics like jobs, children, and life happened. Claire didn’t
offer a response. She couldn’t because the corner of her mouth turned down
again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">I’m not even sure
I understood exactly what constituted an epiphany, but if it came in shots, I
think the reflection of the man staring back from the mirror slipped me a
double. I suddenly realized that Claire objecting to the fake Sherry wasn’t
hypocrisy at all. The only reason she shopped at the ‘Spillage Village’, put on
the fake eyelashes, wore freakishly high heels, and did a hundred other things
was because of my extreme stupidity. I had either glorified or crucified
certain things by offering undue attention or complete and utter inattention. To
the best of knowledge, there had been no infidelity in our marriage and we
weren’t the type to engage in loud verbal exchanges, but our marriage was just
as broken as the Feldman’s. I supposed it high time that I quit stumbling in
circles, stepping on my wife’s feet, waiting for the song to change. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“Hey, Mark, this
is Charlie. Sorry about the late notice, but Claire and I won’t be able to make
it. Awesome news, brother, I have a gorgeous wife that’s been pretending to be
someone else for years. Never mind, I’ll call you next week and
explain.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">I joined Claire
standing before an open closet, slipping hangers from right to left, moving
more to the rejection side. Positioned behind her, I massaged her shoulders for
a moment; a diversionary tactic designed to disguise the moment I slid my hand
past her shoulders and retrieved the merchandise from the Spillage Village. She
turned on me and issued a half-serious glare.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">“I haven’t
listened in a while, and that’s probably why you quit talking, but I hear you
now, Claire.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="xmsonormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;">She watched
intently as I worked the scissors through each of the aids and tossed the
useless halves onto the bed. “You used to say the sparkly purple dress made you
feel sexy. Put it on. I’ve made reservations for Mandini’s downtown at 8:00.” </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #212121;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986014894382899336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-921323834562941074.post-42946946804670644252016-04-03T16:02:00.000-05:002016-04-03T16:02:57.499-05:00Margaret Sunshine<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">My father made a guest appearance at the hospital the night
I was born. It was a split decision, as grandma insisted he was drunk, and
grandpa suspected controlled substance. It’s hard for me to imagine the
awkwardness of the moment. It was the first time my grandparents had laid eyes
on him because during the pregnancy mom insisted on keeping his identity
secret. She probably didn’t know how to tell them what kind of guy she had
wrapped her legs around this time. Turned out she didn’t have to say anything
at all. When the umbilical cord settled around my neck and the heart monitor
plummeted with every push, he excused himself outside for a cigarette. And just
like a billowy wisp of smoke on a windy day, he disappeared. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">They told me I was the center of my mother’s world and that
she provided for me as best she could. My grandparents maintained there wasn’t
any hard proof my mom had willfully abandoned me. In fact, where her
disappearance was concerned—there wasn’t much evidence at all. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">The police recovered her timecard from the diner where she
waitressed during the day. They also determined that she finished her shift at
her second job in the wee hours of the morning. From that point, like my almost-father,
she disappeared into thin air. Her rusted-out, rattletrap of a car was still in
the lot and no one saw her leave the club with anyone. Most businesses on the
east side of the city didn’t have security cameras. The few that did were
usually styrofoam or cardboard replicas mounted at the roof corners, high
enough that the detailed paint jobs made them look like the real thing. Mom
made a few bucks waiting tables at the diner, but any real money she brought
home came from her second job. Grandma refused to use the term ‘stripper’. Her
only daughter was a professional entertainer at a gentleman’s club; she shortened
it to professional entertainer when she talked to the folks from church. I still
haven’t formed a solid opinion on the subject. I figure my mom was stuck trying
to raise a baby by herself, and if there had been an opportunity better than
taking off her clothes in front of strange men, I wanted to believe she would
have done it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">I didn’t think about my mother often, except occasionally
wondering if I looked like her. I didn’t blame feelings of abandonment for
ruining my life. All things considered, I’d had a pretty good life so far. My grandma
and grandpa took me to raise a week before my third birthday. I don’t suppose
they had much of a choice, but to their credit, I never felt unwanted or a
burdensome obligation. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">I appreciated the fact my grandparents were on a fixed
income, so when I turned sixteen I started looking for work. The options are
somewhat limited in a small town. I’m certain Donnie’s Diner would have hired
me on the spot. My friend Sherry worked there and said the tips were good, but
only if you didn’t make a big deal out of the old men smacking your butt. The
first time it happened she told the manager, Zeke Reynolds, All he did was
shrug his shoulders and tell her, “You can’t expect somethin’ for nothin’,
Sweet-heart.” Grandpa said Zeke came from a long line of perverts, and if that
had been me working there getting smacked on the backside, he’d have rounded up
old Zeke and the perpetrator, put their nuts in a vice, and started turnin’.
Wouldn’t take long to reach an agreement, he laughed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">Grandma slapped him on the arm when he talked like that—to
signal her disapproval. Maybe she’d had a second glass of wine at dinner that
night. After leaving the room with an armload of dishes, I heard her giggling. Peeking
around the doorframe, I saw her moving one hand in a circular motion—operating
the imaginary vice, I supposed. The confirmation became clearer when I noticed a
grape between her pointer finger and thumb in her left hand. She whispered
something to grandpa between giggles, after each revolution. The giggle morphed
into full-blown belly laughter when the grape burst and sprayed onto her
glasses.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">Like a wheelbarrow of bricks falling on my head, something
struck me. Despite the silly moment, I knew I wanted to remember them that
way—forever. Her apron quivering and his chins dancing, laughter gushing from
their eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">I wasn’t good at small talk and gossip, and doing something
as repetitive as working a cash register would drive me insane. I crossed off
the gas station and five and dime with one big X—unless I couldn’t find
anything else. Even after the remodel, Shady Acres still had a slight smell of
urine. I didn’t suppose eliminating incontinence at a rest home was a realistic
goal. The smell wasn’t that awful, so I decided to put in an application. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">The woman that interviewed me, Miss Ellie, remembered my
mother working there as a teen. I’d answer one of the questions from her sheet and
instead of moving on to the next question; she’d stare at me—as if she was
looking through me instead of at me. She’d shake her head and tell me I looked like
my mother, only prettier, and if I worked half as hard as she had, I’d be a
fine addition to the staff. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">I cried half the drive home, mostly over missing the
opportunity to see and remember my mother, but the tears dried up when I realized
that instead of mentioning my mother’s occupation like most people did, Miss
Ellie remembered her beauty and good work ethic. I decided it takes a special
person to see the best in people when they most often display the worst. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">Although she was my first, I couldn’t imagine a better boss.
She expected a full shift of work, but had a way of seeing more of you than you
wanted seen. She didn’t just crawl in and scoop your insides out, leaving them to
bake in the sun. Miss Ellie would help identify the poisonous things that were
infecting all the rest. Sometimes it was an hour or more after her quitting
time before you had them stacked back inside neatly, and stitched up your head
or your heart, often times both. She never said the words, but Miss Ellie
needed to know you weren’t going to bleed out on the side of life’s road between
now and your next conversation. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">I certainly never imagined looking at Miss Ellie from the
opposing side of a courtroom. She was wearing a black knee-length skirt and a
white blouse with piping down the front. She looked frazzled—scared and
stiff-necked, sandwiched between the District Attorney and his assistant. No
matter how many times I leaned around my defense lawyer and looked her way, she
stared straight ahead. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">The accident changed everything between us. It was the first
time she placed conditions on our relationship. I understood the administrative
leave, pending the investigation—she was forced to do that. But the change in
the way she looked at me hurt my heart in unspeakable ways. A veil of mistrust
slipped between us. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">“All rise. The State
of California, Superior Court of Santa Cruz is now in session, the honorable
Hector M. Hernandez presiding.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">The judge
stepped to the bench. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen—calling the case of
the State of California versus Margaret Livingston. Please be seated.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">Those were the
last words I remember hearing clearly. Most of the preceding was blurry in my
mind—like they were accusing someone else of murder and I was watching from a
distance through a frosted pane of glass. The D.A. lurked and prowled around
the witness stand like a wolf circling for the kill—the kind of wolf that
killed more for pleasure than hunger. Although he bristled and flashed his
fangs at each one of them, I knew the clock was ticking. That eventually they
would call me in from the outside—that I was the accused murderer—and that the
beast would not retreat until he tasted my flesh. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">Before we
entered the courtroom, my defense attorney reminded me how much was riding on
my ability to maintain my composure under pressure. I recalled sitting in his
office for the very first time as I explained to him how I met Eugene, how our
relationship developed, and what happened that stormy Thursday afternoon.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">We weren’t supposed to have favorites. We were reminded that
at every staff meeting, but I think it’s impossible to avoid connecting with
some patients more deeply than others—they’re still people, right? I became convinced
Eugene Parsons was a vibrant and virile man of twenty-five trapped in the
failing and crumpled frame of someone twice that age. At fifty-one, he was our
youngest patient by a couple of decades.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">He transferred to our facility from out of state a couple
summers ago. Eugene arrived with a good portion of his medical records missing.
When Ellie asked if he might have dropped some of the documentation in transit,
he became visibly agitated. He asserted that being physically confined had
absolutely nothing to do with his mental acuity. He went on to say he wasn’t
surprised at the missing information as the facility he came from was a
training camp for nincompoops and clowns, and he hoped he hadn’t made the same
mistake twice by coming here. Eugene said he could provide as much detail as
Ellie required. His paralysis resulted from a fall a few years back. While attempting
to install new guttering on his home, he lost his balance and fell from the
ladder. He fractured his 7<sup>th</sup> and 11<sup>th</sup> vertebrae and severed
his spinal cord. And, on a personal note, after the accident he found it
literally impossible to enjoy the occasional game of craps, so it would behoove
her to refrain from asking him to play unless she wanted to see his malevolent
side. Eugene laughed. Ellie didn’t. After a pregnant pause, she asked me to
show Eugene to his new room. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">He loved to read poetry, and often answered the staff’s
questions with a verse—stale remnants floating around in his head from his last
reading, he said. He was a man of mystery, never disclosing all that he was
thinking, or expressing exactly how he felt about a particular topic, but always
providing enough intrigue to keep you coming back. Much of what he talked about
originated from, or was subsequently recorded in, a worn leather journal. He
carried it with him at all times and was very protective of his ‘intellectual
property’. He placed it in a Ziploc bag when he showered and under his mattress
at night. It seemed a bit odd to me at first, but I came to realize most of the
patients tended to cling fiercely to anything that represented a connection to
freedom and the normalcy of their former lives. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">I remember how his face lit up the first time I took him
into the courtyard and parked his wheelchair in the shade of a large oak tree.
He was completely in his element. Before I took him inside that day, I remember
him saying, “Particular words and the elegance with which they are strung
together, is like sitting atop the highest mountaintop and sipping champagne
from a golden chalice.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">He insisted I take him there for a few hours every day that
the weather allowed. After a few weeks of escorting and retrieving him from his
favorite thinking spot, he invited me to stay outside with him. At first, I
just sat by his side quietly, enjoying the breeze, but in time, he used me for
a sounding board. He asked my opinions and interpretations, and began calling
me Margaret Sunshine when we were alone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">“I’d avoid telling the jury that he called you Margaret
Sunshine. It gives the impression, real or implied that perhaps your
relationship was headed in a personal if not romantic direction. Tell me you weren’t
romantically involved with him, Margaret?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">Absolutely not, I replied. Not in a physical sense, but
emotionally I grew very fond of him. I suppose like the father I never had.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">“So he asked you to stay and listen to his musing, correct?
Let’s move forward.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">It was a very magical moment when he placed the journal in
my hands for the first time and asked me to read from it. It seemed at that
moment the birds ceased to warble and the breeze stood paused. Devoid the
clutter of outside noise, the words emerged from his lips like crystalline
notes smashing against stone. “Sunshine, you must never read from this journal
outside of my presence. My soul, in its entirety, is recorded here. There will
come a time when I’m ready for you to see all of me.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">I must have looked confused because he concluded by saying, “You’re
a very intuitive creature. You’ll know when that time has come.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">I had absolutely
no idea what he meant. I knew his journal was intensely private and I would
have never looked through it, but it seemed that he wanted me to…that he needed
me to know something, when the time was right. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">Unfortunately, the
accident happened before I ever had the opportunity to satisfy my curiosity. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">“Margaret, I’m
your representation. You have to be completely honest with me. I’m not going to
sugarcoat this for you, because the prosecutor is going to turn up the heat.
Everyone knew about Eugene’s journal and the investigators scoured the scene
and his room and never discovered a trace of it. Do you have the journal? Did
you read it, and did it have anything to do with Eugene tumbling down an
embankment? Did your hand really slip or is it possible you pushed his
wheelchair?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">“No, I didn’t
read the journal and I don’t have it. We were caught in a rainstorm, I was
hurrying along the ridge, and my hand did slip—I’ll swear to all of it on the
stand!” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">“Right now I’m
not even convinced I can take the risk of putting you on the stand. You’re
hands are trembling and you’re voice is cracking. You’re not telling me
everything you know, Margaret. This D.A. is tough—he’ll eat you alive” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">_____________________________<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">My grandmother
always told me that telling half the truth was just as bad as weaving a
bold-faced lie. I believe she was describing the gray areas—those muddy places
between black and white where the lines blur—those shadowy corners you unwittingly
paint yourself into. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">I had decided
before walking into his office that I couldn’t trust an attorney or a jury with
the entirety of the truth. Eugene and I were not caught out in the rain by
accident like I told him, but I couldn’t very well tell my attorney that in a
fit of rage I had purposely taken my patient out in the middle of thunderstorm
against his will. That I was in the process of extracting answers to my
questions by threatening to push him down a rocky ravine and that during the
inquisition my hands did indeed slip from the grips of his wheelchair. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">Not only had I
read the journal, I disposed of it within twenty-four hours of Eugene’s death.
It wasn’t a completely selfish act. The information contained within was too
damaging for the both of us. From my perspective, those few pages were an F-5
tornado, a cyclone of revelation, ripping up the shallow roots of my
existence. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">Eugene left his
journal lying on his dresser one night when he went to the dining hall for
dinner. I was tempted to pick it up then, but needed to be certain this was the
time he mentioned. On the third consecutive evening he left the journal
unattended, I picked it up, pushed the door to, and set down on the edge of his
bed. I flipped through to the final entry.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><i>Maybe it was because I
grew up on the coast, but I always imagined life as an ocean, chapters arriving
like waves, the sweetest moments beginning as swells on the horizon as the
steel gray mistress swallows the sky inch by inch before giving back the blue in
an extended exhale. Time enough between breaths to order and reorder your
thoughts, then cast them aside for instinct. Your heartrate slams into overdrive
the moment you plug into her pulse. You spring up and get out ahead of the
break, carving up the surf like you own it. When you reach the shore you laugh
just a little and lie to your friends, “That wave was nothing until it met me.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><i>Other chapters catch
you undecided and under-committed. Rising out of nowhere—merciless monsters,
slamming you face-first into the surf, tossing you like a rag doll before
handing you off to the undertow. Pinned below the surface, you’re a pawn in a
waiting game you never agreed to play. Your head spins. Confusion and panic
descends like vultures. She’s broken the seal, water seeps in and your thoughts
turn to muddy recollections. She demands an answer to the only question that
matters. Is your will to survive greater than the grip of her icy fingers
around your throat?<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><i>I still believe in the
chapters of life arriving like waves, but it’s funny how looking back over your
shoulder the majority middle melts away and only the peaks and troughs remain. I
missed the point altogether, Margaret Sunshine. When you’re gone, people soon
forget your greatest contributions. What will stick in their minds is how well
you handled adversity. Whether you ran from it or worse yet, stepped on people
to pull yourself out of the hole. <o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><i>The first thing I
remember after coming to was seeing a red light only a few feet from my face.
It startled me at first, and honestly took the better part of a minute for me
to determine the anemic red glow was the check engine light turned upside down.
Anemic, because the car battery was nearly dead, and upside down because that’s
what happens when cars hurdle through guardrails and over the sides of cliffs.
Anemic and nearly dead—I could totally relate. I started to laugh, but the pain
in my midsection wouldn’t allow it. The sound of the midnight surf slamming
against the rocks indicated we were at least a hundred feet below the Pacific
Coast Highway and more than halfway to a watery grave. I remember thinking that
in more than one respect, it would have been better if the car had plunged into
the rocks and burst into flames. The collar of my tee was soaked in blood, cold
and heavy against my chest. I stared hard again to the other side of the
vehicle. Part of me hoped she had been thrown clear and into the water; her
body concealed by a thick layer of frothy foam. I remember thinking that an already troubled marriage
couldn’t withstand a blow like this.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><i>When I heard her moan
from the backseat of the car, I should have comforted her—let her know that
help was surely on the way, but like so many instances in my life, the
significantly lesser part of me won out. Selfishly, I wiggled out the driver’s
side window. My movement caused the car to shift decidedly toward the ocean.
Her terror-filled scream streaked into the night. I yelled back, asking her to
remain as still as possible while I did my best to stabilize the car and worked
on a plan to extract her. With my back positioned firmly against a rock, I drew
my knees inward and placed my feet against the back quarter panel to test the
possibility of moving it. In a spilt second of insanity, I lied to her one last
time, even as I fully extended my legs and watched the car teeter over the edge.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><i>The sun was nearly up
by the time I reached the roadway. I hitched a ride and told the gracious
couple I had been mugged, beaten, and left for dead. I knew that I’d have to
leverage all of my connections to clean up this mess I’d created. For a price,
a group of men retrieved the car from the shoreline, towed it out to sea, and
disposed permanently of the vehicle and the contents—no questions asked. I had
been out of town on business and the car was a rental. Considering my injuries,
I concocted a story of being car-jacked at a stop light by three thugs who
mercilessly beat me before speeding away. <o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><i>Not that I was
underserving of such torture, but for years I have lived in fear that something
I’d missed would turn up. Recounting the details of these heinous actions seems
so surreal that I can hardly believe I committed them. To this point, I have
omitted the most abominable detail, as it turns my stomach each time I look at
you, Margaret Sunshine. <o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><i>As I stated I was out
of town on business, which covers a lot of territory for a mess like me. Our
final meeting wrapped up by early afternoon. While a celebratory drink sufficed
for the others on my team, my kind of celebrating turned into upwards of a
dozen whisky sours and a little carousing. My last stop was a gentleman’s club
on the east side of the city. When they closed up the place, I wobbled across
the parking lot and settled behind the wheel of my car. While I was still
weighing the options of grabbing a few hours of sleep in the car or getting a
room for the night, someone knocked on my window. It seemed one of the dancers
was experiencing car trouble and needed a ride home. Despite my diminished
state I heard a distinct knock—one of the skeletons in my closet, needing to
get some air. I truly hated the fact she had become an exotic dancer, but I
supposed running out on her, literally
the night she gave birth to our daughter, left her with little alternative.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">When the jury
filed back into the courtroom, none of them made eye contact with me—that told
me all I needed to know. The judge asked if a verdict had been reached, and
after a nod of confirmation from the jury spokesman, he asked me to stand. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">“We the jury, by
unanimous decision, find the defendant not guilty on the charge of murder one,
but guilty as charged on the count of negligent homicide.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 12pt;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;">My defense
attorney had my best interest in mind by not putting me on the witness stand. Honestly,
he did me an enormous favor—serving seven years on a count of negligent
homicide was definitely preferable to heftier sentence associated with first-degree
murder. And I can honestly say six months into my sentence I have finally
convinced myself that my hands really did slip. </span></span><span style="background-color: white;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986014894382899336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-921323834562941074.post-60181704606311950042016-01-30T10:02:00.000-06:002016-01-30T10:02:39.307-06:00Penicillin<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">Early retirement didn’t happen every day. In my defense, I
was truly excited for my mother. I suppose in hindsight, perhaps I had slapped
an umbrella garnished drink in her hand and unceremoniously pushed her out the
front door of her own home—that’s the way she said I made her feel. Real or
imagined, once mom got her feelings bent, apologizing was about as useless as
dabbing at a severed femoral artery with a Q-tip—messy and ineffective.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">Midway through an icy stare, Mom made a point of reminding me
that I had always been the most troublesome of her three boys. A rather
belabored point, in my opinion, but mom specialized in the beating of all
things dead. In the blink of an eye, she’d troll back through the years,
retrieving and regurgitating examples of my past failures so that we might
dissect them anew. There was the lost retainer when I was nine—swallowed it
whole in Jimmy Dill’s backyard during a reenactment of Evil Knievel’s Snake
River Canyon jump. As busted and mangled as I was, Mom made me poop into a tea
strainer for the better part of two weeks—nothing but mud. Although she denies
it, I remember her mumbling that I deserved crooked teeth, and that she hoped the
retainer lodged in such a way that it prevented me from reproducing another
like me. Mom’s viperous tone associated with the lost retainer was nothing
compared to the fury she unleashed when she discovered the broken strap on her
favorite bra. It was a Sunday morning and I found it particularly ironic that she
beat me about the head and shoulder with a miniature crucifix from her
nightstand—extracting justice one thump at a time until I confessed that my distorted
version of charity consisted of slingshotting cans of soup at those standing in
line at the shelter. The retainer and bra incidents were solid and tangible
predictors of future missteps and failures, she said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">Mom had the opportunity to visit my older brothers and their
wives—shuttling off to Omaha or Poughkeepsie and making over her grandchildren
a week at a time. She could finally travel on a whim—a rustic cabin in the far
reaches of Minnesota in the summer time, and spend the winters hanging out at a
tiki bar on a sunbaked beach in the Bahamas. The possibilities were endless. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">Mom
never gave an official reason for holing up in the farmhouse, or becoming
significantly more involved in my life. When questioned directly about the
entanglement, she claimed it was well within her ‘motherly right’ to invest inordinate
amounts of time dabbling in my personal affairs.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">Just last Tuesday she became obsessed with the idea that speed
dating was a fabulous new vehicle for me to meet the woman of my dreams. To
which I promptly referred her to Consumer Reports as supporting evidence that new
vehicles are often dangerous and subject to recall. I also stated I didn’t
believe a head-on collision broken into five-minute intervals was necessarily less
painful or debilitating. Throughout my teens and early twenties, I’d been
involved in a few relational train wrecks, and made it quite clear that I
wanted no part of another catastrophe even if it fell under the seemingly
benign heading of speed dating. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">Mom had a way of calling me out. At some point in the fray,
she would label me a drama queen and then offer some subtle means of proving
otherwise. I especially liked it when redemption came in the form of a bet. Mom
was the gullible type who believed anything she read or heard—gossip at the
hairdresser, social media rants, conspiracy theories floating about the
internet—every delicious morsel as reliable and steadfast as the red lettering
in the Holy Bible. I jumped on the opportunity like a fat man on a chilidog
during ‘Two-for-one Tuesday’. You can only imagine how flabbergasted I was to discover
that Rabbi Yaacov Deyo had first introduced the original concept of speed
dating in the late 1990’s, just as she insisted. I did lose the bet, but claimed
a minor victory when I eventually convinced her that even though a rabbi was
involved, her assertion of divine powers at work was not necessarily mutually
exclusive. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">I suppose every downward spiral begins when you brush against
an invisible portal called destiny, and a mysterious black and swirling force
sinks its teeth into your ankle. Like fresh meat dragged into a grinder, round
and round it thrashes you—your think-box pounded against the pavement until all
your dreams and fears come spilling out your ears in liquid form. Maybe mom had
a point about the drama queen thing, but it didn’t change the sinking feeling in
the pit of my stomach when I heard the words speed dating. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">I arrived in the parking lot a few minutes early and
observed the first ominous sign—a line of angry and agitated blue-hairs, locked
arm-in-arm, protesting the decision to allow the bingo hall’s temporary use. It
unfolded like a deleted scene from a geriatric zombie movie. Operating under a
higher power of confusion, they shuffled their walkers into the form of a
circle and closed in on a distraught young woman. They pawed in her general
direction and mumbled “B-ware, I-4 an eye, and O-hell no”. I probably could
have tossed a couple of 10% off coupon onto the ground and rescued the woman,
but I wasn’t feeling particularly heroic. Instead, I used the diversion to slip
around the slow-motion melee and enter the building with only a trace scent of icy-hot
on my back-trail. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">A lame but recognizable knockoff of June Cleaver from Leave
it to Beaver welcomed me. In an effort to promote their overtly chivalrous
ploy, the organizers had stationed one woman at each table. The men would be
required to do the moving around—a primordial reference to hunting and
gathering I supposed. She explained that each man could choose his first date
from the available seats. While perusing the possibilities, a brilliant and
devious idea flashed through. My mother was crafty enough to suspect sabotage, but
proving such dating debauchery would be difficult. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">After accepting the chilly offerings of a folding a chair I wasted
no time making direct eye contact with the unlikely choice. During this pivotal
moment I’m certain her eyebrows would have arched noticeably, had they existed.
It was unclear whether she was the victim of a lawn manicuring accident
involving a renegade weed-whacker, or she simply shaved them off into trashcan
for maximum shock value—I supposed the latter. Heavy black lipstick against a
pasty white backdrop was only a brief pit stop on the way to the glistening
hardware in her right nostril, but the main attraction consisted of an epic
battle of wills playing out atop her head. The sides were shaved down to
stubble making for an elevated platform, where two equally proportioned swathes
of tangled hair, one of them magenta and the other hot pink, were battling for a
position of dominance. Magenta was the clear winner, as the hot pink definitely
overpowered the bleached platinum base. Before I could cast my vote, the bell
rang and she lobbed the first question.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">“Where would you say that you are in life?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">I reasoned ‘the middle’ would be too sophomoric. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">“Where am I at in life? I suppose if you consider the
jet-set in L.A. the ultimate destination, and judging from your appearance I’m
certain that you do. I’m probably stuck knee-deep in a brownish-green lake of
manure in the middle of Iowa—too busy slopping pigs and making bacon to care
about the next stupid thing that comes out of Kayne West’s mouth. Not that Kanye
is inherently stupid, but given a half hour I could produce half a dozen yard
gnomes that communicate more effectively.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">“So you’re into pigs?” She inquired suggestively. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">“It’s what I do. I’m not suggesting you’re a pig or anything,
but your eyes are set very close together and your nose does turn up at the
end. Did you know they put rings in a pig’s snouts so they don’t root the
ground?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">“Like the one in mine?” She asked, touching her nostril. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">“Well, minus the gaudy fake diamonds of course, because for
the most part pigs aren’t into cliques and class warfare. The rings are simply a
deterrent—make it a painful experience not worth repeating. Very much like this
speed-dating thing is working out for me. Sorry for wasting your time,
Penicillin.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">“It’s Pricilla, more like Presley, less like the
overprescribed antibiotic. No need to apologize for being an ass—genetic defect
I’m sure. And as far as wrinkly, sphincter-type creatures go, I’ve met worse.
Actually, that’s a complete lie designed to preserve and protect your fragile
ego. I’m working on old-fashioned, but unfortunately you caught me during a
techno-glitch—VCR slipped a belt midway through a Little House on the Prairie
marathon. Anyhow, hope you and your piglet friends have a </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">stellar life, Mr.
Pristine Pooper.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">“That’s Cooper, Eugene Cooper.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">The bell rang and all I could manage was an inappropriate
wink, like the crusty guy hanging out the window of an unmarked van parked at
the edge of a playground. “Can I circle-back with you later?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">“Suit yourself, but don’t take it personally if I slit my
wrists when I see you coming.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">__________________________<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">Based on sheer sex appeal, I supposed the fit, blonde aerobics
instructor from Ames was the clear cleavage winner—a stand out in the most
literal and artificial sense of the word. Mrs. Cleaver developed an
understandable animosity toward the busty young candidate, as the hostess felt obligated
to wipe down her table with disinfectant between rounds and mop the floor to
prevent any saliva related slips or cross contamination lawsuits. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">Concerning the competition I faced, I could only eliminate
one of them with any certainty. I had nothing against Juan, his alligator
pointy shoes, or the way he wiggled his hips like he was working a glass runway
in Milan. I’m almost certain he misunderstood the hetero format, and am equally
positive that in his own element he would have wowed the boys and set their
naughty parts tingling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">In all, I engaged with eleven other women. Under normal
circumstances, at least ten of which would have appeared more attractive and
physically compatible than Pricilla, but tonight they were merely ill-prepared understudies,
definitely and permanently forgettable. There was something forbidden, yet
mysteriously alluring about a freakish train wreck of an exterior disguising a
feisty soul who could deliver biting sarcasm in a tone reserved for
prepositions. Under the daunting circumstances where I had attacked her
character so completely, she shrugged me off, and mounted a laudable defense.
It was more than laudable; the name-play alone, Pristine Pooper for Eugene
Cooper, bordered on genius.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">I fussed with the buttons on my coat long enough that she
and I were the final candidates remaining in the hall. Reaching into the
pockets to retrieve my gloves provided the opportunity to steal a quick glance.
Pricilla caught me looking and issued a broad and knowing smile. Had the queen
of rebellion not been wearing it, I would have considered it rather delicious
and suggestive in nature. In the breadth of a sideways moment, I decided she
was trying to lure me close enough to drive a final dagger in my kidney. I
probably owed her that. As we ambled together toward the exit, I felt obligated
to speak. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">“Any reasonable prospects?” I offered the inquiry without
looking. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">“Not really—nothing I couldn’t have scraped from the floor
of a subway train during my drunken ride back to my cardboard box excuse for a
home—certainly none that insulted me as thoroughly as yourself. You set the bar
pretty high, Eugene—the pig machine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">We paused a few feet from the exit. I looked at her this
time. “About that—the way I treated you earlier. It really wasn’t about you
personally, more abou….”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;">“About your general opposition to the idea of speed dating—you
were flexing your anti-establishment muscle—completely understandable for a
renegade soul that pig-farms in the middle of Iowa. You’re probably here
because you lost a bet. It’s O.K., really. I’m used to it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;"><span style="background-color: black;">We reached for the door at the same time and while I’m not
exactly sure of the logistics, our arms became tangled. We were close enough I
could smell the subtle essence of perfume. Suddenly I was afraid she could feel
the trembling of my hand through the shared door handle. “How about a cup of
coffee somewhere, and I promise before the night is over I’ll slip you a subway
token so you don’t have to hop the turnstile again.” </span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></span><o:p></o:p></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986014894382899336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-921323834562941074.post-4829799697477281212015-08-02T17:03:00.000-05:002015-08-02T17:03:47.687-05:00Rudy<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjL2NovJpOMAtWFK1uf6gN820P1Aw0MxMZhTdmenxbjQ4oN1xqY0Kmt8vvSR-yrJ9fUUDjfk9_MNddHTOtxFZJ5lYMxpoRYgZOnLIIOb4OLG9nwaSaxqaEgzguTe6z9uiJJKUs8aE-xzIg/s1600/A43X_1_2014091529709674.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjL2NovJpOMAtWFK1uf6gN820P1Aw0MxMZhTdmenxbjQ4oN1xqY0Kmt8vvSR-yrJ9fUUDjfk9_MNddHTOtxFZJ5lYMxpoRYgZOnLIIOb4OLG9nwaSaxqaEgzguTe6z9uiJJKUs8aE-xzIg/s1600/A43X_1_2014091529709674.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">I suppose every family has a magic number; ours is two. Once
a gathering grows to three or four the odds of some type of fracas increases
significantly, and the holidays literally guarantee a complete Chernobyl-like
meltdown. You can almost smell the dysfunction in the air when fifteen or
twenty of us are cooped up for more than an hour in mama’s little rat-trap of a
maze she calls a home. We love her to pieces, but when a woman misses the birth
of her grandbaby because she can’t pry herself away from the QVC Lunch Special
it’s time for someone to pull the batteries from the remote. The last time we
‘intervened’ I discovered two dozen unopened horse brushes hidden in the corner
of the pantry. I could understand it if she ran a stable, but the closest momma
ever had to a horse was that over-sized, half-breed of a mutt that sat in the
corner and licked his sack 90% of the time, and split the other 10% between
trying to give the babies kisses and getting tangled in everyone’s feet. When I
confronted her with the brushes she said, “Oh, I couldn’t possibly get rid of
those….they make the cutest stocking stuffers.” It wasn’t anything we officially
announced, but after third or fourth intervention we kind of gave up trying. I
guess the moral of the story is, you can lead a horse to water but you can’t do
it justice if you don’t have two dozen horse brushes.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">I felt bad that we dumped a lot of the responsibility on
momma’s boyfriend, Hank. I did truly appreciate what he meant to my mother—she
seemed happy, but Hank definitely wasn’t going to be momma’s knight in shining
armor where the hoarding was concerned. He’d done a lot with the place in the
last fifteen years. There was the gnarly gang of broken down lawn mowers lurking
in the wilds of un-mowed grass that he optimistically referred to as ‘strategically
placed yard ornaments’, and of course the Old Style can-pyramid in the living room
kind of screamed ‘art nouveau’. The
thing I liked most about Hank was that he farted a lot—kind of sputtered when
he walked, especially when he made trips to and from the fridge for beer. In
redneck terms it was a flatulence freestyle version of the X Games…small fart, he
laughed, medium fart, he laughed harder, big fart, he began the full fledged belly-laugh.
The infamous explosive fart was reserved for the finale, which typically resulted
in an extended visit to the bathroom and a fresh set of sweats in a darker
color. I guess there comes a time when every 60 year old man feels the compulsion
to grow up. After the old dog passed away, Hank was forced to take ownership of
the stench floating about the room as well as the stains in his easy chair. I’m
pretty certain that degree of reckoning would knock the wind out of any
well-trained athlete. Hank just didn’t get tickled nearly as often anymore. It
was kind of a shame for the little ones, because for years he was pretty much full-time
entertainment. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">I don’t really know how my little brother and older sister
feel about our real dad. We never talked much about it, even though he’s been
M.I.A for going on thirty years now. As tragic and sudden as a car accident or
heart attack can be, I remember wishing for something so ordinary. I preferred
to have been able to lay eyes on a crumpled pile of metal or at least have had the
memories of seeing him lying in a casket. Dad rolled out of the driveway on his
Harley in a beat up pair of jeans and a white tee and just disappeared into
thin air. He told mom he was headed up to the T-Mart for a pack of smokes. The
cashier said he’d been in that afternoon and the only thing odd about his visit
was that he bought a winning scratch-off lottery ticket. Momma said the $500
would have gotten us completely caught up on rent, but assured us she’d make
ends meet somehow. She didn’t talk about dad after that. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">As a ten year old boy I remember thinking that whatever his
reasoning, dad’s scheduled his departure perfectly. He narrowly missed the period
of time when our family began to unravel. After a particularly ugly fight with
momma, Linda, fourteen at the time, moved out of the house to live with her
alcoholic and abusive boyfriend. My younger brother, Wayne, started wearing girl’s
clothes and insisting that everyone call him Wanda. About that time Mom decided
we didn’t have to go to church on Sunday mornings anymore, and I just remember
being angry about everything, especially things I couldn’t change. Before long
I was subsisting on a steady diet of schoolyard brawls and suspensions. I
suppose we were all too busy dealing with our own demons to notice Momma sitting
in front of the television, buying things left and right. I think she got tired
of the brokenness and just wanted something shiny and new. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">If Linda had went to college, or even graduated from high
school; she would have majored in procreation. She studied hard and always had
a willing lab partner waiting in the wings when an experiment finished. No one
knows for certain, but I think she produced five babies in a shade over four
years. Quite an impressive streak for anyone, but especially when the first
arrived two weeks before her fifteenth birthday. More like a litter of puppies
than babies, Linda kept three, and the luckier two went up for adoption. At the
ripe age of twenty she took a break and settled down with a boyfriend who
appeared more interested in moving drugs than making babies. He moved her into what
is arguably considered one of the nicer government housing apartments in
Clayton County. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">On his sixteenth birthday Wayne convinced my mother to take
him to the court house to officially become Wanda Rene. Upon graduation, Wanda
moved to the city. She never gave an official reason, but I heard through the
grapevine that she went to work as a hairdresser, no doubt with like-minded
folks, at a trendy salon called Transformers. Wanda made a good living, with
enough disposable income to afford some quality plastic surgery in the facial
region as well as a very realistic pair of torpedoes jutting skyward.
Regrettably with a significantly higher trajectory and a full cup size larger
than Linda. Wanda was hands down a more attractive woman than my sister and Linda
knew it. Looking at the pictures hanging on the walls of my mother’s home there
was a clear distinction between pre and post- conversion. Post pictures were
signified by Linda standing with no less than three people between her and my former
brother. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">I too had admittedly encountered a few bumps and crooks along
the way. It took three failed marriages and a couple of domestic charges before
discovering I was the type of person who needed to operate solo and in open
spaces. I eventually dropped the drinking and learned to harness my anger and redirect
it toward more positive outlets. I settled into a rather mindless factory job
that allowed me to live modestly in a double-wide at the edge of town. In time
I opened myself to the idea of sharing my space with a rescue from the shelter.
My new best friend was a blood-hound named Rudy. I immediately connected with him
because like me, he’d been dumped, and I was dead set on making his life mean
something. We spent a lot of time bonding and honing his instinctive skills.
Over the years he had tracked countless coons and located a multitude of poorly
shot deer. He even helped locate a missing three year old once, and a couple
counties over we used him to put a serial arsonist behind bars. Whereas dogs
are concerned, Rudy became a rock-star not only in my mind and heart, but in
the community as a whole. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">I never considered myself better than my mother or either of
my siblings—at best slightly less damaged. For me, one of the hardest parts of
Christmas was looking around the room, surveying all of the collateral damage,
while the catalyst of the collapse had driven off into the sunset. The most
unjust aspect of it all was that he never once was forced to look any of us in
the eye and admit any </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">culpability for the broken and wandering souls he left
behind. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">Dinner went surprisingly well, aside from a few harmless, verbal
barbs and sideways glances which I considered to be a vast improvement over
years past. Like the pro she had become, Linda transitioned from wine to beer
and was well on her way to being over-served by the time we were opening gifts.
I nearly bit my lip in two each time she demanded her three year old retrieve
another beer from the cooler.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“Take one to your Uncle Randy, Sweetie. He looks like
someone drove a railroad spike into his 8 penny diameter asshole!”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">Linda smirked as she popped the top, and didn’t seem to
notice that more beer dribbled down the front of her Christmas-themed sweater than
entered her mouth. In stark contrast she wiped her face with the back of her
hand like a lumberjack, and then carefully flicked the stray droplets of brew from
Santa’s beard. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">Holding up my hand I waived the toddler off. “No thanks,
Darlin’. Your mommy probably forgot that I don’t drink any longer, but her
potty-mouth is like American Express—never leaves home without it. Come sit on
your uncle’s lap a minute and Granny will get us a gift to open.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">Mom ran interference by stepping in the line of sight
between Linda and me, while handing out similar looking and shaped gifts to all
the children. After making quick work of the wrapping, my niece looked up at me
with her chocolate-drop eyes and asked “What is it?” </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">I was unsure myself, so I rolled the objects over in my hand
several times before discovering an inflation valve on each. There were three
distinct components, two of them connected with a rubber strap, and a lone
cone-shaped object. I worked hard at suppressing the notion I’d just wasted a
good amount of breath I might regret having expended at life’s end. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">Mom jumped from around the corner, a pearlescent, cone-shaped
object jutting from her forehead and the other two flapping on either side of
her back, “We’re all Unicorns for the day—Yeaaahhhh!”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">The suspense of this year’s mystery gift unfolded as my
grown mother galloped about the living room with all the miniature unicorns
trailing behind. Their eyes lit up when she revealed each and every one of them
was an important part of the world’s first and most beautiful unicorn parade.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">It was in that goofy moment I appreciated my mother the way I
should have all along. As eccentric and frustrating as I often found her to be,
her heart was always in the right place. She had done the best she could
raising three less than cooperative children all on her own. Her joy came from
sharing it with others, even when it came in the form of bulk purchased
trinkets. Tears were pooling in the corners of my eyes when Linda’s drunken
bellow stopped the parade cold.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“I wanna know whose gonna clean up all this sparkly, unicorn
shit before it gets trampled into the carpet?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">Mom’s patented frown did little to suppress an inebriated
giggle trickling from my sister. I followed it up by pressing the side of my
index finger vertically against my lips, hurling it at her as much as a gesture’s
direction can be harnessed. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">Linda swiveled her head in both directions as if there was
any question whom the directive had been intended. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“Don’t you shush me, you goodie-two-shoes little shit!”
Linda extended her finger in my direction, the tip of it circling, until the
closing of her left eye seems to steady her aim. “Every since you stopped
drinkin’ you ain’t no fun!”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">I leaned around the Christmas tree and fired back, “It’s
ever, and aren’t any.” She looked puzzled so I expounded. “Ever since you
stopped drinkin’ you aren’t any fun. And that’s completely not true.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">She began laughing hysterically, “You damn straight it ain’t
true. I ain’t quit drinkin’ yet and don’t intend to ‘til that coolers empty,
and I’m a butt-load of fun.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">I was pleased to see that Wanda had matured past the point
of holding silly grudges. She pulled up a folding chair near Linda and
attempted to make small talk, but Linda was in rare form. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“What? The fake-tittied he-she in the crowd hears the word
butt-load and heads right over!” That’s righteous ain’t it!</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">At that moment I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this year’s
meltdown would be instigated by Linda. When she drank too much, she turned into
an angry and rabid dog, more than willing to ravage anyone that wandered close
enough to the cage.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">I motioned for Wanda to come away from her, and lowered my
voice, “Leave her be, Wanda. She’s not much right now.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">My phone went off and the text message was from a friend on
the emergency squad. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">‘I know its Christmas Day, but
need you and Rudy’s help.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">Out on route 39, mile marker 48, family
of four confirmed dead. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">Suspected drunk driver fled the
scene and headed into the woods. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">K-9 handler is out of town, can’t
be here for another 4 hours. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">I now it’s askin’ a lot, but can
you help us out, brother?’</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">I shook Hank’s hand, pulled on my jacket, leaned over my
mother’s chair, and kissed her forehead. “Thank you for continuing to do this despite
the difficulties…i.e., Linda. There’s an emergency they need my help with, and
I need to go. Linda’s about ready to crash and burn; she’ll be piled up
somewhere soon. I’ll plan on heading back, pouring her into my truck, and
driving her home. Love you, Mom.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">As I made my way around the room saying good-byes, Linda
snatched my arm. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“Hey, Bar. That’s Boring-ass Randy—you ain’t leavin’ until
you open up my gift!” She insisted.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“Alright, Sis, but this is important, so let’s make it
quick.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">I plucked the bow off and peeled the wrapping back, to
reveal a Christmas tree ornament with the likeness of Rudy on it.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“You don’t like it do you?” She suggested.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“No—I do like it. It looks a good bit like Rudy. I like it
fine. Thank you, Linda.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">She used my arm for leverage, climbing the sleeve, as if her
voice wasn’t already 50db too loud. “You don’t like it, Randy!” She insisted. “I
can tell by the way you’re lookin’ at it.” She finally gave up the ill-advised attempt
to stand and folded back into the chair, but continued her tirade with a
renewed venomous tone. “Don’t pretend to like it if you don’t. God knows we
grew up with enough pretending in this house—dad pretending he ever wanted anything
to do with any of us, boys prancing around pretending to be girls, and momma,
that bitch, pretending she cared about any of us and that she didn’t drive him
away in the first place!” </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">The room became deathly still—so much that the ticking clock
sounded like a bass drum. The eerie silence gave way to quiet sobs originating from
opposing sides of the room, first Wanda, then my mother. The expression on
Linda’s face was one of remorse, albeit significantly muddled and muted by the alcohol.
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“That’s more than enough, Linda!” I roared.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">My booming tone caused her to shrivel back so far into the
chair it was almost as though I had to peel her from the fabric, before
hoisting her over my shoulder. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“I’m taking out the trash, mom! Merry Christmas, everyone.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">Linda passed out in the passenger seat of my truck before we
arrived on scene, and I figured a good rest was exactly what I needed from her.
We passed the ambulance heading the other direction, presumably carrying the
bodies of the family that happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. In
a spit second all of their hopes and dreams and the generations that would have
come after them were crushed when their vehicle slammed into an eighteen
wheeler careening out of control. According to witnesses on the scene the truck
driver was not at fault, even though he had crossed the median into oncoming
traffic. A motorcycle rider came flying up the on-ramp and forced his way into
the lane. The truck driver swerved to avoid the immediate obstacle, his load
shifted and the trailer jack-knifed, sweeping the biker into the median, before
the tractor plowed through the divider and wiped out the oncoming car. The bike
was certainly a mangled mess, but appeared to get pushed far enough to avoid
the deadly swath of the truck. It had no license plate and had been reported
stolen only an hour before the accident. A young woman said she saw the biker
limp across the highway and disappear into the woods. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">I allowed Rudy to sniff around the bike until he had a nose
full. Then both of us slipped across the lanes and descended the steep berm. Even
though it was more difficult on the dog, I didn’t want to ever influence his
direction so I tended to lean back slightly and allow him to pull me along. I’d
say we had traveled probably a half mile into the woods when the leash suddenly
went light. Rudy had lunged and snapped the harness. I tried to keep up, but
once he was free from the drag of pulling his owner he seemed to pick up pace,
and was out of sight in the matter of a few minutes. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">The shadows were growing thicker and starting to melt
together. I estimated no more than an hour of light remaining. I was still waffling
between forging onward with a tiny flashlight and going back for help and a
better source of light when I heard the distinct crack of a hand gun. The shot
came from deeper in the woods. A wave of relief washed over me when Rudy’s
rhythmic howl picked back up again. A second discharge followed and Rudy’s
cadence stopped mid yelp. I barreled headlong through the briars and the
undergrowth with a renewed sense of urgency. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">I emerged back on the highway well after dark, carrying the limp
animal in my arms. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“He’s got a gun, Michael.” I shouted. “He shot Rudy. I’ve
gotta get him to the vet!”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">Without another word between us, I hopped into the truck and
mashed the accelerator to the floor.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“I’m sorry—he’s hurt too badly, Randy. The best I can do is
make his last few minutes comfortable.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">I know it was stupid, but I had never once imagined losing
him, how difficult it would be to say goodbye, and how much more difficult it
would be to get up each morning or come home in the evenings to an empty house.
I guess that’s part of how we survive life—looking forward to the good times, and
avoiding thinking in great detail about the crueler aspects of life. Whether
you consider the bad or not, sometimes it blindsides you when you least expect
it. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">Ironically, it turns out that the murderer of my best friend,
the renegade motorcyclist, was also my estranged father strung out on heroin. Although
I tried for awhile, I came to the realization that I did not have the capacity
to hate my father more than I already did. I also decided that telling my family
about it would serve no purpose other than keeping the hurt alive. If I ever
wanted to be a better man than my father today was the time to start. </span></span> </div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986014894382899336noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-921323834562941074.post-21669599620770577282015-07-25T18:28:00.000-05:002015-07-25T18:28:22.388-05:00Thin Air<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">Deep in my soul I knew that over the last seventy-two hours
I’d lost significantly more that weight and inches. The shorts slipped past my
hips much more easily than they should have. I settled into a squatting
position and listened for the trickle splashing against the rock. The harder I
concentrated the less likely a successful outcome appeared to be. I knew the
process was taking too long. The confirmation came swiftly when he snatched my
pony-tail and yanked me over backwards. Landing awkwardly on my tailbone, my first
reaction was to reach for my shorts, but I froze when the warm breath hit the
back of my neck. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“You see this knife, Princess. Take a good, hard look at how
shiny and hungry the blade is. Do whatever you need to do so the image is engrained
in your head, because if you don’t quit stalling I’m going to feed it right
here! Now, pick up the backpack and move”, he snarled.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">A desperate part of me wanted to scream and simply take my
chances when he came at me, but previously failed attempts still haunted me. He
said resistance would only make things uglier. Although I couldn’t image things
being worse than what I had suffered over the last few days, I also didn’t want
to expose myself to another layer of madness that lurked inside of his head. There
was no question he was certifiably insane, but the scarier part was that he was
also very intelligent and meticulous. From the dreadful moment I let him into
my hotel room he had been two steps ahead of me. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">I supposed it was natural that following a traumatic event the
victim would dissect every detail, questioning whether one seemingly
insignificant action could have changed the entire outcome. Certainly deciding
to hike the Smoky Mountain trails alone was not a perfect plan from a security
standpoint, but an experienced hiker and survivalist is much more concerned
about hungry bears and inclimate weather than a psychopathic encounter. I knew
plenty of women whom I considered of lesser or equal abilities who had done it
successfully. After twelve hours in a vehicle all I wanted was some decent
pizza, a warm shower, and a good night’s rest before striking out the next
morning. Even though I was exhausted I still didn’t consider my actions
careless. When the knock came at my door I saw a guy holding a pizza box
through the peep hole, but didn’t accept the announcement of ‘delivery’ carte
blanche. I insisted he verify the order and my name before I felt justified in unlatching
the chain. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">Life can turn on you so very quickly. One moment I was
fumbling for cash and the next I was pinned on the bed with the cold steel of a
knife-blade resting against my throat. It sounds stupid, but I was less
concerned with the stranger plunging a knife into my carotid than the fact that
the bath towel I was wearing had spilled open. I reasoned that if he saw me
naked it was a foregone conclusion he would rape me. In retrospect I wasted several
precious moments flip-flopping between compliance and resistance as there was
compelling evidence supporting both. I hadn’t landed squarely on a decision when
he demanded silence. I nodded repeatedly up and down, until he was satisfied
with my level of sincerity and withdrew the knife. He reached for the pizza box,
and after lifting the lid he retrieved a red colored rag. I assumed it would
serve as make-shift gag so I took the opportunity to bluff. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“My boyfriend just went out for soda…he’ll be back any
moment. If you leave right now, I swear I’ll never breathe a word about any of
this.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">He laughed before lifting from over me and taking a standing
position at the end of the bed. His knee-cap was out of striking distance of my
foot, but I was formulating a plan to close the distance when he completely
derailed my thought process.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“Put on a night shirt or something. You being completely naked
makes me feel dirty.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">What type of killer/rapist was
put off by seeing his victim naked? Maybe I had assumed the worst and all he
wanted was cash or jewelry. After demanding clothing he turned away from me,
and even stranger yet he turned again to avoid the reflection of my naked frame
in the mirror. I scrambled to my suitcase and began to search. At this point my
brain was swimming in a cesspool of emotions, while attempting to field and
process a barrage of assumptions and possibilities. All of it was meant for internal
consumption, but suddenly one of thoughts emerged out loud. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“How does holding a knife to someone’s throat not bother
you, but seeing them nude makes you feel dirty? Is that even possible?” </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">Once I realized the mistake, I insisted again. “My boyfriend
really is on his way. He has an awful temper and a ‘conceal and carry permit’!”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">I knew my expression would reveal the threat as a lie, so I
maintained eye-contact with the nightshirt I had selected and took my time
pulling it over my head to provide camouflage.
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“My dearest Katherine, you think I’m a fool don’t you? Let’s
talk about your supposed boyfriend. As a matter of fact your only boyfriend, Jesse,
died in a tragic motorcycle accident your junior year of high school. You haven’t
as much as dated a single man in the last six years. Currently you make ends
meet as a waitress at a small café—very much the classical loner. You finally manage
to squirrel away enough cash for a vacation and intended upon coming to the
Smoky Mountains to disappear into the wilderness for a month. Note to self
Katherine: leaving your social media wide open can produce dangerous
circumstances. But I can help you with that”, he laughed. “Disappearing I mean.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">My skin began to crawl as he revealed every detail
correctly. I grabbed my cell phone from the night stand and attempted to make
it around the corner to lock myself in the bathroom and call 911, but he launched
himself at me and we both tumbled onto the carpet. In one fluid motion he swept
the phone under the bed, rolled me onto my back and applied the gag. He pressed
his full weight against me. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“I do rather enjoy the feisty ones; it brings out another side
of me. There’s something absolutely spectacular about hungry nipples pressing
against cotton—nibbling at one another. My dear Katherine, I must teach you that
poor choices on your part often leave me no alternative but to counter your
aggression.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">The sound of the zipper on his jeans triggered a shockwave
of urgency. I summoned every bit of energy and began thrashing and bucking. Twice
my size, he easily squashed the flailing when he zip tied my wrists to the
furniture legs and my ankles to the bed frame. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“You have taken a piece of my trust, Katherine, and I must
now take something of value from you—that’s how the game is played. But I
promise to be very quick—before your ‘boyfriend’ gets back.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">He retrieved the hem of the tee, carefully pulled it away
from my body, and sliced up the side. After tossing the tee open he stabbed a
syringe into the fleshy part my hip. My field of vision narrowed to a small
tunnel before everything faded to black.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“Wake up, princess.” Only hours old, his loathsome voice was
emanating from behind me. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">I blinked and stared at the floor where I last remembered
lying. He had obviously moved me to the edge of the bed. I was positioned on my
side with both wrists secured to a lamp that was in turn bolted to the night
stand, but the gag had been removed. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“What did you do to me last night, you perverted bastard?
Did you drug and rape me?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">He pressed his index finger firmly to the center of my lips,
releasing the pressure as if flowed down over my chin, splitting the difference
between my breasts and traveling the length of my belly. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“You really do take me for clod, don’t you Katherine? Decorating
your private parts with my DNA strewn about would be pure foolishness. The mere
suggestion of such a barbaric act produced the desired results. Rather
uneventfully, we talked into the wee hours of the morning, but you did provide
me with absolutely everything I needed.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">He reached into his rear pocket and flashed a fiendish smile
before flipping an envelope down in front of me. The handwriting appeared to be
mine and it was addressed to my parents.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“What’s in the envelope, you creep? If you’re asking for a
ransom, they have nothing. I’m begging you not to involve my parents?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“No ransom I promise, and quite the contrary, Princess. I
am….rather you are, virtually assuring their non-involvement. The letter contains
a heart-felt admission that you’ve struggled with depression since Jesse’s
death. Through the years you became addicted to prescription anti-depressants,
and eventually turned to whiskey and harder illegal drugs in an attempt to dull
the pain. You eventually painted yourself into a corner by indulging in
prostitution to support the habit. You then reveal how morbidly ashamed you are
for dragging the family name through the mud, but now fear for your own, and more
importantly, your parent’s safety as angry dealers and pimps have transitioned
from debt collection to pure retaliation. You inform them that your debauchery
has reached critical mass and you’re attempting a fresh start, but you fear many
of the authorities are on the payroll of those looking to do you harm. You beg
them to keep your whereabouts to themselves.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">The shock I experienced was surreal—my life was literally
unraveling and dissolving into thin air, but the most frustrating aspect of it
all was that this neurotic fiend would likely get away with it. Like a boiling
pot of water overflows and licks at the flame, my response came in the form of
a hiss. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“You’re a thoroughly disgusting human being! How can you possibly
sleep at night?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“I do pride myself on being thorough—disgusting is purely a
matter of opinion and overrated. And last night I slept remarkably well,
considering I shared a bed with a drug-addicted prostitute. It’s my civic duty—doing
my part to clean up the streets, Princess.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">I knew I hadn’t done anything to deserve this, but I also
soon realized that my captor was an extreme opportunist. My natural O.C.D
inclinations made his work much easier than it should have been, and I hated
myself today much more than usual for being that way. I had paid for my fuel
and the hotel room in cash, leaving literally no trail. I had also foolishly
mapped out the trails I intended to travel, complete with timelines, so it was
easy for us to avoid those locations completely. And beyond my control was his
obsessive and calculating nature; he spent the remainder of the morning wiping
down the hotel room for fingerprints, and pressed my fingers to the envelope
before it was mailed. This stranger was as naturally occurring as a wicked whirlpool.
I was an innocent leaf caught in the undertow. At every turn he squashed or
erased any glimmer of hope and as he did so I experienced another grotesque
degree of suffocation. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">__________________________________</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“As much as you’d like to, you can’t control my inner
workings. I thought I needed to pee! You’re such a bad-ass—go ahead and stab me
on this public trail. There are hikers less than a quarter a mile behind us!” </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">I purposely raised my voice just shy of a yell, but paid for
my insolence on the backend when he pulled me close enough to drive his fist
into my right kidney. My knees buckled and I crumpled onto the trail. In an act
of defiance he stood over me, blocking out the sun long enough I had time to
partially deflect the kick aimed at my ribs. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“The punch was for directly challenging me! The boot was for
dropping your driver’s license in plain view about a mile back!” </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">He withheld my water ration for the next several miles to
prove a point. My head was spinning so severely that I barely remember leaving
the main trail that first night. He provided me with enough water to survive,
but never to function at one-hundred percent or to even think clearly, but I suppose
that was to maintain my weakened and submissive state. To my best recollection,
we spent the night off the beaten path and traveled one additional full day
into the wilderness. As the sun sank low in the sky he cleared a small area, pitched
a tent, and presumably felt we were far enough from civilization to allow for a
small fire.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">While I couldn’t compose my thoughts in a completely
coherent manner they came in colorful streaks and flashes of realism. I was
positive the amount of time that I remained upright and breathing was dwindling.
I felt as though I’d been poured into a funnel, traveling helplessly towards an
inevitable choke-point. The look in his eyes changed decidedly that night. It
was as though he believed we were far enough removed from a civilized society that
he no longer needed to bridle his demon-like desires. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">If I could clearly identify a low point during this dismal downward
spin it was in that moment when I was lying on the ground in a fetal position,
racked with pain, humiliated completely with my shorts around my ankles. But
even then there was a sliver of me that refused to give him the benefit of
tears. Something inside me changed in that moment. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">I honestly believe there is a certain type of insanity that accompanies
isolation; when thoughts and actions are subjected only to an audience of one.
A single person can devolve in such ways to justify almost any heinous deed. I
can’t say for certain that he was under the influence of such radical impulses when
he came at me in the middle of the night, but I can say with distinction that I
justified many unthinkable things following the moment when I countered his
attack by striking him in the forehead with blunt end of the hatchet. In my
natural state I would have immediately fled once the gate of opportunity had been
thrown open, but instead I verified his pulse. Once I determined he was still
breathing I bound and gagged him and sat silently until he came to. I waited
until he was fully aware and could appreciate his predicament before I leaned
and whispered his own words back into his ear. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“You must learn that when you take something from me, then I
am forced to take something of value from you—that’s how the game is played.” </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">One per hour, I lopped off his fingers and toes before he
bled out. By nightfall I had disassembled him completely and scattered his
remains about the mountain. With my nightmare finally over I enjoyed the first peaceful
night’s sleep in nearly a week. I awoke to finally witness the view that had
called me to these mountains. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">The valleys wandered in unison away from the rock face. Born
of the same womb they were visibly troubled and anxious about traveling alone.
A gentle, almost accidental separation appeared to embolden them as independent
and mighty warriors, each carving a different path and direction, content to
gather clusters of pines upon their backs and proudly display a diverse
collection of green hues as they now sauntered along with confidence. Near the
horizon one majestic peak leaned against his brother. The overarching theme of
this place and the snapshot in time was seamless synchronicity—an eclectic cast
of geological dancers, choreographed perfectly, gathered and scattered by a
rising and setting sun. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">For most of my life I’d dreamed of standing in this very
magical place, but the whole experience had become tainted in a way that could
never be fully repaired.</span></span> </div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986014894382899336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-921323834562941074.post-68741211914860305322015-06-14T19:43:00.000-05:002015-06-14T19:43:30.325-05:00Deja-Poo<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">“I started calling it Deja-poo—the precise moment when I
realize I’ve been eye-ball deep in this exact same pile of crap before. The
names and nuances vary just enough to make you believe it will be different
this time, but it always hits harder than you remember—like a biker-boot to the
mouth. In some indiscriminant moment he cuts out the bottom of your heart and
tosses you to the curb like yesterday’s trash. You realize he’s not walking;
he’s running out of your life. For months your friends tried to tell you things
you didn’t want to believe, but you cut ties with them because they’re
jealous—that’s what you tell yourself. You tell yourself lots of things, but
then you reach a point where you no longer believe the lies you’re feeding
yourself. Finally you sit back, take a hard look in the rear-view mirror, and decide
there’s nothing left to do but sink both hands deep into the pile of worms.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">“Worms? Miss Jones.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">“Yep….the disgusting, tangled mess of poor decisions and
regrets living inside of you that makes everyone you ever cared about run the
opposite direction.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">The gentleman glanced at his watch indignantly. “Miss Jones,
I feel we’re getting off topic. I truly do understand that you were distraught,
but did you go looking for him that night? And if so what transpired when you
found him?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">I hated jury duty, period. Call me cynical, but it seemed
that somewhere along the line our justice system had been hijacked by an exclusive
guild of high-paid actors posing as part-time purveyors of justice. Each side
would take turns prancing before and pandering to a panel of twelve of their
peers, who for the most part were moderately to severely disengaged and simply looking
to end their own suffering as quickly as possible with little regard to
justice. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">But today there was a twist that appeared to offer the real
possibility of variety. I was more than a little intrigued by the fact that the
defendant insisted upon self representation. Miss Jones was an attractive
brunette, middle thirties I supposed. My first inclination was that she may
have saved time by slitting her own wrists rather than prolonging the
inevitable by refusing representation, but as I glanced around the juror’s box
I could tell that her opening words had garnered a significant amount of
sympathy, while the prosecution had accomplished exactly the opposite. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">From the juror’s box he was not at all what I considered to
be patch-worked together; his features appeared to have been chiseled from one
solid piece of granite; rather cold and unforgiving. He was well-groomed,
squeaked when he walked, and had a general sheen about him—like the dark Armani
suit had been painted on this morning and he rushed out the door before
allowing it to dry completely. Presently, he crossed his arms high on his chest
as if to disprove my theory of a painted on suit. I suspected he liked being
right more than most, but the repeated tapping of his foot revealed the
impatient nature that lie beneath the cool exterior he advertised. I doubt he
was accustomed to delays when asking a question. He released an audible sigh.
Once he exhaled fully he asked again. “Did you go looking for Mr. Mendoza, Miss
Jones?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">“Yes, I went searching for the address I’d found on his
phone a week earlier. He tried making up some lame excuse about meeting a
client there for a working-lunch, but that’s the thing about habitual liars—they
get confused sometimes. He’d told me the previous weekend he needed a break and
was taking some personal time that day. None of it added up, so I wrote the
address down.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">“So would you have the court believe this was a random act
of indiscretion, or are you establishing the fact that you snooped through Mr.
Mendoza’s private information on a regular basis?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">For the first time the defendant fired back at the
prosecutor, matching his tone. “Is looking at your boyfriend’s phone a crime,
especially when it wakes you up at 2:00am, 2:15am, and then again at 2:20? His
mother was sick and in the hospital.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">Seemingly rebutted and sufficiently agitated, the prosecutor
attempted to propel things forward. “Proceed, Miss Jones, I believe you
indicated to the jury that you’d unethically gathered an address from your
boyfriend’s phone while he slept, and that you went looking for the address.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">The previously silent judge interjected himself in
convincing fashion. His gavel collided with the sound block with such force
that I had to check twice to make sure the percussive sound waves had not
inadvertently ruptured my spleen.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">“Strike the prosecutor’s last sentence from the record as it
highly inflammatory and suggestive. Will the prosecuting attorney approach the
bench, please?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">The ringing in my head and the discrete whispering of the
judge did not allow me to hear the one-sided conversation, but the sulking
manner in which the prosecutor limped from the bench led me to believe he had
been reprimanded soundly. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">“Miss Jones, pardon the interruption, please continue—you
went looking for the address.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">“Yes, your honor, I left the apartment around 10:30pm. I
found his car parked about four blocks away—trying to keep a low profile I
guess. I opened the door of the bar and looked all around. Just as I was
turning to leave I heard his laugh. There he was tucked back in a dark sticky
corner, nearly hidden completely by the shadow of a woman sitting in his lap.
She was facing him, her long legs straddling his, bouncing up and down like he
was her favorite carnival ride. I don’t know…maybe he was.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">The prosecution attempted to deflect and defuse, “So what
was going through your mind, Miss Jones? Give us some insight.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">“I found a seat at the bar and ordered a shot of whiskey—because
it hurts and goes down like barbed-wire. How did I feel? I was immediately crushed,
but the more I watched the two of them the angrier I became. After the third shot
I decided I was marching over to confront him. Each step I took toward the
table fueled the boiling in my gut. It wasn’t just him, but half a dozen before
just like him. All those emotions whipped around inside me like a
whiskey-infused tornado just looking for someplace to touch down!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">Her tone was elevated and the look in her eyes intense. I
glanced at the prosecutor and he was practically drooling at the way she was
eating out of his hand, but something went awry—she had stalled. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">“You were swirling inside, like a tornado looking for
somewhere to touch down! That’s when you physically attacked my client and cut him,
right, Miss Jones?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">The defendant’s shoulders slumped noticeably. She appeared to
have entered a reflective state of silence, staring through her inquisitor to
the other side.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">“No, I didn’t have a knife, and I couldn’t have cut him even
if I did. I knew that if I looked him in the eye I’d start making excuses for
him and end up swimming circles in those milk-chocolate pools, drowning again.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">For a brief moment she’d bared her teeth and snarled like a
rabid dog. Now she was a docile pile of fluff, loyal to a fault. I gathered
that she was either hopelessly in love and likely had nothing to do with the
crime, or significantly skilled in the art of deception and simply toying with
the defense.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">The prosecutor appeared to shift into a damage control
mode. “Storms of that intensity just
don’t stall out, Miss Jones. You were a cyclone of emotions heading for a
target and my client was sufficiently damaged. Do we look like fools to you? Do
you expect this court to honestly believe you had nothing to do with the
maiming of my client?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">“I said I couldn’t have cut him, even if someone had placed
a knife in my hand.” She snapped. “Oh, I was still seething—enough that I
helped myself to a handful of hair and yanked the woman backwards onto the
floor. With the buffer removed I could see him clearly. As I stated before I needed
to avoid his eyes, and in doing so immediately spotted opportunity. I used his
open fly for a hand-hold, snatching him out of the chair and dragging him toward
the back door. All the while he kept calling me baby, and begging me not to do
anything crazy.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">The latest revelation caused the prosecutor’s eyes to
twinkle with promise again. “Basically, you needed him outside in a dark alley where
you could teach him a lesson. No witnesses, his word against yours! The perfect
crime, isn’t it Miss Jones. Isn’t that what you were thinking?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">Her retort came hard and fast. “Actually what I was thinking
is that you’re quite arrogant and manipulative for putting words in mouth, Mr.
Prosecutor!” She swiveled her head. “May I continue your honor?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">With a nod of affirmation she moved forward. “Actually, I
chose the back door because of the proximity of the table. Considering the
circumstance it shouldn’t have mattered to me at all, but I wanted to save him
the embarrassment of being dragged the full length of the bar. Even so, many of
the patrons were already applauding and toasting in our direction. Once outside
I turned loose of him and he immediately fell to the ground. Too drunk to stand
on his own, I propped him against the wall; his knees wobbled and he slumped a bit,
but remained upright. I knew at that point trying to communicate with him was a
lost cause—he was a lost cause.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">Miss Jones paused again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">“I see Miss Jones. A lost cause—hmmm. A lost enough cause it wouldn’t really matter
if you carved him up and left him in an alley to bleed out?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">She shook her head in opposition. “With all due respect, you’ve
obviously not questioned your client nearly well enough, Mr. Prosecutor. I
heard the door open behind us. Turns out the woman straddling him in the bar
was the jealous type. She was wielding a knife and pushed me to the ground. Like
a cat she was on top of me. With a wild look in her eyes she laughed and told
me I wasn’t his first choice. She must have been satisfied with me knowing that
because she leapt from me to him in a flash. In a fit of rage she separated
your client from his manhood in one downward motion and tossed the evidence in
a dumpster. She muttered something about taking out the trash before running
down the alley. While waiting on the authorities’ arrival the bartender cleaned
and bandages my scrapes. We had a nice conversation. As I said before Mr.
Mendoza is a habitual liar. I came to understand that his assailant was also his
wife of thirteen years, to whom he was still married.” </span> </div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986014894382899336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-921323834562941074.post-39016807957939458002015-06-06T12:15:00.000-05:002015-06-06T12:17:20.026-05:00Touching the Sky<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">July 16th 1989</span></span></i></b></div>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><i><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“The moment is as
fleeting and brilliant as that of a falling star ripping through a midnight
sky. For a splintered second the beleaguered mountaineer has conquered nature.
His raised fist is a lightning rod. A surge of adrenaline travels through the
fleshy conduit and explodes in a guttural wail. His battle cry roars down from
the peak, gaining momentum as it travels. The earth shudders on its axis and
even the busiest inhabitant pauses and nods in his direction. Real or imagined
makes no difference; for one luxurious
moment he stands exalted, his boot weighing heavy on the throat of every
obstacle that failed to turn him back.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">It sounded like
something Jack London would have written, and I told him so at the time. While
the ink was still wet on the page Thomas Penny read what he had written. He shared
all of his journal entries with me during our journey up the mountain, but I
suppose this one spoke to me more than most. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">Thomas laughed when he
heard his words aloud. “Doesn’t sound much like a factory worker with an eighth
grade education, does it?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">I considered my
reply—thinking harder than I had ever thought about words before. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“I suspect there is
something profound about touching the sky—that it will change a man forever.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">I knew Thomas Penny was
different the moment I met him. He passed through the swinging stainless doors to
the plant like all the others, but he had a swagger to his step, like he already
knew he was going bigger places someday. I liked him plenty when he flipped off
the boss behind his back. On the walk over to my machine Clarence grabbed the
collar of the young man’s shirt and dragged him onto the safe side of the
yellow line. The equipment wasn’t even powered up and Thomas’ boot fell only
inches over the line. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">Thomas told me later
that he was pissed that Clarence stretched the collar of his AC/DC tee. We both
laughed as the shirt had undeniably seen better days. I suspected it had more
to do with Thomas’ opposition to being treated like a three-year old being
yanked away from a cookie jar. Nobody liked Clarence, mostly because of nepotism.
He was one of the big-wig’s sons, never worked a day on the floor, and fell comfortably
into a management position. We were all just factory workers, but you have to know
that sort of thing is bound to cause some bent crank-shafts. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">By first break—that’s
when you can tell whether you landed a keeper or not. You were supposed to give
the boss the high-sign if they’re weren’t trainable and he would pay them for a
couple hours, hand them a ball cap with the company logo stamped on the front, and
tell them to have a nice life. I felt rotten when that happened, but it didn’t
bother Clarence. Only once did he override my recommendation and it didn’t sit
well with me at all. I called him into the break room and he stuttered and
stammered mostly. His only defense was a tired reminder that he wore the white hard-hat
and <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>mine was yellow. For a minute I thought we would come
to blows over the disagreement, but I was smart enough to know when to cut my
losses. I tugged at his bow-tie and suggested that the polka dots on one side
outnumbered the other and the torque of the imbalance might be what was cutting
off oxygen to his over-sized melon. The remark cost me a write-up, but some
things are simply worth the price of admission. Clarence hated people touching
him or his clothes—had some kind of germ phobia he claimed. That might have
been at the top of his list, but in my opinion Clarence had a lot more problems
than that. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">Thomas didn’t talk too
much or too little; seemed capable of doing the work but not overly qualified
or too highly motivated. That was important, because no one wanted to be the
fool that trained his replacement. Over time I learned that you didn’t have to
worry about Thomas trying to outthink or one-up you. I liked a man that would
face up and punch you square in the left eye before he’d slip around the back
and stick a shank in your kidney. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">We both worked the
graveyard shift; Thomas because he was a newbie, and me because I had a general
dislike of people. I’d been there five years and managed to stay mostly to
myself. I communicated when the job called for it, but never socialized outside
of work. But Thomas played electric guitar and I banged on the drums a little, so
from time to time we got together in my garage. There were no illusions of
grandeur. We wouldn’t put the symphony orchestra out of business, but after a
twelve-pack of Natty we did do justice to some Metallica and Queensryche. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">Thomas was wound tighter
on the inside—more of a risk taker and an adrenaline junkie. I suppose he was
naturally smarter than me too because he already knew that about himself. Thomas
said he wanted to go out with a busted rib-cage, a gash across his forehead, and
a few teeth missin’ instead of laying down quietly somewhere and rotting from
the inside out. I guess watching the machines all those years kind of lulled my
insides to sleep and Thomas Penny was the nitrous that turned this daily-driver
Cavalier into a tubbed-out, Nova SS that lived to eat up pavement in quarter
mile chunks.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">Nobody at the factory
took us seriously, said we were just two thirty-some-odds looking to re-write a
chapter of decades past. It was more a recognition that life is slippery and those
that sleep will wake one day staring at the tail end of days slipped past. You
have to be intentional about occasionally grabbing the tail, pulling it back,
and sinking your teeth into the meat of it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">Not that I was looking for
one, but Thomas was as close to a best friend as I ever had, and it was easier
to step out of a corner knowing someone had your back. Within a year I trusted him
completely—enough to follow him up the face of a mountain. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">I don’t know exactly where
the words came from; they just seemed to fit right in my mouth. The first time
a man touches the sky really does change him forever. A successful climb lit a
fire in both of our bellies. Over the course of a few years we completed two
more challenges, upping the ante with respect to difficulty and duration. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">I suppose if you’re gifted
with numbers, odds can be assigned to anything. It doesn’t take a statistician
to realize the numbers for a mountaineer come out in favor of the mountain, but
that’s part of the reason the agony is bearable and the victories are so sweet.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">In my mind’s eye I was
prepared to battle against fatigue and the elements, anticipated the full
frontal assault of oxygen deprivation, and was determined nothing would prevent
me from placing one foot in front of the other until I reached the apex. Although
it had taken fifty percent more in the tank than we had to give, if someone had
been there to witness it, they would have told about two heads bobbing among
the clouds. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">Five days into our
descent was when the wheels fell off. We should have reached a low enough
elevation that the heaviest snow was behind us, but a freak squall caught us
off guard. We hunkered down early and took turns throughout the night knocking
the snow from the tent to prevent collapse. Despite using the rock face to our
advantage the winds continued to swirl and howl like a seasoned wolf, lapping against
the tent as though he could already taste our frigid flesh through the fabric. To
make matters worse Thomas had aggravated an old knee injury and after days of
being pinned down the joint was stiffening and swelling significantly. Once the
storm passed I had my doubts about whether the knee would hold out until we
reached base camp. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">It is truly amazing how
quickly a fatigued mind begins to unravel. Last night I woke to an awful sound
I could never fully identify, but I am terribly afraid that I heard Thomas
Penny’s spirit snapping in two. By morning my suspicion was all but confirmed
by a notable change in his demeanor. He grumbled and moaned more often about
his knee and the ugly predicament we were in. I didn’t have the heart to mention
that our food supply was running low and that we had only two bottles of
propane left for the heater. I was trying to conserve fuel and ration food
without setting off alarms in his head, but this existence could barely be
considered living. I was doing my damndest to keep the preverbal wolves at bay,
but he’d already let them in. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">He cursed me for even trying
to open the journal, but he needed to hear the inspirational words he’d written
on that first trip—we both did. I tried for more than an hour, but my fingers
were frozen nubs and over and over again refused to obey commands. You never
imagine that bit by bit, piece by piece your body will betray you. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">I tossed the journal
aside and fell apart for a moment. I welcomed the fleeting warmth of a single tear
as it left the corner of my eye. It sickened me to look at Thomas—he had lain
down quietly and was rotting from the inside out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">Thomas was already asleep
so it made it easier to eat his last portion of food. I placed the final bottle
of propane, drew in a deep steady breath, and made preparations for our escape
from this nightmarish and brutal land. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">_____________________________<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">A group
of young men struggled, plodding forward up the incline. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“Looks
like the remnants of an old tent ahead.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“And
look in the overhang directly above it—lodged up there between the two rocks.
There’s a corner sticking out—looks like a beat up journal. Grab it and let’s
check it out. We’re due for a five minute break anyhow.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">The
five climbers gathered in a circle to inspect the discovery. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“This
is kinda creepy, reading someone’s journal.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">The one
next to him punched his arm. “They obviously left it where someone could find
it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“Looks
like a pretty detailed account of two climbing buddies that started in 1989.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“What
are you waiting on—read the last entry, will ya?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">“OK…OK,
hang on a second, let me find it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">May
15 1994<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">Things
did not go as planned, but a mountain makes no guarantees, implied or otherwise,
and she will swallow you whole if you let her. The blizzard has not let up, we
are out of food and propane, but we will not leave on her terms. Please take a
moment and read the entry from July 16, 1989 and marvel at my friend’s profound
words.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #ffe599;">In
a few minutes I will load my friend, Thomas Penny, onto my back because I have
watched him fall lower than any friend should ever witness. I will make my way
to the nearest outcropping and in a final burst of energy will leap over the edge,
and we will both reach out our arms and touch the sky one last time. Touching
the sky will change a man forever.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;"><b>“Woah…that’s
intense. From this point forward, touching the sky is our theme, fellas. Into
the belly of the beast we go!”</b></span><span style="background-color: white;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986014894382899336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-921323834562941074.post-45133777069227134142015-06-02T13:21:00.000-05:002015-06-02T13:21:10.896-05:00Silent Lucidity<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">She was of proud German decent and in her own words built for
purpose rather than primping. Mother considered trendy clothes, stylish hair,
and make-up to be frivolities in an already overly-complicated world. Her day
began an hour before dawn and yet she greeted each morning with a smile,
and I imagine the morning recognized her wearing the same dress as yesterday,
but had manners enough not to mention it. She owned a total of six identical
dresses, but she swore there were subtle differences that we were to obtuse to
see. Mom was a creature of habit and as an extension gravitated toward a
primary habitat. More often than not I recall her hustling about the
kitchen; muted dress three-quarters covered over with a gravy-stained excuse
for a white apron. She was the kind of woman who made no apologies for
knee-high stockings rolled down mid-calf; the circumference of which could not
be stretched any further without risk of cutting off circulation. Side to side
and head to toe, my mother was stocky and thick like a good beef stew.<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">Where her children were concerned she exacted respect via a wooden
spoon; the handle length and effective reach kept me guessing. Yet she was very
much a contradiction in terms—one moment as strict and rigid as cold-formed
steel and the next brimming with compassion and wisdom. From a very young age
she impressed upon me that all people, no matter their circumstance, will
choose to be part of the problem or part of the solution. In matters both large
and small, choices were black and white and the mythical middle ground of gray
only existed when those filled with indecision dragged their feet and muddied
the water. God rest her soul; I loved her unbreakable spirit and simple
interpretations of life and humanity.<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">I don’t suspect the memories of my mother differ much from any
young boy’s recollections of the woman who brought him into existence. Like
most boys I arrived unfinished; edges as rough as torch-cut steel, wielding a
disposition that fluctuated radically, but even the mean of which fell too near
mischievous for her liking. She molded my mind, bent my will, and polished the
exterior. I suppose from her perspective she tucked me into bed one night and
in the morning she awoke to an altogether different creature. I presume there
is no greater sense of loss than when a mother finally considers her son generally
presentable and suitable company only to realize that she must release him into
the wild again. <span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">In my early twenties I worked the night shift at the Maryville
Asylum for the Insane. Still wet behind the ears, I suppose they assigned me a
position they figured couldn’t be screwed up. My duties consisted primary of
transporting patients to and from their rooms, the dining hall, the activity
center, and the infirmary. I told my friends and relatives that I worked in
transportation. <span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;"> <span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">Arnold was a vibrant and adventurous ten-year old boy trapped in
the crippled frame of a fifty year old man, so it only seemed appropriate that
his wheel-chair become an Indy-racer. He had enough command of his motor-skills
to grip an imaginary steer-wheel while I provided the sound effects of a
roaring engine and squealing tires as we streaked down the straight-aways. Arnold
was unable to verbally express himself, but I learned quickly to gauge the
level of his pleasure by the intensity and frequency of his choppy and awkward
bursts of laughter.<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">Phyllis barely stood five feet tall and weighed less than ninety
pounds. She was adept in the art of cursing, and prone to streaking down the
hallway at all hours of the night. In the blink of an eye she would disrobe completely
and sprint down the hallway. Her nick-name was ‘Hell-Cat’ and she verbally and
often physically accosted anyone that tried to get clothes back on her. Even in a sea of abnormality, teaming with
unusual behavior, her actions struck me as odd, until one night one of the
doctors pulled me aside. He explained that as a young girl she was the only member
of her family to escape a house fire and that she honestly believed her
garments were ablaze. As with all my patients, to one extent or another, I eventually
discovered a connecting-point. Phyllis’ constant state of agitation and
paranoia melted away if you sang to her in a low voice while stroking her head.
Sometimes I stumbled over words or replaced entire stanzas with nonsensical
gibberish, but none of it mattered as long as she believed we were riding on a
magic carpet that floated high above the flames. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">So between the Indy racer and the magic carpet, I truly did
specialize in transportation. During my time at Maryville I learned a great
many things about people, but there was one mystery I could never quite
unravel. Circling in the back of my mind I continued to wonder if the patients
had the capacity to recognize their shortcomings compared to societal norms, or
if they considered themselves on an equal plane and somehow felt punished
unjustly.<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">After four years at Maryville I left my position for a higher
paying job several towns away in an entirely different field. As so many do, I
became consumed with the course and advancement of my own life and am ashamed
to admit I am uncertain of the outcome of Arnold and Phyllis’ lives. I am
embarrassed that it has taken my life being turned upside down for me to
reconsider the plight of those I cared for so long ago.<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="x__GoBack"></a>It was last Thursday afternoon or
perhaps it was Friday, or even a Monday a month or more ago; that I found
myself seated at a large dining table with a group of strangers. The decor of
the room was tastefully artsy, but certainly nothing I would have chosen for
myself. I gauged the behemoth of a chandelier alone to have cost upwards of
three month’s wages. I recognized the pieces of art adorning the walls as
renditions of famous paintings, but rather than breathing life into the room
they appeared as if they had had been sentenced to death by hanging.<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">The female seated closest to me was quite attractive and full of
life. I decided quickly that if I could determine she was not already committed
I might introduce myself over a glass of wine following dinner. Everyone was
seated with the exception of two blurry figures rushing to and from the
kitchen. The servants were operating in such a harried state my fear was that
they might soon cut a rut in the hardwood floor and then be reprimanded for
doing so. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">There were multiple conversations taking place and it occurred to
me that if I eavesdropped long enough I might ascertain the host’s name or even
the identity of those whom I had been seated with. The names and topics of
conversations being tossed about were completely and utterly unfamiliar. The entire
situation made me feel as though I was an understudy for a play—a foolish and
irresponsible one who hadn’t taken seriously the real possibly of being asked
to step in. <span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">Even as I attempted to shake off this awkward awareness of
not belonging somewhere, it intensified ten-fold when the attractive woman next to me placed
her hand on mine. Without as much as a glance in my directions she cleared her
throat, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. <span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">“Welcome home, everyone. Frank and I are truly blessed.”<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">She raised her hand between us, dragging mine with it. “Not only
are we celebrating forty years of wedded bliss, but in the company of such a
wonderful family. Michael, can you say the blessing before we eat?”<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">My head
began to swim in disbelief. Was it possible that she and I were married, for
forty years no less, that we shared a home I found distasteful, and that we had
grown children and grandchildren?<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">I
gathered myself and used the reprieve of bowed heads and closed eyes to
scrutinize them more thoroughly, but racking my brain for even the slightest
remembrance or trace of a memory only perpetuated the rumbling in the pit of my
stomach. I wasn’t physically ill, but it was rather a sickness in my soul to
think that somehow I misplaced forty years of existence. <span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">At
the conclusion of the prayer she leaned and whispered in my ear.<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">“Frank
dear, are you not feeling well?<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">The
sickness in my belly boiled to the extent it backed up into my throat. I wanted
to rush to the china cabinet, withdrawing, and smashing every item onto the
floor until I remembered something—until the name Frank sounded familiar. I
swallowed hard and accepted the opportunity of escape she had provided. <span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">“Suddenly
I’m not feeling well at all—I’m going to lie down in the bedroom for a few
minutes.” <span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">I
pushed away from the table and was on my feet before it dawned on me that I had
no clue which direction to head. She allowed me to plod only a few steps down
the hallway before catching my arm, turning me around, and escorting me there.<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">“Frank,
you seem terribly disoriented. Maybe we should go see a doctor?”<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">“Don’t
be silly” I snapped. “We have a house-full of hungry guests. Go back to them,
please. I’ll be fine with an hour’s rest.”<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">In my
current condition there wasn’t an ounce of me that believed I resided on the
same continent as okay, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that. She
really did seem like the type of woman I would have married. <span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">There
were occasions when I had forgotten where I placed the newspaper or my reading
glasses, but nothing approaching this magnitude. I tried to recall an occasion
where I had bumped my head in the last few days, but then chuckled out loud as a
moment of reason finally prevailed. With a blow significant enough to cause
memory loss, how should the victim have the ability to recall it? Unless of
course there was a delay in the onset of symptoms, but if there were a delay
they would have thought nothing of the accident until the onset of symptoms,
which would in and of itself prevent the remembrance. My private moment of
levity was short-lived. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">What
if this ‘thing’ accosting my mind was some type of chemical imbalance
associated with sleep? That with every hour I slept another month was
erased—what if a minute’s rest equaled a year of lost recollection? “Then I
must stay awake!” The words tumbled from my lips and echoed around the empty
room.<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">What
if conversely, rest was my only hope? Maybe some type of advanced parasite had
entered my brain and learned to mimic my movements—he rested when I was still
and used periods of physical activity to gobble up huge tracts of recorded data,
and to disguise the gurgling sound of my memories rattling through his
digestive tract. “Nonsense”! I bellowed.<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">Perhaps
nothing could be done to slow the decay. What if I had unknowingly wandered
through of the gates of insanity and all that remained was to discover my only
option was moving forward through a wicked maze of entanglement designed with
no exit?<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">The icy
talons of the unknown took hold of me, ushering in a chill that ran the length
of my spine. Lying on my side I stared holes in the wedding picture on the
nightstand. The glint in her eyes was unmistakably the reflection of a
promising and fulfilling life with a man she truly loved. How would she react
to being shackled to him now—his mind as empty as a hollow tomb where silent
cries of desperation echoed back at him like daggers. <span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">It
was early evening when I awoke to same nightmare. Nothing had changed for the
better, and I supposed nothing for the worse, but how could I determine the
latter? Each of the guests filtered into and out of my bedroom single file, reminiscent
of a funeral visitation. I managed a wry grin and insisted on placing a kiss on
each of their foreheads. I supposed it was good practice. If I remained a
prisoner to this condition then I’d need to learn read people—to do what was
expected based on other’s perceptions, unable to trust my own.<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">________________________________________<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">In
the early stages you believe that you can learn to outthink this thing—that you
can provide the answers or responses the requester is probing for. I adopted
and immediately abandoned such a foolish philosophy in practically the same
cloudy moment. I felt as though I was doing the right thing when I proposed
cutting my wife loose from the obligation of marriage so that she might
deservedly enjoy her golden years. In hindsight, I see that she interpreted it
a murderous and merciless act—better I would have physically carved her heart from
her chest with a butter-knife. She stayed with me round the clock for a month
straight, weeping uncontrollably. I learned that trying to say the right thing
is very often worse than remaining silent.<span style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">From
that point forward when she arrived to my room with a cake, I no longer attempt
to guess the occasion and instead simply enjoyed the flickering candles in
silence. I understood that withdrawing into silence gave the impression I was more
disconnected than I truly was, but incorrect guesses and untimely responses
days or weeks later hurt her more than I could bear. I began to think Abraham
Lincoln was speaking specifically of my condition when he stated “Better to
remain silent and be though a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">Although
I am certain they have passed, I think of Arnold and Phyllis often. It is my
sincerest hope that their final resting place fills them with a peace that
eluded them on earth. I also pray that
their interpretation of my gestures and actions toward them were ones of
acceptance and understanding. Thinking of my former patients always leads me
back to the question that I wish now I’d never considered. I’m dreadfully
certain that they believed themselves normal while the world sees us in an
entirely different light. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">The
error of arrogance was mine; I foolishly mistook the perceived differences
between my patients and myself as eternal, but the gap is narrowing and on a
collision course of ironic proportions. I used to pride myself on punctuality
and believed that it was a prime indicator of a man’s character, but I must now
add the perceived passage of time to a growing list of things I am no longer
capable of tracking. It is as though the keeper of time has tossed my hours,
days and weeks together in a mixing bowl. Although it seems a cruel twist of
fate, perhaps it is an act of mercy—not knowing how many have passed or remain.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #fff2cc;">Words
alone cannot begin to describe such an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. It
seems the more desperately I attempt to cling to my remaining mental capacity
the more quickly the gray matter turns to soup and slips through my fingers.
Whatever small purpose she once had, this ship has undeniably lost her captain
and is traveling in perilous waters. It is not within my power to change the
angry skies above or the churning sea below. It pains me in unspeakable ways to
admit this once proud vessel is rudderless and adrift, tossed against the
jagged rocks again and again—I fear she cannot take much more. It is a broken
process, from which there seems no escape. Yet she is asked repeatedly by doctors,
orderlies, and even her loved ones to find the courage to sail again. Perhaps once
I have convinced myself that I am capable of one final moment of lucidity, I
shall ask them the question burning in my mind. “What is your definition of
compassion and dignity, and why can’t both be served by allowing an old
tired ship to simply slip beneath the surface”? </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #212121; font-family: 'Segoe UI', sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986014894382899336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-921323834562941074.post-56011768140677394222015-04-18T12:43:00.000-05:002015-04-18T12:43:46.050-05:00Time<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;">It is my personal belief that all of humanity, at least for
a period of time in their lives, will suspend logical thinking and reasoning;
trading it instead for fantasy. For the majority, this escape is a coping
mechanism and fairly short in duration, but a select few will develop an
affinity for make believe, often inventing a complex cast of characters and
detailed scenarios that never existed or occurred. While the majority exhibit a
vague level of awareness that they have detached from reality; the recognition
of isolation and the desire to return are as disparate as night from day. Quite
understandably, it seems that the severity of the traumatic event triggering
the escape, as well as the amount of time spent separated from reality will impact
the degree of entanglement and subsequently the prospect of rescue. Symbolically
speaking the barrier is nothing more than a thin sheet of glass slipped between
the subconscious and conscious regions of the brain, and thus quite easily
broken. Even when confronted with substantial supporting evidence, I’ve
discovered few are able to trust again. It is quite discouraging that the thin membrane
of separation functions as a one-way portal. From the outside, no matter the
degree of ferocity with I have attacked it; the barrier remains icy and
impenetrable. Put quite simply, you cannot reach or rescue the unwilling.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;">It is not my intention to downplay individual scientific
discovery or to denigrate the brilliant minds that comprise the broader scientific
community, but it is my personal belief that man, in his current form, is
incapable of fully comprehending the sophisticated beauty and marvelous
complexity of the human mind. I have arrived at the disappointing conclusion
that while rare, there are locking mechanisms for which no key exists. There is
no one case study that exhibits more clearly these conclusions that that of Dianna
Crenshaw.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;">She is an alluringly manipulative, brutally toxic, and
fascinatingly complex piece of female machinery. Although my current assessment
sounds harsh and uncaring, I assure you it is heartfelt and poignant. But as every
coin has two sides, I must reluctantly recognize that over the span of twenty
years our relationship has devolved significantly and my original impressions
and feelings toward her were quite the opposite. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;">She was disarmingly beautiful and from head to toe
physically pleasing to the eye. Her advances were unspoken and subtle, but so
suggestively explicit that after our first encounter she left me with the
impression that together she and I could become something profound. Not in a
material, animalistic manner, but on a much higher plane—the way I believe a lonely
piece of artwork loiters in obscurity on a muted wall; content to live for one
splendid moment when the curator designates the perfect companion to hang next
to it. This would prove to be only the first of many occasions when Dianna led
me to believe my wait was over. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;">Looking back, I understand that was precisely the way she
needed me to feel—another breadcrumb placed along the path. Dianna Crenshaw is truly
a manipulator of the highest order. She is incapable of giving freely of herself
without expectation of personal gain. Dianna is the center of her own universe
and considers the existence of those surrounding her as random occurrences—more
or less puppets designed purely for her amusement. Occasionally she will engage
with them, but when the strings of emotion become tangled she casts them aside
and reaches for another.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;">It was a week ago Thursday when Dianna glided into the room
with an air of supreme confidence. Hidden layers deep beneath an unfamiliar grin,
I identified the venomous undertones as that of a spider—the euphoric moment when
an arachnid first feels the vibrations of prey caught in its web. Only seconds
before her arrival the air in the small room had been circulating and
plentiful, as if I were a young boy again, perched upon a fallen log at the
edge of a lush and green meadow. Her mere presence ushered in a deadly frost;
the air suddenly became stale and poisonous. The vision of a meadow melted away
and the warbling of songbirds trailed off into nothingness. A feeling of
impending finality swallowed me, and instantly I knew today would be our final
meeting. Her minions would finally pin me to the floor and the ice-queen would use
her razor-sharp talons to pluck the beating heart from my chest, or I would be
granted the opportunity to begin putting distance between myself and this cyclical
nightmare.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;">Dianna carried a worn leather binder overflowing with
documents; the open end loosely secured with a thin piece of black cord. When
she slapped the stack on the table the cord splintered into threads and the
contents spilled out. A quick scan revealed legal documents, each of them bearing
my name with her signature at the bottom. Dianna shrugged and flashed a grin, seemingly
unconcerned about the premature unveiling of my fate.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;">She lit with the grace of a butterfly in the center chair on
the opposing side of the table; always insistent upon distance, as if she
feared I might physically harm her. The two males accompanying her made no
sound at all. She commanded them with a nod and each folded into a chair
flanking her. The three of them had descended upon the room with the stealth of
wolves. Each of the males displayed a familiar, empty gaze. In some dark and
hazy moment Dianna had penetrated their defenses—shells of men, waiting breathlessly
for the opportunity to obey her next command.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;">I learned long ago that the conventional method of mentally
preparing my defenses was useless against Dianna. I considered it a predictable
game that neither had tired of playing—exposing my weaknesses and her prowess
without having to speak a single word. I supposed repeated exposure had bred
comfort enough that I dismissed the illusion that I possessed the will power to
deprive myself the visual pleasure of the show, and Dianna refused to pretend that
the attention was unintentional or unwanted. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;">She drew a deep breath, allowing her breasts to narrowly emerge
from the obscurity of her jacket; the expanding of her diaphragm was like
shifting tectonic plates beneath the ocean—each in their own right revealing previously
hidden treasures.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;">Oddly, Dianna spared only a microsecond to absorb the attention
of my gaze before exhaling quickly and pulling her jacket to. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;">“Life’s funny isn’t it, Walter? As much as you’d like us to
believe differently the fact remains you’re still a very perverted man. The
more things change the more they stay the same. You’re weaknesses, my position
of power over you, the idea that you believe I’m the delusional one and as my
counselor you’ve spent the last twenty years trying to rescue me, but for me
personally, the most pleasurable of all is the indescribable futility you must
feel when you file yet another appeal to be removed from death row and I
cold-heartedly deny it!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;">It does seem to me a travesty of epic proportions that a
relationship, at least from an internal perspective, holding so much promise
ended so abruptly, and amidst such venomous verbal daggers being hurled. Unfortunately
those were the last words Dianna spoke to me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffd966;">In retrospect, I believe we both had valid points. Mine
being that there are some locking mechanisms for which no key exists, and
perhaps Dianna was right when she said the more things change the more they
remain the same. Quite regrettably it would seem despite my best efforts I returned
to old ways. The details of the event remain hazy in my own mind, but if the
account of either of the two guards is to be reliable, and I have no reason to
suspect otherwise, they say I was consumed by an uncontrollable and relentless
fit of rage. That I lurched against the restraints and broke free and was able
to finally sink my teeth into fair Dianna’s flesh. The guards were eventually
able to forcibly remove me from atop her, but most notably not before I was
able to separate poor Dianna Crenshaw from that awful tasting, viperous,
tongue. </span></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986014894382899336noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-921323834562941074.post-34959022128209316252015-02-08T15:37:00.000-06:002015-02-09T11:56:03.243-06:00Good Company<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">The waitress and I laughed as we took
turns lamenting over how pathetically inept the High School football coach was again
this year. I did my best to feign surprise when she revealed the melee that broke
out at the latest city board meeting had less to do with a re-zoning request
than it did with accusations that the requestor, Suzette Simpson, had worked
her way through the city councilmen exchanging sexual favors for votes. Each
year was a carbon copy of the last. I supposed that was the hallmark of any
small town, and precisely the reason why the younger generation couldn’t shake
the dust of this place off their shoes quickly enough and those who set down
roots couldn’t be dragged away with a fleet of jacked-up 4X4 pickups and log
chains. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">When Marley forged forward to
the next topic, memories of past began swirling in my head. As the intensity of
my stare increased the words flowing from her sounded as if they were passing
through a blender until I disconnected completely. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">“Do you know what I mean?” She asked
a second time. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">Marley’s smile ended awkwardly when
she realized I had been staring at the calendar hanging over her shoulder. The
truth of the matter was I hadn’t heard a word she’d uttered in the last several
minutes and by avoiding admission of my inattention and moving forward, I fed
the uncomfortable state of limbo. Although I said nothing, my mind was busy
frantically shuffling through a stack of responses. Finally I settled on one,
that had time allowed would have certainly been discarded. “Have you changed
your hair style? The way the sun is dancing in it----“</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">“Stop with the cheap make-up lines,
Mark. Just admit you were daydreaming. You always were a dreamer.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">Marley tilted her head in the
direction of the calendar, “Today is the day isn’t it?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">She remembered the significance of
this day to me and I appreciated the fact she did. “Yep, but I’ll be fine. Marley,
you do realize the Red Rooster wouldn’t be the same without you.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">Marley paused a moment before the
remnants of her smile returned. I hoped the return of it indicated she
discovered a trace of sincerity in my compliment, but I wasn’t convinced. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">“I’m serious. Don’t you dare say a
word to Chip because he’s a great guy, but the food he puts out of that kitchen
is barely average. Both of us know it’s that smile, those sculpted calves, and
the way you twirl your skirt when you turn that keeps the boys buzzing around
here.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">Marley blushed before offering her
signature move. She winked in an exaggerated manner and spoke loudly enough for
everyone to hear. “I’ll get your check, you big flirt!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"> Forty long
years had passed since my first glimpse of the underside of that skirt. The
‘goods’ were still good—better than most women half her age. I was twelve the
first time my grandfather brought me here; a freckled-faced and gangly
tag-along. And Marlene Wilkins was a statuesque, stunningly, beautiful blonde who
waitressed on weekends. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">There were certain rules of engagement
that governed a junior-high boy from paying undue attention to any high school
girl. But in Marley’s case there were half a dozen football goons and a couple
of buff twenty-somethings that hadn’t quite transitioned into adulthood,
standing ready to squash your guts into jelly if you ogled in her general
direction too long. Even the densest clod knew the kind of damage a stampede of
size 16 football cleats would inflict on the torso, but the way I saw it, day
to day middle-school existence was always about risk and reward. I’d just have
to be wise enough to fly under the radar. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">Marley drove a black, older model
Cadillac…too old and beat up to be cool if she weren’t behind the wheel.
Thursday evenings she spent an hour at the library studying, except when
volleyball games and practice trumped schoolwork. Generally she attended second
mass at St. Mary’s Cathedral, sat in the third row from the back between her
parents, and usually wore a pale blue dress with white lace around the neck and
sleeves. Marley was an only child. Some said her mother suffered from female
problems and wasn’t able to have any more children, but I supposed it just as
likely that after the first child turned out that unbelievably perfect there
wasn’t much use in disappointing yourself. A girl of Marley’s caliber could
offer a guy a handful of rabbit droppings and make him believe it was
caviar. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">Looking back, I don’t think it was
anyone’s fault—more just a case of never seeing that first slice of life served
stone cold coming down the pike. Marley didn’t pay any more or any less
attention to me than any of the other starry-eyed suitors, but within the
confines of my own mind it was another story altogether—and that’s where the
trouble began. I read far too much into a touch, a glance, or a kind word. In
doing so, six months into my eighth-grade year I decided the very day I
graduated from high school I’d ask for her hand in marriage. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">It was the beginning of my freshman
year when reality took on the form of a diesel-powered steam roller; the driver
of which was hell-bent on exposing the fragile nature of my imaginary world. I
heard the news second-hand, while sitting in the barber’s chair. I would have
dismissed it as hear-say if only one of them said it, but when all three
members perched on the ‘liars bench’ agreed on something, it was as certain as death
itself. It seemed Jimmy Crawford had not only stepped in and wooed, but married
my girl out from underneath me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">I barely recall paying for my
haircut before swinging open the door to a world too bright. The light of truth
was like a poisonous cocktail injected straight into my brain. I continued stumbling
down the sidewalk and with each plodding step another brittle part of me broke
and fell away. My insides continued to unravel until anyone with a set of eyes
to see, witnessed a gelatinous pile of goo dragging itself up the front steps
of my parents home. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">I assure you that identifying a
disease is far removed from discovering a cure, and an acute case of an over-exposed
heart wasn’t the kind of affliction you discussed with anyone. The only thing I
knew to do was withdraw into a state of hibernation and wait for one of two
outcomes; either the skin would eventually grow back and provide protection or my
heart would harden to the point it would no longer function. So I waited for fate
to swoop in and rescue me or finish the work by pushing me over the cliff. For
the better part of month I sat on the edge of my bed watching the world spinning
around me. And spin it did—at warp speed. By the time a scarred and wary young
man stepped on stage to receive his diploma, Marley had been married and
divorced a third time and had four children to care for. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"> As I
waited on my check I fiddle with straightening and re-straightening the
condiment holder; the same thing I had done on my first trip here. Most
specifically after my grandfather asked me what kind of fool spends more time looking
at the waitress than eating his breakfast? With an empty plate in front of him,
Granddad grabbed a toothpick and placed it in the corner of his mouth; his eyes
fixed hard on me. I thought he would chew that toothpick in two and every other
one in the box before he spoke another word. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">In a gravely but gentle voice he
continued, “There ain’t no harm in taking a gander once in awhile—kinda let’s a
man know he’s alive. But let me give you a piece of advice. At yer age if you
set your sights on a filly like that—well, yer just settin’ yourself up for a lifetime
of disappointment, Son.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"> While I
wouldn’t exactly describe my existence between that day and now as a disappointment,
in general terms my grandfather was right. My mother’s father continued to offer
bits of advice to me throughout my teenage years, but it was his saint-like
patience that impressed me most. Over and over he stood in the distance and watched
me stubbornly forge my own way until poor decisions stacked upon poor decision resulted
in a hail-storm of boulders raining down on me. It was always his weathered hand
reaching to pull me from the rubble, dusting me off instead of asking why I
hadn’t listened. Back then I believed he protected me because of obligation,
adherence to some type of unwritten code that all grandfathers abide by. Granddad had the gift of reading all people
and interjecting himself into their lives at just the right moment; an
unofficial and unlicensed doctor of hope, injecting the sick with the proper
dose of wisdom and truth. Over time I came to understand his loving and healing
ways extended well beyond the bounds of family and plunged deep into the heart
of a community. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">October 17<sup>th</sup> 1978 marked
the day of his passing, and although I’d moved a hundred miles away from this
town, I returned each year to place a fresh spray of flowers at his grave. I’d
linger by his stone until the sun had dipped beneath the horizon, wishing
quietly at first, eventually praying out loud that the keeper of time might allow
me to hear granddad’s voice one more time. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"> I
scooped the check from the table and on the way to the counter I felt a tug at
my sleeve. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">“Is that you, snapper?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">It was more of a croak than a
full-fledged voice that spoke to me. Only granddad’s cronies ever called me Snapper,
and to the best of my knowledge they had all passed years ago. I studied the man
closely. Ernie had to be in his late nineties; there was a walker sitting next
to his chair. One of his eyes was black and swollen shut, and the bruised meat
hanging from his fore-arms appeared to be losing the fight. The skin on his
face gathered in folds and sagged to the extent his left eye was a mere slit.
His field of vision was reduced so severely that he swiveled his head like a
periscope on a submarine. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">I couldn’t decide if it was more of
a shock seeing someone I thought to be dead, or witnessing the muted shades of
someone who had skirted death too long. For a man reduced to viewing the world
one horizontal slice at a time Ernie saw more than most. He read my thoughts
like spoken words and before I could acknowledge him and confirm my identity
the old man became visibly agitated, upsetting his coffee when he reached for it.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">I turned to his son sitting next to
him, “I’m awfully sorry for upsetting him, but it’s been so long and I didn’t
recogni….. Here, let me pay for your breakfast.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">When I reached to set the cash on
the table Ernie grabbed my wrist. His aggressiveness nature and display of
strength caught me off guard. One quick jerk brought my face and his within a
foot of each other. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">“Snapper, you always was kind of a
bastard. You coulda just said hello and went about your business like everyone
else, instead of starin’ at me like I’m a freak!” I noticed a tear forming at
the corner of his good eye, and in the time it took to traverse the rugged
terrain, Ernie delivered another viperous strike. “Pop’s would be so
disappointed in you!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">The mention of my grandfather and
disappointed in the same sentence was a nauseous combination. A loaded omelet and
side of bacon became cement churning in my belly, and my throat the delivery
tube. I swallowed hard against the urge and jerked free of his grasp. As I made
my way to the cash register Ernie’s son called after me, “He’s all mixed
up…don’t know what he’s sayin’ half the time.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">In the tiny space of time between
the jingle of a bell on the restaurant door and the slap of it closing behind
me I heard the croak again, “Meant every last word of it, snapper. You ain’t
half the man he was!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">I traveled the quarter mile outside
of town where the pavement ended and the gravel began. Continuing along the
crooked roads, I nudged the heater a notch higher. It wasn’t until the third
adjustment that I realized the chill that had settled deep in the marrow of my
bones wasn’t a physical cold but Ernie’s words gnawing at me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">Perhaps Ernie was as confused and
disconnected as everyone believed him to be, but in a moment of clarity he
spoke the hard truth. The truth of the light stung every bit as much as it had
the day I stumbled from out the barber shop door. Somehow that hobbled man had
intercepted my thoughts and he was absolutely right. Only a bastard would allow
an errant thought like that to cross their mind’s threshold. And on the second
count, guilty as charged; even if I made it my life’s pursuit, I’d draw my last
ragged breath with the disappointment that I would cross the finish line less
than half the man my grandfather had been. On some level I supposed that operating
in the shadows would always haunt me to a certain degree, but I also believed
that having a mentor like my grandfather motivated me to be a better person
than I would otherwise hope to be.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">After locating the row of stones
belonging to my family I applied the brakes and popped the lever to release the
trunk. I remember thinking that if the ominous slab of green clouds in the distance
kept moving this direction that my visit might be cut short. When I moved the
shifter from drive to park it was like a bolt of lightning pierced the right side
of my chest and exploded on the opposing side, taking my breathe with it. What oxygen
remained for intake was the heavy air of an approaching storm and each draw seemed
to solidify into chunks too large to swallow. With the door already open there
was little I could do to prevent myself from spilling out on the ground and
striking my head. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">In a panic I quickly searched my
memory bank and recalled seeing no other vehicles in the cemetery. The feeling
of complete helplessness sparked a surge of adrenaline. After a couple of
shallow breathes the panic subsided as quickly as it arrived. Suddenly I was inexplicably
thankful for the coolness of the earth against my cheek. From the onset, dark bands
on either side had gobbled up my peripheral vision and I supposed they would
continue marching toward the center of my eye until they had taken all they had
come for. I lifted my head enough to get a glimpse of my grandfather’s stone. I
stared at the marker intently until my neck could no longer support the weight of my head.
There was a vague awareness that my left side was numb. My thoughts were coming
in spurts now, colliding against one another, confused as to their destination.
But there was absolutely no fear in any of it, just an eerie peacefulness
that I was in good company. </span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span> </div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986014894382899336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-921323834562941074.post-67111540022300896542014-08-02T21:54:00.000-05:002014-08-02T21:54:49.657-05:00Madam Butterfly<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">The mere thought of viewing the photo made my palms greasy. I
supposed even a lion tamer beats back the fear of entering the cage through
repetition so I vowed to study if often, until I either understood the
intricacies contained within or it lost its power over me. My two older
brothers stood on either side of me like bookends—much too well-groomed and handsome
for lions. Both of them surely settled now with respectable wives, customary jobs,
and promising offspring. One would think sufficient enough new memories to have
crowed out the old. Cold as it seemed I would have preferred such an
arrangement as expectations of others creates a heavy burden for a traveling
man. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">My brothers were born better men than most — the type whom after
all this time still couldn’t completely enjoy an after dinner drink without the
liquor turning bitter against their tongues as an obligatory thought of their
younger brother’s whereabouts and latest misadventures danced through their heads.
I’m certain the marauding thought prompted a different set of questions as I
believe the human mind is comprised of a unique labyrinth of dusty paths, but just
as every winding river finds its way to a greater body of water I fear each in
their own time arrived at the same destination, the corner of Misunderstanding Lane
and Bewilderment Boulevard, completely perplexed and heartbroken as to how
their younger brother continued to roam like a tumble-weed. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">Momma said from the onset of pregnancy she knew I was
different—said she felt it rumbling in her belly like thunder. With each passing
birthday I became more aware of this restless thing that churned inside of me—an
insatiable appetite for adventure; a wolf that feasts and moves on quickly,
afraid that if he settles in one spot for
more than a night the desire of pursuit might escape in a dream. He has glimpsed
the nightmare before; another warrior too deflated and weak to stand. Even the arrival
of dawn cannot stir him; instead she weeps bitterly knowing the power to revive
and restore such things lies outside the realm of a rising sun. I fear the warmth
of ten-thousand suns cannot loosen the icy grip of a crippling frost; descended
under the cover of night, settling heavy on his coat, layer upon layer until it
seeps into the marrow of his bones—poisoning from the inside out. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">For a man inexplicably drawn to the road the options seemed
few; the answer deceptively simple. Unless a man carve out his insides
completely or invite the deadly frost (either prospect more appalling than
appealing); he must trudge onward, maintain a steady pace, and never look back.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">If you consider such an illogical and poorly conceived
manner of plotting a man’s course for life a philosophy, it served me well for
nearly a decade. I suspect the freedom from being obliged to anyone for
anything is what initially draws a man to a nomadic life-style, but it’s the acquired
taste of adrenaline that keeps him chained there. Cast into a sea of drowning
rats I learned to hold my breath and float to the top. I became skilled in the
art of deception, playing the role of whatever would benefit me at the expense
of those around me. In my travels I discovered North or South, city or burg;
the world is overrun with liars and frauds. A full ninety-nine in one-hundred
men would rather spend a week’s time apologizing for, rather than a minute
embracing whom it is they truly are and will likely never be. And I have a sneaking
suspicion the lone exception nothing more than a figment of an eternal
optimist’s imagination. Conservatively I had re-created myself a hundred times
over without anyone who could dispute even the smallest detail. Today would be
no different. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">Perhaps someday gambling would become an acceptable use of
one’s spare time and earnings, but for now the God-fearing folks along the
Mississippi would sooner invite Beelzebub himself to Sunday dinner. In such
matters of deep disagreement and antiquated thinking it is commonplace to
assume you are born belonging to one extreme or the other. One party believing
that giving an inch to the opposition earns you a one-way ticket to a place of
burning damnation, and the other side unable to conceive a haven of eternal
rest worth the cost of such closed-minded company. For now the gambling houses peppering
the hillsides were boarded up or had been burned to the ground forcing those struck
with the ‘illness’ to open water where as of yet no restrictions existed. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">The shadowy likeness of chandeliers hung above each table;
the sparkle of crystal stifled by a layer of dust produced by a coal-burning
engine; gangly fixtures producing enough light to distinguish the ball room from
a root-cellar but not enough to discourage the gathering of rodents. Like paper
dolls cut from the same flawed stock, each of them saddled with elongated faces;
pasty and gaunt—too far removed from a good night’s rest. Their movements were slow
and mechanical, feeding on the last fumes of alcohol boiling in their bellies. As
I moved throughout the space I discovered a reoccurring theme; it appeared to
me everything and everyone had given up the better parts of themselves to come
here. Overall, an eclectic collection of zombies, but then I spotted a gentleman
of substance with an attractive female dangling from his arm and I smelled
opportunity. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">From the instant we locked eyes I believe we both recognized
the danger in staring too long at another like us. I understood being the first
to break the steely exchange constituted a perceived weakness, but I calculated
it a better option than allowing him to prove it completely. He flashed a wry
grin, pleased that I would surrender a first round so quickly. Despite his
genteel disguise the man standing before me was as dangerous and poisonous a
creature I’d encountered. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">A naïve moment longer and I would have fallen under his
spell completely. Disengaged from this silent brand of warfare I observed my
adversary in a completely different light. Suit, shoes, and top hat, white as
driven snow; a telegraphing of innocence, designed to delay the discovery of a
blackened-heart beating beneath. I determined the monocle over his left eye less
an ocular necessity than an instrument of war as I could still feel the
scorching effects of it like a noon-day sun. Although his movements seemed random,
his repositioning about the table was efficient and purposeful designed purely
to gain advantage over another; like a boa constrictor ratcheting his grip. A
mere three feet separating us suddenly seemed risky. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">“I find it quite stuffy down here. Think I’ll go topside for
a smoke.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">Over the years I learned self-preservation comes instinctively. I didn’t recall commanding the words that left my lips, only the
actions that kept me a man of my word. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">I discovered a measure of peace nestled in the muted sounds of
a river-boat’s paddle slapping against the current. Without demanding any sort
of attention the sun drooped into the shadows of the hickories lining the
shore. I toyed with aligning the lit end of my cigarette and drawing hard
enough to match her hue. Burrowing deeper into the safety of branches she appeared
to smile—perhaps at such foolishness that any man would dabble at reproducing
nature. Along with an occasional chuckle was the din of several quiet private
conversations melting together, proving to me this place and those who loitered
here were in complete contrast of those below. The topsiders were like my
brothers. Perhaps by month’s end I would return home. It was always with good
conscience I made such plans, perhaps a dozen times or more, never to act upon
them. I wondered quietly if I’d reached such a level of decay that my own
thoughts could not be trusted. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">During a brief exchange with a topsider I ascertained the
name of the well-dressed gambler. The stranger hinted that Mr. Cleary came from
old money, enough that he felt comfortable wagering a good percentage of it
nightly on cards. I had yet to inquire about the female accompanying Mr. Cleary
when a disturbance sent the topsiders scattering like mice. I turned to my new
acquaintance to find the space on the bench as barren as a winter’s field. I
recognized the flashy female slinking across the deck as the very same hanging from
the arm of Mr. Cleary only moments earlier. I supposed it under his direction
and part of a bigger plan that she approached me now unescorted. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">“Is the seat next to you taken?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">Her voice arrived much softer than expected. I wished to
respond cleverly and normally weaving a web of words, whether a small smattering
of the truth or a complete fabrication, flowed as freely from my lips as water
welling from a spring, but it took every ounce of concentration I could summon to
ignore the intoxicating aroma of butterflies. I supposed it a costly perfume but
the essence rather completely captured what I imagined such an elegant creature
of the sky to smell like. Despite the waning light of day the beauty of her classic
facial features sparked an aura of radiance, but the manner in which the purple
cloth clung to her exquisite frame was perhaps her most disarming feature. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">“Feel free to sit, Madam Butterfly.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">She stared at me as if I had two heads. Upon realizing my
response I now wished for two—one that might be assigned to stay on point and responsibly
carry on a civil and productive conversation, leaving the other glassy-eyed and
drooling to shamelessly record her every detail. And when she had left and the
three of us settled down for the night we would gladly allow the foolish head to
talk us to sleep. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">“My sincerest apologies for the foolish speech that follows
the consumption of too many drinks. The seat is open and you are welcome to it.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">Unlike others where laughter erupts in choppy and awkward bursts,
it flowed from her like a sonnet begging to be written down. Still standing she
bent gracefully at the waist and drew within striking distance. No stranger to being
slapped sharply across the cheek, I braced myself. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">“What would say if I told you that I had my eye on you from
the moment you entered the ballroom and not once did I see you order a drink?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">“What if I told you, good lady, that I carry a flask of fine
Irish Whisky and it is nearly empty?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">She folded like cotton on the bench next to me, much softer
and nearer than expected, then in a sultry manner she drew her lower lip
between her teeth and smiled. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">“If not for shattering your expectation of an innocent doe I
might simply reach inside your jacket and check for myself. But to save us both
the discomfort of gossiping mouths I will instead inform you that I’m well within
proximity to smell alcohol on your breath, and the absence of such makes you a professional
liar!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">I don’t imagine the look of surprise on my face significantly
removed from that of Goliath’s expression when struck in the forehead with David’s
stone. This woman was either an exceedingly good judge of character or a hound
sent to flush a nervous quail from the brambles. I suspected and hoped the latter.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">“At the risk of sounding pointed, did your husband send you
out here?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">She laughed again, nearly as gracefully as before.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">“Yes and no, I suppose. First, Mr. Cleary is definitely not my
husband and yes, daddy sent me up to extend an invitation to you.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">Without warning and disclosing a single word more she
twirled around on the bench, stretched out on her back, and laid her head in my
lap. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">I nervously swiveled in both directions. “So much for the
gossiping mouths”, I laughed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">“My name is Miranda Cleary. Question of the night—if the
world caught fire and you could keep only one would you save the fabulously starry
skies along the river or rescue Michael Angelo’s greatest works?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">The warmth of such an attractive woman’s head seeping
through the fabric caused my mind to run in circles. The thought of using my
fingers to smooth the fabric of her dress flashed through. Only after flushing
it completely could I give sufficient answer. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">“I’m Henry Carter, pleased to meet you Miranda. Well, ma’am,
I suppose that since I know the beauty of one first hand and have only heard
tell of the other it would be improper that my vote should count at all.
Perhaps you ought to sit upright again; I’d hate for your father to come up and
jump to wrong conclusions seeing your head buried in my britches. You said
something about extending an invitation did you?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">“What would say if I asked you to kiss me right now?”
Miranda probed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">I did my best to brush the question aside. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">“I’d inform you that I haven’t been that limber since I was
a boy of twelve.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">Undeterred, she popped upright and asked again. Certainly
the daughter of a gambler she upped the ante.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">“No bending involved. I’m not telling you what daddy sent me
for until you kiss me.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">The light of a harvest moon played with the river and then
my mind. Striking the surface she then leapt into the abundance of Miranda’s chestnut
hair until every strand appeared to emit a tiny stream of light. Miranda’s eye
sparkled with anticipation and truth be known I could fill a notepad ten times
over with shadier things I’d done or been an accomplice to than simply kissing
a woman who asked. As I brushed back her hair to expose the apple of her cheek
my breathing picked up pace. Leaning towards my target Miranda pivoted quickly
and caught me full on the mouth. Before I could protest, her electric lips
devoured mine, transmitting a jolt of energy that caused every hair on my body
to stand at attention. I can only assume the tingle extended into the cortex of
my brain when my field of vision filled with spindles of colored light splintering
from a central point in all directions toward outer space. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">Suddenly Miranda
pulled away and blurted so quickly I felt the sweetness of her breath in my
face.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">“You definitely piqued my father’s interest and that occurs on
very rare occasions. Daddy noticed your hesitation at the table earlier but would
still like the opportunity to get acquainted. He’d be delighted if you’d come
to his suite; dinner at 7:30pm sharp—and a private game of cards I’m certain to
follow. Oh Henry, won’t you please, please say you’ll come. Don’t think it to
forward of me, but already I’ve grown rather fond of your company.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;">At first I stared blankly into the darkness seeking answer
where there were none to be found. Then I paced about the deck aimlessly for
nearly half an hour, attempting to reason with my unreasonable self, exhaling
more cigarette smoke than the old vessel belched out the stacks running full-bore
upstream. I couldn’t shake the feeling that an innocent nod of acceptance had
sealed my fate. ‘Where was you head?’ I scolded audibly before taking notice of
the crossways glances and outright glares I was garnering. I shifted to a
whisper but kept moving, ‘How could you have put yourself in harm’s way simply
to avoid disappointing a woman you barely knew? You used to have a beautifully
crafty mind, is it suddenly rendered completely useless as quickly as some
woman beyond your reach inadvertently brushes again your heart-strings? Have
you forget how intuitive Mr. Cleary had been during your first encounter. Beyond
a shadow of a doubt he will know you’ve kissed his daughter. Hell, he probably
knows you briefly considered caressing her under the guise of smoothing her
dress. You may as well avoid the issue entirely by throwing yourself overboard
now. The odds of being fit enough to swim to shore are better than surviving
the viper you’ll face below deck.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">I immediately regretted working myself into such a frenzy as
a brief glance at my timepiece revealed only five full minutes remained. The only
thing more frightening than facing Mr. Cleary in his own surroundings would be the
insult of arriving late. I drew an extraordinarily deep breath of fresh air and
before descending down the stairs prayed it would not be my last.</span> </span></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986014894382899336noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-921323834562941074.post-79007555789718106372014-02-01T08:59:00.001-06:002014-02-01T08:59:30.877-06:00Instinct Part 1<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">I saw plenty of cops come and go, but none more interesting and
engaging than Dexter Hanley. The grizzly veteran was the oldest guy on the
force by a good decade and most of the surface dwellers in the precinct didn’t
bother digging any further than a first impression. Based on first encounters
Dexter was an odd bird, but I’ve always believed there is a certain percentage
of genius even in those labeled bat-shit crazy. More than anything I suppose a bad
left eye and a few ticks spooked most people off, but if you weren’t afraid to
ask a few questions and took time to listen to the answers you’d discover a loving
and dedicated husband, grandfather, and exemplary officer. I’m not saying Dexter
couldn’t have done more to bolster his image among his peers, but he didn’t seem
to care much about what others thought and said of him. Like water off a duck’s
back most days with the exception of one occasion that’s as fresh in my mind as
yesterday. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">Dexter arrived back at headquarters and as he strolled past
the break-room caught a glimpse of the new rookie doing a bad impression of
him. The kid was pretty buff, but definitely full of himself; the kind that
poses in front of a mirror and honestly believes he’s doing the mirror a favor.
The boy’s whole demeanor changed the moment Dexter hoisted him up like an empty
milk jug, pinning him against the wall, leaving his feet to dangle like a
paper-doll on a windy day.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">While I can only assume Dexter’s insides were on the brink
of boiling in their own juices he never lost his composure; his voice as smooth
and rich as any high-paid news anchor that ever lived. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">“There’s a difference between gym-tough and street-tough.” Dexter
began. “I’ve yet to have a criminal challenge me to a curlin’ or bench-press contest,
so probably best if you save that shit for your puffy-chested cronies at the
gym—you know, the one’s starin’ at your ass in the mirror when you ain’t
lookin’!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">The room erupted into a chorus of laughter and jeers as
Dexter dropped the boy like a hot-rock. The punk folded into a pile at the
baseboard like a dirty pair of socks and boxers at a bachelor pad, and was still
quiverin’ like a bowl of half-set Jello as Dexter leaned down to offer some
parting advice. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">“Two rounds from a .45 in a dark alley will change your life—one
in the back and one in the skull, so all things considered I’m mighty blessed
to walk away with just a lazy eye. Son, I was walkin’ a beat in the nastiest
part of Philly when you was still nuzzlin’ your momma’s teet and fillin’ yer
diapers with green puddin’. That don’t make me better than you…just smarter,
more experience of knowin’ when to keep my yap shut!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">Dexter’s outburst put an end to the jokes around the station
and as I look back marked the beginning of our friendship. Neither of us were
the type to make friends easily but I suppose we each saw something in the
other we identified with. On the surface we were night and day. Dexter was
African-American, thirty years my senior, and grew up in the projects of a
large city. I couldn’t imagine quitting school in the fourth grade and going to
work to help your mother support your seven brothers and sisters. Despite
experiencing the harsh reality of a cold and cruel world at such a young age
Dexter navigated the choppy waters and not only emerged on the other side, but arrived
there a much tougher and smarter breed than most. Quite admirably he appeared
to harbor no animosity towards anyone. On the flip-side I came from an
upper-middle-class exclusively white neighborhood and breezed through private
school on my parent’s dime. They wanted me to pursue a psychology degree, but
all the money in the world can’t make a square peg fit a round hole and that’s
how it had been for me socially since grade school. Out of respect I began working towards a psychology
degree but silently resigned myself to a life of misery. Midway through my
sophomore year I was walking home drunk from a party and had the fortunate
experience of getting mugged and severely beaten; fortunate because I used the recovery
time to formulate a plan for escape. Eventually I convinced my parent’s the
world would not suddenly quit spinning if one kid changed his degree to criminal
justice. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">I likened Dexter and his beautiful brain to a tightly wound
ball of yarn. Locating the loose end proved difficult, but once identified, tugging
on the fray unraveled an avalanche of knowledge that often flooded my brain to
the point of overload. I can honestly say I continued to absorb information right
up until the night he was killed in the line of duty. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">Dexter failed to respond to a radio call and the search
began. We found his squad car in an empty parking lot, driver’s side door
riddled with bullet holes, and the front seat drenched in blood. The only thing
missing was Dexter, no body and not a trace of it being removed from the
vehicle. I knew he had been working an angle on something, but despite my
inquiries he remained tight-lipped about the details. Like an older brother to
me, I took the loss personal and worked on the mystery for more than a month. With
little evidence and no leads, the higher-ups ‘encouraged’ me to quit chasing ghosts
and let the past pass. Threatened with the loss of my job the case went cold,
but I could never quite shake the feeling I’d let my friend down. More than
anything I hated it for his family. Navigating the grief process is nearly
impossible when you can’t even lay your hands on a body to bury. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">Nothing about Dexter could be remotely classified as conventional.
Some of his techniques fell a good distance outside the lines, but the damndest
thing was they always worked. I remember laughing out loud when he suggested I
could essentially train myself to have a photographic memory, turn it on and
off like a light switch. At the time I wasn’t even sure such things existed,
but certainly if they did I figured you were wired that way or you weren’t. Turns
out the old man couldn’t have been more spot on. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">Despite the distraction of a world moving at full speed, I
took a deep breath and forced my mind into a state where everything crept like
cold molasses over a frozen rock. I focused hard on the cigarette, able to make
out the Phillip Morris label during each revolution until it covered the length
of the interrogation room table. I followed it up with a lighter skidding along
the same path until it dropped into the suspect’s hands.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">“You got the smoke you asked for, let’s get down to business.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">“Knock yourself out—it’s your story, you tell it.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">Right out of the gate I didn’t like the guy’s attitude, but I
supposed he had his agenda and I had mine, so I forged forward with my
rendition of what I believed took place that night.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">“I’m guessing it was around midnight when a pretty, little,
brunette rounded the corner and started up the alley. You were probably pretty stoked
to see a working girl that either wasn’t afraid to take the shortcut, or maybe she
was too high to care. Don’t suppose it mattered to you either way as long as
she moved away from the streetlights and into the shadows. That’s kinda where
guys like you do their best work, isn’t it Rodney, under the cover of dark?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">I didn’t expect an answer, but paused on the off chance he
might tip his hand. Instead, Rodney leaned back in the chair, sparked the
lighter, and took a long drag. Veiled by a cloud of smoke I could still see that
smug expression. If this punk wanted to play games I was definitely willing to
turn up the heat. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">“Some women run around in primer, best suited for tooling
around town and running errands. Not this shiny vixen; she was built for speed
and lived for the thrill of the open road. It was those stiletto heels that set
everything in perfect motion; banana curls dancing against the apples of her
cheeks, tender breasts licking against the delicate lace of a thin teddy. Each
step sent them heaving against their restraint, flirting with the brink of
spilling over. All that visual temptation put to the sweet music produced by the
rhythmic swishing of a leather skirt rustling against her thighs. Suddenly it didn’t
matter that she wouldn’t give you the time of day because with each delicious
step she unknowingly moved closer to the lion’s den. Then she’d have no say in
anything. You’d bring her down, satisfy your own desires, and take what you
wanted. Isn’t that what you were thinkin’, Rodney!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">The boy didn’t have to say a word; his pasty white
complexion and the line of sweat-beads across his brow told me my rendition hit
dangerously close to home. Just when I was set to take another bite out of this
punk the Lieutenant nearly busted the door off the hinges.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">“You damn renegade! Just what the hell do you think you’re
doin’?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">After leveling the accusation of wrong-doing in my
direction, the Lieutenant addressed my suspect.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">“Rodney, gather your things and get back out on your beat,
your partner’s waiting on ya!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">With the arrival of unexpected company the pressure in the
room skyrocketed. I felt like I was trapped in a sauna with a broken thermostat
running wide open. Calculated risk was a part of the gig but I had determined
getting to know Rodney outweighed the potential repercussions of getting caught
doing it. Now that my plan had fallen apart I hoped a cool down period would
benefit my cause. I attempted to sneak out of the room on Rodney’s heels when
the Lieutenant caught me by the collar.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">“You crazy, unethical, son-of-a-bitch, that’s a fellow
officer you’re interrogating like he’s Charlie Manson’s brother. You do understand
if he has an ounce of sense he’ll make a phone call and in a flash the D.A. will
be so far up my ass I’ll have trouble breathin’. Thank you for brining a fresh
pile of shit to my doorstep, Officer Tanner. It’s like a bad infomercial…but
wait there’s more. As if this steamy pile wasn’t enough, you placed a bright,
shiny turd on top. Not only is Rodney a fellow officer, but more importantly my
wife’s nephew! Hand me your weapon and badge. You earned yourself a month off
without pay, starting now!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">After a few moments of silence the idea of being suspended
unjustly boiled in my gut until it spilled over into angry words. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">“You’re making a big mistake, Lieutenant. I understand you’re
worried about the bad press associated with exposing a rotten apple from within.
But for my own curiosity—is there a particular number of mutilated, young girls
before you start losing sleep? Obviously three isn’t enough. And just how
brutal do you think the press is going to be when they suspect more blood was
spilled by your attempt to protect your reputation and family instead of doing
your job?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">I thought my bosses head was going to spin off before he sputtered
his next words.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">“That’s an extra week of suspension for gross disrespect!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">I moved into his personal space until I was certain I could
feel the pulsing of the bulging vein in his forehead. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">“That’s a physical impossibility, Lieutenant. By its very
nature disrespect would indicate a prior level of respect, and the only thing
gross in this whole situation is your level of negligence!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">Perhaps the most important single lesson Dexter taught me was
that the loneliness associated with operating and thinking outside the lines is
not a bad thing. We were working together one night, sitting at a stop light
when it turned green. As I pulled through the intersection Dexter said he was
going to ask me a couple questions. He stated there may or may not be correct
answers, but the most important thing was to refrain from analyzing my replies
and just respond instinctively. I suspected it was another of his tests so I laughed
and agreed. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">“What was the model and make of the car following us that
turned North on Culvert Ave?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">“Rust colored 69 Impala, black hardtop, looked to have a
good sized dent in the driver’s front quarter.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">“Damn, I missed the dent completely.” He exclaimed. “You’re
warmed up now, boy. Let’s go for broke.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"> “How many steps across
the cross-walk, one curb to the other?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">“Size ten and a half, six foot male, normal stride, sixteen
steps”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">Dexter giggled like a school girl at her first dance, completely
unable to suppress the excitement in his voice.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">“Ok…OK, how many LED’s were in that green stop lamp? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">“283”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">The old man slapped the dash, “Nice try, but I
gotcha—there’s 285.” He exclaimed proudly.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">I turned at the next block and we circled back the original
intersection. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">“Check it out, Dexter, third ring from the center on the
left side two are burned out, so makes 283.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">“Damn, boy, you’re unbelievable! But that’s what I’m talking
about—most people don’t see things in that kind of detail, and even if they did
their minds don’t process quickly enough to make it useful. You and I, we got a
special gift and an obligation.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">The tone of his voice changed decidedly, “Son, you gotta
promise me you’ll never move to the dark side.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">It was those words that haunted me ever so slightly, but I
hoped Dexter could see in this case there was a thick, murky band of gray
rather than a distinct fine line separating the two. Dexter was right about the
keen insight we shared. While the majority of the officers appreciated Rodney’s
sense of humor, I’d always had the ability to read people and was certain a
rotten core lurked beneath the goofy exterior of Rodney Allen Kelly, and I
aimed to prove it, with or without the backing of a badge and a legal weapon.</span></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986014894382899336noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-921323834562941074.post-33782900618007320152013-12-27T09:13:00.000-06:002013-12-27T09:13:39.608-06:00Seven-Hundred-Twenty<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">I’ve always believed my D.N.A. to be comprised of one primary
component—if someone probed the bowels of my anatomical structure they would soon
discover a single strand connecting all others; a wide and sweeping streak of stubbornness.
Blaming genetic predisposition seemed as good a reason as any for insisting upon
a second opinion before digesting the first, but I assure you that even the
most steadfast refusal to accept the truth will not make it less true.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">“There’s nothing we can do, Mr. Langdon. I’m sorry.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">Under the right circumstance certain words have exponentially
more power than was ever intended the stringing together of a few syllables. They
will steal a man’s breath, freeze everything around him, and cast him into a
world of isolation where what transpires between splintered seconds is an
alter-reality known only to him. During that frozen slice of limbo a lightning
bolt charged down through the ceiling. In a fiery show of wrath it struck the floor,
ripping open a chasm that separated me from all other living creatures.
Suddenly I was sitting alone in a forgotten corner, silently choking on the
poisonous shades of reality.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">It is unclear how long I lingered in this private desert of
suffering before a sound or perhaps something more subtle drew my attention to the
clock. The second-hand fluttered in a state of ambiguity, seemingly paralyzed
by an equal dread of glancing back or the prospect of forging forward. For some
the mention of coincidence explains a great many mysteries, but I could not
convince myself the battle being waged by the keeper of time was not eerily my
own. As entwined as I understood us to be, a wave of relief washed over me when
the ticker began to sweep predictably again. As it marched onward the numbness
of my mind subsided and once again I began to hear and process spoken words. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">“Due to the aggressive nature the cancer has gained an
irreversible foothold on all vital organs. None of the treatments currently
available will be effective. I truly am sorry, Mr. Langdon.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">The offering of a month seemed hardly enough time to
complete the remodeling of a small room. Yet in the midst of awkward silence I came
to realize that sometimes, suddenly and inexplicably, the road runs out. My
lease on life was seven-hundred twenty hours and counting.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">It was my grandfather’s belief that if a man is to be any
man at all he must discover purpose for himself, especially during times when
the world tries to convince him he has nothing to contribute. By all accounts
it was late in the game, but I supposed recording my days in a journal might
bare some semblance to purpose. And if boys were made of slugs, and snails, and
puppy-dog tails I could relay an uplifting tale of how a man being assigned a
number results in a spectacular transformation; how he dedicates himself to a great
cause for humanity or even that he simply lives out his remaining days checking
off items on a bucket list. The ugly truth of the matter is it was exceedingly
easy to squander the first of my last hours floundering in a sea of self-pity. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="color: #ffe599;">Day1:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">Upon arriving home from the hospital I voluntarily
quarantined myself to the study as I was unfit company. After pouring a generous
glass of cognac and lighting a fire I burrowed deeper into the recliner than I
could ever recall. Surrounding myself with physical comforts seemed a subtle
means of defense against the icy claws of reality scratching to get in. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">Ironic such news be delivered in the dead of winter; the brutality
of which was both symbolic and tangible as a Canadian cold front stalled over our
region. As I poured a second glass of spirits I indentified the sound of icy claws
to be the bare limbs of an overgrown Elm brushing against the bay window. One
of a bushel-basket full of things I had yet found time for, but now I supposed
the weight of such burdens would fall to someone else. I wondered aloud what he
might look like—this mysterious trimmer of trees. How long before he drove my
car, dined regularly at the dinner table, and eventually lay on my side of the
bed loving my wife better and more completely. A respectable man should want
that for his wife—for his children, but the images were too bitter.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">Drink after drink one hour rolled into another as I wrestled
with answerless questions and faceless demons, pursuing each doubt vigorously
and without remorse. A young hound cut loose on a fresh trail for the first
time, naiveté would carry him deep into the woods before discovering the illusive
and intangible are always faster and more cunning than you imagine, multiplying
and melting into the creases of shadows until such time as you pass too closely.
Then in an irreversible moment hunter becomes hunted and like a band of thirsty
demons they descend upon you, ripping flesh from bone, smiling as they dissect,
never retreating fully, providing only enough separation that you might relive
the terror of their approach over and over. Fangs designed for grizzly deeds, blackened
hearts fueled by the notion that work is unfinished until they have dismantled
everything that defines you. Finally, the distinct smell of death settles heavy
in the nostrils of the alpha male and on his lead they pour back into the shadows
each of them carrying a sliver of your soul in their steely-jowls. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">Deep in my bones I felt the steady plodding of pursuit, as
if I had escaped from the gallows and the hooves of steeds ridden by heartless
henchman were bearing down upon me. I anticipate the lead man’s fingers gripping
my collar, sweeping me off my feet, and the defining moment when he holds my
face to the dim flicker of a lantern. I expend my final breath on the last
laugh as the case of mistaken identity is revealed to all. Henchmen, reduced to
fools, having wasted such resources on the pursuit of a hollow man. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">The whirling in my head slowed to a waltz as I dove headlong
into a deep and penetrating stare. Just beyond the frosty panes of glass a
north-eastern gale sweeps up the fallen snow into a blinding fury, blocking out
what remains of the sun. Subtle shades of evening gobble up the last remnants
of day and for the first time in my life I experienced a reverent fear of what
lays on the other side of a sunset.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">Dealing with my own thoughts had become too cumbersome. With
vision grown cloudy and head bobbing I welcomed the steely approach of a blissful
state of unconsciousness. Just as I moved toward the threshold I heard a voice
that rattled me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">“Congratulations, you’ve spent decades in the relentless
pursuit of nothingness. How does it feel to be like me?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">I recognized the gravelly voice as that of my estranged brother—always
the renegade, even now in the afterlife. A portion of me questioned whether I
possessed the coordination to turn and face him and the remainder was too
defiant to grant him the courtesy. Headstrong, my words dribbled into the empty
corner in front of the chair.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">“For the love of God, can’t an ailing man simply die in
peace?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">“Is that what you think you’ll find—peace? You always
fancied yourself so different than me—better somehow. Tell me dear brother, am
I the only one that finds amusement that in a single drunken sitting you’ve reached
the end of you?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">After a concerted effort I managed to turn and face him. He
needed to see the fire in my eyes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #ffe599;">“You selfish little bastard! Running around trying to find
yourself; tattooed from head to foot, hopping on your motorcycle coming and
going as you pleased. The only thing you left behind was your share of the
chores and a young boy searching for the words to comfort our mother! Died at
nineteen, bottle of whiskey in one hand, throttle rolled back with the other.
Don’t you lecture me about reaching the end of myself when you never bore an
ounce of responsibility for anything. You took the coward’s way out—too scared
to even scratch the surface of what you might have become!”</span></div>
</div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986014894382899336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-921323834562941074.post-55139287919251041352013-11-09T08:49:00.000-06:002013-11-09T08:49:06.141-06:00Thought of the Day<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #d9d9d9; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 217;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">All days are not created equal. While considering the trappings of the day, decent is the best I can come up with. I pause to glance over my shoulder at the setting sun, awed by the way it nestles into place among the bank of clouds on the horizon. Taking a deep breath, I tuck decent in the hip pocket of my jeans and walk steadily and confidently toward tomorrow. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986014894382899336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-921323834562941074.post-16235317652340968722013-08-04T09:47:00.000-05:002013-08-04T09:51:21.380-05:00Thought of the Day<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Time is a curious thing—referred to as marching on, slipping away, or standing still. How can something as omnipresent do any of the above without our notice? I am convinced more today than yesterday that the deciding factor is perceptually based. Good or bad circumstances tend to deliver us to opposing states. During bad circumstances we become aware of an ugly excess and during joyful times we cannot grasp a single fleeting second for preservation. It is my observation we cannot fully comprehend and appreciate the expanse of such things as time, and my supposition that we are broken internally, whereby naturally we only have the capacity to operate within the outside bands of the spectrum, whittling away at a daunting pile of unwanted measures or wistfully pining for those blurry moments past. Perhaps true living begins when we become resistant to the corrosive outside influence of circumstance, i.e. the world spinning around us. That we neither wish away nor ask for a single moment back, that no matter how they bend or break us that we remain resolute in diligently searching until we find value and purpose in all of them.</span></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986014894382899336noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-921323834562941074.post-7544799050590987152013-08-02T14:26:00.000-05:002013-08-02T14:26:44.132-05:00Thought of the Day<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Neglect is neither purposeful nor rooted in malice when it comes to pursuing your own course in life, but also there exists no lesser degree of negligence for when old friendships get left behind. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986014894382899336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-921323834562941074.post-72509359461644217012013-07-25T12:51:00.002-05:002013-07-25T12:57:08.595-05:00Second Thought of the Day<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">A rainbow is perfectly bent with just enough arc that each color finds a voice and the hues travel harmoniously from one side of the sky to the other. A feeling of awe washes over me…that I will never comprehend the breaking point of something as precise as the bending a rainbow. That despite an artist’s abilities he or she will never create an exact replica of the sky. That the capabilities of our creator are endless and questioning his means of accomplishing things should always be something I run from.</span>Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986014894382899336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-921323834562941074.post-73871719076123089412013-07-25T12:50:00.000-05:002013-07-25T12:50:00.244-05:00Thought of the DaySo is the beauty of dreams...more than choosing a destination, the destination chooses us.Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986014894382899336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-921323834562941074.post-66126601908122544622013-07-18T08:38:00.000-05:002013-07-18T08:38:08.323-05:00Thought of the Day<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At night when the air is still and sound carries further than it should, I hear the cry of hope drowning and the empty thud of crumbled dreams. HE reminds me, apart from Him, this world knows nothing of faith, hope, and love, and without those there is nothing to separate birth from death. </span></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986014894382899336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-921323834562941074.post-18178718203050990322013-07-16T05:59:00.000-05:002013-07-16T05:59:13.520-05:00Thought of the DayEvery moment in our lives appears only once, never to return. Those spent lamenting the past will only consume the presentDanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986014894382899336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-921323834562941074.post-73087163419961636522013-07-13T08:36:00.000-05:002013-07-13T08:36:03.529-05:00Creed's Cave (Part 1)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As a kid certain things are just about impossible to remember, like math homework or taking trash to the curb on Wednesdays. At the opposite end of the spectrum are the things you can never completely forget. I’m not talking about the night you decide to investigate the strange sounds coming from your parent’s bedroom. Those kinds of natural disasters may set a new free-style record on the ‘gross-out meter’ and speaking from experience you’ll feel a mild discomfort as you explain to your literature teacher that you need an alternate assignment when the rest of the class has no problem with the title, Call of the Wild, but in most cases no permanent damage is done. </div>
<br />
<br />
I’m talking about the serious stuff—the kind that changes the way you think and who you are forever. It’s like something weird happens where every last detail gets permanently etched in your brain. I supposed it was like that for Rodney and Clutch too, but never bothered asking. We swore under oath to never breathe a word about what happened that day to anyone. The pinky-swear didn’t specifically prohibit talking about it amongst ourselves. I figure we were too busy trying to sort things out in our own heads. I don’t know, maybe some things are just too traumatic to relive. <br />
<br />
I sensed we were about to embark on a journey that would take us places no neighborhood kid had ever seen and lived to tell about it. The two-story tree house we built in Clutch’s backyard three summers ago was impressive, but I had a gut feeling we were on the precipice of something way cooler. Precipice—edge, steep cliff, or drop off. I remembered the word from a spelling-bee. From that point forward I was into new words and their meanings. This thirst for knowledge certainly wasn’t anything I could share with Clutch and Rodney—couldn’t needlessly risk the loss of ‘cool points’. Good friends are hard to find and even harder to hold on to. <br />
<br />
Although he refused to acknowledge it, his real name was Reginald Clemons. We called him Clutch because no matter the odds he always came through. The last person to call him by his real name was Rocky Ford and ain’t no one seen him since. Some kids say he changed schools—reckon he had to after the beatdown Clutch gave him. Clutch was outgunned by close to a hundred pounds and gave up at least two feet in height. Witnesses said it was funny to see Clutch eye-level with the waistband of Rocky’s jock-strap, but I think my buddy saw it as a challenge. Clutch chased him out of the locker room and took him down at center-court, right in the middle of the jump circle. Before it was done Clutch blacked both his eyes and during the melee removed and was using Rocky’s own jock-strap for leverage in a rear-naked choke. That’s when Mr. Livingston broke things up and sent the gathering on their way. I would have died on the spot from embarrassment, but rumor had it that the whimpering coming from the janitor’s broom closet a half-hour after last bell was the broken spirit of a 275lb nose guard. And ain’t nobody even thought of calling him Reginald since. <br />
<br />
I figured Clutch was born tougher than most. Kind of like dogs I guess, some are named FeFe or Felix—made of fluff, perfect size for your lap, and perform tricks for miniature treats. Others command names like Moses or Zeus—shoulders wide as a wheelbarrow, go for the jugular every time, and for fun kicks they hunt dogs named FeFe or Felix. Maybe he was born regular, but livin’ on the wrong side of the tracks changed that. Rodney and I couldn’t imagine walking to school every day with thugs hidin’ around every corner—looking to take something from you. I suppose Clutch’s dad took the most from him though. Seemed like he was always beating him with a belt for no reason at all other than he drank too much and he could. If Clutch liked ya he was the kind of guy you wanted to have around and he like me and Rodney plenty. Probably ‘cause we were different from everyone else—me and Rodney tried not to ask him much about what went on at home. A couple punk kids couldn’t do nothin’ to change it and it seemed altogether easier to image the bruises, cuts, and welts came from thugs on the street than a guy he called dad. <br />
<br />
Rodney was just plain old Rodney except when he ate fried food. I personally think he had some kind of undiagnosed enzyme imbalance. If he so much as looked at a French fry, within an hour he became a walking, talking, bag of flatulence. That’s when we called him ‘Rotney’, which didn’t seem to bother him much at all. Rodney was the kind of kid that played the smallest detail up—forever coming up with a story to embellish his ‘rare talent’. He told us the Army had secret agents posted outside of his house. Said they were trying to bottle his funk to be used as a chemical weapon in Afghanistan. Every kid’s gotta find something he’s good at—sometimes it don’t matter what it is.<br />
<br />
Like Clutch I was saddled with a name that was useless. Why do parents insist on giving kids names that only get used on birth certificates, school registration, and other useless stuff? So Sydney Lyle II became Sid. A three letter name saves on school-supply outlay when you factor in the cost of pencils and writer’s cramp as well. Alphabetically speaking it moved me up a couple of notches in lunch line. There were two other kids in my class with the last name of Smith. Tyler going by Ty didn’t really buy him anything. And Sidon—well, he wasn’t really smart enough to play the game. Sidon was the kind of kid you suspected ate too much play-dough in Kindergarten, or maybe fell off the monkey-bars at a bad angle. <br />
<br />
We found the boat weeks earlier, but waited that long to make sure it didn’t belong to anyone, or if it did they wouldn’t miss it for a day. If my calculations were correct and the legend was true we could reach Creed’s Cave, camp for the night, and make the return trip within a twenty-four hour window. <br />
<br />
The evening prior to our departure the three of us met for a final inspection. Rodney had a mind for detail so I trusted him when he said the number of cobwebs, in the corners of the boat and from the craft to the surrounding weeds had increased. I verified the lack of footprints in the flour we sprinkled on top of the mud around the bow of the boat. Clutch was busy doing a visual inspection of the craft. Maybe he was testing the side of the boat for integrity, but I think Clutch just bored. That happened on a pretty regular basis. Anyhow, Rodney and I were too busy with our own assignments to see Clutch draw back his right foot and kick the side of boat. Hard enough that echo reached the trees and came back in a matter of milliseconds. Rodney and I both hit the deck and rolled into the weeds. I thought we’d been shot at and was thankful the owner had the decency to fire a warning lob. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I scanned the weeds until I found a monster-set of eyes staring at me. Rodney had worn thick glasses since first grade, but when he got scared the gap between his eyes and the frame got swallowed up completely.<br />
<br />
“Sounded like a 12 guage, Sid. You see Clutch anywhere?”<br />
<br />
If I didn’t know better I’d have thought Clutch was auditioning for the role of a mad scientist. The scene was that creepy moment when he’s combining test tubes and finally gets the formula right. The laughter rolling from him came in volleys. <br />
<br />
Sometimes Clutch played too much. I hadn’t decided whether I was pissed off enough to scold him or not, but trying to wipe away the muck from my tee-shirt was pushing me in that direction. <br />
<br />
“You should have seen you two duffus’ hit the deck—it was like a fire drill, stop, drop, and roll. Hey Rodney, look it’s the Army, they’re here to capture that funk of yours, bend over and take one for your country!”<br />
<br />
Good sense left me completely, as I walked straight over to Clutch and chest-bumped him. <br />
<br />
“Look, Clutch, I know you like to goof on us, and that’s OK most of the time, but we got serious business to tend to. Come tomorrow morning the three of us are going to be starring into the steely jaws of the unknown. If we can’t stick together and know without a doubt each of us has the other’s back—well, well, maybe we all just get swallowed whole!”<br />
<br />
Only after I’d acted in frustration did I think about Clutch deciding to use his fist on the top of my head to pound me into the soft marshy ground, and the silence screaming from him did nothing but bolster the vision. I turned to Rodney for support and got a nod of agreement and an almost inaudible accompaniment. <br />
<br />
“ Yeah—what Sid said.”<br />
<br />
The anger in Clutch’s eyes faded and his facial expressions rolled back in time.<br />
<br />
“Sorry guys, you know you can count on me. Some jaggedy, old tooth monster grabs one of you, he better be ready to have his tonsils removed—the hard way. You know I ain’t afraid of nothin’!”<br />
<br />
Clutch grabbed a handful of me and Rodney’s shirts, and after bumping us together like bookends, he called for the secret handshake.<br />
<br />
The sun had almost vanished by the time we reached the edge of town and split up to head to our respective homes.<br />
<br />
“OK, meet back here at 6:30am sharp and we’re doin’ this thing. Rodney, you got the tent, sleeping bags, and lanterns covered, right? I’m bringing cooking stuff, matches, flashlights, canteens, a hatchet, and a bag full of dad’s camping stuff.”<br />
<br />
I glanced at Clutch. He had his head down. The shadows were getting long, but not enough that I couldn’t make out an expression I’d never seen before. I searched quickly for the right words. <br />
<br />
“And Clutch, you’re bringing a big set of hairy balls and enough ass to steam-roll anything that gets in our way, right?”<br />
<br />
Clutch grinned and our fists met.<br />
<br />
“Yep…already got it covered”, Clutch giggled.<br />
<br />
“Alright, let’s get some sleep men. 6:30am…set your alarms, and don’t forget to tell your parents you’re spending the night with someone other than one of us. We don’t want them checking up.”<br />
<br />
As I finished my walk home I sorted through my thoughts. The three of us had always been tight, but tonight the dynamics changed a bit. Two things happened I thought I’d never see. For the first time in his life Clutch backed down. I think I represented the first person in his life he could trust completely and therefore respect. I never considered myself a leader at all. That was a risky proposition; screw up and you got a coop on your hands. But it felt pretty good having stepped up tonight. I’d never be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but half of the battle is recognizing and admitting that. I was however savvy enough to know the leadership road was rocky and filled with potholes. A quality leader needed to be measured and careful in their approach. Those that weren’t became dictators. My decisions had to be for the betterment of the group as a whole. I had a gut feeling that the swirling, ugly water leading up to entrance of Creed’s Cave would demand everything we had—if not more. We needed a competent leader to guide. These weren’t subordinates at work, they were life-long friends and I wouldn’t let anything jeopardize that. <br />
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986014894382899336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-921323834562941074.post-88940446377195364612013-07-11T10:16:00.000-05:002013-07-11T10:16:59.760-05:00Thought of the Day<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">We are all but single stones in a raging river called life. Moved, shaped, and carried by forces beyond our control. For some it is a frightening and desolate journey, whereby dysfunction has displaced hope, and betrayal has mired the beauty of the river to such an extent they no longer believe it will carry them to a greater connecting body of water. While withdrawing to a stagnant pool may save immediate discomfort, it is only a cruel suffocation in disguise. Some will tell you they are too jaded to be moved by the river. But I say, that in the end, we will have failed if we cannot convince those within our reach that we believe more today than yesterday that the ebb and flow of the river has purpose.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /></span>Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986014894382899336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-921323834562941074.post-75583733148648572572013-07-08T05:45:00.002-05:002013-07-08T05:45:46.134-05:00Thought of the Day<span style="background-color: black; color: #ffe599;">A man cannot effectively change his future without first reconciling his past</span>Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13986014894382899336noreply@blogger.com0