ferf’s shorts
Table of
Contents
Milky Three Wheeler 1
A Dance with Warren 2
Welcome Home 3
The Carrib
Tupton Unveiling 4
The Ballad of
Connor McCoy 5
Left at the
Store 6
Waking Up 7
Codes of
Hercheck 8
Sad Songs 9
The Parking Lot 10
Milky Three
Wheeler
I’ll be ten next week. Happy Birthday?
I’ll always remember when our third grade teacher asked us to take
an event that made us feel worried, excited, happy or upset. “Write a page and
see where we get.”
Being known as Milky Three Wheeler for so long made my first
decision quite easy; at least I thought that at the time. I chose upset.
The other kids called me Milky because of my pigment. I had an
illness. It wasn’t by choice, but that’s not why I was upset.
The other kids also called me three wheeler because of my wheel
chair, but that’s not why I was upset.
My dad thought it would be nice to get me a sporty one since I was
confined to it for the rest of my life, but that’s not why I was upset.
My doctor told my dad I’d only make it to my tenth birthday.
That’s not why either, but that’s why my dad was upset.
My doctor, cold hands, cold stethoscope, grizzly beard against my
bare neck, trees outside the window, that’s where I wish I could run. The
doctor was nice but he couldn’t make my legs work like the kids who named me
Milky.
I remember dad pushing me along in our favorite park, big trees,
flowers, a running stream, sun shine from above. Nature is magnificent.
A bicyclist rode too close to a jogger. The jogger yelled words I
probably shouldn’t have heard. The cyclist hollered back, and then a push, a
punch, a kick, a wooden stick. Curses, blood, tears, anger, a thud. That’s why
I was upset. Now I’m ascared of adults.
Imagine if I knew what they were really capable of, WWI, Nazi
Germany, Concentration Camps, WWII, Korea, Nam, Iraq, Iran, The KKK, Libya, Son
of Sam, 9/11, Terrorism, Religious fanatics, Racial hatred, Guns, Gangs, drug
Lords, crime, Columbine, VA Tech, what the heck?
After watching the jogger and the cyclist, I guess that’s what the
world’s supposed to do. Then the world is not for me, that’s why I’m not upset
about leaving when I’m ten.
If they can’t teach us, can we at least teach them? Don’t they
know we’re all in this together?
A Dance with
Warren
A journey across the floor.
The first beauty, sparkling eyes of enticement, a cheekbone worthy
of planting his lips upon.
“May I have this dance?” The words fumble off his tongue.
A striking stare, nose upward. “If you can state to me a reason
for hatred.”
He considers the statement, without an answer, he mumbles. “I’ll
have to get back to you.”
A second journey.
The next stunning lady, exotic hair, sparkling jewels, enhancing
form fitting attire.
“May I have this dance?”
A giggle, a blank look. “If you can provide a reason for hatred.”
His look, the same as a moment before. “Can I get back to you on
that?”
A third journey.
A breathtaking hourglass figure worthy of a warm embrace.
“May I have this dance?”
“Can you give me a reason as to why there is hatred?”
Disappointment fills his face. “May I get back to you?”
A fourth journey.
A shy, monetarily poor woman, covered in tattered clothing stands
awkwardly.
“May I have this dance?”
“If you can state a reason for love in this world.”
“Just one?”
He rattles off. “To show younger ones how to pass on a necessary
message. To show older ones you are capable of passing on a necessary message.
To make each day worth beginning. To make each day worth ending. To feel right
about yourself. To feel right about others. To put a smile on a face that needs
one. To have a smile put on your face when needed. To give that warm feeling
that only love can bring out. To get that warm feeling that only love can fill
inside.”
Her eyes, more enticing than the first. Her smile, more sparkling
than the jewels of the second. Her embrace more breathtaking than the thought
of one from the third.
Monetarily poor, rich in soul.
“Yes
Welcome Home
Away from this place for fifteen years, to see the changes breaks
my heart. To think, I fought to give them the right to dismantle what it was I
went to protect.
Little C and Tiny K are now grown up and dancing the dances I was
against. C, with the pants hung low, admiration of convicts. K, now a
prostitute where every day is Halloween. C, assisting in neighborhood
destruction, similar to the enemy across the sea. K, against decency, showing
the lack of respect for herself.
Just five and six when I left for the
What if they saw this place then as I see it now? Maybe I wouldn’t
have done my part to save it. Sympathy for the evil enemy?
If they all could see what they gave their lives for, they may
have turned away. There is such a thing as too much freedom.
The Carrib
Tupton Unveiling
In a dimly lit funeral parlor,
Lynda Zanasasia, a thin, dark haired beauty, approaches the podium unfolding
her notes. Two police officers watch from the back of the room. “Carrib.” She
clears her throat and adjusts the microphone. “Carrib Tupton was an astonishing
and remarkable human being.” She pauses. There are sniffles heard from the few
mourners. “His creative and brilliant games were carried out to success with a
touch of genius.”
She was certainly correct about
Carrib. He did pull off an astonishing plan. A shy man, large, six foot four
inches, two hundred seventy three pounds large. He had what some may call an
illness, an addiction of sorts. Not gambling. Not drugs, not alcohol, none of
the traditional addictions.
It was Wednesday evening, and on
Wednesday evenings he joined others who had suffered from the same addiction.
Through his high intelligence and wildest of imagination, he was able to form
this group. Originally he formed it to feed his addiction and bounce some ideas
off some of the pros of the game. He found the perfect ten to work with.
First there was David, he looked
something like Elvis Presley, bushy dark hair and dark eyes. Then there was
Tim. He had short brown hair and looked like a school boy. Charlie was sort of
grungy, a dirty looking fellow. Joel was a nerdy young man with glasses. Mark
looked similar to David, just fatter with glasses. John had a historic
appearance, mustache and messy hair. Lee was clean cut with a child like face.
And then there was Jeff, young, with a troubled grin.
There were also two others that
did not participate in group discussions. They sat in a dark corner and grunted
occasionally and gave a nod or head shake when motioned to. Originally, they
did not share their first names. They went by AH and BL, not Ass Hole and Big
Loser although some might refer to them as such.
This was the motley crew he
formed in order to become better at what he was attempting to master.
When that particular meeting was
finished, Carrib walked the quiet village streets and stopped in front of the
ground floor apartment of Lynda Zanasasia, the thin dark haired beauty who he
had his eye on for quite some time.
Carrib peered through a window
and watched as Lynda sashayed up to a young man sunk in a leather recliner. He
sipped a scotch on the rocks through a stirrer, then rested the glass on the
arm of the chair.
Lynda, in a see through blue
nighty and blue F’ me pumps with straps crossed over just before they reached
the knee, slowly enticed the man before straddling him.
His glass fell over and soaked
the carpet with liquid beads, much like the ones forming on Carrib’s forehead.
He dabbed them with his sleeve while panting at the window. “She’s a dirty
little animal.”
He craved this woman for as long
as he could remember. It was not love. Not love by any means of the word. It
was lust. Lust and hatred. He despised this woman for her trashy existence and
yet wanted to be the sole victim of her seductive and scantily clad behavior.
Night after night she would bring a different fellow to her apartment and
release her sexual demons. The men left fulfilled and wanting more.
Occasionally she would do the same with women. There was no particular age
group, size or color, anything went.
Once her partner left, Lynda
would have a cigarette curled up in the recliner and then head for the kitchen
where she peeled and sliced an orange with a large kitchen knife. She would
suck the juice out of each slice facing the window as if she knew she was being
watched. She carefully carved out each orange seed with the blade of the knife and
placed them in a flower pot next to the sink. This was a nightly ritual for
Lynda.
Carrib’s nightly ritual was a bit
different. He sat in a dark room at the end of his bed mumbling to himself. He
wrote. He hoped to devise a plan to get into Lynda’s apartment to be one of her
nightly victims.
A man dressed in historic garb, a
mustache, beard, top hat and messy hair entered a funeral home. He sat in the
office facing the funeral director, an older man, tall, slim, somewhat creepy.
He handed over a note and left with a hand shake.
The following Wednesday, Carrib
made an announcement to the men at the meeting. “From now on, I am going to
need additional assistance. I must call these meetings more often. I expect you
will all respect and follow this decision.” Remarkably, each and every man was
in full support, not one member declined his request, not even AH or BL.
He brought up the Lynda dilemma
to the group. He had the support that he needed.
“You should learn more about this
woman.”
“Maybe follow her around.”
“Possibly get in that apartment
without her knowledge.”
“Yes, get to know the territory.”
“Maybe take home a souvenir.”
He enjoyed each of the ideas. The
plans were coming together. He smiled to his group of friends thanking them for
their input before adjourning the meeting.
He propped himself up outside her
window once again. It was the normal pattern. After her cigarette and orange,
the lights went out. After he counted to sixty, thirty seven times, he opened
the window slowly.
Excited like a school boy, he
made his way around the apartment. The knife sat next to the flower pot filled
with orange seeds. One of her pairs of high heels sat next to the recliner. He
felt like a kid in an erotica shop. “What should I take?” His stomach became
nervous. Her bedroom door was open slightly. Soft spa music played as she
slept. He peeked in without touching the door. A smile filled his face from
cheek to cheek.
He entered the bathroom not
making a sound. His eyes lit up. Soap! Towel! Tooth brush! He took one of each
and quickly made his escape successfully.
At the next meeting, he proudly
displayed to the group the items he made off with. The group was confused at
first.
“Why not the knife or the shoes?”
“She would have noticed that.”
That began to make sense to the
group. They understood that the soap has caressed every crease of her gorgeous
body and the towel has been wrapped around that same body. The toothbrush was
kissed by her in what he felt was an erotic way.
He was commended by the group and
shortly after their meeting he went back to writing some notes.
Another visit, this time he went
for the shoes, some under garment, lingerie and the knife. He also paid another
visit to her bathroom for the razor that she uses to shave her long gorgeous
legs.
The group was proud once again.
They also had questions.
“Won’t she notice the knife is
missing?”
“I replaced it with another.”
“The shoes?”
“She has many.”
“You might be getting too
careless.”
“Don’t forget who created you
people.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I put you all
together here. I can dismantle you just as quick.”
“Oh, could you Carrib?”
He thinks for a moment. He
becomes nervous. “I left her the note as well.”
“So tonight’s the night?”
“Yes. Did you make the
arrangements John?”
“Yes I did. Feel free to carry
out your plan.”
“It will be tonight.”
Carrib walks up the stairs. He
takes one last look at the group he feels of as apostles. They were the most
experienced individuals he could think of to help him fulfill his addiction. His
addiction was murder. Even though he only planned on doing it once, he
considered it an addiction due to the amount of time he put into it.
The group faded away one at a
time.
Upstairs, Carrib placed Lynda’s
untouched bar of soap and razor in his shower, her toothbrush next to his sink.
With plastic gloves, he slowly
sliced his skin with the knife she used to peel her oranges. He let the blood
drip on her under garment, lingerie and shoes and placed them around his
bedroom.
He stabbed himself in his side
and twisted the knife. He flushed the plastic gloves down the toilet then lied
lifeless on the bathroom floor with the knife stuck inside him.
The following day, investigators
rummaged through the house. They came to the conclusion that Carrib had been murdered
by his female lover, but who was she? And where was she?
Lynda was making her way around
her apartment when she came across a typed note.
“My dearest Lynda. Thank you for
the wonderful evening. You are the sweetest. I have one request of you. It has
to do with a dear sweet friend of mine by the name of Carrib Tupton. He was a
dear sweet ingenious man without a woman at his side. Please attend his funeral
tomorrow (7/23) at 6:15 at Franklin Funeral Home and read the enclosed words as
if you wrote them from your heart. His family needs to know that he had at
least one woman in his life that he was an inspiration to. Thank you.”
She read over the attached note.
“I could do this.”
In a dimly lit funeral parlor,
Lynda Zanasasia, a thin, dark haired beauty, approaches the podium unfolding
her notes. Two police officers watch from the back of the room. “Carrib.” She
clears her throat and adjusts the microphone. “Carrib Tupton was an astonishing
and remarkable human being.” She pauses. There are sniffles heard from the few
mourners. “His creative and brilliant games were carried out to success with a
touch of genius.”
The room is silent. “Carrib
enjoyed every moment that we shared as well did I. I look forward to our
eternity together when I am called to be with him again. Until then, I love you
Carrib. Wait for me.”
The funeral director helps Lynda
down, he whispers. “That was beautiful.”
“Thanks.”
The two police officers in the
back perk up.
Before Carrib completed his first
and only murder, he shared some final thoughts with his group.
“I’d like to thank each of you
personally for your efforts here at Murderers Anonymous. I could not have
conjured up a better group to assist me. David, David Berkowitz, Son of Sam. I
enjoyed your work killing six and wounding seven during your 1976, 1977 killing
spree. Timothy McVeigh, what can I say about your bombing of the Alfred Murrah
Building in Oklahoma City on 4/19/1995 killing 168 people? Mr. Charles Manson,
the man responsible for a number of murders in California during the 1960’s.
Joel Rifkin the Serial killer responsible for the murders of 18 women between
1989 and 1993. Jeffrey Dahmer the serial killer who murdered seventeen men and
boys. And who could forget you three? Mark David Chapman the legend who killed
John Lennon, John Wilkes Booth who killed Abraham Lincoln, Lee Harvey Oswald
who killed John F. Kennedy. And, are you two ready to come out of hiding? Where
is AH, Adolf Hitler, leader of Nazi Germany and BL, Bin Laden, the leader of Al
Qaeda?” Carrib looks around at ten empty chairs in his basement. One containing
a historic suit, fake mustache, beard, top hat and messy wig once worn by
Carrib to a funeral home. “Thank you all. Now it’s time for me to frame the
lovely Lynda Zanasasia.”
Lynda cries behind bars without a
clue how she got there.
THE END
The Ballad of
Connor McCoy 12 to 26
My name is Muhammad. Just
kidding, it’s Connor. I turned 26 three weeks ago. There is something very
disturbing about my memory lately.
The first 25 years of my life
were not overly strange. I was born in Brooklyn NY at age zero and lived there
for 12 years with regular parents, an older sister and a younger brother. If
any one day should stand out and be told about, it would probably be the day we
packed up and moved to Long Island. That I can remember.
I was twelve, my sister Denise,
14, going through teenage girl nonsense and Brother Bill, 7, just going along
with the flow.
My two best friends, Patrick and
Steve gave me a hard time. I still think they were only joking around.
“Connor, if it wasn’t gay enough
that you had to grow up with a sister as a role model, now you’re gonna live on
Long Island where you have to be a fag or they don’t let you in. You’ll
probably become a Yankee fan and wear girls’ underwear.”
“I might try the girls’ underwear
but no way am I going to be a Yankee fan.” All my friends were raised by
Brooklyn Dodger fans that eventually became NY Mets fans. All the kids would
say Yankee fans are gay and the few in our school got it so bad they stopped
wearing Yankee caps or shirts. We were like a little mafia changing the
opinions around us.
The guys enjoyed my sense of
humor and they didn’t rib me so much when I shot a little back at them.
“So maybe we’ll get to Shea
sometime again.”
“Yea, my dad will call your dad.”
“Sounds good.”
My dad came down the stairs and
started up the U-Haul. We were on our way.
The Belt Parkway was its usual
bumper to bumper mess of angry drivers. We didn’t even reach the Wonder Wheel
at Coney Island before my father had me hand him a can of Meister Brau from the
Styrofoam cooler that shifted ice around with each lane change.
Mom drove a few cars behind us
gripping the steering wheel with both hands and a cigarette dangling from her
lips with Denise and Bill in the family Nova. They listened to eighties music
while dad and I listened to the Mets playing against the San Diego Padres.
“God dammit! He’s only pitched
two and a half innings and you’re taking him out?” Dad liked to yell at the
radio.
By the time we reached the new
house, the sun had set and the Mets won 3 to 2. I guess taking the pitcher out
after two and a half innings wasn’t such a bad move.
Dad was wiped from the 8 or 9
Meister Brau’s that I served him and the aggravating traffic. He said the
lifting could wait till tomorrow. That’s when mom, Denise and Bill all fell
asleep on the living room carpet and dad and I sat on the back swing set. He
gave me my first beer, a can of Meister Brau that floated around in the water
remaining in the cooler. It was disgusting but I felt like a man. If only
Patrick and Steve could see me now.
Dad shared some of his favorite
jokes. The swing set got him started. “A man and woman are in bed at 2 in the
morning when there is a knock at the front door. The man angrily gets up to see
who it is. It’s a man who had been drinking and he asks if he could get a push.
The man closes the door on him and goes back to bed. His wife asks who it was.
The man tells her it was some drunk asking for a push. The woman refreshes her
husband’s memory with a time when his car stalled and he needed a push. The man
gives in and goes to his window and calls out to the drunk, are you still out
there? The drunk responds yes. The man asks, do you still need a push? The
drunk responds yes once again. The man asks, where are you? The drunk responds,
in the back yard on the swing!” We cracked up and then he went in to a few
others.
“Why is there a fence around the
cemetery?”
“Why?”
“Because people are dying to get
in.”
Yea, my first beer with dad, that
was a night to remember. I still tell those same jokes today.
The new school on Long Island
wasn’t so bad. The kids didn’t play stoop ball or stick ball like in the old
neighborhood. They also didn’t seem to be gay like Patrick and Steve swore they
would be. There were plenty of Mets fans and I even made friends with a couple
of Yankee fans. I felt I could maybe change them as time went on.
The memory that sticks with me
from that period was when I was 16. Sure I snuck a beer or two between the time
dad gave me my first and now but it was the first time I had a drink with the
guys.
My buddy Chris, a real metal
head, long hair, denim and leather, he looked like trouble. The truth is, he
had a good soul, full of love, even went to church with his mom on Sunday’s.
Chris organized a Friday night with a couple of six packs for us and three
other friends. One of the others was punished and couldn’t make it and the
other two were just too afraid to join us.
Chris and I sat by a creek behind
a Hess gasoline station and cracked open a beer each. Off in the distance and
headed our way were 3
black kids’.
“Should we run?” I had the urge to run when outnumbered by black guys. When I was younger, I was chased by a couple of them who knocked me off of my bike and then stole it.
“Be cool.”
As they got closer, we
recognized them. It was Darryl, Sebastian and Terrence from school. At first I
don’t think they recognized us. Sebastian opened a Colt 45 malt liquor can
right in front of my face. “What you guys doing in my place?”
“Hey Sebastian, we’re just
hanging out, having a couple of beers.”
“So, you know my name.” He held
up his can for me to tap mine against it. Darryl put down a brown paper grocery
bag. Each one of them grabbed a can.
We sat at that creek and talked
for hours. It was a wonderful experience for all of us. We learned all about
each other. I explained my fear of them and they filled us in on some hard
times their families went through. Terence’s dad lost his job a few years back
and that put anger into his whole family. He didn’t know he was feared. He was
just mad. Darryl lost his mom to sickle cell anemia just before he began at our
school and Sebastian’s parents split up leaving him with a tough decision. He
picked his mom. “I best be gettin my ass home. My momma don't play.”
They gathered up their cans and
made their way out. Chris and I made three good friends at that creek. We drank all twelve of our beers
and a Colt 45 each. We may not have been drunk but we wanted to be so we acted
real dumb. We swam in that dirty creek with all of our clothes on. We went and
bought 5 dollars worth of quarters to call all the girls we had phone numbers
for. We ended up with 4 dollars and 25 cents worth of quarters left over. One
of the three girls, Sharon, said we could stop by her window on our way home.
Liquid courage! We snuck up
slowly on Sharon’s house. We thought we were quiet but our foolish laughing and
carrying on only warranted attention. We got close to a window and knocked. The
bed moved and a body stumbled to the window. It was an extra large muscle bound
body. It was Sharon’s brother, Donny. He wasn’t happy.
I think that was the fastest I
ever ran in my teenage years. I didn’t even look back to see if Chris was
keeping up with me. Just before I ducked into a bush, I turned to see if Donny
was close. Chris was right behind me. He ducked into the bush also. We sat
there like two scared school girls. There was no bigger fear than getting an
ass kicking from a pretty girl’s older brother. We watched a car pass by every
ten minutes or so wondering if Donny was behind the wheel of one.
That night we shared some deep
thoughts. We were two horny teenage boys that never did more than make out with
a girl. I told him how I just wanted to put my arms around a girl so tight and
feel her against me and he spoke about his wishes of kissing a girls neck while
she whispers that she loves him. If any of the other guys heard this they would
say we were gay. We lived in a time where being sweet, loving, or romantic,
even with a girl was considered gay. It’s funny, and I still to this day would
call a friend gay if he told me he held his girlfriend or wife. Guys just want
to hear stories about oral sex and how far you got. They don’t want to hear any
mushy girl stuff.
Chris and I took a chance and
shared some dangerous thoughts that night. I still remember exactly where that
bush was.
High school was a pain in the ass
but once it was time to graduate, I knew I was going to miss it. I dreaded the
end because it meant the beginning.
Chris went to college and I found
an office job. At 21, Chris was in his third year of school and I was in my
second year of work. I didn’t spend as much time with the family as I used to.
Bill was 16 and Denise 23. Denise was working part time at a clothing store and
going to school. Bill was trying to make it through high school when our small
town was reaching its demise. Dad was considering retiring and becoming a full
time Mets fan. Mom spent most of her time cleaning up after us and taking long
naps throughout the day. Gin was her “mothers little helper”.
I had a grand old idea one
Saturday night. Since Chris and I were of age and I knew Patrick and Steve were
too, I extended invitations to all of them and “The Brothers”, Darryl,
Sebastian and Terrence for us to meet at a bar in Queens.
Darryl wanted me to refer to
those guys as “The Brothers” after we became friends so that’s what I did.
It was 9:00PM or so when I walked
into Austin’s, a well kept bar and club. The Bee Gee’s were playing from the
Dee Jay booth. I guess that’s not as bad as the other music that could have
been playing. I was already a bit tipsy from the six pack on the ride over.
Patrick and Steve were off in a corner already lining up girls for the night.
They were excited to see me and surprisingly, so were the girls that I never
met before.
“Oh no. Looks like there’s gonna
be trouble.” Patrick motioned to the entrance. In walked The Brothers.
“I’ll straighten this out.” I
walked to the door and whispered to the guys to help me play a joke.
“What’s he doing?” Steve feared
for me.
Chris walked in as The Brothers
walked out. He accompanied me back to the corner and I introduced him to my old
Brooklyn friends.
“What did you say to those black
dudes?”
“I told them that my friends
didn’t want them in here.”
“Are you nuts?”
“Why? Do you think they’ll come
back with more guys and guns?” I just enjoyed feeding their fear.
“That’s exactly what I think.”
The Brothers came back in and
walked right for us just as I asked them to do.
“Which one of you’s is Patrick?”
The fear raced through Patrick’s
body. You could see him trembling. Sebastian took hold of Patrick and gave him
a hug. The look on Patrick’s face was priceless. Soon after the hug, I let them
in on the joke and made introductions.
We had a wild night all around.
Each one of us made a new girlfriend. I also made two other friends, Randy and
Scott. I’m not ashamed to say it but some of my friends may have been. I made
friends with a gay couple.
Sure the guys and The Brothers
were respectable towards them. I don’t know if they would have been the same if
they weren’t all drunk.
The fact of the matter is that
Randy and Scott were good people. I learned things about them and their
lifestyles just as I did about The Brothers when I first met them. I learned
about their fears and how family and friends turned on them. I learned that
these guys had good hearts and I was happy to become their friend.
So, I left a bar full of gorgeous
women with two guy’s phone numbers. I know that’s funny for a straight guy to
say, but for the record, I also got the phone number of a hot little fire
cracker named Amanda.
I felt that this was the perfect
night in all ways possible and then something happened.
Denise entered the bar with a
man. I noticed her through the crowd. She spotted me and we stepped outside
while the man grabbed a drink at the bar.
“What is it sis?”
“Connor, you’re drunk.”
“No more than usual. What’s going
on?”
“Can I tell you something
important right now?”
“You’re not marrying this guy are
you?”
“Connor, I’m serious.”
“Okay.”
“It’s Grandma.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry Connor. She passed a
few hours ago. You couldn’t have helped it.”
I took it very tough. My Grandma
was one of my favorite people in the world. I used to visit her and Grandpa
every chance I had. Now I had to see her in a box and that was all I could
think about. I insisted that Denise leave the bar and I would be home shortly.
I got a beer and walked outside. I stood outside behind the bar drinking one
for Grandma. She too loved her beer. She taught me many things but the best had
to be about the little girl and the needle point. A little girl sat on the
floor as her mother worked on needle point above. All the little girl could see
were the strings hanging from her mother’s project. She was confused as to how
her mother was to create something beautiful when all it appeared to be were
different color strands of string. Her mother picked her up and sat her on her
lap when her project was finished and the little girl seen the beauty when
looking at it from the correct direction. Grandma said that is how we see God’s
project. We are like the little girl watching it from below. Once God places us
up on his lap, we’ll see the entire beautiful picture.
Now I wanted to drink the pain
away and drink to forget the news. I fell flat on the back of my head while
crying over my loss. It hurt but the alcohol lessened the blow. The liquid
courage helped me drive home. I never said good night to my friends.
Grandma’s funeral took a toll on
me. I switched from beer to Jack Daniels because it was easier to sneak into
the funeral parlor. I felt so bad for Grandpa. He was so sad and I could tell
he was not happy with me for being in the condition that I was. I also didn’t
realize that Bill had been watching me over the last several years and he too
was boozing it up. I don’t know for sure, but I think he also snuck a bottle in
with him.
All of my friends, new and old
came to pay their respects. I was cordial but I didn’t want anyone to see how
hurt I was. I hid behind my dark sunglasses and my buzz. On the way out of the
car later that night I fell and hit my head once again. It left a mark.
At the age of 23, me, Patrick,
Steve and our dads went and did what we spoke about 11 years earlier. We got
together and went to Shea Stadium to watch the Mets play the Phillies. The Mets
won in extra innings. They weren’t serving beer anymore by the end of the game but
that didn’t make no difference. We all snuck our bottles in. I had Jack, I
don’t know what the rest of the guys had.
I told my dad I was thinking
about marrying Amanda. He told me I was insane. In fact all of the dad’s said
marriage is the biggest mistake a man could make.
“You think things are real nice
now don’t ya?”
“Yea.”
“Well if you wanna keep things
real nice, don’t get married.”
“But I think I love her.”
“Exactly. I promise you that you
will stop loving her when you’re married.”
“You’ll see.”
“No, you’ll see. You’ll be stuck.
She won’t be giving you what you need no more and if you leave her, so will
half your pay check for life.”
“Is that why you stayed married?”
“Bet your ass. I could never
afford to get a divorce.”
I did my best to change that
subject. Patrick’s dad was making a lot of points that I couldn’t argue because
I was inexperienced on the subject.
We went out and had some fun and
just to feel like I was getting back at those guys, I proposed to Amanda when I
got home.
In the morning, I wasn’t sure if
I did the right thing. Amanda was extra nice to me, even woke me up with a
little surprise. The guys said that wouldn’t last very long. I felt they were
just joking. Marriage couldn’t be that bad.
At the age of 25, I ate those words. We were married a year and all
we did from the moment we said, I do, was fight, fight, hate each other and
fight more. Just like the guys said, we hated each other, the sex was gone and
if I leave, I’ll be broke. I even thought about suicide. Good thing there were
no kids because they said us guys made it even worse when thinking about
leaving.
So, I’m 25. I don’t see Chris or
any of the guys too much anymore. Amanda felt that they were immature and I
shouldn’t be around them. She also felt that I shouldn’t watch baseball or
football. She really didn’t want me out of the house or out of her sight. It
was like I was a ten year old kid again and she was my mommy. I felt that I
lived through that already. Why am I going through it again? Maybe I should run
away from home.
After a few phone calls, I was
able to get Randy and Scott to meet me at the bar. The Brothers weren’t
available, Patrick and Steve didn’t return my calls and Chris was away with a
girl.
I got to the bar before 8:00PM.
Randy and Scott were already there having a conversation with some others.
Once we began talking, I
remembered how easy it was to speak to them. I felt comfortable sharing the
Amanda situation with them. Gay guys are great listeners, and they also have a
way with words.
“There are 2 old sayings Connor, one, when a woman
gets married her life begins, when a man gets married his life ends.
And two, a woman gets married hoping her husband will change, a man gets
married hoping his wife won't change. If both do not happen, the marriage is
usually finished.”
Randy made sense. Scott also
had some words of wisdom. “They also say that happily married is an oxymoron
and that it is impossible.”
“How do you guys manage to stay
together so happily?”
“We share so many interests.
We’re both Yankee fans.” I thought that was a funny coincidence and held in my
laugh.
“We understand each other’s
wants and needs.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“To be quite honest with you
Connor, we think you may drink a little too much.”
At first I took offense to that
but then I realized I was asking their opinions and all they were doing was
sharing them. So I told them I would try to lay off the alcohol.
I guess that wasn’t the best
time for that decision because just as I made that promise, Denise walked into
the bar. It was Grandpa this time.
Randy said that when one half
of a couple goes, the other is not far behind. They couldn’t live without one
another. How does that work? People tell me that marriage is awful and I
learned for myself. How do other couples end up not being able to live without
one another? Maybe he changed and she didn't. There must be a secret formula.
Denise made sure I was okay
before she left.
“Maybe this is a good time to
test your ability to stop drinking.” Randy made an attempt but I wasn’t going
for it.
“Screw that!” I ordered a beer
and two shots of Jack.
“I think he needs to drown his
sorrows.” Scott was definitely the man in the couple.
I got hammered making toast
after toast to grandpa. I recalled some of his words of wisdom. Never hit a
woman, especially if she deserves it. Guys who carry combs in their back
pockets and guys who were sandals are fags. Randy and Scott laughed at that
one. If you can stand up at the bar, you’re not drunk. That’s when I stood up
and fell down and banged my head once again.
Randy wanted to take me to the
hospital but I was able to sit back down for a couple more shots. I made sure
not to stand up again. Grandpa was right. I was drunk.
In the morning, I was served
breakfast in bed by Randy. I was insistent not to go home to Amanda. They
honored my drunken wish.
“Good morning sunshine.”
“Thanks Randy.”
“Do you remember what you said
last night?”
“Oh God no.”
“You said you wish you were
gay.”
“I can understand that. You
guys are so happy.”
“That’s what gay means.”
“Alright, enough of the gay
talk.”
“Eat your sausage.”
“Excuse me?”
“Breakfast.”
“Oh. You know something? This
is the first time in all my years of getting smashed that I recall blacking
out.”
“You drank a lot. And it is
time to get on the wagon.”
After living with the guys for
a month, I only drank three times. The withdrawals were hell. I made my first 5
days and got most of the alcohol out of my system but it was like I was going
to die. Chest pains, sweats, dizziness, vomiting. It was awful. On the sixth
day, I fell off the wagon. Scott was understanding but Randy was mad at me for
a day or so. I joked to Scott that I would by him some flowers, maybe pansies.
So, I drank two more times and
went ten days without a drink. That’s when things got real strange. It was like
I was blacking out every night. My memory was fading on me. It could have been
all of the drinking, the countless falls on the head, the bar fights with the
bottles over the head. I was losing my memory and at first I was scared. Then I
started to forget why I was scared. Randy and Scott checked me into a hospital
when I began forgetting who they were.
That’s his final memory of us.
Taking him and leaving him at that hospital broke my heart. I felt so close to
Connor after taking care of him for over a month and he was so accepting of my
relationship with Scott.
Scott
and I would come by and visit him once a week or so in the beginning. We met
his family there. His mom and dad were a mess over it. Denise tried to hide her
emotions. She knew he was headed for disaster from the way he was living. He
told her one of the last times she seen him, “I’m a drunken Irish boy. I
learned some good things from some good people but now that I have no memory I
can’t share any of the good. My neighbors and acquaintances will possibly be
racists or gay bashers. I can’t use my past to heal them.”
Bill came up to visit as well. He was
usually drunk off his ass also. The first few times I seen him there, I tried
to get him to come home with Scott and me so we could try to straighten him
out. I know that sounds odd, two gay guys trying to straighten out a straight
guy. All Bill did was make anti gay remarks and swig from his bottle in front
of us. He was upset about life and the fact that Connor didn’t recognize any of
his family or him.
Patrick, Steve and The Brothers
also visited and Connor had no idea who any of them were either. When The
Brothers came around, Bill was usually so drunk he would make insinuations
against blacks. Out of respect for Connor, The Brothers blew it off.
One afternoon Bill cried on my
shoulder. I was in shock. He was ready to be helped. Scott and I took him home
with us and set up our own rehab for a second time.
Amanda visited Connor with open
arms. He didn’t recall her either but he did become attracted to her as if he
was meeting a pretty girl for the first time.
After a few months, Bill was
clean and sober and Connor and Amanda were living together getting to know one
another. She wanted to share the news that they were married but she felt they
should take this relationship slow. He seemed to have changed for her and now
it was up to her not to change.
We would occasionally stop by
their house for dinner. He met his parents and brother and sister each Sunday.
They were a new family. The Brothers and Patrick and Steve would stop by from
time to time.
It wasn’t until one Sunday when
Chris visited that everyone could not believe their eyes. Connor sat on the
couch watching the Mets. “You say I know this team? I can't remember anything
I can't remember any of the Mets players, numbers, positions, where the stadium
is, what it’s called.”
“It’s Shea.”
Amanda let Chris in the door
and Connor lit up. “Chris!” He jumped from his seat. They hugged and quickly
went through memories. Connor remembered drinking behind the gas station,
Sharon’s window, her brother Donny, hiding in the bush. He was the old Connor
for a moment.
Chris had obviously been
drinking. He glanced over at Bill in the corner, then to Connor. He pulled a
bottle of Jack from his coat and poured three shots.
THE
END
Left at the
Store
A man accompanied by his
five year old daughter pulls into a space in the Wal-Mart parking lot.
"Okay sweetie. Take that seatbelt off."
A loud boom is heard. The child is startled.
"Just some fireworks sweetie."
She is relieved. "Just fireworks daddy."
He pulls her from the car and holds on tight.
"Daddy, remember I dreamed you left me at a store?"
"I would never do that honey."
"This is the store daddy."
He worries inside. Being a believer of messages in dreams, he proceeds with
extra caution, holding her hand tighter than normal. "Daddy's not leaving
you anywhere. Now stay close."
"Okay daddy."
Everything seems questionable around him. A car passes by, he feels it is too
close. A man walks along, he seems like a criminal. Thoughts race of kidnappers
and sexual predators. A group of boys appear to be up to no good. They resemble
a gang.
Father and child enter the store safely where the girl spots a race car
shopping cart.
"I know honey. Get in your race car." He smiles. "And what are
we here for?"
She sings. "Milk, cereal and apple juice."
"Very good."
They sing together. "Milk, cereal and apple juice! Milk, cereal and apple
juice!"
She adds additional items. "Crayons and coloring book."
"If you're good." He knows he will get them for her, that will keep
her busy in the car.
He sees sneakers on clearance for twenty four dollars. "Come with me
honey. Daddy might buy sneakers."
She won't leave the cart. "Race car."
He thinks about her dream once again. "You have to leave the race car and
stay close to daddy."
"But race car."
"Do you want a coloring book and crayons?"
She hops out of the cart.
He tries on his size and it’s a perfect fit. Another item in the cart.
She points. "Coloring book. It will keep me quiet in the car."
He hands her the book and crayons and continues to cautiously shop until they
have milk, cereal, apple juice, sneakers, a coloring book and crayons.
They get to the car and he feels victorious. "See honey, you're in the car
now. I didn't leave you."
She puts on her seatbelt and begins to color in the book. "Thanks daddy,
you always take good care of me."
He walks around to the back of the car. The gang of boys is not too far away.
He begins to place the items in the trunk. A boom is heard.
She continues to color "Just fireworks daddy. I'll stay busy."
The man’s blood covers the trunk and the ground around his lifeless body as a
gang member runs off with daddy's new sneakers.
Daddy left her at the store that day.
Waking up
Waking up,
My arm brushes across where you
used to be.
The space is still warm as if you
just stepped away.
Your scent is still trapped in
these sheets.
They were going too fast. Maybe a
sharp turn.
We never went so fast. We wanted
to make sure we did it all just right.
They drank a little too much. Not
a care, no one to stop them.
We always paced our celebrations.
Make them worthwhile.
You were so shy when we met,
quiet and reserved.
Most likely the same when they
took you away.
Trapped that way, I cringe at the
thought.
For heaven's or even hell's sake.
Confined and scared? Is that a
tear?
We said we'd always comfort each
other in such a circumstance.
You overseas, not a thing I could
do.
It's heartbreaking how a
country's disagreements could separate our love.
Tell me it was painless.
Tell me your pure heart guided
your kind soul to where it belongs.
I feel you so near.
"Who are you talking
to?"
I was speaking to you. You look
so real.
"Why should I not be?"
The three ways you left me.
Oh, nightmares again.
No more television news before
bed.
Codes of Hercheck
Classroom –
Ten AM, Monday, a cold classroom
setting. A group of twenty eight employees sit in boredom through the drone of the
instructor, Mr. Lewis, a slender, gray haired man well into his fifties.
He speaks of strategy’s and goals
toward public relations as Jeffrey Ocohn sits with a blank stare upon his clear
skinned face, not a wrinkle nor a hair out of place upon his thin head.
Mr. Lewis speaks of his customer
pie theory relating to pleasing clients. “You want to dissect this client. You
need to know him or her inside and out. What you want to do is think of the
client as a whole pie. And then you want to slice that client into six pieces
of pie. The six slices represent the client’s needs, wants, goals, likes,
dislikes and financial situation.”
Jeffrey tunes out and begins to
think to himself about the book he just completed and had published under the
pen name, Arthur Hercheck. It just hit the market two weeks ago. “I remember
slicing someone up like a pie. It was not six slices though. It was more like
six hundred.” He laughs to himself and the class takes notice. He quickly falls
back into his story.
The body that was sliced into six
hundred pieces was that of my landlord Jebaniel Muetrford. Try saying that
three times fast. Try spending more than three minutes with this unpleasant
bastard. Or was I the unpleasant one?
On the day of the late Jebaniel
Muetrford’s untimely passing, I arrived at my apartment a few minutes past
Jeffrey finds himself back in the
class listening to Mr. Lewis finish up a sentence. “You constantly feed your
head and learn new things. Perhaps today you will as well.”
Jeffrey looks two seats over and
notices the empty desk. He smiles to himself and falls back into thought. “Good
boy Jeffrey. You took those much needed vacation days. I’m so proud of you.”
Jeffrey Young -
Jeffrey Young, a tall, slender man, lies in bed letting out a
yawn. A daytime talk show is on his television. He stretches and looks over at
his dog. “These have been some much needed vacation days.” His head falls back
on the pillow.
Outside his window and many
blocks away, a parcel truck drives along. Next to the driver sits a package
labeled, Jeffrey Young,
Classroom -
In the classroom, Mr. Lewis
rambles on about making the client believe that they are the most important
thing. Jeffery Ocohn looks around the room thinking to himself. “The most
important thing to me is.” He notices another empty desk. “Mrie Tahagana is not
here. So Mrie, you didn’t out smart me. You were just lucky. Maybe you knew
someone who has a soft spot for you.
Mrie Tahagana -
Mrie Tahagana, dark skinned
woman, lies in bed surrounded by tissues while blowing her nose. “I can’t stand
being sick like this. Why did this have to happen to me today? I didn’t want to
miss any of the course.”
Her husband Glenn sticks his head
in from the bathroom as he ties his tie. “Being out sick is better than running
late. I am gonna get chewed out for this one.”
Mrie’s head hits the pillow.
Classroom -
Mr. Lewis finishes up a thought.
“And if you don’t have your check on time, who comes looking for you? Your
landlord.”
Jeffrey falls back into his book
and thinks about the landlord, Jebaniel Muetrford. Yes, six hundred pieces of
one man.
I arrived at my apartment a few
minutes past
Before I can remove my coat and
pour a drink, who knocks at the door? Jebaniel Muetrford, that’s who. He wants
his rent check. I don’t have it. A confrontation takes place. Harsh language.
Two grown men tear while yelling.
Mr. Lewis speaks on how not to
treat a client. “We never yell or holler. That will cause us to lose a client.”
Jeffrey’s attention is back to
the class for a second before he gets wrapped up into his book. “I don’t care
about losing a client. I certainly didn’t mind losing my landlord.”
After the argument and after I
cracked Jebaniel over the head with the poker from the fireplace, I began to
slice the pie. A freshly sharpened knife from the cupboard. There was never a
fork or spoon in that apartment, just plenty of sharp knives.
Pieces of Jebaniel filled plastic
hefty bags. The wet/dry vacuum filled up twice while collecting the blood.
Maybe the rest of the details are too gruesome. I’ll mention them anyway.
The class holler out words during
the one interactive portion.
“Gruesome!”
“Disgusting!”
“Gross!”
“Yes class. Those are good
examples. We do not want to hear those from our clients and our clients do not
want to hear gruesome details from us.”
Down the stairs and at the front
of the office building, two men install a metal detector for employees and
visitors.
A quiet joke is made from one
passerby to another. “Now we won’t have to worry about Ocohn going postal and
coming in one day and shooting the place up.”
Jeffrey Young -
Jeffrey Young, pours a cup of coffee in the kitchen when he hears
a knock at his front door. It’s the parcel delivery service.
Jeffrey signs for the
package and sets it down on the kitchen table. “What could this be?” He begins
to open the package.
Classroom -
Mr. Lewis hollers. “Wake up!” He
goes into a calmer, quieter voice. “That’s how I was scolded by my most
memorable client who requested I no longer provide services to him.”
Jeffrey is startled. He reaches
over and picks up his black bag from the floor next to his desk. He shakes
nervously.
Jeffrey Young -
Jeffrey Young flips through a
book, “Codes of Hercheck by Arthur Hercheck”, accompanied by a letter.
Hello
Jeffrey. This is from
Jeffrey
Ocohn from work. I
made
sure you weren’t going
to
be at work today because
something
very special is
going
to happen that I felt
you
shouldn’t be a part of.
Please
see my myspace address,
Myspace.com/Arthurhercheck.
There
you will see the codes
and
how they coincide with
this
book.
Thank
you for being the only
one
who didn’t harass me.
Farewell,
Jeffrey
Ocohn.
Jeffrey quickly signs on to the
computer wondering what the codes are. He believes it is a joke. “Why would
that nut send me something? We’ve never shared more than two words in five
years.”
He finds the website and clicks
on Jeffrey’s blog, “Codes of Hercheck”.
Numbers appear on the blog: 16 –
55, 56, 57, 58 meaning page sixteen, words fifty five through fifty eight. And
at that spot are the words “I will take this”, beginning a sentence.
Next is 21 – 92, 93. At that
location is “company to”, in the middle of a sentence. And then 25 – 30, 31,
32, 33, 34, 35, 36 where we find “a new level of horror and destruction”, at
the end of a sentence. By following the remaining codes the statements, “You
will all be sorry that you came to work on January seventeenth. I was pushed
too far. Killing made me feel right inside. You twenty eight are not the
victims. I am the victim.”
Jeffrey quickly runs to where he
was watching a day time talk show. A breaking news announcement comes over the
television. “This just in, a horrific and gruesome massacre at an office
building in
Jeffrey stares in awe at the
screen.
Mrie Tahagana -
Mrie Tahagana lies in bed shocked
at the television report. “The gunman was an unheard of author. Unheard of
until now, Arthur Hercheck, author of Codes of Hercheck which is said to have
the details of this planned massacre in its dreadful pages. Also, the case of
the murdered apartment building owner Jebaniel Muetrford has been re-opened.
The murder took place almost two years ago and it appears that tenant Jeffrey
Ocohn, also known as Arthur Hercheck, is the main suspect in that case. The
book gives special thanks to all of the victims named in alphabetical order and
quote, “especially Jeffrey Young who shares my real name and had the day of
January seventeenth off.” There was one name mentioned whose body has not been
recovered. More to come on that.”
Mrie shakes, grabs another
tissue. “If I wasn’t sick, I’d be dead.” She cries.
Sad Songs
Miller Samson drives
off the expressway ramp. He turns the radio a bit louder as tears roll down his
face. “Not
only do sad songs say so much Elton, they are the most powerful thing I know.” A thirty two year old man, who is not normally known to show
emotion, feels he has reason to on this cold and dreary evening.
At the age of six,
just getting to truly know his parents, is when he lost both of them.
On their seventh
wedding anniversary, it was a night planned for months. A show, dinner, dancing
and a night alone in a favorite Inn, The Flower Inn, was what they were
intending on. They never made it to the Inn.
The expressway was
clear, the evening was perfect, the excitement of the night cap caused Miller’s
dad to speed. His wife was causing his attention to be drawn away from the
road. A car in the distance ahead swerved and crashed. By the time Miller’s dad
could react, it was too late.
Miller was home with a
babysitter that night. The police arrived when he was fast asleep getting in
one last dream while knowing his parents were alive.
The babysitter,
Glenna, eighteen, brown hair and pretty face, stayed the night to be there for
Miller. She cried herself to sleep.
Glenna and her parents
were the only guardians for Miller over the next month. Miller only spent one
week out of the month crying and grieving. Most children would have taken more
time.
After that month, Miller was
placed in a foster home where he met Mrs. Marge August. She ran the home and
eventually became Nanny to Miller. He was the one and only child of sixteen
that referred to her as Nanny instead of Mrs. Marge.
They grew a special bond over
the next year and a half and became close friends. They each had a birthday in
that time frame and they celebrated them together.
A few days after Millers eighth
birthday is when she came along, Cindy, a cute nine year old girl distraught
over the loss of her own parents. They were also victims of a horrible traffic
accident.
Cindy’s first month at the home
was like Millers first week after his loss. She was much more emotional about
her loss and it took over a month and a half before she was able to open up to
anyone. That one was Miller. Their relationship began with them having plenty
in common.
One of the other kids pulled
Cindy’s hair the first week she started to come out of her shell. Miller gave
that kid the best beating an eight year old could give. He never pulled her
hair again.
Miller and Cindy became
inseparable over the next couple of years in the home. Cindy became the only
other child to refer to Mrs. Marge as Nanny. On Cindy’s tenth birthday, Nanny
and Miller planned a special evening with a movie and cake. Cindy sat across
from Miller with such a trustful stare into his eyes. They were nine and ten
and felt like they were best friends since the beginning of time.
Nanny was also a great friend,
but she also had to keep her strict and responsible side. “Get those shoes tied
birthday girl.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Miller and Cindy knew that
Nanny was their friend, they also knew she deserved a certain amount of
respect.
“I got it.” Miller tapped on
the top of his leg and Cindy rested her sneaker there for him to tie. “I have
to blow out these candles before the words scribble.” She felt if the candles
burned too long, they would make the words melt and scribble. Cindy left her
sneaker on Miller’s leg for the remainder of the celebration.
Miller gave her a special
necklace before they left the table as he laughed nervously.
“I think it’s cute that you
laugh when you’re nervous.”
“Thanks. And I think it’s cute
when your nose wiggles when you’re cold.”
She blushes.
The three of them always had a
special cake for one another’s birthdays and it became a ritual for Cindy to
rest her shoe on Millers leg for each of those celebrations.
As the years went by,
Miller was always there for Cindy to lean on when she went through episodes of
sadness over the loss of her parents. She offered her shoulder to him as well,
if the need ever came about. He hid his emotions and did not take her up on the
offers.
Children entered the
home and left on a monthly basis. Young married couples who couldn’t make a
family of their own would adopt very often.
Cindy’s day had
arrived one February morning. A very nice couple from the suburbs fell in love
with her during a visit. Cindy just turned fifteen and the couple in their
early forties felt she was just right for them.
It was a very sad time for Miller. He knew it wouldn’t be the last time he saw her, but he also knew the home would not be the same without her. They spent that last night together rehashing the years they spent there together. How that kid never pulled her hair again, Nanny’s outlook on idiots and if you have a good message to get out there, get it out but always remember there are lots of idiots out there who will tear your message apart. The idiots are loud and they'll criticize every chance they get. The ones who get your message will keep it quiet.
“I was always glad that Nanny’s name isn’t
May or June or April.”
“Why’s that?”
“It would sound silly with the last name
August.”
Another birthday came
for Miller, and Nanny planned to have a movie and a cake for him.
Just after his school lessons,
Nanny picked him up and drove him back to the home. She showed him the DVD that
she picked out for the occasion and he acted as if he was dying to see it. He
never heard of the title, but he knew that Nanny went through so much trouble
to plan these celebrations and he would never let her down.
The popcorn was popped
and Nanny walked around nervously as if she was waiting for something.
“Are you gonna pop
that movie in Nanny?” Miller was a young man at this point, fourteen years old
with a different outlook on the world.
“Just a minute doll. I
want to make sure everything is right.”
There was a knock at
the door.
“Now everything is
right.”
Cindy was at the door
holding a gift. Nanny let her in with excitement and relief. They were so happy
to see one another.
Happiness was not the
word when Miller found out that she was there to celebrate with them. He knew
she was coming in from the cold when her nose wiggled. He didn’t let out all of
the emotions he was feeling, but Cindy could tell that she made this his most
special birthday yet.
After the movie, they
sat down to cake. As always, Cindy rested her shoe on his leg as the three of
them sat and talked. At one point Nanny got up for coffee and Miller questioned
Cindy, making sure all was well in her new home and that all of her sadness was
manageable. They shared their feelings like they’ve always done in the past.
They were still the best of friends, longer distance best of friends. They
still vowed to be there for one another as they’ve always been. They would go
to each other’s proms and weddings.
Before Cindy left, she
shared some news with Nanny about a couple looking for a teenage boy. They were
friends of her foster parents. She didn’t want to share the news with Miller
just yet. She didn’t want him to be set up for a letdown.
“I typed them a three
page letter about how wonderful Miller is and I also included some photos.”
“That is wonderful
Cindy. I will pray that it works out.”
A month and a half
later, the prayers worked. It did work out. Miller was the proud foster child
of a couple that were good friends with the foster parents of Cindy. Cindy was
mostly responsible for making it all work out.
Through the next
couple of years, Miller, Cindy and Nanny never missed one birthday. It was
always the same celebration, popcorn, movie and cake, sometimes dinner.
Miller and Cindy went
to the same high school where things changed slightly when they made new
friends. They remained close friends and hung out together occasionally.
Once Cindy met Donald,
things changed a little more. She didn’t spend as much time with Miller and
when she did, it was just a quick hello and some small talk. Miller didn’t care
for Donald and Donald didn’t seem to care much for Miller either.
It could have been
jealousy on both parts. Miller wasn’t sure if he was jealous, he never thought
of Cindy as someone he’d want to have a romantic relationship with, but as soon
as he realized these feelings, he began his own search for a romantic
relationship.
Miller was hanging out
with kids that some may consider the wrong crowd. They would experiment with
marijuana and alcohol at parties occasionally. At one of the parties, Miller
was drinking and Cindy happened to be there also. She made some time for him
and they caught up a bit while having a drink. Miller wasn’t as open to her as
he would have liked to have been. It was odd for him to feel emotions. This was
the first time since he lost his parents that he felt any.
Donald wasn’t too far
away and when he felt that they had spent enough time together, he walked over
to break it up.
Miller downed his
drink and poured another accompanied by a shot of whiskey. He found a quiet
room in the house and watched from a window as Donald and Cindy got in Donald’s
car.
Miller turned on a
radio next to the couch and found a song to accompany his alcohol and sad
emotions. He almost shed a tear.
When the song was
over, Heather entered.
Heather, an outgoing,
attractive blonde decided to keep Miller company. He felt she was sent to him
to replace the void that Cindy left in his heart. She was nice, she was there
to talk to, but she was no Cindy.
The next birthday
gathering at the foster home was a little uncomfortable for Miller. He planned
weeks ahead of time to use Nanny’s birthday to get back to where he and Cindy
had left off. He looked forward to it for quite a while.
Miller arrived early
and greeted Nanny with a great big Happy Birthday. She was so excited to see
him and since he was early, she was able to catch up with her favorite foster
child. While he shared some of his feelings with Nanny about Cindy, Cindy was
on her way over.
Donald was driving and
he wasn’t thrilled about meeting her Nanny. “I don’t see why I need to attend
this little gathering with you and your little boyfriend. I could be doing
other things. Important things.”
“What? Like playing
with your stupid lacrosse stick?”
“You wouldn’t know
nothing about it.”
The ride was not a pleasant
one and neither was the feeling in Miller’s stomach when he seen that Cindy
brought Donald to their special night.
Nanny cancelled the
movie and went right to the cake when noticing the pain that Miller was going
through.
While they ate the
cake, Miller was extremely quiet. Donald spoke about his Lacrosse team and how
he and Cindy would be going to the prom together in the next two weeks. When
Donald got up to use the bathroom, Cindy Kicked Miller lightly on the knee
under the table hoping to remind him of the old days. Miller pretended not to
feel it.
The night did not go
over very well. Donald and Cindy left without even a goodbye from Miller.
Miller stuck around
and watched the movie with Nanny and they spoke about the situation for a while
afterwards. Nanny was the only one he felt he could confide in.
Donald and Cindy went
to the prom together despite earlier promises and soon after they broke up. The
news made Miller somewhat happy but, he had been seeing Heather for a while and
it wouldn’t have been right to ditch her and try for Cindy.
After another year of
birthdays, some when Miller brought Heather and others that Cindy didn’t
attend, it was time for Miller’s prom and he repaid the favor of neglecting
promises and took Heather instead of Cindy.
Miller had been together with
Heather for over a year and she still wasn’t Cindy. He thought about Cindy all
of the time. She began seeing someone else, Randal.
Cindy had been working in the
city and Miller was deciding during a year off whether he would go to college
or find a job. He worked part time at Department stores and banks before his
foster dad got him in at the construction plant. It was good pay and not far
from home. He became close with his foster dad over the next year while they worked
together. He knew he would never feel as close to him as he did to Nanny.
Miller was still hanging around
with the same crowd and he did hit the booze every so often, usually when he
thought about his parents or Cindy and how he was always there for her.
Heather was becoming a real nag
about the drinking and about getting married. He had no interest in marrying
her. She was a replacement for Cindy that just ended up sticking around too
long. One day on the job he shared his feelings about Heather to his foster
dad. That’s when they really bonded.
Cindy was still friends with
some of the girls from high school and they would meet for drinks on Friday
night happy hour in the city after work. Her and Randal were getting serious,
no marriage yet, but one of the girls was planning a wedding, Kathy.
One Friday night, Miller was on
a construction job in the city with his foster father and an old high school
buddy who he found employment for, Casey. After the job, they stopped for a
drink in the same bar that Cindy and her friends met in. That was the first
time Miller seen Cindy in over a year. She still gave a great hug.
The girls already knew Miller
and Casey, foster dad was the only one needing an introduction. They spoke
about Kathy’s upcoming wedding.
Cindy had more than a minute
for Miller that night. “So, how’s Heather? Still together?”
“She’s okay.” He wanted to say
that she was no Cindy, but he couldn’t get those words out.
“I’ve been thinking about you.”
“Thanks. How’s The Lacrosse
boy?”
Cindy pushes his chest. “That
was a long time ago. Wow, have you been working out?”
“A little. Construction doesn’t
hurt either.” Miller became distracted by one of those emotional songs playing
in the background.
“So, you and Heather, what’s
the story?”
“I’m not sure. I really don’t
know what I’m doing.”
“If you need to talk, you still
got my number right?”
He felt an invite right there
and then.
The girls headed out soon after
their discussion and the guys stayed for a few more drinks before going home to
drop off foster dad. Miller insisted that Casey take him out for a few more. He
was happy about the offer to call but he was also feeling depressed that he was
stuck with Heather.
Cindy was at her apartment with
the girls later that night when her phone rang. Miller was pretty drunk. He
wasn’t making much sense and Cindy felt he was trying to fight with her.
“Miller, you’re in no shape to
talk. Why don’t you call me tomorrow?”
He mumbled some more and he was
becoming angry and insulted that she insisted that he was too drunk to speak.
Eventually she had to hang up on him. He called back two more times before she
had to take the phone off the hook.
He never called back the next
day. In fact they didn’t speak again until Kathy’s wedding when they danced to
one of those emotional songs that get to him.”
Neither one of them mentioned
the drunken phone call. Cindy didn’t even know if he remembered that call.
Over the next two years, there
were more birthday celebrations. Miller and Nanny never missed any of each other’s
but, Cindy’s were not all celebrated and she didn’t make all of Millers or
Nanny’s. She made it when she could.
There were a few more high
school weddings over the years and they always seemed to dance together during
the most emotional songs.
Cindy and Randal were getting
married as well. Miller went through every excuse he could think of to get out
of the wedding. Heather wanted to go.
No excuse seemed to be strong
enough to miss the wedding of the girl who was once his best friend. Miller
came up with a plan the day before the wedding while he was on the construction
site. He told everyone he fell two stories, he actually jumped. Luckily he only
broke a leg. It got him out of the wedding and as an added bonus, it got him
out of work for a month.
Cindy wasn’t sure if she should
be happy that he couldn’t make it or sad that he broke his leg. She was feeling
funny having him at the wedding and feeling even funnier about not inviting
him. Her worst feeling was why she was marrying Randal. Did she really love
him? She didn’t know. She just felt that she should be married since all of her
friends were.
Cindy and Miller’s paths did
not cross for some time. His physical injury was healed but that emotional
injury could never heal. He went on a drinking binge from the time Cindy got
married up until Heather left him. A few drunken nights, he called Cindy’s
house and hung up on Randal. He had a few scattered sober nights and like
clockwork, each one of those nights he dreamt about Cindy and woke up sad that the
moments that they shared in those dreams were not real. He wished she was
having the same dreams and that she would get in touch with him to discuss
them. That never happened.
Miller went to that Friday
night happy hour as often as he could in attempts to running into Cindy again.
Just another hug. He brought his foster dad and Casey when they were available.
One night when it was just
Miller and Casey, a woman walked in. She looked a lot like Cindy. Miller felt
that he could love again. After building up some courage and a few catches of
the eyes, he sent her a drink. After that, they had a long talk and planned a
date. Her name was Stacy, she was no Cindy, but she was pretty damn close.
Miller and Nanny still didn’t
miss a birthday and for the first time, Miller brought another woman. That was
Stacy. It was proof that he was giving up on Cindy. After all of the years he
hoped to have a birthday celebration with the three original members, he
finally threw in the towel, cut his losses and accepted Stacy as the
replacement of Cindy.
Nanny commented on how Stacy
resembled Cindy to Miller. He was able to tell her that’s what he wanted to
spend the rest of his life with, someone who reminds him of Cindy. They were
married soon after.
After a couple of years with
Stacy, that wasn’t enough to keep their relationship strong. She reminded him
of Cindy, but she was no Cindy. She was just another woman who was a
replacement for what he wanted and couldn’t have.
Nanny was turning seventy five.
This was a big one. Miller wanted to do a little more for her this year. He
took her out to a movie theatre and invited some of the foster children to meet
for dessert afterwards. It wasn’t only her birthday party, it was also her
retirement party. Some of the staff from the home and children met them for
cake and desserts at the corner Shoppe. It was on the ground floor of a five
story building that was occupied by many businesses over the years.
The four children were very
well behaved. Nanny still had it, and she was able to pass it along to the
other two aids from the home. Just as the treats were being served, Miller had
an odd, nervous feeling in his stomach, and then noticed out of the corner of
his eye, Cindy standing at the door by herself.
He watched her walk over to the
table. She sat directly across from Miller as both of their hearts pounded.
Nanny made introductions.
Miller and Cindy just stared into each other’s eyes until the cake was placed
in the middle of the table by the waitress. Happy 75th! Enjoy the
Retirement!
As the waitresses scurried to
find candles and everyone sang Happy Birthday to you, Cindy put her shoe on
Millers leg. These weren’t kid’s sneakers, these were real pretty dress shoes.
They sat as if they were the
only two at the table for a moment and then Cindy rushed from her seat and
began to walk. Miller made some small talk at the table before he went off to
find her.
Cindy was not around in the restaurant. Miller
walked up a stairway and walked down a long dark corridor. There was smoke
coming from a room off to the side across from the restrooms. There were two
waitresses on a cigarette break.
“Hello sir, you lost?”
“Sorry, no, just been a while
since I’ve been in the old neighborhood.”
“I could have pegged you as someone
who grew up here.”
“Sure did. Spent many years of
my childhood just down the road.”
“You with the birthday party?”
“Yep, Nanny’s.”
“Wonder what a woman that age
has as a birthday wish.”
“I know what mine would be.”
Cindy walks slowly down the
opposite corridor.
“What’s that?”
“There it goes. Excuse me.”
The one waitress looks to the other. “How romantic.”
Miller catches up to Cindy. “Why’d you leave?”
“Nothing for you to worry about.”
“C’mon, we used to tell each other everything.”
“Yea, used to.”
They walked along looking at the empty rooms.
“What stores were on this floor before?”
“Not sure, been a while since I've been here.”
“Maybe if you didn't leave. I mean, just look where the floors meet, some of the old tags are still there. See WNCC AM. This was a radio station.”
“I see.”
“Woolworth & Co.”
“Had lots of different things run through here. Reminds me of
your necklaces. Any of them from the old days?”
“Just one.” She shows him the first necklace he gave to her. He
is happy to see that she still wears it.
“C’mon, tell me what's wrong?”
“What if it’s all wrong?”
“I ask myself that every day.”
“Did you get those calls with hang ups?”
“Yea, did you?”
“Yea.”
“Do you still do that
thing with your nose when you're cold?”
“I guess. He never mentions it. Do you still laugh when you're
nervous?”
“Yea, she says it’s childish. For what it’s worth, when we got
together she reminded me of you.”
“Same here.”
“How's he treating you?”
“He's got money.”
“As long as he doesn't pull your hair.”
“We should get back to the cake.”
“Yea it might start to scribble.”
She smiles remembering the cake scribbles.
“I dreamt about you the other night. I do that a lot. I didn’t
want to wake up. Damn I had to. You ever wake up and cry from a dream? Not one
about death or some nightmare, but one about making the wrong choices.”
“All the time.”
“Now you're with him and I'm with her. Would we both still be
unhappy if it turned out the way we feel it should have?”
“We can’t change it now. As much as it hurts, we’re locked into
our mistakes.”
“Remember when Nanny said, if you have a good message to get out
there, get it out but always remember there are lots of idiots out there who
will tear your message apart. The idiots are loud and they'll criticize every
chance they get. The ones who get your message will keep it quiet.”
“I sure do. I felt you were an idiot at one point, hanging with
the wrong crowd.”
“They did mess me up pretty good, but not as much as you did.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
“The sad songs are killing me. Some I remembered from car rides
with my parents. Maybe they’re only sad songs to me.”
“I hear them too. Especially the ones from the weddings we
danced together at. I can still hear each song in my
head and I cry every time they play on the radio.”
The party gets rapped
up. Nanny is seventy five and retired.
Miller drives off the
expressway ramp. He turns the radio a bit louder as tears roll down his face.
“Not only
do sad songs say so much Elton, they are the most powerful thing I know.” A thirty two year old man, who is not normally known to show
emotion, feels he has reason to on this cold and dreary evening. He said
goodbye to his childhood sweetheart, roller coaster romance and best friend for
the last time.
He drives to the
Flowers Inn where his parents were supposed to spend their seventh wedding
anniversary twenty six years ago. He stops at the liquor store and pawn shop
before checking into his room.
As he turns the radio louder to
hear those sad songs, he empties the contents of a brown paper bag on the bed.
A bottle of whiskey, a pack of cigarettes and a pistol. He dreads going home to
the life he made. He dreads dreaming about what he can’t have.
This is,
THE END
The Parking Spot
An angry, grungy twenty five year old man covered in tattoos
bursts through the front door of his small, unkempt, shack of a house and
rushes to his late seventies Ford pickup truck. His dingy girlfriend stands at
the screen door that is ready to fall off the hinges, a cigarette dangles from
her lips as she yells. “Don’t forget the duck sauce Victor!”
A cloud of smoke blows from his tailpipe as he backs out of the
dirt driveway onto the pavement of the street. He lights a cigarette and yells
out of his window. “Just set the dang table Annie!”
A mild mannered thirty four year old man, Charles, drives along in
his Honda Accord passing store fronts in a parking lot. The large, red, Chinese
Food sign is lit up just around sunset. He notices an empty parking space right
in front. He begins to turn in as Victor recklessly cuts him off in his pickup
truck, almost hitting the cars on either side of the space.
Charles leans on his horn and raises his hands up before beginning
the search for a new spot.
Victor gets out of his truck and flicks his cigarette onto
Charles’ windshield just before giving Charles the middle finger. “Too slow
asshole!”
Charles is stunned as he hollers out his passenger side window.
“Are you serious?”
“Come on out and find out how serious I am little man.”
Charles shakes his head and continues to find a spot.
Victor walks into the Chinese restaurant. All eyes are on him. Two
disturbing looking, muscular, bald men with mustaches that pass their chins sit
at a table under a painting of the Great Wall. A young boy sits with his mom as
they wait for their order. The young boy repeats everything the Chinese woman
behind the counter yells out. He enjoys her accent. He finds it humorous.
“Chicken fry rice!”
“Chicken fry rice!”
His mother puts he finger over her lips to shush him. The waitress
calls out a phone number of an order that is ready. A large brunette woman
shakes the floor as she makes her way over to pick it up. She fills her bag
with sauces and napkins. She passes Victor who takes one look at her and can’t
help but snicker and whisper to himself. “Slob.”
The woman finds a young gentleman holding the door for her before
he enters. It is Charles. Victor notices him right away. “You decided to finish
what you started?”
Everyone watches the two of them.
“What I started?”
“That’s what I said.”
“If I’m not mistaken.”
Victor cuts him off in mid sentence. “You are mistaken. You have
to make a choice now. Would you like to just be mistaken? Or would you also
like to be in the worst pain of your life?”
“Let it end.”
“I guess you’re smarter than you look.”
The two bald men eat and enjoy the entertainment. The woman calls
out another phone number as a man grabs his order while watching Victor and
Charles. The young boy repeats the phone number not paying any mind to Victor
and Charles. The boy’s mother laughs nervously to encourage him to continue
repeating.
“But you’re just as cowardly as you look.”
“I just want to place an order.”
“You think you can walk past me?”
The woman calls out another phone number.
“Lucky for you, that’s my food. If I had another minute to spare,
I would have beat you’re dumb ass senseless around the parking lot.”
Victor’s phone number is called again. He raises his hand and
begins to pay.
Charles opens his cell phone. The young boy repeats the number.
Victor attempts to brush up against Charles while exiting. Charles
backs off while keying into his cell phone.
Victor gets in his truck and lights a cigarette. A cloud of smoke
blows from his tailpipe as he backs out of the parking spot.
Charles gets in his car while holding his phone to his ear. A
woman’s voice is heard. “Yea?”
“Who is this?” Charles pulls out of his parking spot.
“Annie.”
“Hi Annie. Is someone supposed to bring you Chinese food?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“Who’s supposed to bring it?”
“My boyfriend, Victor.”
Charles drives right behind Victor’s truck. “I’m sorry but, Victor
won’t be coming home tonight.”
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