A man lay splayed out against the asphalt. A thin but widening circle of pooling blood crowned his head. His face was pale and white. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and trailed down his grizzled face. His breathing came quick and fast. He spoke, and I leaned down to hear his broken whispers.
“The sky is a ball and I am bouncing it on my knee. We play four square with the sun and dodgeball, too. I love dodgeball. If I catch the ball you’re out. You’re out. But who are you?
“And where’s Goldie? She was around here somewhere. Oh, yeah, she chased a squirrel across the road. That car hit her Momma, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You told me I should never let her off the leash.”
He wept and sobbed.
I tried to calm him. “Shh. It’s okay.”
His wild eyes turned in frantic circles. Lids fluttered.
“What’s that? Not the dark. I’m scared of the dark. Can’t you leave the door open, Dad?”
At this point, he shuddered. Tears fell down my face as I listened to him ramble. I just wanted to comfort him any way I could. This was all my fault. “It’s okay. Shh. I’ll leave the door open. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” I hoped he didn’t hear the emotional uncertainty in my breaking voice.
“Tell Brian that I forgive him. It’s okay. I never loved her anyway.
“Ooh. What’s that? There’s so much here. So much light. So much of everything. So much. Too much, almost. There is beauty in the not here, and the not here is there, it is really there. Whatever it is.”
He stopped and looked at me with a sudden and forceful clarity. “I forgive you.”
I thought about the dull thud when I hit him, and how quickly I had sobered up as I pulled my car over. I knew the police would be here soon, but I would not run. Tears streamed down my face, and I sobbed. “Thank you,“ I told him. “Thank you.” And for the first time in a long time I knew something close to peace, but it hovered beneath an oppressive veil of grief and guilt, yet he forgave me again.
“I forgive you.”
“Thank you.”
His eyes glazed over.
“Where’s the train? Where’s the train? I hold out the butter and it melts.”
I reached down to him and felt his burning wet forehead. He looked at me one more time, one last time – there was clarity in his eyes for just the briefest of moments – and then he looked through me towards the hills and the rising sun behind them. It may have just been his muscles finally relaxing once he gave up, but I thought I saw him smile.
I also thought I heard the faintest of whispers: “Beautiful.”
Distant sirens echoed through the hills. They sounded empty. They sounded unreal, as if from another world.
I reached out a trembling hand to close the dead man’s eyes. I closed my own eyes and prayed while his cooling blood congealed.
... Beautiful ....
Showing posts with label Realism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Realism. Show all posts
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
Under an August Moon
We sat among empty beer cans, broken bottles, and cigarette butts in the small clearing. The night was sweltering. Our shirts, sopping wet with sweat, clung to our backs. A cloud of sticky smoke rose above us and slunk through the thin canopy of stray branches overhead. We coughed loudly with every exhalation underneath the full August moon while laughing at nothing at all.
We talked and joked with one another, spread rumors, and swapped horror stories of sexual conquests gone wrong. So far, they had all gone wrong for all three of us. We were still young, still inexperienced in the ways of women, still light years away from even the remotest understanding of the mysteries hidden in blessedly comforting curves.
The camping lantern shed an artificial glow on all of our faces, casting shadows where none yet belonged, giving us each a glimpse of how the other might look after the years wore down on us, and we became mere ghosts of the people we were that day. We were still healthy then, still blind, still smiling.
We knew the world moved on around us. We heard the low hum of cars on the freeway a half mile through the brush to our east. Airplanes flew overhead, red and green lights flashing. A train whistled as it rode through what would be an empty intersection at this time at night in this part of the world.
Life was moving, but we were stationary, lost in our smoke, sipping warm beer, and we stayed there a while longer, laughing at nothing at all.
We talked and joked with one another, spread rumors, and swapped horror stories of sexual conquests gone wrong. So far, they had all gone wrong for all three of us. We were still young, still inexperienced in the ways of women, still light years away from even the remotest understanding of the mysteries hidden in blessedly comforting curves.
The camping lantern shed an artificial glow on all of our faces, casting shadows where none yet belonged, giving us each a glimpse of how the other might look after the years wore down on us, and we became mere ghosts of the people we were that day. We were still healthy then, still blind, still smiling.
We knew the world moved on around us. We heard the low hum of cars on the freeway a half mile through the brush to our east. Airplanes flew overhead, red and green lights flashing. A train whistled as it rode through what would be an empty intersection at this time at night in this part of the world.
Life was moving, but we were stationary, lost in our smoke, sipping warm beer, and we stayed there a while longer, laughing at nothing at all.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Sally
The Pastor Comes A Courtin’
Pastor Jason shook hands with Momma and Daddy at church. Momma asked what such a fine young man was doing without a wedding band? He said he just hadn't found the right girl yet. He looked to me and smiled.
He never asked me out, but he asked Momma. Momma agreed, and he took me on a date. He took me on a walk down a nature trail and talked to me about God while he did things to me I thought God should never know about.
Marriage
I suffered morning sickness on my wedding day.
The Honeymoon
I sat down on a toilet seat that was cold and wet with his urine. Before going to bed, he put a fresh roll of toilet paper on the roll. He made it go under. I prefer the paper to go over.
Birth Pains
Still newlyweds, he would not come to the hospital with me. I was there all alone while I miscarried that first time. It was the same the other three times. He said his parishioners needed his comfort, and he had God's duty to perform. My stillborn infants' dead eyes never saw their father. Perhaps that was for the best?
The Parishioner
Cathy Jacobs, a single mother, kept having children out of wedlock. All three of her children looked like Jason.
Insomnia
There were recurring dreams of my children. They looked like me, not Jason. They looked nothing like Cathy's children.
I woke up sweating and feeling an empty pit in my stomach. I touched the scars from my last C-section, and went to the bathroom to cry. Once again, the toilet seat was wet and the toilet paper went under, not over.
The bastard!
The Request
I asked for a certificate of divorce the next day. He quoted, "What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder." I mention that divorce is permitted in the case of infidelity. He claimed there was no infidelity, and even if there were, a Christian woman would forgive.
Trapped
He refused the divorce. I talked to Momma, and she told me I was being ridiculous, that Pastor Jason had opened up so many doors for the family. She told me to stop being so selfish.
"Besides," she reminded me, "you don't have a job. What would you do?"
I had no answer.
Jason moved us to a big house in the country. I was only allowed to leave the house on Sundays. I sat on the front pew, listened to him preach, and forced a smile on my face.
Bruises
He no longer slept with me. The only time he touched me was when he hit me. As lonely and isolated as I was, I made him hit me a lot. I know it was wrong, but I enjoyed the touch.
A New Day
There was a new parishioner. A middle-aged man named Charley. He was a tall blonde with an athletic build. Despite his age, he looked younger than me. Before coming to town, he used to play football in the city. He's retired now.
He smiled at me. I smiled back and uncrossed my legs.
A Second Request
I asked for a divorce again. Charley promised he would provide me a way out.
My husband refused, quoting "And if a woman shall put away her husband, and be married to another, she committeth adultery."
He hit me and called me a sinner before leaving me alone in the house. Jason drove away to be comforted by his parishioner.
Salvation?
Reading the Bible, looking for a way out, I read "And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into Hell." I didn't want to sin. I understood I had to cast off the hand.
A Bonfire
I got up to go to the bathroom. The seat was wet and the toilet paper went under, not over.
I had enough.
I took the roll of toilet paper into the bedroom. I straddled Jason, used the sheets to hold him down, stuffed the toilet paper roll into his mouth, and lit it on fire. His screams were muffled as the sheets caught the flames.
The firemen found me laughing in my nightshirt while I watched the blaze burn the house to the ground.
The Caged Bird
On Sundays I am surprised by how free I feel despite being enclosed in my cell. I sing and write long love letters to Charley.
He never writes back.
Pastor Jason shook hands with Momma and Daddy at church. Momma asked what such a fine young man was doing without a wedding band? He said he just hadn't found the right girl yet. He looked to me and smiled.
He never asked me out, but he asked Momma. Momma agreed, and he took me on a date. He took me on a walk down a nature trail and talked to me about God while he did things to me I thought God should never know about.
Marriage
I suffered morning sickness on my wedding day.
The Honeymoon
I sat down on a toilet seat that was cold and wet with his urine. Before going to bed, he put a fresh roll of toilet paper on the roll. He made it go under. I prefer the paper to go over.
Birth Pains
Still newlyweds, he would not come to the hospital with me. I was there all alone while I miscarried that first time. It was the same the other three times. He said his parishioners needed his comfort, and he had God's duty to perform. My stillborn infants' dead eyes never saw their father. Perhaps that was for the best?
The Parishioner
Cathy Jacobs, a single mother, kept having children out of wedlock. All three of her children looked like Jason.
Insomnia
There were recurring dreams of my children. They looked like me, not Jason. They looked nothing like Cathy's children.
I woke up sweating and feeling an empty pit in my stomach. I touched the scars from my last C-section, and went to the bathroom to cry. Once again, the toilet seat was wet and the toilet paper went under, not over.
The bastard!
The Request
I asked for a certificate of divorce the next day. He quoted, "What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder." I mention that divorce is permitted in the case of infidelity. He claimed there was no infidelity, and even if there were, a Christian woman would forgive.
Trapped
He refused the divorce. I talked to Momma, and she told me I was being ridiculous, that Pastor Jason had opened up so many doors for the family. She told me to stop being so selfish.
"Besides," she reminded me, "you don't have a job. What would you do?"
I had no answer.
Jason moved us to a big house in the country. I was only allowed to leave the house on Sundays. I sat on the front pew, listened to him preach, and forced a smile on my face.
Bruises
He no longer slept with me. The only time he touched me was when he hit me. As lonely and isolated as I was, I made him hit me a lot. I know it was wrong, but I enjoyed the touch.
A New Day
There was a new parishioner. A middle-aged man named Charley. He was a tall blonde with an athletic build. Despite his age, he looked younger than me. Before coming to town, he used to play football in the city. He's retired now.
He smiled at me. I smiled back and uncrossed my legs.
A Second Request
I asked for a divorce again. Charley promised he would provide me a way out.
My husband refused, quoting "And if a woman shall put away her husband, and be married to another, she committeth adultery."
He hit me and called me a sinner before leaving me alone in the house. Jason drove away to be comforted by his parishioner.
Salvation?
Reading the Bible, looking for a way out, I read "And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into Hell." I didn't want to sin. I understood I had to cast off the hand.
A Bonfire
I got up to go to the bathroom. The seat was wet and the toilet paper went under, not over.
I had enough.
I took the roll of toilet paper into the bedroom. I straddled Jason, used the sheets to hold him down, stuffed the toilet paper roll into his mouth, and lit it on fire. His screams were muffled as the sheets caught the flames.
The firemen found me laughing in my nightshirt while I watched the blaze burn the house to the ground.
The Caged Bird
On Sundays I am surprised by how free I feel despite being enclosed in my cell. I sing and write long love letters to Charley.
He never writes back.
Friday, April 30, 2010
After Hours at the Surf & Turf Express
Wayne lay face down with his fingers interlaced behind his head.
So this is the way it ends?
And the men in masks yelled out commands. They demanded money, more cash. They screamed and yelled and fired bullets into grease-stained ceiling tiles.
Maybe if I could just reach up and grab the fryer basket? Maybe I could toss it into his face? Maybe? No, don’t be stupid. The other dude would just shoot you. But maybe it could create a distraction? Stop it, Wayne! This isn’t a movie!
Wayne heard Jill the cashier whimpering next to him. He knew why she cried. She had a baby at home. She would be wondering if she would ever see her baby again. She wondered who would take care of her baby. But the gunmen ignored her fear. They ignored her tears.
It’s not like the movies. I might die right here, right now. There is nothing here. No hope. No choir of angels. No music. No light. There is only desperation and greed.
One of the men held a gun to the manager’s back. “Unlock the safe!” he demanded. The manager complied. The men took out a black plastic deposit bag. It was thick, but not too thick. It contained perhaps two thousand dollars in assorted bills and change.
So, this is the cost of my life? The cost of all our lives combined? This is all we’re worth? A few thousand dollars? What are dollars? Meaningless. Paper symbols of imagined wealth.
And then the men with guns left. They walked out into the parking lot, leaped into their car, and drove away. Jill’s tears became tears of relief. Wayne stood on shaky feet.
I think I’ve had enough of the fast food biz. I think I’ll take up another line of work. Something safer. Maybe I’ll be a rock star? If nothing else, music will be there with me. I’ll make my own choir.
*Inspired by an actual robbery at Long John Silvers as reported by Wayne Coyne of The Flaming Lips (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wayne_Coyne#Early_life). Many artistic liberties taken, only bare facts used as inspiration. Soundtrack Recommendation: “Watching the Planets” by The Flaming Lips, from the album Embryonic: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=htQX4R9yHWc&feature=related.*
So this is the way it ends?
And the men in masks yelled out commands. They demanded money, more cash. They screamed and yelled and fired bullets into grease-stained ceiling tiles.
Maybe if I could just reach up and grab the fryer basket? Maybe I could toss it into his face? Maybe? No, don’t be stupid. The other dude would just shoot you. But maybe it could create a distraction? Stop it, Wayne! This isn’t a movie!
Wayne heard Jill the cashier whimpering next to him. He knew why she cried. She had a baby at home. She would be wondering if she would ever see her baby again. She wondered who would take care of her baby. But the gunmen ignored her fear. They ignored her tears.
It’s not like the movies. I might die right here, right now. There is nothing here. No hope. No choir of angels. No music. No light. There is only desperation and greed.
One of the men held a gun to the manager’s back. “Unlock the safe!” he demanded. The manager complied. The men took out a black plastic deposit bag. It was thick, but not too thick. It contained perhaps two thousand dollars in assorted bills and change.
So, this is the cost of my life? The cost of all our lives combined? This is all we’re worth? A few thousand dollars? What are dollars? Meaningless. Paper symbols of imagined wealth.
And then the men with guns left. They walked out into the parking lot, leaped into their car, and drove away. Jill’s tears became tears of relief. Wayne stood on shaky feet.
I think I’ve had enough of the fast food biz. I think I’ll take up another line of work. Something safer. Maybe I’ll be a rock star? If nothing else, music will be there with me. I’ll make my own choir.
*Inspired by an actual robbery at Long John Silvers as reported by Wayne Coyne of The Flaming Lips (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wayne_Coyne#Early_life). Many artistic liberties taken, only bare facts used as inspiration. Soundtrack Recommendation: “Watching the Planets” by The Flaming Lips, from the album Embryonic: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=htQX4R9yHWc&feature=related.*
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