10 Sept 01
10:04 PM
I’m sitting in my study with a few candles highlighting the four inclosing walls that are surrounding me. Keeping me company is a fifth of Jack Daniels as I listen to Metallica’s “Ride The Lighting.” The album is very appropriate right now as I’m seriously debating about the various ways to kill myself. As I mentioned in yesterday’s log, I’m still not over my fiancé leaving me for a man that got her pregnant while I was away on business. Ain’t that some shit. I guess hard work doesn’t always pay off. For example, I showed up to work on time this morning as usual and as I’m pouring my morning coffee my boss says, “Hey, Bradley, come to my office when you done doctoring your coffee.” I poured my cream and sugar into my cup, and headed straight to his office. Just as I stepped through the threshold of his office he says, “Close the door behind you.” So I did and sat down in one of the two chairs in front of his desk. I was kinda in good spirits this morning. Work has been keeping me busy from thinking about, the Bitch, and I’m also up for promotion so I was eager to hear some good news. My boss dropped some report he was combing over and then proceeded to relay some bad news. In short he says, “Bradley, I know you have been doing one hell of a good job and I’m thankful to have you aboard here.” The acknowledgement put a smile on my face sensing good news was mere seconds away. He concluded, “But I’m afraid we have to let you go. We are having some difficult financial times lately and the company has decided to let some people go. I’m sorry, Bradley. You can work the rest of the week and collect your severance check on Friday.” And this was my day.
Let’s get back to the suicide subject. Since the breakup I’ve contemplated suicide, mostly because I’m lonely and hurting real bad but now that I’m getting laid off so suicide sounds like a great idea to an end of a crappy week. At first, I’ve thought about hanging myself since that is the old, rich tradition of committing suicide but I kinda wanna go out with something fresh and new. I’ve never had my 15 minutes so I want this suicide to be my 15. So, I’ve been thinking about getting a grenade and strapping the grenade to my chest right where my heart is and blowing my heart to pieces. I mean that is where the real pain is. The pain is so bad that I have been having trouble breathing at times like in the elevators at work and at night as I lay in bed. I didn’t want to do the Kurt Cobain style and blow my head off because sometimes that shit back fires, and I living with a fucked up face for the rest of my life--No Thank You!!!! And slicing my wrist seems to be slow and drawn out, and to much like the “Virgin Suicides.” Too dramatic for me. However, someone finding me in my bathtub with my wrist sliced sounds really up my ex‘s alley. She would think the sliced wrist was cool. She is weird like that. Perhaps, the Bitch, will suffer some from hearing about the way I went out. Na….fuck her. This suicide is about me and not about her pain. That being said, going out in a blaze of glory like “Young Guns” style sounds really cool and gangsta. I can see myself with two glocks and in a gun fight with the cops. Billy the Kid would be proud. I would probably make the headlines but this suicide mission shouldn’t be advocating suicide. It’s my personal 15 mins. Besides, I would laugh at the copycats who took away my 15--damn crumb snatchers. This suicide is about me ending my pain and moving on to the next hemisphere. If there is another hemisphere?
The weed and the alcohol is kicking in now, and my emotions are running on full cylinders. This suicide is becoming all to real as tomorrow is around the hour. For some reason and it’s probably the weed, but the book “Dante’s Inferno” is stuck in my head. I remember reading the “Inferno” in college and the people who committed suicide in the “Inferno” were stuck in purgatory with bad people and terrible heat too. I don’t even like the heat which why I moved to New York from Texas. “Do I really wanna be trapped in purgatory with whips, chains, fire, and listening to Bauhaus?” That’s to gothic and shit--No Thank You!!!
10 Sept 01
11:37 PM
I’m back. I had a bathroom break. But some good news happened while I was taking a dump which made me feel real dumb. I work in the Twin Towers--Duh. Why not just jump? I think others have done it? They say before one hit’s the ground he/she is lifeless before the impact. What a perfect way to go!!! I’ll jump and die before I hit the ground. But then again I’m not so thrilled about jumping. I’m afraid of heights. I’ll probably back out once I’m on the ledge. Damn, this suicide mission is complicated. I’m getting sleepy now. I should sleep on it and figure it out tomorrow. I wish God or Jesus are listening to me right now. I really need some help and answers with this suicide thing. I’ll say a prayer and hopefully they’ll hear me or help me.
11 Sept 01
5:15 AM
It’s five in the morning and I’m having trouble sleeping. The pain in my heart is just too much and it’s giving me a headache. I got a joint in hand and I’m watching videos of Metallica as I’m preparing myself for this big fall of faith. I think I’m going to jump after all. I haven’t heard from Jesus or God, so I think it’s a go. I suppose I should take a shower and get ready for work. I gotta be at the office at 747.
11 Sept 01
7:10 AM
I’m on the subway heading to the Towers. Despite the darkness that lurks in and out of my head I’m feeling really good about things. Judging by the dynamics of the rest of people on the subway with their smiles blaring loudly and each dialogue has a bit kindness and candidness, I figure today is going to be a good one but odd. The setting I’m in is a bit odd for New York, especially in the subway at seven in the morning. Most people are freaking pissed off and delusional. Today is going to be odd--really odd. Thank God I brought my “Ride The Lightning” cd for this odd day. The cd is keeping things in prospective--Creeping Death. My stop is coming up, so I’ll be back after I get checked in at the office. Got a long elevator ride coming up.
11 Sept 01
7:59 AM
I’m finally at my desk. And I have to admit, since it’s my last few words of my life today, “This office has the best coffee in New York--hands down. Oh lord…I’m going to miss this coffee.” My boss isn’t here yet, so I got “Ride The Lightning” on full blast on my headphones. It’s pretty rad. I thought about leaving my Discman at my desk, so that the last sounds I hear would be the wind peeling back my face but that’s not going to happen. I’ve just decided that this trip needs some “Ride The Lightning.” You know what they say, “Fight Fire With Fire.” What kinda sucks right now is that I’m here at work with work to do and I don’t care to do it. They’re letting me go at the end of the week. Right? Fuck it!!!! It’s Tetrus time with “Whom The Bell Tolls.”
11 Sept 01
8:36 AM
Shit is hitting the fan right about now. Apparently, a plane is heading our way. Everyone is scrabbling around gathering up stuff they don’t need and heading toward the exits. I guess no work today. I, on the other hand, I’m feeling the emptiness leaving me with every stroke of this pen. It’s odd. Odd Day!!!! If you’re reading this that means my co-worker, Vicky, made it and didn‘t drop my journal panicking racing to the exits. I guess God or Jesus were listening. “Fade To Black.”
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Kangkuza
The sun appeared to be at it’s high noon hour as the sun cast a slim shadow of my former self on the chalk filled sidewalk just steps away from my front door. I smiled briefly at the projected slim character as I’m a bit rounder these days at my peppered age. I didn’t spend much time embracing my slimmer self on the sidewalk for to long as I was in a rush to be somewhere at noon. I’m just not one to dwell on the past as the past was for the dead to reflect on. Moreover, as I strolled south on S. Congress I took a glance at my watch just to make sure my assumption of the time was right. I’m not a fan of looking like an ass by assuming wrong even when I’m testing myself. My time telling talent was still as accurate as ever, as both hands of my watch stood erected perfectly aligned pointing toward the noon sun like a blood hound points toward a wounded rabbit on a hunt. The vertical idled hands on my watch were telling me a whispering message, yet with my hard of hearing issues I couldn’t hear a damn thing what time was saying. So with each wondering step I left on the canvas sidewalk I looked up at the sun with Clint Eastwood eyes bulldoggin’ the sun tryin’ to break the message—what does noon mean? But neither the high noon sun nor the time on my watch were helpin’ an old man figure out today‘s message. The noon sun just sat there perched in the sky like an overweight insomniac counting sheep till 2012, and as far as time was concerned time just cared about time. I was ok with time being self centered it was business not personal. Yet, despite the lack of clues I still kept looking back at the sun and then my watch hoping for some kind of a clue. By this time I was about to say fuck it and move on with the day but I took one last peek at my watch, and noticed the speedy minute hand was approaching 12:01, when a green-lite bulb (I’m conserving my carbon footprint thoughts) lit up the old, rusty think tank. The message was clear and simple now--04 Lounge at high noon. When the message converged in my thinking cap, I was standing mere feet away from the corner of Congress and Krebs where the 04 Lounge patiently waited for me like an old friend, and I really needed a cold, frosty friend right about now.
A frosty friend had been on my mind this whole time as soon as I left my front door but I had just forgotten where to go, perhaps Alzheimer’s was knocking on mortal doors. The heat and the damn pestering sun beams elevated my desire for a cold one, and together they both made me feel like I was being attacked by mid-summer night Texan mosquitoes. It was at this point I needed a frosty friend…pronto. My blood pressure was boiling and my violent tendencies were about to erupt, so the 04 Lounge came at a good time as I needed to ease my pain. This angst feeling would not have been so bad if I could have only found my sunglasses which I just bought yesterday and are now missing. Since I didn’t have my sunglasses the ultra-violent rays were driving me mad to the point that I would have slashed the throat of the next homeless man who asked me for money. Homeless folks are a plenty between my home and the 04 Lounge but you wouldn‘t have noticed them if you were driving as they hide and lurk in the shadows like creatures from Jurassic Park. Some of my neighbors would have agreed that these bums were genetically related to Velociraptors, as they stormed out of the shadows looking for free handouts--damn crumb snatchers!!!
As you might have noticed I had a horrible temper but I’ve made some strides these past thirty plus years….I think. When I was younger I was notorious for whipping out a blade or a pistol to solve my problems of the day. But I’ve been working on that but it’s a day to day process, and each day was different from the next. However, the older I’ve gotten I found myself drinking more alcohol which has stabilized my murderous ways. Drinking just made everything feel so much better inside and out even when things were going well.
My temper today wasn’t so much triggered by the annoying weather elements but more so of the homeless folks on my street. I was not an evil man or uncompassionate to those in need but a world without sunglasses really pissed me off, especially at my old age. Where I’m from we don’t tolerate the homeless too well. It’s a sign of weakness, of givin’ up. We were a proud culture. And I say “were” because most of us are dead or locked away for a lifetime. If a man was healthy and had his paws, fingers, legs, and feet he could easily have found work to make money be it manual labor or criminal activity, two of the same depending how one looked at the big picture. Furthermore, as soon as my paw grabbed the door knob of the 04 Lounge, my high blood pressure began to ease up and my murderous ways grew calm again. Something about the darkness of the 04 Lounge was very comforting like a bowl of chicken tortilla soup for the soul. And with the sight of Yvette and Erin behind the bar they brought a smile to my face at a crucial time. Thankfully, the bar had just opened so it was just the girls, me, and the dandruff brain cells of last night. And before I could get my ass settled onto the barstool Erin had grabbed the coldest Coors out of the cooler and slid the yella-belly down the bar right into my paw.
The girls and I talked for a bit about a whole bunch of stuff I know nothing about. I don‘t have a TV at home so I don’t know much about TV stuff but I know things about life, and so the girls were quick to ask questions and or advice about all thoughts related to getting‘ grown. Hanging with the girls was actually what I needed at my age. I missed out on some things, mostly my sensitivity. These girls helped me with such issues pertaining to the pretty things in life that I wasn‘t aware of.
For example, the preservation of life. Killing always came easy to me. Just never thought about the lost too much. But being friends with the girls they taught me that killing is not always the answer. Back home in my youth, the only thing I knew what to do was to murder someone if they disrespected me or if I didn‘t trust them. One never knew who was to be trusted, and sometimes your right hand man was your worst enemy. Killing was just the thing to do.
I killed off most of my competition to get to the top, and I even killed off the ones I loved because I couldn’t trust them including past lovers. For this reason I lived a sheltered life back home and made decisions from the safety of my own home because I was afraid to leave my compound. I didn’t have many friends and I didn’t trust anyone, and when the other bosses wanted to have a meeting about business everyone came to my place. My place was a safe house for the other bosses and I to conduct business, and since I was “The Boss” they really had no choice.
When business went sour because a new political regime flourished throughout the country that meant my money was weak. Times had changed. I made a choice to retire from the Kangkuza and I moved to the states to get a fresh start, “new beginnings” as they say. The good o‘ days had come to an end. The healing process took some time as well as forgiving myself for all the wrongs I did. I tried to acclimate myself in my new surroundings to speed up the moving on process, but I just never seemed to never fit in. I felt like a black monster from the black lagoon, yet the only thing I was doing wrong was that I was a kangaroo walking amongst humans. Back home I was a Boss, a King of all the Kangkuzas but here I was strange and radical looking. I guess no one had ever seen a talking kangaroo outside of children‘s books. So, naturally I kept to myself again. However, some years later the 04 Lounge and the girls brought me out of my cave, and both became my therapist. The girl’s perspective was always enlightening and feelings oriented, which helped the grueling healing process. Not only did they teach me that killing was unhealthy but they introduced me to this phenomenon called “feelings.” I didn’t have much feelings before. The Kangkuza lifestyle didn’t call for feelings. The Kangkuza called for power and dominance. The Kangkuza were a crime family from Australia made up of kangaroos, who were involved in all various of crimes. But I’ll never talk.
Shortly after catching up with the girls, they went back to work and I went back to my Coors. The bar was quiet for a bit until the rattlin’ of the beers, the liquor bottles being faced, and the dancing ice cubs in the coolers. All sounds of a ceremonial rite of passage for the incoming drunks. The flat screens were powered on and on mute--thankfully. I was never much into TV but the visual stimulation trifecta of baseball tonight on ESPN, the war in Iraq on CNN, and a show about gangs in St. Louis on FX were just enough for this old man to handle. The show about gangs had STL kids acting foolish. The kids, well, all kids in gangs these days had no respect for anyone or their neighborhood. Back in the old days in the homeland “respect” was everything and anything. “Respect” was like a credit line in these modern times. If you didn’t have respect for the neighborhood or the bosses, life was slim Pickens’ for sure. Nobody would have given you a job or the time of day. On this particular show, the kids appeared to be claiming their hood, yet they robbed and killed within’ their hood--makes no sense no how. A crime against a local business owner and or the innocent youth of the community was considered a very bad thing. Let’s just say, those punks would not have gotten an “Amber Alert” if they showed no respect back in the old days.
I was in the midst of respecting my second Coors and watching the devolution of the human race on the tube when the front door of the 04 Lounge swung open and out from the bright, blaring sun came this young Mexican looking kid with long curly locks and a chiseled face. He strolled in with a glow to himself like that of Jesus. He was dressed very humbled with a white-t, blue jeans, and a pair of Jesus sandals. He made a b-line straight to the bar never once scanning around the place. And of all the places to sit in this joint he causally sat down next to me. For as long as I’ve been coming to this bar nobody sat next to me. It was like house rules. The girls always made sure I wasn’t to be bothered and they always went out of their way to let the stranger/s know not to sit next to me. That’s why both girls stopped what they were doing and looked up at me to make sure I was cool with the stranger sitting next to me. I gave the girls a nod lettin’ them know I’m ok with the stranger. He respectfully ordered his beer, a Lone Star, and proceeded to slam the beer down with one big gulp. I appreciated that. “This boy had a powerful thirst,” I thought. I too had a powerful thirst.
I was coming to the end of my cold friend when the Jesus looking kid ordered another Lone Star and added a cold Coors to his tab. “That Coors is for my friend over here,” he said as he tapped on my shoulder. The kid then pulled out a pack cigarettes, Camels, my favorites and asked, “So old timer, wanna have a smoke with me outside?”
I looked over my right shoulder with Eastwood eyes. “What’s your name, Kid?” I paused as I looked him over. “I don‘t share anything with anyone if I don‘t their name.”
“My name is Chuey.” He said with a Spanish lisp as he took out two Camels from the pack. “What about you, old timer. What’s your name?”
I was always cautious to strangers because as you know I don’t trust anyone but I’m turning over a new leaf like I said earlier. “My name is, Fujimatso.” I replied with a handshake.
We shook hands and I followed him to the outside patio for a smoke. We sat at one of the far end picnic tables that was shaded by an aged pecan tree that blocked the microwave oven up above. He handed me a cigarette with his right hand as his left hand searched for the lighter in his pockets. “I think I left my lighter inside,” he mumbled with a cigarette in his mouth as he searched all his pockets with both hands. “I’ll be back.”
I didn’t pay much attention to him as I was more focused to this amazing design of a cloud in the sky in the shape of a white galloping horse. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful before in my life. The kid disappeared from my sights. I’m not sure why I left my guard down, maybe I was making some progress with trust at my forgiving age. For whatever reason, the white horse up above seemed to be stalled as it stopped galloping, and before I could get my bearings I had a sharp object pressed against my throat. I looked up and it was Chuey looking down upon me. “Do you remember a man named, Cheng Lee?” He asked with a blade to my throat. “He was a boss back in the old country.”
The name sounded familiar but the name registered quickly. “Yes…he was my best friend. He took the only girl I ever loved, so I killed him and her happily.” I replied with a smile.
Chuey pressed the blade even harder against my throat to point that I felt a little blood trickle under my Adam’s apple. “The man was my great-grandfather.” Chuey whispered with revenge to his tone. Without hesitation or any more spoken words the kid proceeded to slice my throat open. I didn’t cry for help because I couldn’t. I knew this day would come. I just sat and watched that white horse begin it’s gallop again. And all the pretty things in life that I missed out on suddenly flooded out as the blood had begun to paint the Earth canvas red. As my body began to weakened as I sat on the bench and the only words that came to mind, “Damn James.”
A frosty friend had been on my mind this whole time as soon as I left my front door but I had just forgotten where to go, perhaps Alzheimer’s was knocking on mortal doors. The heat and the damn pestering sun beams elevated my desire for a cold one, and together they both made me feel like I was being attacked by mid-summer night Texan mosquitoes. It was at this point I needed a frosty friend…pronto. My blood pressure was boiling and my violent tendencies were about to erupt, so the 04 Lounge came at a good time as I needed to ease my pain. This angst feeling would not have been so bad if I could have only found my sunglasses which I just bought yesterday and are now missing. Since I didn’t have my sunglasses the ultra-violent rays were driving me mad to the point that I would have slashed the throat of the next homeless man who asked me for money. Homeless folks are a plenty between my home and the 04 Lounge but you wouldn‘t have noticed them if you were driving as they hide and lurk in the shadows like creatures from Jurassic Park. Some of my neighbors would have agreed that these bums were genetically related to Velociraptors, as they stormed out of the shadows looking for free handouts--damn crumb snatchers!!!
As you might have noticed I had a horrible temper but I’ve made some strides these past thirty plus years….I think. When I was younger I was notorious for whipping out a blade or a pistol to solve my problems of the day. But I’ve been working on that but it’s a day to day process, and each day was different from the next. However, the older I’ve gotten I found myself drinking more alcohol which has stabilized my murderous ways. Drinking just made everything feel so much better inside and out even when things were going well.
My temper today wasn’t so much triggered by the annoying weather elements but more so of the homeless folks on my street. I was not an evil man or uncompassionate to those in need but a world without sunglasses really pissed me off, especially at my old age. Where I’m from we don’t tolerate the homeless too well. It’s a sign of weakness, of givin’ up. We were a proud culture. And I say “were” because most of us are dead or locked away for a lifetime. If a man was healthy and had his paws, fingers, legs, and feet he could easily have found work to make money be it manual labor or criminal activity, two of the same depending how one looked at the big picture. Furthermore, as soon as my paw grabbed the door knob of the 04 Lounge, my high blood pressure began to ease up and my murderous ways grew calm again. Something about the darkness of the 04 Lounge was very comforting like a bowl of chicken tortilla soup for the soul. And with the sight of Yvette and Erin behind the bar they brought a smile to my face at a crucial time. Thankfully, the bar had just opened so it was just the girls, me, and the dandruff brain cells of last night. And before I could get my ass settled onto the barstool Erin had grabbed the coldest Coors out of the cooler and slid the yella-belly down the bar right into my paw.
The girls and I talked for a bit about a whole bunch of stuff I know nothing about. I don‘t have a TV at home so I don’t know much about TV stuff but I know things about life, and so the girls were quick to ask questions and or advice about all thoughts related to getting‘ grown. Hanging with the girls was actually what I needed at my age. I missed out on some things, mostly my sensitivity. These girls helped me with such issues pertaining to the pretty things in life that I wasn‘t aware of.
For example, the preservation of life. Killing always came easy to me. Just never thought about the lost too much. But being friends with the girls they taught me that killing is not always the answer. Back home in my youth, the only thing I knew what to do was to murder someone if they disrespected me or if I didn‘t trust them. One never knew who was to be trusted, and sometimes your right hand man was your worst enemy. Killing was just the thing to do.
I killed off most of my competition to get to the top, and I even killed off the ones I loved because I couldn’t trust them including past lovers. For this reason I lived a sheltered life back home and made decisions from the safety of my own home because I was afraid to leave my compound. I didn’t have many friends and I didn’t trust anyone, and when the other bosses wanted to have a meeting about business everyone came to my place. My place was a safe house for the other bosses and I to conduct business, and since I was “The Boss” they really had no choice.
When business went sour because a new political regime flourished throughout the country that meant my money was weak. Times had changed. I made a choice to retire from the Kangkuza and I moved to the states to get a fresh start, “new beginnings” as they say. The good o‘ days had come to an end. The healing process took some time as well as forgiving myself for all the wrongs I did. I tried to acclimate myself in my new surroundings to speed up the moving on process, but I just never seemed to never fit in. I felt like a black monster from the black lagoon, yet the only thing I was doing wrong was that I was a kangaroo walking amongst humans. Back home I was a Boss, a King of all the Kangkuzas but here I was strange and radical looking. I guess no one had ever seen a talking kangaroo outside of children‘s books. So, naturally I kept to myself again. However, some years later the 04 Lounge and the girls brought me out of my cave, and both became my therapist. The girl’s perspective was always enlightening and feelings oriented, which helped the grueling healing process. Not only did they teach me that killing was unhealthy but they introduced me to this phenomenon called “feelings.” I didn’t have much feelings before. The Kangkuza lifestyle didn’t call for feelings. The Kangkuza called for power and dominance. The Kangkuza were a crime family from Australia made up of kangaroos, who were involved in all various of crimes. But I’ll never talk.
Shortly after catching up with the girls, they went back to work and I went back to my Coors. The bar was quiet for a bit until the rattlin’ of the beers, the liquor bottles being faced, and the dancing ice cubs in the coolers. All sounds of a ceremonial rite of passage for the incoming drunks. The flat screens were powered on and on mute--thankfully. I was never much into TV but the visual stimulation trifecta of baseball tonight on ESPN, the war in Iraq on CNN, and a show about gangs in St. Louis on FX were just enough for this old man to handle. The show about gangs had STL kids acting foolish. The kids, well, all kids in gangs these days had no respect for anyone or their neighborhood. Back in the old days in the homeland “respect” was everything and anything. “Respect” was like a credit line in these modern times. If you didn’t have respect for the neighborhood or the bosses, life was slim Pickens’ for sure. Nobody would have given you a job or the time of day. On this particular show, the kids appeared to be claiming their hood, yet they robbed and killed within’ their hood--makes no sense no how. A crime against a local business owner and or the innocent youth of the community was considered a very bad thing. Let’s just say, those punks would not have gotten an “Amber Alert” if they showed no respect back in the old days.
I was in the midst of respecting my second Coors and watching the devolution of the human race on the tube when the front door of the 04 Lounge swung open and out from the bright, blaring sun came this young Mexican looking kid with long curly locks and a chiseled face. He strolled in with a glow to himself like that of Jesus. He was dressed very humbled with a white-t, blue jeans, and a pair of Jesus sandals. He made a b-line straight to the bar never once scanning around the place. And of all the places to sit in this joint he causally sat down next to me. For as long as I’ve been coming to this bar nobody sat next to me. It was like house rules. The girls always made sure I wasn’t to be bothered and they always went out of their way to let the stranger/s know not to sit next to me. That’s why both girls stopped what they were doing and looked up at me to make sure I was cool with the stranger sitting next to me. I gave the girls a nod lettin’ them know I’m ok with the stranger. He respectfully ordered his beer, a Lone Star, and proceeded to slam the beer down with one big gulp. I appreciated that. “This boy had a powerful thirst,” I thought. I too had a powerful thirst.
I was coming to the end of my cold friend when the Jesus looking kid ordered another Lone Star and added a cold Coors to his tab. “That Coors is for my friend over here,” he said as he tapped on my shoulder. The kid then pulled out a pack cigarettes, Camels, my favorites and asked, “So old timer, wanna have a smoke with me outside?”
I looked over my right shoulder with Eastwood eyes. “What’s your name, Kid?” I paused as I looked him over. “I don‘t share anything with anyone if I don‘t their name.”
“My name is Chuey.” He said with a Spanish lisp as he took out two Camels from the pack. “What about you, old timer. What’s your name?”
I was always cautious to strangers because as you know I don’t trust anyone but I’m turning over a new leaf like I said earlier. “My name is, Fujimatso.” I replied with a handshake.
We shook hands and I followed him to the outside patio for a smoke. We sat at one of the far end picnic tables that was shaded by an aged pecan tree that blocked the microwave oven up above. He handed me a cigarette with his right hand as his left hand searched for the lighter in his pockets. “I think I left my lighter inside,” he mumbled with a cigarette in his mouth as he searched all his pockets with both hands. “I’ll be back.”
I didn’t pay much attention to him as I was more focused to this amazing design of a cloud in the sky in the shape of a white galloping horse. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful before in my life. The kid disappeared from my sights. I’m not sure why I left my guard down, maybe I was making some progress with trust at my forgiving age. For whatever reason, the white horse up above seemed to be stalled as it stopped galloping, and before I could get my bearings I had a sharp object pressed against my throat. I looked up and it was Chuey looking down upon me. “Do you remember a man named, Cheng Lee?” He asked with a blade to my throat. “He was a boss back in the old country.”
The name sounded familiar but the name registered quickly. “Yes…he was my best friend. He took the only girl I ever loved, so I killed him and her happily.” I replied with a smile.
Chuey pressed the blade even harder against my throat to point that I felt a little blood trickle under my Adam’s apple. “The man was my great-grandfather.” Chuey whispered with revenge to his tone. Without hesitation or any more spoken words the kid proceeded to slice my throat open. I didn’t cry for help because I couldn’t. I knew this day would come. I just sat and watched that white horse begin it’s gallop again. And all the pretty things in life that I missed out on suddenly flooded out as the blood had begun to paint the Earth canvas red. As my body began to weakened as I sat on the bench and the only words that came to mind, “Damn James.”
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Five Years Old
Five Years Old
Just a couple of days ago, I was restin’ on top of a hill lookin’ up at the sky above. It was just me with some clouds and a cool breeze—me, myself, and I. And, I was tryin’ my best to think like I was five years old all over again but for the life of me I couldn’t remember when I was five or the things that I used to think about when I was five. I even tried closing my eyes softly to pretend but I couldn’t do it. It was as if five never happened. Yet, I continued to look up at these fluffy, exploding, and majestic clouds pass over me waiting for a flashback of somekind. The flashback never flashed or backed. Although, with each passin’ cloud I thought to myself perhaps these clouds are just cyclin’ pass me not like time but more like every one of my sewer babies that cycled pass me when I showered. For the record, sewer babies are procreated when one masturbates in the shower—cycle of life. But I digress. Ordinarily, one would be smilin’ and playin’ little games like what does that cloud look like—a dragon, Mickey Mouse, a crystal castle or bunny ears. But not me. Instead, I started cryin’. And my tears weren’t those so called happy tears that happy people talk about. These tears were from a much deeper, darker place—cocaine hangover. What I saw with every passin’ cloud was a hand wavin’ goodbye to my youth.
At 34 years old, one would think I would have it all figured out by now. Money, success, a house, a new car, and maybe a little Junior runnin’ around the house playin’ tag. In addition, a HD flat screen with a blu-ray player all inside my IPhone. No….not me. I have been couch surfin’ for a couple of years now just because I could. Friends would ask, “Why are you couch surfin’?” And I would respond, “Because.” And I guess that was always a good enough answer because no one rebuttal led. I had a job once but I could never figure out how to clock in so I quit. So I moved on to a more suitable job for my lifestyle. I became a drug dealer. A drug dealer of the worse kind. Most of my money went into my lungs or up my nose with very little profit but lots of great times. As I bungeed back to the past, I guess that’s why nobody ever got mad if I over stayed my welcome because we would party, and all was forgotten the morning after. Clever? Not really.
But what was cool about couch surfin’ was the free cable. I became a big fan of the Hills and 16 and Pregnant on MTV. Also, I became a big fan of Cribs on MTV. Immediately, after my friends would leave for work I would look through their fridge and make some tacos or heat up their frozen pizza, and I would watch a marathon of Cribs on MTV. I always thought those kind of folks were cool with their big houses and fancy whips (cars). I was envious. But I started thinkin’ those people are probably in a more miserable state of mind than me. And sometimes I would cry for them as I waited for my food to be ready because they probably didn’t have the time to cry for themselves. Anyhow, once the alarm to the oven would sound off I would change the channel, wipe away their tears, and enjoy my friend’s pizza. Something about watchin’ ESPN and eatin’ my friend’s food made everything better after watchin’ Cribs.
Then one day I had an awakening. I had an ex-girlfriend slap me in the face with some words of reality. I stayed over at her house one night and instead of sleepin’ in the guest bedroom like I always had done, I sneaked my way into her bed in the bare too. I was horny and hadn’t had sex in a long time. I thought maybe she would offer me a sympathy fuck. For old time sake. But not tonight. She was not happy. She threw off the covers and kicked me out of her bed. “What the fuck, dude?” She paused with anger steamin’ out of her ears and nose. “You really think I’m going to sleep with you. You got no job, no car, no ambition, no lust for life anymore, and you dream all day about being a kid when all you do is act like a kid.” She paused again. “You got a college degree. You’ve seen the world and in my eyes you’ve even conquered the world with all the goals you’ve accomplished. I don’t get you. Shit….show me some effort and maybe I’ll give you a hand job. But until then get the fuck out of my house.”
Shell shocked. I replied, “Sorry, I’ll just go now.” I didn’t know what else to say, especially since I’ve never seen her so pissed. So I spun around and put my clothes back on slowy with a little swagger. I was hoping to seduce her but judgin’ by the look on her face it wasn’t workin’. But, she was still lookin’. And before I stepped out of her place I looked back at her for one last time. I asked, “You got a dollar for the bus?” And that was the last time I ever saw her again.
So the next morning, I woke up in the dog house of one my best friend’s backyard. He had a really big dog named LuLu and a even bigger dog house, and both the dog and the dog house kept me warm that night. That dog house kept me warm many a nights when I had no place to go. At any rate, with flea bites on my ass and neck, and dog saliva all in my hair I decided I was going to make a change. Not like Michael Jackson because he molested little boys by getting’ them drunk and loaded on pills. I couldn’t do that because little kids drunk and pilled out was a waste of drugs and a good time—babysittin’. I went for a walk and ended up at another friend’s place to take a shower and eat some of his food. I went through his closet and put on some of his clothes because mine were really dirty and stinky, and placed my dirty clothes in his hamper for him to wash for me unknowingly. I was cool like dat. I left his place thinkin’ what to do next? This life, this pattern of living had to stop. That’s when the greatest idea hit me. I’ll rob a bank and run off to California, and shack up with my Cali folks. I haven’t couch surfed there and they would love to have me around.
Subsequently, I never made it to a bank. Never made it to Cali. Shit….I didn’t make it to the next block. Just as I was walkin’ across the street to catch the bus to hit up another friend’s place who had a gun and who wasn’t home to convince me not to rob a bank, the second best thing ever happened to me. Into my second step onto the cross walk with the right of way signal flashin’ at me, the bus I was about to catch passed a red light and blasted me like some thirty, forty feet in the air at impact. I don’t remember much after that. Needless to say, when I woke up I found myself paralyzed from the eyes down (I have no sense of smell or taste). Worst of all, I never know when I piss or shit on myself. Not to fresh and not so clean. As a result from the accident I became rich. I got a multi-million dollar settlement mostly because the bus driver tested positive for crystal meth, and now I live in a big pimped out house with several motorized wheelchairs that look like those same whips I saw in Cribs. Also, I bought me an IPhone with a blu-ray player and surround sound speakers built inside of it. Furthermore, if I don’t answer my phone on Sundays (the day I had my accident) I’m probably at Palazio with those same friends who let me couch surf all those years. Since I’m on the subject of friends, those same friends I just mentioned don’t have to work as hard like they use to because they now have their own establishments going (I gave each of them some money with the settlement). And guess what? My friends and I get to act like kids again—five year olds.
Just a couple of days ago, I was restin’ on top of a hill lookin’ up at the sky above. It was just me with some clouds and a cool breeze—me, myself, and I. And, I was tryin’ my best to think like I was five years old all over again but for the life of me I couldn’t remember when I was five or the things that I used to think about when I was five. I even tried closing my eyes softly to pretend but I couldn’t do it. It was as if five never happened. Yet, I continued to look up at these fluffy, exploding, and majestic clouds pass over me waiting for a flashback of somekind. The flashback never flashed or backed. Although, with each passin’ cloud I thought to myself perhaps these clouds are just cyclin’ pass me not like time but more like every one of my sewer babies that cycled pass me when I showered. For the record, sewer babies are procreated when one masturbates in the shower—cycle of life. But I digress. Ordinarily, one would be smilin’ and playin’ little games like what does that cloud look like—a dragon, Mickey Mouse, a crystal castle or bunny ears. But not me. Instead, I started cryin’. And my tears weren’t those so called happy tears that happy people talk about. These tears were from a much deeper, darker place—cocaine hangover. What I saw with every passin’ cloud was a hand wavin’ goodbye to my youth.
At 34 years old, one would think I would have it all figured out by now. Money, success, a house, a new car, and maybe a little Junior runnin’ around the house playin’ tag. In addition, a HD flat screen with a blu-ray player all inside my IPhone. No….not me. I have been couch surfin’ for a couple of years now just because I could. Friends would ask, “Why are you couch surfin’?” And I would respond, “Because.” And I guess that was always a good enough answer because no one rebuttal led. I had a job once but I could never figure out how to clock in so I quit. So I moved on to a more suitable job for my lifestyle. I became a drug dealer. A drug dealer of the worse kind. Most of my money went into my lungs or up my nose with very little profit but lots of great times. As I bungeed back to the past, I guess that’s why nobody ever got mad if I over stayed my welcome because we would party, and all was forgotten the morning after. Clever? Not really.
But what was cool about couch surfin’ was the free cable. I became a big fan of the Hills and 16 and Pregnant on MTV. Also, I became a big fan of Cribs on MTV. Immediately, after my friends would leave for work I would look through their fridge and make some tacos or heat up their frozen pizza, and I would watch a marathon of Cribs on MTV. I always thought those kind of folks were cool with their big houses and fancy whips (cars). I was envious. But I started thinkin’ those people are probably in a more miserable state of mind than me. And sometimes I would cry for them as I waited for my food to be ready because they probably didn’t have the time to cry for themselves. Anyhow, once the alarm to the oven would sound off I would change the channel, wipe away their tears, and enjoy my friend’s pizza. Something about watchin’ ESPN and eatin’ my friend’s food made everything better after watchin’ Cribs.
Then one day I had an awakening. I had an ex-girlfriend slap me in the face with some words of reality. I stayed over at her house one night and instead of sleepin’ in the guest bedroom like I always had done, I sneaked my way into her bed in the bare too. I was horny and hadn’t had sex in a long time. I thought maybe she would offer me a sympathy fuck. For old time sake. But not tonight. She was not happy. She threw off the covers and kicked me out of her bed. “What the fuck, dude?” She paused with anger steamin’ out of her ears and nose. “You really think I’m going to sleep with you. You got no job, no car, no ambition, no lust for life anymore, and you dream all day about being a kid when all you do is act like a kid.” She paused again. “You got a college degree. You’ve seen the world and in my eyes you’ve even conquered the world with all the goals you’ve accomplished. I don’t get you. Shit….show me some effort and maybe I’ll give you a hand job. But until then get the fuck out of my house.”
Shell shocked. I replied, “Sorry, I’ll just go now.” I didn’t know what else to say, especially since I’ve never seen her so pissed. So I spun around and put my clothes back on slowy with a little swagger. I was hoping to seduce her but judgin’ by the look on her face it wasn’t workin’. But, she was still lookin’. And before I stepped out of her place I looked back at her for one last time. I asked, “You got a dollar for the bus?” And that was the last time I ever saw her again.
So the next morning, I woke up in the dog house of one my best friend’s backyard. He had a really big dog named LuLu and a even bigger dog house, and both the dog and the dog house kept me warm that night. That dog house kept me warm many a nights when I had no place to go. At any rate, with flea bites on my ass and neck, and dog saliva all in my hair I decided I was going to make a change. Not like Michael Jackson because he molested little boys by getting’ them drunk and loaded on pills. I couldn’t do that because little kids drunk and pilled out was a waste of drugs and a good time—babysittin’. I went for a walk and ended up at another friend’s place to take a shower and eat some of his food. I went through his closet and put on some of his clothes because mine were really dirty and stinky, and placed my dirty clothes in his hamper for him to wash for me unknowingly. I was cool like dat. I left his place thinkin’ what to do next? This life, this pattern of living had to stop. That’s when the greatest idea hit me. I’ll rob a bank and run off to California, and shack up with my Cali folks. I haven’t couch surfed there and they would love to have me around.
Subsequently, I never made it to a bank. Never made it to Cali. Shit….I didn’t make it to the next block. Just as I was walkin’ across the street to catch the bus to hit up another friend’s place who had a gun and who wasn’t home to convince me not to rob a bank, the second best thing ever happened to me. Into my second step onto the cross walk with the right of way signal flashin’ at me, the bus I was about to catch passed a red light and blasted me like some thirty, forty feet in the air at impact. I don’t remember much after that. Needless to say, when I woke up I found myself paralyzed from the eyes down (I have no sense of smell or taste). Worst of all, I never know when I piss or shit on myself. Not to fresh and not so clean. As a result from the accident I became rich. I got a multi-million dollar settlement mostly because the bus driver tested positive for crystal meth, and now I live in a big pimped out house with several motorized wheelchairs that look like those same whips I saw in Cribs. Also, I bought me an IPhone with a blu-ray player and surround sound speakers built inside of it. Furthermore, if I don’t answer my phone on Sundays (the day I had my accident) I’m probably at Palazio with those same friends who let me couch surf all those years. Since I’m on the subject of friends, those same friends I just mentioned don’t have to work as hard like they use to because they now have their own establishments going (I gave each of them some money with the settlement). And guess what? My friends and I get to act like kids again—five year olds.
Monday, December 27, 2010
DYCHO
DYCHO
The sky was a calm blue Caribbean sea with scattered cottonballs that strolled throughout the sky like herds of sheep. The Shepperd was no where in sight so the clouds roamed sinfully. Graham Greene would calls this heaven. But for those of us living in San Diego the day was a typical gorgeous day, an average day of the beauty and the rest of the world. I was chillin’ at Stephanie’s house (lesbian friend of my ex-wife) waiting for my ex-wife to meet me at Stephanie’s place for Trivial Pursuit night. Stephanie, Karla (Stephanie’s very hot, fine-ass roommate and lover), and myself were laxin’ on the couch watching “Howard the Duck” on Netflix. And yes, we were smokin’ some weed too. It was at this time my eyes and my mind wandered onto Karla’s legs resting across from me. Her legs were a force that were bringin’ me into a place much more powerful than me. But I’m sure the weed had something to do with this pullin’ force. And don’t be alarmed I wasn’t being a creep and being married man at the same time. I was just being a creep. I had forgotten I was married for a minute. I knew how to separate the two without gettin’ caught. But I digrest. Her legs were long but not too long….firm….caramel….and her yoga shorts were short, tiny, huggin’ tightly to that 23 year old ass. Almost like some panties just without some pretty lace. Her tank-top with no bra wasn’t exactly helpin’ the situation either. Karla was a shorter Sophie Monk type before there was a Sophie Monk. But I digrest. Being that I knew Karla really well, I don’t think she would have flipped out if she caught me peekin’ at her legs. She would have appreciated the thought as a nice gesture, a compliment. Like Digable Planets, Karla was cool like dat.
Stephanie got up off the couch and made her way into the kitchen. The fridge opened and the sound waves of a bag of cookies being released to the wild vibrated toward the T.V. room. “Hey…Sailor come here for a sec and help me out.”
“Karla…do you want something to drink?” I asked as I headed to the kitchen.
“No thanks.” She replied.
I walked into the kitchen and the first thing Stephanie did was pinch the hell out of my arm. “Don’t be checkin’ out my bitches legs.”
“What are you talkin’ about, girl?”
“I saw you takin’ a peek at Karla’s legs. Don’t think for a second that I wouldn’t tell El.” Stephanie threatened as she stepped up to my face. Steph meant business. By the way, El was my wife at the time.
Stephanie came off as a pretty threatening individual to most people. She was a really tall, big bone girl with a mullet and a tattoo on her forearm that read, “Da Bitch.” Once a person got on her good graces then she would be the sweetest, coolest dike of all times. But this time, I really felt she meant business the way she stood up to me. Steph was so protective of Karla. As well as she should. Dikes are very jealous creatures when it comes to their bitch. She took a step back and with crazy eyes she joked, “Don’t be scared. I was just foolin’ with you. I like the fact that you were salivating over her legs. She has some fine ass legs. I love fuckin’ her.”
I closed my eyes for a sec picturing her legs and replied, “Ya, she does.”
The timer from the microwave went off and then Steph grabbed a dish of chocolate chip cookies from the belly of the microwave and placed the cookies on a tray. And just before we both raced back to the couch to check out Karla some more we poured out some milk for our cookies in coffee mugs.
“Nice….cookies”. Karla expressed with weed delight.
I have to be honest here. When Karla leaned forward to grab a cookie her thong sneaked out and I thought, “My eyes have seen the glory.” Then I thought why is she wearin’ a thong with short, tight, yoga shorts? I was confused. But what wasn’t so cool was when I looked over to Stephanie to see if see caught me again and sure enough she did as she nodded her head in disbelief. She had that “control yourself” look on her face. I’m sorry…she also wore an itty-bitty tank top too like I mentioned earlier. Her breasts were perfectly sized and shaped. Her breast reminded me of two scoops of ice cream with a cherry on top—baskin robins. Karla reached forward again and grabbed another cookie, and once again I looked again at her thong. I couldn’t believe what I was seein’. I mean it wasn’t the first time I’ve seen a liberated thong. I couldn’t help it. It’s the weed I tell ya. Believe me people. The weed be lettin’ you know. Karla came back up and snuggled back into the couch, and replied, “These are some good chocolate chip cookies.”
“Ya..they are.” I expressed as my eyes combed over the skin of her perfect body.
Stephanie got up in a furious manner. “Okay…that’s it Sailor. Karla go to the bathroom and get the shower going…now!!” Stephanie shouted. Karla got up off the couch and headed to the bathroom like an obedient love slave. Stephanie then looked over at me with a pissed off look. “Do you want to see it? Ha….do you want to see it? Do you want to see her fucking body, asshole?”
With my hands up in the air playin’ dumb I replied, “What the fuck are you talking about, Stephanie?”
“Look…don’t play dumb here, buddy. I know you want to see her body, so you are going to see it.”
“Okay…but do I have to see your body too. Because I wouldn’t feel comfortable. I mean nothing against your body but.”
“What about my body? I’m big girl…is that what it is?.”
“No..no…that’s not the problem.”
Stephanie spun around, stormed out of the T.V. room, and shouted, “Whatever…asshole.” Before I could blink Steph was back in the livin’ room at the other end of the couch. “Come with me, asshole. I want you to witness this.”
I followed Stephanie to her bedroom. She closed the door after me and started to undress. “Don’t like at me, fucker.” But it was hard not to look because to my left was a wall of mirrors and to my right was a wall of mirrors. It was a lose lose situation. So I just closed my eyes and let my ears guide me—shit was crashin’ to the ground, doors were opening and closing, things were thrown at my feet. With all the rukus coming from the room it sounded like Stephanie was transforming into the Hulk.
“What are you doing?” Stephanie asked.
“Nothing.”
“I hope you aren’t looking?”
“Trust me…I am not looking.”
“Good...because now you can look.”
I spun around and I looked in the direction of her closet. It took a second or two for Stephanie to walk out. The immediate sight of Stephanie caused me to rub my eyes. Not once but twice. She walked out with a vintage, curly, grey wig on her head. She had on a vintage, blue grandma sun dress that had pretty daisy patterns, old stockings that barely held on below her knees, and a pair of baby doll shoes. And in her right hand was chrome, shiny dildo looked like that “silver bullet” model I’ve seen at Dreamers. The first thing that came to mind was Norman Bates from the movie “Psycho.” Stephanie slowly raised the vibrator up in a stabbing motion and instead of the infamous score of the shower scene in Psycho, the sounds of the vibrator throbbed around the room. That’s when I thought, “Dycho.”
“That’s a really fucking crazy get up you got there, Steph..
“You think?”
“Umm..ya.”
She walked pass me with the vibrator still running and said, “You haven’t seen nothing yet”.
So I turned around and followed Stephanie out of her room and into the hallway. We came up to the bathroom door and Stephanie stopped at the foot of the door. With her left hand she grabbed the doorknob and twisted the knob over very slowly without making a sound like a thief in the night. She looked at me and “HUSHED” me with the vibrator placed over her lips. I was fucking excited by now. All I did was nod my head yes. Man…my heart was racing fast. It wasn’t a scary anxiety fast, it was more like a little boy anxiously waiting for the doors of Disney Land to open for the day. First time visitor to Disney Land feelin’. I had goose bumps all over my body and even the hair follicles on the back of my neck were trumbling in excitement. I had no clue to what to expect once Stephanie opened that door….but I had an idea. And that idea was watching fine ass Karla in the flesh with warm shower drops running down her body. My balls felt like they were on X as I pictured Karla on the other side of the shower curtain.
Stephanie slowly, quietly pushed forward against the door trying not to make a sound. I guess she didn’t want to alarm Karla that we were coming in. This moment had to be perfect. Someone was definitely in for a surprise, and I started to believe it was me. I mean it couldn’t have been Stephanie because she seemed like she had done this before. She went through the motions routinely and calmly, and I think Karla had an idea. She knew her role like Maggie Gyllenhall in the Secretary. Stephanie inch by inch slowly opened the bathroom door, and a little trail of steam peeked around the crack of the door and escaped into the hallway, and into my nose. I barely got a whiff of the steam and it was magical. Disney Land was at my finger tips. The door was opened enough so that Stephanie sneaked around the door, and I followed tiptoeing behind Stephanie. Once we were both in the mist of the steam room my heart started to hurt. The room was densely filled of steam yet Karla was still very visible on the other side of the shower curtain. It started to become really hot in here. So I made sure to be extra quiet tiptoeing to the left side of Stephanie so that I could get a better view of Karla’s body. The whole moment was becoming more and more like “Psycho”: the steam filled up the bathroom, shower head splashing over a bare naked work of art, a dressed up grandma, a vibrator took the place of the kitchen knife, yet the scene was still very much suspenseful.
Stephanie stepped up to the foot of the tub and I tiptoed off to the left of her and straddled the toilet for the best seat in the joint. I was in the perfect spot with nothin’ in the way. Through the shower curtain I could see the water splashing the jaw droppin’ curves of Karla’s back as she rubbed soap all over the front of her body. My only wish was I wish I had some ice tea or something to drink. The cotton mouth was chokin’ me. I could feel blood flow racin’ on all through my body, especially on the other side of my zipper. Stephanie reached out to the far end of the shower curtain and once she got a solid grip on the curtain she flung the curtain wide open. Karla turned around ever so slowly. She wasn’t startled at all. She was in a happy place. Her fingers were combing out the soapy suds out of her hair and the suds slowy slithered down her peaks and valleys never missing the pulse of her heart beat. She gave us a full frontal view of her body. “My eyes have seen the glory,” I thought. The running water glistened over her breast, cleavage, and the soaps suds blanketed her nipples. The shampoo bubbles slid down her long firm torso, splashin’ over her itty bitty patch of hair, and down her candy, sweet legs. I looked down to see her feet and her toes were the cutest thing, to die for really. To this day, I still haven’t seen a woman with a fiery, hot body like hers. Karla’s body was absolutely amazing. From her neck to her shoulders and to her breast and to her belly and to her hips to her landing strip and to her legs and then her toes, and back again. Karla’s body was real. No plastic surgery, no collagen injections, nothing was fake about her. With all these emotions runnin’ wild I was pleased I held it together this long.
Karla’s hands caressed over her plum, round breasts and started to massage them very seductively, passionately. Her fingertips brushed around her nipples. It was so hot….so hot in the room right now. My balls were on X. And so was my shaft. All my eyes could muster up was, “OH MY GOD….OH MY GOD…OH MY GOD”. Karla’s left hand slowly worked down around her belly and her right hand worked around both breast. The whole time her eyes never left mine. I was seduced.
“Hi Sailor.” She delicately sung out with shower drops dripping and glistening from her curvy lips.
“Hi Karla,” was all that I could muster up. Words were not apart of this equation.
Stephanie looked over her shoulder looking right at me and gave me a special WINK. All I could do was nod my head yes. And I mean both heads said yes today.
“Turn around…Karla.” Stephanie ordered.
As the stream of luke warm shower droplets ran down her breast, she about faced slowly with both hands spread across the shower wall but her eyes never left mine. A stampede of raindrops flash flooded downstream off her hair and down her back. Her eyes locked right on mine, and never did she look at Steph. Her eyes had fuck me all over them. But then again, it could have been for Stephanie too or just the weed. “OH MY GOD….OH MY GOD….OH MY GOD,” was all that was runnin’ around in my head—both heads. The rain showers dropped onto her shoulders into the valley of her back and down her backside, over her sweet ass. “OH MY GOD’.” Stephanie and her orgasm filled dildo carried on forward through the right of passage toward Karla’s garden of sin. OH BY THE WAY…WHAT A GREAT GARDEN!!” The head of the vibrating dildo now reached out toward the lips of her garden like a hungry pest. “MMMMMMM.MMMMM…..MMMMMMM..MMMMMM….MMMMM”. The vibrator hummed away on the lips. Man….I got to be honest. My unit was so breaking through my pants right now. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The Hulk was getting mad on the other side of the zipper.
Karla spun around and now her frontal was meltin’ my mental. She raised her left leg on the tub and was spread open. She started shoving her body into the throbbing vibrating dildo like a tornado on coke. It was really hot. So hot I had to take my shirt off. The steam from the hot shower kept pulsating in the room causing me to feel faint. Or could have been Karla’s thrusting position.
I’m starin’ at Karla’s face and looking back at her penetrated garden to the heavens. I kept on lookin’ back at ther eyes and back down to her garden. She was my favorite day dream comin’ to life. I couldn’t tell what was more alluring her face or garden. And as I looked back at Karla’s face again, I noticed her eyes were locked onto to me like a wolf starrin’ down a rabbit. She huffed and puffed animalistic style and a hunger look lingered in her eyes. It was obvious. So was becoming an animal of the pleasurable kind. Anyways, I hopped off the toilet and tapped Steph on the shoulder.
“Can…I get closer?”
“Sure..come here Sailor.” Steph replied as she grabbed a hold off my left hand. With no shirt and my shaft noticeably poppin’ out from the inside of my pants, I stepped forward alongside Stephanie. I reached out with my right hand and so softly caressed Karla’s ass with my index finger. Just one finger was all I needed really.
“Do you want to hold on to it?” Stephanie asked.
The same right index finger that caressed on Karla’s ass was now gripped around a vibrating machine. I didn’t have to do nothing. She shoved her self right into me over and over again. It was really an amazin’ feelin’. Karla’s juices started oozin’ down the vibrator and onto my fingers—a baptism moment. Her Jedi mind tricks were working on my eagerly awaiting zipper that only had one thing on its mind, “FREEDOM.” Seconds into observing her garden, I looked down at my crotch and my zipper was wide open—Jedi mind tricks. My shaft was huffin’ and puffin’ like a wolf just waitin’ to blow her house down, and believe me I didn’t forget about my wife but my shaft did. Real quick. He suddenly had amnesia. He had Karla’s garden in sight.
“OH MY GOD”….Karla’s gasped as she grabbed a hold of me.
With my hands occupied I shimmied down my pants and boxers down and pass my hips. The only thing visible from my waist down was my gracious gardenin’ tool breathin’ on Karla’s pulsatin’ lips. Karla’s eyes and my eyes were honed in on each other. She had this animalistic look in her eyes. In one dance motion she kneeled down and ended up on her knees in the tub with her face at shaft level. Her left hand slowly reached out and grabbed my shaft and cradled my loins. Her face, her lips perched right on the head of my mushroom. She looked into my eyes. “My you have a pretty cock. I can smell a great fuck coming on.”
“YA…YOU’RE RIGHT.”
Her right hand gripped around my shaft firmly and her lips pressed passionately on my cock. As her lips started to slightly open up around my throbbing shaft, I felt a stern tap on my left shoulder. I kept my right eye on Karla’s lips that wrapped around my mushroom cap and my left eye scanned over my left shoulder. My left eye registered Stephanie tappin’ on my shoulder. “Gosh….What the fuck, Steph? Can you see this?” I stated pointing down at Karla.
“Sorry….I just want to see this happen…Okay Sailor. It’s gone to far?”
“Of course. Of course. You’re right?” I looked back down at Karla. “Five more minutes, Steph. PLEASE.”
As I stared back down at Karla, her lips had just wrapped around my mushroom. Gosh it felt so good. In mind head I kept repeating, “I don’t wanna believe or be in love. I don’t wanna believe or be in love.” I did so to keep the erupting sensation under control. Surely I didn’t want this moment to end ever so quickly. It sucks when it happens too soon—for both people. It is always a funny and awkward moment when it happens. You just got to laugh, especially when it’s a wet dream. And before I could hold on to this moment the fuckin’ alarm clock fired off, and it was time to go to work.
The sky was a calm blue Caribbean sea with scattered cottonballs that strolled throughout the sky like herds of sheep. The Shepperd was no where in sight so the clouds roamed sinfully. Graham Greene would calls this heaven. But for those of us living in San Diego the day was a typical gorgeous day, an average day of the beauty and the rest of the world. I was chillin’ at Stephanie’s house (lesbian friend of my ex-wife) waiting for my ex-wife to meet me at Stephanie’s place for Trivial Pursuit night. Stephanie, Karla (Stephanie’s very hot, fine-ass roommate and lover), and myself were laxin’ on the couch watching “Howard the Duck” on Netflix. And yes, we were smokin’ some weed too. It was at this time my eyes and my mind wandered onto Karla’s legs resting across from me. Her legs were a force that were bringin’ me into a place much more powerful than me. But I’m sure the weed had something to do with this pullin’ force. And don’t be alarmed I wasn’t being a creep and being married man at the same time. I was just being a creep. I had forgotten I was married for a minute. I knew how to separate the two without gettin’ caught. But I digrest. Her legs were long but not too long….firm….caramel….and her yoga shorts were short, tiny, huggin’ tightly to that 23 year old ass. Almost like some panties just without some pretty lace. Her tank-top with no bra wasn’t exactly helpin’ the situation either. Karla was a shorter Sophie Monk type before there was a Sophie Monk. But I digrest. Being that I knew Karla really well, I don’t think she would have flipped out if she caught me peekin’ at her legs. She would have appreciated the thought as a nice gesture, a compliment. Like Digable Planets, Karla was cool like dat.
Stephanie got up off the couch and made her way into the kitchen. The fridge opened and the sound waves of a bag of cookies being released to the wild vibrated toward the T.V. room. “Hey…Sailor come here for a sec and help me out.”
“Karla…do you want something to drink?” I asked as I headed to the kitchen.
“No thanks.” She replied.
I walked into the kitchen and the first thing Stephanie did was pinch the hell out of my arm. “Don’t be checkin’ out my bitches legs.”
“What are you talkin’ about, girl?”
“I saw you takin’ a peek at Karla’s legs. Don’t think for a second that I wouldn’t tell El.” Stephanie threatened as she stepped up to my face. Steph meant business. By the way, El was my wife at the time.
Stephanie came off as a pretty threatening individual to most people. She was a really tall, big bone girl with a mullet and a tattoo on her forearm that read, “Da Bitch.” Once a person got on her good graces then she would be the sweetest, coolest dike of all times. But this time, I really felt she meant business the way she stood up to me. Steph was so protective of Karla. As well as she should. Dikes are very jealous creatures when it comes to their bitch. She took a step back and with crazy eyes she joked, “Don’t be scared. I was just foolin’ with you. I like the fact that you were salivating over her legs. She has some fine ass legs. I love fuckin’ her.”
I closed my eyes for a sec picturing her legs and replied, “Ya, she does.”
The timer from the microwave went off and then Steph grabbed a dish of chocolate chip cookies from the belly of the microwave and placed the cookies on a tray. And just before we both raced back to the couch to check out Karla some more we poured out some milk for our cookies in coffee mugs.
“Nice….cookies”. Karla expressed with weed delight.
I have to be honest here. When Karla leaned forward to grab a cookie her thong sneaked out and I thought, “My eyes have seen the glory.” Then I thought why is she wearin’ a thong with short, tight, yoga shorts? I was confused. But what wasn’t so cool was when I looked over to Stephanie to see if see caught me again and sure enough she did as she nodded her head in disbelief. She had that “control yourself” look on her face. I’m sorry…she also wore an itty-bitty tank top too like I mentioned earlier. Her breasts were perfectly sized and shaped. Her breast reminded me of two scoops of ice cream with a cherry on top—baskin robins. Karla reached forward again and grabbed another cookie, and once again I looked again at her thong. I couldn’t believe what I was seein’. I mean it wasn’t the first time I’ve seen a liberated thong. I couldn’t help it. It’s the weed I tell ya. Believe me people. The weed be lettin’ you know. Karla came back up and snuggled back into the couch, and replied, “These are some good chocolate chip cookies.”
“Ya..they are.” I expressed as my eyes combed over the skin of her perfect body.
Stephanie got up in a furious manner. “Okay…that’s it Sailor. Karla go to the bathroom and get the shower going…now!!” Stephanie shouted. Karla got up off the couch and headed to the bathroom like an obedient love slave. Stephanie then looked over at me with a pissed off look. “Do you want to see it? Ha….do you want to see it? Do you want to see her fucking body, asshole?”
With my hands up in the air playin’ dumb I replied, “What the fuck are you talking about, Stephanie?”
“Look…don’t play dumb here, buddy. I know you want to see her body, so you are going to see it.”
“Okay…but do I have to see your body too. Because I wouldn’t feel comfortable. I mean nothing against your body but.”
“What about my body? I’m big girl…is that what it is?.”
“No..no…that’s not the problem.”
Stephanie spun around, stormed out of the T.V. room, and shouted, “Whatever…asshole.” Before I could blink Steph was back in the livin’ room at the other end of the couch. “Come with me, asshole. I want you to witness this.”
I followed Stephanie to her bedroom. She closed the door after me and started to undress. “Don’t like at me, fucker.” But it was hard not to look because to my left was a wall of mirrors and to my right was a wall of mirrors. It was a lose lose situation. So I just closed my eyes and let my ears guide me—shit was crashin’ to the ground, doors were opening and closing, things were thrown at my feet. With all the rukus coming from the room it sounded like Stephanie was transforming into the Hulk.
“What are you doing?” Stephanie asked.
“Nothing.”
“I hope you aren’t looking?”
“Trust me…I am not looking.”
“Good...because now you can look.”
I spun around and I looked in the direction of her closet. It took a second or two for Stephanie to walk out. The immediate sight of Stephanie caused me to rub my eyes. Not once but twice. She walked out with a vintage, curly, grey wig on her head. She had on a vintage, blue grandma sun dress that had pretty daisy patterns, old stockings that barely held on below her knees, and a pair of baby doll shoes. And in her right hand was chrome, shiny dildo looked like that “silver bullet” model I’ve seen at Dreamers. The first thing that came to mind was Norman Bates from the movie “Psycho.” Stephanie slowly raised the vibrator up in a stabbing motion and instead of the infamous score of the shower scene in Psycho, the sounds of the vibrator throbbed around the room. That’s when I thought, “Dycho.”
“That’s a really fucking crazy get up you got there, Steph..
“You think?”
“Umm..ya.”
She walked pass me with the vibrator still running and said, “You haven’t seen nothing yet”.
So I turned around and followed Stephanie out of her room and into the hallway. We came up to the bathroom door and Stephanie stopped at the foot of the door. With her left hand she grabbed the doorknob and twisted the knob over very slowly without making a sound like a thief in the night. She looked at me and “HUSHED” me with the vibrator placed over her lips. I was fucking excited by now. All I did was nod my head yes. Man…my heart was racing fast. It wasn’t a scary anxiety fast, it was more like a little boy anxiously waiting for the doors of Disney Land to open for the day. First time visitor to Disney Land feelin’. I had goose bumps all over my body and even the hair follicles on the back of my neck were trumbling in excitement. I had no clue to what to expect once Stephanie opened that door….but I had an idea. And that idea was watching fine ass Karla in the flesh with warm shower drops running down her body. My balls felt like they were on X as I pictured Karla on the other side of the shower curtain.
Stephanie slowly, quietly pushed forward against the door trying not to make a sound. I guess she didn’t want to alarm Karla that we were coming in. This moment had to be perfect. Someone was definitely in for a surprise, and I started to believe it was me. I mean it couldn’t have been Stephanie because she seemed like she had done this before. She went through the motions routinely and calmly, and I think Karla had an idea. She knew her role like Maggie Gyllenhall in the Secretary. Stephanie inch by inch slowly opened the bathroom door, and a little trail of steam peeked around the crack of the door and escaped into the hallway, and into my nose. I barely got a whiff of the steam and it was magical. Disney Land was at my finger tips. The door was opened enough so that Stephanie sneaked around the door, and I followed tiptoeing behind Stephanie. Once we were both in the mist of the steam room my heart started to hurt. The room was densely filled of steam yet Karla was still very visible on the other side of the shower curtain. It started to become really hot in here. So I made sure to be extra quiet tiptoeing to the left side of Stephanie so that I could get a better view of Karla’s body. The whole moment was becoming more and more like “Psycho”: the steam filled up the bathroom, shower head splashing over a bare naked work of art, a dressed up grandma, a vibrator took the place of the kitchen knife, yet the scene was still very much suspenseful.
Stephanie stepped up to the foot of the tub and I tiptoed off to the left of her and straddled the toilet for the best seat in the joint. I was in the perfect spot with nothin’ in the way. Through the shower curtain I could see the water splashing the jaw droppin’ curves of Karla’s back as she rubbed soap all over the front of her body. My only wish was I wish I had some ice tea or something to drink. The cotton mouth was chokin’ me. I could feel blood flow racin’ on all through my body, especially on the other side of my zipper. Stephanie reached out to the far end of the shower curtain and once she got a solid grip on the curtain she flung the curtain wide open. Karla turned around ever so slowly. She wasn’t startled at all. She was in a happy place. Her fingers were combing out the soapy suds out of her hair and the suds slowy slithered down her peaks and valleys never missing the pulse of her heart beat. She gave us a full frontal view of her body. “My eyes have seen the glory,” I thought. The running water glistened over her breast, cleavage, and the soaps suds blanketed her nipples. The shampoo bubbles slid down her long firm torso, splashin’ over her itty bitty patch of hair, and down her candy, sweet legs. I looked down to see her feet and her toes were the cutest thing, to die for really. To this day, I still haven’t seen a woman with a fiery, hot body like hers. Karla’s body was absolutely amazing. From her neck to her shoulders and to her breast and to her belly and to her hips to her landing strip and to her legs and then her toes, and back again. Karla’s body was real. No plastic surgery, no collagen injections, nothing was fake about her. With all these emotions runnin’ wild I was pleased I held it together this long.
Karla’s hands caressed over her plum, round breasts and started to massage them very seductively, passionately. Her fingertips brushed around her nipples. It was so hot….so hot in the room right now. My balls were on X. And so was my shaft. All my eyes could muster up was, “OH MY GOD….OH MY GOD…OH MY GOD”. Karla’s left hand slowly worked down around her belly and her right hand worked around both breast. The whole time her eyes never left mine. I was seduced.
“Hi Sailor.” She delicately sung out with shower drops dripping and glistening from her curvy lips.
“Hi Karla,” was all that I could muster up. Words were not apart of this equation.
Stephanie looked over her shoulder looking right at me and gave me a special WINK. All I could do was nod my head yes. And I mean both heads said yes today.
“Turn around…Karla.” Stephanie ordered.
As the stream of luke warm shower droplets ran down her breast, she about faced slowly with both hands spread across the shower wall but her eyes never left mine. A stampede of raindrops flash flooded downstream off her hair and down her back. Her eyes locked right on mine, and never did she look at Steph. Her eyes had fuck me all over them. But then again, it could have been for Stephanie too or just the weed. “OH MY GOD….OH MY GOD….OH MY GOD,” was all that was runnin’ around in my head—both heads. The rain showers dropped onto her shoulders into the valley of her back and down her backside, over her sweet ass. “OH MY GOD’.” Stephanie and her orgasm filled dildo carried on forward through the right of passage toward Karla’s garden of sin. OH BY THE WAY…WHAT A GREAT GARDEN!!” The head of the vibrating dildo now reached out toward the lips of her garden like a hungry pest. “MMMMMMM.MMMMM…..MMMMMMM..MMMMMM….MMMMM”. The vibrator hummed away on the lips. Man….I got to be honest. My unit was so breaking through my pants right now. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The Hulk was getting mad on the other side of the zipper.
Karla spun around and now her frontal was meltin’ my mental. She raised her left leg on the tub and was spread open. She started shoving her body into the throbbing vibrating dildo like a tornado on coke. It was really hot. So hot I had to take my shirt off. The steam from the hot shower kept pulsating in the room causing me to feel faint. Or could have been Karla’s thrusting position.
I’m starin’ at Karla’s face and looking back at her penetrated garden to the heavens. I kept on lookin’ back at ther eyes and back down to her garden. She was my favorite day dream comin’ to life. I couldn’t tell what was more alluring her face or garden. And as I looked back at Karla’s face again, I noticed her eyes were locked onto to me like a wolf starrin’ down a rabbit. She huffed and puffed animalistic style and a hunger look lingered in her eyes. It was obvious. So was becoming an animal of the pleasurable kind. Anyways, I hopped off the toilet and tapped Steph on the shoulder.
“Can…I get closer?”
“Sure..come here Sailor.” Steph replied as she grabbed a hold off my left hand. With no shirt and my shaft noticeably poppin’ out from the inside of my pants, I stepped forward alongside Stephanie. I reached out with my right hand and so softly caressed Karla’s ass with my index finger. Just one finger was all I needed really.
“Do you want to hold on to it?” Stephanie asked.
The same right index finger that caressed on Karla’s ass was now gripped around a vibrating machine. I didn’t have to do nothing. She shoved her self right into me over and over again. It was really an amazin’ feelin’. Karla’s juices started oozin’ down the vibrator and onto my fingers—a baptism moment. Her Jedi mind tricks were working on my eagerly awaiting zipper that only had one thing on its mind, “FREEDOM.” Seconds into observing her garden, I looked down at my crotch and my zipper was wide open—Jedi mind tricks. My shaft was huffin’ and puffin’ like a wolf just waitin’ to blow her house down, and believe me I didn’t forget about my wife but my shaft did. Real quick. He suddenly had amnesia. He had Karla’s garden in sight.
“OH MY GOD”….Karla’s gasped as she grabbed a hold of me.
With my hands occupied I shimmied down my pants and boxers down and pass my hips. The only thing visible from my waist down was my gracious gardenin’ tool breathin’ on Karla’s pulsatin’ lips. Karla’s eyes and my eyes were honed in on each other. She had this animalistic look in her eyes. In one dance motion she kneeled down and ended up on her knees in the tub with her face at shaft level. Her left hand slowly reached out and grabbed my shaft and cradled my loins. Her face, her lips perched right on the head of my mushroom. She looked into my eyes. “My you have a pretty cock. I can smell a great fuck coming on.”
“YA…YOU’RE RIGHT.”
Her right hand gripped around my shaft firmly and her lips pressed passionately on my cock. As her lips started to slightly open up around my throbbing shaft, I felt a stern tap on my left shoulder. I kept my right eye on Karla’s lips that wrapped around my mushroom cap and my left eye scanned over my left shoulder. My left eye registered Stephanie tappin’ on my shoulder. “Gosh….What the fuck, Steph? Can you see this?” I stated pointing down at Karla.
“Sorry….I just want to see this happen…Okay Sailor. It’s gone to far?”
“Of course. Of course. You’re right?” I looked back down at Karla. “Five more minutes, Steph. PLEASE.”
As I stared back down at Karla, her lips had just wrapped around my mushroom. Gosh it felt so good. In mind head I kept repeating, “I don’t wanna believe or be in love. I don’t wanna believe or be in love.” I did so to keep the erupting sensation under control. Surely I didn’t want this moment to end ever so quickly. It sucks when it happens too soon—for both people. It is always a funny and awkward moment when it happens. You just got to laugh, especially when it’s a wet dream. And before I could hold on to this moment the fuckin’ alarm clock fired off, and it was time to go to work.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
"but beauty, real beauty, ends where an intellectual expression begins"
Woke up this afternoon hungover and out of focus from last night’s party. The details are a bit distant so I’m not about to figure it out now. I’m just happy that I made it home last night or this morning. Finding myself on my couch was a lot better than finding myself in jail or blacked out on the side of the road with a sore asshole. I reached for my glasses from on top of the couch put them on, and slowly got myself into focus as I got off the couch. And as I planted my feet down my left foot stepped onto last nights Wendy’s hamburger and fries. The ketchup was all up and in my toes—a soothing feeling for my atheletes foot. I shook my head in disbelief and smirked. I did the same thing yesterday morning. Finally, I made it to the bathroom. I unzipped and pulled it out to take a piss. I didn’t hear the normal splish-splash so I looked down and, noticed I was pissing in the laundry basket full of dirty clothes. Some girl’s panties were in my dirty laundry but I didn’t pay any attention to the mystery panties, and just continued to piss. I looked over my shoulder and saw that the toilet was directly behind me. I laughed. I think I did the same thing yesterday too. Oh well…there was no time to pass judgement. I had things to do today. Important things. Priority 1: Find My Sandles. I even wrote it on my arm apparently last night so I wouldn’t forget. I zipped up and started lookin’ around for my sandles. These sandles were my favorite sandles, and really my only pair of shoes in the house. So findin’ my sandles was a must. Mi tia, Anna, got them for me from Mexico. I think the sandles were from TJ, but don’t qoute me on it. The sandles weren’t in the bathroom and they weren’t in the kitchen. So, I walked back to the living room thinkin’ the sandles were some place close to the couch. I stepped over last night’s beer cans and lost cigarette ends. I even found a set of girlie earrings which I thought was strange. Also, don’t worry about the carpets they were still clean. Every morning, I use to lay out old newspapers on the floor in the living room so that I wouldn’t dirty the carpets. I’m a big fan of clean carpets, especially when it’s time to collect the money from the deposit. And like that the song “Money in da bank,” blared out from a whip that cruised by on my block. “What timin’,” I thought.
Moreover, the more I searched the living room the more I realized that my place was a wreck—a shit show. Fortunately, most of the debris were empty beer cans and cigarette butts, and a broken nail. Shit that I can pick up and trash later. Priority 2: Take Out The Trash. For the record, my priorities are coming to me as my day progressed. Furthermore, the trash can in the kitchen looked like a wreck too I bet the trash can was about as hungover as I was with all the beer cans and bad food that bulged out from it’s waist line. I thought any second now the trash can was goin’ to vomit all over the kitchen floor. That being said, I still picked up the gross hamburger and fries, in the living room and immediately and gently placed it on top of the crowning trash in the kitchen. “DAT GROSS,” I thought as I gave the trash can a look over. The bulging overweight trash can probably had diabetes too judgin’ by all the remnants of the appetite for pleasure debris jammed inside. But I digress. Like I mentioned earlier, the sandles were a priority, so I walked back to the couch and kicked around the debris left over from last night. I didn’t find my sandles but I did find a plate with some coke, a good size roach, and some pills. No tellin’ what kind of pills they were. At this point the roach sounded liked a better idea than doing a rail. There’s no telling where I might shit if I do the line. I fired up the joint and thought it would be a great idea to hear some tunes while I searched for my precious sandles. I grabbed the remote to the stereo and started to rock out to Beach House. And that’s when I looked up at the stereo and noticed my sandles sittin’ on one of the speakers by the book shelf. At first sight of my sandles I was completely overwhelmed with happiness. The feelin’ was as if I just met every hot babe that I pleasured in any and all amateur porn sites. Finally, I was in a happy place today with my sandles in hand. And the feelin’ was mutual with my sandles too. For as I stepped closer and closer to my sandles the pair suddenly jumped out at me like a lonely frisky cat happy to see it’s owner. I guess the sandles were longin’ for me as much as I was longin’ for them. I think the sandles also just whispered, “I love you.” But I think it was just the weed. The weed be lettin’ you know sometimes too. So with no time to spare I slipped the sandles on and headed to the front screen door. I opened and shut the door with ease as my door had a tendency to spring back to a loud and grand slammin’ introduction to the world. And there to my left was my favorite porch chair, a folding chair, from Mexico, it wasn’t much of a looker but the chair did the job. I found the chair when I was crossin’ the border at TJ one Saturday night on my way back to the U.S. side. I stopped by this taco stand that I always hit up when I’m drunk called, “NTLB Tacos.” The name was short for no taco left behind. And there the chair was up against the taco stand bruised, battered, and in denial like a Mexican house wife named Lorna or Letty. The woman who made those delicious tacos was a nice and sweet lady, and she proposed a deal with me for the ripe price of $15 the chair was mine. Completely overpriced but I thought it was a steal, especially with the grease stains that made the face of Jesus, Jesus, my buddy who does my mom’s landscaping back home in Texas. Furthermore, the chair gave my porch some character but what kind of character I have no idea. I later discovered that the chair came with a bonus—the chair talked. Any time I stepped out onto the porch and was too high, the chair always convinced me to sit down with his broken English and Spanish accent. The chair sounded much like Speedy Gonzalez’s drunken cousin’s accent. And today was no different, “Seey homes, uuu kno tu want to sit down wit me.” So, naturally I sat down and puffed away.
As Beach House soothed my way into my day I noticed planet Earth was coming to life on my block. I sat on my porch, and I observed the life on my block like if I was doing some kind of a study for Chicano Geographic. The name of my block was Silver Soul, and not so much a hoodish name but more like a street name in San Fran. Directly across the street from my porch, Miss O’Connor, an older lady in her mid-80’s originally from Georgia, tended to her roses with her pink water sprout—prize winning roses too. She had on a purple and green polka-dot sun dress with her pretty white gardening hat that had a fresh cut daisy crowned over the left side of her garden hat. She was a nice, sweet lady. She always made me cookies for my birthday and fed me once a month. She needed the company and I needed to eat well at least once a month. Next to her on the left were the Smallies. They were a married couple of like six years and they were the first husband and wife lawyers to have openned up their own law firm in town who were midgets—small people to be exact. They often stayed to themselves but they were always up or down for a barbeque on Sunday afternoons or a Wednesday walk in the park with their dog, Munchies. I think he was a miniature pit bull, but don’t qoute me on that. I’m not goin’ to even lie, Munchies, scared me to pieces. Munchies reminded me of a baby Mike Tyson. Despite Munchies, I really liked my neighbors. Absolutely nothing wrong with good neighbors. Like I always said, “Invisible fences make good neighbors.” Speaking of fences and neighboors, the echoes of a slammed screen door rushed my way from my neighbor’s place on my left side. His name was, Scratch. A cool cat, a funny Jaimican, who just happened to me my weed dealer. With his Jaimican accent he shouted, “Say…brotha I see that you are rockin’ that sweet Beach House again. I come over and jam out, man.” In typical fashion, Scratch didn’t bother walkin’ over to his gate opening it and closing it, and walking over to my gate and doing the same. He just jumped over the fence and plotted himself down on the front steps—“da stoop,” as we call it on my block.
Scratch and I sat on the porch for what seemed like an hour, and didn’t say one word to one another. We just puffed away and became two members of the Beach House “Teen Dream” wolfpack. Silver Soul became alive right before my eyes some more. Lalo and his cousin, Chuey, cruised by in their low rider ’67 Impala cream colored exterior and interior with hydraulics to boot. On the hood of the whip there was a chrome grillin’ woman blowin’ in the wind. “Whip,” is a term for a car or ride in the Ghettovilles of America if you didn’t know that already. And as they faded away to the end of the block we could hear Dre’s “Let Me Ride” as they bent around the corner. Lalo and Chuey both lived a block over with their tia, Rose Mary. I think the street was, Norway, but don’t qoute me on that because I think the street name might be LoverOfMine. They were some chill vatos too but you wouldn’t want to cross them. They were from Mexican Mafia, La EME, roots. My other next door neighbor, Mr. Eastwood, he was a retired veteran of the U.S. Army served in Vietnam and some other skirmishes. He walked out of his house and started to wave but dropped his hand down as soon as he saw Scratch sittin’ next to me. I don’t think he liked Scratch much or any minorities. He was a complicated man and perhaps mean on the surface but he was actually quite nice if one was patient enough to get to know him. Two things to know about Mr. Eastwood, he always raised the American flag up every morning and lowered the colors at dusk, and never missed a day—never. And the second thing, shortly after raising the colors up the pole he watered his grass—front and back. Never missed spot or a blade of grass, and he made sure of it. That man loved his grass. He treated his grass better than his neighbors. Shit…..better than his wife and kids. That’s probably why they all left him years ago, and don’t bother coming by to see him. As for me, he was fond of me and invited me to dinner sometimes with him and his dog, Preacher. I like Preacher, he was a older German Sheppard who was gentle and loved attention unlike Mr. Eastwood. Moreover, for a lonely man who never had visitors, Mr. Eastwood, was quite the cook. I was always suprised after dinner how good his dishes were. Which was why I never minded his invitations or his company. I think the main reason Mr. Eastwood enjoyed my company was because I was a veteran as well, who could swap service stories. Mr. Eastwood called us veterans, “a dyin’ breed.” I agreed, a “dyin’ breed” we were.
Scratch got up off the stoop and suggested, “Say….brotha lets go for a walk. Look at the day, brotha. I don’t know about you but the winds be callin’ me. Let’s do this.” He dusted off his shorts and headed to the gate. I was a little hesistant to go for a walk at first because I was still a little woozy from last night’s party. I felt like any minute I was about to puke up last night’s fries. But I gave the idea a once over and I felt the stroll would be a great idea—fresh air. So I, too, got up and dusted off my shorts and headed to the gate. “So what’s your plan? Where we headin’, Scratch?”
“A walk, brotha. Just a walk.” He replied. Not soon after they closed the gate and started headin’ down the street. Scratch asked, “So what’s up with that girl from last night?”
“What girl?”
“Brotha, don’t play dumb. The whole neighborhood could hear ya two goin’ at. You guys were so loud sounded like she needed help.”
“What are you talkin’ about? I didn’t have sex last night. I would have remembered that for sure. Believe me, I haven’t had some in three months.”
Scratch passed over the joint. “Boi….you were cuttin’ up something, brotha. I thought for sure Miss O’Connor was gunna call the coyotes.” Scratch paused. “I was almost excited for you but then I was a little worried.”
“Scratch….I’m tellin’ you the truth. I don’t remember sleepin’ with any girl.”
Less than two blocks on Zebra St. a roller (police call) pulled up next to the boys. “Ya’ll two stop right there.” And the cop gets out of the car. “I’ve been lookin’ for you, Benny Alvarez.”
“I’m Detective Jordan vender Sloot,” the cop said as he pulled out his badge.
Scratch looked over at me. “Brotha…I didn’t know your name was Benny Alvarez. I was thought it was, Brotha.” Scratch paused for a sec to calm his nerves down because of the joint blazin’ away by his foot. As the cop approached the two Scratch asked again. “What the hell did you do last night, Brotha?”
I looked back over to Scratch and whispered. “Man, I’m sorry I don’t know. I really don’t know what the fuck happened last night.
The cop saddled up next to the two boys. “Alright, Benny, you’re coming with me downtown. I got some questions to ask you.”
“What the hell? Detective, what the hell am I been charged with? Please help me understand this.”
“Ya man, what did Benny do?” Inquired Scratch.
As the cop was readin’ my rights and handcuffin’ me, the cop turned back to Scratch, “Benny has been charged with brutally rapin’ a young teenage girl. Sixteen years of age, who is in intensive care as we speak. The reason why you don’t remember a thing, Benny, was because you drugged her and probably drugged yourself on accident as you were preparin’ to rape another teen dream.” The cop placed Benny in the roller and closed the door. “We seen these cases before, and now we finally got him. He’s had a long enough stretch of rapin’ women.” The cop said to Scratch as he made his way to his car door.
Scratch looked perplexed and dumbfouned. He couldn’t imagine his bestfriend doin’ something like this. But then again he often wonderd how Benny was always sleepin’ with the hottest of women. Tears began to roll down Scratch’s face. The roller slowly pulled away and just as Scratch started to see my face come crashin’ with tears. I suddenly turned my frown into a smile. A devilish smile that Scratch had never seen before. A Jack the Ripper or Dorian Gray kind of smile. It was a smile of a prince charmin’ in wolf’s clothing.
Moreover, the more I searched the living room the more I realized that my place was a wreck—a shit show. Fortunately, most of the debris were empty beer cans and cigarette butts, and a broken nail. Shit that I can pick up and trash later. Priority 2: Take Out The Trash. For the record, my priorities are coming to me as my day progressed. Furthermore, the trash can in the kitchen looked like a wreck too I bet the trash can was about as hungover as I was with all the beer cans and bad food that bulged out from it’s waist line. I thought any second now the trash can was goin’ to vomit all over the kitchen floor. That being said, I still picked up the gross hamburger and fries, in the living room and immediately and gently placed it on top of the crowning trash in the kitchen. “DAT GROSS,” I thought as I gave the trash can a look over. The bulging overweight trash can probably had diabetes too judgin’ by all the remnants of the appetite for pleasure debris jammed inside. But I digress. Like I mentioned earlier, the sandles were a priority, so I walked back to the couch and kicked around the debris left over from last night. I didn’t find my sandles but I did find a plate with some coke, a good size roach, and some pills. No tellin’ what kind of pills they were. At this point the roach sounded liked a better idea than doing a rail. There’s no telling where I might shit if I do the line. I fired up the joint and thought it would be a great idea to hear some tunes while I searched for my precious sandles. I grabbed the remote to the stereo and started to rock out to Beach House. And that’s when I looked up at the stereo and noticed my sandles sittin’ on one of the speakers by the book shelf. At first sight of my sandles I was completely overwhelmed with happiness. The feelin’ was as if I just met every hot babe that I pleasured in any and all amateur porn sites. Finally, I was in a happy place today with my sandles in hand. And the feelin’ was mutual with my sandles too. For as I stepped closer and closer to my sandles the pair suddenly jumped out at me like a lonely frisky cat happy to see it’s owner. I guess the sandles were longin’ for me as much as I was longin’ for them. I think the sandles also just whispered, “I love you.” But I think it was just the weed. The weed be lettin’ you know sometimes too. So with no time to spare I slipped the sandles on and headed to the front screen door. I opened and shut the door with ease as my door had a tendency to spring back to a loud and grand slammin’ introduction to the world. And there to my left was my favorite porch chair, a folding chair, from Mexico, it wasn’t much of a looker but the chair did the job. I found the chair when I was crossin’ the border at TJ one Saturday night on my way back to the U.S. side. I stopped by this taco stand that I always hit up when I’m drunk called, “NTLB Tacos.” The name was short for no taco left behind. And there the chair was up against the taco stand bruised, battered, and in denial like a Mexican house wife named Lorna or Letty. The woman who made those delicious tacos was a nice and sweet lady, and she proposed a deal with me for the ripe price of $15 the chair was mine. Completely overpriced but I thought it was a steal, especially with the grease stains that made the face of Jesus, Jesus, my buddy who does my mom’s landscaping back home in Texas. Furthermore, the chair gave my porch some character but what kind of character I have no idea. I later discovered that the chair came with a bonus—the chair talked. Any time I stepped out onto the porch and was too high, the chair always convinced me to sit down with his broken English and Spanish accent. The chair sounded much like Speedy Gonzalez’s drunken cousin’s accent. And today was no different, “Seey homes, uuu kno tu want to sit down wit me.” So, naturally I sat down and puffed away.
As Beach House soothed my way into my day I noticed planet Earth was coming to life on my block. I sat on my porch, and I observed the life on my block like if I was doing some kind of a study for Chicano Geographic. The name of my block was Silver Soul, and not so much a hoodish name but more like a street name in San Fran. Directly across the street from my porch, Miss O’Connor, an older lady in her mid-80’s originally from Georgia, tended to her roses with her pink water sprout—prize winning roses too. She had on a purple and green polka-dot sun dress with her pretty white gardening hat that had a fresh cut daisy crowned over the left side of her garden hat. She was a nice, sweet lady. She always made me cookies for my birthday and fed me once a month. She needed the company and I needed to eat well at least once a month. Next to her on the left were the Smallies. They were a married couple of like six years and they were the first husband and wife lawyers to have openned up their own law firm in town who were midgets—small people to be exact. They often stayed to themselves but they were always up or down for a barbeque on Sunday afternoons or a Wednesday walk in the park with their dog, Munchies. I think he was a miniature pit bull, but don’t qoute me on that. I’m not goin’ to even lie, Munchies, scared me to pieces. Munchies reminded me of a baby Mike Tyson. Despite Munchies, I really liked my neighbors. Absolutely nothing wrong with good neighbors. Like I always said, “Invisible fences make good neighbors.” Speaking of fences and neighboors, the echoes of a slammed screen door rushed my way from my neighbor’s place on my left side. His name was, Scratch. A cool cat, a funny Jaimican, who just happened to me my weed dealer. With his Jaimican accent he shouted, “Say…brotha I see that you are rockin’ that sweet Beach House again. I come over and jam out, man.” In typical fashion, Scratch didn’t bother walkin’ over to his gate opening it and closing it, and walking over to my gate and doing the same. He just jumped over the fence and plotted himself down on the front steps—“da stoop,” as we call it on my block.
Scratch and I sat on the porch for what seemed like an hour, and didn’t say one word to one another. We just puffed away and became two members of the Beach House “Teen Dream” wolfpack. Silver Soul became alive right before my eyes some more. Lalo and his cousin, Chuey, cruised by in their low rider ’67 Impala cream colored exterior and interior with hydraulics to boot. On the hood of the whip there was a chrome grillin’ woman blowin’ in the wind. “Whip,” is a term for a car or ride in the Ghettovilles of America if you didn’t know that already. And as they faded away to the end of the block we could hear Dre’s “Let Me Ride” as they bent around the corner. Lalo and Chuey both lived a block over with their tia, Rose Mary. I think the street was, Norway, but don’t qoute me on that because I think the street name might be LoverOfMine. They were some chill vatos too but you wouldn’t want to cross them. They were from Mexican Mafia, La EME, roots. My other next door neighbor, Mr. Eastwood, he was a retired veteran of the U.S. Army served in Vietnam and some other skirmishes. He walked out of his house and started to wave but dropped his hand down as soon as he saw Scratch sittin’ next to me. I don’t think he liked Scratch much or any minorities. He was a complicated man and perhaps mean on the surface but he was actually quite nice if one was patient enough to get to know him. Two things to know about Mr. Eastwood, he always raised the American flag up every morning and lowered the colors at dusk, and never missed a day—never. And the second thing, shortly after raising the colors up the pole he watered his grass—front and back. Never missed spot or a blade of grass, and he made sure of it. That man loved his grass. He treated his grass better than his neighbors. Shit…..better than his wife and kids. That’s probably why they all left him years ago, and don’t bother coming by to see him. As for me, he was fond of me and invited me to dinner sometimes with him and his dog, Preacher. I like Preacher, he was a older German Sheppard who was gentle and loved attention unlike Mr. Eastwood. Moreover, for a lonely man who never had visitors, Mr. Eastwood, was quite the cook. I was always suprised after dinner how good his dishes were. Which was why I never minded his invitations or his company. I think the main reason Mr. Eastwood enjoyed my company was because I was a veteran as well, who could swap service stories. Mr. Eastwood called us veterans, “a dyin’ breed.” I agreed, a “dyin’ breed” we were.
Scratch got up off the stoop and suggested, “Say….brotha lets go for a walk. Look at the day, brotha. I don’t know about you but the winds be callin’ me. Let’s do this.” He dusted off his shorts and headed to the gate. I was a little hesistant to go for a walk at first because I was still a little woozy from last night’s party. I felt like any minute I was about to puke up last night’s fries. But I gave the idea a once over and I felt the stroll would be a great idea—fresh air. So I, too, got up and dusted off my shorts and headed to the gate. “So what’s your plan? Where we headin’, Scratch?”
“A walk, brotha. Just a walk.” He replied. Not soon after they closed the gate and started headin’ down the street. Scratch asked, “So what’s up with that girl from last night?”
“What girl?”
“Brotha, don’t play dumb. The whole neighborhood could hear ya two goin’ at. You guys were so loud sounded like she needed help.”
“What are you talkin’ about? I didn’t have sex last night. I would have remembered that for sure. Believe me, I haven’t had some in three months.”
Scratch passed over the joint. “Boi….you were cuttin’ up something, brotha. I thought for sure Miss O’Connor was gunna call the coyotes.” Scratch paused. “I was almost excited for you but then I was a little worried.”
“Scratch….I’m tellin’ you the truth. I don’t remember sleepin’ with any girl.”
Less than two blocks on Zebra St. a roller (police call) pulled up next to the boys. “Ya’ll two stop right there.” And the cop gets out of the car. “I’ve been lookin’ for you, Benny Alvarez.”
“I’m Detective Jordan vender Sloot,” the cop said as he pulled out his badge.
Scratch looked over at me. “Brotha…I didn’t know your name was Benny Alvarez. I was thought it was, Brotha.” Scratch paused for a sec to calm his nerves down because of the joint blazin’ away by his foot. As the cop approached the two Scratch asked again. “What the hell did you do last night, Brotha?”
I looked back over to Scratch and whispered. “Man, I’m sorry I don’t know. I really don’t know what the fuck happened last night.
The cop saddled up next to the two boys. “Alright, Benny, you’re coming with me downtown. I got some questions to ask you.”
“What the hell? Detective, what the hell am I been charged with? Please help me understand this.”
“Ya man, what did Benny do?” Inquired Scratch.
As the cop was readin’ my rights and handcuffin’ me, the cop turned back to Scratch, “Benny has been charged with brutally rapin’ a young teenage girl. Sixteen years of age, who is in intensive care as we speak. The reason why you don’t remember a thing, Benny, was because you drugged her and probably drugged yourself on accident as you were preparin’ to rape another teen dream.” The cop placed Benny in the roller and closed the door. “We seen these cases before, and now we finally got him. He’s had a long enough stretch of rapin’ women.” The cop said to Scratch as he made his way to his car door.
Scratch looked perplexed and dumbfouned. He couldn’t imagine his bestfriend doin’ something like this. But then again he often wonderd how Benny was always sleepin’ with the hottest of women. Tears began to roll down Scratch’s face. The roller slowly pulled away and just as Scratch started to see my face come crashin’ with tears. I suddenly turned my frown into a smile. A devilish smile that Scratch had never seen before. A Jack the Ripper or Dorian Gray kind of smile. It was a smile of a prince charmin’ in wolf’s clothing.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Living on Mars
How you ever thought about what it’s like to live on Mars?
Well….this is a story of what it’s like to live on Mars. Personally, I have never been to Mars. And really don’t see myself ever living on Mars but I did run into someone from Mars one afternoon many moons ago. I’ve spent the last six hours in the belly of a naval vessel. I was a journalist in the Navy at the time. It was four o’clock in the afternoon and it was time to head to the horizon. In the Navy that meant it’s time to go home. If you’ve ever been to San Diego during the summer, well it was a typical summer day with a cool breeze swirling all around and the sun was singing gospel rays that spread throughout the entire city. Not a soul dead or alive was ever mad or angry in San Diego. San Diego is God’s country. While inside the belly of the beast I didn’t bother changing clothes on the boat. My only purpose on this mission was to get off the boat as fast as possible. I didn’t want to burn anymore daylight as the sun was calling my name like a siren and the beach only blocks away was crashing my conscious repeatedly with high tide currents.
“Phillip. Phillip. Come on Phillip. We’re waiting on you, dude.”
As the rip currents drew me out of my office I knew it was doubled time hour to the quarter deck, so I rushed outside and stepped up to the officer of the deck. I raised my right hand and saluted the officer with a, “permission to go ashore.”
The officer saluted, “permission granted.”
Again I doubled time, this time I was running off the pier heading to the bus stop. Most times I took the bus from the base and headed home. I’m not really trying to save the planet, it’s just I don’t have a car. Today, I got lucky and caught the bus right on time. And as usual I found myself at the back of the bus. This was where I did a quick change of my clothes from my dungarees and into my civies (civilian clothes) because for one, we are not permitted to ware are dungarees out in the city, and two, there was no one else on the bus to pass judgement besides the bus driver. And since the bus driver had been the same driver for years he already was accustomed to my wardrobe changes. Perhaps, I could have asked for a ride but asking people for rides wasn’t my thing. It wasn’t a pride thing, it’s just I was more down for the adventure flyin’ solo than speeding through the inner city life as a passenger and missing out on all the good things the metro bus had to offer.
The bus droped me off at the corner of Garnett and Pacific Beach Drive. I lived in the heart of the Pacific Beach community. Right across the street from where the bus droped me off at was my spot, my favorite place of all of San Diego. Every day I strolled into the beer store called Home Base, which was right on the beach and grabbed me a cold one, most times the beer was a Steinlager pint. And every day at my spot was this homeless dude, Sloppy Joe. Sloppy Joe was infamous and popular around these parts. And had been popularly known for the better part of twenty-five years in the Pacfic Beach community. The spot I most frequented was a gospel spot full of angels in biknis and homeless beach bums with six pack abs. No matter the time of the year there was always a cool breeze praising the great wide open beach. And yes, there were pretty girls on roller skates or pretty girls walking their dog too. But what made my spot even more attractive was Sloppy Joe.
He always had something to talk about. In the amount of time I have known him I never did ask why the community called him Sloppy Joe. It could have been his sloppy, smelly beard with food crumbs. Or his dingy, dirty coveralls that smelled like sardines. Sloppy Joe was not only good for conversation but he always had a joint on him at all times. I tried really hard most days to not smoke, mostly because I was in the Navy and as you know I could have gotten myself into trouble if and when I got caught with drugs in my system. But every once in a while those “California Dreamin” days made a perfect setting for a toke. Today was one of those days too. It was Friday and I had a damn thing to do tomorrow. I plotted myself as always next to Sloppy Joe. And took a swig of my beer.
“So…what’s it like Sloppy Joe?”
He cleared his throat. “Well, you know. Another day in paradise.”
“You got that right, Sloppy Joe.” I paused to stare out toward the horizon. Not my apartment but the real horizon of the ocean. “This is paradise, Sloppy Joe.”
He looked over at me with his grizzly beard and his blood shot eyes. “Did I ever tell you about the story of when I lived on Mars?”
“A story about Mars? That will be a first one, Sloppy Joe.”
“Many moons ago, Phillip, I once lived on Mars. There was a whole colony of us livin’ up on Mars. Mars was no place for strange dudes. They didn’t like strange dudes up on Mars.”
“Ever lived on Mars, Phillip?”
“I don’t think so.”
“The scientist had this oxygen machine called the flex capacitor.”
“Oh, like in the movie “Back to the Future?”
He cleared his throat again. “Never seen it.” He cleared his throat again, “these machines produced oxygen to sustain life on Mars. The colony was a small colony with about two-hundred people: mostly men, women, and children. Some of us had cats and dogs and sometimes both. I didn’t have a cat or a dog, but I did have my woman and my daughter.”
“I never knew you were married.”
“Oh…I never said I was married. I said my woman.”
“My woman’s name was Margaret Claire, as in Claire cosmetics. And my daughter her name was Unique, as in unique. My daughter loved the beach.”
“I didn’t know Mars had a beach.”
“It doesn’t. But we had gotten her these virtual glasses from the scientists, and these glasses made it seemed like you were at the beach any time you wanted to be by the beach.” He paused to pass over the cigarette to me. “Man, she loved to go surfing too.
Everyday she would put on those glasses as soon as she got home from school. If she brought home good grades she could go surfing all day for all we cared. My woman, Margaret Claire, as in Claire cosmetics, she loved to go fishing. You see, Phillip, Mars doesn’t have any kind of body of water. So a lot of folks pretended there was water activities with those virtual glasses. The glasses were a means to an escape. And I suppose, those darn glasses was why we had some marital problems on Mars. She was gone fishing all the time: at work, at the dinner table, and a lot of times during sex. Even during sex she wore those fishing glasses….. Am I boring you, Phillip?”
“Not at all, Sloppy Joe. Go ahead.”
Sloppy Joe continued, “Mars was full of weird people. Well, they all weren’t weird. They were vegetarians. Everybody on Mars was vegetarian including my family. I hated it. I’m an Angus beef hamburger lovin’ man. Being vegetarian was part of the contract so I was forced to convert. Everybody had to be vegetarians by law. I guess it had something to do with being on Mars.”
“How did everyone get around town on Mars?” I asked.
“We mostly walked. We couldn’t have cars or public transportation.” He paused to exhale. “We had to walk to stay fit. It was part of the contract.”
“It never rained on Mars. I missed the thunder storms of the Midwest and chasing tornadoes around in my Jetta. But we did have sand storms. Vicious ones too. The sand storms on Mars made Mother Teresa look like Nancy Grace. What was cool about Mars, also, was that there was never a terrorist threat. But there were the Indian Burn Taliban. These so-called terrorists would sneak up behind you, grab your wrist, and proceed to give you Indian Burns until you couldn’t handle it anymore. Most times a five dollar bill would make them go away. Other times they just wanted to hear you say, “Peace Be with You.”
“Peace Be With You?” I paused. “That’s it. That is all they would do?”
Sloppy Joe exhaled. “Yup….strange dudes. You know, Mars didn’t have homeless people up there. The government wouldn’t allow it. Mars also had universal health care. It’s a different universe up there. Strange dudes, I tell ya.”
“Can you see Earth from Mars, Sloppy Joe?”
Sloppy Joe took his eyes off of me, and looked up at the clear blue sky. You can tell he was reminiscing about his time up on Mars. I bet he could see Mars right now.
“Na, you can’t see Mars from Earth.” He swiped his hair over to the other side of his face. “You can’t and you won’t see Mars unless you’ve been up there. Nobody understands.”
I looked away for a second to glance over at the vibrant breaks of the ocean. If only I was here with Big Mike, he and I would have brought our surfboards, but Big Mike is gone for at least six months. His boat had to go on an extended deployment. And as I reminiced the strangest sound waved through the wind next to me. I heard crying.
“I miss my family.” Sloppy Joe cried. “Up there I was somebody. Here I’m nobody. I see how they look at me.”
“Where is your family, Sloppy Joe?” I exhaled.
“They’re definitely not close by.” He looked up at the sky again. “I remember a time when everything was so easy. Watching my woman and my daughter having fun on the swings was all I wanted. That was my paycheck. My vacation. My happiness. Then one day I had to come back down to Earth for work. A special project that my company assigned me up for. It had something to do with purifying water.”
The more he talked about it, the more he cried. I’ve never seen Sloppy Joe cry before. I didn’t think he could.
Then he started singing, “Love, love will tear us apart.” Each time he sang, he cried.
He looked back at me. “I’m sorry. That shit lets you know sometimes.” He cried wiping away his tears.
“Dude. Let it out, Sloppy Joe.”
“I was only supposed to be gone for a month or two at the most. Two months had turned into five. Then seven months went by. It was after nine months when my wife and my daughter stopped writing me. They even stopped calling, too. They wouldn’t answer my phone calls. I became a wreck. I started drinking. I was drinking on the job, drinking on my lunch breaks. I got fired. My company wouldn’t pay for me to get back to Mars to be with my woman and daughter. I was out of money. Not only was I desperate but I was lonely.”
“Damn, Sloppy Joe.” I exhaled.
“I know, Phillip. I was lost.” He looked out past the horizon. “Some years later I remember, I was over at Kirby’s Coffee up on Mission when Kirby handed me a letter from Mars.”
“Good luck.” Kirby said.
“I spun around off the chair and headed to the Crystal Pier. The letter ended up being from by daughter, Unique. She was twenty-two already and about to graduate from Mars Tech. It’s a great school. She talked about her good boyfriend, Harley. I couldn’t hold back the tears, Phillip. The worst part of it was when she talked about my woman, Margaret Claire.” Sloppy Joe took a big deep breath. “Apparently she remarried with my former boss a year later after I had left to Earth.” Suddenly Sloppy Joe stood up.
“Stand up with me.” Joe said pulling on my shirt.
I dusted off the sticky sand off my hands and stood next to Sloppy Joe.
“You see that out there.” He pointed out. “That right there is the horizon. That’s the ocean, and behind us is the boardwalk. That’s a pretty girl right over there on the roller skates.” He paused. “All this is going to be gone: people, buildings, oceans, mountains, you name it, gone. Whatever or whoever is left is going to be shipped to Mars.”
I was a little bit confused. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s simple. There was a time when Earth knew how to love. A time when people knew how to love. Nothing on Earth knows how to love anymore. I’ve forgotten how to love many moons ago. All we know how to do is drill and pollute. Pollute and war.”
“That can’t be true. Look over there.” I pointed at a pretty little girl feeding a seagull. “Look over there.” Just pass one of the breaks was a dude and his chick making out on their surfboards. As he stared out toward the horizon, I scanned around the beach for something he couldn’t see on Mars. “A Sloppy Joe, check that out over there”.. I said pointing out at the beach showers. “I bet you won’t see that on Mars”.
“WOW”. Sloppy Joe exhaled.
Over at the beach showers was this homeless dude naked taking a shower and wearing a shower cap.
“I guess there are some things to live for here on Earth.”
“You got that right, Sloppy Joe.” I paused. “I understand that on Mars you had something to hold on to, and was a somebody but here on Earth in San Diego, you’re a legend, Sloppy Joe. A living legend.”
Sloppy Joe placed his arm around me. I started thinking maybe I made a difference in his life today. I was feeling kinda good about myself, until his stench started to make me gag. He had a smile on his face and he stopped crying. He scanned over to me and leaned into my ear.
“You got five bucks.”
Well….this is a story of what it’s like to live on Mars. Personally, I have never been to Mars. And really don’t see myself ever living on Mars but I did run into someone from Mars one afternoon many moons ago. I’ve spent the last six hours in the belly of a naval vessel. I was a journalist in the Navy at the time. It was four o’clock in the afternoon and it was time to head to the horizon. In the Navy that meant it’s time to go home. If you’ve ever been to San Diego during the summer, well it was a typical summer day with a cool breeze swirling all around and the sun was singing gospel rays that spread throughout the entire city. Not a soul dead or alive was ever mad or angry in San Diego. San Diego is God’s country. While inside the belly of the beast I didn’t bother changing clothes on the boat. My only purpose on this mission was to get off the boat as fast as possible. I didn’t want to burn anymore daylight as the sun was calling my name like a siren and the beach only blocks away was crashing my conscious repeatedly with high tide currents.
“Phillip. Phillip. Come on Phillip. We’re waiting on you, dude.”
As the rip currents drew me out of my office I knew it was doubled time hour to the quarter deck, so I rushed outside and stepped up to the officer of the deck. I raised my right hand and saluted the officer with a, “permission to go ashore.”
The officer saluted, “permission granted.”
Again I doubled time, this time I was running off the pier heading to the bus stop. Most times I took the bus from the base and headed home. I’m not really trying to save the planet, it’s just I don’t have a car. Today, I got lucky and caught the bus right on time. And as usual I found myself at the back of the bus. This was where I did a quick change of my clothes from my dungarees and into my civies (civilian clothes) because for one, we are not permitted to ware are dungarees out in the city, and two, there was no one else on the bus to pass judgement besides the bus driver. And since the bus driver had been the same driver for years he already was accustomed to my wardrobe changes. Perhaps, I could have asked for a ride but asking people for rides wasn’t my thing. It wasn’t a pride thing, it’s just I was more down for the adventure flyin’ solo than speeding through the inner city life as a passenger and missing out on all the good things the metro bus had to offer.
The bus droped me off at the corner of Garnett and Pacific Beach Drive. I lived in the heart of the Pacific Beach community. Right across the street from where the bus droped me off at was my spot, my favorite place of all of San Diego. Every day I strolled into the beer store called Home Base, which was right on the beach and grabbed me a cold one, most times the beer was a Steinlager pint. And every day at my spot was this homeless dude, Sloppy Joe. Sloppy Joe was infamous and popular around these parts. And had been popularly known for the better part of twenty-five years in the Pacfic Beach community. The spot I most frequented was a gospel spot full of angels in biknis and homeless beach bums with six pack abs. No matter the time of the year there was always a cool breeze praising the great wide open beach. And yes, there were pretty girls on roller skates or pretty girls walking their dog too. But what made my spot even more attractive was Sloppy Joe.
He always had something to talk about. In the amount of time I have known him I never did ask why the community called him Sloppy Joe. It could have been his sloppy, smelly beard with food crumbs. Or his dingy, dirty coveralls that smelled like sardines. Sloppy Joe was not only good for conversation but he always had a joint on him at all times. I tried really hard most days to not smoke, mostly because I was in the Navy and as you know I could have gotten myself into trouble if and when I got caught with drugs in my system. But every once in a while those “California Dreamin” days made a perfect setting for a toke. Today was one of those days too. It was Friday and I had a damn thing to do tomorrow. I plotted myself as always next to Sloppy Joe. And took a swig of my beer.
“So…what’s it like Sloppy Joe?”
He cleared his throat. “Well, you know. Another day in paradise.”
“You got that right, Sloppy Joe.” I paused to stare out toward the horizon. Not my apartment but the real horizon of the ocean. “This is paradise, Sloppy Joe.”
He looked over at me with his grizzly beard and his blood shot eyes. “Did I ever tell you about the story of when I lived on Mars?”
“A story about Mars? That will be a first one, Sloppy Joe.”
“Many moons ago, Phillip, I once lived on Mars. There was a whole colony of us livin’ up on Mars. Mars was no place for strange dudes. They didn’t like strange dudes up on Mars.”
“Ever lived on Mars, Phillip?”
“I don’t think so.”
“The scientist had this oxygen machine called the flex capacitor.”
“Oh, like in the movie “Back to the Future?”
He cleared his throat again. “Never seen it.” He cleared his throat again, “these machines produced oxygen to sustain life on Mars. The colony was a small colony with about two-hundred people: mostly men, women, and children. Some of us had cats and dogs and sometimes both. I didn’t have a cat or a dog, but I did have my woman and my daughter.”
“I never knew you were married.”
“Oh…I never said I was married. I said my woman.”
“My woman’s name was Margaret Claire, as in Claire cosmetics. And my daughter her name was Unique, as in unique. My daughter loved the beach.”
“I didn’t know Mars had a beach.”
“It doesn’t. But we had gotten her these virtual glasses from the scientists, and these glasses made it seemed like you were at the beach any time you wanted to be by the beach.” He paused to pass over the cigarette to me. “Man, she loved to go surfing too.
Everyday she would put on those glasses as soon as she got home from school. If she brought home good grades she could go surfing all day for all we cared. My woman, Margaret Claire, as in Claire cosmetics, she loved to go fishing. You see, Phillip, Mars doesn’t have any kind of body of water. So a lot of folks pretended there was water activities with those virtual glasses. The glasses were a means to an escape. And I suppose, those darn glasses was why we had some marital problems on Mars. She was gone fishing all the time: at work, at the dinner table, and a lot of times during sex. Even during sex she wore those fishing glasses….. Am I boring you, Phillip?”
“Not at all, Sloppy Joe. Go ahead.”
Sloppy Joe continued, “Mars was full of weird people. Well, they all weren’t weird. They were vegetarians. Everybody on Mars was vegetarian including my family. I hated it. I’m an Angus beef hamburger lovin’ man. Being vegetarian was part of the contract so I was forced to convert. Everybody had to be vegetarians by law. I guess it had something to do with being on Mars.”
“How did everyone get around town on Mars?” I asked.
“We mostly walked. We couldn’t have cars or public transportation.” He paused to exhale. “We had to walk to stay fit. It was part of the contract.”
“It never rained on Mars. I missed the thunder storms of the Midwest and chasing tornadoes around in my Jetta. But we did have sand storms. Vicious ones too. The sand storms on Mars made Mother Teresa look like Nancy Grace. What was cool about Mars, also, was that there was never a terrorist threat. But there were the Indian Burn Taliban. These so-called terrorists would sneak up behind you, grab your wrist, and proceed to give you Indian Burns until you couldn’t handle it anymore. Most times a five dollar bill would make them go away. Other times they just wanted to hear you say, “Peace Be with You.”
“Peace Be With You?” I paused. “That’s it. That is all they would do?”
Sloppy Joe exhaled. “Yup….strange dudes. You know, Mars didn’t have homeless people up there. The government wouldn’t allow it. Mars also had universal health care. It’s a different universe up there. Strange dudes, I tell ya.”
“Can you see Earth from Mars, Sloppy Joe?”
Sloppy Joe took his eyes off of me, and looked up at the clear blue sky. You can tell he was reminiscing about his time up on Mars. I bet he could see Mars right now.
“Na, you can’t see Mars from Earth.” He swiped his hair over to the other side of his face. “You can’t and you won’t see Mars unless you’ve been up there. Nobody understands.”
I looked away for a second to glance over at the vibrant breaks of the ocean. If only I was here with Big Mike, he and I would have brought our surfboards, but Big Mike is gone for at least six months. His boat had to go on an extended deployment. And as I reminiced the strangest sound waved through the wind next to me. I heard crying.
“I miss my family.” Sloppy Joe cried. “Up there I was somebody. Here I’m nobody. I see how they look at me.”
“Where is your family, Sloppy Joe?” I exhaled.
“They’re definitely not close by.” He looked up at the sky again. “I remember a time when everything was so easy. Watching my woman and my daughter having fun on the swings was all I wanted. That was my paycheck. My vacation. My happiness. Then one day I had to come back down to Earth for work. A special project that my company assigned me up for. It had something to do with purifying water.”
The more he talked about it, the more he cried. I’ve never seen Sloppy Joe cry before. I didn’t think he could.
Then he started singing, “Love, love will tear us apart.” Each time he sang, he cried.
He looked back at me. “I’m sorry. That shit lets you know sometimes.” He cried wiping away his tears.
“Dude. Let it out, Sloppy Joe.”
“I was only supposed to be gone for a month or two at the most. Two months had turned into five. Then seven months went by. It was after nine months when my wife and my daughter stopped writing me. They even stopped calling, too. They wouldn’t answer my phone calls. I became a wreck. I started drinking. I was drinking on the job, drinking on my lunch breaks. I got fired. My company wouldn’t pay for me to get back to Mars to be with my woman and daughter. I was out of money. Not only was I desperate but I was lonely.”
“Damn, Sloppy Joe.” I exhaled.
“I know, Phillip. I was lost.” He looked out past the horizon. “Some years later I remember, I was over at Kirby’s Coffee up on Mission when Kirby handed me a letter from Mars.”
“Good luck.” Kirby said.
“I spun around off the chair and headed to the Crystal Pier. The letter ended up being from by daughter, Unique. She was twenty-two already and about to graduate from Mars Tech. It’s a great school. She talked about her good boyfriend, Harley. I couldn’t hold back the tears, Phillip. The worst part of it was when she talked about my woman, Margaret Claire.” Sloppy Joe took a big deep breath. “Apparently she remarried with my former boss a year later after I had left to Earth.” Suddenly Sloppy Joe stood up.
“Stand up with me.” Joe said pulling on my shirt.
I dusted off the sticky sand off my hands and stood next to Sloppy Joe.
“You see that out there.” He pointed out. “That right there is the horizon. That’s the ocean, and behind us is the boardwalk. That’s a pretty girl right over there on the roller skates.” He paused. “All this is going to be gone: people, buildings, oceans, mountains, you name it, gone. Whatever or whoever is left is going to be shipped to Mars.”
I was a little bit confused. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s simple. There was a time when Earth knew how to love. A time when people knew how to love. Nothing on Earth knows how to love anymore. I’ve forgotten how to love many moons ago. All we know how to do is drill and pollute. Pollute and war.”
“That can’t be true. Look over there.” I pointed at a pretty little girl feeding a seagull. “Look over there.” Just pass one of the breaks was a dude and his chick making out on their surfboards. As he stared out toward the horizon, I scanned around the beach for something he couldn’t see on Mars. “A Sloppy Joe, check that out over there”.. I said pointing out at the beach showers. “I bet you won’t see that on Mars”.
“WOW”. Sloppy Joe exhaled.
Over at the beach showers was this homeless dude naked taking a shower and wearing a shower cap.
“I guess there are some things to live for here on Earth.”
“You got that right, Sloppy Joe.” I paused. “I understand that on Mars you had something to hold on to, and was a somebody but here on Earth in San Diego, you’re a legend, Sloppy Joe. A living legend.”
Sloppy Joe placed his arm around me. I started thinking maybe I made a difference in his life today. I was feeling kinda good about myself, until his stench started to make me gag. He had a smile on his face and he stopped crying. He scanned over to me and leaned into my ear.
“You got five bucks.”
Monday, July 26, 2010
Something Just Broke From The Second Floor Balcony
The out stretched fingers of the sun were reaching through the blinds leaving fresh fingerprints all over the morning yellow kitchen walls. My Parliament cigarette was nearing the end of its destiny as it was inches away from the gates of St. Peter when I heard the front door open. The “pretty girl” was home. I took one last drag and flicked the heaven bound cigarette out the kitchen window. It’s quite the fall from up here on the second floor.
I can’t help but smoke when “the Pretty Girl” doesn’t come home or call or answer her phone from the night before. I hate these mornings. I must have smoked like two packs since midnight. Cigarette buds were spilling over the ashtray like tears of a clown or a broken melody. She closed the front door slowly and softly without making a sound as if she was concerned over my shut eye. But as always, she tossed her keys on the table by the front door alarming me that she is home. She always does that too. If she wanted to be under the radar why not place the keys down quietly on the table? “Pretty Girl,” is a puzzling creature.
Her cold stroll sent polar chills through the hallway and into the kitchen. With her every step frosty chills nipped on the soles of my feet sending goose bumps all over my heart. Every time she came home from the morning after there was a sudden chill throughout the house, especially the bed got artic cold. “Cold-blooded” as Rick James would say. As often as she stressed me the fuck out with her frost bite antics, you would think by now that I would just row over and fall back to sleep. But that was not the case. Because I love her, I worry all night long. Sleeping was hard when she didn’t call. I like to sleep. I’m good at sleeping. I made a “B” in Sleeping at ACC, it was the Pinnacle campus.
For those who have been through the sleepless nights worrying about where the boyfriend/girlfriend were at and why they didn’t come home, as you can imagine my mind was all over the place. Its like eating glass. My emotions and fears were way up and then way down all night long. I found myself happy one minute and the next I was angry. Hot and cold. Then cold and then hot. Then I was too hot. And then I was too cold. I kept thinking that I was suffering from menopause, as funny as that sounds. Or that global warming was becoming all too real right in our apartment. Perhaps my girlfriend was the cause of the mysterious global warming.
I heard her step up to the entrance of the kitchen hallway. One look at her eyes and I could tell she was tired as her eyes spelled hangover. We locked eyes for just a second. And then she looked away. Our relationship or lack of relationship has been chronologically frozen for quite some time. We kinda just stop talking to each other. And now, we don’t even bother to look at each other for days or weeks on in. The relationship has gone bad like spoiled milk but neither one of us has the energy to move out.
“I made you some tea.” I softly suggested.
She leaned up against the fridge and took off her red hills. And she did so like she had some practice the night before. Shortly, after stepping out of her red hills she then strolled across the kitchen floor now leaning up against the sink counter. I knew she was going to be in a sedated mood when she got home, so I laid out her sugar, her lemon, and her favorite tea spoon with the dainty blue deer on the handle next to her tea cup. “I won’t ever love you.” She confidently stated.
“It is nice to see you too.”
I was only half paying attention when she expressed her frustrations. She has a habit of being cold and distant the morning after. You see, on the mornings like today she usually comes home with a crass attitude, usually a coke hangover from her night club haze. She enjoys pushing my buttons but I always refuse to play her word games. It’s the alcohol. Or the drugs. More than likely both. “So how is the tea?” I asked.
She whipped her hair around to one side exposing one of the prettiest things I have ever seen, her collar bone. She has the prettiest shoulders along with the prettiest back I’ve ever touched. With the teacup in hand she replied, “The tea is warm.” She paused. “Just how I like it.”
Warm. I wanted to laugh so bad because she said, warm. I had forgotten that she had the term in her vocabulary. There has been nothing warm about us for quite sometime. At night the bed was cold when we both whisper “good night”. That is if I sleep with her in bed because lately I feel so uncomfortable that I end up on the couch. Warm. This pass summer I shivered myself into a bad case of frost bite all over my body from the lack of warmth between us. Warm. The way she used to look at me every time she came home from school or work. That was warm. She has the warmest smile, yet now I feel her smiles were never meant for me.
“So have you eaten breakfast, yet?”
She sat down at the kitchen table opposite of me. “Yup." She responded short and icy like an ice cube. Despite the hangover she looked quite happy this glorious morning. Her skin tone was vibrant and alluring. As oppose to other mornings when she is often haggard and distant, fuming with vodka, and yes laced with cocaine dreams. And then there were the mornings when she came home from her night clubbing lookin’ worn out and sore as if she just finished a two week long road trip with one of those WNBA teams.
She placed her tea cup beside my cigarettes. I could see that the tea was working and soothing out the aches of her sins. The slight yellow haze in her eyes began to fade and I noticed a tiny smile growing on her beautiful face. As she grabbed one of my cigarettes she started humming her favorite Klaus Nomi, “Nomi Song.” It’s a very beautiful, tragic song. A lot like the situation my girlfriend and I find ourselves in. She reached out for one of the two lighters on the table unknowingly the one she grabbed is my trick lighter. She grinded the flits together with her tiny thumb and an erected veiny penis popped out just inches from her face. She gave me this eerie look but I’ve seen it before, in particularly, when she falls for the penis lighter trick. I’ve been getting her with that lighter for years even when we were just good friends in college. As always I laughed loudly. It’s funny to me. She put down the lighter and grabbed the other one, the right one. Finally, she took a drag and exhaled, “Ya. My friend and I had some breakfast earlier over at the Woodlands.”
“So what did you have?”
She didn’t answer me right away. She just sat there calm and collected pulling back drag after drag of the cigarette. In between each drag she took baby sips of her morning after tea. Something was on her mind as she pondered away looking out the kitchen window. All I saw outside was a lively red cardinal eating Sunday brunch on a doomed cricket. But I doubt she was thinking about that doomed cricket or even the cardinal.
The sun was getting bigger and bolder, and showing more of its presence in the kitchen. The sun began to creep into her hair and bring life to those burgundy highlights yet again. Something about her pretty hair always brought a smile to my face, especially when she was just getting out of the shower or times like this morning when the sun was pumping life into her locks. I found myself some mornings smiling away as I combed my fingers through her hair like her favorite brush. But today was different. I didn’t smile. I didn’t feel anything. And before I could really figure out why today was different, my attention was shifted to the suicidal cigarette that was tossed from the kitchen window. Once again, I followed the cigarette all the way down from our second story window toward the rugged creekside that was our neighbor. The whole time I was thinking how far of a drop that must have been for that poor little cigarette.
“It’s not that important what I ate.” She replied.
I expected her to be crude and crass so I wasn’t to upset or shocked when she snapped at me. I figured she was lying to me anyways. She probably had morning after sex for breakfast. Furthermore, as of late she has been more vulgar toward me whenever she gets home in the morning. Her devilish behavior has been occurring so often that I have stopped paying attention to her at times. I feel like she gets off on belittling me, but at this point she was just making it harder on herself. She grabbed another cigarette and put a flame to the ass end of the cigarette. “So did you eat something?” She inquired.
“Well, I was kinda waiting on you as I always do when you come home in the morning.” It’s true. I do wait around for her to eat so that we can sustain some kind of a relationship or perhaps just a friendship.
“I think you should eat something.” She suggested.
“Oh. Thanks for being so concerned all of a sudden.”
She took another pull from the cigarette yet this time she blew the smoke in my face. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Ya right.”
“I really didn’t.” She confessed. “Don’t be such a pussy.” She got up from the kitchen table to get some more tea. “You want some tea?” She asked.
“No, thank you.”
She sat back down and took one more pull on the cigarette before she flicked it out the second story window. She tossed her hair to the side and asked, “I know its bad timing but do you have any weed?” She paused rubbing her sore neck. “I’m really tired and want to go to bed.”
“I think do.” I grabbed our stash box from behind the salt and pepper shakers and peaked inside. Sure enough I did and then immediately closed the box. “Before you start smoking, I have something I want to say to you.” I wasn’t surprise when she gave me a fuck yourself look, as if I was going to read to her another one of my poems. But today was different. I haven’t written a poem about her or us in a long time thanks to the coldness of her presence.
She took another drag from the cigarette and exhaled. “Are going to read one of your love poems to me? Because I much rather smoke some weed before you do.”
I grabbed cigarette and fired it up. “No, what I have to say is much more poetic.” I took a couple of quick drags. “I don’t know how else to say this but I’m just going to say it.”
“Alright already. You’re starting to fuckin’ bore me.” She interrupted.
“I’ve been seeing someone else for about five months now, ever since you began staying out late these past several months.”
“What do you mean by seeing someone else? She paused to inhale and exhale the poisons of the cigarette. “Do you mean…you have been watching crazy amounts of porn again or chatting it up on E Harmony? Because I can deal with the porn, but if it’s the E Harmony--we definitely got a problem. You know how I feel about that site. It creeps me out.”
“You got me all wrong, Pretty Girl. I’m done with the days of porn and E Harmony. I’ve been seeing someone really special, who respects me and appreciates every big or little thing I do. She understands me not like you. You have been taken advantage of me for far too long, and I got lonely. You’re never home anymore. You’re out late three or four times a week, and sometimes you never come home at all. So I started seeing this girl.”
She tossed her cigarette out the window and grabbed another one with a violent calm look to her eyes. “So you are having sex with her.”
“Yup.”
“You’re a dumbass, you know that right.” She paused to light her cigarette. “Do I know her?”
I looked out the window and saw a charcoal colored hawk ripping apart that red cardinal I saw earlier. I looked back up at my girlfriend and replied, “Yup.”
She took one monster pull back on the cigarette and exhaled with a silent anger, “Do you know why I have been coming home real late and sometimes not coming home at all? What do you think I’m doing? Do you think I’ve clubbing and fucking other people? If you think that, you’re a fucking idiot.”
“So why these late hours and why coming home smellin’ like vodka and sex all the time?”
“I haven’t said anything because I wanted to surprise you. If you must know, cheater, I picked up a second job, stripping at the Palazio. I have been trying to make some extra money to get you a new car. Because as you and I know, your car is a piece of shit, and that dead horse cost us more money for repairs than a new car payment would.”
I flicked out the cigarette out the window and grabbed another one. This time I didn’t bother lighting it up right away. I was perplexed. Confused. She seemed so sincere as she confessed about her late night shenanigans, but how I can be so sure. We still have not had sex in about a year, and whenever I try to arrange a romantic evening she had a headache or was tired. Then I started questioning or perhaps doubting if I was not attractive enough for her. What’s wrong with me?
She held in her last drag for a long time. I could see the pain pulsating all through her pretty face. She then tossed her cigarette out the window perhaps for the last time in our apartment. The weird thing about that cigarette is that this time I could hear it screaming as if fell from grace. “So, who is this girl you’ve been seeing?”
I looked away again out through the window. The hawk was gone, but some how the branch where the hawk once perched had cradled the cigarette. And every time the wind blew the cigarette looked like it was being rocked to sleep. Then the funniest thing happened, the branch caught on fire. And I started thinking about the burning bush story of Moses from the Bible. But before I could finish that thought a strong gust of wind blew out the little fire and the cigarette continued its journey down to the earth with the other cigarette butts.
“Hello.” She snapped.
“Sorry. Where was I? Well, she is actually still here.”
“She’s here?”
“Yup. She is in the bedroom right now.” I took a puff on the cigarette, and exhaled, “Madison, come out.”
The bed room door opened slowly and closed very softly. The pity-patter of bare feet on the wooden floors echoed throughout the house. I’m sure Madison was scared so she took baby steps as she approached the entrance of the kitchen. Like the temperature in the room--fear began to rise melting all the cold tension that was lingering from earlier. I, too, was overwhelmed with fear. I think any human being in that position would be in a state of fear. Well, maybe except Fillmore Slim, the famous American Pimp, who infamously preached, “I don’t love them hoes.” He would probably would have slapped his bitch and then ask for his money when she walked into the door from her late night devilish antics. I heard Madison release a deep breath as she made her first step into the kitchen entrance.
“Madison!!!” My girlfriend cried. She then looked over at me. “You’re seeing my sister? What the…..”
Madison was the younger sister of my girlfriend. And she was extremely hot and sexy too. If we were playing the celebrity look-a-like game, I would say Madison looked like Miranda Kerr, especially her Tahiti ocean eyes. I know what you guys are saying, there was no excuse to be having sex with my girlfriend’s sister. But it wasn’t all me. She seduced me like the ghost scene with Dan Ankroyd in Ghostbusters. One night when Danielle, my girlfriend, was apparently working late making extra cash stripping, Madison and I were taking shots of tequila and snow skiing on record albums while listening to Doobie Brother and Steely Dan records. We locked eyes and had a moment. And then our animal instincts took over. That was like five or six months ago, and we have been seeing each other ever since.
There was a moment of silence in the room between the three of us. I sensed death in the room today. Madison cautiously stepped closer to the kitchen table and stood right next to me resting her hands on my shoulders.
“I’m so sorry, Danielle. I know you are my sister, but we are for real. We are really in love. I’ve been searching for someone like him all my life.” Madison paused for a second and took a deep breath. “I know it looks bad but it was all my fault. I initiated this affair. And besides you told me you were sleeping around too. Right?”
“I told you that in confidence.” Danielle replied. “I can’t believe this.”
Danielle lit up another cigarette and looked out the kitchen window. I didn’t know what to say, and when I looked at Madison she just shrugged her shoulders. I should feel disgusted too, as I just found out my girlfriend was cheating on me. I always trusted my instincts.
“So, how long you’ve been cheating, Danielle?” I inquired.
“That’s none of your business.”
“None of my business!!!”
“That doesn’t sound really fair, Danielle.”
She flicked the cigarette out the window and looked over at Madison and I. “There is nothing fair about this world. Nothing. And I really hate the both of you right now. I would really like for you two to get the fuck out of my face.”
“But Babe.”
“Don’t you ever call me Babe, again. You got that.” And she grabbed the picture of us vacationing in Colorado on our third year anniversary, and tossed the picture out the kitchen window. It was my favorite picture of us. I ran to the window and saw the picture fall two stories down onto the rocky creekside down below. The picture landed on a tiny patch of daisies that was surrounded by a huge area of gremlin like rocks and troll like foliage. The way the picture found the smallest patch of daisies to brake its fall was symbolic to me, I started thinking that perhaps the three of us would end up friends again. However, Danielle did something to grab my attention. I looked back at Danielle and I noticed she pulled out something shiny and chrome out of her purse. I zeroed in on her index finger, which was tapping on the cold steel trigger. The tapping sound reminded me of the grinding razor teeth of a great white shark.
“So…what is that for?”
Danielle took one last pull back on her cigarette, and exhaled “Well, I didn’t pull this out for nothing.”
The out stretched fingers of the sun were reaching through the blinds leaving fresh fingerprints all over the morning yellow kitchen walls. My Parliament cigarette was nearing the end of its destiny as it was inches away from the gates of St. Peter when I heard the front door open. The “pretty girl” was home. I took one last drag and flicked the heaven bound cigarette out the kitchen window. It’s quite the fall from up here on the second floor.
I can’t help but smoke when “the Pretty Girl” doesn’t come home or call or answer her phone from the night before. I hate these mornings. I must have smoked like two packs since midnight. Cigarette buds were spilling over the ashtray like tears of a clown or a broken melody. She closed the front door slowly and softly without making a sound as if she was concerned over my shut eye. But as always, she tossed her keys on the table by the front door alarming me that she is home. She always does that too. If she wanted to be under the radar why not place the keys down quietly on the table? “Pretty Girl,” is a puzzling creature.
Her cold stroll sent polar chills through the hallway and into the kitchen. With her every step frosty chills nipped on the soles of my feet sending goose bumps all over my heart. Every time she came home from the morning after there was a sudden chill throughout the house, especially the bed got artic cold. “Cold-blooded” as Rick James would say. As often as she stressed me the fuck out with her frost bite antics, you would think by now that I would just row over and fall back to sleep. But that was not the case. Because I love her, I worry all night long. Sleeping was hard when she didn’t call. I like to sleep. I’m good at sleeping. I made a “B” in Sleeping at ACC, it was the Pinnacle campus.
For those who have been through the sleepless nights worrying about where the boyfriend/girlfriend were at and why they didn’t come home, as you can imagine my mind was all over the place. Its like eating glass. My emotions and fears were way up and then way down all night long. I found myself happy one minute and the next I was angry. Hot and cold. Then cold and then hot. Then I was too hot. And then I was too cold. I kept thinking that I was suffering from menopause, as funny as that sounds. Or that global warming was becoming all too real right in our apartment. Perhaps my girlfriend was the cause of the mysterious global warming.
I heard her step up to the entrance of the kitchen hallway. One look at her eyes and I could tell she was tired as her eyes spelled hangover. We locked eyes for just a second. And then she looked away. Our relationship or lack of relationship has been chronologically frozen for quite some time. We kinda just stop talking to each other. And now, we don’t even bother to look at each other for days or weeks on in. The relationship has gone bad like spoiled milk but neither one of us has the energy to move out.
“I made you some tea.” I softly suggested.
She leaned up against the fridge and took off her red hills. And she did so like she had some practice the night before. Shortly, after stepping out of her red hills she then strolled across the kitchen floor now leaning up against the sink counter. I knew she was going to be in a sedated mood when she got home, so I laid out her sugar, her lemon, and her favorite tea spoon with the dainty blue deer on the handle next to her tea cup. “I won’t ever love you.” She confidently stated.
“It is nice to see you too.”
I was only half paying attention when she expressed her frustrations. She has a habit of being cold and distant the morning after. You see, on the mornings like today she usually comes home with a crass attitude, usually a coke hangover from her night club haze. She enjoys pushing my buttons but I always refuse to play her word games. It’s the alcohol. Or the drugs. More than likely both. “So how is the tea?” I asked.
She whipped her hair around to one side exposing one of the prettiest things I have ever seen, her collar bone. She has the prettiest shoulders along with the prettiest back I’ve ever touched. With the teacup in hand she replied, “The tea is warm.” She paused. “Just how I like it.”
Warm. I wanted to laugh so bad because she said, warm. I had forgotten that she had the term in her vocabulary. There has been nothing warm about us for quite sometime. At night the bed was cold when we both whisper “good night”. That is if I sleep with her in bed because lately I feel so uncomfortable that I end up on the couch. Warm. This pass summer I shivered myself into a bad case of frost bite all over my body from the lack of warmth between us. Warm. The way she used to look at me every time she came home from school or work. That was warm. She has the warmest smile, yet now I feel her smiles were never meant for me.
“So have you eaten breakfast, yet?”
She sat down at the kitchen table opposite of me. “Yup." She responded short and icy like an ice cube. Despite the hangover she looked quite happy this glorious morning. Her skin tone was vibrant and alluring. As oppose to other mornings when she is often haggard and distant, fuming with vodka, and yes laced with cocaine dreams. And then there were the mornings when she came home from her night clubbing lookin’ worn out and sore as if she just finished a two week long road trip with one of those WNBA teams.
She placed her tea cup beside my cigarettes. I could see that the tea was working and soothing out the aches of her sins. The slight yellow haze in her eyes began to fade and I noticed a tiny smile growing on her beautiful face. As she grabbed one of my cigarettes she started humming her favorite Klaus Nomi, “Nomi Song.” It’s a very beautiful, tragic song. A lot like the situation my girlfriend and I find ourselves in. She reached out for one of the two lighters on the table unknowingly the one she grabbed is my trick lighter. She grinded the flits together with her tiny thumb and an erected veiny penis popped out just inches from her face. She gave me this eerie look but I’ve seen it before, in particularly, when she falls for the penis lighter trick. I’ve been getting her with that lighter for years even when we were just good friends in college. As always I laughed loudly. It’s funny to me. She put down the lighter and grabbed the other one, the right one. Finally, she took a drag and exhaled, “Ya. My friend and I had some breakfast earlier over at the Woodlands.”
“So what did you have?”
She didn’t answer me right away. She just sat there calm and collected pulling back drag after drag of the cigarette. In between each drag she took baby sips of her morning after tea. Something was on her mind as she pondered away looking out the kitchen window. All I saw outside was a lively red cardinal eating Sunday brunch on a doomed cricket. But I doubt she was thinking about that doomed cricket or even the cardinal.
The sun was getting bigger and bolder, and showing more of its presence in the kitchen. The sun began to creep into her hair and bring life to those burgundy highlights yet again. Something about her pretty hair always brought a smile to my face, especially when she was just getting out of the shower or times like this morning when the sun was pumping life into her locks. I found myself some mornings smiling away as I combed my fingers through her hair like her favorite brush. But today was different. I didn’t smile. I didn’t feel anything. And before I could really figure out why today was different, my attention was shifted to the suicidal cigarette that was tossed from the kitchen window. Once again, I followed the cigarette all the way down from our second story window toward the rugged creekside that was our neighbor. The whole time I was thinking how far of a drop that must have been for that poor little cigarette.
“It’s not that important what I ate.” She replied.
I expected her to be crude and crass so I wasn’t to upset or shocked when she snapped at me. I figured she was lying to me anyways. She probably had morning after sex for breakfast. Furthermore, as of late she has been more vulgar toward me whenever she gets home in the morning. Her devilish behavior has been occurring so often that I have stopped paying attention to her at times. I feel like she gets off on belittling me, but at this point she was just making it harder on herself. She grabbed another cigarette and put a flame to the ass end of the cigarette. “So did you eat something?” She inquired.
“Well, I was kinda waiting on you as I always do when you come home in the morning.” It’s true. I do wait around for her to eat so that we can sustain some kind of a relationship or perhaps just a friendship.
“I think you should eat something.” She suggested.
“Oh. Thanks for being so concerned all of a sudden.”
She took another pull from the cigarette yet this time she blew the smoke in my face. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Ya right.”
“I really didn’t.” She confessed. “Don’t be such a pussy.” She got up from the kitchen table to get some more tea. “You want some tea?” She asked.
“No, thank you.”
She sat back down and took one more pull on the cigarette before she flicked it out the second story window. She tossed her hair to the side and asked, “I know its bad timing but do you have any weed?” She paused rubbing her sore neck. “I’m really tired and want to go to bed.”
“I think do.” I grabbed our stash box from behind the salt and pepper shakers and peaked inside. Sure enough I did and then immediately closed the box. “Before you start smoking, I have something I want to say to you.” I wasn’t surprise when she gave me a fuck yourself look, as if I was going to read to her another one of my poems. But today was different. I haven’t written a poem about her or us in a long time thanks to the coldness of her presence.
She took another drag from the cigarette and exhaled. “Are going to read one of your love poems to me? Because I much rather smoke some weed before you do.”
I grabbed cigarette and fired it up. “No, what I have to say is much more poetic.” I took a couple of quick drags. “I don’t know how else to say this but I’m just going to say it.”
“Alright already. You’re starting to fuckin’ bore me.” She interrupted.
“I’ve been seeing someone else for about five months now, ever since you began staying out late these past several months.”
“What do you mean by seeing someone else? She paused to inhale and exhale the poisons of the cigarette. “Do you mean…you have been watching crazy amounts of porn again or chatting it up on E Harmony? Because I can deal with the porn, but if it’s the E Harmony--we definitely got a problem. You know how I feel about that site. It creeps me out.”
“You got me all wrong, Pretty Girl. I’m done with the days of porn and E Harmony. I’ve been seeing someone really special, who respects me and appreciates every big or little thing I do. She understands me not like you. You have been taken advantage of me for far too long, and I got lonely. You’re never home anymore. You’re out late three or four times a week, and sometimes you never come home at all. So I started seeing this girl.”
She tossed her cigarette out the window and grabbed another one with a violent calm look to her eyes. “So you are having sex with her.”
“Yup.”
“You’re a dumbass, you know that right.” She paused to light her cigarette. “Do I know her?”
I looked out the window and saw a charcoal colored hawk ripping apart that red cardinal I saw earlier. I looked back up at my girlfriend and replied, “Yup.”
She took one monster pull back on the cigarette and exhaled with a silent anger, “Do you know why I have been coming home real late and sometimes not coming home at all? What do you think I’m doing? Do you think I’ve clubbing and fucking other people? If you think that, you’re a fucking idiot.”
“So why these late hours and why coming home smellin’ like vodka and sex all the time?”
“I haven’t said anything because I wanted to surprise you. If you must know, cheater, I picked up a second job, stripping at the Palazio. I have been trying to make some extra money to get you a new car. Because as you and I know, your car is a piece of shit, and that dead horse cost us more money for repairs than a new car payment would.”
I flicked out the cigarette out the window and grabbed another one. This time I didn’t bother lighting it up right away. I was perplexed. Confused. She seemed so sincere as she confessed about her late night shenanigans, but how I can be so sure. We still have not had sex in about a year, and whenever I try to arrange a romantic evening she had a headache or was tired. Then I started questioning or perhaps doubting if I was not attractive enough for her. What’s wrong with me?
She held in her last drag for a long time. I could see the pain pulsating all through her pretty face. She then tossed her cigarette out the window perhaps for the last time in our apartment. The weird thing about that cigarette is that this time I could hear it screaming as if fell from grace. “So, who is this girl you’ve been seeing?”
I looked away again out through the window. The hawk was gone, but some how the branch where the hawk once perched had cradled the cigarette. And every time the wind blew the cigarette looked like it was being rocked to sleep. Then the funniest thing happened, the branch caught on fire. And I started thinking about the burning bush story of Moses from the Bible. But before I could finish that thought a strong gust of wind blew out the little fire and the cigarette continued its journey down to the earth with the other cigarette butts.
“Hello.” She snapped.
“Sorry. Where was I? Well, she is actually still here.”
“She’s here?”
“Yup. She is in the bedroom right now.” I took a puff on the cigarette, and exhaled, “Madison, come out.”
The bed room door opened slowly and closed very softly. The pity-patter of bare feet on the wooden floors echoed throughout the house. I’m sure Madison was scared so she took baby steps as she approached the entrance of the kitchen. Like the temperature in the room--fear began to rise melting all the cold tension that was lingering from earlier. I, too, was overwhelmed with fear. I think any human being in that position would be in a state of fear. Well, maybe except Fillmore Slim, the famous American Pimp, who infamously preached, “I don’t love them hoes.” He would probably would have slapped his bitch and then ask for his money when she walked into the door from her late night devilish antics. I heard Madison release a deep breath as she made her first step into the kitchen entrance.
“Madison!!!” My girlfriend cried. She then looked over at me. “You’re seeing my sister? What the…..”
Madison was the younger sister of my girlfriend. And she was extremely hot and sexy too. If we were playing the celebrity look-a-like game, I would say Madison looked like Miranda Kerr, especially her Tahiti ocean eyes. I know what you guys are saying, there was no excuse to be having sex with my girlfriend’s sister. But it wasn’t all me. She seduced me like the ghost scene with Dan Ankroyd in Ghostbusters. One night when Danielle, my girlfriend, was apparently working late making extra cash stripping, Madison and I were taking shots of tequila and snow skiing on record albums while listening to Doobie Brother and Steely Dan records. We locked eyes and had a moment. And then our animal instincts took over. That was like five or six months ago, and we have been seeing each other ever since.
There was a moment of silence in the room between the three of us. I sensed death in the room today. Madison cautiously stepped closer to the kitchen table and stood right next to me resting her hands on my shoulders.
“I’m so sorry, Danielle. I know you are my sister, but we are for real. We are really in love. I’ve been searching for someone like him all my life.” Madison paused for a second and took a deep breath. “I know it looks bad but it was all my fault. I initiated this affair. And besides you told me you were sleeping around too. Right?”
“I told you that in confidence.” Danielle replied. “I can’t believe this.”
Danielle lit up another cigarette and looked out the kitchen window. I didn’t know what to say, and when I looked at Madison she just shrugged her shoulders. I should feel disgusted too, as I just found out my girlfriend was cheating on me. I always trusted my instincts.
“So, how long you’ve been cheating, Danielle?” I inquired.
“That’s none of your business.”
“None of my business!!!”
“That doesn’t sound really fair, Danielle.”
She flicked the cigarette out the window and looked over at Madison and I. “There is nothing fair about this world. Nothing. And I really hate the both of you right now. I would really like for you two to get the fuck out of my face.”
“But Babe.”
“Don’t you ever call me Babe, again. You got that.” And she grabbed the picture of us vacationing in Colorado on our third year anniversary, and tossed the picture out the kitchen window. It was my favorite picture of us. I ran to the window and saw the picture fall two stories down onto the rocky creekside down below. The picture landed on a tiny patch of daisies that was surrounded by a huge area of gremlin like rocks and troll like foliage. The way the picture found the smallest patch of daisies to brake its fall was symbolic to me, I started thinking that perhaps the three of us would end up friends again. However, Danielle did something to grab my attention. I looked back at Danielle and I noticed she pulled out something shiny and chrome out of her purse. I zeroed in on her index finger, which was tapping on the cold steel trigger. The tapping sound reminded me of the grinding razor teeth of a great white shark.
“So…what is that for?”
Danielle took one last pull back on her cigarette, and exhaled “Well, I didn’t pull this out for nothing.”
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)