Failures

She sighed heavily, feeling suddenly very tired.  She wanted to sleep but it was the last thing she could do at this moment.  She had been waiting for the right time and it had presented itself like a shiny holiday gift.  She rolled in her bed and rethought how it would be. From now on.  That thought exhilarated her. She was about to free herself from all the pain.  Free all of them.  Megan flipped the covers back and dressed heavily.  It was cold outside and she had a long way to go. She padded down the hall and collected her toothbrush.  She finished packing and carried all that was left of her life down the stairs to the back door. The house was a little cold. She rubbed and blew on her hands and went back upstairs to begin.  Her mother would be first.

Mother was a loose term.  She was not kind or loving.  She did not show interest in anything that Megan did.  She was so preoccupied with loathing her life and the crappy outcome that she couldn't see how Megan had tried; tried to be a good student, popular, as well as a caring, compassionate daughter. She had tried so hard to be everything ANYTHING to her mom that she had simply worn herself out.  It no longer mattered. She was not trying to please this selfish, demanding spoiled bitch anymore. Nothing was ever right or enough and that was exactly what Megan had had.; enough.  She was going to silence the shoutings of "What have you done?" and "Get away from me!" and the ever popular "I wish you were never born!" forever.  No, her mother would not have to be burdened anymore by Megan's attempts to coerce love and affection.  There would be no more reaching; physically or emotionally by the inconvenient offspring.  Replaying her mother's disgusted grunts and bored eye rolling in her mind for papers, grades, events all shared to achieve recognition or approval, she felt the snarl curl the edges of her heart s much as the corners of her mouth. Love. Maybe she would find it when she was free.  Maybe God could love this wretched excuse for a woman.  The knife pulled in her hands, almost eagerly as Megan marched down the hall.  The woman snored. Megan smiled, thinking the sleeping pills in her snack had been a good idea.  She did not want to be out wrestled. She could not fail. The blade slipped so easily into the skin that Meg had to look to make sure she'd done it.  A thick blanket of blood began to cover the bed.  The woman jerked and struggled but very little.  It was over quickly.

She quickly shuffled down the hall to her younger brother's room.  He lay sleeping with his arms and legs all over and out from under the blankets.  His mouth flopped open, his breath loud and slow.  She cocked her head and  watched for a moment.  She was thinking of how mean he had been.  He had always hit and beat her.  If she won or excelled at something, his jealousy was expressed with his fists. Megan had explained away the bruising and the broken arm by slips, falls or her own stupidity, hoping he would see that in spite of his misdirected animosity, she could love him and she would protect him.  She thought maybe he would change. He had failed to do so. She absently traced the place where the stitches had left a small but raised scar along her lip where he had shut her face in the cross bars of the recliner foot after learning she had once again beaten his GPA.  The rage had been too swift for Meg  to see coming.  A punch in the stomach to drop her down.  She had tried to drag herself away, scrambling to get upright using the chair, but he had simply mauled her in it, hissing that she was "Just so perfect!".  There was so little attention or affection available that they competed fiercely for it. In the end no one ever won because the dead woman never awarded the coveted prize. The sleeping boy whimpered like a puppy and jerked in his sleep. She once again felt her heart begin to pound and the knife began to tug, wanting to once again show its master what silent and deadly skills were possessed when raised, plunged and dragged through something so delicate as flesh.  His eyes slammed open with the first stab.  His limbs flew about and scrambled but Megan was better, quicker; again, again and at least twenty more agains. It was now her turn to throw the angry physical tantrum. She even beat him at being a poor loser.

The final and most tricky of this awful family lay passed out in the family room. He had been the ultimate reason for all of the failures for each and every member of Megan's miserable family.  He was the cause for all of their sadness, inabilities to reach for, help or love each other.  With his dates and tramps that he didn't even bother to hide, he had disassembled their mother's capacity to care or love.  His indiscretions had cost them all their happiness.  Trips to the strip clubs or the bedrooms of the wives of his "friends" had  given only him smiles.  He selfishly put the fun in dysfunctional.  She stood over him and smelled the breath of gin, cigars. She loathed it. Him.  She had tossed the knife into a bag and set it by her bag at the back door. this called for something much more. The bat that he had bought her for her birthday; five days late when he'd forgotten because he was shacked up with his buddy Gus' wife. Happy birthday was what she sang and shouted in her mind as she crushed the last of her pain, leaving it sagging and pulpy in the room ironically named for the one thing she no longer had; family. Panting, she at last lowered the bloody bat. She glanced around the room, hating all that they were not. she then took potshots at the photos; fake, posed; glossy lies. There was only one that made her stop. She smiled over it, tore it and threw it on the ground. On her way back from the garage she paused over it again and picked up what she thought were both pieces, tucking them in to her pocket. One piece snuck quietly under the couch seeking shelter.

The gas can was heavy.  She clumsily hauled it up the stairs and doused each body, beginning with their faces. Even if the fire department came in a rush, they would be charred. She had carefully hauled the woman in to her own room.  Being seventeen, she was almost the same height and build as her too young mother.  The clothes she had taken had all been hers. It was how she wanted it to look.

She heard the baby stir and coo.Her pure little brother would succumb to the smoke. She couldn't take him with her. It was the only regret she had in this matter. She clicked the cigar torch belonging to her dead father and started the fire.  The blue and gold flames raced hungrily throughout the house that was never a home. She turned and escaped with her life.

An older but still just as exhausted woman looked at herself in the mirror.  The baby she'd left behind was sitting in her living room. She had always known he would find her; somehow.  It was a little scary how quickly though. She had casually toured her mother's life, visiting places that could have held memories. No one ever asked questions because her mother had never bothered to keep in touch.  No one knew who she was.  When Andy popped up in Oregon and then Washington, she had made some plans.  Now was the time to act. She smiled to herself and stepped in to the living room where he sat; confused and frightened.  Still just a baby that she could not handle.

The powder dissolved quickly in his glass.  She poured another for herself. She would have enough time to tell him what he wanted to know.  Then she would bring Donna in from outside. She clucked her tongue sadly.  It had just been too easy and perfect; the drugs, the kids, everything. It was such a simple set up. Since Andy wouldn't give up,  she would stop him and this time she would not fail.  Their bodies would burn and be discovered.  Megan would be mistaken for dead (again), killed by a close deranged coworker, who then killed himself. Donna would simply disappear and everyone would think the worst.

"Sit down little brother. I have something to tell you about your life."

Not too shabby if I do say so myself.  This is the companion piece to "Torn". With several suggestions to "finish it" or "round it out", I came up with this. I like it and hope you do too.  Thanks for coming over to see me.  I always have fun when you are here.  Enjoy your week.  I'll see you soon.

Family Portrait

Once a year we do this when we reach a certain "vintage" We go and have a mammogram. I remember my first one; after being coached and coaxed ... "It's not bad.  It's real quick." Lies. All Lies.

Well today I went to have my annual family portrait.  I always schedule these appointments early because you are not permitted to wear powder, perfume or deodorant. None. With fears of having an armpit let down of mammoth proportions, I do my best to stay calm, not get worked up or nervous and get it over with ASAP.

This morning, I got up and changed the words to "You don't bring me flowers" :

"You cannot wear your powderrrrrr"
"You can't wear a perfume."
"You better not put any dee-oderant on, when you get dressed and come for your mammo todayyyyy"

.... "I remember wheeeeen...."

heehee. I love doing that.

So I got dressed and continued my Streisand/Diamond duet about my neglect of hygiene today. My armpits were sticky. Crap. Shower didn't take. I did the Wonder Woman Windmill in hopes of clearing the situation up. Can't go to the portrait studio being the stinky kid. Nope.

I went downstairs to have breakfast, moving almost as if terrified I was going to break out into a marathon sweat, drenching my shirt and chest. I was carrrrreful... CARRRREFUL not to move too quickly or get too excited with the conversations.  Without my Right Guard, I was on guard; for Sure.

I made my coffee and got in the car.  I took a moment to collect a few Dry Ideas and headed out. I was bound and determined not to get distressed on the ride (you KNOW how I love Jersey drivers) looking to keep a Tickle-d attitude rather than the angry Arm and Hammer; on that type of attitude there was a Ban.

Arriving at the office, I was greeted by Dr. Mitchum with the usual Degree of pleasantry and ushered in. I prepped the girls and stepped in to face the Brut who would fondle my sweater puppies.  If you have not had a "portrait" taken, let me try my best to describe the myth, share the Secret.

You take off your top and the tech hoists your lil girl right up between two plates. Heavy. Chilly. Did I mention heavy? And they come together in a slow clap. Very slow. Heavy? Did we go over that? And you need to turn a" little" sideways, reach AAALL they way across a table (-that if done up for a meal would seat twenty) as if someone is about to take the last of your very favorite dish and you will NEVER have it again.

"Hold your breath please."

WHAT? I AM!

"Let's Paaaa...."

The heavy clapping plates begin to whir and click.

"...aaaauuuuuse....."

My temples have begun to throb. My fun bags aren't laughing. Yet that confounded machine is still clapping on my poor little oompas.

"There. Now step away."

No shit~ step away. RUN! As fast as you can for cryin in the sink! Seek shelter in your Maidenforms! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!!

"Let's turn to the side"

No. Let's turn YOU on your side and put your skull in here.

"You need to bring your arm back. Look awayyyy..."

Yeah. Arm back. Look away and wave because your tatas are going bye bye.

"Aaaaand HOOOOOOOLD"

Good GOD! Am I at the Salem Witch Trials? I confess! I'm a witch!

"You will feel some pinching in your neck and along your chest."

SOME? How about you have pulled so hard that you dragged my earlobe down and taken a LOVELY shot of my earrings? Clap THAT with your pinchers from Hell.

"Okay. Step away."

Again. No need to tell me that.

"Let's do the other side."

Let's not and call it even. I have a Twister Championship next week and I wanna WIN Dammit! So stop mauling my jumblies.

"Step up..."

I hate you.

"Reach across."

I want to punch you in the throat. Stop jiggling my boobs unless we're going steady.

"Turrrrn and hoooooold"

If I turrrrrrn anymore, my hips will disconnect completely and collapse on the floor.

"Hooooold"

Is my face SUPPOSED to be this shade of purple? My eyes! They are bugging out so much I can SEE them! Sweet peaches for pie! Make this stop. My poor lil Moo-Moo's will never forgive me.

"Good." she smiles.

Blood rushes to my face and my vision gets tingly/dark around the edges. I think we are all about to pass out. I just want to hold them, say sorry and go off crying by myself.

"You're such a good patient."

Is it my turn now? Because I REALLY want to have you "turrrn and hooold" and feel a lil "pinchie poo" while the "Golden Girls" are smooshed between stone dinner plates filled with rebar and dragged halfway across the room by a Tonka.

"See you next year."

Can't wait. Maybe the bruises will be healed by then.

I sure hope I picked the portrait package with the refrigerator magnet.


Silliness. 

Thanks for hanging out. I hope you laughed with me today.

Torn

I was left to die. I only survived because the firefighters didn't know we were all supposed to be dead and they scooped me up, carried me outside, leaving behind my family. I remember very little. I don't think my mind wants me to.  I dream in screams and blazes.  Heat terrifies me.

I was given a new family and no one spoke of it; the murders.  I grew up reasonably happy and ignorant to the horrors of my past.  I knew I was an orphan.  It was only after "Mom" died and I was going through her things that I discovered the gruesome truth.  My real baby book was filled with articles and pictures of my home burning with my family inside, obituaries and half of a picture.  It was of me sitting in the lap of a young woman I couldn't remember or see.  On the back was written "-tle mother"  She was supposed to love me; love us, but she didn't. From what I gathered in the reports, no body was truly recognizable. They had speculated on what had happened and why. They guessed that my mom had killed everyone before drenching them in gas and lighting up. Only a young male, female and small boy were recovered. The tragedy came like a punch in the chest. I was an impostor in this family that gave me their name and needed to know what happened. I became obsessed with finding the missing woman in the photo.

I started as the police had,  speaking with old friends and what was left of her, no our, family. I followed the path of her life from hometown, where an emotionally and physically harsh alcoholic father made the decision to go to college for her seem like a vacation. I tracked her to her wedding.  She married my father and dropped out when my sister came along.  They stayed together, making the best of it and learning to ltolerate (love?) each other.  My father, by accounts could be a little rough around the edges; careless and sneaky.  Rumor had it that he had a wandering eye and an equally busy pair of trousers.  In my mind, it had been revenge that drove my mother to do it, but why us? Her children? It was what drove me  to find her; becoming a nomad. I travelled to places she would have known in the hopes of coming across her or someone who had seen her.  I had come very close a couple of times in Oregon and Washington.  And here I was in Iowa working in an office as a data analysis manager for the last year and a half.  I was getting closer. I could feel it.

"That's pretty raw and twisted." Megan said into her wine glass.  She took a slug, smacker her lips and tucked her feet into the side of the overstuffed chair.  Meg was the only person I shared this story with.  We are office mates and partners in  crime, playing practical jokes on each other and finding the same things funny.  We have become close and I do need that.  I am very lonely and alone. She watches out for me.

"What do you think you'll get out of finding her?"

"Answers." I look at her incredulously.

"What does that change?"

"Everything Meg. How can you be so dumb?"

"I'm not dumb.  I just don't understand why you are looking."

"She murdered my family. I am alone in this world because of her and I want her to tell me why."

"Melodrama."

"I shouldn't have told you." I pouted almost ashamed of the scrapbook and notes laying on the table. My torn headless photo curled sheepishly at the top of the pile I'd just shown her.

"Andy, I am glad you did.  I am flattered, but you are wasting your life on this witch hunt. Hazel was your mom. She raised, loved, taught and cared about you.  You are not this woman's son, but Hazel's. Your mother is dead."

I drank from my glass and sulked. "I'm tired." I said flatly.

She drained her glass and plunked it down. "Don't be such a baby. Your mother is dead. Live your life. I don't know what else to say so I will take my unwanted self home."

"You can crash here if you want. Couch is free as always." I twisted my wine glass thoughtfully.

She stood and kissed the top of my head.  "I've done enough damage tonight." and jingling her keys, she opened the door. "Tomorrow, we'll work on Donna some more." she tossed lightly over her shoulder.

"Tomorrow. See ya." and she left.

Donna was the newbie in the office. She was a little older and with the sketchy past she had provided to HR ( I had Meg check her file.. I know. I KNOW.) she had popped up on my radar. I had tried to get her to talk to me but that had accomplished nothing.  She was vague about where she was from, what her family was like or if she even had one. She was a loner in the office.  No one really knew anything. So Meg and I went hunting and loosely pinned a "Mom" badge on Donna.

The next morning, I hovered as Meg brought her usual two cups of coffee and breakfast over to Donna's desk.  My ears were on high alert.

"Sooooo Donna." she sighed as she split the food up. "Anything exciting last night?"

The woman shrugged and sighed. "No. Not really." her tone was polite but a little tight, agitated but Meg pretended not to notice. I wondered how close we were to a harrassment claim.

"Eh me neither. My mom called and said she was feeling low. Funny how when we were little we used to dream of getting away so we wouldn't have to check in and now if a week goes by without a call..."

Donna toyed with the cup. "Yeah." she said absently.

"Do you do that? Call your kids? check up on em?"

Donna shrugged again. "Not really."

Meg perked up. "Aww ~ too bad. Miss em?"

"Don't really have any contact with them.  Or any of my family."

"Far away?"

"You could say that."

I almost shot coffee through my nose.  I ducked behind meg's cubbie and tried to catch my breath.

Meg waited but Donna didn't elaborate.  "So you just call on their birthdays? How many do you have?"

The tension mounted.  "Three. I had three kids."

My knees went weak.

"Wow. You're a busy mom."

Donna said nothing.

"Are they close by?"

I held my breath.

"No."

"Do you get to see them much?"

"Never." Donna fidgeted.

My fists clenched. My teeth began to grind.

"Why not?"

Donna laid her hands flatly on the table.  "Because."

I found myself leaning against the cubical wall. My heart was pounding and my palms were sweaty.

Meg drank from her cup and looked at Donna; scrutinizing, capturing every movement.  "Are they with their Dad?"

"Yes."

"Ah. Not a good split?"

"You could say that. but it was complete. It had to be."

I almost screamed and scaled the top of the wall. "JUST SAY IT!" I wanted to shout.

"Sorry to hear that." Meg said through a bite of muffin.

"Well, I have things to do." Donna said pushing away.  She stood and walked by me.  I jumped up like a jack-in-the-box and spilled what was left of my coffee on her shirt.

"Augh!" she leapt back and began wiping.  I reached for her with napkins.  She glowered at me and roughly took them from my hand. "Don't." she snapped and looking over her shoulder she began to trudge toward the Ladies room, slowly shaking her head. I heard her mumble something that sounded like "ducking Mormon."

I slid in to the seat Donna had occupied and grabbed Meg's hand. I squeezed and tried to speak.  Tears were welling up.  I panted as if I had been running for my life.

"It's her."

"Andy. Wait. Those are all very vague answers."

"It's her. You found her. Meg. Thank you."

"Andy wait. You might be..."

I didn't hear her. I grabbed my coat and bolted from the office.  The first thing I did was to dash home and grab my scrapbook.  I sat and went over it all. Again. I added her face and name to the story. I filled in my life with Donna.  I held my torn photo and imagined me sitting in her lap.

"Mom." I said quietly. "I want to talk to you."

I spent the rest of the afternoon practicing, rehearsing what I would say. I would show her the destruction. I was going to tell her how hard my life had become. I would demand that she tell me her side of the story.  I would hug her and tell her I loved her. I would tell her I was glad she didn't hurt me and left me alive. I got my keys and drove to her house. The sun was yawning and heading to bed.

She met me at the door and looked passed me as if there would be reporters, police or ghosts all around me.  "Andrew? Hello. What are you doing here?"

"I need to speak with you Donna."

"Well, can't it wait until work?"

"No. I'm sorry.  May I come in?"

"Well I don't know.." She fidgeted nervously with the top of her collar.  I pushed passed her and sat down at a small table.  I began to unpack our lives.

"Andrew? what are you doing? What is all this?" she came and leaned over me.

"This is you.  What you've done. And I am all that's left." Just like that.  Not all the flowery gobbledygook. No grandstanding or big speeches.  I just blurted it out.  I felt a light tingle in my chest.  I began to show her the articles, everything. I spoke gently to her.  "You did this. You disappeared. You. you. you." I was filling in our lives, mixing them together.

She stood very still and listened.  In the back of my mind, I wondered if she would finish the job shes started all those years ago. I hadn't thought of it at first.  She had killed once. What would stop her? She could feel cornered, trapped and just...

"Andrew." she said softly. "I'm so sorry."

I stood and wrapped my arms around her, tears and sobs of relief and happiness bubbling out in choking wet emotion

. "I'm here to say it's okay. I found you. I won't let you go. We'll be all right."

"No Andrew. I am really sorry. I'm not who you think I am." She backed up but held my hands.

"You don't have to pretend anymore. When you talked with Meg and I overheard it, I knew. I felt it. Your three kids, the bad split with their dad, never seeing them..."

"And all of this is true.  But I am under a court order not to see them until I get my life straightened out. They were taken from me because of my addiction to drugs." She hung her head and sniffed.  "I'm working on it. I need to get my life back. "

My jaw dropped.  my gut burned.  My face flushed and I felt bile march decidedly up my throat.
At that precise moment the door burst open.  Meg raced in and yanked us apart.  She shoved Donna to the floor and jumped atop her. She wrapped her hands around her neck and began to beat her head on the floor.  At first I heard a growl, low and guttural but then Meg began to chant and hiss at Donna. "No. You. Can. Not.Be. His. Mother."

Donna struggled and kicked.  I stood there watching, horrified while Meg kept pounding.  I was numb.  What was she doing?  Donna stopped fighting and went limp.  I prayed she had passed out until I I saw the blue around her lips.

Meg stood and wiped her forehead with her sleeve.  "Whoops." she huffed and covered a nervous laugh.

"Meg. Is she dead?

"I think so."

"I'll call the police."

She whirled on me, taking an angry step forward.  "No you will not. You will help me. I helped you. Now you help me."

I felt my mouth go dry. "No Meg. This is..."

"What we're going to do." she pulled a blanket from the bed and began to wrap Donna up.  "We'll take her out. We'll go to my house and take care of it from there."

I couldn't understand what I was hearing.

She gazed at my scrapbook. "So what did she tell you? That she was your Mother and how she loved you and wowee- golly-gee-whiz, couldn't you forgive her?" her tone was dry and unkind.  It scraped at my ears and annoyed me.

"No. Nothing like that."

" I know. So did you show her your little box of horrors?"

I shook my head and toed the carpet. She rolled the woman over and motioned to me.  I did what she said.  She told me to grab Donna's feet.  We hauled her out in to the night without being noticed.  Meg put her in the trunk of her own car and told me to follow her back to her house. She drove my car. I drove Donna's.  I almost drove to the police station but I didn't know how to explain it; the murder,the dead body in the trunk of the car I was driving. How I held a box filled with a macabre collection.  I felt cloudy.  I didn't understand what was happening. We arrived at her home and I followed her in.  She poured drinks and handed me one.

"Down the hatch" she coughed and poured another.

I sipped and stared at her.

"Don't look at me that way. "

"She's not my mother." I said. "You killed someone innocent."

Meg shrugged. " I know. Your mother is dead."

I shook my head. "What are you doing Meg?"

She took another belt. "Ohhh Andy.." She smiled wickedly. "Have a seat. I need to pee." she wandered down the hall.  I paced and looked around.  I had been here countless times but now I was a stranger in a strange place.  I looked at pictures and saw no one I knew. I held a picture of the two of us taken at an amusement park. It was one of those  machine photos taken at the precise drop of a coaster.  We were both screaming and wide eyed.  I felt that way now.  A scrap feel from the frame.  It was a torn photo.  The head of a young woman; Meg.  On the back was written "Proud Sister, lit..."
but the rest was on the other half of the photo.  The one I carried.

Meg cleared her throat and stared at me. She approached, filled my glass and motioned to the couch. "Sit down little brother. I have something to tell you about your life."

I wanted to run. I needed to scream. I looked quickly at the door then back at the couch. To the police? Or to the answers I had convinced myself I desperately needed.

I was torn.


I really like this one. I enjoyed the twist and am proud of it. I also like that it isn't clear cut on the ending.  I felt sorry for Andy on so many levels; so lost. Be careful what you ask for becuase you just might get it.  I'm glad we got to hang out for a while. I hope you liked it.  Let me know what you thought. Thanks for stopping by.

Of course

How long was I a victim? Most of my life.  When I was young, the face was different, but the acts, the feelings, and secrets were the same as when I thought I was safe; an adult. By then, I was very well versed in "keeping secrets".  But we must walk before we run, so I will do that; walk you through my past; of course; that makes the most sense:

He was with me all the time; leering, watching, thinking. When his desire and my proximity were too much for his perverted mind, he began to touch.  It burned my skin; hot and greasy.  I was very young and though it made me ill, I was reassured that this was what love was.  It soon became my second best kept secret. My first was hatred.

Love, as I understood it, was made of the sweaty shadows at night that no one should know about.  It was his fingers to his lips when he shushed my protests, burying his face in my hair while every cell and nerve threatened to screech until blood curdled - mine or his- there was no preference.  When he finally stopped the mauling; his grunts and shoves changing to softer, slower, more sickening strokes which were sometimes accompanied by tears of shame, I would wince; loathing his weakness. Worse still, was that I felt obligated to return his touch; to soothe him, understanding, that somehow I had asked for this... type of love. The tears were all his. I had stopped a long time ago.  No one heard me anyway. Tears were useless; just another secret to be kept.

Do I remember when it stopped; the horror, disgust and self loathing? Oh yes. I had to come to terms with some things though. I had to understand what strength it took to make it stop. I had to see that guilt was fleeting when compared to relief, closure, revenge.  And in all kindness to him, no one heard him cry. Ever again.

Somehow, I picked up my life or did I just leave my childhood behind?  Maybe it was someone else's life left lying on the ground, neglected and unwanted, but I dusted it off and tucked it away, beginning again as someone else; this time to be untouched.  Of course, I shoved all those terrified screams and secreted tears; all the ugliness down and away like outgrown clothes crammed into a garbage bag and left in a remote corner of the basement in my mind to be dealt with at a later time.  I was too busy trying on my new life: clean, smart, brave.

I went to school and struggled but succeeded.  I let boys kiss me, but left them unused and unloved.  I often left them sad and crying, wanting me to stay and build  up their (our) lives.  I had no desire or belief that these sentiments were true.  They were manipulations to achieve the ultimate shadowy secret.  They wanted to "love" me.  I ignored those things, easily casting them off, until he sauntered in.

He was lazy, sexy and too confident.  He looked right in to me and when I fought him with my carelessness, he played a victim to which I pitifully related.  I let him in: my head, my bed, my heart.  And there was comfort; release, until I had that greasy feeling.  Oh the nausea would rush up on me like a hot wave as he climbed on top of me and spoke in my hair.  The screaming of that little girl I had once been began again; the screaming of the dead.

He arrogantly mistook my fidgeting and gasps for ecstasy.  My silence was misinterpreted as endearment and fascination.  He never bothered to ask.  When he told me it was good, I nodded. That's what I'd learned to do with that kind of love; nod.  The weakness in my knees was revulsion at the understanding that the dead DO return.  He was my zombie apocalypse. My new untouched dream life, became a nightmare.  My original solution was to simply run away, but then I saw him with someone else.  I understood.  He was devouring hearts and affection instead of brains; my zombie.

I had no choice but to hover in his life allowing him to come close whenever he chose.  I gave him warmth, but never did I truly indulge as I wished.  It was nothing to let him push his way inside my body, like a  hummingbird: tiny, pretty and utterly useless.  I even managed to convince him that I thought it was good ~ like having his doughy body slamming into me while he panted "Like it baby?" was fun.  Of course, I felt that for all his meaningless efforts an "Oh yeah" or a lie to tell him I'd never climaxed so many times were more than generous on my part. I feigned want.  He bought in like a badly dealt hand of poker.  He thought surely he would bluff and win.  The answer was a resounding no.

To play his precocious gambling game, I had to be certain I would win.  So I counted "cards" or women who were not so well-versed in his demented language.  He would use them; back stab, bad mouth and discard. But me? I luckily held the ace.  That last night, he almost folded because I'd let myself come a little unglued; pitching a tantrum and "almost" scene in a restaurant.  He contemplated leaving in a huff. Instead, he had put his fingers to his lips and shushed me gently while his hand caressed my thigh.  "Let's just have a nice evening Baby; all the way through." And to drive the point as well as his intentions home, he jabbed his fingers inside me.  My lips tightened and I smiled from far away.  "Of course." and I giggled almost mad with glee.I took only what I needed from the table.

He was all in.

So he paid quickly, being sure to pinch at my nipples and whisper his lewd wishes in my ear in an attempt to turn me on; set the mood; jack up the stakes.  He rushed me to his car and began to paw, push and shove ~ Passion? Really.

I recall tears-warm with the regret that I had waited so long to expel this tumor of hate. The cut was swift and deep into his flesh. I remember the  look of astonishment and hurt. I had felt that once; the first time? Was that MY face so long ago?   Perhaps.  I truly don't recall now.  Crimson bubbles and the wheeze of his last breaths brought me ecstasy for real; peace. I purred and sat back, eager to be the one to watch this time.  He wiggled and kicked, as I had.  A warmth spread through my body slowly.  I smiled softly, truly.   He clutched his neck and begged me to help.  I held my finger to his lips and shushed him. It was his turn to give in; give up.

I drove his magical shag wagon to the part of town where he was best suited to be found,leaving him pathetically exposed. I swabbed things I had touched with wipes he so conveniently kept in his car and took his personal effects. Then I walked home; glad it wasn't too far. There, I picked a few of my favorite things, shredded what I could; both his and mine and threw the other shit into different local bins, enjoying the smell of trash combining with trash.  It felt clean in my soul.  I began again somewhere else.

I am a stranger here, both to myself and those around me, though I feel a little stronger, more confident in my new home with my new name.  I have made some wonderful friends. They laugh and share their memories with me.  I enjoy making new ones with them.  They trust me with their hearts and friendships. I guard them gladly, fiercely, adding them to my best kept secrets.

Of course.



A little dark, even in my eyes, but I find it haunting, sad and maybe even a little bit positive in the vengeful sense? I don't know if that is what I mean. I'm sure SOMEONE will point it out. ha. Well, I like it regardless. It came quickly and although it's simple, I find it creepy and scary enough to enjoy it; I think because of her constant changing/ running; let alone the impulsivity of her best kept secret. Well that's what I think. Give me a yap when you can and tell me what you think. Thanks for stopping over and spending time with me. I enjoy your company.

Whoops! Is it Monday already? I usually like to write during the weekends and post on Sundays but this weekend I took off and celebrated a little. :)  My hope is to write tonight and post mid week. Wanna catch up then? Deal.

I hope you had a good day. Thanks for coming over and I look forward to seeing you again soon.

Miss ya,
Tess

Trouble

They watched him walk patiently with his sister as curiosity distracted her almost every step. She ogled over bugs and pointed at birds, asking endless questions or simply "Why". He held her hand and seemed in no rush. 

"Weirdo." Mim almost snorted over her lemonade. A little bit of pulp stuck to her upper lip.  She licked her mouth and savored the vodka that made up most of what was in her glass.

"MIM! Stop that. It isn't nice. He's so helpful; such a mature boy for his age." Dolly scolded. She shook her head disapprovingly and drank heavily from her own cup.

"He should be out playing, riding bikes or knocking his sister down in a mud puddle. They should be fighting and being loud. Instead, he walks her to and from school. He trudges up to the market and shops. Why I bet he even does CHORES. Now Christopher, my grandson...." but Dolly waved her hand.

"Christopher is an obnoxious jackass." she announced matter-of-factly as she leaned forward to procure a little more refreshing lemonade.

"DOLLY!" It was Mim's turn to scold, but she smiled, knowing her best friend was exactly right. He WAS a jackass. He had no work ethic, was lazy, and failed to show any real concern for anyone but himself. But this Eric was different. He had to be of course.

The two stately rattlesnakes sat on the porch and surveyed their kingdom. For countless years, they had watched, gossiped and judged from their warped rocking thrones, pouring endless martinis and cocktails while hissing at the inappropriateness of everyone else. Eric Dunning was not one of their subjects.  They had tried to brand him a hooligan, a thief, a .... nuisance (at least), but it just never worked.  His mother Kate had been diagnosed with cancer "of the womanly kind". From what the serpents knew, she was at death's door with no chance of survival and that would leave her husband, Tom (who worked countless hours and LORD knew how many jobs to pay for those bills~ "Sometimes people should just let go" had been Dolly's observation one day but that seemed callous so she quickly reneged with an offer of tbutter cookies and a demure though tight smile,) and then Eric, her more than helpful son, and of course "Piggy" their little girl, all alone. Well, her name was Margaret but she, in her foolish and childish way, refused to say Peggy; prefering to shout her version followed by a hefty snort and a visit of her index finger to the tip of her nose to drive the point home. 

"Eric" Dolly cooed.

"Good afternoon Mrs. Roberts. How is your hip?" he stopped as Piggy kicked at some goose poop trapped in the edge of the sidewalk.

"Good afternoon."Mim huffed. "What kind of boy says that these days? Isn't it supposed to be Yoo? Yo?" her voice dipped to a vicious whisper.

"Hello." Dolly smiled and stomped Mim's tan orthopedic shoe. Her friend shot forward, making like a bee had stung her. She swatted, then reached out to pinch Dolly's ankle. The woman hooted and yanked at her chair. For an instant there was fury melting with the threat of the two old biddies throwing down right there on that chipped red porch with the rough splintered railing. Dolly collected herself and smoothed her hair.

"Would the two of you like a cookie?"

Piggy stood bolt upright and dashed up the steps.
"COOKIE?" she grinned spitting into her hands to "wash" them. She proceeded to wipe the grime on her pants. "YES. I would IIIIII would like a cookie." she waved her mud streaked arm in the air as if she knew the answer to a very important question.

Dolly cocked her head, pulling the plate away.

The little girl looked crestfallen. "Are they all yours? Am I in trouble?"

Eric had joined them. Gently, he shoved his sister. "Manners Piggy."

She rolled her head as if it were too heavy on her shoulders, drawing out in a falsely disappointed, deep voice, "Pleeeeeeeeeease may I have a cookie Mrs. Roberts?"

Dolly grinned and handed her one. The thought of the little girl mauling her plate of biscuits made her cringe inside. Children were gooey.

Piggy clapped happily, quickly popping the whole thing in her mouth.  She dashed back down the front steps to chew her treat before anyone could reconsider.

"How is your mother, Eric?" Mim prodded softly. She rocked in time to each word.

"Not well, Mrs. Stewart but thanks asking." He dug his toe sheepishly. He understood what they were doing. He sighed and endured their questions,knowing they would blab to the entire world of their town.  Everyone knew what was going on everywhere because of these two. 

"Chemo?"

"Yes and radiation. They want to do another surgery, but her heart is very weak. She has trouble breathing because of the medicine she takes for pain. It slows her breath down." he sniffed and looked away.

They both clucked sympathetically and rocked back.

"And your dad?"

"He's going to have to take a job in the city."

"The CITY." they both marveled.

"We might have to move."

another cluck.

"Eeeeewick! Can I eat this?" Piggy shouted from behind a dark damp tree trunk.

"No Piggy." he sighed and nodded quickly.

"Tell your folks we were askin 'bout em." Mim purred, putting her drink to her lips. They smacked heartily at the sting of citrus and alcohol.

"I will." and he turned to go.

Mim took another cookie. "Weirdo."

"Mim!"

The sun yawned behind pink and lavender clouds preparing to go to bed only a short time before the elderly queens went inside to eat a modest supper, drink a little nip of cherry brandy and heading off to bed.  Much would be said at their bridge game the next morning.

Spring turned into Summer and school let out. Eric mowed lawns and Piggy ate grass clippings.  In the Autumn, he raked. She got head bugs from rolling in the leaves. Winter? He shovelled. She stuck her tongue to the chain linked fence.

 Kate was never seen. The surgery was not enough. By the accounts of Mim and Dolly, the cancer was everywhere. She was almost disfigured by its aggressive, violating overgrowth.  

"She has an extra shoulder it looks like." stated one.

"Her belly is out to HERE!" the other sighed knowingly extending her arms as far as they would go.  She pulled them in and drank heavily from her "juice" glass.

"And TOM? Well!...." they proceeded to expand on facts they made up from bits and pieces they had heard.  He wasn't really working in the city but taking up with a woman; a HEALTHY woman. In fact, they had heard that he was hardly ever home, leaving that poor "weird" boy all alone with death at the door and a "mentally challenged" sister, too young to know better or keep herself out of trouble. 

"They'll put her in a home when Kate goes." Mim almost whispered over her "tonic" one day.

"No. They'll want to keep them together." Dolly said watching the boy approach with Piggy dancing around him singing a nonsensical song.

"Errrrrric" Dolly waved.

He looked up. His eyes were shadowy; his face gaunt.  He looked thin and tired. He gave a slow nod and kept going.

The two women stopped rocking and watched him all but crawl up the street; his feet barely leaving the ground creating a gritty dragging noise through the dirt.

"Something's going on." Mim muttered.

"mmmhmmm" Dolly said over a mouthful of cake.

"Someone ought to see how Kate's doing. I haven't seen or heard Tom's car in weeks. Not even to take her to the doctor like Eric said." she proclaimed, crossing her arms matter of factly over her blue jogging jacket that had never seen anything but a steady rock.

"He did say that, didn't he?"

They looked at each other and nodded, one reaching for more cake, the other for the pitcher.  A few more  would be drunk before their plan was hatched.

Mim was almost afraid that morning when she left the porch to walk down to see Kate. It was the only thing that made sense they had decided.  Piggy hadn't been in school and what they had heard in line at the market was that Eric was not keeping good grades, not even showing up. That was what Nate had confessed as he bagged their groceries ~ bread on top and NOT with the shampoo Thank-you-very -much! Donella said that Tom had just plain run off with the real estate lady he was looking to rent an apartment from in the next town over; even got a new car: a CONVERTIBLE!

The women decided that since Mim was much quicker and saw better, she should trot (?) down to Kate's and of course take some pie and a little good will.

"Good will?" Mim asked. "My God Doll! She has cancer. She can't possibly drink!"

"No you dolt. Cheerful thoughts."

"Oh. OH! Of course." but Mim looked a little disappointed.

So the day came. Mim dressed in her sportiest jogging suit and cut the tags. She stepped into her "business" shoes and walked the six houses down to Kate's, balancing a warm cherry crumb pie.  Before the mission, Mim knocked back a shot of Jack to keep her company. 

"It soothes my nerves."

"Amen to tonic" dolly seconded with a tip of the jigger.

It was warm and sweet outside, promising to be an early spring.  Mim wondered how that Kate had held on for so long.

She reached the door and stood perfectly straight. "Hoo-Hooooo! Kaaaaate" she sang and rapped gently on the dirty front glass of the door. She wrinkled her nose like a bulldog and wiped it on her pant leg. No answer. she tried again.

The door popped open.  It was darker than it should have been; and chilly, almost raw.

"Kate?" Mim whispered, pushing herself meekly in to the front room.  They weren't rich enough to have a proper foyer or vestibule she noted sadly. "It's Miriam, Kate. I wanted to see if you needed anything." she slowly headed down the hall to the kitchen.  She knew the layout of this house because it was like her own. (only she and her husband had saved and put on an entrance way, a porch and a master SUITE before he had died in the throes of Mrs. Townsend, the librarian and local ... ohhh what did the kids say today? Hobo? Ho bag? THAT'S it. Diane Townsend was a ho bag. But this was about Kate....) She called again and made her way back to the bedrooms. Kate must be resting, Mim thought. "I'll just put it on the table and they can all have some dessert lovin later." she giggled to herself. She heard the ticking as the air conditioner attempted to rev to life. Air? Now? A quick puff teased her newly set hair and brought an unusual fragrance. Sweet yet ... wrong. It tried to make her sneeze. She chuffed and shook her head, annoyed.

"Kate? Honey? Can Mim help you? You need to make water or put on some lipstick or ..." she allowed her toe to push open the bedroom door.  The gasp became a wretch and she felt quease threaten to become a full fledged sick. Her hand went to her mouth though whether to stop her scream, she wasn't sure.

Kate lay in her bed. A satin dressing gown tied modestly at the top.  Her hands folded neatly in her bony lap.  What had been hair, draped across narrow shoulders like a matting of hay.  Her eyes were closed, no... sewn shut as was her mouth.  The once white sheets darkened with the thick slime of decay. Next to her sat, no not sat, Tom was PROPPED in a chair next to her; a curtain rod poking awkwardly above his head before disappearing down into what once was his Sunday best.  Teeth littered the floor like enamel pennies. His jaw, although posed in a smile, was crooked since it had been broken and the side of his head had been  crushed.  Their skin had begun to pull away leaving pools of rot and life in gooey clumps on what once was a decadent mauve carpet. Mim began to shake and the tears fell silently. 

"That fucking WEIRDO." she almost hissed. A deep gag struggled up to the top of her throat.

There was a noise. A footstep? Mim felt a little nervous piddle dash down her leg.  She quickly glanced around, tiptoeing to the next room. Piggy's room, judging by the pinks and purples that littered the walls and windows. Terrified of what she would see, she closed the door behind her, making herself SWEAR not to look.  She locked the door and with all of her seventy-nine years of strength,  got down on all fours to peek under the door.  There was just enough room to see shadows. She heard for certain, tread coming down the hall.

"Dear God, deliver me from this evil." she raised up, made the sign of the cross and prayed. Holding her breath, she peeked again. 

She hadn't planned on seeing that face. Those eyes. She didn't want to hear that laugh. It took her to the edge of sanity. She teetered, catching an equaling shrill squawk from behind her own trembling lips. She slowly got up and prayed again. Glancing around in the room she found a bat. It was silver and red. As she cocked it over her shoulder, she whiffed a heavy metallic smell. The bat, she realized was silver. The red was newer, and definitely not paint. She slammed her eyes shut and shivered. One more call out to the Almighty and she reached for the lock. Then the handle. At last, she pulled the door open. Her stomach shrunk. Her knees went weak; why even her old saggy fanny prickled with fear.  She looked down the longest hallway she'd ever seen.  The front door stood open. The first step was the heaviest and slowest. Then she began to swing the bat; at nothing; no one. She heard a high pitched whine and realized it was her own voice. Mim picked up speed as well as volume and made it to the door. She took one last look down the hall  to see the boy in the corner. He must have just been getting his jollies watching her. She bolted out the front door and down the steps, her muscles screaming at the demand being placed on them. Still swinging and trilling, she made her way like a crazed baseball player up the block and to her own porch. She ripped the door open, wailing for her friend.

"Jeezus Mary and Joseph! Dolly! Call Ted right this damn minute! That weirdo has killed them all!" She lowered the bat and set it near the door.  She collapsed in to her indoor rocking throne.  Sweat made her fresh hairdo droop over her eyes. Bile burned her chest, threatening still to debut on her own carpet. She covered her mouth with her smudged sleeve.  "Dolly! Did you hear me? Get me the phone this instant! And a tonic! I need a God-damned TONIC! That boy. That awful sick boy...."

She looked up, hearing her friend rustling in the kitchen. "Dolly... For the love of..." and she angrily started for the kitchen.  Stopping in the door frame, she saw Dolly; collapsed in a growing pool of crimson. Beside her a broken plate of fresh cookies.

The laugh behind her froze her blood.  Out of sheer horror, she was only able to turn her head half way to see the shape over her shoulder.

Piggy locked the door and smiled taking a bite of one of Dolly's cookies.  The child's hand was smeared and bloody.  She bit it and spoke with her mouth full, holding out the cookied hand.

"Some?"

Mim shook her head. "No thank you Margaret." Her voice cracked.

The girl jumped toward her, her finger to her nose. "PIGGY" she snorted, cracking herself up and laughing.  She paused.  "That's funny." she said with a straight face.

Mim tightened her face to make it look like a smile. "Yes. It was, Mar...Piggy."

Piggy grinned, satisfied. 

"What happened to your family Piggy?"

The girl twisted her face and thought. 'They broke." she said thoughtfully.

"and Eric?"

" He got in trouble. He told me we couldn't play anymore. Said he wanted someone to come save our family. He had to stand in the corner for a LONG time."
She grinned, taking another bite. Soggy cookie caked her teeth making her mouth seem gummed and horrid.

"Well, that sounds like a good idea..." but the little monster seemed to curl her lips in a maddening snear.

"And what about Mrs. Roberts? She made you such yummy cookies." Mim decided a change of subject was needed. She turned a little more to face the girl.

"But she said I could only have one, so she got in trouble."

"Ah. I see. Well we wouldn't want to spoil supper now..."

Piggy picked up the bat and shook her head.  " No more? No more cookies, no more playing, no more family... Now YOU got in trouble too."

Mim was amazed at the child's speed. She remembered thinking how heavy the bat was as it connected with her knee, driving her to the floor.

Piggy stopped and laid down next to her.  Mim saw those cold eyes and heard that hollow laugh for the last time. 

"Deep trouble." she pouted, lifting the bat.




Yep, this is the stuff that keeps me up at night. I loved this one; top to bottom, start to finish. Yes, I giggled in the dark... nervously; terrified to look over my shoulder.  My daughter announced with wide eyes. "Mom. You're too creepy." Fabulous? I dunno, but I sure hope you like it. Thanks for keeping me company. I think I might need it (and the lights on for a couple more nights.) 

Until next time, sleep tight.

I really hope you had a wonderful holiday season and that you find this new year upon you filled with hope and joy. Did you make a resolution? I did not but I did make a  small 2013 bucket list.  Maybe it's a pail, a bowl?  a cup perhaps? hmmm ... I have goals  (~I'll share them with you as we go along. You will be surprised with some of my choices. Ha!) for myself both physical and emotional.With all that has happened for and to me in 2012, it's hard not to. Healing? Maybe. Silly? At one time, I might have thought yes. Regardless, I'm moving forward with a little more gumption, determination and strength and a little less fear,sadness and hesitation. I'm anxious to leave the past where it is; in the dirt and dust of the year behind us. And although I'm nervous for the undertakings I've decided for myself, I can't wait to prove me right. I hope you do the same in your corner of your world.

Thank you for all of your support, friendship and encouragement whether you emailed me, commented or just read. I appreciate all of your visits and wish you and those you choose to share your everyday with, a happy and wonderful year.

I think we will have some great adventures together, indeed.

Need

I've gotten used to the eye rolling and the "Awwwww MOOOOOOM" and actually think of it as a "teenage hug" because GOD forbid I reach for my daughter... I am now the one with cooties. sigh. Some days that is hard. Why? Because I like who she is becoming; as a woman. I enjoy her laugh and sense of humor. I can't wait until she can finally become more my friend and I can leave the parent role a little more in the background.

But that is far away. FAR AWAY; as she recently served a couple of weeks under "house arrest" for a fib I caught her in. She failed to "hear" me when I told her over and over... "If I am asking, I already know." She apparently thought that I was trying to trip her up. Uhhhh  that would be a resounding no. And so she was been slave labor for a couple of weeks with most of her time spent with hard books containing pages that actually turn and the radio; (unplugged from her cyberlife in other words) and although she complained initially, she settled in and we came back to good terms.  My terms. And in the end that is good.
I hate times like those, when we are at odds. But at least I am blessed with fewer times than more. I hate hearing that she doesn't need me anymore; need me to do things for her, need to help with homework or her music lessons or ... anything. It makes me feel old. I makes me sad and disconnected from her. I hate that she chooses her friends over me. I'm jealous, just as I was when she went to daycare and made friends or middle school when she chose to stay after to hang with her peeps and join all sorts of clubs. Now with her cyberlife, I have lost her to a little black pad that sings, talks, laughs with her... all her friends right inside either oovuing or facebooking or "living" . I wonder sometimes where the time is going, I feel panic that she is "going going gone..." Wait for me Honey. I missed that. I missed doing your hair for Homecoming. I missed going dress shopping with you. I missed ... you. Where are you?

Often times I console myself running. I fix my mind and mend my heart as best I can. I come home and she might share some tidbit of her day and I snap it up as if I've not been emotionally fed in months. I eagerly nod and soak up her words and try to understand her. Yesterday I had my gear on and was heading down just to the machine, not sure if I wanted to brave the icy wind and cold.

"I'll walk with you if you're going." she offered nonchalantly.  I skidded to a stop on the carpet.
"HUH?"
"Walk. You goin? Wait for me." and she slipped up the stairs and into her gear before I had the time to confess I was just going to get on the effing elliptical.
She bounded down to me and smiled. "Ready?"
I simply followed her.
"Run or walk?" I asked beginning to pick up the pace.
She smiled. "Just walk."
"Oh. Yeah. Right."
There was silence and cold.  We tucked our heads down and slipped our hands in our pockets. I pined for my effing elliptical.

Then she sighed and looped through my arm. She began to talk. Really talk. She talked about her friends, what they were doing; both good and bad. She talked about the boys she liked and why. She shared her self. And all I could do in my amazement was ask "What do you think?" "What should you do?" "How does that make you feel?" and she answered me with a grown up, concise wise voice filled with insight. I blamed the tears on the wind and cold. I nodded and smiled so deep inside I trembled a little; with pride, with love, with admiration for all that she is and all she will be. Someday.

She chose the longest route I take; four miles.  She was all mine. We laughed and I returned her favor; talking about things I had done; both wise and foolish. She nodded and asked me why I'd made certain choices. I was honest with her telling her; oftentimes, I just didn't know. She smiled and pulled her arm tighter. The cold bit at me less.

When we got home, she checked her phone ( I hadn't realized she hadn't taken it with her.) and squeaked that one of her friends was on... as quick as that she dashed up the stairs and closed the door to her room. I heard her giggling and "Oh my Gawd-ing". I hesitated but went up the stairs and knocked, opened and smiled to see her "chair dancing" and laughing with one of her buds. I smiled and in the back ground did the "gun dance" until she saw me. she laughed even harder and showed her friend. We all started doing it.

I stood up, a little dizzy and very sheepish.  "Thank you." I said and blew her a kiss. "I really enjoyed that."

"Me too.  I love you Momma."

There was no cold to hide the tears that brimmed over as I said: "I love you too Sweet."

I was full and warm.

Who needs whom? What a beautiful rhetorical question.

Hug em because you can. Love em because it's hard. Treasure them because it's all too quick.