Three Things - Round 3

Hypochondriac Zombie with OCD that works in a morgue - Twilight Series (books) - Staten Island, NY

            When it all started, people had fled Staten Island, climbing over each other to escape the quarantines being rolled in by the military. The country was in a state of panic and the people scattered in search of some sanctuary. Some stayed behind, to tough it out in their homes, remaining with loved ones or, like Milton, because they hated people.

            Milton Waters lived a quiet life. He woke each morning, showered, brushed his teeth, put on the clothes he had ironed the night before (when there had been power to iron) and walk down the 4 flights of stairs to the street. His office was two blocks away so he would simply walk the distance with his thermos in one hand and his bag slung over his right shoulder. After the diaspora from Staten Island he lived the same way. The walk to work was simply quieter and less crowded, much to his liking.

            Milton worked at the Essex County Morgue. His peers had seen fit to leave, already being surrounded by the dead, they were not keen on seeing people in similar stages of decay stalking the streets. The general fear had been that the bodies being kept would reanimate and consume them. This was not the case. The bodies in the morgue were quiet and kept to themselves. They mostly lay in their beds interred in their drawers while Milton read behind his desk. His drawers and desktop were littered with books and prescription bottles for any sort of ailment. The murky orange bottles were gathered around a diagnostic manual like revelers before a relic

            Working in the refrigerated and preserved environment had its benefits. The dead who wandered the streets saw Milton as one of their own, ignoring him as they shambled from place to place. He could also catch up on all of the culture and literature he had been deprived of when people had previously died and become work instead of managing themselves. Indeed he saw these new “people” as more responsible, they were also very clean despite the haggard state many assumed. He still didn’t dare to near them.

            The few living people who remained on the island had already collected into small militarized camps. They viewed Milton as an outsider, a strange aberration of humanity. Every time he wandered past a camp the members would marvel at his clean dressed and oblivious nature. They would remark that he must one day succumb and die.

            Milton began to have difficulty finding food. He searched through the grocers market for anything that had survived but viewed each possible meal with a disgusted skepticism. “How sick will I get if I eat this?” He would ask the food in question. If it silently responded anything other than a firm negative, it would be replaced on the shelf and mentally noted to have failed inspection.

            Books also became increasingly scarce. Other survivors saw them as a fuel source and began to stockpile them in their camps in preparation for the winter. This is how Milton began to read books that he would normally ignore. It is how 50 Shades of Grey and Twilight found their way onto his desk. He read them in protest. Protest of the survivors and their insistence on destroying culture and protest of things changing in this new world order.

            It was halfway through the third book of Twilight when Milton had enough. He flung the book across the room where it slapped loudly against the vinyl floor. The sound made him wince and he at once regretted it. Noting that he had little else to do, he fetched the book of the floor gingerly and brought it back to his desk where he proceeded to wipe down the covers. This was what drew that the first living corpse into his halls and ended Milton’s existence among the living.

            People continued to see Milton after he turned. His brain was hardwired into that routine. Each day that decaying body made its way down four flights of stairs and into that office where it sat until the end of the day. It would eat the bodies of those in his care, possibly preferring their preserved taste and always wiping his face when he finished.

Three Things - Round 2

Two old friends - Small Island Beach - Discrimination

Young homeless girl - Strand of DNA - Cup of tea

Coming soon...

Three Things - Round 1

Dan Brown’s Davinci Code - Anemic Vampire Detective (Levon Kasabian) - 4 Kilos of Cocaine

                Leon slid into his office and flipped a switch. The light bloomed from the ceiling and the room came alive with color then back to blacks and grays when Leon slammed the switch back down. He cursed beneath his breath and held his head. Vertigo left his head swimming in a daze.

                Once he had adjusted, he moved around the room and pulled a step ladder from against the wall behind his desk. He carefully aligned it under the offending light panel in the ceiling and ascended. The plastic panel wobbled and made silly noises as he lifted and then removed it, gently placing it so that it leaned on the step ladder and was accessible. The fluorescent tube was still warm. Amy must have just left. He grabbed and twisted it so that the contacts were no longer touching.

                Someone cleared their throat below him. He’d forgotten to close the door. “A minute please.” He tried not to sound irritated but this was clearly not going to be a pleasant evening. He reached down for the plastic panel and caught a glimpse of his guest. A dark haired woman with a thick wool coat was standing before the threshold of his door. He wondered if she was like him. He always wondered if clients were like him.

                The plastic panel wobbled again as he lifted it over his head. It slipped back into place and he stepped down. “Come in and turn on the light.” He placed the step ladder behind his desk as the light buzzed on. The room was still quite bright but he could bear it. He dropped into his leather chair and dropped his fedora onto the desk.

                “Jesus you’re pale.” The woman observed. She was small but not thin. Her face had gentle curves to it, similar curves were hidden beneath layers of clothing but he could see she was beautiful. The dark hair was a glossy black falling in curls around her shoulders. He could smell her from across the room, a sort of fruity shampoo with a single spray of something vanilla, possibly a perfume. “Is that because of your,” She couldn’t say the words.

                “No, I was anemic before I turned, but I will say that I was less pale in life.”

                She slowly stepped forward, brave girl. “So then you’re really.”

                He hated this game. The clients who accepted it immediately or disregarded it were so much easier to work with. “Averse to sunlight, yes. Please, sit down.”

                She continued to watch him as she took a seat. He could see hesitation in the tiny movements invisible to the eyes of the living. She wanted to pull her collar closed to cover her neck but resisted.

                “Leon Kasabian. What is that?”

He hated small talk too. “Armenian.”

She nodded and looked away for a moment turning her head to the side. Realizing what she’d done, her head snapped forward and she clutched her collar.

He sighed heavily and grabbed his empty mug. “I’m a vampire. I’m also a leader in my community, a member of the PTA and a Buddhist.”

She chuckled, “Really?”

“No, I’m not in the PTA.” He smiled and she returned it.

“You’re really a Buddhist? Doesn’t immortality mean you cannot be reborn?” This amused her more than his joke.

“No, I do not age. Nowhere does it say that I cannot die.”

 “So it’s true then. You can be killed by things like stakes and sunlight.”

He rolled his eyes, “You need to read less Ann Rice. There’s a copy of the DaVinci Code on my shelf. You can borrow it sometime, broaden your literary spectrum.”

Her eyes narrowed and she leaned forward, “Listen jerk, this is new territory for me.”

The insult in her eyes was amusing. He leaned forward closing the distance between them. The scent of vanilla was stronger, the fruity shampoo overcome. Her lips were also a marvelous rustic red, the color of dried blood. “Tell me what you want.” He whispered it to her, lacing it with a hint of seductive suggestion.  

Her eyes closed for a moment, a brief second of something flashed in her mind, then they fluttered open and her breathing was heavier. The collar of her shirt hung open. He could smell the perfume now in full bloom. He closed his eyes and took it in and in the stillness, could hear her heart beating.

“I’m performing an investigation.” He opened his eyes, the serene moment was gone.

“You’re a badge.” He sat back.

“I’m a detective.” Her voice was more full now, the confidence of her position lending it stability.

“My door says detective too.” He motioned with a weak wave. Dealing with law enforcement always involved paperwork. The night was getting worse.

“You’re a private investigator.”

“Detective sounds classier and as you can see,” he covered his face with a hand then revealed his mouth, the two elongated canines smiled at her, “I’m very old fashioned.”

There was a tremor in her body, a physical shake to her confidence. “I’m investigating a series of homicides that center on some drug trafficking.”

Leon spun side to side in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. “Sounds very vanilla, why are you here?”

“The people trafficking it are involved in seedy dealings.” Her voice was raised, she was growing impatient.

“Aren’t they all?” He knew there was more but she was keeping him out. The bureaucracy of it was wearying.

“Occult dealings.”

He lowered his gaze and tilted his head, not amused.

“The last thing I can say is that the drugs they sell are not street grade. I have four pounds of cocaine that contains ground bone marrow sitting in evidence that has our techs getting nervous.”

That would make for an interesting high, for one of Leon’s kind.

“You want my experience.”

“I want your insight.”

He snorted, “Correcting me will be one of the things you’ll refrain from doing. You’ll more than likely just be repeating me.”

“You’ll have to fill out some paperwork.” Always with the paperwork.

“If I’m to work with you, I’ll need your name.”

She stood up and put out her hand, “Sandra Doors.”

He grabbed and shook, enjoying the bewilderment on her face as she felt the cold lifelessness of his skin. “A pleasure Sandra Doors.”

Destinations

     I hated geography. I could sit in a classroom all day and I would not learn how the indigenous people of Bolivia lived day to day nor where they were located. This reluctance was shared by a majority of the class but we endured.
     One of those endured sessions found us coloring and labeling a map of South America. Coloring a map was a leave to socialize in the classroom. Our teacher sat behind her desk pouring over a novel and leafing the pages while she ignored our rising voices. This was busy work but it was enjoyable busy work.
     Hung, a young Chinese boy who sat ahead of me, turned with a worried look behind his glasses and asked me with a plea in his voice, "The girls want to play Truth or Dare. Do you want to play?" He subtlely nodded to me.
    We were fresh teenagers in the confusing grip of middle school trying to figure out who we were. Playing games like Truth or Dare with girls was intensly scary and infinetly alluring. I agreed, wondering what questions I would be asked and which I wanted to be asked as I chose a dark green pencil to shade in the Pacific Ocean.
     Stacy's head appeared between the rows with a mischievious grin spread from ear to ear hidden beneath a mane of wirey and wild brown hair. Her light brown eyes still gleamed from behind the tangled mess. Fear seized me as I thought about the questions and things I didn't want asked of me. I froze in the middle of shading Argentina orange.
     "Who else is playing?" I asked nervously.
     "You, me, Hung," she motioned to the next row, "Lisa and Stephanie."
     Lisa was big for her age, her dirty blonde hair covered much of her wide back. She was not fat to the point of ridicule but she was large. Larger than both Hung and myself. She smiled at us and we smiled back. Hung timidly fixed his glasses on his nose and I hoped that I wouldn't be dared to kiss Lisa.
     The other girl, Stephanie, was a transfer student like me. She was a ghostly white and her hair a contrasted deep brown. Here eyes a light hazel that shyly looked over at me and Hung. She smiled. I hadn't formed an opinion of her but since I was a young shy boy, her proximity terrified me. This showed as a deep blush as I looked away from her friendly smile and filled Chile with a burgundy center.
     Stacy, enjoying her ringleader position, began listing off rules. There were no dares that involed something that would get us in trouble, "Only reprimanded." she added. Truths, of course, had to e answered truthfully. Nothing was sacred and anything could be asked. We began.
     After a series of ridiculous dares that involved loud animal noises and strange interations with other students, we had begun to draw some negative attention. Our teacher looked up from her book now and again to direct a stern look in our direction.
    We settled into truths and begain to ask each other probing questions that we had to dig deep into ourselves to reveal. 'What was your most embarrassing moment?', 'What were you most afraid of?' and finally the dreaded, 'Who do you like?"
    The last one is the surprise question everyone expects. Stacy pressed Stephanie with this question. Her insistance cutting through layers of "I don't know" and shoulder shrugs. Finally ready to answer, Stephanie smiled coyly and leaned over the aisle to whisper it to Stacy. For a moment they both looked in my direction then focused on the ground between them.
     Hung looked between them then at me with confusion. I returned his expression and waitied.
     Stephanie sat back and addressed the group. Very slowly she turned her attention toward me and said, "I like you." I stopped coloring. Our teacher placed her book down and called for the maps to be turned in. I had failed to color one country, Bolivia.

     I was seated on what was probably the hardest seat ever made on a bus crossing the town to deposit me at the university. Clouds had gathered outside and threatened rain but only gave us miserable grey weather. The wind was cold and hard breezes swept past the bus. My ears were numb but I could still hear the voice on the other end of the phone call.
     Her voice was light and airy. She was talking about another girl and what her problem with this particular one was. "Yeah, I get it."
     "I know I'm just ranting but thanks for listening." She says.
     "No problem, you know how much I enjoy hearing about those bitches you're forced to work with."
     She laughted, "I'll call you later. You on your way to class?"
     The first sreaks of water appear on the window."Yeah," I reply. The bus lurches to a stop and I'm knocked into a balding hindu man who grunts and dismounts the bus.
     "Alright, love you,"
     The pause is long, I can hear her anxiously breathing on the phone. I look up at an old woman with silver hair arranged in a bun watching me. She smiles at me and I smile back. There's a heavy sigh on the phone. "I can't wait forever on you." Another pause, "I'll talk to you later."
     "Later Elise."
     The lady is shaking her head. I want to tell her to mind her own business but she probably wouldn't know what I was talking about. I close the phone and looked back out the window as the rain began tumbling down. My stop would eventually come up but on days like these it dragged on forever.

     I sat watching the waiters dance around the tables. Their paths crissed and crossed but they never collided. Such accidental choreography is amusing. I drained the rest of my cup and checked the time on my phone.
     A waiter stopped at my table and filled my glass with the wine bottle that stood an arm's length from me. He regarded me and the empty seat across from me, he replaced the bottle on the table and asked, "Are you waiting on a date?"
     I looked up at him and wondered if I was so obvious, sitting here eating alone. He raised his eyebrows waiting for me to respond.
     "Yes." I tried to sound insulted and standoffish. He smiled and leaned over. I was clearly not good at being a jerk.
     "Guy or girl?"
     "Girl." This time I had no problem sounding insulted. Was it my cloths? I had just dressed well.
     He straightened and was a bit distraught. With a tilt of his head and fiddling with the cloth tucked into his waistband he asked, "How late is she?"
     "About an hour." Why was I telling him this.
     With a nod he turned and left. I contiued to sit and stare at the murky red wine coloring my glass. Peculiar evening.A smile tugged my lips and I laughed quietly with the empty seat before me.
     Several minutes passed and I could feel the lightheadedness setting in. I shut my eyes and felt the twinge of dizzyness. When I opened them there stood a woman before me. She wore a navy blue dress, her deep brown hair drapped around her face and an uncomfortable air about her. She was looking toward the kitchens.
     Following her gaze I saw the waiter who had spoken to me. He gestured for the woman to stay and talk to me. When he caught me watching him he smiled, turned and set off without looking and nearly knocked over another waiter carrying entrees for a table of five.
     "So goes the dance." I muttered to myself.
     "Excuse me." the woman's voice drew me back to the table.
     There was a hint of green when the light hit her eyes. "Sorry, I've had a long night."
     She looked away, she had a rough night too. "I'm sorry, I've been waiting for a blind date, he told me not to do it," She glanced at the waiter, "but I sat and waited anyways."
     "I've been waiting too. You can see," I indicated the empty chair, "They didn't show up either.
     "A pity." She grinned, "Two wasted evenings. Probably why Troy insisted that I join you."
     Troy is watching us half hidden behind one of the kitchen doors. He startles and someone pushes past him holding a tray of soups and salads. Troy scurrys away.
     The girl seats herself across from me. She's bold. Scooping up the bottle of wine she looks over the label, "You ordered a better wine than I did, but I only ordered a glass."
     "I planned a good evening."
     She motioned to the nosey Troy to bring her a glass.
     "What's your name?" I ask.
     "Steph." She turned and accepted the glass from Troy who was beaming at his success. He poured her a glass and hurried away. "Have we met?"
     "I don't think so."
     "Strange then." She took a sip of the wine and set it on the table, with a shy smile.

     I turned in my erratically colored map of South America and adjusted my backpack strap. Stacy watched me leave with Stephanie and grinned at Hung. Amused confusion was all he could do in return.
    "I think I like you too." I said shyly. We exchanged timid glances and walked down the hall together.

Rolling

Daniel rolled a can between his palms to give his hands something to do. He had to keep his mind off of how uncomfortable he was. The chair he sat in was rigid and unsympathetic and his suit felt half a size too small. When was the last time he had worn it? His hands paused. Was it prom? Had he really gotten bigger since prom? Probably not, he’d more likely gained weight. What should be more alarming is that he hadn’t bought a new suit since high school.

“I don’t know half the people in here.” Aaron said to Daniel’s left. Aaron scanned the guests again, “Maybe not any of them.” Aaron unbuttoned his jacket and leaned back into the chair watching the guests intently. “Who are these people?”

On Daniel’s right a softer voice spoke, “Is your dad coming, Danny?” Angie asked, ignoring Aaron’s grumbles.

“He said he’d be here around eight.” Danny said, he began to spin the can again and focus on its spiraling top. He was so uncomfortable. The fluorescent lights were also too bright, chasing darkness out of every corner. It made everyone’s clothing look all the more black.

The three of them watched from a corner. The funeral parlor was filled with the quiet murmur of mourning. Bodies moved slowly around the room, pooling into small puddles of conversation.

Daniel pulled at his sleeves hoping that the material would stretch. He placed the can on the floor and tugged hard on the cuffs. The cloth resisted. He’d have to remember to buy a new suit.

An elderly man approached them and smiled sadly. He clenched Daniel and Aaron’s hands and squeezed as though trying to impart strength into them. The man hugged Angie softly and rubbed her back between her shoulders.  He then stepped away from them and moved to the next group and began again.

“Who the fuck was that?” Aaron asked. Angie was rolling her shoulders trying to shake the man’s awkward sympathy. Daniel sat back down and plucked the can back up. He looked at the clock on the wall, which read eight-thirty and began to spin the can again.

Fools and fool

We walked out to the parking lot together. My face ached and I wondered what I was doing walking side by side with Daniel. Everything was going well tonight. Then I began to remember that the fact that I was here, with this girl and her problems, was all a result of things not being alright. I thought about Rebecca and wondered what she was doing tonight.

Daniel and I talked through the walk. I expressed my regrets about the events of that evening and he waved them off. “As long as you didn’t dick her.” Were his exact words. He told me some things about himself, which I didn’t listen to, and I told him a bit about myself.

“This is me.” Daniel said. It was surreal that he was so amicable. Like we’d met at a bar and had become fast drinking friends. I wondered if I had met him in a different life if we could have been enemies. He watched me over the roof of his tiny car. Those eyes of his were still gauging me. Maybe we were enemies and I wasn’t realizing it.

I rubbed my cheek and waved to him. This caused him to grin foolishly. I turned and began walking toward my own car when he shouted, “Take care of your girl Sidney.” While it sounded concerned it had the veil of a threat cast over it. Could he really be intending to visit a similar evening on me?

He ducked into his car and started it. Within moments he was weaving out of the lot. I watched the cherry lights disappear behind a crop of trees and stood for a moment longer wondering if I was a foolish person. I shook myself of the feeling and continued to my car.

Fumbling the keys and still rubbing the ache in my face I heard the sound of someone calling my name. “Please God no.” I begged. The call came again, closer, more insistent. I turned and concluded that I was a fool like no other.

Seattle jogged up to me, her auburn hair bouncing, not to mention a great deal of commotion beneath her shirt. “Please don’t leave like this.” She said though her panting.

“Like what?” I asked. Having been knocked to the deck by someone half my weight? Having to suffer his kindness after being a party to betrayal? Realizing that I’m only continuing to complicate my situation?

“Without letting me explain.” She said. Being the fool I was, I waited to hear it.

*****

Short one tonight.

Shiners and sentiments

               She opened the door slowly, a bit too dramatically. I expected a hulking behemoth to step through, his head bent to the side and still scraping the top of the door. Instead I was greeted by a slender man. He wore a flannel shirt and heavy jeans that made me think of a lumberjack. I had imagined Paul Bunyan coming in. I got his sickly cousin instead.

               “What’s going on?” He asked. His voice was far deeper and harsher than his bent rail frame would indicate.

               Seattle fixed him with her best leer and asked, “What are you doing here?”

               The man slash boy ignored her and studied me. He went as far as uncurling his back as he sized me up. I felt truly awkward being a third party to whatever this event was.

               Seattle watched him, he watched me and I wished I could find a way out. I had foolishly thought that things would be simpler if I stepped out of my life for a second and into someone else’s. Sadly it was the same insanity, different crazy.

               A thin and gnarled hand came up and pressed off my chest. It took me a moment to realize he was pushing me around. I did stagger backwards a little but I did it as he touched me as opposed to him forcing me.

               “Don’t you dare!” Seattle exclaimed.

               The gnarled hand hung in the air for a moment before curling into a fist. I watched this in utter disbelief. I’m not in any great shape but I was sure I could hold my own against whatever scrappy moves this guy could throw at me. His eyes were furrowed and he looked to be pretty pissed. Something told me that I didn’t get the full story with this girl and her ex. His gaze told was not that of a psychopath but one of betrayal. Just what in the fuck did I think coming back to her place would bring?

               He took a step forward and I lost my resolve on fighting back. “Look, there’s been a mistake. I should be going.”

               “The mistake is you didn’t.” He snarled.

               “That I didn’t leave?” I was confused. Was I supposed to be here and just leave early? Maybe he was trying to do a catchy movie line. It felt really weak and dumb.

               During those thoughts is when his fist came around. A couple of lights popped in my head and I found myself breathing the fibers of the carpet. My cheekbone and the bridge of my nose felt like they’d had a door slammed into them.

               “What the fuck?” Someone said. At first I thought it might be the roommate. Then it occurred to me that it was probably Seattle. No one was rushing to my side so I stood slowly.

               “I come back here and find you with him?” The guy asks. With his gnarled finger pointed at me. I wondered if I was someone special or of note. I also wondered if the world wouldn’t spin for a moment so I could stand straight.

               “I’m out there meeting people.” Seattle yelled, “We’re taking a break, he’s taking a break from his girl too.” This was news to me.

               “Maybe I should go and fuck his girl then while he sits here and fucks you. Then we can all be clear headed and know that we really just fucked ourselves.” That statement seemed kind of thoughtful and possibly insightful.

               “Well what the hell do you care?” Seattle continued to yell, “I told you to leave me alone. You apparently don’t give a shit about what I say.”

               With unsure steps I began to sneak to the door. I didn’t make it halfway across the room when Seattle grabbed my arm and threw me out of it. “Both of you just get out.” Her room door slammed shut behind us and we stood awkwardly in the hall next to each other. He stood, I swayed. Seattle’s roommate watched us from the couch. Her feet up on the armrest, tiny pink socks pointed at us. With a blank expression she pointed at the door.

               The guy grabbed my arm and carried me out. He made sure to close the door behind me then we stood side by side awkwardly outside the apartment. With a sigh his shoulders dropped and he curled lower towards the floor. “Sorry about the hit.”

               The transformation left me stunned, “No problem?”

               “She just knows how to piss me off and does it.”

               “You’re not angry at me?” I asked in confusion.

               “Of course I am. But I got carried away.” He stepped closer and inspected my eye. “It’ll be black tomorrow. Put a cool slab of meat on it.”

               “Why are you being nice after that?”

               “Because you don’t know me and I don’t know you.” He explained, “You look like a nice guy, I too am nice. When I don’t walk in on my girl with a guy near her bed.”

               “Understandable reaction.” I imagined walking in on someone with Rebecca. I can’t say for sure that I would react the same way. Sure as hell I wouldn’t be nice to them afterwards. I wondered if that would make me a bad person or if this guy was daffy.

               “Anyways I’m sorry to hear about your girl.”

               My ire rose, “What?”

               “You’re temporarily separated too. At least that’s what she said.”

               My hackles came down as I remembered the muffled conversation. “Right.”

               “Anyways, sorry for the hit.” He extended the hand again. This time it came in an open palm. What a varied night that hand has had. “I’m Daniel.”

               “Sidney.”

We shook hands for a surreal moment. Then he leaned in close and looked me in the eyes. He spoke slowly and harshly, “Don’t go near her again.” And made a point of squeezing my hand.

Lacerations and trouble

“Are you here?” A voice called from the hall.

Seattle leaned out her door and began whispering to someone, probably the roommate.

I continued to study the pictures as the girls spoke. There was something amiss in the pattern, places where it looked patched up. Just in the say that some photos looked like they were pulled further out of the group, like a cut tightening the skin around as it sealed.

Seattle closed her door softly and strode back beside me. “Are there pictures missing?” I inquired.

She didn’t have to look at where I pointed. “Yeah they were of someone who’s since fallen out of favor.”

“The old boyfriend.” I asked.

She nodded slowly. I didn’t feel the need to press her for more. <y discovery was apparently not planned and had soured the moment. “I like it, different style to hanging pictures up.”

She smiled. I wasn’t getting tired of seeing that, “Beats frames.”

For a while we talked and she explained the places she’d been and what they did. She didn’t bother too much with names, instead focusing on the experience of each location that was shot and tacked to her wall.

There was a quiet knock on the outside door. A shuffling indicated that the roommate was scurrying to answer it. Seattle continued to weave her tales. She stopped weaving when we heard a chirp from outside. She stood straight up and looked at her door. From the expression on her face I expected it to burst open.  

Quiet voices were heard on the other side. One voice was sternly quiet and the other was insistently quiet. Then came the footsteps. They were heavier than the roommates. They were also slower and cautious. I could feel the hairs on my neck standing on end.

               “I know you’re in there.” Came a gruff and insistent voice.

Something small and frozen inside of me burst and filled me with a chill. “The old boyfriend?” I asked, a shiver running down my vertebrae at the look on Seattle’s face.

“Don’t say a word.” She commanded.

Photos and Chairmen

She led me by the hand into her abode. Her apartment was not unlike mine. It sported a Spartan appearance with a small adjustment to the curtains and one well placed photograph centered and above the couch. No animal greeted me at the door or called with a whimper from another room. I felt reassured in viewing this display of nothing.

“My roommate is a bit of a Nazi so forgive me if the place looks a little blah.” She apologized.

So this was the roommate’s doing. What horror would this woman spring on me? A room full of birds and bird like things? God forbid its cats. Though Bowie did leave an impression in my sour disposition towards cats and their pompous nature, he did it with a bit of flair.

“No problem.” I muttered looking about and trying to imagine what the walls would be lined with. Would she spray it pink and adorn unicorns across the walls? Maybe she would design it so that it would look as though a cherub had regurgitated while spinning on a desk chair. Maybe she was a devil worshipper and the room would be black as night lit with glowing embers from extinguished candles that wafted smells of apple pie.

Still holding my hand and dragging me through the hall we darted into her room. I tried to catch a glimpse of the roommate through a crack in the door but with the speed we moved into the room and the scant viewing port I could only make out a mess of black hair, possibly curly or recently washed.

Seattle’s room was not something I would have imagined. Along a strip of one wall in a scattered mosaic were a few dozen black and white photos from movies. On the smaller wall there were other photos framing a window. These were not just black and white, and they portrayed Seattle with friends and family in a variety of poses and situations. Some were tasteful angles and artful, others were goofy, with winks and playful seriousness. Girls stuck their pink tongues out, a few bore metallic accessories, or threw their arms round each other with their faces frozen mid excited scream.

“Fancy yourself a photographer?” I asked while my eyes wandered over each picture. The images of people taken in a moment of thought or great emotion caught my attention more than the ones filled with merriment and camaraderie.

Her room was painted a deep indigo. I imagine this is what it must be like to live within an eggplant, I didn’t voice this observation. The bed was large and the sheets were dark blue. Maybe it’s not an eggplant, maybe it’s the inside of a bruise.

“I like taking pictures.” She watched me study her hidden pleasure.

“Thank god.” I remarked as I recognized the man who bowed in the theater in a picture. He was leaning up against a wall looking off camera at something while flicking a cigarette away. It seemed to catch him in one of his non-pretentious moments, which I assume fill his waking hours. “I couldn’t imagine someone duller than a woman into economics.”She pouted for a moment and I added, “I half expected a poster of Greenspan tacked up somewhere.”

The lady blushed.

Hook and line

“I have a girlfriend.” I let the words hang there and waited for a reaction.

“Okay.” She said, her head shaking at my hesitation.

I took a deep breath before continuing. “Had a girlfriend,” I watched her for any change in mood but nothing happened. This girl was either very good or absolutely not interested. Was I losing my eye for observation or was this vixen merely toying with my fragile state. “We decided to take a break after some recent goings on.”

The girl didn’t wait a moment before asking, “You cheated on her?”

“What? No.” Did I come across this way to her, as an adulterer? Though my intentions for meeting Seattle weren’t clear to myself, I did know that I was in search for meaningful conversation and perhaps a friend who didn’t drop me off at clubs with a twenty pinned to my shirt.

The thought did begin to creep into my mind that perhaps this was her way of testing me. I thought to pry back, “How about you?” Not my best interrogation moment.

“I had one too.” My ears perked at the word, had. “So what did happen that she wanted a break?”

“Her family is a little crazy and mine isn’t wild about her.”

“Just families?” Her eyebrow arched and there was a tugging at the corner of her lips. She was playfully trying to work the truth out of me.

I couldn’t help but grinning like a fool. “No, I admit that I didn’t handle some situations the right way.” I leveled a finger at her and spoke through my dumb grin, “Don’t ask for specifics.” I imagined what it would be like to tell her about Bowie and the refrigerator or the roach and restaurant. My hand returned to the edge of the table and I settled back into my seat. “What about your boy situation?”

She giggled, “Boy indeed.” She composed herself. “He was a tad possessive and I let him go. Don’t inquire.” We sat silently for a moment reflecting on our damaged love lives. “Why can’t people just be normal, love each other and screw on a regular basis without extra strings.”

I choked on the soda that I had been drinking. Trying to alternate laughing and coughing while Seattle watched me was difficult. Eventually I managed to wheeze a gasp for air and did my best to expel the fluid from my lungs.

“Why does that always solicit the same reaction?” She asked with a laugh.

“Because,” I gasped, “You want it.”

She spoke slowly, deliberately. “I want it?”

“You know what I mean.” I coughed one last time, digging in and trying to release the last of the drink from my wind pipe.

“I do, but I’ve met all quality and variety of creep.”

I began moving the utensils around the table, positioning them in a variety of patterns. “There are a lot of crazy girls out there too.” I thought to myself that Rebecca was one of the few exceptions. “I’ve met women who could devour a man and others who were bound by no canvas jacket.”

“And I’ve met men who could set your hair on end with their vile excuse for hygienic habits. I’ve trod on the fetid lands of bathrooms unkempt and spied across the hills of cloths that time forgot.” We both crumbled into laughter. After a good bout of cheer we settled into a comfortable silence. There was warmth to the room that was probably more a lack of conditioned air but it made me feel good.

 Finding a moment of naked honesty and forgetting myself, I blurted, “It’s like being with an old friend.”

She blushed and with a sinister smile and wickedly coy hush to her voice asked, “An old friend?”

The force of my blood rushing from my body to fill the erection threatening to burst from my evening pants was dizzying. Suddenly my intentions were muddled and I forgot that this evening was not a date.

Cinema and abstract

The week went by with little fuss. I received a voicemail from my father that stated simply, “Templar Time.” I didn’t find out nor was I curious to what he meant by it and what he did. Rebecca never called me. I was sad and disappointed but not surprised. Her mom might still be in town. At least that’s what I told myself.

               The lack of drama or suspense in my week was much appreciated. It’s strange to thing that everything that happened occurred on the same day but sometimes when the world wants to throw you a curveball, it just keeps them coming.

               I did come to some strange form of understanding with my father’s situation. I can’t say I agree with the harder drug use but people drink for similar reasons and society accepts that. The confrontation did leave me a little shaken through the week. My personal issues with him aside that was an unpredictable and chaotic moment and those tend to unsettle me.

               As for Rebecca, I still wished I had heard her reasoning for our separation but the way I figure it, I would not like it or be better with it if I did know. I have my suspicions but they will go unverified until the next time we speak. As a last mention, I do miss her.

               With all these things in the back of my mind I found myself excited about the conscious meeting that I would be having with Seattle. Everything about her so far, which I admit is just short of nothing, whispers familiar and comfortable. That she contains within her the same wicked humor that allows me to get through a day serving people who purchase laxatives and anti-itch powders while not meeting my nonjudgmental eyes. That’s a lie. I play a game where I create the story in my head explaining the genesis of their ailment. Call it my gallows humor but on a consumer level.

               Apparently the movie I’m to see on Friday with Seattle is some little indie flick that will be premiered in a quiet little dark place with no more than a dozen or so in attendance. The name is ambiguous, Block. It doesn’t even give me anything to work with. The only flier I see for it displays a white background with a shadow cast by a white cube. So essentially it’s just a picture of a shadow.

               Aside from the vague cinema rendering we would witness, I felt excited. I also admit I felt a little self satisfaction that I was seeing a girl no more than a week after “taking a break”. Who knows, the evening might go very well.

The evening started horribly. Describing the plot or even what was occurring on screen as we sat in the dank, quiet, long forgotten corner of the world that just happened to have a projector and a large screen would have been impossible. There was a small cast of characters but I didn’t know if they were related, friends or actually all the same person. At one point two of them had sex but please don’t ask me which I just knew that I would need to take a cold shower and reaffirm my sexuality later with liberal amounts of computer time.

Towards the end of the movie, which occurred no less than one-hundred and forty minutes after we were seated, I witnessed a live birth. A slimy ball of hair poured forth from what had once been one of my favorite places. Poured is too lenient, it tore, like a mascot through a team banner at a football game, it tore. My feelings toward the female anatomy were altered there and then. There was nothing but respect and a bit of sympathy for the moment I witnessed. All in all though, I was greatly confused, scared and feeling a strange sensation in my feet, a need to run.

The few people who were in the cinema clapped. Someone turned around in front of me and bowed. Seattle clapped and smiled, turning to me, then back to the man basking in adulation. I wondered who this girl was and why I had thought that she could be more normal than it had turned out to be.

We stood outside and talked to the other movie goers for a while. I stood back with my hands stuffed into my pockets fingering my phone and wondering if I could call 911 without having to pull it out. The people were pleasant enough. They smiled and praised the movie for its cinematography and risqué themes. All I could remember about themes were color schemes and they were mostly red especially the sex scene and birth. I shook myself to unhinge those images.

Seattle bade them farewell and turned to me, the smile on her face gone. “Thank you for sitting through that.”

“What? That delightful piece of work? I haven’t been that entertained since A Clockwork Orange.” I said with a mock surprise. To myself I added that I understood Clockwork Orange better.

“They like to make art like that.” She watched me carefully, looking for something in my posture.

“If you didn’t enjoy it why did you come?”

She tilted her head, which allowed the mane of rust colored hair to fall to one side and looked up thoughtfully. “They’re friends. Who happen to be art majors and wildly inappropriate.”

I pushed a loose stone around on the floor. “So you’re an art major?”

She smiled. It seemed that she did that a lot. “Economics.”

I blanched and she laughed.

We went to dinner at an Applebee’s nearby. The hostess greeted us and bared her teeth at us in a mock display of happiness. She had some fish and I had a burger. For the first half of dinner she tried to explain the film to me. I couldn’t understand her explanation any better. Not that it was her fault. I found my thoughts floating back to Rebecca. She would never have taken me to see such a film. She knew my tastes and had a remarkable set of her own. Plus if something was crap, she’d say it, I’d mock it and we’d laugh. Deriving the worth of the film from its comedic failure to entertain.

Finally I told Seattle to stop trying to explain the film. An uncultured specimen as I was would gain nothing from a video of open weirdness.

“So then what do you do?”

“Me?” shoving a french fry into my mouth, “I work at a drug store catering to those who’s pelvic regions itch, sport infections and diseases that I gracefully get by without catching.”

“So you don’t go to college.” Her eyebrow was raised.

“Already did.”

“And?”

“And I got a degree.” Feeling strangely defensive, “What are you going to do with your economics?”

She sat back, and watched me eat. “Look I’m sorry you came to see that movie but you didn’t have to come. I just thought you were nice.”

I sighed and wiped the ketchup from the edges of my mouth. “I apologize. It has just been hard since graduating.”

She leaned forward again, “Personal problem hard?”

I nodded, “Among other things.”

“Tell me about them.”

I stared at her for a moment, studying the expressions in her face.

“Who am I going to tell?” She asked, “Plus if you feel that strongly afterwards, you can just disappear.”

 I thought for a moment. That feeling of something familiar demanded to be recognized. “Fine, but at the end you’ve got to fess up about yourself too.”

“We’ll see.” Was all she said.

Caffeine and serendipity

Everything felt so out of order. Within a few hours things had taken on new meaning. My dad had turned from a reserved aggressive and overly judgmental, domineering male figure into a doddering, drug fueled, sociopath intent on some unknown crusade. My longtime girlfriend, warped from her most recent maternal visit and the prior weeks of social and financial hardships decides that it is too much for her and that the way to alleviate it is through our parting of the ways.

“What the fuck!” I yell, slamming my palm into the wheel sparking protest from the car horn. Several nearby drivers look around expecting some wisp of an accident or car chase. Clenching my teeth doesn’t help alleviate the tension inside me, slamming the wheel didn’t either. I had thought at least that the steady growl and shouted explicative would make me feel better but they only filled the car with silence. The cauldron of emotions bubbling inside of me couldn’t be sorted or disturbed. It boiled and simmered rapidly leaving me angry one moment, forlorn the next and finally scared. It all left me vulnerable.

I pulled into the next hub of shops and parked. The sun was perched on the horizon watching me stroll across the asphalt. So much had happened and it was just the beginning of the weekend. The tiny voice that had guided me through most of the day chirped up a warning that troubles travel in threes. My attentions immediately shifted from the events of the day to the current situation.

I walked into a coffee shop and stood in line. I’ve never truly been to coffee shops, they seem to have a decent enough atmosphere and the people I know who attend are socially manageable if a little snooty. The patrons and ambiance become threatening under the foreboding of my third and final trial. Each customer could play a role in my cognitive and emotional undoing.

My gaze sets on a girl. “No.” I tell myself hoping for it to be an optical trick. The flash of her hair is like sooty copper under a burning sun, it flares as she becomes aware of someone’s notice and flicks her head this way and that.

“Sir your order.” The cashier commands.

I stride up the space I had not notice had opened and begin looking over the menu. All the while keeping the girl in my peripheral, I am assured that she will be the executor of the final transgression against me.

The vastness and quirky nomenclature of the menu overwhelms me. Scribbled on a chalk board in an array of colors and styles that beam friendliness and a welcoming embrace, it serves only to make me feel out of place.

Impatiently the cashier began tapping the counter with her index finger. I asked her for a small black coffee. She rolled her eyes and punched out a series of keys. I’m sure that there must’ve been some hip name to the coffee but I was in no clue to decipher the codex on the board behind her.

“Five thirty-five.” She read off to me.

I dug around my wallet for cash but was running empty. Grumbling about the price and mentioning that the coffee should provide me full service I handed the lady my credit card.  She swiped it and punched into a keypad.

A chill passed over me as I felt eyes lingering on my profile. The auburn hair had been replaced with a face that studied me. I kept myself facing the register even as I waited for the moment that she would click two and two together.

“Sir, it was declined.” The cashier didn’t look surprised.  She flipped the card back into my hand and waited with her fists lumped on hips.

“I don’t really have…” I began.

“Hey, I was wondering when you’d show up.” Seattle Blue sashayed up to me and planted a kiss on my cheek before dropping $5.50 on the counter and telling the girl to keep the change.

Seattle looped her arm around mine and guided me back to her table. I was speechless and probably had my mouth hanging open again. She planted me opposite her and then smiled from across the small table. “I remember you but not your name. All I know is that it’s also a city.” Her voice was softer than I remembered.

“Sidney.”

She nodded and closed her eyes. The images of that night replaying behind her eyelids. As she opened her eyes I noticed that they were a pretty brown. I had expected some exotic green but the brown was charming.

“You probably remember me.” She said her eyes meeting mine.

“You’re wicked.” I was grinning like a school boy. “Am I still supposed to call you Seattle?”

“You do remember.” Her cheeks went rosy.

“That was great up there by the way.”I said, indicating the counter.

               “Irksome people bother me. She gave me the same attitude.” She drummed her hands on the table and watched me. “So,” her eyebrows went up. I was missing the social cue.

               “Sorry, I’m not going to be as pleasant company.” I cleared my throat trying to prevent my voice from hiking as I said, “It hasn’t been a good day.”

               “Personal bad or things where you work?”

               I had barely spoken to this girl for more than fifteen minutes but something about her felt familiar and flowed. That being known I still said, “I’m sorry but I don’t know you well enough to say.” I didn’t want to ruin what was starting to feel like the only sane moment today. Something made me want to tell her but that feeling made me reel myself all the harder into a taught ball of introversion.

               She just smiled at me, “Personal then. I get it. You don’t even know my name.”

               “Seattle Blue has a nice flow to it.”

               Her eyes widened, “So you remember my whole fake name. I must have made an impression then.”

               This time I blushed, “Raucous orgies and pretty girls are not my usual so yes.” The hotness in my face subsided, “But you remembered me too, or else I would be trying to back out of paying for my coffee right now.”

               “You made me laugh a little. I went out to support a friend. Orgies are not my scene as well.”

               Was I flirting? Was it wrong for me to be flirting? Something inside me felt a tinge the traitor but most of this felt like a reprieve. My stomach was still in a knot with the echo of my father’s bellow and my heart was still barely beating with Rebecca’s decision.

               “Sorry that I’m not my comedic self. I’m just out of alignment.”

               “Things are that bad? No need to answer. Anyways it was nice to meet you once more.” She began putting her book back into her bag. I wanted to continue talking but couldn’t think of what. I truly knew nothing about this girl. The most I knew was that she liked coffee shops, reading and had distaste for public gatherings of indecency.

               Feeling like I was experiencing the third strike of the day I opened my mouth to protest. She stopped me with a look and put a card on the table.

               “Friday I’m going to see a movie. Should you find yourself available and curious to check it out this is my number.” She slipped me a small square of paper.

               I looked at the card. It had her phone number typed neatly in the center. I wondered if she gave these out regularly enough to print them. Who was I meeting and what was I looking to get into. Nothing else was printed on it. Perhaps it was a fake, but this was a strange way to give someone a fake number.

               She continued, “Consider this your mulligan. Now we’re even.” She smiled then, “Next time we meet it’ll be on purpose and make sure you bring you’re A game. Before you ask too, this is not me asking you out. You seem nice and I’m talking too much.”

               She slid from the chair and stood. With a flick of her hand, her hair was tossed back over her shoulder and she scooped up her trash.

               “What’s your name?” I asked.

               She watched me for a moment and I caught a glimmer of her conflicting thoughts of telling me. She settled on, “I don’t know you well enough.” With that she began walking away. As a final thought she said over her shoulder, “Be there Friday and we’ll start.”

               When the bell hanging above the door signaled her departure I began breathing again. This was wrong, something told me, Rebecca’s still around. The gloom that had vanished returned. Time to get back to my life.

               I almost left before realizing that the woman at the register had placed my coffee on the counter. If she called my name or tried to get my attention I had failed to notice. Grabbing the cool cup I grimaced and left the coffee shop sipping its cool contents.

Exodus and breaks

We sat for some undefined time while he told me about his experience. How glorious it had been and the mission he had received to pass on to me.  It was all about how evil women were and why men were dominant. I knew my dad had some tendencies toward chauvinism but whatever he was on amplified and defined the edges to his ideology.

The center of his argument was around his girlfriend Catherine. From what I could gather and what common sense told me, she put some distance between herself and him. This was no doubt due to his drug use but then again I didn’t know how long it had been going on. When he did try to speak to her, she denied him. Apparently this sent him into some paranoid delusion about her turning on him. Betrayal was a big theme for my father.

After telling me what I could only imagine was his version of the gospel, he swore me to secrecy. “This is God’s plan for us. It is not to be shared with the uninitiated.” I didn’t and couldn’t understand the need for swearing me to silence. I was petrified at this point, like a child I sat and listened, nodding fearfully to each phrase that fell from his tongue. All the fear I had once held for my father gripped me and threatened to suffocate.

We sat in silence for some time after. He watched the ceiling, thinking. I tried to figure out how to take control of the situation, how to escape it. This segment stretched as long as the one where he had preached. Only this one was scarier because I couldn’t see the wheels turning or where they would go.

If God had truly given my father a plan, I begged him now to give me safe passage from this place. I’m not religious in any sense, nor am I spiritual. In this instance though I needed some form of omnipotent power to guide me the fuck out of this house.

My father laughed, the corners of his mouth climbing his face and squeezing his glazed almond eyes. A tremor ran through me. “You know what we’re going to do.” I kept silent in case it wasn’t a question, “Whenever Cathy is around I’m going to say it’s templar time.” The squinted eyes climbed down from the roof to look at me, “And we’re going to have fun.” The final words were said with a wicked vagueness.

A shrill sound cut through the silent words he had left unsaid with that grin he now wore. My phone had answered my dire prayer. “Hello?” The phone had practically materialized at my ear. That psychotic smile reappeared across my father’s face as he let his head fall back and his eyes turn skyward. I wondered if he was speaking to God.

“What? Hi.” Rebecca was on the phone. Whatever dread I would have felt at this was vastly and immeasurably outweighed by my current condition.

“Hey hon.”

My father’s eyebrow arched while he continued his communion with whatever was in his blood or beyond the roof.

“Can we talk?”

“You need to talk? Yeah I’m just at my dad’s house.” My nerves were revving my voice into an unflattering pitch. I quickly worked to control it.

“Are you alright?”

“I’ll be over in a second, let me just say goodbye.”

“Sid?”

I hung up the phone. Apologies and explanations would come far easier than terrified fleeing.

“You got to go.” He almost sounded disappointed in me. His eyes still turned skyward.

“Yeah.”

I rose from my seat. A hand clutched the back of the chair to steady my weak legs. With full concentration I strode slowly to the door.

“What are we?” The whisper came from behind me, I dared not turn around.

“Knights.” I took a step forward.

“What are we?” More urgently this time.

“Knights.” My knees shook, threatening to plunge me to the floor.

The bellow came once more, it threatened to drop me to my knees and rend my mind leaving me weeping on the cloudy grey tile. “What are we?”

“Knights.” I barely made my body obey.

As I shut the door I took one last look back and saw him staring at me. His mouth curled, “Good.”

* * * * *

I didn’t stop to collect myself until I was in the parking lot for Rebecca’s complex. When I cut the engine’s power my hand lost its composure and shook relentlessly. My stomach drew into itself and tried to regurgitate what little I had eaten that day. There was water in my eyes and it stung. I wanted to lie on my side and cry softly into my knees. Everything felt wrong and dirty. The world was suddenly a lot more oppressive and intimidating than it had been in the last few months.

I opened the door and stepped out of the car. My footsteps were uncertain and my body felt like it had forgotten how to act. It moved in ways that looked like a caricature of me. I tried to put my father’s degenerating state out of my head but it kept making its way back in. What drugs was he doing, how long and why now? Mostly I wanted to forget how he made me feel. I’d learned to be firm around him and it all went to hell the moment I caught sight of those eyes.

As I grew closer to Rebecca’s apartment I began to understand that I was losing my father to something sinister. His past, his faults and all the years of abuse from his father had taken root and were beginning to bloom, a violet germanium of despair.

I knocked on the door and pushed the event with my father from my mind. Rebecca had sounded serious over the phone. That and she had given me the signal for troublesome talks. Like a puppet suddenly yanked up by his strings my body lifted. I didn’t want to be here right now and especially for this. There was no way I’d do it like a beaten pup.

When Rebecca answered the door she was solemn. Upon seeing me something in her flickered for a moment: sympathy, concern and affection. Each disappeared the moment after they had appeared, behind the blink of her eyes. “What happened?” was my consolation prize. My heart and face hardened into stone.

“Nothing.” I stepped into the apartment looked around expecting the witch to come soaring in on her broom. Agatha didn’t show.

She closed the door behind me and sat down on the couch. “Sit.” Though I heard it as a command, she was trying to hold herself together from something too. The soft contours to her body beckoned me to sit near her. I wanted to stubbornly pull up a chair and set the mood properly. I chose the lesser of the two and seated myself beside her.

No jokes sprung to my mind, nothing to ease what was going to be a tense situation. I’d already dealt with a great shock. Whatever relationship turmoil we were about to trudge through would be a cake walk by comparison.. “All on the same day too.” I said aloud.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.”

Her lips moved and twitched as though the words fought from behind her luscious lips to be freed. Another day and I would have imagined the hundreds of combinations she would utter. My pessimistic imagination would draft thousands of replies to each of her statements. Today I sat and waited while she worked up her nerve. “We need to take a break.” Her body quivered with the completion of the sentence.

Some part of me laughed. The rest of me shook its head like a disappointed parent discovering a household treasure smashed. Their child blathering excuses as the adult is beyond belief that their day of labor and toil would end with on this note.

 “That’s all?” I asked.

Her eyebrows furrowed out of confusion. “What?” I supposed she had expected a different reaction. I just wasn’t feeling like myself today.

I got up and began walking to the door.

“What is wrong with you?” The words were accusatory and a bit fearful. “What happened to you today?” Her words were losing the formality she had built up. She was coming down from her pedestal.

“Nothing.”

As I grabbed the knob she was at my side and grabbed my shoulder. “Talk to me.”

I wanted to scream hateful things. To yell, threaten and pour my frustration and anger out into a smoldering pile of putrid waste. Leave her sobbing to herself and affirm her need to be away from me. Assure her that I was a monster and villain.

I wanted to fall to the floor and lose control. Cry large sobbing tears into my arms. Have her wrap her arms around me and hold me until the trembling stopped and I found my voice once more. Tell her about what happened, try to explain and understand it all.

I wanted to fight to keep her. Tell her that we were stronger than all of this. We were worth so much more than anything I had and anything I would ever own. Tell her that I loved her.

“No.”

I opened the door and walked away.

Hopes and weakness

The house was messier than I remembered it being. The lights were dimmer than I remembered and the tile floor was clouded. Small streams of light beamed through slits in the blinds like cracks in a wall. It was as though he were reworking the place to resemble a modern cave.

On the living room table were scraps of metal spread around and containing some form of order, like a beast dissected and observed. Paper had been laid beneath each pile and tools sat nearby prepared to work. My father moved around touching this and that as though he were tidying up but only coming across as though he suffered from a compulsive disorder.

The shirt he wore hung baggy on him. I’d always pictured him being more fit. It dawned on me that perhaps I’d taken his age for granted. Something about it all didn’t feel like dementia and something began to scratch at the back of my mind.

“Sorry I’ve had nothing to do lately so I’ve worked on,” He continued to touch and move things. He was striving for some optimal global orientation, “projects.”

I looked around and folded my arms, “So what’s the problem.”

“Catherine…” The word was a hiss. It took me a few moments to recall that this was the name for his girlfriend, the mediator and polite socialite. His eyes turned back on me and the hairs on my neck began to rise. “You didn’t bring the girl with you.”

“Didn’t figure she needed to be here.” While mostly true, I hadn’t wanted to ask Rebecca along fearing that I might worsen our already tenuous relationship.

“Good.” He mumbled, “I’ve had a realization. One of those epiphanies.” This was the most talkative he’d been with me in years. Something inside me smiled at the thought of us conversing while the itching in my brain continued to nag at me. My arms unfolded and I sat on one of the chairs while he organized his thoughts. “Nothing matters.” He finally said.

While the idea was a little broad I began to think that perhaps he’d had a change of heart. Maybe something happened to change his mind about the whole thing.

“No one matters.”

This could be the beginning to repairing our relationship. I was skipping ahead of the whole process a bit quickly but a moment required seizing while ripe.

“It’s down to you and me.”

He was doing it. Realizing the true value he held in his son.

“Really you’re all that I have left.”

My heart swelled and the infernal grating in my brain screamed alarm.

His eyes turned up to me and everything I’d built up in the last few moments came crashing down.

The eyes were filled with madness. They glared wide, encased in a glassy layer, straight through me. All of my bravado and courage that I had collected in the car turned to ash. I felt the same as I had in the bird woman’s house. I was ten again and in terrible fear of the man before me.

“Catherine is wicked Sidney. She tricks and manipulates me into being someone I’m not.” I couldn’t understand that statement. He’d been the same person the whole relationship. “We are knights, Sidney. In service to God. For our works we will be rewarded with all that we please.” He paused to watch me. I was frozen and helpless. “What are we son?” he whispered.

My throat was dry but I managed a squeaking voice, “Knights.”

“What are we?” He asked again.

I had to swallow before speaking again, “Knights.”

“What are we?” He yelled.

A tremble worked its way into my body, “Knights.”

He began to bellow again but the voice that came out made my blood go cold. “What are we?”

“Knights.” I wanted to cry as I had when I was young but afraid that he would grow angry.

“That’s right.” An insane smile taking his face, “You can have anything you want as long as we are together working against it all.” He stopped for a moment to think of a way to convince me. “You like that girl you’re with?”

I made a tiny sound.

He clapped his hands and sent my heart racing. “You can have all the black, brown or blue girls you want.”

What small scrap of me that was left screamed from within my skull, “What the fuck is going on?” That small piece started working on an escape plan while trying to understand what drove him to this.

“Son, you know that Moses spoke to a burning bush to speak to God.”

I made a tiny sound.

“Cannabis.”

My inner self perked up at this and thought to remember everyone who’d gotten high near me. None had acted this delusional or fanatical.

“Science has given us many new ways to speak to him.”

Instead of a sound, I gathered a little strength to ask him a question, “How long?”

He looked at me sideways like an animal would when studying something strange and intriguing. “Only recently.”

I wondered if he meant since I’d last seen him or in relation to how long he’d been on this planet. All I knew was that I had to get out.

“I’ve spent the last few days toying with Catherine, trying to get her to break. She’s crafty and wicked.” He laughed loudly and suddenly. “You should see how she reacts, as though I’m the crazy one.” His face went dark as quickly and violently as the laugh had come, “Just like my father.” He snapped from it and looked dead at me, “But we will fight it because we are…”

“Knights.” I squeaked.

“What are we?”

“Knights.” My voice wavered.

He bellowed once more, “What are we?”

“Knights.” I’d never felt so weak and alone.

“That’s right.”

Dinner and Family

I pulled up to my father’s house and began preparing myself. Slow breaths, flexing the fingers and spinning my wrists. Each and every joint needed to be loose for this and my mind would have to be prepared to flow. I did the best impression of quick meditation that I could think of. Pulling from movies, books and a relaxation tape Rebecca’s mother had gifted her.

The last time I had come down and visited it had been with Rebecca. An introduction was long overdue and she was anxious to meet my father. I had spent years telling stories from my youth to either prepare or discourage her from the trip but we had made it. I remember her smiling and kissing me then springing from the car and looking back to see if I was coming along.

Maybe it was revenge for meeting her parents a year before and dodging the reciprocal visit. Maybe she was genuinely happy to meet one of the being who had sired me. Maybe she was just easing my obvious and overwhelming dread.

She held my hand on the way to the door. I knocked loudly and made peace with God. She squeezed my hand and smiled at me, her eye lashes swishing softly, and whispered that everything would be okay. I smiled and turned my attention back to the door but I held the image of her face in my mind.

The visit went over like spoiled milk. It had seemed pleasant enough at first glance, words and compliments exchanged with little depth or motive. Then things turned sour. Nothing visible but you could smell it in the air.

My father’s girlfriend attended the evening and spoke whenever the room would fall silent. Rebecca sat next to me and held my hand. She spoke softly and respectfully, most of the questions were handled with concise statements that didn’t lead to anything. My father and I sat silent. I sat mutely following the spacing between the tiles and he watched the conversation between his woman and mine as though it were a polite tennis match.

By the end of the peace talks and everyone had run out of polite statements and small talk questions we descended into eating. With food there is a loosening of boundries with my family so it took three forkfuls to draw the first question from my father.

“So what do your parents do?”

Dishes clattered with the impact of knives and forks. Dull thuds rumbled through the table with the removal and replacement of cups. There was no long silence between his question and the answer but each of us felt the passage of time.

Rebecca wiped her mouth and replaced her napkin in her lap. Residual manners from her mother but they did not go unnoticed. Each pair of eyes followed the fold of paper from lap to lip and back to lap.

“My mother is in mortgages and my father’s an English teacher.”

A sliver of meat hung from my father’s fork and he grunted, “Uh huh, and where did they meet?” He placed the chunk between his teeth and chewed slowly savoring and waiting to swallow.

“I think the story goes that they met through a mutual friend, dated and married.”

“Still married?” He spoke while still chewing.

“No.”

We ate for a few minutes without another word. Rebecca was concentrating on her food. I pushed against her leg with my foot and threw her a smile. At that my father piped back in.

“Are both your parents brown skinned or is one of them…” He let the phrase hang. Each bone in my body had locked in place.

Rebecca responded to this question the same way she had when asked what her major was in school, “My father is black and my mother white.”

My teeth clenched and I waited.

“You must take a lot after your mother, your skin is so light.” My father’s girlfriend swung in trying to suffocate the embers that had begun to glow around the table.

I had not been raised to harbor ill thoughts about color or religion, nor had Rebecca. When we met I had thought her a beautiful creature, her tan brown skin and dark obsidian hair. Never before had a girl of color caught my eyes but she had taken my breath with them. I knew that my family would have its issues, most were polite and said nothing. My happiness was enough to quell their misgivings. My father raised me to be open minded but quietly I imagine he tried to instill a reluctance to date openly.

So there we sat at the table, my father, his woman and I plus my token mulatto girlfriend.

“I didn’t know my son liked dark skinned girls.” My father said.

It took a great deal of force to keep my tone steady and to drop the knife in my hand. “I didn’t know we were discussing my tastes.”

He regarded me for a moment and didn’t speak further. The volatility of the discussion subsided and dinner ended soon after with some tension left unresolved.

My father and I ended up in a room talking very sternly to one another while the women sat in the living room awkwardly waiting for the groans of a distant argument to subside.

When we left I had never felt angrier. Rebecca grabbed my thigh as I drove. She had been strong throughout the whole evening and been respectful. I couldn’t ask for a better person to have come home with me. At a red light I kissed her and apologized. She pulled me back and kissed me again. She whispered that it was over now. My response was to smile back weakly but I couldn’t get to where she was. The disapproval from people on the streets was one thing but I hadn’t expected so much from my family.

Since then I hadn’t spoken much with my old man. He’d been too stubborn and I had been too upset over the whole thing.

Now I sat in his driveway about to see him and I didn’t know what to expect.

I walked up to the door and knocked. The face of Rebecca smiling floated into my mind.

He answered the door in his reading glasses. Something about the width of his eyes seemed wild. His hair had thinned more and he’d cut it recently. It hung in mass at his temples and behind his head but allowed a hazy view of his scalp from above. His skin was also a little baggier than I had last seen and more yellow. He did not look well.

“Sidney, come in.”