Slice of Life – Rants, Raves and Random Thoughts: Recent Episodes
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I Grew up
In a simpler time
In a small town
Back when the world was still kind
Didn’t have much money
Road trips in rusty cars
Played the hell out of 3 chords
On our beat up old guitars
Thought we were cool
We were gonna change the world
We sang “All ya need is love”
Back before someone shot Lennon
Listened to vinyl records
Music set us free
People over thirty
We couldn’t trust or believe
***I’m going back
To all those good times
Kodachrome memories
With all my old friends
No matter where we go
No matter where we’ve been
One thing for certain
You can’t make, “New old friends”***
Smashed my cell phone
Threw a brick at my Big Screen
Lets sit down in the backyard
Where we once shared all our dreams
Lets look at old photo albums
When our hair was long
And we wore yesterday smiles
Life’s a vapor, and then it’s gone
Campouts and keggers
Cut offs and ball caps
bonfires down at the river
Cold beers and cheap grass
Exaggerated our victories
Minimizing our loses
Where did the time go
Summers use to last forever
***I’m going back
So many good times
Kodachrome memories
You’re a lifelong friend of mine
No matter where we go
No matter where we’ve been
One thing for certain
We can’t make, “New old friends”***
I Grew up
In simpler times
In a small town
Back when the world was still kind
Didn’t have much money
Road trips in rusty cars
Played the hell out of 3 chords
On our beat up old guitars
Thought we were cool
We were gonna change the world
We sang “All ya need is love”
Back before someone shot Lennon
Listened to vinyl records
Music set us free
People over thirty
We couldn’t trust or believe
***I’m going back
To all those good times
Kodachrome memories
With all my old friends
No matter where we go
No matter where we’ve been
One thing for certain
You can’t make, “New old friends”***
Smashed my cell phone
Threw a brick at my Big Screen
Lets sit down in the backyard
Where we once shared all our dreams
Lets look at old photo albums
When our hair was long
And we wore yesterday smiles
Life’s a vapor, Here then gone
Campouts and keggers
Cut offs and ball caps
bonfires down at the river
Cold beers and cheap grass
Exaggerated our victories
Minimizing our loses
Where did the time go
Summers once lasted forever
***I’m going back
So many good times
Kodachrome memories
You’re a lifelong friend of mine
No matter where we go
No matter where we’ve been
One thing for certain
We can’t make, “New old friends”***
```
I never really told ya how I felt
And still I don’t know why
It hurts to know you’re out there sleeping
under these same sad Denver skies
Though it’s only a dream, I held you in
walking in a world ya never knew
And thats why its so cold to wake up alone
within a dream, lost inside of you
Should of done that
Should of said this
keeping the truth a secret
stones I can’t throw, or forget,
and now I know
it only hurts forever
I never gave you my words
or sang you, your song
instead I let them burn
like ash from a fire that’s gone
now its so quite in this room of blue
blinds drawn to the things we lose
that died a long time ago
within a dream, lost inside of you
Should of done that
Should of said this
keeping the truth a secret
stones I can’t throw, or forget
and now I know
it only hurts forever
```
Soundtrack Coyotes by Jason Muraz
I always wanted to be in love. But maybe I am one of those who can’t be loved. I try to hard to be funny, to be passionate—-to be lovable. But maybe I always choose the wrong person to love or maybe they picked me by mistake. Everyone needs love, to feel special to another in a world that leaves us all too often feeling ordinary and small. I think I’ve spent to much time alone, I scare myself with all these crazy love thoughts. Maybe I’m crazy and that’s why love alludes me—-I scare sane people off?
Maybe I expect too much of love. Maybe all that crap in poems, songs and stories is just fantasy. I need someone to share my fantasies. Maybe love is pretending, as in pretending to be what another wants and desires? I guess that’s fair enough. Okay then–how about a yard love sale. A half off on all the miscellaneous dreams, wishes, promises and prayers that nobody else wants anymore——or even cares to barter for.
Okay then, I’ll share half my fantasies with you if you share half of yours with me. And all the undesirable junk no one wants we can take to the love dump and set it afire watch it burn to ash.
So be brave
Everyone is going thru something
No one really cares or understands why
We all have our own living hell
Everyone is barely hanging on
Tired, lonely and the depressed
It’s just the way this life is
That’s just the way it goesSo be strong
Everyone is going thru something
The ragged homeless guy panhandling for pocket change
The trembling drug addict, dope sick
The innocence locked-up inside us all
The suicidal beauty queen
That’s just the way this life is
That’s just the way it goesSo be alive
Everyone is going through something
There’s howling wolves at the door
There’s night terrors in our dreams
There’s horrors in the waking hours
It’s all red lights and sirens
The noose dangles then tightens
It’s just the way this life is
That’s just the way it goesSo be happy
Everyone is going through something
Regardless of it all
Stare the devil down
Throw rocks at the squawking ravens
Toss your shoes over the power-lines
Watch your bridges burn as they light your way
It’s just the way this life is
That’s just the way it goesSo be bold
Everyone is going through something
Your deliverance is paid for with your intentions
There’s a sacredness discovered in your last second chance
Nobility awaits the headstrong
You either give up, or get up again
There’s everlasting glory for those who refuse to give in
We find out what were made of in the 15th round
It’s just the way this life is
That’s just the way it goes
There’s a few things I’ll never get over
Like those thousands of tomorrows that never came
The waiting, the wishing, searching and hoping for signs that I’m on the right track, am I getting somewhere, anywhere, or am I going in circles like a skipping record—-or am I moving full-steam-ahead towards an inevitable cliff?
There’s a belongingness in learning that we are all in a shared aloneness, and I once foolishly thought you knew me, I was wrong, my words were intended to be poetry, warm damp words whispered from my lips into your ear, tickling and sending shivers down your back, you said you always fell for the weird ones, poets, madmen, musicians, but I think I scared you away with my intensity, I so badly wanted to touch you, I accidentally called ya baby, suddenly your smile became a question mark, it left you bamboozled, you said you thought I put a hex on you
You came searching for pieces of yourself, lurking in the shadows between your light and my darkness—You too, felt the sadness in this world, and for a time, the sadness held us together, there was just you and I—and then all the rest of this nihilistic world against us
How many of our lost yesterdays gave birth to stillborn todays
And, how many todays do any of us have? who are you fated to spend your tomorrows with?
It’s a sin to squander once in a lifetime moments, but I did so, with you
Will this ache in my chest ever subside?
From some mystic place you conjured up your black magic
One part love and a hundred parts regret
I don’t believe in the concept of time
There’s only a greased and slippery “now”
I don’t try to hold on to things anymore, Because the Buddhist were right. The attachment to people and things is the root of all suffering, but I never could let go of you, I’ve choose to suffer
I mess things up, I say one thing and do the other
I’m a wandering contradiction, avoiding the lines on broken sidewalk cracks, tripping over forgotten promises, facing my inexcusable lies, living with all those pent up dreams of what might have been
I’m a victim of this relentless, aimless love
If you were my lover
I’d hold ya tight
But you ain’t my lover
You’re just my wife
If you were my lover
I’d make ya moan and scream
But you’re not my lover
Who gets naked in my dreams
If you were my lover
I wouldn’t holler you wouldn’t bitch
But you’re not my lover
You no longer scratch my itch
If you were my lover
I’d take ya home
But you’re not my lover
So I’m sleeping alone
I’m gonna take ya on a date
I’m gonna treat ya right
I’m gonna treat like a girlfriend
I’m gonna treat ya like you’re not my wife
If you were my lover
I’d give ya hugs and kisses
But I’m not your lover
You’re not my mistress
If you were my lover
You’d be my fantasy
But you’re not my lover
What ya get is what ya see
If you were my lover
I’d take you to bed
But I’m not my lover
That’s what you said
If you were my lover
I’d ask you to marry me
But you’r not my lover
You’re already my wife ya see
I’m gonna take ya on a date
I’m gonna treat ya right
I’m gonna treat like a girlfriend
I’m gonna treat ya like you’re not my wife
The only people for me are the ones walking in circles, silently struggling while getting nowhere. The ones who are not self assured, or at peace with themselves. These are the ones who are estranged from their soul purpose. It’s only through suffering that we find out what we’re made of. I wish it wasn’t true, but it takes troubled times to grasp the meaning behind this place in which I now have chosen to call home. I am the product of the choices I’ve intentionally or unintentionally made. Time silently rolls by, inherently taking no passengers.
I feel at home with the lost ones who are misunderstood, the ones fired from jobs, behind on their rent, fighting addictions, crippled by heartaches, tripping over broken dreams, the ones holding on by their last shreds of hope. These are the ones who’ve made bad decisions, foolish choices, and considered by most to be a lost causes. Sitting on a broken-down couch, empty bottles, empty dreams, full ashtrays, the sound of cars rolling by my sun streaked window.
And there’s nothing as unsettling as knowing you are a lost cause. Make no mistake, we must all fight for whatever we want to get out of this life. Who’s to say who’s the winner. When in the end I’m only shadow boxing.
“Never cut what you can untie.” Robert Frost.
Sound track by Down Like Silver, First Light Its dangerous to want someone as much as I want you I turned my back on the sun and let thoughts of you eclipse my fear Waning moon now my only nighttime confidant I don’t sleep well any more, is it because of age or is it…Read more Old Summers
There are many brands of mental illness.You’ve got your garden variety schizophrenia, Bi-polar, chronically depressed, OCD, PTSD, ADHD (not to be confused with LGBT). There’s Anxiety disorders, Mood disorders, Personality disorders, Alcoholism, Drug addiction, Paranoia, Narcism and insomnia. If you string all those psychobabble labels together and allow them to infest a soul, you’ll find the…Read more For the crazy ones
When it rains in the forest I imagine you beside me As Nightfall is coming down In the dark gloom of December A damp fog reclaims a wounded sky I wonder what becomes of the likes of you and me Look how these years have blown thru us Maybe we aren’t so young anymore I…Read more For The Lonely
Title: Let It Kill You
You Actor’s: Kevin and Joel Staging: Kevin lite in a spotlight sitting on left side of stage.
Joel lite in a spotlight on the right side of stage. 3:07 am phone rings. (Clock on bedstead shows the time)
Kevin, “How did this happen?”
Joel, “What time is it? How did what happen?”
Kevin, Ya know, there’s something I just discovered. You can fall in love in the course of a second, in the blink of an eye. But falling out of love can take years. Little things start to imperceptibly build up, change, irritate—— aggravate——infuriate. Did I ever really love her? Where’s did it all go? Love? When did it go bad? Does love have a expiration date? Why the hell did this happen? I can hurt her or I can stay unhappy.”
Joel, “Dude, it’s three something in the morning.”
Kevin, “I don’t even hear what she’s saying anymore. It’s just background murmurings, like the drip of a leaky faucet’s. I’m constantly saying ‘What? What did you say?’ I don’t think she hears me either. We’ve tuned each other out. We’re sharing the same bed, but fighting different demons, chasing different dreams.”
Joel, “Have you been drinking? I told you not to call me when you’ve been drinking. Morning will be here soon. Take some deep breaths, take an Ambien. Turn on the TV and watch some infomercials or the Fox channel, that will put you ass to sleep.”
“Kevin,“I feel the darkness inside me. I wanna be happy again. What do I have to give up to feel alive again? A divorce will leave me flat ass broke. My daughters will side with their mother and I’ll probably never see them again.”
Joel, “As the saying goes——shit happens. Are you still chasing that young skirt at your office? How long have you been married?”
Kevin, “34 years.”
Joel, “Now listen to me. Everybody is struggling with their existential crises. Life is a grind with its meaningless jobs, empty marriages, pretend love, endless bills, too little passion, to many petty arguments over petty shit, relationship betrayals, people unexpectedly die. This life is thwarted with the ‘what once was, what is now and worries about about what will tomorrow bring. Life is a tangle of knots that we all struggle to untie. After 34 years there’s a lot of tangles to undo. Some just cut the rope in the hopes of starting over again. There is no starting over again, you can’t separate yourself from your past selves, or your past choices. You drag all your shit along with you. Life just keeps happening with or without your consent. If you can’t sleep try counting sheep, pray to your god, take an Ambien and call me in the morning.”
(The phone call ends and then the sound of a dial tone).
The phone rings. Bedstead clock reads 6:13am
Joel, “Hello, are you there?” Kevin, “Who the hell is this?” Joel, “It’s me, Joel.” Kevin, “Do you know what time it is?”
Joel, “Yeah, it’s early. Pay back is a bitch. If you can call me in the middle of the night, then I can call you back at the crack of dawn. You asked me about how things happen. Things happen because we forget what matters. We waste our time. We let worries consume us. We stop having fun. How’s that saying go? ‘We don’t stop playing because we get old. We get old because we stop playing.’ We end up playing parts that no longer fit. Now listen to me. We’re all gonna die. All of us. And you’d think that would make us want to be kinder and honest with one another. But it doesn’t. We become selfish bastards wanting more. More this, more that. More stuff and things to plug the holes in our lives. We go out there looking for love and happiness—— but—-life becomes a train wreck happening in slow motion. Love is riddled with compromises and sacrifices. Love is no good unless it’s tested now and again. Maybe nothing lasts forever. But when that magic feeling hits you, it’s as if you’re the only one who’s ever experienced that sweet madness. Pussy can make a man do some crazy shit. Careful not to confuse sex with love.
” Kevin, “I try, I really try. But the love I want no longer exists in my marriage. I wanna feel real love again. I need a connection with someone. I got to have this. If mortality has taught me anything, it’s that this life is too short to waste it trying to bring back to life to something that’s dead and gone. When I’m with Katlin we talk about life and love. We laugh, we get each other. And there’s no substitute for that feeling of being understood. So many people are imprisoned by the mundane. Boring people talking about boring shit. All their time spent rattling on about nothing. I don’t wanna talk about politics or the weather, I just wanna take a drive with her in the country with the windows down and good music playing on the radio. And, for a few minutes I can forget about the cruel world out there waiting for me. Something as simple as that makes me happy. But nothings gonna change unless I change.”
“How did this happen? We get forced into a corner, doing the same things day in and day out. The same arguments, the lonely nights lying in bed next to someone who no longer knows me, and doesn’t even try to understand me. And I’ve tried to understand her, but I don’t. We’re speaking different languages. I just wanna feel free and alive. Katlin has a way about her. She has that unexplainable sexual energy. Her touch is electric. It’s not just the sex, it’s an indescribable connection. If you’ve never had it, then you’ll never understand what I’m talking about.”
Joel, “34 years? It’s an unfair game with unfair rules. A sixty something wife can’t compete with a thirty something mistress. Be careful, be very careful. Love is boring——while infatuation may be exciting, but it’s often times fleeting. A true love should be like a fine bottle of wine, getting better with age.”
Kevin, “Nah, love is more like old cheese, it gets green, hard and smelly.” “I wanna be drunk on love. I wanna take my clothes off and dance naked in the kitchen kind of love. And Katlin would do crazy shit like that with me. I could wait another 34 years and that’s something Mary would see as stupid and ridiculous. She just does’t have it in her to be wild and crazy. To be fun. She’s always has to be in control. I fucking hate being controlled.”
Joel, “So, you’re saying this new girl is a nut like you? A naked dancing idiot? Give Katlin 34 years and she might tell you to put some clothes on and take the garbage out and stop acting a fool. Life is full of boring necessary chores. You have to be practical, responsible.”
Kevin, “Fuck being practical. I’d take 2 years of real love over 34 years of practical, predictable—-stale love. Marriage is impractical. It’s absurd to think two people can stay in love through an entire lifetime. People change. People grow apart. You can’t un-curdle sour milk. Once its gone bad, there’s no going back and making it good again.”
Joel, “So, now you wanna run off with this young chickadee and leave everything and everyone behind. Spend your days living on the beach and making a living selling conch shells to the tourists. God, you’re such a dreamer. You can’t sale off your past like pieces of junk at a garage sale.”
Kevin, “The heart wants what the heart wants.This emotion, this thing called love is powerful. It makes me believe in things again, it makes the colors brighter, the sound of birds singing sound louder. It opens up my chest and lets the fresh air in. Every breathe is a rebirth. Two hearts beating as one.”
Joel, “Dude, you got it bad. There’s a fine line between love and fantasy. Passion can turn out to be a passing fling. Love is a drug, it’s a mixture of chemicals in your brain. It’s addictive. It can save your life, or it might destroy you. Love is like Fentanyl, you never know if it’s going to kill you or give you that warm and fuzzy feeling in the pit of your belly. When it’s forbidden it’s at its strongest, the more dangerous the better. It can bring out the best in you, or it can bring out the worst in you. Beware, some willingly die for it, some vengefully kill for it.”
Kevin, “But In spite of it all, with its good and the bad, life without love isn’t worth living. Bro, I’m torn and twisted. This life is funny, once you’re woke 4 it hard to fall back to sleep, literary and figuratively, if ya know what I mean? This thing is driving me crazy. Thanks for listening to me. I owe ya one.”
Phone is hung up, then the sound of dial tone. (Phone rings) (Clock on bedstead reads 2:47am)
Joel, “Yeah, hello Kevin.”
Kevin, “How did you know it was me?”
Joel, “Uh, let me see now, is it because you’re the only person who calls me in the middle of the fucking night asking me to help them unravel the mysteries of love and life. Have you been drinking again?”
Kevin, ”Did I wake You?’
Joel, “Of course not. I was just rearranging my sock drawer at 3am in the morning.”
Kevin, “I’m gonna do it. I’m leaving her.”
Joel, “Dude, don’t say stuff like that unless you’re mind is clear and you’re sober. Drunken decisions lead to bad outcomes. Life is hard, but harder yet, when you’re drunk and stupid. You’d better remember, you’ve got a lot on the line.”
Kevin, “I don’t want a pretend love any more. I need something real. Do you think I’m doing the right thing?” Joel, “If you’re asking for answers, I don’t have any. You’re not looking for advice, you’re looking for someone to offer you their approval. When it’s your circus, it’s up to you to decide who’s the the clown. No, you’re more like the tight rope walker, the circus flyer. You’re in a no win situation. You’re walking that tight rope, with no net. You’re gonna fuck around and find out. And the more you fuck around the more you’re gonna find out.”
Kevin, ”Find out what?”
Joel, “You stay with your wife and you’ll be forever unhappy. All her little quirks and nuances that once were adorable will become annoyances. Her touch will make you recoil. You’ll forever be comparing her to that young little love tart. You’ll ache for that girls touch. You’ll imagine her in one of those short see through sun dresses. But, then again, If you go all in with this chick, then you’ll be starting all over again. And it ain’t easy starting over when you’re in your sixties. You’ll end up living in some shitty little apartment with her and her snotty nosed kid. This is where pretend love meets real life. She won’t be walking around the apartment complex in sexy skirts, she’ll be wearing three day old sweats. Someone will have to do the laundry, wash the dishes, sweep the floor, pay bills, get gas in the car, fix dinner and feed the kid. It’s that cliche, old man has an affair with pretty co-worker and loses everything. Broken vows lead to broken hearted old fools. And there ain’t no fool like an old fool. Is it worth it to lose your house, the respect of your children and break the heart of the woman who bore you children and who stood by you for 34 years. Old love doesn’t stay young and pretty, but it does remain tried and true. Brother, like I said, you’re in a no win situation. You are not going to be happy regardless of which choice you make. Have you ever tried marriage counseling?”
Kevin, “Marriage counseling at best will only clarify all the reasons I no longer want to stay married. You go there and they expect you to air all your raw personal ugly shit to a perfect stranger. You end up talking to some counselor who’s the age of my daughter, who thinks her psychobabble is going to mend the relationship between my wife and I. She doesn’t realize that we’re two old bumbling warriors with many years of treachery between us. What the hell does she know about life and love at her age. I need a counselor who’s ancient and gnarled, someone who’s seen enough to be suspicious of life and pessimistic about love. I want a counselor who looks as old as Clint Eastwood and wears that same angry sneer. I really don’t want to expose all my insecurities and vulnerabilities to somebody who keeps asking, ‘And how does that make you feel?’. It makes me feel like shit, how bout that for honesty and personal growth. And then having to explain why I can’t get a hard-on anymore cause fucking the same women for 34 years just doesn’t get me excited anymore. No thank you. Falling out of love isn’t a disease, it doesn’t require a cure. I don’t know how or why it happens or where it goes, it just happens. Falling out of love is like aging, little aches become unbearable pains.”
Joel, “Just be careful man. Co-workers can pick up on that sappy vibe between two love struck fools. You think it’s a secret, but it gradually becomes obvious to everyone else that you have goggly eyes for one another. Fishing off the company pier has its dangers. Then one day you’re called up to HR and given your walking papers. You’re playing with fire. I know you can’t see it, because you’re blind sided by love——-You’re deep into it. I’m worried about you man. I’d say have a good night, but I don’t think that’s in the cards. Love always has strings attached, ulterior motives and power struggles. Buenos noches mi amigo.”
Phone hangs up, and then just the sound of a dial tone. 6:00 am, phone rings: Kevin, (In a groggy voice)
Kevin“Oh hell no. You know I don’t do mornings.”
Joel, “Good morning sunshine?”
Kevin, “Sunshine my ass. You don’t seem to understand. I’m going crazy. This is my last chance to have my story end with a happily ever after. Am I asking to much, is it so wrong to want a sliver of happiness?”
Joel, “There’s fleeting happiness and then there’s lasting contentment. I wish I could help you, but I can’t. Contentment is something only you can give yourself. Contentment isn’t exciting, it isn’t skipping hand and hand through life. LIfe’s is fucking hard. It’s full of challenges, and thankless jobs and unrecognized sacrifices. And at the end of the day it’s you——-it’s just you that has to learn to live with yourself. Let you conscience be your pillow. Should you stay, should you leave, should you turn right, turn left? I don’t fucking know. Nobody knows. There’s no guarantees, no instruction manual. Most everyone is hanging on by their fingernails.”
Kevin, “Sometimes all I have left is the realization that I need to let go. To say fuck it. There’s no lonelier feeling than being with someone who makes you feel even lonelier. I want love to be fun. I want to be happy. I wanna feel alive. I don’t want every little thing to seem so serious, so freaking heavy, weighing me down and wearing my ass out. I don’t want to worry about saying the wrong thing, navigating my way through an emotional mine field, only to end up in another stupid argument.”
Joel, “Maybe you can’t go back to that feeling of falling in love, making out in the backseat of your daddies big ole Buick. Maybe love is something that morphs into different things at different stages of life.”
Kevin, “Yeah, and maybe love dies a slow painful death. And, once it’s gone, it’s never coming back. I doin’t want to end up like one of those old couples you see sitting across from one another at a restaurant wearing drawn blank stares. Sitting there in total silence, nothing left to say except pass the salt please.”
Joel, “Perhaps you’re mistaking silence as contempt, when its just being comfortable with having nothing to say or share.”
Kevin, “Or, maybe all that ever needed to be said or shared has already been said and shared. Spontaneity and romance is replaced by monotony. Shit, have I wasted the last 34 years with the wrong person?”
Joel, “You can’t ask someone to be something they’re not. You got to learn to love someone for who they are, not what you want them to be. That’s not reality.”
Kevin, “Fuck reality, I’m searching for the sublime and the magic that makes life worth living. I don’t know where this is all leading, but I’m going. Ya see, you can do everything right, eat good, exercise, go to church, pay your taxes and help old ladies across the street, but without inspiration, without adventure, it’s a life wasted. Waisted on waiting for things to change, that are never gonna change. Nothing changes until I change. There in lies the rub. No one can live my life for me. I woke up one day and realize I’ve been living a lie. Trapped in a meaningless job, marooned in a loveless marriage. Its grinding me down as one day bleeds into the next, until one day I just said, “fuck it” what do I have to lose?”
Joel, “I think you’ve listened to one to many love songs, watched to many chic flicks. Marriage is a job, it takes work.”
Kevin, “What the hell happened to you?. When did you become obliged to just settle for table scraps. You’ve become one of those people who turns love into a job, a chore, a drag. If love were a job——then what they’re paying surely ain’t enough. Cause, you don’t get paid overtime and you 8 don’t get to take weekends off, no holidays, no vacations. If love were a job, I’d go on strike.”
Joel, “Let me ask you this. Is your heart beating right now?”
Kevin, “Of course it’s beating.”
Joel, “How do you know? Are you hooked up to a heart monitor? Are you taking your own pulse right now? How do you know your heart is beating?”
Kevin, “Well, I haven’t killed over dead yet, have I?”
Joel, “You just take it for granted that your heart is beating. And you take it for granted that your wife loves you. You mumble some vows and promises about loving someone for better or worse, through sickness and health. But you’re just speculating that this person at the alter will be the same person in 34 years. It’s a lie. Love changes, moves, morphs, It’s a moving target.”
Kevin,“Yeah, is that why cupid shoots arrows into fluttering hearts? When do the reasons to leave out weight the reasons to stay? Jesus, why does love have to be so hard?”
Joel, “Love is complicated. It means different things to different people. For some it’s security, to others it’s great sex, for some financial security and for others someone to split the bills with. Sometimes it’s someones hand to hold in the darkest of nights. For some, it’s sharing meals, or simply the comfort of hearing someones footsteps coming down the hall in the morning. People expect to much out of love. At best we’re all needing someone to love and someone to love us back. That’s the secret to life. And that’s all there is. So, we forgive one another and carry on.”
Kevin, “Or, maybe people expect to little out of love. They settle, they do without, they no longer touch or kiss, they no longer hear the other persons voice or see their desperation. When does love become connivance, indifference——work? Maybe Thoreau was right when he said, ‘The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation, and go to the grave with the song still in them.’ Love should make you want to sing and not leave you mute.”
Joel, “There’s the old Chinese proverb that says, “A bit of fragrance clings to the hand that gives flowers. Maybe love is more about giving than taking?”
Kevin, “Maybe once the flower is picked, the bloom begins to wilt, the scent dissipates and the garden goes dormant. Is that a tad bit pessimistic or what? How do we keep love alive?”
“I’ve never been one to believe in soulmates and all that new age crap. But damn, there’s this feeling she gives me. I don’t want to lose it. I’ve known love, but nothing ever as strong as this. It’s as if she’s always known me and I’ve always known her. Regardless of the pain and misery this thing has brought me, I’m still glad it happened.”
Joel, “Shit happens. Sometimes you step in it. Love makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. It can’t be qualified, quantified, measured, weighed, seen or touched. It’s a fools game. Over fifty percent of the marriages will end in divorce. It’ll bring out the worst and the best in you. It will destroy you, it will give you wings. What is love? Is it only a case of hormones gone wild? Is love at first sight real? Is it a check list of things required to qualify as love? Is it finding someone with compatible Zodiac signs? Is it chemistry? Is it even real?”
Kevin, ”I suppose It’s like the Easter Bunny Santa and four leaf clovers. Believe in them for as long as you can. It doesn’t matter how it happens, or why it happens. All that matters in life, is that love does happen. And good luck if it unexpectedly happens to find you.”
Joel, “So, what are you going to do? Join the Foreign Legion, consult a witchdoctor, write a sad country song about the woes of love?”
Kevin, “Katlin once said to me, ‘don’t say you love me, treat me like what you think that word means. Cause, love is such an overused word, it’s meaning has lost its potency, it’s a cliche of a cliche.’”
“She could get away with saying shit like that because she’s deep, she’s smart—she’s authentic. She’s got a poet’s heart. She cuts through all the bullshit and puts her words together in a way that makes me shake my head and smile. She pierced my heart. I’ve never known anyone like her. And I’m sure I’ll never meet another person as real and transparent as her 10 ever again. My love for her has nothing to do with her looks, although I think she’s absolutely beautiful. It has nothing to do with sex, but she’s has a way of making loving fun. It has nothing to do with politics or religion. Calling this indescribable connection as love (whatever that means) is selling the emotion short.”
“She saved me, she ruined me. Before her, I thought I was content. But now I can’t un-feel what she made me feel. She makes me laugh, she makes me feel good, she makes me a better person. No one has ever been able to do that.”
Joel, “So, what are you going to do?”
Kevin, “Sometimes you don’t get closure, you just gotta decide to either carry on or to move on.”
Joel, “There’s never two loves that are the same. I guess you’re gonna have to decide which version of love is right for you. But, whatever you do, don’t go and get yourself a love tattoo. Cause, it’s a lot easier to have one inked into your skin, but much more painful and expensive to have it removed. Kind of like love, if ya know what I mean.”
Kevin, “It’s too late. I already got one on my arm.”
Joel, “What does it say?”
Kevin, It says ’Love’ followed by a question mark.” Joel, “Love is a freaking unexplainable mystery. I wish you good luck with your once dreamed of ‘Happily Ever After’ ending. With that said, I wish you a good night.”
Kevin, “Yeah, and the same back at you. I’ll leave you with a Bukowski quote, ‘Find what you love and let it kill you’’’
(The phone clicks, then the sound of a dial tone). 11 12
Soundtrack by Ruston Kelly “Hellfire”.
This is your life, take it or leave it
Thru your tears and laughter
Were’e all just finding our way
Ya never know what ya got
Till you find out what you’re not
And most the time there’s nothing
There’s nothing there at all
Make your choice between love and disaster
This is your life, to use as you choose
There’s anger and there’s forgiveness
They’re both out there waiting for you
Grab a hold with both hands
Sometimes ya win sometimes ya lose
It’s no good to go it alone
Inside your soul make a home
Made of Glass and stone
Make your choice between love and disaster
This is your dream, to awaken
Watching your life unfold
Some give in, some give up
Trust your heart, trust your gut
Search the edges of your thoughts
What’s illusion, what’s not
Be careful what you’re chasing after
Make your choice between love and disaster
I hold her hand
So nervous like the first time
She offers me a gentle smile
It hides a trace of pain
2 Days mean more
When they’e numbered
I can’t imagine my days Here
Living without her
3 She use to make my meals
Use to mend my clothes
Now there’s only shadows
Where she made a small house our home
4 The sounds of laughing children
Once filled these empty rooms
The best of times in our life
We danced and laughed and struggled through
Those were the days
Even if we didn’t know it
Love is in the small things
Seldom seen and often go unnoticed
1 She wants to walk in the garden
But her legs have grown weak
I help her to the window
She shuffles her feet
2 Holding hands in silence
Siting in the setting sun (ya see)
Love doesn’t belong
Only to the young
3 Sunday drives in the country
Picnics by the lake
It doesn’t seem that long ago
But time moves on, refuses to wait
4 Whispers a Hail Mary
Tells me there’s angel circling
She can hear them calling
Calling her name
5 I kiss her forehead, and say
If you must go, I understand
What will I do without my sweetheart
Who I shared my life, hand in hand
Those were the days
Even if we didn’t know it
Love is in the small things
Seldom seen or noticed
I don’t wanna run, I don’t wanna hide
Finally found someone who made me feel alive
I don’t wanna waste, no more time
Life without you, has got me losing my mind
You got me running in circles blind
You got me crossing forbidden lines
I know we both, have are reasons why
But baby, this life’s too short to compromise
Can’t get you out of my heart
As hard as I try
Life without love is a lie
Every-time we say goodbye
I die a little bit more inside
I know we both feel the same way
I want you more than words can say
No one see’s, and no one knows
The pain we feel, as we’re letting go
No one wins, we both loose
The ones we love, isn’t who we choose
Can’t get you out of my heart
As hard as I try
Life without love is a lie
Life is fleeting, time can be cruel, money has wings——and in the end what matters most are the seemingly insignificant forgotten moments. It’s the ones who we surround ourselves with that matters, the ones who make us laugh at ourselves and help us to untether from this claustrophobic existence. Those honest ones, who in spite of ourselves cause us…Read more Duct Tape And Hope
You must transcend yourself to become a better person than who you are right now. Abandon old limiting thoughts, erase false beliefs, overcome compromising barriers. Never, never, never compromise your values, in the end they are what define you. Resign yourself to the fact that life is at times going to be hard. The greatest…Read more Choke Hold
Sorry I can’t make it to your mothers Celebration of Life event. This will be my final installment to Jeanne’s letter writing project. I hope she enjoyed the previous eight letters I sent to her while she was in the rest home. I hope they comforted her and made her laugh or perhaps cry—- my…Read more Those Were The Days
Tell me daddy, what makes the sun burn so bright Who turns on the moon, when it gets dark at night Oh Daddy, what makes the wind blow Who turns on the rain, who freezes the snow Tell me Daddy, why’s the ocean so blue Who decorates the flowers, with morning dew Someday my son,…Read more I’m Stuck with you, You’re Stuck with me
I remember my first apartment. It never felt like home, it was sparse and empty. It smelled of stale cigarets and flat beer. But I needed to go there and find things out for myself. I had to rid myself of parents and daily routines of doing chores——that draining feeling of being someones child, being…Read more Things I Had To Find Out
With a tone of scorn and eyes conveying pity I’ve been called “sensitive”. I hate the term sensitive, it brings to mind weakness and vulnerability. To write a poem requires guts. To paint a picture requires vision. To play the blues is to open up ones soul and expose a heart callused and gnarled. To…Read more Prize Fighters And Poets
There should be a little bit of nothingness in all our lives I’m talking about the nothingness that my lazy ass cat shamelessly flaunts She could care less about worries, victories or life goals She’s at her best when doing absolutely nothing She sleeps when she wants to sleep She eats when she wants to…Read more God, Vaginas and Wieners
JANUARY 21, 2022BROKEN WORLD, POETRY, PROSE, RANT AND RAVE, SLICE OF LIFE, TRUTH SCRAPS, UNCATEGORIZED, WEIRD WORLDLEAVE A COMMENTFreestyleLoveProseRelationshipsStream Of ConsciousnesVows One of life's greatest mistakes Expecting to be loved Expect is a word best not attached to love There’s many versions of love Few are lasting, and even fewer are memorable Some covet it as if it were property Others wear…Read more Vows
One of life's greatest mistakes Expecting to be loved Expect is a word best not attached to love There’s many versions of love Few are lasting, and even fewer are memorable Some covet it as if it were property Others wear it on their arm like a flashy bauble Or, proudly tattoo it permanently upon…Read more Vows
In spite of our long days and the swiftness of these passing years We’ve reluctantly grown old Old as in running out of time The potholed street of aging leads to a cul de sac of convalescence Age robs us of youths vanities It rubs our hair off, dulls our eyesight and deafens our hearing…Read more At The Speed Of Foreverness
I’m homesick for a time that no longer exists Unfulfilled dreams from youths lost innocence What happens to a love that no longer calls my name She just stands there not even knowing how sexy she is to me I want something back I’ve never had She looks like a memory, lost Dim the lights…Read more Fatally
They say I’m old. But they don’t know what old is. They break it down into a simple math equation. They take my birthdate as the starting point, then they take the current date and add up the years between the two dates They’ll say that number is my age, they’ll say that’s how old…Read more Age
So here we sit my old friend, and I don’t mean “old” in the pejorative sense but rather in the pure number of years we’ve endured. I’m sure there are geriatric wrinkle removing and liver spot removing and hair growing, libido building info commercials that will try to convince you that sixty is the new forty——-but…Read more Letter To An Old Friend
He’d been called fagot so many times that it no longer hurt, but it did still scare him. Because, more than once he’d turned around to be unexpectedly sucker punched. More than once he’d seen that immediate white flash of light that comes with a punch to the nose. Then came the red blood that flowed down his chin and onto his shirt. To stem the bleeding he learned to tilt his head back while pinching the bridge of his nose. Then came that familiar salty metallic taste of blood dripping down the back of his throat. The sound of a bullies’ laughter still echoes in his head. He learned early on that being different meant others felt they had the right to treat you as though you weren’t human; as if you didn’t feel pain like others do. At times he felt as if this world was hate filled. High school is where social lepers are expected to wave their white flag. Maria had no intention of showing a shred of defeat.
There are some things others can’t beat out of you. Things like who you are and the things you know to be true about yourself and the world. His world is predictable, its mean, dangerous and a simmering cauldron of undeserved cruelty. Everyday was another slice of hell. To be different, to be considered queer, was a green light to be preyed upon, to be taunted, kicked, and have the shit beat out of you. The physical abuse was painful, but even worse was being exiled—to have no tribe, to be treated as if he were invisible.
He dreamed of being a she. Of transforming himself into who she always knew herself to be, a girl. There was no closet for him to come out of, because he had always been out of the closet. He was that strange little boy who liked to play dress-up and create tea parties with a cast of dolls. She played with dolls because they never judged her or made her feel shamed.
She gradually made the transition from not only applying makeup but to wearing girls clothes. She had the cliche “Fagot” scribbled in permanent black ink on her school locker. P.E. class was a free for all where she was the target of “arrant” basketballs to the back of her head. She was thrown to the bottom of dog piles and blind sided by shoves that made her neck snap with whiplash. When her mother complained to the school principal she was assured that it was just “boys being boys”. After having her arm fractured in an “unfortunate” wrestling accident she was excused from P.E. and allowed to go to the library during that period. All of her friends were there, the books, merciful solitude and Ms Blanchard the school librarian
Monday, another shitty Monday. Of all the days of the week, Monday is the flagship of misery. She climbed aboard the yellow school bus and sat as close as possible to the front of the bus. Today she was lucky to find the front seat empty. To sit towards the back of the bus amongst all the laughing and hollering kids would risk being tripped or having her book-bag taken and thrown out the window. In the past she had suffered the humiliation of having all the available seats intentionally blocked. The bus shook and rattled as the driver forced it into gear. At the next stop a tall gangly black kid climbed aboard and made his way down the aisle.
Maria watched him walk down the swaying isle as he searched for a seat. The kids stared at him as if he were a two headed monster. From behind him came a wake of hushed whispers. As he sat down the kids sitting across from him stood up and moved towards the back of the bus. She had never seen him at school before and figured he must be a new transfer student. Being labeled the “new kid” is as appealing as being called a spaz or a weirdo. She knew he’d have to find a way to prove himself in order to earn respect and approval. Being the only black kid in an all white school was going to make “fitting in” extremely challenging. If you can’t fit in, then you’d better find a way to blend into the background like an invisible chameleon.
As she sat in the front seat she could feel waded up pieces of paper whiz by her head. Someone threw an apple core that struck the back of her head. She could feel the sticky apple juice as it ran down the back of her neck. Then came the sound of cheers and laughter from behind her. She sat with her back straight and gave no sign of fear or anger, to show any weakness would be putting blood in the water. The bus finally reached the school and Maria hurriedly stood up and exited the bus. Every morning smelled the same, a stomach retching mixture of diesel exhaust and cafeteria food. Some kid wearing a football shirt pushed past her and snatched the beret off her head. He looked back over his shoulder and murmured “Fagot bitch”. The new kid watched this happen and shook his head in disgust. High School and prison both have one rule in common, never allow yourself to show any weakness. Because, there are predictors out there who will exploit and take advantage of the weak. As he made his way across the quad he could feel the eyes of the other students tracking him. This feeling of always being under suspicion wasn’t anything new——it came with the territory of being black.
Maria knew today was going to be another long day and she wanted nothing more than to retreat into the safety of the school library. She opened the door and had a seat in the empty room. Ms Blanchard is seated behind her well organized desk. She’s a large, big bosomed black woman. Her skin is unblemished, the color of Merlot. She’s immaculately dressed in a colorful Zulu African dress with a doek head scarf. Her ruby colored lipstick accentuates her full lips, her smile lights up the room. “You sure look pretty today Maria.” “Thanks Ms Blanchard, did the new Vogue magazine arrive yet?” Ms Blanchard walked over to where Maria was sitting and handed her the magazine, “You know I always keep it behind the counter so that you get first dibs on it.” Maria smiled and said, “You’re the best.” She slumps down in her chair and begins to idly thumb through the pages of the magazine.
Across campus the new kid walks into P.E. wearing the school logo shorts and matching shirt. The school mascot is a Viking. The gym has a huge mural of a Viking wearing a horned helmet and sporting a large handlebar mustache painted on the wall over the home team bleachers. The coach hollers, “Okay, everyone gather up over here. We have a new student today. What’s your name ?” He responded in a calm tone. “My names Marcus.” “Where you from boy?” “For starters, I ain’t your boy and where I’m from is South Central.”
“I don’t know what the coaches in your last school called you, but here we don’t put up with students talking back to their teachers. What’s your sport? Basketball? Football? Baseball? A big boy——- I mean, big fella like you ought to be good at all three sports. You must be six foot two and still growing.”
Marcus shook his head. “I don’t play sports.” “Then what do you do? Do you wanna try out for the cheerleader squad? Do you like twirling batons and shaking pom poms?” The class let out a round of boisterous laughter. Marcus stepped up a little closer to the coach. “I’ll put it to you like this coach, I can more than handle myself in any situation or any sport. Where I come from we don’t play dodgeball, we play dodge the bullets from trigger happy police.”
The coach bounces the basketball and then unexpectedly throws it with velocity at Marcus who snatches it inches from his face. “If ya don’t play sports, then what do you do?” “What I do is slam poetry, spoken word and RAP.” He bounces the ball, pivots and makes a run to the basket and finishes with a huge slam dunk. The class lets loose with a chorus of loud hoots and hollers. The coach shakes his head. “I don’t know much about poetry, but son, you’re poetry in motion. Mister, I’m gonna get you on our team. Damn, with talent like that, I can almost guarantee you’ll get yourself a Division 1 scholarship. I’m talking full ride. I know some of the college basketball scouts and I can give them a call. That’s if your attitude and head are in the right place.” Marcus dribbles up to the top of the key and swooshes a three pointer. “Help me get a scholarship and I’ll play your game. If I’ve learned anything, it’s all about knowing how to play the game, right?” The school bell rings and the students head back to the locker-room.
Maria knew that entering the boy’s restroom was a dangerous situation. She patiently waited outside the bathroom door and listened to see if anyone was still inside. She quietly opened the door and peered in. She slowly entered the restroom and then locked the door to the stall. She could hear the bathroom door slam open and the sound of taunting laughter. “Hey Maria, do you want your pretty purple beret back?” He then began to mockingly sing the Prince song, “She wore a raspberry beret.” All three of the boys climbed on top of the stall walls and kicked the door open. One of them grabbed her by the shirt, while another tossed her beret into the toilet. The third guy grabbed her by the hair and forced her face into the water as he repeatedly flushed the toilet. Her head continued to be pushed down as she struggled to gasp for air. One of them hollered, “Get the fuck out of here bitch, next time use the girls restroom.”
She ran out of the bathroom and just as she turned into the hall she ran directly into Marcus. Her hair and face are wet and her blouse torn. “What the hell happened to you?” She shook her head and said “It’s nothing.” From the other side of the bathroom door they could hear a kid yelling. “Hey Maria, you forgot your gay purple hat.. Why don’t ya come back and get it bitch.”
Marcus took a deep breathe “Just wait here, I’ll get your hat back.” He boldly walked into the bathroom and she could hear some voices talking and then the sound of bodies being slammed up against the walls. There was the sound of feeble whiny voices ”Stop”,” Don’t”, “You’re hurting me”. Marcus walked out of the bathroom and handed Maria her wet beret. “I don’t think those punks will be bothering you anymore.” He then turned and walked on down the hall. Maria thought to herself, “Maybe Monday ain’t such a bad after all.”
The next day Maria boarded the morning bus and kept her eyes down in order to avoid eye contact with the fellow passengers. She looked up and then took a second glance. Sitting near the back of the bus she caught the eye of Marcus’s sitting alone. At that moment she noticed that his eyes looked too old for his youthful face. She shuffled down the swaying narrow aisle and sat down next to him. He nodded, “What’s sup?” Maria took a nervous breath “Thanks for yesterday.” He nods his head, “It’s nothin. I told those dudes what Rowdy Roddy Piper the pro wrestler once said, ‘I’ve come here to chew bubblegum and kick ass— and I’m all out of bubblegum.’ He offered up a chuckle. “Bullies ain’t nothin but chickenshit cowards. They pick on people who show weakness or self doubt. Don’t ever appear weak or give a hint of self doubt. Doubt kills more dreams than failure ever will. Don’t be afraid to stand up for what you believe. I’ll take an ass-whippin any day over a soul-whippin.”
“Well, thanks for getting my beret back. I know that being a new kid at a new school can be rough. It’s not easy being on the outside looking in. No offense, but I noticed that you’re black and that makes you a bit of a novelty at this all white hick school. Being different is always challenging. Coming from the outside means you’ll have to find a way to blend in.” Marcus shook his head, “I’m different and I like it that way. I don’t need to fit in. People who try to fit in are ass-kissers. I learned a long time ago, to never pretend to be something I’m not. I don’t follow trends or fads. And, if someone doesn’t give me my due respect, then we’re gonna have ourselves a problem.” Maria offers a fist bump, “You’re a badass. I’m sure glad you didn’t have any bubblegum on you yesterday.” In a mocking tone Maria interjected, “I’m a badass too, when I’m not getting my head flushed down a toilet.”
“You’re probably gonna hangout with the jocks. As for me, I’m a freak, a freak of nature. I don’t need a crew. It’s all good. Everyone’s got their thing. I do Karaoke. I only do it in my bedroom right now, but I’m thinking about entering the school talent show. I wanted to be in the school choir but I didn’t make the cut. But, I don’t think they cut me because of my voice. The choir teacher said I was too eccentric and I wouldn’t be a good fit. Which is a nice way of saying that a queer kid like me, doesn’tt belong in thier choir..” “What’s your thing? You must be into sports? If you’re good at sports everyone will think you’re cool. My dad wanted me to be good at sports so he signed me up for little league tryouts. Some kid threw a fastball at me when I wasn’t looking and it broke my nose. He said it was an accident, but I knew that was a lie, because he just kept laughing when the coach made him apologize. I hate any sport that uses a ball, a bat, a hat, a helmet, boots, teams, rules——- or any sport where the score is more important than having fun, which is pretty much true of every sport. Sorry if I’m talking too much. Sometimes I talk so much to myself inside my head that I sometimes forget I’m rattling on out loud. I talk a lot when l get nervous. I had a counselor once tell me it’s a coping mechanism.”
Just as she was catching her breath and getting readying to launch into another topic, Marcus cut her off. In a sarcastic tone he exclaimed, “I’m sure glad you noticed that I’m black and all. I guess I couldn’t pass as an albino Eskimo. It’s okay to laugh, it’s just a joke! Everybody thinks that because I’m tall and black that I’m either a gangbanger or a basketball star. Everybody is always trying to put people in their neat little boxes. I don’t fit in no box. Weak people judge others cause it’s easier than taking the time to get to know them. Most people live in their little protective worlds. I walk down the streets in the suburbs and people cross the street to avoid getting close to me. It’s as if they think I’m gonna beat them over the head and rob them. The police are always eyeing me. They stop and question me if they think I’m somewhere I don’t belong, or more accurately, somewhere a black person doesn’t belong, which is pretty much everywhere except the hood. By the way, I collect quotes. Here’s a good one for what I’m talking about.” ‘I know my worth. I’ve paid dearly for every ounce of it.’ “That was written by Alfa. Damn girl, if anyone should know what it’s like to be judged, stereotyped and kicked to the curb, it should be you.”
“I’m sorry about my stupid comment I made noticing you’e black and all. It’s no wonder I have no friends.” There’s an awkward moment of silence. “I was wondering if maybe you and I could be friends. We’re both riding the same bus every day. My mom told me I need to reach out to other kids and make friends. To be honest with you, I’m not good at making friends. In fact I don’t really have any friends except for Ms Blanchard the librarian. She’s black too——Whoops I did it again. I’m always saying the wrong thing. She’s become a good friend of mine and she lets me eat my lunch in the library even though the signs say no food or drinks allowed. Ms Blanchard and I started a book club, but I was the only one who showed up for the meetings. So, she made me President, secretary, treasurer and the person in charge of roll call. I announce my name and then raise my hand and say ‘here’. Funny, huh? That was a pretty easy assignment because I’m the only person whoever attended. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so pathetic?”
At each bus stop more kids got on board. In spite of all the seats filling up, the seats around Maria and Marcus remained empty. Marcus shook his head in confirmation “Friends is good by me. And by the way, I like to write, so maybe I’ll attend one of your book club meetings.” Maria’s voice couldn’t conceal her surprise. “For real? That would be excellent. I’d nominate you to be Vice President. You could choose the first book we’re to read and discuss.” Marcus held up his leather bound journal, “I’ll join under one condition, and that’s if I’m allowed to share some of my raps and spoken word projects. Ya see, I’m into slam poetry, spoken word readings, quotes and spelling contests. That’s my thing.” Maria’s voice couldn’t hide her disbelief “Now wait a minute, you’re into spelling bee’s? Isn’t that for elementary school kids?” “Hell no! Training for a spelling contest is like training for a prize fight. Everyday I look up ten new words and memorize the spelling and definition. I’ll go for a jog and repeat the word over and over. I have a heavy bag hanging at my house and I get a rhythm going with my punches as I spell words out-loud. I love words. Here’s a word for you. You aren’t a freak, the word haecceitas describes you.” Maria glances at Marcus from the corner of her eye. “That sounds like a scary medical condition“ Marcus laughs, “Its definition is ‘the property of being a unique and individual thing’. I think that suits you well.” She slowly repeated the word back to herself “Haecceitas? I like that. How do you spell it?” She opens her binder to a clean page. Marcus slowly enunciates each letter, “h-a-e-c-c-e-i-t-a-s.”
Marcus lifts his journal up. “Quotes, I write them down, hundreds of them here in my journal. I love their simplicity and insightfulness. They’re so dense and compact, yet they cut and hack their way to the bone. They’re like performing surgery with a machete. They aren’t always pretty, but they get the job done. There’s novels that have over ten thousand words, but the author has nothing to say. They’ll drivel on about how the shadows crawl across a hardwood floor. They don’t go deep, deep like the cruel shadows that crawl across a man’s soul. Too many writers doing the same thing, telling the same old story in the same old tiresome way. They lack vitality, they lack the words to describe the desperation locked within the silence of a lonely man’s heart. Now that’s some hard shit to write. I’ve found some quotes that are so powerful that they exploded in my heart like a first kiss, a last kiss or like a punch to the solar-plexus. Ya see, words are attached to feelings and feelings are attached to words. If there were no words, then there’d be no emotions. Words are the nexus, the only tool we have to reach out to one another. If you take 26 letters and put them in the right order you can make words. And, if you take the those words and put them in a specific order, you can unlock the doors to new worlds. Poems, lyrics, stories, Haikus, novels——when they’re put down right, they’ll find their way into your psyche, into your soul. When put together in the right order they can give you the power to better understanding others. You can confess love, release anger, tame your fears and in rare circumstances allow you to feel less alone. Here’s a quote that does just that.” He opens his journal and begins to read. ‘That is part of the beauty of all literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you’re not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong.’“That’s by F. Scott Fitzgerald.” Maria responds, “That’s beautiful, but I don’t know if it’s true for everyone——especially the part about belonging.”
The bus jerks to a stop as the air brakes release an exhausted sigh. The door clanks open and everyone rushes to get off the bus. Maria and Marcus wait for the bus to completely unload before standing up. As they exit the bus Marcus puts his hand on her shoulder, “If anyone messes with you, let me know and I’ll mess with them. Remember, you ain’t a freak, you’re Haecceitas.” Maria smiles, Okay, call me whatever you like, but I like being called your friend the best.“
Maria is seated in the library next to a whiteboard. Written on the board in bold letters is the following, “Creative Writing Club Rules, Be honest, Be Positive, Be Real, Write and Share, Always be kind”. Maria strikes a gavel on the desk. “Meeting called to order. First order of business roll call. Ms Blanchard you are the sergeant at arms, so please commence with attendance.” Ms Blanchard clears her throat. “Maira Johnson.”” Maria raises her hand and responds, “Present”. “Next order of business is our invocation prayer. ‘Dear God, higher power, the divine in us all, thanks for bringing us together and we pray that you bring us more members to be a part of’——— The door bursts open and Maria and Ms Blanchard raise their bowed heads. “Ya just increased the membership of your Creative Writing Club.” Maria gathers herself and responds, “I didn’t think you were really gonna show up. I’m glad you made it. As a formality you will need to first fill out an application to determine if this organization is a good fit for both parties.” She hands Marcus an application.” Marcus snaps back, “You’re kidding me, right? I don’t wanna be a good fit. I wanna be a good misfit.” He struts into the center of the room and says give me your best beatbox.” He starts a beat using his mouth as he drums along using the top of a desk. Maria and Ms Blanchard do their best to keep the syncopated groove going. He begins a rhythmic rap. “I’m a mover, I’m a shaker I’m a freakin heart breaker, I can riff, I can rap, I’m a black badass cat, throw me a beat, hand me a mic, I got the swag to keep it tight, I got cool, and won’t be actin nobody’s fool, don’t need no club, no boring class, take me as I am, or you can kiss my ass.” Maria slams her gavel down on the desk. “I hereby declare you as our first new member since our inception. You’re in, no application necessary.”
“So, what do we do in this club?” “We share poems, stories and ideas. Sometimes it’s just crazy insights we make about people and life. We share books, movies and quotes that inspire us.” “What about raps and spoken word?” Ms Blanchard shakes her head in confirmation “That’s poetry too. Poetry is what truth is wrapped in. It’s the language of the soul. The definition of rap is Rhythm and Poetry. It is a legit art form.”
Marcus turns towards Maria, “What do you got girl? You got a poem or something you’re working on?” “I have some drafts, but I’m not ready to put them out into the universe. Maybe at our next meeting I can recite something. I do have a quote by your F. Scott Fitzgearald that I memorized. “For what it’s worth: it’s never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the courage to start all over again.’
Marcus shakes his head in agreement, “Ain’t that the truth. Most people don’t want to start over, cause that means they’d have to admit they’ve been living a lie. The only way to change, grow and evolve is to be honest with yourself.” Maria looked out the window in contemplation, “Honesty isn’t a door easily shut once it’s been opened. Hidden behind those doors are monsters disguised as secrets.” Marcus shakes his head, “Once you kill the monsters your secrets lose their power over you. As the saying goes, we’re only as sick as our secrets.”
It always seems to rain more often on Monday’s than it does on any other day of the week. Monday’s are tough, but rainy Mondays are the worst. Maria climbed aboard the bus with its electric heater smell mixed with the musty odor of wet clothes and hair. It smells like a Monday. She looks down the length of the bus but doesn’t see Marcus. The bus radio waivers in and out of reception sounding more like static than music. Kids are hollering and laughing as the windshield wipers slap back and forth against the windshield. The chaos makes Maria’s temples throb and ache. Two stops later, Marcus climbs aboard and has a seat next to Maria. He’s wearing a school team jacket with the Viking emblem and a matching baseball hat slung ass backwards on his head. Maria looks over at him with an air of suspicion. He looks back at her, “I’m late, I had practice.” “I thought you didn’t like playing sports?” “The school counselor had a talk with me and set things straight. She said that the only reason I was allowed to switch school districts was because I’m good at basketball. She said that if I don’t play, then I’ll have to go back to my old school. And, if I wanted to get a college scholarship, then my chances are a lot better at this top rated school district. Maria takes a deep breath, “That’s a bunch of crap. That’s like saying if someone can bake the best cake in Home Economics’ then they can get a college scholarship.” “Sports aren’t just a game, they’re big business. School athletics bring in revenue, cake baking doesn’t do anything. It’s all about cash and winning. Winning teams get more support and funds from the boosters. Championship teams get attention from the college scouts. It’s not fair, but that’s the way the game is played.”
“So, you’re gonna bow down to the man?” “Look, I don’t have any other chance of getting into a good college other than a basketball scholarship. This is my chance and I’m taking it. The path I’ve got to take isn’t the one of least resistance. My road hasn’t ever been easy. The path of least resistance in my neighborhood only leads to gangs, drugs, prison and death. I’ve avoided gangs, drugs and street life so I could make something of my life. You either accept this life as it is or you impose your will and do what it takes to get the things you want. I’ve made my share of sacrifices. I left behind everything, my old school, my old friends——-This is my opportunity, my ticket out of here. I’m gonna do what it takes to chase down my dreams. Here’s a quote by Henry David Thoreau that sums it up for me,” ‘The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it.’
The bus hits a pothole and Maria’s books fall on the floor. As she reaches down to pick them up the sleeve of her sweater is pulled up revealing some deep scars. Marcus grabs her hand. “What the hell are these?” Maria pulls her hand back “It’s nothing.” “No, those are something. You really shouldn’t be hurting yourself.” “Yeah right, I really shouldn’t be hurting myself! What do you know about me and hurt? Ever since I’ve been a little kid I’ve been teased. I’ve been called names, I’ve been bullied, beat up, kicked and treated like I should be ashamed of who I am. I’ve been told that I don’t deserve to be alive. I can’t control that pain, but I can control the pain I do to myself. My pain is my pain, nobody else’s. It’s my release, it’s confirmation that in spite of all the hell I’ve been put through that I’m still alive——-at least for now.” Marcus paused and then lowered his voice, “It must be really hard?” “What?” “You know, being trans.” There’s an intense silence and then she responds “Once you know something you can’t unknow it. From day one I knew I was different. I was born this way. My parents took me to see a child psychologist and they were told that it’s just a phase I’m going through and I’d grow out of it. One year my parents signed me up to go to Church Camp and the minister said I wasn’t allowed to attend. He said the other parents and elders felt I’d be too much of a distraction. He said I’d be a bad example for the other kids and that I needed to be cleansed of my sins. My dad told the minister that there’s a special place in hell for hypocrites like him. We never stepped foot in that church again. The worst is when people look at me with a certain look in their eyes. It’s hate, or maybe pity. It’s as if just being alive offends them. It made me feel like I didn’t count or didn’t belong. It made me think that it would be easier on everyone if I just disappeared. I get this odd feeling like I’m crumbling from the inside out, like I’m disintegrating into a million tiny pieces. Some mornings to get out of bed takes every ounce of my energy. I feel tired and numb——-but numb is good because then nothing or no-one can hurt me. I lie on my bed with my hands clasped over my chest like a dead person in a coffin, like a cadaver who’s had their blood replaced with formaldehyde. Maybe I’m already dead and I just don’t know it. People already treat me like I’m not real. They think I don’t feel things like other people do. But I do. I feel everything, but mostly I feel exhausted. I get so tired of trying to be liked. It seems so easy for everyone else. They must think I’m dead inside. I pretend it doesn’t bother me, but it hurts to not have someone to do things with. Being dead would be a release from it all. Tell me the truth, do I look like a corpse?”
“Hell no, you look more alive than most people. You got heart, you got soul and most importantly you got courage. One of my favorite quotes is by this guy named Bukowski. He said, ‘What matters most is how well you walk through the fire’. In all this bullshit, you’ve never lost yourself. You will always be you, regardless of what fools may say. That’s something that’s attractive, it’s what makes you beautiful. Most people are defeated and don’t even know it. They’ve given in and do what it takes too ‘fit in’. No, you aren’t a corpse, you’re not a freak of nature, you’re a force of nature. Don’t ever forget that.”
Marcus grabs Maria by her shoulders, “Now look me straight in the eye.” Maria turns and looks down. Marcus shakes her and makes her face him eye to eye. “You got to walk through the fire, face your enemies and keep moving forward. Don’t let them win, don’t let them make you give up on yourself, on life. Be the best “you” you can be. Do you understand?. Some people don’t like black people and some don’t like gay or trans people. Fuck them! While I’m alive, while I’m still here, I’m gonna make a difference. You need to do the same. Remember this, no one can give you self respect except yourself. That’s why it’s called “self” respect.”
Maria looks down again. “I’m just tired of being alone and doing things on my own. I’m such a spaz, even the unpopular kids don’t want me to eat lunch at their table. To answer your question, yeah, it’s hard to be trans. There’s all these doors I see others walk through, but when it’s my turn they get slammed in my face. I want to feel connected to someone, I want someone to think I’m fun and”——she stutters and then chokes on her words.” “I want someone to think I’m pretty.” She gives herself a mocking laugh, “I want to be badass like you.” Marcus put his hand on her shoulder, “I don’t know where this life goes, but it does go——and it will go on, with, or without you. Don’t follow the path of least resistance, go for everything you want, be whoever or whatever you want to be. There are people out there who are gonna want to burn you down to the ground, don’t let them. You got it? Remember, we’re all going through this life for the first time, so don’t expect it to be easy. It ain’t simple, it’s full of contradictions, let downs, and long nights. Ya just got go out there and live it, you can love it or hate it. It’s up to you. Go down singing and swinging.” Maria wipes a tear from the corner of her eye “Thanks, I needed; really needed someone like you to come along at this time in my life. I needed a friend. I don’t know anything about sports or basketball, but I’m sure as hell gonna be at your next game. I’m gonna root for you like a motherfucker.”
The bleachers at the basketball game are full. The school pep band is blasting “despacito”. The air is electric and there’s the faint smell of floor wax mixed with popcorn and deep fried junk food. Maria strategically chooses a seat at the very top of the bleachers. She had been to ballgames and rallies in the past and had kids behind her throw popcorn and candy wrappers at her head. As she made her way up to the top of the bleachers she could feel the glares of disapproving parents. She’s dressed in bright green leggings, a short black skirt and a high school mascot hoodie. On her feet she sports hightop red tennis shoes. It’s all topped off with a pink “Hello Kitty” baseball hat covering her purple dyed hair. She stood out like a bright yellow dandelion on a freshly cut lawn. Her choice of wardrobe was not to shock, but rather an extension of her unique sense of fashion——authenticity trumps fashion.
Throughout the game Marcus dominated the court with his graceful layups, no net three pointers and defensive takeaways. When he weaved around and through the other players, it was as if he were dancing to a song only he could hear. He raised the game from a sport to an art. He was amazing to watch as he effortlessly defied gravity. Maria clapped, cheered and put her fingers in her mouth to create an ear piercing whistle. It was a great feeling to have finally found a friend, a friend others envied. He knew his sudden popularity was the result of the points he scored on the court and not for his character. Popularity doesn’t equal friendship or loyalty. True friends stick by you win or lose. At the end of the game Maria pushed her way through the crowds of people to give Marcus a high five and a fist bump. His teammates looked at her with contempt. They couldn’t understand how he could include her in their victory celebration. Marcus and Maria knew there are more challenging victories outside of a basketball court. These are the hard won victories in life where there are no rules or referee’s to keep the game fair. His teammates turned their backs and walked towards the locker room. It didn’t matter to Marcus, because he wasn’t playing to win a single game, he was playing to make a difference.
Marcus and Maria continued to grow closer as they shared their bus rides to and from school. One day Marcus took out his cell phone and snapped a selfie of the two of them. There they were, forever etched together in time and space. They sat arm and arm making goofy faces for the camera. Maria laughed “If we’re not an odd couple, I don’t know what is.” Marcus joked “We should go to the prom together, I’ll be voted prom king and you will be prom queen.” Maria interjected, “Drag queen for me that is.” There’s no better salve for healing than laughter. And, there’s nothing more life affirming than finding someone who allows you to be yourself, someone who’ll laugh at the absurdity of life. There’s no word for it, that feeling of being accepted and understood. The word love has been overused——it’s lost its potency. If you’re looking for a word to define this thing between two people, than you never had it——-because it can’t be put into words——it’s the sacred stuff that makes life worth living.
Even though Marcus became more accepted and popular due to his athletic prowess, he continued to walk with Maria through the quad and down the crowded halls. This bought her a measure of tolerance from the pack of predators. But, there’s a huge gap between being tolerated and being accepted.
As the talent show sign ups drew closer, Marcus kidded Maria about entering the contest. He jokingly pretended his pen was a microphone and started singing “Staying Alive”. “Come on girl, you can do it. You said you like to sing karaoke. Well, here’s your chance to prove it.” Maria responded, “Sure, I’ll enter if you agree to enter too.” Marcus squinted his eyes giving the challenge some serious deliberation. He held his hand out for a fist bump. “Why hell yeah, let’s do this thing. We’ll either be a huge success or a complete disaster.” Maria sighed, “I can see us now being tarred and feathered and run out of town on the rail.” From that day forward they rehearsed everyday after school.
The night of the talent show Maria was dressed in a black one piece sequined outfit. She wore spiked heels, gold dangling earrings and a platinum blonde wig. Around her neck she had a gold choker with a red heart hanging from the center. Her mouth was dry and she could feel her heart throbbing in her temples. She slipped into the girls restroom and bent over the toilet and threw up. She felt a cold sweat run across her forehead. She found Marcus and grabbed him by his arm, “I can’t fucking do this.” Marcus laughed, “Damn, you look hot. You could be one of those backup singers for Gladys Knight and the pips. You’d be a pip.” Maria did not find the comment funny. Marcus put his hand on both of her shoulders,“Now listen to me, get your shit together and let’s rock this fucking place. We’re up next, so ‘man up’, or ‘girl up’, or whatever ‘up’ you wanna do. But don’t be a chicken shit. Don’t let your self doubt step on your dreams.” The voice of the MC echoed in the distance, “Now we got something sure to blow your minds. Welcome if you will, Marcus and Maria.” Marcus whispers in her ear, “While we’re here, let’s make a difference.” He gives Maria a push through the curtains causing her to trip. The auditorium is dark and deathly silent. The sound of her high-heels echoed as she made her way across the stage. A spotlight is switched on blinding her and making it difficult for her to locate the karaoke machine. From the darkness came the voices, “Hey queen-ey.” “Fagot.” “You can be my bitch”. Someone made a loud wolf whistle. Maria felt as if her legs were made of jello. She finally reached the Karaoke machine and pressed play.
The song “Nothing Can Come Between Us” by Sade blared from the speaker. She kept a tight grip on the mic stand to steady herself. A blue spotlight hallowed around her making her appear small and exposed. Her voice came out in a wobbly whisper. From the wings Marcus called out, “Do it, let it go. You got this thing!” She closed her eyes and let the music flow through her. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back forgetting where she was. Her voice gradually builds and becomes stronger and more confident. Her tone and vibrato sounds rich and soulful. The audience grows silent and becomes attentive as they realized they were hearing something unexpectedly good.
The mix begins to blend into the song “Changes” by Tupac. The curtain slowly opens as a second white spotlight switches on and is trained on Marcus as he makes his way to center stage. He’s wearing a black tank top with a picture of Tupac blazoned across its front. He’s got on a pair of sagging blue jeans with a pair of red Nike Air Jordan high tops. He’s got his hair combed out into a full Afro. His rap voice is powerful and angry. The audience spontaneously bursts out into deafening screams and wild applause. He moves confidently about the stage like he owns it. The audience comes to their feet and begin to dance and clap to the groove. A disco ball casts white sparkles of light on the walls and ceiling. The mix slowly blends into “Say Something” by Justin Timberlake. Marcus and Maria meet in the middle of the stage and move together in choreographed dance moves. The audience stays on their feet and start singing along to the music. A strobe light flashes in rhythm with the music. Abstract psychedelic posters come alive under the black lights. As the song comes to a close the crowd goes wild. In this euphoric moment there is no black, white, gay, straight or trans labels separating us——music is the great equalizer, the great unifier——creating a sweet oneness.
The MC speaks, “We have the ballots counted and the results have been tallied. The winner of this year’s talent show is”———-He pauses letting the anticipation build. “The winner of this year’s Talent Show is———-Marcus and Maria.” They come to the middle of the stage and give one another a hug. The place erupts into the deafening sound of cheers, whistles and screams.
Their morning bus rides continued to be their time to share laughs and talk about writing projects. They shared quotes, raps, poems and their future dreams and aspirations. After their success at the talent show most of the students give Maria a measure of respect. One day, Marcus wasn’t at his usual bus stop. She looked for him on campus but he was nowhere to be found. When he failed to show up for the Creative Writing Club she got a feeling that something wasn’t right. In her gut she had an uneasy feeling.
The only place she hadn’t looked for Marcus was the athletic department. She gathered up her courage and headed to the basketball coach’s office.. She opened the door to his office and tentatively approached his desk. On the shelfs behind him were trophies, medallions and colorful ribbons. In the stale air is the odor of musky deodorant masking the odor of sweat. “I’m looking for Marcus, has he been attending practice? I haven’t been able to find him anywhere.” The coach sat back in his chair with his feet up on his desk. He ran his fingers through his buzz cut, “That boy is no longer on the team. It seems he forgot to separate his politics from his sports. He got mixed up with that ‘Black Lives Matter’ crap. He had the gall to take a knee when they played the ‘National Anthem’. That boy was setting a bad example for the rest of the team. The Boosters and our school administration only support good clean American patriots and not a Kaepernick wanna be’s.” Maria’s voice took on a tone of indignation “What the fuck are you talking about.” “The coach removed his feet from his desk and leaned into Maria’s face. “You best watch your language dude. You may be wearing a skirt, but you’re still a dude to me” Maria leaned back into his face. “Black Lives Matter’ has nothing to do with patriotism. It’s about protesting police violence and brutality against black people. It’s about police being held accountable for shooting unarmed black people.” The coach stood up “He can now protest any freaking thing he likes, cause he’s not representing our school, our team or my America.” Maria shakes her head in frustration “That’s where you’re wrong asshole, it’s not your America, it’s everyone’s America and that includes black people, LGBTQ people———people of every race and religion. It’s the ‘United’, yes ‘United States of America’.” The coach sneered “That stupid son of a bitch took it too far this time. He forgot his place; where he does and doesn’t belong. He’s been expelled and worse than that, he’s pissed away a guaranteed college scholarship to a Division 1 school. He couldn’t just play basketball and keep his big mouth shut. The boosters and parents weren’t gonna put up with all that ‘Black Lives Matters bullshit’.” He reached in a closet and pulled out a backpack and threw it at Maria. “I cleaned out his locker and he left that shit behind. I was going to mail it to him, but sense he’s your buddy, you might as well take it to him personally. That is if you have the courage to walk the streets of that shit hole he calls home. That place is in the hood sweetheart. A little girly boy like you best watch your back on those streets. Go ahead and take it to your boyfriend. Give him a kiss for me. Get the fuck out of here and don’t exit through the locker-room, that area is reserved for real men.” Maria stared straight into his eyes “I pity you and your small mindedness. You’re a small minded man with a little dick complex. Go fuck yourself.”
It took Maria two city bus rides to get into the inner city where Marcus lives. There are no manicured lawns, pretty flower gardens or the sound of children at play. Here, things are black and white, just liquor stores, quick loan outfits and people with hollow eyes standing idly on street corners. A black Mercedes with gold rims slowed and pulled up close to Maria. An old white dude hung out his car window and in a hushed tone said “Hey there sugar. I like young sweet ones just like you. Will fifty bucks get me some action?” Maria stopped in mid stride, turned around and replied “Fuck off olf msn!” He hollered back, “Bitch, you ain’t worth ten bucks.” He pressed the gas pedal down to the floorboard making his tires smoke and squeal.
Maria checked the address on the backpack and then glanced up at the street sign. She made her way across a patch of yellowed dying lawn. She took a deep breath and anxiously knocked on the black metal door. From inside someone peeked out from the curtains. The door opened just far enough to keep the chain-lock intact. A middle aged back woman spoke, “What do you want?” “I’m looking for Marcus, I have his school backpack to return to him. I’m his friend.” “You must be Maria, the President of the Creative Writing Club. Yes, he spoke highly of you.” “Is he here? Can I speak with him?” “He’s locked up and I sure as hell can’t afford the bail to get him out. Those cops set him up. I gave him the talk about the police, but Marcus ain’t one to be trifled with. He was never one to act a fool, but he has something in him that makes him stand up for what’s right and defend those who can’t stand up for themselves. He knows what it’s like to be done wrong.” Maria bit her lip, “Yeah I know, he stood up for me a time or two.” “He came home the other day and told me he had it with that coach and that school. He was all excited about enrolling in the community college to finish up his High School credits. Marcus has potential, he has big plans of graduating from college someday. He said one day he’s gonna go to law school. Said he was gonna defend those who couldn’t afford to defend themselves. Said he’s gonna make a difference. Here, come in, I got something to give you.” The house is neat and clean. Marcus’ room is well organized. He has dozens of sports trophies and medals on his dresser and shelves. There’s posters of Tupac, Mohammad Ali and Martin Luther King hanging on the walls. He has a bookshelf full of books and a Buddhist prayer flag draped across his bed headboard. “When I went to try and bail him out he instructed me to make sure to get his personal items that the police had taken from him. He said to make sure to get his journal back.” She picked up a medallion hanging from a ribbon and held it in her palm. “Marcus won the school spelling competition every year from first grade on up to middle school. Loves his words.” Marcus’s mother hands Maria his leather bound book of writings. “It’s a funny thing, this writing book means more to him than all of these sports medals and trophies put together. I know that you and Marcus are close, so I want you to hold on to this for him. I know that he respects and trusts you. He could use a good friend right about now.” Maria smiles, “Yeah, I know what it’s like to need a good friend.”
When Maria made it back home she sat on her bed and slowly opened the leather writing book. On the front inside cover is a quote written in neat cursive penmanship
Warrior
Watch me.
I will go to my own Sun.
And if I am burned by its fire,
I will fly on scorched wings.
Segovia Amil
Tapped below the poem is the candid selfie of Maria and Marcus that was snapped on the school bus. Below the photo is the caption “King and Queen Of The Prom”. The journal is filled with poems, prose and lists of words with their definitions attached. Maria lifted the writing book to her nose and breathed in, it smelled like worn leather, it reminded her of him. If integrity had a scent, it would smell like his journal. She turned the page and read the most recent entry.
Watered Down People
(Dedicated to Maria)
Life, a misunderstood word. All there is, is life, and then no life. People carry that word around like it’s a vessel of guarantee’s and entitlements. All that ever will be is life, and all that will never be—— is one of the tragedies of this life too. Life isn’t always a “Once upon a time” or a “Happily ever after”. I once had a best friend, they were there and then one day gone. Time absorbs everyone and everything, sooner or later.
And nobody knows where everything and everyone goes. Words are attached to emotions and emotions are attached to words. If there were no words, would there be no emotions? If that were true, I’d take a big eraser and delete the words, depression, sadness, loneliness, hate and anger from everyone’s vocabulary. I’d write love, peace and kindness in large bold font and add them to everyone’s lexicon.
Life is carried around like a banner that says love is true, life is fair and everything and everyone is infinite. Trust me, time is not an illusion, the hands of our clocks caress away immortality——-I try to remember this.
To some, life is a crisp, clean white piece of paper that they wad up into a wrinkled ball and toss into a waste bin. And, to a few, that same piece of virgin paper is something they neatly fold into an origami of a bird, a dragon or a frog. —–Hands.—The same hand that can reach out to comfort others can also be a weapon to repel everything and everyone.
When I look closely at my hands I realize how odd and strange they are. One hand fits into another person’s hand so naturally, so easily——but then again, it can also just as easily be drawn into a tight angry fist.
Live your best life, not a fraudulent life, not a half life, not a life that is guarded and protected in the hopes of not ever making any mistakes or being hurt. Embrace your mistakes, own your fuck ups, admit your naive follies, because they are the best teachers——Even when it’s all bullshit, even when you’re buried beneath an avalanche of hurt, reach out for another’s hand. Someday they’ll be a “no life” for you and me, and no one will care what we won or what we gave up on——-it will all be lost in the litter of time——-only you can save yourself. Take a good look at your hands. What might you do with them?
Allow yourself to be shot out of a circus cannon, dance on the tight wire, be the painted faced clown, be vulnerable, it’s the only way to know yourself, there are no short cuts. We all have nothing to lose. Without vulnerability it’s a lifetime of pretending to be something you’re not.
Be assured, we are here to help one another summit all those mountains of worry and sorrow.
Life is full of “I told you so’s”, insincere apologies, deferred honesty and love waisted on watered-down people. I wonder if the sun dreads the day’s end, like I do. The moon makes no promises of what the night may bring.
Maria called the jail and inquired about visiting hours. She got on the bus and headed down to the city center. The jail is a twelve story cement block building. Each floor has narrow slits for windows that only allow a minimal amount of sunlight into each cell. The view from any jail cell is never very good. She put her backpack on the X-ray conveyor belt and walked through the metal detector. The uniformed officer pulled her backpack off the conveyor belt and began to rummage through the contents. He pulled out several candy bars, Green Tea drinks and a blank tablet and pen. “You can’t give any of this stuff to an inmate. You can only give him money for the commissary. No contraband allowed.” She points to the selfie of her and Marcus laying on the X-ray belt. “Can I give him this picture?” “Give it here. I’ll let the sergeant look it over and if he approves of it, then he’ll have it issued to him.” She makes her way to the reception desk with its bullet proof glass and circular voice intercom. “I’m here to see Marcus Richards.” The uniformed receptionist appeared to be annoyed by the question. He shakes his head no. “That won’t be possible at this time. We have some things we’re investigating in regards to Mr Richards.” Maria did her best to maintain her composure “What do you mean he’s under investigation? What could he possibly be under investigation for? He’s just a kid who’s going to college and doing his best to get out of this shit hole of a town.” “Well he should have complied with the arresting officers. He’s a hothead with a bad temper and a shitty disposition.” “What was he arrested for?” “Well, let me take a look at the arrest record. It says here that he was initially detained, searched and questioned due to suspicion of him fitting the description of a gangbanger who shot and killed a liquor store clerk during a robbery.” “That’s bullshit, he’s no gangbanger or robber. He’s a writer, a poet.” “Well he’s the strongest poet I’ve ever met. It took four officers and a stun gun to cuff his ass. He kept hollering something about his rights. It says here that he didn’t comply with the arresting officer. Apparently when the arresting officer told him to settle down or he was gonna toss his diary book into the sewer drain he became combative. They think he may have broke one of the officers jaw and the nose of another officer. Well he ain’t so tough now.” “I demand to see him right now, right fucking now. This is not fair.” The officers voice crackles through the intercom “Fair?——-that’s where pony rides are given for free. Well, pony rides ain’t free and neither is he.” “I want to speak to your supervisor. I want to speak to him right now.” He clears his throat “Hang on sweet cheeks. I guarantee you ain’t gonna wanna hear what he has to say.”
“I’m Captain Smith, what can I help you with?” “ It’s visiting hours and I’m here to visit Marcus Richards. This dumb ass public servant over there says I can’t speak to Marcus. He never should have been arrested in the first place.” The Captain takes a deep breath and lets out a weary sigh.“I’m sorry to inform you of this, but Mr Richards hung himself in his cell last night or possibly early this morning.”
Maria had been kicked, pushed, slapped, spit on, tripped, thrown against walls, had her things ripped off, her clothes torn, bullied, sucker punched and hurt in a thousand different ways, but not once had she ever let them see her shed one tear. She had always refused to give them the satisfaction that they hurt her or broken her spirit. But this pain was different, it was at a level deeper than her spirit could bear. In that moment of shock and grief, suddenly all those years of suffering in silence was now being released. From deep in her being, she let out a primal scream that was terrifying. It’s the sound a wolf makes when the jaws of a jagged metal trap snaps down on their leg, tearing muscle, tendons and shattering bone. She beat her fist against the bullet proof glass and kept screaming, “You killed him, you fuckers, you killed him. I know you all did it. You cowardice bastards. He didn’t kill himself. He was gonna go to college. He was going to make a difference.” She beat her fists against the reception glass until blood ran down her forearms.
In each of us lies the untapped power to create change in ourselves and in doing so creating a change in the world. Making a better world starts from within. But, it requires pure honesty and the courage to take on a cause that’s bigger than oneself. A life without belief’s worth dying for, is no life at all. Our beliefs test us———they pull our covers and reveal who we are, they are the scale that measures the congruency between our actions and our truths. Cultures do not move forward without the sacrifices of brave individuals. We’re all on a hero’s quest, but there are no medals or victory celebrations. In fact it’s a road a-washed in blood and unheralded suffering. No one is going to congratulate you for doing the right thing. It’s getting off one’s knees and putting prayers into motion. It’s the individual raindrops that relentlessly wash away mountains of hate. Apathy is the oxygen that keeps prejudice alive. A moral revolution has always been a lonely and narrow path. She knew she must find some way to take action, she needed to find someway to honor the life of her now deceased friend.
The news of Marcus’s death ran rampant through the school. Everyone knew that Maria was close to Marcus. There were rumors she had committed suicide. Others whispered that she had an emotional breakdown and ended up in a psychiatric hospital. No one ever expected to see her at school again. There is unseen strength in occupying the role of outcast—-there’s the revelation of knowing you have nothing left to lose. There is nothing as unpredictable or dangerous as someone with nothing left to lose.
The gym was packed for the Friday night basketball game. Above the home team bleachers was a banner with a large photo of Marcus. Below his photos the caption read “Gone But Never Forgotten”. On the bottom of the banner someone had scribbled “Black Lives Matter”.
A blaring voice came over the PA system “We are dedicating this game to Marcus Richards. He will forever be a Viking.” The High School Pep Band made a host of squawks and screeches as the clarinets, saxophones, trumpets, trombones and tubas tuned up. The players’ tennis shoes squeaked on the hardwood floors as they warmed up. A loud buzzer went off signifying that the game was about to begin. A voice came across the PA, “All please stand for the National Anthem.” The auditorium became silent as the first notes of the National Anthem began to play. Maria removed her jacket to reveal a picture of Marcus on her shirt and the caption, “Make a difference.” As she weaved her way down from the bleachers she could hear the sound of hushed murmurs coming from the spectators. She carried herself with a sense of purpose. Her face was determined and she showed no sign of self doubt. She boldly walked to the center of the basketball court and took a knee and then bowed her head.
The players began to exchange glances. Then one of the players slowly removed his hand from over his heart and walked to the center of the court and took a knee. Then a second player made his way from the sidelines and slowly walked to the center of the court and took a knee. The coach’s face turned red with anger. Then, another player made his way to where Maria and the other players had taken a knee. The coach began ranting raving, “You’re going to be pulled from the team. Did you hear me? You’ll be benched. This is blatant insubordination. I will see to it that all of you will be suspended.” The entire players bench began to walk to the center of the court. The band’s version of the “National Anthem” somehow sounded louder and more authentic than ever before. The coach screamed and stammered “I’ll have you all permanently removed from the team. I’ll have you all expelled.” No-one listened to his threats. No-one cared, they were caught up in the reverence of this moment. There was a veneration in the air like that felt at tent revival. For a moment there was a prevailing oneness, a shared sense of empathy and compassion.
As the coach continued his pacing and screaming, he suddenly felt a tightness in his chest. He grimaced as he grasped at his heart with both hands. His uncontrolled temper and emotional outrage had brought on a heart-attack. The pain of the cardiac event drove him to his knees. Ironically, or maybe due to divine intervention, folks in the bleachers seeing this thought the couch was taking a knee as an endorsement of the “Black Lives Matter” protest. The spectators flocked down from the bleachers and in an act of respect took a knee and bowed their heads. On this strange day we were presented with a miracle——-and an unforeseen happy ending. The universe exhaled, the angels rejoiced——and Maria smiled.
The power of one person doing the right thing can shake the heavens and awaken the sleepwalking masses. The universe will always bend towards goodness and redemption. At some deeper level we are all the same, we are all connected by that unseen and indescribable force known as love.
Addendum. The coach survived his heart attack. But ironically, the boosters complained to the School Board that the coach had acted as a political agitator at the basketball game by taking a knee during the National Anthem. The School Board summarily fired him for endorsing a political cause. Maria organized a Scholarship program in remembrance of Marcus. She named the scholarship “While we’re here, let’s make a difference.”
A tune about old folks loving life and having fun, cause fun isn’t just for the young ones. Stay Young at heart.
“We don’t stop playing cause we get old, we get old because we stop playing” George Bernard Shaw