The night had ended with panting while wrapped in damp sheets on the hard wood floor. She let a hand lay gracefully on my thigh before telling me that she had to leave. She tactfully placed her undergarments upon her slender frame and retreated to the facilities. I followed suit and had my boots laced before she returned. She refused to make eye contact. I placed my hands in my hopelessly exposed pockets and departed. Not a word was uttered. The sound of the streets surrounded me entirely for many blocks.

An indeterminate amount of blocks had passed me by before a small smooth arm slid between my ribs and elbow. Her body pressed to mine. I froze in my tracks. The sudden stop swung her around and our lips instantly locked. The fact that we were in the middle of a busy intersection mattered not. Cars honked and created a chaotic cacophony that we couldn’t possibly care less about. When the horns died down I assumed the lights had changed again so we carried on. When the horns started again we walked towards the center of the city.

Her hips were miracles that thankfully rubbed against mine. We walked as a single entity for miles.  Abruptly her shockingly strong arm gave a tug and my body was unwillingly placed on a park bench. In the same motion she faced me and was on my lap milliseconds later. Her body was warm and gyrating. She produced a pipe, and a pouch , from a pocket I had never seen before, and began packing it. I watched in amazement as her fingers knitted over the glass. The pipe was on my lips before I knew it. The night was ours. But only just this once.

And I’ll quilt you passion

Stitch away my broken heart

And I’ll quote you fashion

Hem the edges of my soul

And Aspire fulfill your every desire

Fix the Inseam of my pants

And I’ll zip you into ecstasy

Pivot my body at a 45 degree angle

And I’ll sew you up like a triangle

Backstitch me to anchor my seam in place

And I’ll pattern you with zig zags  per every inch of your garment

French seam my blouse

And I’ll Iron you a crease on each leg with starch

Alter my fabric and call me couture

And I’ll shower you with unlimited attention from my mandible

About the time Hannah turned 17 her parents bought her a 1985 Chevy Nova that must have cost at least 30 dollars. It was tiny and rusted, Navy blue and beaten. That’s about the time I came in.

I was a novelty. If I was 13, I’d be surprised. What started off as laughs and a cheap thrill turned into hours of driving. Hannah took me to places like the Great House Of Guitars, Lima…Ny, and her basement bedroom in her parents house. Hannah was a godsend; and just being near her brightened my angst tinted teen existence.

Her room was coated in tapestries and posters that were somehow thumb tacked into white washed cinder blocks. Hannah’s bed was a triple stack mattress setup with no frame. Each mattress was a different color but they all shared some variation of an organic flowering theme. A six inch television, that I never once saw switched on, sat in the corner under a table. The table of coarse contained a whiskey bottle, complete with wax drippings, and a book of Bukowski.

Hannah’s room was my haven; but I so rarely got to sit there. We were out and about and listening to metallic music on compact tape cartridges; occasionally. The tape deck was temperamental and would only play sporadically. Unknown bands that no one has ever heard of revolved in an often interrupted playlist.

One of our favorite pass times was to drag the track and field mats out of the storage shed behind the local school. We would stack them in artistic fashions and then collapse to watch the clouds roam around. Countless hours were spent within inches of each other. Nothing much mattered as long as we under the sun.

A stream at the edge of town was shallow enough to allow us to stand in the sand barefoot and smoke our three dollar packs of cigarettes. This activity always brought particular joy to us. Hannah herself was employed as a “Smoke Narc.” Her job entailed driving to various gas stations and attempting to purchase a pack of cigarettes without identification. These pay checks of coarse were spent on cigarettes and gas; little else.

We would stand in the stream with our pants rolled up to the knees and yammer on and on about god knows what. A few summers passed in this manner and the only physcial contact I ever made with her was the occasional hug.

Hannah left for college and I was left in some strange new world. The town seemed empty and devoid of any meaning or value. I only found solace in riding my dirt bike to the center of a field and huffing gas from the tank until I awoke with the machine on top of me.

That first year was tough. She eventually came back but was with another. Hannah came back from college with a chubby and slightly swarthy gentleman. He seemed nice. Out of some deep respect, that I could only wish to attain, Hannah took me to The Great House Of Guitars one last time. I rode in the back seat of her Nova for the first time. Nothing could be heard from the passengers in front of me.

In the store I could look at nothing but the now tighter and more toned body that Hannah possessed. She was a statue. The boyfriend, who’s name I’m sure neither Hannah nor I will ever remember, wandered about the store in search of the perfect guitar. He wound up purchasing a replica of the guitar Angus Young, of AC/DC fame, plays and I was thoroughly disgusted.

The venture home was made ever more painful by the  atrocious collection of tapes that circulated in and out of a brand new tape deck. I had eventually learned that He, had purchased it for her, and that I, wanted to kill him. I wallowed in whimsical memories of pot holes causing sudden catastrophic failure of music all together.

In a driveway, on a culdisac, in suburbia, I hugged Hannah and split. The scene was too much for me to take. I couldn’t bare to see such beauty brandishing such a shit boyfriend.

I retired to the rail road tracks and waited for a train to flatten my house keys. A bottle of pepper mint schnapps, which I had bought from a friend who had stolen it from his rescently single father, disappeared and I began throwing rocks at bee’s nests for sport. The outrage lingered a while.

Another year passed. I had met a new young woman and the feeling just wasn’t the same. Hannah occupied my thoughts like well to do rich kids occupy parks in protest. Thoughts about the cut of her self altered clothing were enough to induce prolonged lapses of intellect.

When Hannah next returned She had a husband and was only in town to gather her belongings before moving to Washington. There was no way to wrap my mind around such a drastic change. Hannah and I took one last walk through the woods.

The trails, which we hadn’t used in years, were exactly the same. Some young couples had obviously taken up our slack. I chose the trails and we wound up at the school again. The shed out back now had a lock on the door. Using my bare hands I pried off the lock and we got the track pads out.

The sky was kind that day and showed us a rather splendid show. Silences would pass as well as intense conversations. At some point during a semi scenic upstate sunset Hannah turned to me and took a deep preparatory breath. The words that followed went something like this:

“Remember back when we used to do this all the time?” she said.

“Of coarse,” I said.

“There were a few days back then… man… I had to really try hard to not just attack you.” Hannah’s words were perplexing.

“Yeah, I know. I could be a real asshole back then.” was my response.

She laughed quite heartily at that.

“No you asshole, I very nearly just tore your clothes from your body and raped you out here in the broad daylight.” Her words shook me too the core.

“Oh,” was all I could muster.

A thousand thoughts started swirling in my head. I now recognized that all those feelings, wanting to put my hand behind her neck and lay a loving kiss on her fantastical lips, were fucking mutual. My brain atrophied and I was left stupefied; staring at the sky just mere millimeters from this now spoken for woman.

“Damn,” I said. “What the fuck were you waiting for? I was ready, willing, able this whole time; plus… I was way cooler than that last guy.”

Some time passed and we were silent. I was stewing and she was contemplating. The sky couldn’t care less and went about its business of artistic evolution.

Eventually I summoned the courage to ask “Well what the fuck, wanna get freaky?”

“Jimmy, I’m married now. I can’t. I want to; but I can’t. You missed your shot bud.” Her words were iron anchors sinking into my temples.

My response was probably worded along the lines of “This is utter bullshit,” but not quite as eloquent. All she could do was smile and then recline too watch the now darkened sky. That was the last time I ever saw Hannah.

Will never keep

You me us

From loving each other

Mine ours theirs

Kids will remember our story

Minute Seconds hours

You grow more beautiful to me

Months Days Years

Will never change the love I have for you

We adopted two guinea pigs, mother and daughter of 1 and 3 years old in October of 2011.  After buying a house, we wanted to get a pet, and decided against getting a dog for now. Instead, we are proud parents of two loveable guinea pigs, Harmony and Melody.  Hey, you don’t have to walk them at all hours of the day or evening!

Our two adorable piggies have out smarted us in a lot of funny but very cute ways.  They know our schedules for eating, and by this what amazes me is that they know of the exact “timing” of different hours for our meals, and for them to get their pellets and their treats.  I’m normally the first one up, get the coffee on and check up on our guinea pigs.  It’s really funny to watch them at that time as they are both standing up on their little front legs on their empty bowl looking at me, and squealing for me to give them their pellets.  After eating their pellets, they will have a nap for a while as they somehow know my Husband will be up shortly.  Our piggies know what they will get from him; their treat of different fruits. Each morning, my Husband cuts up fruit for his breakfast, and they actually know that it’s him in the kitchen preparing this, and not me.  While he’s cutting up fruit, our piggies will be watching him and squealing and running around like crazy. When I go into the kitchen getting my breakfast, they don’t even make a sound!  They even hear me opening the fridge door where their fruit is kept, but they are silent.  When I’m preparing my breakfast, our guinea pigs know that I’m not preparing fruit for myself.  They know I’m the one to give them their pellets in the morning.  It’s so amazing how they know each of our meal schedules and they know who they are getting their fruit and pellets from.

My Husband and I are night hawks, and we do our own thing with our music in our studios after our late dinner.  After dinner, I will make our little piggies their salad plate.  They know what I’m preparing in the kitchen for them while they are watching me, as I am also watching them for their reactions.  But they are silent again, just watching what I’m preparing to give them at a later time.  It’s amazing that our piggies know they will not be getting their salad plate at this time, but instead later in the evening. Even though they watch what I’m making for them, they don’t make any of their squealing sound affects.

My Husband and I normally meet in the TV room around 1:00 a.m. and we get comfortable on the couch to watch TV.  Wouldn’t you know it, our piggies are looking at us from their cage waiting patiently, and we know what they are waiting for.  They will look away from us on and off while nibbling on their hay for a while.  Then a short time later, their high pitch squealing begins with the amazing sounds of opera singing, or what almost sounds like an electric guitar playing.  We just love these incredible loud sound effects from them.  They run around in their cage like crazy, as they know it is almost “time” for their salad plate.  Each time this happens, we glance at the clock, and their timing is normally the same time of around 1:30 a.m. every night; the time that they demand their salad plate which is truly amazing.  As soon as I get up to go into the kitchen, our piggies go crazy, squealing again in their high pitch sound as they know I’m getting their prepared salad plate for them to eat.  I will walk towards their cage, and by this time they are running around in their cage with excitement, standing up on their little hind legs begging and waiting for me to put their salad plate down in their cage.  They are very happy at this time while guzzling down their salad.

This unusual knack of them knowing the exact time they will get their final treat of the night before my Husband and I go to bed is incredible. It boggles our minds on how they know of this unusual timing thing that they have developed with us.  There have been times though when we both messed up and got off schedule.  They knew we messed up by showing us their anger, which is expressed by them pushing their little beds up to their empty bowl, letting us know it is empty and time to fill with pellets.  They both really know they are the boss of the house!

When it’s time to pick them up, they will run and hide from us which is normal for guinea pigs.  When we pick one up, the other piggie will know it is her turn next.  She will hide in every place possible so she won’t be picked up but once we do pick her up, she will calm down and be ready for floor time that guinea pigs need out of their cage for exercise. They will play and run in and out of a tunnel on the floor which is so cute to watch.  Oh yes, they love chewing on the box as well which is good for filing down their teeth which constantly grow.

One of the funniest moments we’ve had with our piggies was when we put a large carrot on the floor and took them out of their cage to see their reaction.  Oh my God!  They started having a tug-of-war, grabbing it from one another and constantly grabbing it from each other’s mouths.  It was so hilarious to watch that we were laughing hysterically with tears in our eyes.  We just had to video tape their performance, and posted it up on YouTube.  It can be viewed by goggling “Melody & Harmony (Our Guinea Pigs”).  If you want a good laugh, it’s certainly entertaining and worth watching!

If anyone is concerned about getting a dog, I highly recommend guinea pigs as the next best pet to a dog.  They are like little puppies when you hold them and so loving.  They are very smart little animals, and once they get to know and trust you, they are wonderful to have as pets which we have experienced for the first time owning our guinea pigs.  They are like having little babies, and that’s exactly how you have to care for them.  Of course I would recommend getting two piggies of the same sex, as they are very sociable animals and will tend to get lonely or depressed if you only have one guinea pig.  Eventually, they will out smart you and will be very demanding in a very nice cute way!  They are certainly entertaining pets we have adopted.  We just love our two piggies, Harmony and Melody!

©Copyright by Jeannette Gardner (March, 2012)

Where  the crows bro’s nest till their feathers grow cold

Off the back stroke of pleasure they sell their souls

To the highest bidder, their practice never goes old

Over and under beneath the streets of conscience

Misguided desire unfolds

As the street lights of power flitter flatter their true colors for all to behold

For the story goes

A thief betrayed the Mistress of the night

Shadowed in the palm of fate

He wooed her with his might

Showered her with loves embrace

And flowered her with passion but just a little taste

For little did she know

That beneath that loving exterior

Dwelled a charming thief

Who saw her as inferior

To rule the skies at night

His goal to make her fall in love with him

Then steal away her kingdom in the sky

But she new he was no regular guy

So when he tried to pull a rug over her eye

She nearly lost her shine

But being the Mistress of the night she didn’t surrender without a fight

She gathered all her power and imprisoned him in moon light

I had been thinking about fairly flat, and arguably green beer all day. My Doc Martins were especially heavy that day in the factory. Even the machines seemed to be moving more slowly than normal. The clock is the enemy today and to be avoided at all costs. When I laid my last rivet of the shift and tagged in the morning shift guy I joined the line at the punch clock. From the back of the punch out line you can watch an amazing metamorphosis; people becoming happy. As soon as that piece of manila is stamped and on the rack a smile can be seen forming. I was the exception today. I had no joy.

Exiting the building presents another delightful phenomenon; the sudden realization that the sun does, in fact, exist. One by one we step into the light and recoil like vampires as the office workers arrive. I’m fairly certain they have been instructed to avoid making eye contact with us. Distinguishing a C-shift worker’s car in a crowded parking lot is fantastically easy. These cars are generally more than 10 years old, dented, and held together with tape in some way.

Once within my own back lot cluncker my lower back decompresses; and the harsh reality that I am a third shift sheet metal worker settles in again. Six times a week I think the same thing, in the same parking space, staring at the same cornfield. The car reluctantly started, then winced as I tried ever so gently to place the transmission in reverse. I must remember to never go over 3000 r.p.m. unless I am fully committed to destroying my car.

Today is my Friday but it feels anticlimactic for some reason. I descried to take the back roads into the city hoping that some sun rise scenery will boost my spirits. I normally take the highway as I’m the only person on it at this time of day. I drift across the road in another attempt to lighten the mood; an activity I normally derive great pleasure from, but I just find more melancholy there. The landmarks of route 15 pass by, marking my progress; the bent tree, the lonesome sunflower in a ditch that comes back year after year, the goat that likes to stand on it’s shed.

Twenty-five miles disappear beneath me and I am home; back in the city. All my searching lands me a parking space a mere 4 blocks from my building. I listen to the gravel grinding beneath the stubs of my boot soles on my trudge toward salvation. Keys and doors and locks aside I am inside my dump of an apartment. Gear is stripped immediately in the entrance way before I make my way to the kitchen. I admire the shit stained floor that is my reminder of the half assed plumbing job the super has been attempting for the past 6 days. The ice box is thankfully stocked full of cheap beer; the perfect post work beverage.

With cigarette and beer in hand I settle on the couch and stare blankly at the disaster on my coffee table. Cans were stacked three high and covered in cigarette butts. Seeing the futility of trying to clean now, I added a few more cans; and a few more cigarette remnants to the pile. I began to feel the filth on me.

In the grease stained shower I watch as the chemicals, grit, and galvanization shards slide down my body and into the ankle deep water. The defective drain and its consequences depresses me so I avert my attention to the ceiling. The ceiling of coarse is covered in scattered colonies of black mold and cobwebs. Moments later the hot water was completely depleted and I gave up on the idea of cleanliness completely. I step out of the shower and into the damp, musky embrace of a 12 year old neon orange beach towel.

Back in the bedroom I toss my moderately soggy body on the futon pad which rests regally, and without sheets, on the peeling hard wood floor. The drop ceiling in this room is far less moldy; however, the radiator that dangles just above my bed by old gas tank straps is almost as bad. Green beer again invades my thoughts.

“Can’t go to the bar naked,” I say to myself with a sigh. Several grunts and groans later I’m on my feet and standing in front of the slew of rags I kindly refer to as my wardrobe. I trade in my tattered work clothes, Cartharts and band tee’s, for clean day clothes, Cartharts and band tee’s with a substantially larger number of holes and stains. I switch from war torn steel toed Doc Martens to slightly less scuffed low top Doc Martens. The transformation is complete.

The walk to the bar was only two blocks but I thought I may as well take a leak before I left. While standing above the bowl I shot a dirty look at the brackish water still occupying my tub. In the mirror my eyes were sad and my face was covered in month old stubble. The sight of myself was disgusting and drove me from the bathroom.

Before I left my dwelling I went through my mental checklist: cigarettes, cell phone, keys, cash, lighter, back pack and coat. Even when I’m not at work I feel like a pack mule with so many empty pockets. I lock my door, adjust my hat, and light a smoke.

This town gets very Irish on Patty’s day. The aftermath of said holiday manifests itself in the form of green: pom-poms, mugs, beads, wigs, shirts, shoes, hats, confetti, noise makers, and vomit; all strung from trees and signs, windows and front yards. However, at 10 a.m. none of this has begun yet; the streets are silent and relatively clean.

O’Callihan’s is the closest Irish bar that has decent food so that’s where I headed. Once inside, the bartender shot me a crooked glance. The gentleman was easily in his 50’s and appeared to have been at this work quite a while. That well practiced look seemed to tell me that he was not entirely pleased about the prospect of working this particular holiday.

“Drink?” he said; with absolutely no twinkle in his eye.

“I need a green beer, a shot of cheap whiskey, and a dozen of the hottest fucking chicken wings you got,” I said as dryly as possible.

“Check,” he said as he turned to the kitchen.

I like to sandwich my meals with unfiltered cigarettes, so I stepped out front to watch the world go by as I smoked. From the front step I could see six store fronts; each with a less than pleased looking employee in it. I turn my gaze down the road toward my house and think of the loneliness that awaits me there. This act brings on a feeling of disgust. I suck the last bit of smoke in deeply and flick the butt in the street. I looked the opposite direction down the road as I let the smoke out and met her eyes.

Verdant, emerald, and jade are all shades of green that strive to be the hue of her eyes. These eyes flashed with a predatory gleam that could be seen in the dead of night. These eyes were only intensified by the contrast of her bleach white skin and jet black hair. She was a mobile piece of art work.

I couldn’t take my eyes off of hers; and she granted me the honor of meeting my gaze. Her stride was long and accented by the click of her steel toed Doc Martins. Her shoulder length hair flipped in the wind a bit as she passed. While I was in that trance I had forgotten to stop exhaling. The resulting gasp for air was akin to that of surfacing from a deep dive in a pool.

I reenter the bar out of breathe with a look of total dismay on my face. My “green” beer and shot are waiting for me and are instantly swallowed. I feel the drinks settling in my stomach. I tried desperately to clear my mind; but couldn’t stop seeing that girl. The next three rounds of drinks disappear without a trace. The chicken wings seemed to have no flavor; my world had gone gray since I’d seen that woman.

Hours started drifting by without warning. Glasses were appearing and disappearing in front of me like stop motion photography. People came and went. They all seemed to be moving in fast forward with the sound off. The bar tender stopped asking if I wanted another drink and started replacing my empties without a word. Cigarette after cigarette marked the hours until 11 p.m.

The bars were all in full tilt now and I wanted nothing to do with the people within them. On the sidewalk I smoke a cigarette and watch people staggering across the street, vomiting in alleys, screaming at other packs of wild hooligans. It was a terribly desperate situation: go home and sit in solitude or stay here and stand alone in this crowd.

I tossed the end of my smoke in the gutter and watched it smolder for a moment. I turned to head home and came face to face with the owner of those amazing eyes. We were both motionless a mere foot from one another. I stopped breathing entirely this time. My veins bulged with adrenaline. I could hear my heart beating; and I’ll bet she could too.

An eternity passed before she blinked. It was a deliberately slow blink. Nothing else about her moved; nothing but the one lock of hair that played in the wind. She nodded, ever so slightly, in the direction she seemed to be heading. I pivoted just a touch to look over my shoulder and instantly felt the breeze of her passing by within inches. She hesitated for a fraction of a second mid-stride and flashed a look back in my direction.

I started to follow. I quickly closed the short gap that had opened and trailed just behind her to the right. We were moving quickly and silently. I had no idea where we were going. I wasn’t paying any attention; I didn’t want to.

She never looked back once. I took the opportunity to study her a little more in depth. I found after an indeterminate amount of time that there was nothing remotely peculiar about this woman. Her boots were black; but not shined or scuffed. Her dark blue denims, slightly cuffed at the bottom, fit well; not snug or loose. The plain black coat that ended directly above her belt loops was featureless and fit like a glove.

The stride that kept us at pace truly was an elegant one. I could see the muscles in her thighs writhing to accommodate her apparent wish to step from joint to joint on the side walk. This woman was not superstitious in the least. From what I could see she had absolutely nothing in her pockets; and no bag of any kind.

I caught sight of those fever inducing eyes in the reflection of a window. They flashed that animal glare, but there was a tiny unmistakable hint of shyness to them this time. The faintest shimmer of a grin turned her lip a touch and then the window was gone. Everything behind me was gone.

We waited at the edge of a road many more than 4 lanes wide. I watched her taking breaths as lights and noise sped by in a blur. When she started walking I started as well, completely without fear; I was wearing blinders. Once upon the curb on the opposite side of the street we were standing in a still water marsh. One puff of hot, misty breath escaped her lips in a moment of hesitation. Immediately after, she started pushing her way through the reeds and the muck.

Our boots were caked in thick black mud. Each step was a struggle for what seemed like miles of dimly lit knee deep terrain. The entire trek was silent; she never made a sound.

Eventually the swamp gave way to solid ground. She paused for a moment and stamped the sludge from her boots before resuming her B-line into the woods.

The empty canopies of oaks and maples hung overhead as snow started to fall through their filters. Her pace slowed ever so slightly and then came to an abrupt halt.

She whirled around and met my eyes with the force of a fierce jab. Her left hand, barren of rings, made the international signal for “cigarette please.” I rolled a number as fast as I could and placed it on her lip. The lighter was only a gesture away. With a fresh ember to enjoy she sped away; leaving me alone in the dark to fumble my own smoke together.

Again the gap had to be closed; and the heavy landings of my boots could be heard echoing off of trees and unseen valleys. The sound of my hurried approach, accompanied by my gasping for breath, didn’t evoke the slightest response. She went on into the night; I just followed her glow.

She carried on at the same pace with both hands in her jacket pockets. The cigarette flared every few moments and a puff of smoke was left in her wake. The only time she touched the cigarette was to take it from her lips and flick it into the night.

I was led up a short hill that opened on a small, but knee high, grassy clearing. Towards the center she stopped dead in her tracks. She spun on her heel and met my eye. The hair on my neck stood on end.

“We’re safe now,” she said.

My knees began to shake.

“From what?” I asked.

She said, “Everything.”

She pressed her body against mine and wrapped her arms around my neck. The combination of her voice and her scent had put me in shock; now this?  Her lips were on mine without warning and her tongue tasted like strawberries. She broke her embrace and took a half step back. A grin came across her face that gave me the impression that she was sizing me up for a fight. The mischievous glint in her eye told me she was up to something else.

Her coat came off easily and was thrown on the ground. I followed suit; and soon enough we had made a mat with our clothing and were writhing naked under the stars. I was drunk now not from the watered down booze but the mystifying shape of her body. I had completely lost my mind.

I was amazed at how quickly she dressed herself. I was still fumbling with my boot laces when she rummaged through my coat and produced my tobacco pouch. She had two bones rolled and lit in a flash. Her first drag was long and deep. Those eyes told me she was relishing the moment.

“Erin,” she said.

I stared blankly for a moment. Erin. She pulled a flask from the inside of her jacket and broke my trance. Erin took an admirable tug of whiskey, swallowed, and handed me the flask.

“Turner,” I said before taking a nip myself.

We were sitting in the now firmly matted grass facing each other. We smoked for a while and tossed the stubs aside. We were on no one’s schedule  but our own. We were at peace.

“Do you have a car?” Liquid silk words.

My brain snapped to attention at the sound of her voice. A mental image of my well worn Toyota, which was more than likely parked on the wrong side of the road by now, made my heart jump. In an instant I did an extremely detailed inventory of the vehicle from memory. The simple fact was that the car contained enough essential supplies to keep me alive for 6 hours; let alone this godsend before me.

“Yes,” was all I could muster.

She just nodded. She nodded a few more times as if she were debating courses of action within herself. Erin motioned for the tobacco pouch again. As I handed it to her she passed me the flask.

While my lips were still on metal she told me that getting to the car was the next course of action. With lack of any point of reference I offered my address. Erin packed her hooch away and set off in a brand new direction. I of coarse followed

The trek towards my car differed greatly from my journey to where ever it was we had exchanged names. This march, however, was punctuated by pauses for cigarettes and whiskey. We walked side by side. She touched my hand. Time slipped away again and before I knew it we were in front of my apartment building. She stared into my eyes, into my soul, expectantly.

“I’m actually parked about four blocks from here….” I painfully admitted.

Erin just shrugged and motioned for me to lead the way. I did my best to replicate her pace on the short walk to the car. When we arrived at the car I stopped and looked at her.

“Third shift?” she asked; trying to stifle innocent laugher.

“Very fucking funny,” I said “Where are we going?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said matter of factly.

When she sat in the passenger seat the sound of 27 lunch breaks crunched beneath her feet. I apologized but was only met with a devilish grin. I told her that I had to wait for the oil to warm up or the car would die. Erin occupied herself by searching my glove compartment, sun visors, arm rest, back seat, and even that crevice where you lose lighters.

The car was in drive. I had wiggled my way out of a parallel parking space and we were on our way. She lead me to I-90 East. I set the cruise control and let out a long sigh. I only had three fingers on the steering wheel.

My red eyes were instantly widened when I felt a small warm hand on my thigh. The whiskey was passed around; then a pipe she had found under my seat.

When we were closing on the Northern border I asked where we were going.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said; “where ever we go is home.”

“where ever we go is home,” I thought to myself. Everything will be okay.

and have enabled several depressed individual

The only thing I can feel now is — Betrayal

I am only a well-adjusted human being

Who tried to help my friend in need

The only thing I can say now is — leave

The epidemic of antidepressants

Left all of the other ones without a friend

The only way I can keep them is – pretend

Most nightmares begin with a guy
cheating on his girlfriend.
He tells her, in the morning, as she wakes
that he loves her completely.

Then at 8.24pm he solicits sex
from some kind of evening creature on the street,
a creature usually delighting his environs.

By 8.25 this skillfull seductresss has fully seduced him,
and his honest bond with his woman, to him, now looks like just fluffs of useless cotton.
He sadly begins to remove his things from her person. He takes back the clown noses he gave her.
He gives her back all her photos and posings, and her written words, that were hers.

“I’m going to miss you, so terribly,” he says.

She tells him that she will probably find someone else soon.

“Of course you will,” he says, taking the clown shoes from her shoe collection.

She explains how, within days. it will be like she was in love again.

His body begins a process that causes him to become more like a robot than a human being. He looks at her future, and where once, there was this amazing nugget that he just wanted to hug, he sees a type of puppet.

She confirms with him that he will try his best not to call her home phone number.

He rolls his eyes.

“My mom might pick the phone up,” she explains. “I don’t want her to hear from you.”

He begins to imagine an older her, her mother. Not dicey and easily floated like her, but sturdy, strong and powerful. He begins to fantasize about her mother, and the skirts she wears.

The clothes she puts on.

He attaches the clown nose, that he had given her, upon her mother’s face.

This is the fourth of four samples from the second publication of MyMS, Let It Break.  Now available on Amazon for Kindle and on paperback

“Hmmm, I don’t know.  You just met the guy and he’s cooking you dinner?  He’s either trying to get some or he’s got the best hospitality I’ve ever heard of.  Do all Asians do that for people they meet in sex stores?”

“Stop it Franz!  You sound jealous.  Besides, he’s knows I’m taken, and it’ll be even clearer when he sees my gorgeous engagement ring, which I love by the way, almost as much as I love you.”

“Yeah right, then why are you having a date with Yo Yo Ma?”

“Franz, stop it!  You know that’s not funny…” Carrie busted out laughing.  She knew it was wrong, but she couldn’t help it.  Franz was always tickling her funny bone.

“I just don’t think you should have dinner with him, that’s all.”

“Why?  Nothing is going to happen.  It’s just a business meeting.”

“Oh yeah?  Then why can’t you meet in a public place?”

“Because I’m not going to drag my iMac to a public place.”

“You should let me get you a MacBook, than you wouldn’t have to worry about that.”

“Franz, it’s not about inconvenience.  I just don’t see the guy as a creep or anything, so I don’t mind him coming over.  He seems to have a good head on his shoulders.”

“He works at a sex store!  His head is always good, I’m sure.”

“Franz, c’mon.  You’re being judgmental.  He’s in college on his third year.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because we had what’s known as a conversation.”

“Don’t be a smartass Carrie.”

“Don’t be an asshole!”

“Don’t get all bent out of shape, I’m sorry I called you a smartass.  I’m not angry with you, I’m just worried about this guy.”

“But I’m telling you not to.  I’m a grown woman and I can handle myself Franz, you know that.”

“It’s not you, it’s him I’m worried about.  I know you can handle yourself, but this guy might try something, and then I’ll go to prison for killing him.  I’m too hot for prison you know.”

“I know, you’d get passed around like a cigarette in there,” She chuckled.

“Just cancel Carrie, it’ll make me feel better.”

“Franz, relax.  Nothing is going to happen, I promise.  I’m wearing your ring, not his.  So please, relax before I make you relax.”

“You won’t do anything you naked temptress.”  He said playfully.

“Temptress?  I’m not tempting you.”

“Oh yes you are, laying their all sexy like that.”

Just as Franz climbed into bed and began kissing her, caressing her breasts and and belly, Carrie’s Blackberry vibrated.  She stopped kissing Franz and looked down at it: it was Travis again.

“Who is it?”  Franz asked.

“No one,” Then she resumed kissing him, lightly knocking her Blackberry on the bedroom floor.

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