Max and Abby (3)

It was very late when Max got home.  Coffee had been nice, and getting to know Abby had been nicer.  She had given him her number by way of scribbling it on his hand.

“I come in around the lunch shift tomorrow if you don’t make it to the grocery store again.”

“See, I don’t want you serving me meals now… it’s weird.”

“So I’ll send Rhonda.”

“She messes up my orders…”

“Sacrifices Max.”

Max nodded.

When he took her home, he walked her to the door, holding her hand.  She nervously began to say something about coming in but Max cut her off before she offered.

“I had a lot of fun tonight Abby.  As a matter of fact, I don’t remember when I’ve had so much fun.  I don’t know what the rules are for second dates but…”  He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.  Abby blushed.  She couldn’t stop the grin that formed, sprawling from one side of her face to the other.  “… I thought I might be able to get away with that,” he finished.

He leaned back, letting go of her hand.  Abby felt warm.  She felt desire.  She felt… relief.  She had wanted to invite him.  She had wanted to have him, to surround him, to revel in him.  And at the same time she had wanted him to leave… like this.  Her smile grew larger.

“I think I can allow that…  It was our second date after all.”

“Good night, Abby.”

“Good night, Max.”

Max walked back to the truck and waited until she had gone inside before driving away.

—-

His apartment was dark and cold.  The windows were still open and he could hear the wind outside.  It was picking up.  All of a sudden, Max felt alone… more than that, he felt lonely.  More than that, he felt grateful for feeling lonely.  For the first time in a long time, Max was looking forward to another day.  I got her number.  Somehow I got her number.  He took out his phone to save the number.

Before he could, he saw that he had an unread text message.  Oh yeah, I forgot about that.  The message was from John:

“Horse, meet Water.  DRINK!  Lunch at Lou’s tomorrow at noon on you.  Bring details.”

Persistent.  I’ll give him that.

Max put his keys on the table and disposed of the empty beer bottles his guests had left behind.  He yawned.  It was long and telling.  Despite avoiding reality and life in general, Max hadn’t gotten much rest lately.  He decided it was time to fix that and started to wind down.  He brushed his teeth and wiped out the sink when he was finished.  He took off his clothes, being sure to place them where he assumed John would approve, chuckling to himself as he did it.  Flipping the switch in his bedroom he stood frozen in the doorway, wearing only his boxer shorts.

Oh yeah…

The trunk was sitting open on the floor.  A few random files and objects lay around it.  Furthest from the trunk was the large brown file with the gold lettering.  Her file.  The comfort and overall feeling of “normal” drained away from Max and he felt anxious again.  He was angry and lost.  His tidied living room and disinfected bathroom suddenly felt silly to him.  He felt exposed again and unclean.  He remembered the stale, stagnant air and the filth that likely still lingered around him.  He didn’t want to be seen and he didn’t want to talk.  He was now dreading lunch tomorrow.  I don’t know what I was thinking.  I’m not ready for this.  I’m not ready for anything.  I should have just told John to leave.  God dammit, John why couldn’t you just leave me alone?  ‘

His phone buzzed again.  It’s late, John.  Even you can’t be this annoying.  He looked at his phone.  He was right.  John hadn’t sent a message.  His phone was alerting him to its impending demise.

Low battery.

Suddenly his mind flashed to Abby holding his hand.  She had made sure they could reach one another.  She was leaning forward and a few of her curls had fallen over her shoulder.  It was an image that pleased him… an image he would remember.  An arbitrary moment with no real significance beyond what his mind found to be… beautiful… memorable.  She had made him feel good when all else had made him feel bad.  Even John, despite his best intentions and catalyst role in Max’s date(s) with Abby, had made him feel anxious and exposed.  Abby made him feel exposed… but not anxious.  Abby made him feel safe.

He felt like he knew her… as if the few hours of talking over tea and muffins had confirmed a lifetime of half-stories and sporadically learned factoids Max had picked up over the years of Abby bringing him coffee and meatloaf.  He had to remind himself that while they hadn’t just met, there was more to both of them than either of them knew and he would need to take his time.

Max connected the charger to his phone and sighed.  It was a good sigh.  His eyes returned to the trunk.  He shook his head.  I’ll get to you later.  I need my sleep.  Big day tomorrow.  Having planned nothing beyond more couch lounging and potentially a beer run, Max found himself looking forward to lunch.  Dangling over despair, he held onto that feeling… to Abby… to life, and crawled into bed.  He slept deeply despite the sugar and caffeine.  He dreamed of orderlies in white clothes carrying bottles of bleach.  He dreamed of Abby being locked in a trunk.  He dreamed of a diner filled with people eating meatloaf with mashed potatoes and gravy, and green beans.  He dreamed he was there with Salisbury steak with macaroni and cheese, and sauerkraut… and Rhonda bringing him a refill on the lemonade he didn’t order.  He dreamed of Abby laughing at him from the cash register.

He dreamed of Abby.

Max was still on a leave of absence so he had no reason to set an alarm.  He slept until the sun had crept into his eyes.  It was irritating and inescapable.

God dammit, John.  The blinds had been pulled the day before.  Today Max would face the morning light whether he wanted to or not.  There was a bird singing on the branch outside his window.  It wasn’t a beautiful melody.  It was more of a squawk mixed with a sliding whistle.  It was tied with the sun for Max’s current most hated thing.

Max groaned and rolled over.  The light on his phone had turned green.  His phone had charged.  Picking it up he looked at the time.  9am.  Haven’t seen that in a while.  Max stretched and sat up in bed.  He yawned.  Not the exhausted yawn from the night before, but a satisfied, rested yawn.  He turned and examined his bedroom in the new light.  It was very bright and despite being tidy, it needed some work.  Max stood up and set about straightening up.  He had deliberately stepped around the trunk, avoiding an urge to gaze into it, not wanting to spoil what might be his resurrection from the festering wallow, bordering on madness, that had consumed him for so many days.

When the room was back in the condition of a person not sunk in a deep depression, he moved to the laundry room, continuing the process John had began the night before.  It was around 11am when he was satisfied with his apartment.  Now he was hungry and sweaty.  Peering into his refrigerator, Max quickly realized he’d only be able to solve one of those issues.  Finding a clean towel, Max showered and got ready for lunch.

He sent a text to John:

“12 is too early, let’s figure closer to 1”

Max was getting dressed when his phone started to buzz as if it were being electrocuted.  He let it buzz, knowing it was just John, and brushed his teeth.  When he checked his phone he found 7 messages in a row:

“No prob.”
“wait… y?”
“IS SHE STILL THERE?!??”
“HOLY SHIT DUDE!!!!”
“i can’t wait until 1 bro i need details!!”
“come on, I handed this to u i deserve the 1st draft!”
“Fine fuck u. c u at 1”

Max laughed and considered leaving him in suspense.  Not really fair I guess.  He responded:

“didn’t happen bro but had a good time.  coffee and muffins.  took her home.  kissed her on cheek.  gonna see her with u at lou’s.”

“not as good as gettin laid, but its a start”

“shut up.  i like her.  she’s great”

“K stop my phone is turning gay”

“fuck you. cu@lous”

“yep”

Max had wanted to be at Lou’s as soon as possible but figured since Abby was likely coming in at the end of the lunch rush, he could wait.  Didn’t want to seem too eager.  His phone buzzed again.  Now what, John?   Only it wasn’t John.

“good morning.  had fun last night.  if you come to lunch i’ll make sure rhonda gets your order right!”  Max quickly added the number to his contact list.  He considered putting it in as “The Waitress” but didn’t think she’d be amused by it if she found out.  He responded:

“wouldn’t miss it.  c u in a bit”

“great!”

Max responded with a sideways smile and finished getting ready.  I should probably get to the store sometime today too.  

In the fog of good feelings, Max was pierced by the reality of the trunk as he entered the bedroom.

“I’m in a good mood, leave me alone.”

The trunk sat open, pleading with him to abandon his temporary joy and wallow in the dust and sorrow of its musty truth and mystery.

“I haven’t been alive in a long time.  I’ll get to you eventually.”

The trunk didn’t move.  Max walked closer to it and peered inside… accidentally, he thought.  It was because I was in a good mood that I had it in me to open this damn thing to begin with.

Max checked the time, decided he could spare a few moments to look through a trunk a bit and knelt beside it.

“Ok fine, you win.  But I’m keeping this mood, deal?”

The trunk didn’t respond.

Under what had been the old file from his mother’s long ago hospitalization Max found a brown paper bag.  It was full.  He touched it with his finger.  The ancient bag crinkled but what lay beneath gave a bit, like fabric.  Carefully removing the bag, Max looked inside and found a small collection of tiny stuffed bears.  They were identical in size and style and only distinguishable from one another by the unique colored ribbons around each of their necks.

Some seemed more worn than others but it was difficult to tell how far apart these plush playthings had been acquired.  He set the small bag of bears on the floor next to the file and noticed the bottom of the bag had a similar gold lettering to the hospital file.  It spelled “Personal Items.”  Max furrowed his brow and dug further into the chest for more bags.  Certainly, he thought, there had to have been more personal items than a tattered collection of cheap bears.  There weren’t.  Or at least there weren’t any more brown bags like this one.  There were other items for sure.

Clothing… mostly robes and pajamas.  A large jar of bolts, screws and assorted change.  Lotions.  An afghan made of orange and brown yarn.  An embroidered handkerchief with initials Max didn’t recognize.

Who is RJ?  

To one side of the trunk was a large stack of opened envelopes… mostly hospital correspondence, financial statements primarily.  Documented evidence that his mother not only received services from the hospital, but resided there for several months.  Max sat back, feeling the overwhelming helplessness and confusion edging his good humor.  He took a deep breath.

“We had a deal.  Remember?”

The trunk groaned slightly as its contents settled.

“Fuck you too.”  Max stood up and set about dressing himself.  He’d had enough of his mother’s madness and his own despair.  We’ll try again later.

—-

The diner was very busy when Max arrived.  John was standing at the door looking at his watch with a disappointed look on his face.  

“Been waiting cupcake.  What took you?”

“I’m not late.”

“You’re not early.”

“You’re not…” Max sighed.  “Can we do this inside?  I’m hungry.”

“Place is packed bro.  Couple seats at the counter though.”

“That’ll do.”

“Jesus Christ, dude, you had one night with this chick and you’re already losing yourself in this relationship”

“It’s a table, John.”

“It’s our table, Max.”

“I’m hungry, John.”

“Yeah I bet you are.”  John snapped his wrist and mocked the sound of a whip.  Max ignored him and walked into the diner.  Abby was at “his” table helping the family of four who had the audacity to order their meal there.  Max wandered to the counter and sat down.  The stool groaned under his weight and shrieked loudly as he turned to the menu board.

“What can I get you, hon?”  Rhonda asked.

“Can I start with coffee?  Not sure what I want yet…”

“Meatloaf is still the special…”  Rhonda, despite her unfortunate waitressing abilities, could always remember what Max ordered, yet somehow never quite got it right.

“I had meatloaf last night.”

“You have meatloaf every night, so what?”

“I do not.  Just when I’m here.  Besides, today I’m thinking I might have something different.  What kind of pie you got today?”

“Seriously?”  Rhonda lifted her head and yelled, “Abby, what did you do to him?  He’s asking about pie!”

From across the diner, Abby turned and smiled.  She quickly waved to Max and turned back to her customers.  

“Apple and cherry.  We also have chili.  I made it.  You order that and I might faint.”

“Cornbread?”

“From a box but it ain’t bad.”

“I’ll take it.  Water with lemon too, please.”  

Rhonda’s eyes widened.  Sarcastically she started fanning her face with her order pad.  “Abby told me not to fuck up your order today.  I’ll do my best.”  She winked at Max and headed to the kitchen.  

“I appreciate it,” he called after her.  You’re still going to fuck it up, but at least you acknowledge it.  Max wasn’t sure how he felt about Abby revealing some of the details of the previous night to the incompetent waitress, but at his core he loved that Abby had talked about him today.  He smiled despite himself.  Abby walked behind him and grazed his back with her hand as she approached the register.

“Hi Max!  Crazy in here today!  Where’s your other half?”

“Outside smoking… possibly planning an assault.”

“They literally just ordered.  He might as well come in.  Kids take forever to eat anyway.”

“In a hurry to see him, are you?”

“Jealous?”

“Not after two dates…”  He paused.  “Ok yeah, a little.”

Abby laughed.  “Well I figure if he comes in and starts running his mouth you guys might be around past the lunch rush and we can talk.  Maybe make plans.”

“Plans?”

“To meet my parents.”  Abby’s delivery was impeccable as evidenced by Max’s genuine surprise and lack of response.  After a moment, Abby’s face revealed her ruse and Max shook his head.

“Not funny.”

“You don’t want to meet my parents?”  Abby was finishing at the register, not looking at Max.

“I mean… I do but just not today.”

Abby was headed to another table with the change in her hands.  She kissed him on the cheek as she passed and whispered in his ear.  “How’s tomorrow sound then?”

“How’s the service across the street?”  He replied.

“Terrible.  And the waitresses there are all married.”  Abby gave the customers their change and thanked them for coming in.  They had been eavesdropping on the back and forth between her and Max and giggled as they left.

Rhonda came back with coffee.  There was no cream nor sugar to be found.  And while it technically did have water, there was no lemon and ultimately Max would have preferred it cold.  Max chuckled to himself and sipped his black coffee.  The door opened and John came in, hopefully peering towards his sacred table in the back.  And then, like a disappointed little boy on Christmas morning, he moped his way to the counter.

“Guess this will have to do.”

“It’s one meal.  You can handle one meal,” Max said encouragingly.  

“I guess I have to!” John raised his voice slightly.  Max closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Order your god damn lunch asshole.”  With that, Max went back to his coffee as John’s focus shifted to the menu board.

“They got pie?”

“Apple and cherry.”

John yelled towards Rhonda who was at the cash register.  “Club and chips, honey.  Sweet tea.”

“Yup.”  Rhonda rolled her eyes.

John looked at Max, “Be lucky to get a sugar packet in this fucking place.”

Max laughed. “Tell me about it.”

“This relationship of yours is ruining my life.  You need to choose bro.”

“Which choice makes you shut the fuck up?”

“Neither.”

“Naturally.  If you eat slow, I’ll ask that our pie be moved to our table when that family leaves.  Truce?”

“I guess.  It’s a good thing I’m so flexible Max.  Not everybody would put up with this shit.”

“I count my lucky stars everyday.”

“Dick.”

“Chili for me, but you help yourself.  I know it’s your favorite.”

John chuckled and muttered something sexual about chili dogs.

When their food arrived they again ate in silence, this time looking at the television from time to time and catching up on current events.  John did a double take at Max’s lunch choice but kept his commentary to himself as Max seemed to be enjoying it.  After all,  John didn’t want to discourage anything that was different from the wallowing that had overcome his friend recently.

Max was so enjoying his food that he didn’t notice the buzz of his phone from his pocket.

“You gonna get that?”

“Get what?”  Max suddenly felt the vibration and reached into his pocket.  It was the same number from the night before.

“Bound and determined to wreck my day…”

“Who?”

“Insurance company.  Hang on.”  Max was already standing and heading towards the door while answering his phone.  Rhonda caught his glance and he shook his head… motioned that he would be right back.

Outside and nearly through the fourth ring, Max answered.

“Hello?”

“Hello, my name is Lisa Sellers, I’m with Quality Life and Liability.  I’m calling to speak with a Mr. O’Keen?

“Yeah, this is Max Upton.”

“Hi Mr. Upton.  I’m calling about the life insurance policy decision for your mother… Patricia?

“That’s her.  What’s going on now?”

“I wanted to let you know that a decision had not been made in light of your recent appeal though there were several items that we require in order to proceed.”

“Ok.  What?”  Max wasn’t hiding his disdain.

“According to her application she stated there was no history of mental health concerns.  However, we were able to recover…”

Max cut her off.  “Records saying at one time or another, mom was pretty nuts and therefore arguably falsified her record making the agreement null and void and leaving me to find the couple grand it took to torch, sweep and bag her on my own.  I heard that part.  What do you need?”

The insurance representative was quiet for a moment.  Max felt a little guilty and almost apologized and then she spoke.  “My apologies Mr. Upton, it appears we will need whatever documentation relating to her previous mental health supports that are available.”

“Right.  I found some stuff last night.  It’s pretty old.”

“That’s fine.  If you could provide that information it would help expedite this process.”

“Let me ask you a question Lisa.  Let’s say I go through all of this stuff and package it up nice and neat for you.  What are the chances that any of that effort helps my case?”

“Mr. Upton, I’m not able to…”

Max cut her off.  “It’s Max.  Just Max.  I’m not asking for Ms. Sellers’ corporate professional response.  I’m asking for Lisa’s personal opinion.  Am I wasting my time?”  Max’s tone had softened.

There was a long pause.  Max assumed she had hung up until there was a brief sigh on the other end of the line.

“Honestly?  I don’t know.  I see a lot of these things.  And I see a lot of these things get held up.  Most of the ones that get paid out are to people who were willing to keep jumping through the hoops.  It’s not a lot of money to this company but it sounds like it is to you.  I don’t know what to tell you.  If it were me, I’d probably keeping pushing a little longer.”

“I appreciate that Lisa.  I’ll see what I can put together and get back to you.”

“Thank you Mr. Up… Max.  The time frame on this is pretty big so take your time, but don’t take too much time, ok?”

“Thanks.”

“Take care.”

“You too.”

Max hung up and took a deep breath.  It wasn’t what he had wanted to hear.  But it was nice to have spoken to a human being as opposed to the electronic voices or the corporate flesh machines.

Wonder if I should send the bears too?

Max walked back into the diner.  John was no longer at the counter.  He was at their table.  To himself, Max hoped the happy family had left by their decision and not his actions but he was glad to have his table back either way.

At his place were two slices of pie, one bowl of vanilla ice cream and another bowl of whipped cream.

“We didn’t know what you wanted for dessert so we figured we’d get it all.  I ate the cake.”  John was half way through his cherry pie a la mode.

“I’d been happy to finish my lunch.  Chili was pretty good.”

“Yeah Rhonda out did herself.”

Max looked puzzled.

“Sorry, I was hungry.”

“Well at least she didn’t take it this time.”

Max felt a hand on his back.  It was Abby.  In her other hand was a tall glass of ice water with a lemon wedge on the side.

“You’re a good sport Max.  Make sure you tell Rhonda how good the chili was.”

“Will do.”  Max stole an extra moment of eye contact before John’s obnoxious disdain for normalcy took over.

“Jesus Christ you two, get a fucking room.”

“Don’t be an asshole John,” Abby laughed.

“Just saying, I’m thirsty too.”

“I’ll send Rhonda right over.”

“Where did we go wrong?  Things used to be so much better before this guy got in the way.”  John poked his thumb towards Max who was now enjoying his apple pie as well as the relatively charming banter between his best friend and…

Girlfriend…?  Easy champ.  

Max shrugged.  “What can I say, I’m meeting needs you just can’t.”

“Never met a woman who needed a morose puppy dog with three legs before.”

“Aww!”  Abby looked at Max in this new image.  Max made a puppy dog face and smiled.

“Jesus Christ.  Rhonda, can I get a water?”

“Car wash is across the street!” Rhonda yelled from the counter.

With that, John threw his hands in the air with a distinct look of what-the-hell-did-I-do-to-deserve-that on his face.

“So… I’m thinking double date tonight,” Max said recognizing the connection Rhonda could make with John, or at least with Max’s funny bone.

Abby’s look of delighted surprise made John’s face fall from annoyed to genuinely antagonized.

“I’ll go tell her to expect one of you to ask her out… god knows who with you two.”  Abby went back to the counter, a small string of customers had entered the diner.

“What did the insurance company want?”

“Ammo.”

“Vultures.”

Max shrugged and set about finishing his pie.

“Go find out when the girls get off tonight.”  John had clearly convinced himself that the notion of a double date was not in jest.

“I’m not done my pie!”

“You got two slices for Christ’s sake!”

Max sighed.  “Fine.  Let me finish this slice and drink some water and I’ll get you a date.  Ok?  God some people are pathetic.”

“Deal.  But hurry up.”

“Yes dear.”

Max and Abby (2)

The bar had been noisy.  Max had to excuse himself several times to take phone calls outside where he could hear himself think.  Abby didn’t seem to mind though John made a mental note each time Max left.  Something was wrong.

Obviously something was wrong and John, through an inebriated mind, pondered how long it would be before he would have to borrow Max’s phone and drop it in the toilet.  He’d all but perfected his plan when Max came back the final time.

“I’m really sorry about that guys.  I promise that’s the last one.”  He smiled at Abby.

“Good, you’re behind the curve anyway,” she joked.

Max lifted his drink, smiled and finished it.  For the rest of the evening he’d ignore everything else but his time with his old friend and his new friend.

Sometime around 11pm, the trio left the bar and made their way to Max’s apartment.  Max was relieved to be home though he was nervous about having Abby in his apartment.  Abby was different to him now.  She wasn’t just a beautiful and friendly waitress.  She was the oldest of 3 sisters.  She was an aunt.  Her parents had retired and spent their time traveling around the country.

She liked dogs but didn’t have one.  She chose pie over cake and had a very difficult time quitting smoking but is very proud of doing so.  She was a part-time student studying law and theater because she had passion for both.    She’d traveled a lot as a child and adored her coworkers.

She didn’t know who Lou was either.

John was in rare form this evening having somehow convinced Abby that coming back to Max’s place would be a good idea.

“Hey asshole, you wanna get us a couple of drinks?  Some of us are trying to keep the party going.”  John was slurring his words slightly but was still in control… mostly.

“Cut him some slack, John.  He is our host you know.”

“Some host.  No music.  No drinks.  No snacks…”

“No class,” Max chimed in.

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you!”

Abby laughed.  She hadn’t had nearly the amount of alcohol John had.  Neither had Max.  Neither had most of the bar for the matter.

“Seriously though, help yourself to the fridge.  There’s beer in there and… not much else.  Maybe some liquor in the cabinet above it?”

John had planned for this.  “Poor guy, every time he tries to go to the grocery store I call him for a favor.  Don’t worry buddy, you can live off of beer and water for weeks.”

Max shook his head.  “Sure John, whatever you say.  You know where everything is, get the lady a drink.  I need to take care of something.”

John motioned for Abby to get closer.  He whispered loud enough for Max to hear, “I think that means he has to pee.”  Abby laughed again.

Max shook his head.  “Finishing school, Abby.  That’s how you get ahead in this world.”   With that he stuck his middle finger in the air towards John’s sweating face, now filled with pride.  “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”

Max went into his bedroom and opened his closet door.  On the floor was a pile of books, ties, belts and a Boston Red Sox cap sitting atop a large steamer trunk.  He carefully moved the items to the floor, not wanting to make too much noise and attract attention, especially John’s.  When the trunk had been cleared, he dragged it out of the closet and opened it.  A gust of stale air wafted up from the yellowing pages and musty artifacts in the trunk.  Max thought of his mother’s basement, playing under the stairs as a child and the stack of loose cinder blocks in the corner.

The trunk had been one of the few things Max had removed his mother’s home.  She didn’t have much and Max wasn’t sure what was in the trunk.  That may have been the only reason he took it.  He remembered being told to stay out of it when he was little.

Mommy’s private things.

Given the circumstances of her death, Max had decided his mother’s privacy was a non-issue and that there might be something in there that somebody would want some day.  When he had brought it home he had left it in his living room.  He walked past it when he went to the bathroom.  He walked past it when he went to the kitchen.  He walked past it when he went to bed.  It made him uncomfortable.  And while he couldn’t bring himself to open it, he was haunted by what could be in the trunk.

Maybe some answers, maybe more questions.  It was the latter that made him most uncomfortable and so it had only taken a day for him to hide the trunk in his closet.

But while he was the bar with his old friend and his new friend, someone had called.  Someone had called, was called back, called again and after they had called again, Max felt less haunted by the prospect of opening the trunk.

He started rifling around the trunk.  For a moment he felt like a kid again, sneaking around his parents’ bedroom looking for dirty magazines and other things he shouldn’t see.

There were many things in the trunk.  It would take more than the few moments he’d allowed himself to survey the contents completely.  However, Max was compelled to spend just a little more time looking.

Loose pictures, clothing, small boxes, medium boxes, ribbons, thread, buttons, an old metal key chain with a popular cigarette slogan, photo albums, large envelopes and a book.

It was the book that got his attention.  The cover was worn, had no title nor author listed.  It looked like a journal.  He had nearly opened it when-

“What are you doing?”

Max jumped.

Abby had surprised him.

“I’m just looking for something.  You guys having a good time?”

“We were.  What are you looking for Max?”

Max hadn’t turned around.  “Really good question.  I don’t know yet.”

“That’s going to be tough find.”  She smiled.  “Any chance you’re going to spend any time with me tonight, Max?  I did let you trick me into coming into your apartment you know.”

Max took his hand away from the journal and turned around.  He smiled.

“I’m sorry.  I’m not much of a host.  But in my defense, John tricked you into coming here.  I just didn’t argue.”

“Yeah well, John just left.  Said he had to feed his cat.”

God dammit John.  Max sighed and shook his head.  He looked up at Abby who was just now understanding the situation.

“He doesn’t have a cat, does he?”  Abby had her hand on her brow and was shaking her head.

“I’m sorry Abby, I swear I had nothing to do with it.”

“Yeah I know.  Between the two of you, I always figured him for the sneaky one.”

“He’s a big dumb animal, but he means well.”

“He’s very loyal, I’ll give him that.  And I’m not complaining, for the record.  I liked hanging out with you guys tonight.  You two are hilarious.  Then you disappeared.”  She frowned.  Max just stared at her.  “I was looking for you but you were outside on the phone.  Looked pretty serious.  Everything alright?”

“Yeah I’m good.”  Max had enjoyed being at the bar.  Then his phone rang.  More questions.  More headaches.

Abby rolled her eyes, “Real convincing Max.”

Max got up from the trunk.  I’ll find it later.  “Sorry.  Everything is alright.  Or at least everything is as alright as it’s going to be for now.”  Abby looked puzzled and motioned for him to continue.  He sighed.  “Ok here’s the thing Abby… It’s been kind of a rough time.  I’m dealing with some stuff.  John was actually the first person I’d seen in a while.  I’ve been kind of hiding out.  He practically dragged me out of my apartment tonight.”

He looked at Abby suddenly realizing he may have offended her.  “I’m glad he did, really, but it was a tough habit to break… hiding.”

Abby walked over to Max, looking sympathetic.  “I had a feeling.  I hadn’t seen you at the diner for a while and honestly the last time I saw you, you looked like hell.”  She smiled and stepped closer, looking into his eyes.  “I kinda missed you, you know?”  She touched his shoulder.

Max flinched and then immediately relaxed.  He felt warm.  I like when she touches me.  Max had been operating as no more than an animated corpse for a long time now.  Maybe it was the shower, the meal, or the company but for a moment, with the force and subtlety of a Mack truck, Max suddenly felt an instant of genuine joy.  It was as if her fingertips were pumping energy directly into him, reviving him, calling him… reminding him that living was more than being alive.

“I kinda missed you too.  I’m glad you’re here.  I like seeing you away from the diner.  I wish I had been the one to ask you out.  I’ve always wanted to.”  He paused.  “But John’s a good guy, you two will be very happy together”  The intensity of his honesty gave way to his anxiety and he levied some jokes to balance the scales.  “And meatloaf.  I really missed the meatloaf.”

Abby laughed.  “Well I’m glad you decided to come out of hiding.”

“Actually…”  Max wrinkled his nose, looked around his apartment, and scratched the back of his head.

“Oh yeah, I forgot.  John made you”  She let out a small sigh.

Almost in protest Max declared, “I picked the restaurant!”  Well, I agreed to the restaurant anyway.  What’s the difference?

Abby laughed and playfully shoved him and looked at the trunk.  “So you have me here, the least I could do is help you.  What are we looking for?”  She turned and knelt beside the trunk.  Max frowned, shook his head again and knelt next to her.

“The call at the bar was from an insurance company.  A recording actually.”  Max closed his eyes and shook his head.  “Mom just passed away and I was trying to get her life insurance worked out to pay for her burial and stuff.  The robot on the phone told me my claim had been denied.”

Abby looked up, shocked.  “Max… I… I didn’t know.  I’m so sorry Max.”

“It’s alright.  It was a suicide.”

Abby looked more shocked and had no words.  Inside her heart ached and all she wanted to do was give him comfort.

Max closed his eyes and shook his head.  “Sorry, that came out wrong.”  Max tried to chuckle and put Abby at ease  “I know this is pretty out of left field.  But really, I’m ok.  It’s just a pain dealing with insurance companies.”

“Did they deny it because it was a suicide?  They shouldn’t be able to do that if she had the policy for a few years.”

“That’s what I thought too.  The guy I talked to said that wasn’t why the claim was denied.  He told me it was because there was reason to believe she had falsified her application… in 1982.”

Abby looked annoyed.  “Fucking insurance companies.”

“If it had been a heart attack or something I probably would agree with you.  But according to that guy, she had a history of mental illness, suicidal behavior, institutionalization… and she left it off the application.  It sucks, but if it’s true…”

“Still… it seems wrong.”

“That’s the nice thing about America, we’re very anti-dead-people-just-kinda-laying-around.  It’s taken care of and I can pay them in installments.  There wasn’t much of a service and she was cremated anyway.”

Abby was put off guard by how matter of fact Max was being.  “So this trunk…?”

“It was hers.  One of the few things she kept when she sold her house.  I moved her out here when she started having trouble getting around.  Spinal issues.  She didn’t really understand her disability benefits and I couldn’t help her much when she lived back east.”

Abby smiled softly.  “Back east?”

“Maryland.  Eastern shore.  It was the house I grew up in.  Some shit town that nobody ever heard of until the highway was built and we became the best place to take a piss on the way to the beach.”

Abby laughed.

“This is actually the first time I’ve ever seen the inside of this trunk.  I was never allowed in it when I was a kid and never thought about it until she died.  And even then I couldn’t bring myself to open it.”

“Seems like as good a time as any.  I can’t even imagine…”  Abby thought of her own parents and how happy they’ve been.  How “normal” they’ve been.  She looked at Max.

He met her gaze and quickly looked back to the trunk.  “I thought I could find something in here that could help me make sense of all this.  Medical files maybe?  I don’t know.”  He was moving things around the trunk again.  It was large, cluttered and unorganized.  It was also very heavy.  The bottom was scratched from Max dragging it from his mother’s basement to his truck.  The descent up to his apartment hadn’t been easy, for Max or the trunk.

“There’s a lot in here.  You think she would keep medical files?”  Abby slowly and gently moved a few things in the trunk as if waiting for permission.

“Maybe.  Look for something that says ‘Shore Health Day Treatment’ on the front.  Something like that.  The insurance guy said she’d spent time there before I was born.  If it exists, it’s from the 70’s so I guess it’ll look old.”  Max stopped, furrowed his brow and looked into the trunk, suddenly seeing it as a whole and not just the sum of it’s parts.  “Ok all of this shit is old.  It will look old and officialI guess.”  He offered a crooked smile and a shrug.

Abby chuckled.  “Ok, that narrows it down.”  She settled onto the floor and slowly began looking through the other end of the trunk.  “Day Treatment… what’s that?”

“It’s the psych ward I guess.  One of those big rooms where people hang out in their pajamas all day.  I don’t know.”  Max shrugged and the paused a moment.  He didn’t look up.  Abby didn’t say anything but she wasn’t looking through the trunk anymore.  She looked confused and sad… sad for Max.  Max stopped and looked up at Abby who by now was looking very concerned, maybe close to tears.

“Not bad for a first date, huh?”  Max tried for a joke but inside his heart was pounding.  Smooth Max.  Real smooth.  On the left you’ll see Friendzone, on our non-stop trip to Creeperburg.

Abby had no interest in either destination.  Keeping a serious tone she blinked and questioned Max.  “Who said this was a date?  If anything, it was my first date with John.  He was the one who asked me out you know.”  She was smiling again.  Max felt a wave of relief.

“Yeah but he didn’t even buy you flowers.”

Abby put a hand on her hip.  “Neither did you.”

“Yeah but I wasn’t the one who asked you out, remember?”

Her tone changed.  “So you want me to leave?”  She was faking a pout and sticking out her bottom lip.

“Hell no!  I have free labor willingly digging through my emotional baggage.  Why would I give that up just to drive you home?”

“Aww, you’d drive me home?”  Abby’s face brightened.

Max wasn’t oblivious to the flirting and he was thoroughly enjoying it.  “Well I’d have to.”  Max was going through files again, though not paying very much attention.

“You’d have to?”  Abby started going through files again too.

“Your date ditched you, remember?”  He looked up and smiled at her.  Abby smiled back.

“Well if this were a date, I’d have to say it was unique… but I’m having a good time… I think.”

Max’s smile widened becoming somewhat sinister.  “I think you wanted that to be romantic, but considering what we’re sitting here doing… I’m not sure I want this to be a date anymore.  I mean, I only had one mom so I’m not sure I could top this without losing more family.”

Abby didn’t miss a beat.  “You could kill John.”

“Nothing can kill John.  Nothing can penetrate that personality.”  He sighed.

“Agreed.  And even if you could, who else would trick women into dating you?”  Abby smiled.

“He’s a necessary evil.  Clearly I’m in pain and need all the help I can get.”  He grinned.  “Besides, I thought this wasn’t a date.”

Abby shrugged.  Max chuckled.  For the next few minutes there were no words, just the sound of shuffling papers.  Then Abby stopped.  She had her hand on something.

“What about this?”  Abby was holding a folder with gold letters printed on the cover.   “Shore Health.”  It was brown and very heavy.  A large blue rubber band bound the file together, crumbling ancient frayed pages not Max took it from her and sat back.

“I don’t know, maybe.”  He opened the file and began to read.   For a long while he was lost in the file, nearly forgetting that the waitress he’d been ogling for years was willingly sitting next to him, in his apartment because of some unexplained interest in him.

…patient made numerous requests to transition to voluntary status.  Supervising ward nurses documented continued instances of denial.  Recommend maintenance of current treatment plan.  Revisit 3 months.  Max frowned.

“What is it?”

“Mom was nuts.”

“Oh.”  Abby’s voice was low.  She wanted to be comforting.  She wanted to understand.  But the truth was, she didn’t understand.  She couldn’t understand.  Here she was in the apartment of “that guy from the diner,” and despite the chemistry and mutual attraction between them, there was no history, no familiarity.  Abby found herself not knowing what to do and that made her uncomfortable.  She wanted to hug Max.  She wanted to go home.  She wanted to escape.  She wanted to stay.

Max chuckled.  “I already knew she was nuts.”  He closed the file and set it down.  I don’t know what I thought I’d find.  “It’s alright.  There’s a lot to go through here.  I’m not even really sure what I’m looking for.”

“What can I do?”  The question left her lips and while Max appreciated her concern, Abby was only half-asking Max.  The other half was for herself.

Max sighed and stood up.  He reached down for Abby and helped her stand.  She rose to her feet and Max continued to hold her hands, keeping her at arms-length.  “Tell you what.  Let’s work on ‘Operation: Too Serious For a First Date’ another time.  Wanna take a walk?  There’s a coffee shop down the street that’s open late.  Unless you’d rather I take you home now.”  Max looked into her eyes, hopefully.  “I mean, that’s cool too.  But I figured I at least owe you a cup of coffee… maybe even a muffin for putting up with John and I tonight.”

“We’ll start with a muffin, but I’d rather have tea.”

“God, you’re needy.”  Max smiled.

“This is the best first date ever, don’t you think?”  She squeezed Max’s hands a little then relaxed.  Max let her go, not wanting to but also not wanting to hold on too long.

“So this is a date…”

“It’s a little out of order, what with John buying our drinks, getting us to your apartment and then going out for coffee… but yeah.  This is a date.”

“That neither of us planned or agreed to.”  God dammit John, you’re like a matchmaking ninja.  

“Makes it more special, don’t you think?”

“All things considered?  Definitely.  Come on.”  He reached out for her hand and walked her to his door.  “You know technically this is like starting our second date.”

“You’re smothering me.  I need my space.”

“Fine, we’ll get separate muffins.”

“That’s better.”  She laughed and they left the apartment.  Max felt his cell phone buzz in his pocket again.  He ignored it.  Get a life John, we’ll find a new diner tomorrow.

Away From the Herd Stands The Last Bison

Away From the Herd Stands The Last Bison

By Dan Jenkins

 

I’m a slave to the mainstream.  They tell me what to hear.  They tell me what to see.  They tell me what to buy. Oh do they tell me what to buy.  And I trust them.  I have to, otherwise I’d be lost with only myself to trust.  And when I’ve heard them tell me what to buy, I take it upon myself to obtain the cheapest version of it… or just outright steal it.  Cuz “anti-establishment,” or as close as a conformist can get to such a thing, I guess.

It’s always been this way.  Rifling through the racks at Goodwill I’m looking first at the labels.  I need to know the brand.  The brand first.  Size second.  Style a distant third, tied with scent and condition.

Anything beyond brand can be forgiven based on the power of the brand, the strength of the brand, the popularity of the brand.  Everyone will know the brand.  Everyone will know that I know the brand.  Everyone will know that I am everyone else.  And safe from the horrors of paying attention, I can blend seamlessly into the masses of non-thinkers and not have to risk clashing my styles with what’s accepted.

Alright maybe it’s not that bad.  That’s a bit harsh for a guy that just wants to fit in.  Maybe I’m not the corporate masher of the feeder bar that I’m describing here.  Maybe I’m just a guy that has been convinced that a sweet pair of Nikes and the new post-Disney/pre-sex tape pop album is better than a sensible pair of Airwalks and an indy band’s CD.  By the way, I don’t know anything about shoes so I’m ditching this metaphor right now and I’m gonna go ahead and get to the point…

I love music more when no one knows I’m listening.  When no one can judge me… when I can be honest about what I like.  That said, I love Fair Trade Independent Music.

That’s it.  That’s the truth I’ve discovered.  When others are around I’ll hear a familiar beat and bask in the shared commonality of our collective misdirection.  It’s a safe feeling… but it’s not happiness.

Today is Easter, a day we celebrate something about candy and strands of green flimsy plastic.  Oh, and most importantly, a vast pastel rainbow of plastic egg-shaped vessels containing a small variety of popular candy, toys or money (the values of each dictated by the hosts of the hunt).  There are two hunts that I am familiar with… the “little kids’ hunt” and the “big kids’ hunt.”

In each hunt, everyone holds a basket, everyone gets the same prompt:  “Find as many eggs as you can and the contents within are yours.”  The older I got, the easier it was to find the eggs in that first tier of egg-hunting.  Bouncy balls, plastic rings, singular jelly beans… Bland.  Safe.  And yet ultimately carrot enough for me to chase year after year for the next best egg.  Yes, I’m aware I used a carrot metaphor inside of an Easter metaphor and didn’t even mention that damn bunny.  Anti-establishment, remember?

So many years of the “little kids’ hunt” perfected my ability to scan what was essentially a level and perfectly mowed backyard, free of landscaping or detail to find pastel-colored objects not found on any other day.  It was easy.  It was expected.  It was what we did.  But the joy derived from each egg diminished a little each year.  I was maturing I guess, as were my tastes.  In fact, I stopped liking the hunt because it seemed so… boring and lame.

The hosts of the hunt knew that I suppose, and when I reached an older age they increased the difficulty and carrot-size to keep me playing the same game for only somewhat better prizes.  And within that hunt, I would find the best prizes from the eggs that were “hardest” to find.  But I would find the pleasure on the host’s schedule, not mine.  Sure, some eggs were harder to find than others, but the game didn’t end until every egg was found.  As the day went on, the hosts would feed us hints and lead us to the prizes they had manufactured for us.  Then they’d congratulate us for finding what was basically handed to us.  And when all the eggs were found, the hunt was over and we had our treats until our hosts led us to the next pre-arranged event.

But recently, I’ve found that something has changed.  Recently, I discovered a new egg.  It was brightly colored, vibrant and intricate.  It moved in rhythm to the world around it… but it wasn’t Easter.  If this were the hunt, this egg would have been the best prize of them all. But this wasn’t the hunt.  This egg was clearly left by serendipity or perhaps the former slaves of the host, now freedom fighters and mystics.  Just go with me on this, ok?

This egg was placed or even manifested itself under a rock, atop the highest tree, beneath the lake and all other places one finds as opposed to being led.  And it wasn’t put there for me.  I may as well have tripped over the damn thing.  It wasn’t put there for me or anyone else to race around just to be the first to find it and gloat with our otherwise meaningless clone-treasure, satisfied that we were on the “cutting edge” as defined by the host.  This egg wasn’t for me.  It was for all of us.  But we couldn’t see it.  We weren’t ready to see it because our host hadn’t led us to it and we were too afraid to venture out on our own.

By mistake I found it, and inside I found a treasure few would find, few would know.  A rarity of beauty and expression either undiscovered by the host, or made in its defiance.  I had found it.  And in doing so, I began my own hunt.  I had no guide, no map, no suggestion but the naked and vulnerable expedition into my own desires, my own expression.

Independent music does not exist to file out on command by the powers that be to drive a market and a culture… to reinforce what we’re supposed to think.  It exists as an undiscovered majority of expression with no motive or agenda save its own sanctity of self-expression and the hope that others will love it as they do.

How’s that for a metaphor?  Now I want to tell you about the egg I stumbled upon… purely by accident.

Somewhere in the south east of Virginia, a group of musicians gathered to create a sound that with it brought a free and rustic experience unchained by the cluttered emptiness that our commercial stations are so fond of.  NPR deemed this sound a “classical influenced Southern folk rock.”  I suppose if it were to have a label, that would be the simplest, but its implications are limited as compared to the vast reaches of this music.  Recently, I discovered The Last Bison.

Current members, Ben Hardesty (lead vocals and guitar), Annah Housworth (percussion, bells, back-up vocals), Andrew Benfante (keyboards and reed organ… yeah that’s right, I said “reed organ”) and Amos Housworth (cello) have toured all over Virginia, as well as our nation’s capital, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania and Texas, bringing with them an originality that “fits” in all corners and spaces of our overly mainstreamed hearts and souls.

The group, originally from Chesapeake, Virginia has released two independent albums that sandwich several EPs and another album released by Universal Republic.  The latest independently released album, VA, could just as easily be performed as a headlining act to a festival of the nation’s best folk bands, as it could alongside the most sentimental of orchestral arrangements.

“This Changes Everything,” from their EP, Dorado, welcomes listeners with an almost familiar sense of style that invites us into a unique and surprisingly modern arrangement of multiple instrumentals laced with raw yet refined vocals.  I find myself imagining I were gleefully fleeing the outside world into a new world… a better world.  A world lacking of restraint and… “arbitrarity.” (I see a red line that tells me that’s not a word, but I am inspired to leave it because right now I feel independent).

And while that tune’s complexity safely carries me through that world, other tunes keep me grounded with sounds that are simple and speak of gratitude and knowing, of hope and longing.  I found this in “You Are the Only One,” also from the Dorado EP.

You’ll not be at a loss of sensation with The Last Bison.  In fact, I challenge you to visit their website ww.TheLastBison.com and listen to the music they’ve made available (for free!) and not imagine yourself over the mountains of Virginia or the shores of the Atlantic.  I challenge you to challenge yourself to experience music that hasn’t been processed and handpicked as statistically more likely to guide your purchases.

It’s ok to listen and it’s ok to enjoy.  It may not have been made for you, but The Last Bison wants you to hear it, on your terms.  Oh, and it’s ok to move.  No one’s watching.

You can see The Last Bison in Lynchburg, VA on April 23rd at the Lynchstock Music Festival.

Max and John (1)

Mustard.  

He opened the door to the refrigerator and furrowed his brow.  His kitchen was usually one of his least favorite place to be.  It wasn’t that he never learned to cook, in fact, he considered himself a good cook.  The problem was he hated grocery shopping.  Max hated grocery shopping more than any other activity of daily living. There was something terribly frustrating about having to spend money on a consistent basis for something that kept him alive.  He would argue, when his lifestyle of scavenging and take-out was challenged, that all unprepared food should somehow be free because he didn’t have to pay for air and both of them, in his mind, served the same purpose.

His political standpoint on the socialization of the food industry was never stronger than when he didn’t have the money for take-out and he was forced to create a meal out of the remnants of his kitchen.  

Finding nothing of substance to add to his turkey sandwich, Max took out a beer, closed the door and wandered back to his couch.  Brushing aside a number of empty beer bottles, Max set his sandwich and beer on the table and checked his phone.  No text messages.  No voicemails.  No emails.  No pokes, pins, tags, likes or tweets or anything else to connect him to the outside world.  A strange satisfied disappointment settled on him.  

The darkness of the apartment gave way to the glow of the ancient television set.  It was in this world that Max lost himself and apparently his sandwich as his reach towards the table produced the beer can instead.  He drank with one hand, checked his phone again with the other.  His eyes squinted against the bright screens in the dark apartment.

He sighed, set his phone next to him on the couch and gazed at the screen.    When he finished his beer he felt tired and slowly fell asleep to the backdrop of the hushed evening news.  

The additional alcohol relaxed him enough that he slept quite heavily.  So heavily in fact, he missed the creaking of the wooden stairs leading to his apartment.  He didn’t hear the footsteps or the first attempt at the locked door.  He also missed the lock disengaging from the other side and the door opening.  

He would have slept through nearly anything until-

“Wake up asshole!  You stink!  This apartment stinks!  Get the fuck off the couch and clean yourself up!  We’re leaving.”

Max’s eyes flew open and his body shook.  There was a look of terror on his face that faded to relief and finally settled on irritation.  His heart was pounding.

“What the fuck, John?  How the hell did you get in here?”  He was groggy and looking around the apartment, still disoriented.  His heart was racing and as his fear subsided, his annoyance and anger escalated.

“You gave me a key, dipshit.  Remember?”

“Yeah I’ll take that back thanks.  You can leave it on the fucking counter on your way out.”  Max re positioned himself defiantly back into the Max-shaped dent in his couch.

“Nah dude, fuck that.  Get up.  Seriously, I’m hungry.  We’re going out.  You need fresh air.  This place smells like a dead man’s dick.” John moved to the window, pulled back the thick curtain and let in what remained of the setting sunlight.  

Max covered his face as the intruding light irritated his eyes and his best friend irritated his last nerve.  “God dammit.”

John opened the window and cooler evening air made it’s way through.  “That’ll help.  A little febreeze and a fucking fire bomb would go further, but this’ll do.”  He made his way to the bathroom as Max sat up and lit a cigarette.

“What are you doing now?”  His question was immediately answered as he heard the shower and the squeak of a spray bottle.  “Dude don’t clean my fucking bathroom.  Seriously.”

“I’m not cleaning it, I’m just killing the mold so you can use this shower.  You smell like ass bro, I’m not going to dinner with you smelling like ass.  You have clean clothes somewhere?”

“Yeah probably… gimme a fucking minute.  Could have called you know.”  Max twisted his neck around and groaned when it cracked.

“Why?  You wouldn’t have answered.”

Max shrugged silently, took a long pull on his cigarette as he sat up and leaned forward.  He exhaled slowly, hoping his frustration would leave his body with the smoke.  It didn’t.  “I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah I can tell.”  John looked around the bathroom, satisfied that it had been disinfected enough to remove any irony a shower in this room might create.  He squirted what was left of a toilet bowl cleaner into the commode and closed the lid, shaking his head as he did so.

John  moved into the small laundry room next to the bathroom to assess the situation.  “So which pile has the least amount of swamp ass on it?”

“There’s stuff in the dryer.  I’ll get it in a minute.”  Max continued to pull on his cigarette, his frustration with his friend subsiding as he did.  “Let me get a shower.”  He walked into the laundry room to find John starting a load of wash.  Max shook his head, took a towel from the floor, smelled it, shrugged and walked into the bathroom.  Whatever John mumbled under his breath wasn’t interesting enough for Max to question.

Entering the bathroom, Max closed the door behind him and took a deep breath.  Then he coughed from the mixture of steam and bleach.  

God damn John.

Max stared into the mirror for a long while, analyzing his face as his body warmed in the steamy bathroom.  His unwashed skin was pale and he hadn’t shaved in days.  His hair was oily.  It matted in some places and spiked in others.  He sighed, looked down and put toothpaste on his toothbrush.  He couldn’t remember the last time he had done this.  When he was finished with his teeth he looked back into the mirror and was glad to see that the steam from the running shower had fogged it over completely.  Max stripped off his clothes and got into the shower.  The hot water relaxed him, more than he thought possible.  He was sore, but not from exertion.  He was sore from days of laying about his apartment, anxious and teetering between levels of sobriety.

Max stretched and did his best to wash the week’s worth of wallowing and self-loathing from his body and mind.  When he was clean, he stood there in the shower letting the hot water run over him while he breathed deeply and tried not to think of anything at all.  He was relatively sober now, so he wasn’t as successful as he would have liked to have been.  He thought of his truck.  He hadn’t left his apartment for quite some time so he wondered if it would even start.  It didn’t always.

His next thoughts were about the last time he was in his truck.  Max had been driving home from his father’s house in Baltimore.  It was a long drive back to Virginia, parts of which devoid of radio reception.  He’d spent the weekend there after his mother’s funeral.  She hadn’t wanted a funeral but her sisters insisted it wasn’t for her, it was for the family.  

So they can mourn.

Max turned off the water and stepped out the shower.  He toweled himself off and set about shaving the days of stubble from his face.  His razor was old.  It hurt his face with every stroke and his face bled in places.  He splashed on some aftershave, wrapped the towel around his body and went back to the laundry room for something to wear.  

The apartment was noisy.  It was quiet until John got there.  It was quiet when he was on his couch.  Even the television was quiet.  John was very noisy.

Max looked around the laundry room.  On the days he had bothered to change his clothes, he would typically choose his clothes the way he had just chosen his towel, but his piles had been moved around, sorted.  His clean clothes had been folded and the washer and dryer were now both running.  

“There’s a shirt in the dryer, knockin’ out the wrinkles!”  John was yelling from the kitchen.

“Thanks.”

John didn’t respond as he didn’t hear Max over the washer, dryer, and dishwasher all of which running at full force.  John was otherwise occupied.

Max dressed in the laundry room and put his wet towel in a pile where he assumed John would approve and came back to the living room to find his shoes.  They were laying by his belt, keys and wallet in the center of his now bottle-free table.  All of the windows were open and while the air was cool, the apartment felt comfortable.  The stale stagnant air had dissipated and the living room somehow looked and smelled presentable and hospitable again.  Max sighed and figured he should take long showers more often.  Maybe his bills would magically get paid too.

Max looked into the kitchen and then for John.  The counter and sink were empty and had been wiped clean.  The dirty dishes were either in the dishwasher or were drying in the rack on the counter.  There was a subtle hint of lemon cleanser in the air.  It wasn’t spotless by any means, but the kitchen, despite being devoid of food, was a functional kitchen again.  Max chuckled and shook his head as he saw John heading down the stairs carrying four large bags of trash.

“Hurry up bro, I’m starving,” he yelled up the steps as made his way outside.

“Yeah.”

When John returned, he stopped at the door, and looked around the apartment with a satisfied grin on his face.  He took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled through his mouth.  

“No more dead man’s dick.  Let’s roll.  I’m buying, you’re driving.”

“Yes dear.”

—-

As they approached the truck, Max slowed.  John turned to him.

“You alright?”

Max paused a moment then spoke.  “Yeah.  Just hope it starts.”  He pointed to the truck.

“I got cables if not.  No worries.”  John looked at Max, started to say something and then shook his head and continued to walk.

“Yeah.”  Max knew that John wasn’t fooled, but was glad he left it alone.  John got away with a lot, but even John knew when not to push.  

The two-tone pick-up started up immediately.  Max let the engine idle for a few minutes while he pretended to check his mirrors and adjust his seat belt.  

“Sometime today cupcake, I’m starving.”

“Fuck you.  It’s been a while.  Where we going anyway?”

“Lou’s.  Where else?”

Max sighed.  He wasn’t disappointed.  In fact, he preferred the Lou’s.  Lou’s was a diner a blocks miles from his apartment.  The diner was old.  The food was good.  The service was good.  But the diner was old.  There was wear on all the tables and chairs.  The once-white counter had deep scratches and had yellowed over the years.   Most of the stools made a horrible noise when they twisted.  None of the silverware matched and it was a rare thing to get a coffee mug that hadn’t been glued back together at some point.  And no one had ever met Lou or had any idea why is it was named Lou’s.  Lou’s was generally considered the shadow of a formerly successful diner… and it was Max’s favorite place to eat.

When they arrived, they found that their regular table towards the back was vacant, so they sat down and waited for Abby.  When she was in sight, John motioned in her direction.  

“That is why you showered bro.”

“Not today man, I’m tired.”

“I didn’t do anything, I’m just saying…”  John trailed off as Abby approached.  She was 28, tall, and beautiful.  Everyone thought so.  Max visibly sank into his chair.  John shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“Hi guys!  Coffee?”  She smiled at them.

“Please.  And some water too.  Can we go ahead and order?”

“Sure, go right ahead.”

“Alright, I want a bacon cheeseburger and fries.  Hey can I get a little garden salad to go with that?”

“It’s $2 more, is that ok?”

“Yep.  You’re up bro.”

“What’s the special?”

“Meatloaf.”

“Sold.”

“Sides?”

“Mashed potatoes and green beans…  Please.”

“Alright guys, I’ll have that out in a bit.”  Abby smiled again and went back to the kitchen.  John watched her go.  Max didn’t stare, but he did glance.

“God she’s hot.”

“Yeah.  Nice kid too.”

“How long we been coming here bro?”

“I don’t know.  Couple years.  Why?”

“And in all that time, how long has she worked here?”

“Probably just as long.  Why?”

“And in all that time, how long have you wanted to ask her out?”

“I don’t know man.  I don’t want to do this today.”

“Do what?  We’re just talking.  What’s the problem?”

“Nothing.  She’s hot, alright?  I just don’t want to ask her out.”  Max was better at lying sometimes.  This time was not one of them.  

“Alright man, fine.  I’m just saying though.  She’s not going to be single forever.”

“How do you know she’s single now?”

“No ring.”

“So what?  She could have a boyfriend.”

“And then she would have to make a very difficult decision as to whether or not she would keep that boyfriend.”

“You’re a savage.”

“I’m a realist.”

“I’m not competing with some boyfriend.  I don’t want some jealous asshole showing up at my apartment or my job.”

“Who said she has a boyfriend?”

“I said she could have a boyfriend and you said it didn’t matter in so many words.”

Abby came back with the drinks and the two men tried to act as though they weren’t just discussing the pros and cons of beginning a relationship with the waitress that had been serving them faithfully and cheerfully for several years.  

“Thanks.”  Max took his coffee and immediately began to load it with cream and sugar.  Abby smiled and Max wasn’t sure if they’d been caught.  When she walked back to the counter, John continued the debate.

“But you don’t really know if she has a boyfriend.  So by your logic you can’t ask out anyone you don’t know really well, even if they aren’t married, because they could possibly be seeing someone that they aren’t legally bound to.”

“What the fuck?  ‘Legally bound.’  I said I didn’t want to do this today.”  Max was already hopelessly locked into this discussion and despite not admitting it, he enjoyed the banter with John.

“What?  All I’m saying is that you’re limiting your options based on fear of what you don’t know.”

“Who the fuck is talking about fear?  I just don’t want to deal with a jealous ex.  That’s all.”

“So you’re assuming that if you were to ask her out that she would then immediately go dump this hypothetical boyfriend?  Damn dude.  You think pretty highly of yourself.”

“Fuck you, I didn’t say that.  I just meant that jealous people do stupid shit and I don’t want to deal with it.”

“Because you’re scared of the unknown.”

“Because I got enough shit to deal with.”

“Yeah I was just at your place.  Pretty sure I just cleared your schedule for the next fucking month.”

“Fuck you.”  Max couldn’t hold back a small chuckle.

“Maybe later.  So you’re saying if she didn’t have a boyfriend, you’d consider it?”

“If it will shut you up, then yes.  If I knew she didn’t have a boyfriend or a recent ex-boyfriend, then maybe I would be interested in risking rejection to ask out the pretty waitress that’s brought me my food for at least the last 4 years.  Are you happy now dick head?  Can I enjoy my coffee?”

“All you had to say bro.”  John raised his hands to concede.  There was a snide grin of satisfaction on his face.  However, his victory was short-lived.

“I wouldn’t be able to eat here anymore though.  And this is my favorite place to eat.  In fact, I’d argue this place means more to me than the risk I’d be taking asking her out.”

“Why the fuck wouldn’t you be able to eat here anymore?!”  John was nearly shouting.

Max looked at John like he’d lost his mind and motioned to him to calm down while speaking quietly.  “Because, if she said ‘no’ I wouldn’t want to see her every day and be reminded of the rejection.  If she said yes I wouldn’t want to come in every day and have my girlfriend serve me food all the time.”

John looked pensive and was visibly mulling over the argument, glancing in several directions while scratching his chin.  He sighed.  “You make a valid point.  Now turn around.”  John pointed over Max’s shoulder.  Max turned to look and saw that Abby was leaning over the counter looking at a magazine.  Her jeans were tight and flattering to her body.  Her back was slightly arched and some of the curls of her hair were falling over her shoulders and slightly into her cleavage which from Max’s angle was very much visible.  

Max turned back to John and sighed.  “I mean, this ain’t the only fucking diner in town.”  

John’s look of satisfaction returned and he laughed.  “You going back to work next week?”

Max shrugged.  He hadn’t given it much thought.  He didn’t particularly love his job but at the same time he didn’t feel the need to be away from it.  “I don’t know yet.  I can take another week if I want.  I have the time and my boss doesn’t care.”

“Up to you I guess.  I’d go crazy with nothing to do for three weeks.”

“Yeah.”  

“How are the fellas?”

“Good I guess.  I got a call from one of them last week.  Left me a message.  Said he was sorry and that he hopes Mary dies really soon.”  

John chuckled.  “Gotta love the fellas.”

“Yeah.”  Max smiled a little.

When Abby returned with the food, she was smiling again and for a moment Max could have sworn she was smiling deliberately at him.  

“Here you go,” she said as she put John’s burger in front of him.  “And the special for you, Max.”

Max looked at her as he took his plate.  She’d never once, in all the years he’d been coming here, called him by his name.  He was so amazed that he didn’t notice the gravy spilling on his thumb until it burned the skin.  He almost dropped the plate and instinctively put his thumb in his mouth.  His eyes never left Abby.

She giggled.  “Careful Max, it’s hot.”  She smiled again at him, turned and went to another table.  

“Dude.”  

“Right?”  Max looked surprised, even with his thumb in his mouth.

“Dude,” John said again.

“No shit?”

“You know what?  I’m going to eat my burger.  I’m going to drink my coffee.  And I’m not going to say another fucking thing about this.  But I swear to you Max, if you don’t ask her out soon I’m selling your dick on eBay.”

Max chuckled and set about eating his dinner, then paused, and with a very serious and genuine look said, “Thanks John.”

John caught his glance but looked back at his burger.  “You’ll get me back next time.”

“I meant for everything today.”

“So did I.”  He picked up his burger and started to eat.

They ate in silence.

—-

John was at the cash register paying the tab while Max was in the diner’s bathroom.  He felt better.  The food had done him some good but not as much as the time with his friend.  As he washed his hands, he tried to remember the last time he had even seen John, let alone anyone else in a deliberate social situation. 

Oh right.

Max remembered the night he received the call from the hospital that his mother had been brought in by ambulance.  He was out that night with John and some other friends at a bar.  Having just finished a twelve-hour shift, he opted to celebrate and relax with his friends and postpone some of his other responsibilities until the next day.  

Max worked in a group home.  The people living in the group home all had some kind of intellectual disability… Down Syndrome, Fragile X Syndrome, etc.  He’d started there in college as a temporary staff and was promoted to a full-time specialist position with benefits not long after he had graduated.  It helped that the previous specialist was fired and ultimately arrested for stealing funds from the people that lived there.  

He liked the work and didn’t mind that his promotion was partially a desperation move on his supervisor’s part.  He knew he was qualified.  Max felt good about what he did and liked being a part of helping people.  He took pride in that.  As a specialist, he had input into all of the support planning for the people living there and thoroughly enjoyed helping them get the most out of life.  And while it didn’t pay much, his promotion paid the bills and afforded him the luxury of going to the diner fairly regularly and out to the bar occasionally as well.  Max felt like he was doing just enough good in the world to justify his existence.

Because of budgetary constraints outside of his control, the program where Max worked was often short-handed and he felt compelled to work longer hours and extra shifts to help fill the void.   Max worked hard and despite the long hours, he felt satisfied.  He was respected by his co-workers and he imagined the people living in the group home liked him too.   

After particularly long weeks, Max would usually meet up with his friends at the bar and have a few drinks.  None of his friends had jobs like Max’s.  John was an accountant and Max had always assumed that John wouldn’t last a day working at the group home.  So when the group of men would drink and regale the others with tales of their days, Max would usually just smile and wait his turn.  Ultimately his stories were better anyway, at least to him.  His stories had interesting characters and real conflict and comedy.  Even his friend the bartender had trouble competing with some of the stories Max would tell.  

Max was careful not to give away much information about the people he worked with.  Despite how amusing some of the things he saw were to him, he had a tremendous amount of respect for the people in the group home and the confidentiality of their lives.  His friends knew that too and never asked questions though they enjoyed the stories too.

To them it was like hearing a new episode of some dark comedy but not because of the disabled people… because of the other people in their lives.

Howard the bartender and Josh the web-designer would usually finish their stories with, “Ok Max, your turn,” and everyone would laugh.  Some days Max didn’t have a story.  Other days he had several.  Max liked to paint the world of his stories in a respectful shade that typically displayed the best attributes of the people he served while highlighting the shortcomings of the so-called “normal” people that interacted with them.  

He especially liked to tell stories about one of his co-workers being the victim of less desirable behavior by the people living in the group home.  This co-worker had a tendency to treat the people in the group home like unfortunate children and not adults with self-determination.  Max despised her and his stories made his listeners despise her too, like one despises the annoying character on their favorite sit-com.

She wasn’t particularly mean or even that offensive, but Max couldn’t stand seeing people treated like children.  One of the stories Max told was about rhis co-worker being humiliated in a grocery store by one of the guys in the group home.  Apparently he had had enough of being asked if he needed to “go potty,” in a public place in front of strangers.  And he let that be known when he  yelled very loudly, “Leave me alone bitch!  I don’t have to piss!”

His friends would sometimes ask if Mary, his co-worker, had fallen prey to any recent retaliation by “the fellas,” as they were fond of calling them.  This also made Max feel good.  Although his friends had no interest in working in a place like that, they at least understood that “the fellas” were people too and had personalities not unlike their own.  

Despite being exhausted at the end of his day, Max at least felt accomplished and enjoyed his drink with his friends as a reward and celebration for a job well done.  His only “bad” days were when he was at odds with an over-protective co-worker or disrespectful community members but usually Max was more reinforced by the fellas than punished by everything else.  

Max got to thinking about the last time he’d had a drink with his friends when his phone rang and a memory of his dead mother laying in a hospital bed flashed into his mind.  It startled Max and he reached for his phone.  It was John.

“Just trying to wash my fucking hands here, what do you want?”

“Don’t be mad,” said the muffled voice of John.

“Oh god.  What?”

“Just don’t be mad and get the fuck out here.”  John was insistent and whispering at the same time.

Max sighed into the receiver.  It was deliberate but still genuine.  “Whatever asshole.”

Max hung up, washed and dried his hands and found John by the cash register talking with Abby.

Oh god.  What the hell did he do?

As he approached, he tried to prepare himself for whatever John may have arranged.  Dinner.  A movie.  Marriage.  Max could really only eliminate dinner as they’d just eaten.

Abby and John looked at Max who spoke.

“Hey.  We all set?”

“Yeah, Abby gets off in an hour and said she’d meet us there.”

Max felt his stomach churn but tried not to show his anxiety.

“Oh good.  You going to walk or do you need a ride?”

“It’s only two blocks.  I can manage, but thanks.”  Abby smiled at Max who couldn’t believe he was having a conversation with Abby that included asking her if she wanted to be inside of his truck.  

“Cool.”

John had prepared for an awkward silence.  He patted Max on the back.

“Alright let’s get the fuck out of here.  We have to get ready for the party.”

Max wasn’t trying to play along anymore.  

“What party?”

John chuckled.  

“More of a celebration I guess.”

“What are we celebrating.”

“I don’t know.  Anything.  Who cares?  Maybe Abby is about to win something on eBay and she wants to celebrate.  Who gives a shit?  We’re drinkin’.  Let’s go.”

Max turned pale and his stomach churned more as John slapped him on the back and urged him out the door.  He heard Abby calling after them.

“See you in a bit guys!”  

When they were safely outside, Max was no longer feeling nauseous.  He was furious.

“What the fuck did you just do?  How could you fucking do that?”

“What?  You said if she didn’t have a boyfriend or a recent ex that you could probably find a new place to eat if she either would or would not go out with you.  Well, she’s been single for a while now and you can find your own fucking diner.”

“I can’t believe you man.  What did you say to her?”

“All I said was, ‘how come your boyfriend never comes to visit you at work?’ and she said she’s been single for a while.”

“Could you have been more obvious about it?  Jesus Christ, John.”  Max unlocked his truck and got in.  John waited until Max was in the cab before looking up at the sky in disbelief then getting in the truck himself.

“Just ‘John’ will do, thanks.  And yes, I could.  Relax, it was casual.  I told her we were going to the bar, she asked which one, I told her, she said she liked that one and I told her she should come hang out with us after work.”  John trailed off.

“And that was it?  There wasn’t anything else in that conversation I should know about?”

“What are you all investigative over?  God!”

“John, I took a piss, came back and I had a date.”

“Bitch please, how do you know I wasn’t coaxing her out for me?”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you!”

Max glared ahead as he pulled the truck out of the diner’s parking lot.  

“Can we stop at the florist on the way?  I wanna get Abby a corsage for our big night.”

“God damn you John.”

—–

Pumpkin Dip

Someone at work brought pumpkin dip for me to try not long ago.  I of course resisted… but only at first.  Let me tell you about it because it’s awesome… it’s pumpkin, cream cheese, brown sugar, and “various pumpkin pie spices” combined to make a delicious dip…

…A dip derived from culinary sorcery the likes of which rivaled only by creation itself.  Oh you think that’s over the top?  Strap in.

A small dollop… just one small dollop atop a ginger snap and I was whisked away to a magical land where it’s always Autumn and you never get fat.  Where there’s always football to watch and your favorite baseball team is headed for the World Series.  Where everyone has pie and backpacks filled with Cool Whip.  The changing leaves fall to the ground and leave not the brittle nor soggy decay of fall’s end, but a gentle layer of graham cracker pieces, ginger snap morsels and pie crust slices.

Those confections pile en masse as the locals dance around it wielding their pumpkin-shaped bowls of pumpkin dip.  They whimsically graze the pile with their delicate fingers, fetching edible utensils  in rhythmic motion and timing to the sounds of the unheard songs of late October’s nutrition rebellion.

From over the hills, a warm breeze mixes with the cool air bringing with it the scent of distant apples baking in pies and dumplings as if a subtle foreshadowing of this fantasy land’s unending blessings.

Fairies glide above us leaving trails of sugar crystals that fasten themselves atop the tarts and pastries manifesting themselves on the brims of our favorite team’s hat.  To the left is more decadence as the cinnamon stick dam holding back the river of hot apple cider releases perfectly-timed mug-sized portions of its golden majesty.  One by one it drops into their mugs as those who desire find their way, wasting not a drop.

A sign above me reads “Welcome to Autumn’s Bliss! Established Before Time, Population Unending.”  A commotion can be heard in the town’s square as the mayor, adorned with fantastical walnut armor, reads the town’s creed, his slightly toasted marshmallow hat proudly standing, sprinkled with oats.

“Autumn’s Bliss, we do solemnly swear,
To treat all comers with sweets and care, To hold dear the sounds and smells, Of fall feasts and dinner bells.

To embrace dessert and with all share,
We purge all sadness, pain and wear.
An oath we offer to our home and cradle, ‘Let all be armed with plate and ladle!’

And in the depths of confectioner’s glee, Shall all be fed in awe of thee.
To our land, we hereby swear,
To share the spoils of October faire.

Threats of cravings you do destroy,
With treats and sweets we can enjoy.
Upon every bite and pastry’s kiss,
We all give thanks to Autumn’s Bliss!”

… then the friggin’ phone rang and I had to get back to work.  But yeah pretty good dip.

first date

I arrived early. I always arrive early. I’m afraid of being late. I want to be dependable. I want to be trusted and appreciated. I always arrive early. Even in secret rendezvous, I arrive early. It’s a parking lot away from home. It’s a parking lot near her home and near mine. Our plan is to meet and ride together. I’ll drive. I’ll drive so that she can sit in her seat. It’s her seat. Other people sit there and some more than others, but this is her seat. I’d spent the day convincing myself to come and now I’m here and I’m waiting and I’m a wreck. It was a long day. It was a long journey for me today to get to tonight but I made it. So many pros and cons and so much inner turmoil but here I am. I’m waiting for her and I’m early. I’m always early.

I don’t sit still. I don’t quietly listen to music. I fidget. I buy water in the store to relieve my guilt of using the lot for my nefarious plotting. I fidget. She arrives. She’s early. She knows that I was early too.

I’m always early.

I don’t notice her vehicle, I can only see her. I’m lost in thought and awe as she gets out of her vehicle. I wanted to open the door for her. I wanted to be a gentleman. I was too slow. Pink shirt, light blue jeans, tennis shoes. Her lips shine like that afternoon they sparkled and I didn’t get caught watching.

She’s wearing earrings. Hoops. Hoops hang and sparkle from her ears and I remember her lips.

They’re shining. I’m allowed to look tonight. Maybe she wants me to look. Maybe I’m just her friend. I can be her friend. She’s my best friend. I won’t touch her. I won’t do anything to jeopardize what I have with my best friend.

It was a strange ride. Despite it being dark, I wasn’t sure if we were safe. I wasn’t sure if this was a good idea. It was an anxious ride. We spoke. Short phrases. Mumbles. Small talk. I was nervous. It wasn’t until we’d made half our voyage that I realized she was nervous too. I relaxed in that small bit of shared misery. And then we spoke. Words that mattered. Thoughts and feelings with purpose. She’s my best friend and a tiny part of me believes that tonight things will change forever.

She’s so beautiful. Tonight, she’s more beautiful. Tonight we’re terrible and we’re together and I don’t care. I hate everything else around me. She’s so beautiful. There’s some confusion regarding our destination. I got us lost. “It’s an adventure,” she tells me. She’s so beautiful.

We arrive. We had left with plenty of time. We had “getting lost time.” And we’re still early. I’m always early. The theater is old and reminds me of a place that doesn’t exist. It reminds me of another time. If this theater is of the mind, then together we’re all that matters here.

Tickets.

Popcorn.

Soda.

It doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t look real. She came.

We climb the stairs to a small room with a small screen. Smaller than the digital monstrosity we’re used to back home. Smaller than the corporate franchises pumping gallons of cola and buckets of buttered corn. It’s smaller than we’re used to. I can’t breathe. I’m out of shape and I’ve walked a lot of steps. I have a cold and I’m struggling to breathe. There’s no one there. We’re early. I’m nervous and I can’t breathe.

Center of the room, we pick two chairs. The arm rests don’t move. I want them to move but I’m glad they don’t move. I have to keep my hands off her. I can’t touch her. I want to touch her. I never want to stop touching her. Why did I come?

We talk. With every passing word and breath I feel more daring, more confident, more ridiculous and foolish. I share with her something I wrote while thinking about her one day. Her lips sparkled that day too. I’m afraid to share it at first. I don’t want to scare her. I’m afraid of what it will look like. I want her to know what she means to me. I want her to know that she’s special and not just to me, but to the whole world. She reads. She fights tears. I’m glad that I’ve shared and I know she’s not afraid. She seems different now. Or maybe she’s just more of what she’s been. She’s validated. She’s relieved.

She knows. I haven’t said it. I won’t yet say it, but she knows. I look at her and she knows.

Fear grips me. She reads it again. I’m scared again. I’m happy but afraid and she reads it a third time. I take it from her, put it back in my pocket. She looks at me. I love when she looks at me. She’s still looking at me. I don’t want her to stop, I’m locked. Anxiety reaches past my fear and reminds me of reality. I look away.

Coward.

I call myself a coward in my mind and I look away.

It’s getting dark. There’s still no one else here. The previews begin. I don’t remember them. I don’t look at them. We’re all alone here. The theater of the mind is empty save for us. My hand is warm now. On a cool night in an old theater of the mind, my hand is warm. The fear subsides, my anxiety washes away. My hand is warm now. There’s pressure. I look. The space between each of my fingers is filled with one of her fingers. I stare. She’s holding my hand and I’m safe. The rest of the room dissolves into a blurry combination of light and sound coming from the theater effects. None of it makes sense. I don’t care. None of that matters. She’s so beautiful. She’s holding my hand and I’m safe.

She’s watching me stare. From the corner of my eye I can see she’s watching me stare. Her grip tightens around my fingers and silently tells me that the world is indeed the magical and safe place I thought it was as a child. She pulls my arm to her and her arms wrap around it, securing it to her body.

I’m warm.

I’m disarmed again. Stumbling for security, I try to speak. Whatever is said is nonsense. She speaks.

“Arm good.”

She’s taken my hand and my arm and she’s left me vulnerable. I’ve attacked for less. But I don’t. The fear returns. It starts slow and builds like the steam in a kettle. A million reasons to run away. I have one million reasons to run away. Circumstances. Others. Sadness. Pain. Children. Fear. We’re going to get caught. Stop touching her. Run away. Talk!

I speak.

I tell her I’m happy and afraid. I tell her a lot. Words pour from me for a long time. I make the same point with different words for a long time. My point is we need to wait. We need to be sensible. She hears me over and over again and she touches my face. She likes when I talk. But she’s not liking what I say. I don’t like what I say. She’s touching me. The nonsensical light and sound fragments from the movie are gone now. I’m lost in her touch. I take her hand and hold it to my face. She speaks.

With few words she dismisses what I considered to be my profound point. “Please choose me,” she says and I’m aware of how transparent I am. She knows that at the root of my long winded speech is my fear of change, of uncertainty, and of what’s to come. “Please choose me.”

It echoes in my mind. I close my eyes to find the words dancing around my mind. “Please choose me.” I open my eyes and see her face. She’s so beautiful. Her face now exists as an imprint and background to the rest of my world. In all things from now on, I wish to do for you and because of you. I choose you. I chose you.

I’m still trying to speak, trying to make sense of all this. I’m trying to escape. I’m trying to justify reveling in a moment of happiness. I hate myself so much that it’s hard for me to allow a moment of peaceful reward. She must have sensed it. She must have sensed my foundation’s crumble. She attacks my fear again and puts her arms around my neck. There’s more pressure. Her head moves towards mine. She pulls me to her. I panic in the moment between now and what’s to come. I panic. I’m afraid.

In that moment, my insecurities intensify like a flashing hazard light at the edge of a cliff. They flash bright at the end of a road I know well, but beyond which, I have no idea. In that moment I am speeding past my comfort. I am speeding beyond what I know well. I am speeding to that edge. The flashing light grows as I approach, begging my sensibility to stop.

In that moment I make a weak and strangled effort to resist but it does me no good. She has me. I want her to have me. I’ve always wanted her to have me. She kisses me while I try to make words. She kisses me. Her lips are soft, her breath is sweet. The fear subsides and I am lost. The flashing light is gone, I’ve passed it. There’s a wonderful and terrible uncertainty ahead now, but I’m not alone. She’s kissing me. I can’t go back. She’s kissing me. I kiss her. I can never go back.

I forget to breathe and I don’t care. I could fade away in this moment and know my life had meaning.

She’s still kissing me. My lungs burn and I pull away, drawing in air. I look at her. Her eyes are still closed. Her mouth moves as if I were still there. She’s in a trance. She’s so beautiful.

I touch her face and my hands shake. I hope she doesn’t notice my hands shaking, but my hands stop shaking when her face moves with my hands. She’s still in a trance. She’s lost in my touch. After a few moments or maybe an eternity her eyes open. She smiles. She’s smiling at me as I touch her face and I’m reduced to a primal form of what I used to be. I’m stripped of sarcasm, cynicism and objections.

She’s stripped me of my defenses and I am hers. I stare into her eyes, having forgotten all that I so pitifully had used to restrain myself before. She’s so beautiful.

I feel relieved, stronger. I feel daring and foolish. I recognize what reality will bring and mention it again, though with less fear and more caring. She’s aware but she’s free and she speaks again. She speaks simply with a fiery calm. She reduces my pragmatism to ashes with her fiery calm.

“No rules tonight.”

I accept. My apprehension dissolves early this time. I surprise myself. No objections, no fear, no reality.

No rules tonight. I agree. We kiss again and again and I agree. No rules tonight. I’m not afraid for now.

It was at this moment that she wanted me to meet her between freedom and celebration and I made it and I was early.

I’m always early.

Dark Room

A misty sea breeze filled the air.  It was cool and offered relief to her sun-kissed skin.  She couldn’t find her sunglasses so she squinted to see the ocean before her.  From her grandmother’s quilt she even brighter light glistening from the tips of the water peaks before they crashed into the surf.  While she only heard the tidal rhythms, she was sure she would at least see a bird in the sky.

The sky today was so bright as to almost forbid the intrusion of such a blemish on it’s radiant glory.  And while there was no cloud cover, she felt herself cooling from the breeze in defiance of the sun’s rays.  Beneath her was warm and soft and her comfort slipped to coziness before plunging into unconsciousness.

She woke with a start at a pulsing light and a horrible sound.  The alarm was blaring.  She swatted towards it and missed.  It was worse than other mornings, it was making a sound she’d never heard before.  It was grating and awful.  Long steady sounds.  At least two seconds each with equal silences between them.  Louder than ever.  So loud and it wouldn’t stop.  It wasn’t the classical music station she’d heard every other morning for the past 2 years.  

Her hands fumbled for the clock on the nightstand.  But before she could reach the nightstand her hands met with something glass.  It felt light but had a wide base.  When she hit it by mistake it didn’t fall but she heard something slosh inside of it.  She pulled her hand back and reached for ears.  If only she could stop that sound and try to remember.  Her hand met a plastic object… a pill bottle of some kind. 

Ignoring the pain in her ears she reached a bit further, felt nothing new and was suddenly very confused.  She wasn’t used to there being so much bed.  But here she was, in bed reaching for her nightstand and finding only more bed.  She pulled back her hand again with greater force than before.

Where’s my clock?  What the hell is going on?  

Her hand hit the glass container which promptly rolled over, spilled liquid on the mattress and fell.  She heard it breaking loudly below the mattress.  The crashing sound of breaking glass on what was clearly not her carpet made Julia’s heart sink.  A cold sweat came over her and she began to tremble.

Where am I?!

She continued to reach for the nightstand, for something, for some light, for some answers.  Nothing.  There was nothing else around her.  The alarm wouldn’t stop.  It kept blaring as if warning her all too late that she was in some kind of danger.

The contrast of sight was menacing.  It was completely dark save for a flash of blinding white light that followed each blare of the alarm.  Julia tried to move.  She felt unsteady and weak.  Coordination was no more than a fleeting fantasy at this point.  She sat still for a moment and tried to focus on the room around her.  It was too dark to see between flashes.  The light from the flashes was just as frustrating.  

She looked about the room, trying to understand her surroundings with each pulse of light as her eyes tried to adjust to the madness.  It was too bright and too brief to tell her anything specific.  There didn’t appear to be any furniture save the mattress she was laying on.  One of the lights was directly above her, mounted to the ceiling.  The flashes were so fast and the gaps between them were so great it was hard to make out anything at all.

She was about to step off the bed when she realized she still didn’t know where she was or what could be waiting for her.  And at least for the moment, she wasn’t sure she could trust her own equilibrium.  She remembered the broken glass and slid to the end of the mattress so as not to step on the shards.  Before stepping down, she rolled onto her stomach and with her hands she slowly reached over the end of the bed and touched the ground.  Sweeping it gently for debris or anything else that may hurt her, Julia verified what she already knew.  This wasn’t her floor.  

She felt where the bed met the floor.  There was no space.  There was no “under the bed.”  There was nothing.  Just floor.  A bittersweet relief came and left in a flash as she understood almost simultaneously that nothing from under the bed could grab her… but from everywhere else, she couldn’t know.  

The floor was cold and solid.  It seemed smooth and felt damp.  There was something wet on the ground, she could feel it on her fingers but she didn’t know what it was.  She raised her fingers to her nose, it didn’t have a scent.  It was moisture, maybe water from the glass container.  She didn’t know.  She sat up slowly.  

“Hello?” she shouted over the alarm.  There was no answer.  “Where am I?  Who did this to me?”

In her last sentence her voice cracked and she began to sob.  The sobs didn’t last long, each tear warming as they rolled down her nearly infuriated face.  

“Whoever did this is FUCKING DEAD!  YOU HEAR ME?!” She shouted into the darkness.  The alarm failed to drown her out.  

And then it was silent.  The alarm stopped in the middle of a pulse and so did the light.  Julia gasped, realizing she may have offended whomever was holding her here.  

Holding me here?

Her mind raced at the possible scenarios of what was to come.  She tried to prepare herself for it… scrambling her hands around the mattress and floor for something to use or throw, but found nothing.  She stood and raised her arms, balling her fists as she did…  Waiting for it to come… Waiting for anything to come. 

But there was nothing.  Only silence.  Only darkness.

She immediately missed the pulsing lights though her head appreciated the silence.  The only sounds she could sense were her own breathing and racing heart.  She felt disoriented in the dark.  Her thoughts flashed to the pill bottle.  She ran her hands over the mattress again, slower this time, searching for it.  She found it, picked it up to read it but couldn’t see.  It was too dark.  Her hands were still shaking at the thought of what could be in the bottle, what could be in her body.  

“Always read the label” her mother reminded her from a distant memory.

She began to sob more and searched her body with her hands, feeling for injury, for violation.  She felt nothing.  Her clothing felt unfamiliar but intact.  They were pajamas of some sort.  There were large buttons on a collared shirt and a pair of pants with a similar button holding them closed.  They weren’t particularly soft, almost like nursing scrubs.  Julia knew she owned nothing of the sort.  

She had been dressed but she hadn’t done it herself.  Someone had dressed her.  She sobbed more.  

Someone had un-dressed her.

She tried to remember how she got to where she was.  Her last conscious memory was going to bed in her own home, in her own bed.  She thought of everything she’d eaten the night before.  All of it, she remembered, was prepared by her from her cabinets, from her refrigerator.  She’d had nothing out of the ordinary to eat or drink.  She’d seen no one out of the ordinary.

It’s a dream.

Her mind searched her entire day, trying desperately to find a clue to her current whereabouts and how she arrived there.  She remembered getting up the morning before.  Her alarm had played classical music then.  It had comforted her, the way it always had.  Bach, Beethoven… she didn’t know.  It was “cartoon music” to her.  But she adored the security it brought her every morning.

The consistency.  The safety.  Memories of cereal eaten on an old living room floor while Tom and Jerry violently danced with one another.

She remembered her shower, the long wait for the warm water and the missing curtain ring she never remembered to replace. 

She thought of her cat and her breakfast, her work day, her co-workers, her mother, and her drive home.  Nothing was out of place.  Everything until now was as it should have been.  Everything had been perfect and safe.  Everything had been warm and bright.  But not now.

Be dreaming.  Please be dreaming.

There was no reason to be in this hell and yet despite all her previous normality, here she was in this terrible place surrounded by terrible emptiness and darkness with no possible explanation and the knowledge that everything could change in an instant for better or worse and she’d be powerless to stop it.

I’m not powerless.  I’m dreaming. 

She went back to the edge of the bed and felt the ground again.  This time she lightly traced the outline of the mattress on the ground from the foot of the bed to where the glass had fallen.  The moisture she had felt before was colder than the moisture surrounding the broken glass.

She tried to be delicate and sweep the glass into a small pile next to the mattress in case she needed to leave the bed in that direction.  She continued to move around the mattress to the head of the bed where the mattress met the wall.

It may not have been the head.  There was no way to tell.  This had been where her head had been, resting comfortably on a pillow until the alarm.

It doesn’t matter.

 

Aside from the pillow, nothing was different about this part of the mattress.  she continued to trace the top of the mattress, along the wall.  It was larger than her mattress.  She tried to get her fingers between the wall and mattress and while she managed to get her fingertips into the small space, she found nothing useful.  When she finally found the other corner of the mattress she had only a slightly better understanding than she had before.

King sized mattress.  

Only in hotels had she slept on mattresses so large.  Several months ago she’d gone to a conference for work and it was there that she last experienced such spacious sleeping arrangements.  The sheets were white and soft.  The sun from the balcony seemed to activate some inner light that made the whole room warm.  It had smelled of detergent or fabric softener, foreign to her, but inviting nonetheless.  

Now she smelled moisture and something else.  Some kind of cleaning product.  She continued along the edge of the mattress.  Other than the pill bottle and the now-broken glass there was nothing.  

Julia thought about the flashes of light and tried to remember if she saw a door somewhere.  

There has to be a door, how the fuck did I get in here without a door?

Her breathing slowed in the silence as she forced herself to take deeper breaths.  She was preparing herself.  She reached behind her and grabbed the pillow, clutching it to herself as she slowly put her feet over the edge of the mattress.  She hovered them for a moment, hesitating before gently resting them on the damp floor.  She took another deep breath and leaned forward, clutching the end of the mattress with her fingers and abandoning her pillow.

She stood.  In the dark and cool air she stood, taking her hands off the mattress as she did, suddenly feeling very much exposed and very much afraid.  Her hands reached ahead of her in all directions.  She was reaching for anything that might hurt or teach her.  She was reaching for the wall she was sure she had seen when the alarm was blaring.  

Her slow shuffling footsteps made sweeping wisps across the floor to feel out any debris or hazards that may injure her bare feet.  

One step.  Two steps.  Three.  Four.  Five-

Her hands touched the wall and she startled backwards, then forward again, slowly reaching for the wall and searching it with her hands as her right foot found where the floor met the wall.  It felt identical to the floor… damp… cold… solid.  Favoring her right, she chose to explore the wall in that direction.  She reached as high as she could, hoping to determine where the ceiling met the wall.  It was too high.  She remembered from the light, it was very high.  She moved her hands and even her body along the wall searching for some weakness, for some new piece to this puzzle.  A door or window.  Anything. 

She counted her steps as she moved, assuming she had started directly in front of the bed.  The wall gave no clues.  Its uniformity was as frustrating to Julia as it was foreign.  She continued down the wall, to her right.

Four.  Five.  Six.  Seven.  Eight-

She reached a corner.  From here she would have to move to the right and she could almost picture the long edge of the mattress as parallel with this new wall.  Without the fear she had before, she searched the corner with her hands from the floor to as high as she could reach, looking for an imperfection, for a seam.  She felt nothing new.  No indication of a door or switch. 

Her unease quickened at the thought of her distance from the bed.  She turned back to her left and began to walk.  

Eight.  Seven.  Six.  Five.  Four.  Three.  Two.  One.

She stopped, turned towards the bed and walked back to it.  She sat.  She was close to where she had started.  She ran her hands along the floor again and confirmed her thought.  While she was pleased with her accuracy, the obvious concern remained that finding her way back didn’t guarantee her safety.  

Her world had grown now and despite the limited solace she found on the mattress, she did not allow herself much time to rest.  From inside, a deep place, a savage place, Julia felt compelled to move.  To learn.  To “see” more of her new world with the senses that had not yet abandoned her.

She stood and walked back to the wall.  Continuing to the left, she counted as she searched the wall with her sprawling hands and fingers.

One.  Two.  Three.  Four.  Five.  Six.  Seven.  Eight.  Nine.  Ten.  Eleven.

She stopped, her breathing quickened.  Her eagerness to explore was beginning to fade and she was doubting her accuracy over a long distance.

Keep going.  It doesn’t matter.  Keep going. 

She continued down the wall, hoping each step would bring her to a door.  At 24 steps, she felt the next corner, this one forcing her to turn left.  She considered retracing her steps back to the bed again but she hesitated.

She was afraid.  Of course she was afraid.  But now she was afraid to go back.  It felt so far away and where she was seemed… safe?  Not safe.  Familiar.  As safe as any other place she’d “seen” so far.  She considered the opposite wall that she hadn’t finished exploring.  It seemed so far away now and yet so close to the mattress.  

Keep going.  One.  Two.  Three.  Four.

She moved down the new wall, continuing her search pattern as she had before.  Every ten steps she would pause, breathe deeply and try to hear through deafening silence interrupted only by her pounding heart.  Her fear came in waves and each crest brought with it a distracting static to her careful listening.  That in turn brought greater waves followed by longer pauses and deeper breaths.  But despite the silent tumult, her remaining senses found nothing.

At 40 fruitless steps she came to the next corner.  Another left turn.  She felt around it for a few moments, searching for new information.  Finding none she exhaled, considered where the bed must be if the room was truly empty and sat on the floor in the corner, clutching her knees into her chest.

She rocked for a few moments, trying again to remember how she got into this now obviously not-square room and into these clothes.  She smelled the air around her.  It was thicker and more damp in this corner than it had been near the bed.  There was a hint of lemon-scented cleanser and bleach.  She immediately thought about work.  The bathrooms in the office were always cleaned with bleach and a lemon disinfectant.  She thought about the area of this room and the possibility that there might be drains on the floor.

Is this a basement?  A dungeon?  

Her mind raced with images of concrete walls and emaciated souls chained to them.  She allowed herself to picture co-workers hiding in bathroom stalls and may have nearly smiled had the cloth of her shirt not shifted on the wall from the pressure she was applying as she rocked. 

She continued to rock, not wanting to keep searching, afraid of what she might find, afraid of how much of this room was left to search.  And then a light sound.  

Suddenly Julia stopped rocking as she heard a faint noise or voice or whisper from the other side of the room.  It was unintelligible and brief, but she knew she heard it.  She clutched her chest to mute her pounding heart but it did no good as she sat in silence, waiting to hear it again.  She did not.  She cursed herself for letting her mind wander.  For not paying attention.  For being in this place.

I’m somewhere terrible and there’s someone else here.  

Julia pushed herself as far into the corner as she could.  She was so firmly pressed against the walls that her back began to ache.  She was using her heels to push her knees so tightly into herself that the silence was broken again, this time by the sound of her foot slipping back out into the unknown darkness away from her body.  

Julia tried to map what she knew of the room and this new sound.  There was no doubt in her mind.  Her heart pounded in her chest and tears began to fall as her chin shook despite her fear.  

The whisper, long-since gone, had come from the direction of the mattress.  

 

There had been silence for what Julia assumed had to have been at least ten minutes.  She relaxed her leg and arm muscles, allowing herself to move from the corner.  It hurt to move.  She had been pressed against it so hard before.  Her breathing had slowed slightly and she stopped sobbing.  With her hands on the ground she pushed herself up and stood with her back to the wall.  If she could see she would have been looking directly at the mattress.  But still there was no light.  

She was grateful for that.  She hoped that if she couldn’t see it, then it couldn’t see her.  She didn’t even know what “it” was.  And despite her fears, she didn’t even know if there was an “it” to begin with.

With her hands and back flat against the wall behind her, she continued to search the wall, using her feet to sweep again, only this time facing the opposite direction.  She found the work more difficult and slow but she dare not put her back to the area around the bed.  She counted in her head from the corner as she searched.  

One.  Two.  Three.  

Her right arm touched it first and her right foot touched another side of it before she reeled back to where she was standing before.  Whatever it was, it was solid but gave slightly when touched.  It made next to no sound but Julia was sure that whatever she touched was on wheels.  

She stood silently for a moment, looking in all directions and using her hands to feel in front of her whenever she turned.  When her breathing slowed again, she quietly approached whatever she had touched before.   When she made contact she noticed it was cold and felt metal.

She put pressure on the place she was touching and it seemed to give slightly.  If it were on wheels, they were either stuck or whatever this thing was had to be fairly heavy.  As Julia tactically inspected the object, she concluded that there were in fact wheels on the bottom.  The wheels were small.  The object itself seemed to be a cart of some kind.  Julia felt two separate rectangular shelves on the cart, one above the other.  The bottom shelf was grated and carrying nothing.  Parts of it felt brittle to the touch.  Julia imagined it was rust and inspected the top shelf.    

The top shelf had what felt like glass tubes in a wire rack and several small vials with varying amounts of liquids in them standing on the shelf next to the rack.  Julia continued to search the shelf but found nothing else.  

Damn.

She had hoped to find a syringe.  She had hoped to find something, anything, sharp she could use to protect herself if the time came.  She found nothing.  She thought of the vials, wondering what could have been in them.  She thought of her mother’s diabetes and how much she had hated giving herself two shots of insulin every day.  Those vials were small too.  They were also cold.  Those vials had to be kept cold.  For a moment she considered that these couldn’t be insulin because insulin has to be refrigerated.  Her chin quivered slightly and she began to cry.

Nothing made sense here.  There weren’t rules here.  The vials could be anything.  She should be home.  She should be getting ready for work.  She shouldn’t be here.  There was no reason for her to be somewhere she didn’t recognize.  There was no reason she should be in a dark cold place with vials and tubes and carts and whispers.  The tears flowed from Julia’s eyes as she leaned back against the wall and sank to the floor, hoping to find comfort in the only certainty she’d discovered so far; the wall.  

She sat for a few moments with her face in her hands, wiping tears away as quietly as she could, shaking her head and imagining all the things she should be doing or could be doing if she wasn’t here.  She couldn’t imagine why she was in this place or away from her life.  She couldn’t imagine anyone who would want to hurt her.  When she used the sleeve of her shirt to wipe her eyes she remembered again that these were not her clothes.  She stopped crying and did not wipe the last tear from her face.  Julia took a deep breath and slowly let it out. 

Rising to her feet once again she approached the cart and thought about its contents again.  She took one of the vials and placed it in the large baggy pocket of her foreign pajama bottoms.  She thought of the wire rack and glass tubes inside.  She ran her fingers across it and decided against taking out the individual tubes.  She was afraid of the sound she might make.  On the tops of some of the tubes were rubber caps.  Some of them had no caps and Julia wondered what each one contained.

She thought about hospitals.  She thought about the nurses, and specifically the phlebotomist that took her blood.  She had stuck Julia with a needle, filled the tubes, bagged the tubes and sent the tubes to the laboratory for study.  Julia was no stranger to that.  Every year Julia made a point to have a complete physical that included blood work.  

Her heart sank.  She closed her eyes tightly, refusing to cry this time.  The idea that her blood may be in some of the these tubes made her nauseous and she ran her fingers over her arms again, this time searching for a bandage.  Her left arm was clean.  Her right arm also had no bandage but when she pressed the inside of her right elbow she winced slightly in pain.  

Horrified, Julia turned to the corner, leaned over and with a painful heave, emptied the contents of her stomach on the ground.  It wasn’t much.  It tasted like bile.  Her eyes watered, this time not from sadness.  Her nose began to run.  She stood there for a while, leaned over with her right arm extended out, bracing her up from the wall.  She clenched her eyes tighter, more furious than ever.  She tried not to think of what was taken from her or what could have been placed inside her.  Her right hand tensed against the wall, curling her fingers to scratch down at it as she pushed herself upright.  Wiping her mouth and nose with her sleeve, Julia checked her body again for injury.  She was even more thorough this time.  She felt no tenderness or harm anywhere else.  

She assumed she had at least been drugged and considered that her blood may have been taken.  She could not imagine for what but she assumed it was possible.  She thought of the cart again and the small puddle of vomit she’d created in the corner.   She approached the cart again, and decided it should be moved in case she needed to maneuver later in the unexplored void that was the area of the room.   

She tried to move it again, using more force than before, figuring she could place it in the corner, and cover a potential trip hazard.  She pushed harder than before and whatever had been causing the wheels to stick gave way with a sharp and quick squeak that broke the thundering silence in the room and terrified Julia again.  In a panic, she huddled over the cart, gripping the sides with her hands to stop it from moving and to prevent that awful sound from happening again.  

When she leaned over the cart, her shirt grazed one of the vials.  It fell over, hitting the shelf with a light clink that was followed by the louder and deeper sound of the tiny glass bottle rolling across the shelf.  Julia instinctively hugged the cart from above, pressing her body firmly against the top of the cart, her feet nearly off the ground.  The wire rack holding the vials bent and twisted under her weight but her plan worked, the vial stopped rolling and again there was silence.

She thought of all the time she’d spent here, wondered again about the whisper and worried that perhaps she could be seen though she could not see.  

Then Julia felt something cold on her chest.  It was spreading slowly.  In an instant she knew it was liquid and correctly guessed it was from one of the recently displaced vials from the rack.  She closed her eyes and tried not to move knowing that getting up meant making more noise.  It was silent.  Her mind raced with what could have been in the vials that was now on her shirt and on her skin.  She tried to comfort herself by imagining it was only her blood and therefore couldn’t hurt her.  Her stomach felt sick again at the thought of her displaced blood being the best possible substance to now be dampening her shirt and her spirits.  She took a deep breath and clenched tighter onto the cart.

It was at this moment, that three very distinct events occurred, one right after the other.  The first was the most direct response to Julia’s increased pressure on the cart.  In defiance of the recently established quiet, one of the tubes, confined by the twisted metal of the wire supports around it, cracked.  While the sound was not particularly loud, it was more noticeable than the few low groans of the metal cart, now supporting Julia’s entire body weight.  Julia did not move or change her position, choosing instead to wish away the sound and any further glass disturbances.  Her wish fulfilled, there was no further breaking of glass beyond that one tube.

However, as Julia was about to experience relief from her granted wish, the second distinct event unfolded.  She felt a sharp pain in her stomach, near the spot where the mysterious liquid had previously stained her.  She bit her lip to keep from screaming in pain.

Oh God.  Oh God.  Oh God.  

Using some of her strength, that which not currently dedicated to the task of silencing her scream and controlling the noise of the cart she kept moving, she lifted her abdomen slightly, hoping to move away from the broken glass and slowly begin to release herself from the cart.  She had hoped for relief from the sharp pain in her stomach but that did not subside.  Most of the glass beneath her shifted but she could feel that one piece was still very much touching her and was currently inside of her.  She could not tell how large of a shard was now embedded in her skin, nor could she determine the depth.  She told herself again that if it had anything on it, it was likely her own blood.  It was when she re-planted her feet firmly on the ground that the third event shattered the delicate serenity of her careful plotting and movement.

A low groan followed her shifting weight from the center of the cart to the edge as she planted her feet.  The groan grew louder and deeper and in an instant the cart buckled and collapsed.  In the chaos, Julia heard the sharp threatening sound of every vial and glass tube scattering and shattering in the dark abyss around her.  Despite how fast the incident was, Julia’s experience was in slow motion as if every crack and drag of glass was it’s own symphony of terrifying alarm.  Some of the glass objects didn’t break but rolled in all directions.  The event took only moments but destroyed any sense that Julia had tried to imagine that she might be unnoticed.  

Julia had rolled to the right of the cart when it crashed and was now just sitting on the ground, some distance from the familiar corner, and now in unexplored territory.  She quickly reached for the damaged cart and flung it quickly into the corner, figuring there was no need to be silent for the time being.  

Feeling sure that the cart was in the corner, covering her vomit, she reached for her stomach.  Her shirt was soaked.  Whatever the mysterious liquid was from before was now mixed in her own warm blood.  With her right hand she slowly inspected the site of her injury.  The shard stabbing her in the stomach was a longer large portion of the tube.  Her fingers, now slick with blood and possibly some other substance, fumbled for the end of the shard, trying to pull it out.  

When she had a firm grip, she slowly began to pull.  While the shard wasn’t very deep and Julia was certain she hadn’t hurt anything internally, her stomach continued to bleed.  Julia wasn’t sure if the nearly four inch shard of glass was the only piece to pierce her skin.  However, the pain subsided when it was removed and Julia was satisfied with not exploring the wound for further pieces of glass.  However, while she was not gushing blood, it was certainly enough blood that she felt she needed a bandage of some sort.  

Julia looked around despite there still being no light in the room.  She nervously unbuttoned the shirt she was wearing and removed it, now sitting topless in the strange room.  She felt along the shirt for the hole the glass shard had made, placed her finger inside it and began to tear a long section of fabric from the shirt.  A tattered square about eight inches on each side was as good as she could do.  She put the shirt over her shoulder and folded the square before pressing it firmly against her stomach.  With her free hand, she searched the floor around her for any other surprises and shuffled back against the wall.  She kept firm pressure on the wound, wishing she had a way to secure it to herself so she could have the use of both of her hands.  

The wall felt cold on her bare back.  Julia leaned forward, pulled the shirt from her shoulder with her free hand and carefully re-dressed herself in what was left of her garment.  Satisfied that she was covered, she leaned back against the wall, comforted slightly by the warmth of the foreign clothing between her and the cold surface.  Her stomach twinged in pain as she moved again but she kept firm pressure on her wound.  

She looked in the direction of the corner and felt for the cart.  She only had to lean slightly to the left to find it.  Julia imagined about a 10 minutes had passed since she left the corner.  In all that time she’d only moved about five feet.  She leaned further back, rested her head on the wall and sighed.  

Julia was no longer trembling.  Having had her hand pressed firmly on the makeshift bandage for quite some time she was convinced the bleeding must have stopped.  She took her hand away and gently removed the bandage and slowly began to explore the site of the injury.  She could feel dried blood but was sure the bleeding had stopped.  It was tender but the pain was bearable.  

Folding the bandage in half and reapplying it to her stomach, Julia stood up cautiously so as to avoid reopening her wound.  She let out a deep sigh.  She was feeling more confident than before, perhaps due to the previous excitement being unmet by whatever it was she was afraid may be watching or lurking.  She faced the wall and tucked her bandage into her pocket with the vial she had stolen from the cart.  Continuing her search pattern, she used both hands and her feet as she had before.  

Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten

She remembered the opposite wall was very long.  Twenty four steps from the foot of the bed.  Thirty two steps in total length.  She kept counting.  It was at 19 that she came to the next corner.  This one, like all the others turned inside, not out.  

She had counted ten steps from this new corner before her fingers touched a raised area on the wall.  Julia’s heart immediately began to race as she frantically ran her fingers across what she was sure was a door frame.  She felt around the door.  It seemed to be a standard size and shape and felt metallic.  Julia thought it might be an exterior door.  She became excited at the possibility that beyond this door was the outside world.  A world of sunlight, cars, phones… people.  She reached for the doorknob.  She found it on the left side of the door.  It was cold and solid.  There was no lock on her side but the knob did not move.  It didn’t turn and felt as though it were locked from the other side.  She put her body weight into the door and pushed, hoping to pop the lock without making a lot of noise.

The door moved only slightly, but did not open.  Julia sunk to the floor.  Her hands fell to her sides as she leaned against the door in defeat.  From the beneath the door, Julia felt a warm air on her hands.  In her excitement she hadn’t noticed the change in temperature on her bare feet.  The air was not moving fast but felt warm and inconsistent as it passed under the door.  She lowered her head to the ground, placing her face in front of the small opening under the door.  The warm air gusted in at various speeds, some enough to move her hair.  Julia breathed in.  The air seemed fresher and more dry than the dank air she had been breathing.  There was some kind of dust in the air and she couldn’t inhale much before she began to cough in spite of her fear.

She tried to stifle it as best as she could but she had to cough.  The first muffled cough caused a sharp pain in her stomach where the glass had stabbed her.  She reached for it instinctively and the second cough was loud and echoed in the room.  She closed her eyes tightly and tried to focus on not coughing.  Her hand felt slightly damp.  The cough had opened her wound.  With one hand on her wound and the other holding her bandage over her mouth, she coughed more and let her breathing return to normal.  She took some deeper breaths and switching hands she placed the bandage back over the wound and propped herself up against the door again, resting her head below the doorknob.  

She felt tired.  Her anxiety had been so high for so long that she hadn’t realized how tired she really was.  She considered for a moment the possibility that it might not be morning yet and that there may be light once the sun came up.  She hoped that piece of metal behind her was all that separated her from the outside world and that maybe when morning came, the sunlight would be visible from under the door and give her a better idea of where she was.  

She peered under the door, hoping for a sign of light or life but found nothing but more warm air and dust.  Turning away from the door she laid her head on the ground and closed her eyes, pacified for the moment that she might soon be safe. The warm air and the thought of the rising sun comforted her.

 

On a strangely yet powerfully lit stage danced a myriad of medical personnel.  They all wore scrubs, vibrantly colored and form-fitting.  There was music or perhaps there wasn’t.  There was a rhythm for sure, but the tone was neither gleeful nor somber.  It just was.  There was a mist about it, gray and random.  The dancers moved in harmony to the “being” of sound and misty movement around them.

With perfect choreography, the first group of nurses, clad in yellow, performed flawless aerials as those in forest green elegantly surfed crimson medical carts pushed by stronger nurses in brown.  Blue trapezing surgeons swirled in from above on large rings.  Their backs were flanked by flowing brilliant white lab coats.  While they spun above, the green surfers began to fling glass vials from pockets and sleeves, seemingly endlessly as they performed center stage.  The vials sparkled in the light like prisms in the sun.  And in the air, the vials remained, spinning in perfect synchronicity but not falling.  Rather, they were floating.  They spun and then floated a slow and delicate descent towards the marble floor.

All at once the vials made contact and instead of resting softly as their journey would have implied, they exploded.  Tiny misshapen shards took all positions at once, their instantaneous travel marked only by the threadlike trails of blood now spilling from every dancer on stage.  And then time stopped.  All were frozen in space and in the horror of their prop’s explosive wake.  No longer was there music.  No longer was there sound nor harmony or any semblance of order.  There was chaos.  Frozen chaos flanked by beautiful ruby curtains destined to remain open on this macabre scene.  A diorama of brutality so intricate in detail that every scratch, every tear of flesh was perfectly accented with blood.

The brilliance of the light remained the only constant, though it shown through the violent shards, now coated in blood, igniting the stage in a brilliant display of Merlot and Noir set ablaze by blinding light.  The frozen dancers maintained their poses, now surrounded and penetrated by what could have easily been mistaken for red laser sights had one not seen the prior explosion.

The prolonged instant began to regain pace with time, though very slowly and not in unison.  The wounded moved first, faster than the glass and blood trails around them.  Their concentrated expressions were now gone and replaced with fear and pain.  They moved slowly, clutching at the holes in their bodies and the injuries to their skin.  The blood trails moved next, even more slowly than the dancers.  Blood streaked downward from every line, coating the floors and walls and replacing the wine-colored light with tangible suffering.

The light faded as the dancers fell, now in sync with the shards and blood.  The curtains closed and there was total darkness.  It became warm… very warm.  And then hot.  Burning and searing.  The air became thick and rancid of burning wood, flesh and embers.

Julia began to cough.  In her first waking moment, she had forgotten where she was.  In the next moment she was angry for still not knowing where she was but merely remembering her short tour around this unknown space.  With no light nor apparent changes to her surroundings, she couldn’t determine how long she had slept.  Under the door there was no light.  The sporadic pulses of warm air continued.  She reached for the door knob again.  It remained still as always, despite Julia trying to hang her full weight from the small round protrusion.  She let go and grabbed at her stomach feeling the sharp pain of irritating a wound.  Her fingers remained dry.  The bleeding had long-since stopped and the delicate scab that had formed seemed more solid than it had before though still very tender.  She put her back against the door as she sat.

Julia was angry.  She had hoped, and for that she was angry at herself.  Realizing at once that her situation had not changed she slammed her elbow backwards into the door before laying her face in her hands.  She would not cry though her body shook now in fury more than distress.  There were few options for her now.  She knew that.  She could retrace her steps back to the bed and what she was becoming less and less convinced was a whisper, proceed into the unknown area of this place with random steps or strategic tracing… or she could wait.

She felt she had already waited, though unconscious when she had done so, and her adrenaline would not allow her to sleep again.  She also felt certain that nothing about the path she had taken thus far had changed.  Perhaps a vial or two had changed positions, collided with some unknown object in the void in front of her, but nothing so significant as to warrant a retreat.

Retreat.

With a sad acceptance and defeated resolve, Julia stood and felt the wall beyond the door.  Again, Julia counted her steps as she did.  Only two steps this time and a new thing in her life emerged.  Heavy.  Denim.  Or maybe plastic?  It swung slightly when touched as if hanging.  A curtain perhaps.

A window!

Julia frantically batted at the cloth, again hoping for hopes sake and this time not for an unlocked door, but a window.  A window of glass as frail and brittle as her emotional state.  She thought of the cracking glass tube and the shard she removed from her stomach.  She scratched beyond the hanging thing and found cold wall where she had prayed a window might be.  She reached further beyond the thing, thinking perhaps another may hang nearby.  Nothing.

As her hope faded, so too did her frantic search.  She inhaled deeply, preparing for another sigh into the abyss and suddenly she clutched at her chest as though she were choking.  The air around this hanging thing was foul.  Whatever this was smelled of smoke and mold.  Julia stepped back, closer to the door and cleared her lungs as best as she could.  She began to feel anxious, more so than before, almost as if under attack by the smell.

Smoke.

Her heart raced, and she felt a cold wave overcome her.  Again, clutching at her chest, she found herself struggling for air though not choking.  She was panicked.  Having never had a panic attack before, Julia’s mind raced with thoughts of heart failure.  Her chest ached.  She thought of the vials and the soreness in her arm where surely a needle had been.  Her hyperventilation brought her again to the floor, head between her knees and rocking.  She was dying.  She could feel her lungs collapsing and despite knowing in her heart that the world around her was a mystery, she knew it was menacing and had come for her in a pitch black tidal wave of all her fears combined.

The smoke.  I can’t breathe.  It’s hot.  Smoke.  I’m dying…

Julia fainted, rolled to her side and began to breathe normally again.

 

The demon had found her.  It had come from the darkness, it’s long thick wings now beating against the air as fire raged around it.  There was light from the fire.  Somewhere from behind this wretched beast was fire light broken by falling debris.  The creature moved in on her, quickly and without hesitation.  Smoke swirled behind it as the thing’s black wings caught the air like sails against the wind.  She could not move.  She could barely breathe.  It had come for her.

The creature was grabbing for Julia’s face.  Through smoke the thing was without contrast making it impossible to recognize.  It smelled horrible and as it drew closer so did the intensity of the odor.  Its face was close and through the random light Julia saw the twisted and mutilated features now moving as the thing’s mouth opened.  Hot foul smelling breath hit her face and she managed one desperate act of defense with her right hand, slapping the monster before it restrained her arm.  She could see its teeth moving towards her.

There was pressure on her head and then the air cleared of smoke and of heat.  The thing no longer had Julia, but she knew the creature lingered somewhere in this new place.  She could not see it for she was now blind, but she could smell it.  Old filth and smoke.  Unmistakable scent of the demon.

She tried to scream yet there was no sound.  More pressure.  This time on her skin.  Cool.  Damp.  Caressing.  It may well have been comforting had Julia the motor skills and vision to identify what was happening to her.  Pressure again, this time on her arm, followed quickly by pain.

Nothingness.

 

She stirred.  Panic began to rise again but curiosity for the winged thing of her dreams held it at mild anxiety.  Julia stood, closed her eyes and slowly breathed the air around her.  Faint hints of charred air grew stronger as she leaned towards the not-curtain.  Her breathing quickened but defiantly she reached towards it, determined to identify the thing that had incapacitated her through mere existence.

It was cool, rough and dusty in places.  There were seams and folds like no curtain she’d ever known.  Reaching up she felt where it was hanging.  A hook was embedded into the wall and from this hook hung what Julia believed was a large cloak.  She took it down, moving it slowly to be sure it was not attached to anything else.  There was a shifting in the fabric from something inside.  Julia examined the article and concluded this was a very thick and very large coat.  It had pockets and straps.  Searching the pockets, she found wads of thin, dry paper.

She unfolded a piece, hoping to make sense of it in the dark and was not surprised when she was unable to do so.  In another pocket she found something much more interesting.

Keys!

Her heart raced again at the prospect of unlocking something that may lead to her freedom.  Perhaps one of these keys operated a vehicle that could take her home quickly and safely.  Her inquisitive ponderings subsided when she realized she hadn’t yet discovered a lock into which she could insert a key.  Nevertheless, she took the vial and bloody cloth from her pocket and replaced them with the keys.  She wrapped the vial with the cloth and gently placed it next to the keys.

Considering this for a moment she contemplated the unknown of the space around her.  Would she find other items of potential value to her in her methodical wanderings?  Would they all fit in this one pocket?  The thought of wearing the heavy coat scared her.  Despite the chill in the air and upon the surfaces she had come across, the warmth this coat could provide may not compensate for the fact that it clearly belonged to someone else who had at one time, or another had been in this same room… and could have potentially been the one who imprisoned her herein.  She tried on the coat.  As expected it was much too large.  The sleeves fell beyond her finger tips while the bottom touched her knees.  The collar was also large and just as sturdy as the rest of the garment.

Julia thought of the cart again and the glass that had impaled her.  She imagined that sliver of glass would have a much more difficult time puncturing this coat than it had her skin.  Despite the smell and her own apprehension, Julia kept the coat on and leaned against the wall once more.  The lack of cold was immediate and comforting.  Julia closed her eyes again and considered her position in relation to all of the steps she had taken.

She knew she had left a bed behind her and walked about 5 paces to a wall.  To the right of that wall she knew there were nearly 8 steps before the wall met a corner.  Beyond that, she hadn’t explored.  Instead, she had traveled back to the spot on the wall opposite the bed and moved to the left, roughly 24 steps.  Again she met a corner and turned left, walking another 40 steps where now there sat a properly destroyed medical cart covering an unknown amount of her stomach contents.

From there was another left turn and around 19 paces to another corner.  Ten steps from that corner brought her to the  door and her new layer of clothing.  It was difficult to picture the space around her.  It wasn’t a square.  And unless she confused her steps along the way, it wasn’t really a rectangle either.  It seemed like more of an “L” shape at this point and that was assuming that beyond the hook on the wall was 20 or so paces to either a corner turning right or a wall separating her from the strange bed and distorted sound she hadn’t heard in a long time.

For a moment she wished she had paper and a pencil to map out her position and then rolled her eyes upon remembering the total lack of light.  For her sake, she prayed her memory and sense of direction would withstand.

It was about five steps when she was again confronted with change.  Another corner, another left, another piece of a now very confusing puzzle.  She didn’t stop this time and instead continued down the wall.  Three paces and yet another change.  This one was familiar.  Another door frame and yet different than the first.  Very different.

The frame, on this wall, did not house a door.

It’s another fucking room.

Feeling around the frame she determined it was nearly as deep as her arm from her finger tips to her elbow.  Carefully reaching beyond the frame she felt nothing.  The air felt the same.  On either side of this new opening was no switch, hook or other artifact.  From here she found only more questions and uncertainty.  Remembering the area surrounding the bed and regretting not having explored it in its entirety, Julia opted not to enter the new space and continued down the wall.  Ten more paces of nothing and then the wall simply ended.  It remained as thick as the entrance to the previous room and did not corner into a new wall.  Keeping one hand on the wall and reaching out with her other hand she tried to reach for the opposite wall, convinced she had been there previously.

She felt nothing.  She imagined if she were correct, that the wall across from the one she was touching was a place she had been before and that she would not be able to reach it without losing contact with her anchor.  Julia considered the possibility of releasing the wall and forging ahead to prove her theory.  Anxiety crept over her like a cold rain as she imagined the void in which she would find herself.  Closing her eyes and controlling her breathing, she started to feel dizzy at the notion of having no bearings on the world around her save the cold concrete floor beneath her.  Surely the wall she was so firmly attached to now would remain in the same place.  Surely if she were wrong about her position she could easily return to the feigned safety of the familiar.

Surely she was in no space to be sure of anything.  Leaning forward, her fingers now barely contacting the recently-ended wall, she tried again to reach across.  Something inside her desperately needed to know what was there.  Something begged her not to follow the ended wall to the other side and forge ahead.  Something pleaded within her to have some certainty in her uncertain situation.

Her fingers, now merely grazing the aura of the wall descended and rested, with her arm, at her side.  Julia existed on an uncertain platform in the vacuum of eternity feeling pulled in every direction and none at all.  The air around her was still and cool.  She was a singular point in a vast and infinite space.  Moving in any direction other than where she had been would lead her to something or nothing and she would never know which unless she did so.  She felt her head swaying slightly and considered her own balance as she reminded herself she was on firm ground in a finite space with a reality surrounding her that at least proved she existed in a measurable area.

Julia knelt to her knees, felt the ground around her and laid down.  With her feet, she found the wall she had recently abandoned and for a moment felt grounded and safe.  With her arms she reached forward, longer now than she had been while vertical and firmly touched the opposite wall.  She couldn’t be sure it was a place she’d been but she felt confident that it was likely less than 20 paces to the left if she wanted to revisit her last meal or the remnants of whatever had stabbed her earlier.