SHORT STORY TIME: "Monster"

I am regretting that night tonight after some wine and coke more than I have ever regretted it; and I have been around for centuries. Three hundred years I’ve been roaming. Wandering aimlessly has turned into more of a burden than an adventure. Yes it’s cold, but my heart still aches as if the blood was pumping through it.

“I have no choice. It’s my job.” Those words forever resonate despite the scenery or the poison I inject.

He was able to love again. He even started a family. Through the grapevine 30 or so years ago I heard she even bore him four children. That’s something I never could have done for him. I’m sure he made a wonderful father.

I keep a careful distance from our past, because the nostalgia is suffocating. Although I am too empty to keep living these pseudo lives as pseudo people, I am too cowardly to die. Hell won’t be any more fun than this place, and I am not ready to face my demons; however, when I can’t bear the memories any longer, there’s still one selfish ounce of me that hopes he’s there in Hell waiting for me like I walk the earth waiting for him.

SHORT STORY TIME: "Distance"

Although only a queen-sized bed, the distance between us felt like miles. A million miles separated us in the six inches of air actually there. I’d been waking up to a stranger for quite some time.

For years my heart held on to the memories of who we were, what we once stood for, and how our dreams used to dictate every single adventure we embarked on together. Those days had been over. We’d forgotten all of the good.

By no means had I grown to hate him; but I no longer loved him. I no longer lusted after his chestnut eyes. My skin was no longer hungry for his touch. His presence numbed my soul. My presence affected him similarly, which had become wonderfully satisfying.

He hadn’t touched me in six months. The cocktail of internet pornography and conference calls was his drug of choice. Although I found it disturbing, it allowed us to keep a rather healthy distance from each other. He hadn’t had physical contact with anyone else as far as I knew. Neither had I. I lacked desire. The well was dry.

“Becks?” He whispered with his shirtless back turned to me under our dirty flannel sheets.

The hair on the back of his head was thinner than I had remembered and his skin lacked color. The tone of his whisper must have heightened my senses, because every freckle on his back seemed to be under a spotlight.

I groaned in reply.

With a deep sigh, Dave rolled over to face me. His once solid black beard was now ridden with silver streaks and his eyes were empty and cold.

“Please sign the papers, Rebecca.” Emotionless, he rolled back over.

He hadn’t called me by my full first name in years. He couldn’t have been serious. Both of us knew deep down that signing the papers wouldn’t be beneficial. It would only validate our despair.

A chuckle was all that could escape me.

“Remember last Christmas, Dave?” I asked knowing his answer. How could either of us forget last Christmas? That was supposed to be our last dance together. After a three-day binge of whiskey and cocaine, we had impulsively decided to shower, get dressed in our Sunday’s Best, and go sit in a closed garage in the front seats of our running Honda Civic, with our iPod playlist on shuffle until we drifted away. If Dave hadn’t passed out while showering, I’m sure that Christmas would have been our last.

I rolled out of bed and stood by its side. Dave was snoring again.

A grin swooped across my face as I sashayed into the kitchen and pulled two clean glasses out of a recently ran dishwasher. One tall. One short. Opening the fridge was a little more disappointing. Its content was only the previous night’s Chinese takeout, a half-full month-old expired milk carton, and a gallon of Tropicana Orange Juice. Although I cared for orange juice as much as I cared for my morning nicotine withdrawals as I often realized I was out of cigarettes, neither the milk nor tap water seemed fitting.

From my tattered robe pocket, I pulled it out. My heart began to race as I poured every drop of this medicine bottle’s content into the taller of the two glasses. Dave and I were both going to get the solace that we’d been searching for.

In what seemed like slow motion, I crept into the bedroom.

I nudged him with the taller glass of the special cocktail. “Dave. Juice.”

He was no idiot. He knew.

Our eyes locked as we both chugged down the antidote to our poisonous lives.

I crawled back under the sheets. As he pulled me close, upon his chest was where I placed my head. I could hear it. His heart racing, pounding, screaming for redemption, suddenly stopped. For the last time his chest rose and fell and all was well.

POETIC inJUSTICE: "Soundly Awake"

I can feel them.

Those eyes.

Her eyes.

Piercing me.

Piercing me from behind as I walk through life accomplishing what she could not.

She's envious.

She's angry.

She deserves every waking hour of observation through my bedroom window.

I can tell when she's been around.

I wake in a cold, yet satisfying sweat breathing the same air as he, and sharing the same dreams.

In fact, it's all very satisfying.

It's satisfying carrying a victory on my shoulders.

I ride triumphantly through her world, and never miss a beat.

No one ever mourned her.

The thought makes me grin.

Each night before drifting into dreamland, I recollect.

I recollect her smell.

Her taste.

Her screams as they accelerated, only to decelerate with every thrash to her pretty little blond head.

No one suspects.

He doesn't even know.

But I know, and I'm okay.

I had to take her life away before she took mine.

Now, she stands at the foot of my bed at night...

weeping...

plotting...

haunting...

but I've never slept sounder.

POETIC inJUSTICE: "I Don't Want to Burn"

I don't want to burn.

I don't want to die.

How fair is it to roam through life questioning "why?"

Who cares what science says!

Show me why the sky is blue.

Show me what it takes to fly.

Show me, because I cannot feel without my eyes.

Blessed be thy name?

What makes yours better than mine?

I have my criteria and that doesn't qualify you as being divine.

Without you I don't lack being a moral individual.

Hell, without you I don't lack very much.

"Praise you, oh lord..." and such...and such.

I have many questions, yet where are my answers?

"Seek him and ye shall find!"

As I walk among others, the blind is leading the blind.

I am an animal.

I am fueled by all my senses can afford.

Sex and lust and anger galore.

Rage and passion and so very much more.

For a fact, I will lay my head to rest one evening only to not wake in the morn.

As for those who love me,

some will find solace while others will forever be torn.

I, on the other hand, shall wander aimlessly searching for more.

Searching for what?

Life?

What about life?

Purpose?

Dignity?

Praise and recognition?

That shit's for the birds.

But, if you are the only way, the only answer,

the only antidote,

please be my friend, because I don't want to burn.

SHORT STORY TIME: "Then Augusta it is"

Dana hit the button on the right side of her cell phone. “8:03 am.” She rolled her eyes.

“Twelve more minutes,” she thought as she skimmed the magazine rack once more. Neither the Redbook nor the ever so juicy Cosmopolitan sparked her interest. Somehow not even the “100 Best Ways to Please Your Man” could comfort her now. In fact, isn’t that how she got into this predicament in the first place?

“Wallace, Dana Wallace!” The receptionist yelled from behind the sliding glass window.

Dana’s heart sank as she grabbed her pseudo designer bag. “Oh shit,” she thought.

“Miss Wallace, it seems that you skipped a few important places as you were filling out your paperwork. We can’t go through with the procedure without all of the necessary information. Please read through the material again and fill out the key information that you may have overlooked and return the paperwork with the clipboard back to me when you’re finished.” The fake smile on the receptionist’s face indicated that she was as enthusiastic about her job as Dana was to be in her place of work that morning.

Dana nodded with embarrassment and took the clipboard back to her original seat, which was now beside another female whose nervousness was written all over her face. Dana was tempted to start a conversation with the seemingly younger pale female with glossy almond shaped green eyes, but refrained from doing so. The longer it took her to finish the paperwork she had unfinished, the longer it would take Dana to get out of the cold office that smelled of latex and rubbing alcohol.

“Do you think we will regret this later?” A fragile whisper interrupted Dana’s reading and initialing.

Dana turned to the frail brunette sitting next to her, made eye contact, and whispered back, “I don’t know. I hope not…but, I don’t know.”

Dana went back to initialing, but was immediately distracted by the brunette’s trembling. In her peripheral vision, Dana noticed a tear slowly trail down the cheek of the girl sitting next to her. Was it a tear of disappointment or fear, because it definitely wasn’t a representative of the joy and freedom that Dana had convinced herself that the outcome of her decision would give her. With this thought, Dana dropped the black ball point pen that read “Women’s Health Clinic” in gold and began to recollect the events of the past couple of months as she bent over to pick it up from the blue tile floor.

His 35 year-old wisdom and candor reeled her in from the second she uttered the words, “Good evening, I’m Dana and I will be your server this evening. Can I start you off with something to drink, sir?”

He occupied the table in her section that busy autumn Monday night until her shift was over and followed Dana out to her car.

“I’m Paul and forgive me for being frank, but would you like to go to Sparky’s Pub and grab a beer, Dana?” He asked.

Although Dana had an exam first thing the following morning and she had yet to begin to study, her eagerness to know Paul outweighed her need to study; and without appearing to be too anxious, Dana followed Paul’s silver 1997 BMW 528i a few blocks down the road to Sparky’s.

The chemistry between 22 year-old Dana and Paul was nearly unbelievable. The 13 year age difference didn’t seem to influence too much of the two lust birds’ conversation that night; however, when the conversation was more one-sided, how could age influence it?

Dana hung onto Paul’s every word as he talked about his college days, the road he took to owning a successful marketing company in the area, and his views on the nationwide political system. He even ranted on the issues he was having with his soon-to-be ex-wife and how she was trying to drain him dry financially with her alimony and child support proposals. According to Dana’s thoughts, her life was juvenile compared to Paul’s. The dilemmas that she faced surrounding her crazy Ethics professor and her greedy boss seemed so trivial. Paul’s life experience and his level of confidence without being cocky made him unbelievably sexy to Dana. Before parting ways that night, the two had exchanged numbers and made plans for a dinner date midweek.

Clipboard still in hand, Dana recalled the night she conceived very vividly, because it was the only time that she and Paul were ever intimate. As Dana was lying tensely on Paul’s bed at his will, thoughts ran rapidly through her head. “What if I’m boring?” “What if I do something wrong?” “What if it’s not good?” She was far more nervous with him than she was the moment she lost her virginity at age 15.

Paul slowly undressed Dana as she lay on her back on his bed. As she felt her clothing being removed piece by piece from her body, Dana skimmed Paul’s bookshelf in search of something to redirect her thoughts. She skimmed and skimmed until she found familiar titles to distract her. Inferno by Dante and a copy of the complete works of Edgar Allan Poe sat upon his shelf. Mentally turned on, Dana loosened up and dove in.

Although the two kept in touch via saucy text messages and heated late night phone calls, the following few weeks were eventful for both Dana and Paul individually. Dana was finishing up her semester by completing final semester projects along with taking her exams. On the other end, Paul was spending a lot of time in mediation with his wife trying to civilly work out the kinks of their divorce settlement. Both Dana and Paul missed each other very much, but were both empathetic to the other’s demanding schedule.

In the midst of exams, Dana spent around two whole weeks fighting nausea and extreme migraines. It was only when she had realized that she had missed her period that she grew concerned. She called Paul and demanded to meet for dinner at her place at his earliest convenience.

With the positive test in hand, Paul slung his beer at the wall and sat at Dana’s dining room table with his head in his hands.

“You better do something about this, Dana!” Paul screamed.

“What the hell am I supposed to do about this? I am as equally as angry as you are.” She replied more calmly than he.

“I already have a family. I don’t need another one.” Paul stood up and began to pace through the kitchen.

Dana sat there numb to the conversation. She couldn’t feel a thing. She wanted to cry. She wanted to be mad. She would even settle for being happy, but she felt nothing.

“My wife and I are going to try and work it out, Dana. I’m sorry.” Paul mumbled as he opened his checkbook and slammed a blank check in front of Dana’s plate of chicken tortellini.

“Take what you need to cover the procedure.” Paul grabbed his keys and walked out.

This led her here. Numbed and somewhat forced, Dana placed the top back on the pen and waltzed slowly to give the now finished paperwork back to the receptionist.

A nurse walked into the lobby, “Jones, Candice Jones.”

The brunette from beside Dana glanced at her, wiped her tears away and walked toward the nurse. Dana watched in pity as the door shut behind Candice and the nurse.

It was in that moment that Dana began to feel. She was scared, reluctant, and incredibly distressed. No one knew about her pregnancy but her and Paul. Her family was oblivious; so were her friends. There was no way that she would live with her conscience if she went through with an abortion; however, she knew that she would lack support if she decided to keep the baby. Her family would be so disappointed in her and Paul would deny paternity or try to buy her off so his reputation wouldn’t be ruined.

She checked her cell phone again. It read “8:12 am.”

Dana picked up her bag and her jacket and walked out of the clinic and down to the bus stop just in time to catch the city bus headed downtown.

“Enjoy your weekend!” Shouted the bus driver as Dana pushed through the crowd to get off at a bus stop a few blocks from her destination.

Dana nodded and began to walk quickly toward the train station.

Dana was never the impulsive type, but she felt as if she needed an immediate change. She marched into the train station, walked up to the ticket booth and emptied her wallet.

“How far will this get me?” Dana asked a gray haired man behind the glass.

“Where ya lookin’ to go , little lady?” He asked.

“Ummm…” She scratched her head, “…south, as far south as this will take me.”

“This here will get ya as far as Augusta, Georgia.” The man replied as he counted every cent Dana had thrown at him.

Dana was finally at peace. “Then Augusta it is.”

SHORT STORY TIME: "Gavin"

The day I had been dreading for the past 16 years of our lives was here. My son, Gavin was now 16, angry, and eager to know.

It all began with an argument. This particular argument involved Gavin directly.

“It doesn't feel right, Eliza. I just can’t do it anymore! He’s not my son. He’s not my problem.” My husband, Derrick and I went round and round for hours that night with Gavin sitting outside of our bedroom door. We had found condoms in Gavin’s jacket pocket after his girlfriend’s father called frantically to inform us that he had caught the two love birds doing more than making out in Gavin’s car outside of their house that night.

Derrick left that night in a storming rage. I didn't bother to ask him where he was going, because I knew. It was the bar. He’d turned to alcohol to self medicate after we had failed to conceive for years. Although we didn’t know whether the problem was him or me, he’d always resented me for not bearing him offspring of his own.

For hours, Gavin didn’t budge from the spot he had chosen from outside my bedroom door. I simply stepped over him as I went to sit on the leather sofa in the den to stare at the family portraits hanging on the wall that Olan Mills helped us to fake happily.

“Are you even my god dammed mother?” Gavin cried.

I held Gavin for hours that night. Surprisingly, he had no more questions. I had almost hoped that he hadn’t heard that Derrick, the man who raised him, the man who coached little league, the man he had always called “Dad” wasn’t his father; however, I knew it wasn’t always going to be that easy.

Derrick didn’t come home that night. I didn’t expect him to, but unlike most other nights, I didn’t go looking for him. It would just be adding gasoline to a fire that had already been burning for quite some time. Luckily Dobby, our house mutt kept me warm all night as I tossed and turned dozing in and out dreamland. The thoughts that filled my head made my belly ache. I knew what I was going to wake up to; I just wasn’t sure how I was going to handle it.

“Mom?” Gavin walked into my bedroom in the previous day’s attire.

“Gav, let’s talk about this later, okay?” I replied.

“Tell me about Wrenn…now!” Gavin threw his mug of tea at my vanity, shattering glass. He had clearly spent the night researching.

I had started law school at Duke in the fall of ’88. I was a fresh 22 year old with big dreams of becoming a prosecutor when I met Wrenn in a bar while visiting friends in nearby Chapel Hill. As cliché as it sounds, the chemistry between us was indescribably strong. I knew he was special from the second I stared into his glassy, blue blood shot eyes. If there was ever such a thing as love at first sight, it happened that September night.

Wrenn was attending medical school at UNC, and as a native North Carolinian, he showed me around the triangle area. North Carolina was quite the culture shock from my native Boston, but I had Duke on my mind since I was a little girl. My father attended law school there, so he expected no less from his only daughter.

Wrenn, being quite a few years older than me, finished med school and accepted a job on the coast. Like a faithful little doll, against the wishes of my father, I quit law school, eloped and moved to Wilmington with Wrenn to begin our lives together. Because I had let my father down, Daddy cut ties with me. All I had was Wrenn, or so I thought. After taking a job at the local hospital, the ridiculous hours that Wrenn had to work not only ran him ragged, but it was posing negative consequences on our marriage.

It’s true what they say. No one really knows a person prior to living together. Wrenn’s manic depressive phases were far too much to handle. Eventually he turned to alcohol and prescription medication. After being caught stealing prescription medicine from the hospital pharmacy, Wrenn was fired from his job. This sent him deeper over the edge and he hit rock bottom face first. Because he hadn’t easy access to the prescription meds, Wrenn turned to cocaine, and eventually crack cocaine and heroin.

After a three day crack binge, I came home from my second shift at the diner to find Wrenn in our bed with a nurse from the hospital where he had worked. I packed a bag and went to my boss’s house for the night. I had nowhere else to go.

My boss let me pick up extra shifts at the diner over the following weeks. He even helped me make the deposit on an apartment around the corner from the diner. The apartment wasn’t in the best neighborhood, but it was all that I could afford. I had no family. I had no friends. I couldn’t even call my father in fear of hearing the “I told ya so, kiddo” on the other line.

For weeks, Wrenn tried to get me to come home. Although I wouldn’t go back, I would stop by the house on the way to the diner everyday to make sure he was okay. I felt like it was doing more harm than good to both of us psychologically, but I couldn’t sleep at night knowing that he might not be alright.

I remember it like it was yesterday. I had been so caught up in the hustle and bustle of the events going on in my life, that I didn’t even recognize I had missed my period. I was hoping that it was due to the stress of what was going on, but it wasn’t. Four pregnancy tests and a bag of potato chips later, I was sitting on the coast of North Carolina contemplating life itself. It was the Fourth of July and the diner closed early. I hadn’t been by to check on Wrenn in a couple of days, because I was afraid of what he would say if I told him I was pregnant.

I finally gathered up the nerve to tell him after finishing up the closing time cleaning routine at the diner. I walked up the steps in slow motion to a house that I once called home. My heart was pounding so hard, I could have sworn it was going to burst out of my chest. I turned the door knob and opened the door to complete and utter silence.

“How unlike him.” I thought. Never had I walked into a completely quiet house before. I figured he was down on the beach with the rest of the town participating in the Independence Day festivities.

I walked into the kitchen to find a note pad and pen to leave him a note.

Wrenn,
I stopped by to check on you. We need to talk. I don’t have a phone hooked up, but I work the evening shift tomorrow night at the diner. Please stop by. It’s really important.
Love,
Eliza

I knew he would never find the note in that wreck of a kitchen, so I walked upstairs to what was once the bedroom he and I shared. I left the note on his pillow next to a soiled sweat shirt and a cigarette lighter. Flushed and sweaty, I proceeded into the master bathroom. I wanted to splash my face with cold water.

Looking into the mirror, I didn’t even recognize myself. Twenty-five year old me had aged ten years. I splashed myself once more, turned to grab a towel and there he was. My Wrenn. He was hanging lifelessly with his eyes wide open from the shower curtain rod by the belt I had given him two Christmases ago. His eyes were the same glossy, blue blood shot eyes that I had fallen into that night we met at the bar.

With all of my strength, I pulled him down from the rod hoping to breathe life back into his lifeless corpse. It was too late. I held him and sobbed blaming myself for this catastrophe.

In the front pocket of his ragged ole jeans was a note sealed in a folded up envelope addressed to “My ‘Liza, Darling.”

My ‘Liza Darling,
I stare out the window so emptily wondering if you will ever be in my arms again. I have failed you. All I ever wanted to do was to make you happy, and I couldn’t. I don’t blame you for leaving me. I would have left, too. Find it in your heart to forgive me.
I will always love you, but I can’t go on without you here.
This is the only option I have, now.

Wrenn

For years I had blamed myself. Perhaps if I had only gone to check on him sooner, he would have never gotten so low as to have taken his own life. Each year since, the Fourth of July always leaves a sour taste of guilt in my mouth.

The following months brought forth a new life for me. Wrenn’s suicide left me with nothing but a house full of sorrowful memories. Luckily, the realtors came in and took charge. The house was sold by Labor Day and I had enough money to buy a more decent place than the apartment I had been living in. My beautiful Gavin was born on the very last day of February in ’93. After a long few months, I knew that having Gavin in my life was going to give my life purpose. He was going to make life a little more worth living.

The next summer, my boss’s son had finished law school at Duke and decided to move back to the coast. Derrick Jefferson’s charismatic manner drew me quickly to him. Maybe it was the fact that he had finished what I couldn’t finish, but he was a breath of fresh air. He even accepted Gavin as his own.

We were married before Christmas of that year and we quickly relocated to Raleigh where we built a life for ourselves. Derrick and I both agreed to raise Gavin without any incite to the truth. We thought it would be easier that way.

“Mom. Hello?” Gavin, now sitting on my bed, was waving his hand to catch my attention. He handed me the letter that I had found in Wrenn’s jeans pocket that Fourth of July.

“Where did you find this?” I asked ignorantly, knowing that he had been in my top drawer.

“Did he love me, Mama?” Gavin asked.

“Your father loved me very much, Gavin.” I started to weep.

“I know that, Mom, but did he love me?”