Dancing for Harriett

Today, I woke up feeling a bit abandoned; although self inflicted it still weighs heavy on me. I laid in bed listening to the birds outside singing of optimism to one another and realized that a song is just one of many things I no longer have. In between their pleasant communications I can also hear the river running past my life and I know that today is going to end well. I bathe, make a solemn breakfast of oats and spread the cover across the small lumpy bed that takes up most of the space in this pitiful place. I then walk out side and remember happier times and wonder if anyone has remembered me. I was born Alex Western in 19 and 27 in a town I can no longer remember the name of. The third of six children in a family so poor that my pa used to have us steal eggs from the chicken farmer across the road. He worked in some long forgotten steel mill and died young, a trait not past on to me. My ma died birthing my baby brother and pa made the oldest sister do the raising. I wonder if she’s still living. I always did like her. I walk down to the river and sit in an old wooden chair that was here when I came up here 18 years ago. Sitting there, I watch the water flowing and think about my life. That’s when the tears start to roll off my cheek and absorb into my clothes. That’s what this is all about today. It is my time to be absorbed. I can’t really recall when I made the decision to drop out of normal life and come up here but I know it was after the woman I spent 40 good years with was killed. I walked away from the house I built us, the business and never even so much as said goodbye to those worthless children I sired. Left everything but this rotten fish camp shack that I talked Harriett into buying a week before the robbery. The kids never knew about it so I have never been bothered by them none. Only seen me 3 people in all these years, two hunters and a man fishing that got himself lost. I haven’t even gotten a piece of mail or read a newspaper in all these years. I eat what I grow and catch and drink the water from the river. It’s a life not worth a plugged nickel but I keep my promises. Harriett and I bought a small restaurant after the kids left, it was up in the town of New Haven on the Colorado boarder that mainly served up food to the locals and mountain men. I always made comments to her about them; and she’d always giggle just like a school girl on her first date. I loved that woman like nothing else in this world. Never strayed or so much as raised my voice to her. We were happy, mostly, though we had so many trials with them kids. Two of them, a boy named Billy after my Granddad and a girl named Margaret after Harriett’s Ma. When they left for collage both of them turned wild and no amount of our love could ever bring ‘em back. After we stopped sending them money we stopped hearing from them, and it suited me just fine. Me and Harriett grew older together sharing a love that just can’t be put into words. I had driven over to pick up the eggs that day; I remember her wearing that pretty green dress that made her eyes shine like the sun. I had a smile as wide as the world that day. We were going to slow down and let some folks take over the business and go up fix that shack up. We had talked about all the things up there and how we’d grow old and live a life without worry. She was excited about having the rest of lives to talk and fish and be together. She had already showed me where her garden was going. One night I heard her crying and I asked what was wrong. She told me it was silly and to not pay her no mind. I pushed it and she made me promise that on all my birthdays I’d give her the first dance. I asked her why but she wouldn’t tell me, so I tried to get her to laugh and asked her if she meant even when I turned 80. She looked at me and said no, waiting fro me to give her my word. I never really knew what that meant but I made the promise and she smiled at me. I was listening to the radio on my way back with them eggs when I heard that New Havens bank had just been robbed. I felt like I was about to burst into tears cause the banks next door to our place. Pete, the sheriff told me them boys had gotten into a shoot out with Oscar, his deputy. Harriett had been hit by a bullet fired towards the lawman that had missed its target. He told me he was sorry for my loss. After her funeral Pete asked me if he could ask me something. We sat a spell and he said, I didn’t tell you this before but Harriett said something to me before she past. On the edge of my seat I listen to him. She simply said, you tell him I love him, and for him to keep his promise. I don’t know whether it was knowing she had said that, or that she was gone or both that made me get in the truck, eggs still in the back and drive away. So, tonight I will be dancing. I do for her in her honor. Silly but I made a promise and I will always know I kept it. I’ve waited for this day a long time. I had always hoped the good lord would have taking me by now, but he didn’t. So, I’ll be making the fire as the night chill comes and then as the moon raises in the timber lined sky I shall celebrate my 79th birthday with our last dance……….

it was 25 years ago today........

Twenty five years ago, March 5th, a true comic genus allowed speed and heroin to be mixed and injected into his veins by Kathy Smith, thus ending his life forever and robbing countless people, including his wife of his gift, his friendship and his humor.
John Belushi, dead from a drug overdose……………………….

melting down to nothing

the deinstitutionalization of debbie

It gets so lonesome out there when you realize you have given up on life. Anchoring yourself to the fear and allowing it to gain control of your soul. So desperate for help, but at the same time unable to allow those who love you to see you this way. Pushing them away, praying they go away, and save you from your demons all at the same time. So many people, all crying for help, yet who really hears them?
I met Debbie at a party that had gotten pretty wild. She was well past drunk and had poured herself into my trusting arms for safekeeping. I carried her to my truck and drove her back to my place. This was after asking everyone that was not horizontal if they knew where she lived. Nope.
I took off her pants hoping she was wearing panties, seeing that they were soaked with beer I thought it was the right thing to do. I managed to get an old pair of PJ’s back on her and tucked her into my bed. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted, having that entire good vs evil angel shoulder experience but in the end I’m a nice guy. I retired to my study where I wrote until dawn. I finally crawled on the lazy boy and caught some z’s about 5:00 am.
I awoke to the smell of bacon and a song. I remember she was singing a Jimmy Buffet tune that I could not place at the time. I opened an eye and tried to look into the kitchen. She was wearing one of my dress shirts, which is movie love 101 in my book. Sexy does not cover this apparition. We made small talk and ate some pretty tasty food, during which I could help to notice her eyes. Deep green that beckon every part of my being to know her better.
The next month was spectacular. If a movie of my life could be made this was the stuff. Pan in, fade out, laughter, love, passion, it was all here. In a word, it was perfect.
We moved her stuff in on July 4th and the explosions in our bed were beyond belief, bordering on earth shattering, they still make me smile after all these years.
The first time it happened was right before Thanksgiving, she was excited that she’d be cooking the dinner and finally meeting my parents. It was Wednesday night and I was running late from my teaching position at Purdue but had stopped for flowers. When I came in to the house it was eerily silent, and that never happened. A rock and roller, the stereo was always on loud whenever she was home alone. I called for her but heard nothing. I walked room to room and found her curled into the fetal position, rocking back and forth with wide eyes. I rushed to her and took her in my arms, and tried to get her to communicate. But only tears could be returned. I begged her to tell me what had happened. It was as if jolts of electricity would hit her causing her body to pulse. I held her in my arms until the sun came up and she never could tell me what had happened. The next day I awoke and she was in the shower, I went to her and she looked me deep in the eyes and said, “I don’t want to talk about. I’m fine now, trust me”.
Over the next few years these “events” repeated and grew in frequency. I had searched the web and found what I suspected was the cause. Even though she would not allow me to bring the subject up I believed she was suffering from panic anxiety and depression. I had no one in her family to ask question of, they had all past on. Other then these bad days our life was complete, and good. Later I would learn she was bi-polar and a host of other things.
The night I had her committed was a battle but not as you might think. It was not I wanting her to go; she made me take her to the Western Institute which we had always called the nut house as kids. She answered their questions as I sat holding her hand; the only surprise was when she answered yes to the question of whether she had ever been committed before. They placed her in a 72 hour lock up and told me I should bring some extra clothes tomorrow when I came to visit.
Its lonesome out there when you push away those who care, repelling all attempts by friend or family to reach out. It is a self made prison to which one holds the key, only without comprehending it or perhaps for lack of desire. It can go from minutes to months, years to a lifetime and each day is as horrible as the day before. The comforter on your bed often lives up to its name far longer than the suggested eight hours a day. You screen your calls, imaging you know just what the caller will say should you fall for the trap and allow them in. Messages pile up in the voicemail until they are months old. Later when they stop communication you grow sad or angry that they have turned their backs on you. These were all things I learned over the next four years. She spent more time institutionalized than at home and our lives were shattered. I tried to explain where she was too many times to friends that grew weary and vanished. My days were spent thinking of her and my night viewing macaroni pictures she had made in art class.
The days melted into years and I found myself facing the truth. Debbie was not going to come home. She told me she felt safe having other make up her mind for her. I kept up the visits but the sadness of seeing her like that effected me to the point that I felt as if I was becoming like her, and that scared the hell out of me.
On my last visit I watched her from the hall as she interacted with the others, and she was happy. I left a picture of us with the charge nurse along with a note telling her that I wouldn’t be back, and that if she ever wanted to come home I would come for her.
She never called and my life filled up with living, choosing for myself to enjoy, not fear this life we have. I miss her but understand that she needed something I couldn’t give her.
Today marks the 14th anniversary of our meeting and she is still locked up, wasting away but safe.

Quoting Ms. Garland

"For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul."

-Judy Garland

nightime

The neighborhood slows as the cover of darkness glides over us, and in the distance the last call for children is sounded. Families regroup in varying degrees of unity as the exterior world yields its hold. Porch lights, one by one began to flicker on, casting shadows of doubt while lighting the known. Like a snowball gathering speed, the boundaries of time pushes forward, and with it the night meal comes and goes. Children busy themselves brushing and praying as this bedtime waltz is danced with parents of every silhouette and size. Rapidly, every head shall be cradled in the safety and softness of a familiar pillow and this neighborhood shall be silent.

Or will it? For if you listen, there is still one sound in the lonely darkness here. If you hold your breath, you may hear it. The beating of a heart filled with hope. Filled with love to give. Filled with the possibilities of new moments yet to come. Beating solely because it knows that somewhere, out there, is the heartbeat of a girl that knows my ways, but not my face, who has touched my life, but not my skin, and that my dear friends, is all one can hope for tonight in a place called life.

The Day Thomas Pierce Changed

Henry Yost was a nice man. He didn’t drink, take drugs or chase women, but that all changed after he met me. My name is Thomas Pierce and this is but a small serving of my life.
I first encountered Henry Yost while he was jogging past my home. I had fallen from the steps leading out to my mail box and although not amusing then I do find it some what humorous now. He was the third person that had seen me laying there and the first to offer help. At 83 years old I’m not as agile as I once was.
He started dropping by to check on me a few times a week after that and even though I was a royal pain in the ass he seemed to enjoy my company. It wasn’t long before we became friends. That would be my first one in over forty years. People and I don’t see eye to eye, and I’m set in my ways not wishing to disprove the old dog principle.
The truth is I’m a writer and after my first book was published I saw a noticed change in the way people treated me. My wife of 18 years began to spend money as if her very life depended on it. The day I got a bill from McManus Men’s wear for boxer shorts was the last day I spent with her. Being a briefs sort of fellow she was kicked to the curb. Then there were the children, yapping at my heels like small useless dogs, seeking to gleam the treasures of my work. Both had good jobs but quit after hearing I had been given an unprecedented advance for my 2nd novel. Even my friends treated me different, especially the their tempting wives, and I suppose in looking back I shouldn’t have bedded so many of them.
“Ruins of Helen” sold over 12 million copies and changed my life forever. I had once taught history to spoiled children whose parents spent far too much time inventing free love. With names like “Freedom” and “Rainbow” I checked out and started writing full time. Screw those people was my mantra.
My second book “Low Tides in Spring” stayed on the New York Times number one spot for 32 weeks, another first. Life was busy fighting off the fame they desired to heap upon me. I was a private man and wished to stay that way. I had to drive to another town to buy groceries for Pete’s sake. This happened just as Helen was being shown on the big screen. It won best picture that year. That caused me to move again and I have a lot of books so packing isn’t much fun.
I finally ended here, on Juniper Street in a quite town where everyone believes I’m a simple retired History Professor. I had started using fake pictures on those silly dust covers on all the rest of my books. Seventeen in all, eight made into movies and the public clamors for more. I watched “Field of Dreams” and ended up buying a gun.
I haven’t published now for 8 years, although, what I feel is the best thing I ever wrote is finished and sits in box on the floor. It’s completely different from anything I ever did. My worry is that when it does get published the public shall start seeking me out again. Screw those people.
Any way, I’ve gotten off track; I wanted to tell you about Henry. He was as pure as the driven snow, what ever the hell that’s supposed to mean. Had a good job as a CPA, he even did the books for the local Homeless Shelter pro bono, a real gem. Maybe it was just that I was lonely and let my guard down, but I don’t think so. He’s one of the finest men I had ever met. He didn’t date; to shy if you ask me, so one night I told him I wanted him to drive me to a local watering hole for a cocktail. He agreed on the condition that I not compel him to drink, so I lied. He sipped the first drink like a girl, but once it was down the second was gulped.
The next day we woke up in a hotel suite, both of us had a little pay for play friend lying next to us. I was afraid he’d be angry with me but smiled and thanked me for the best night of his life. I believe I had a small tear form.
From then on we’d spend a few nights a week running with women that aimed to please, he even smoked some pot with me one night. We talked until dawn about the world, about history, life, love and even some strange ideas about connect the dots food products for children.
Henry had come out of his shell and shined for the very first time. And he could roll a joint like nobodies business. We shared many a fine time in the lost art of social intercourse. He had some many ideas trapped inside, good ones worth exploring. It was during this time that I found out I had cancer.
Henry knew all along who I was but never brought it up, so I did. He had many questions of why and what it was like. Would I ever write again? He even showed me a few of the things he had written, though rough, still very good concepts. He just couldn’t grasp why I had hidden from the public and laughed at the things he would have done. Curious lad he was. He kept my secrets and I his, he was instrumental in getting me through my radiation treatments without the public finding out.
My prognosis isn’t good they tell me. But I have lived a full life and even though it’s been one full of regret I am satisfied. Henry moved in to keep an eye on me and I truly appreciate what he does for me. Christmas was coming and I hoped to survive long enough for my last one. I did. Henry got me a new dictionary and I gave him a letter.
The novel “Green Hues on a Blue Day” was published before I died. It was declared the best new work of the century and everyone is talking about it. The world wants to know everything about its author, Henry Yost.
That was my gift to him on my last Christmas. My publicists helped me get my “discovery of a talented new writer” rushed into print after many hours of convincing Henry that this is what I wanted. I argued that even if he never wrote anything of his own he would be set for life and could lead the life I had shunned. He could see first hand the what and whys of a writer’s life. I finally won his reluctant approval by telling him I’d burn it if he turned me down. The only two people in the world that know the truth of this novel are Henry and I, and half of that equation died, taking his half of that secret to his grave.

Thomas Pierce 1923-200_
(how should I know Henry, fill it in when it happens!)

the wallflowers

So long ago, I don't remember when
That's when they say I lost my only friend
Well they said she died easy of a broken heart disease
As I listened through the cemetery trees
I seen the sun comin' up at the funeral at dawn
The long broken arm of human law
Now it always seemed such a waste
She always had a pretty face
So I wondered how she hung around this place


Hey, come on try a little
Nothing is forever
There's got to be something better than
In the middle
But me & Cinderella
We put it all together We can drive it home
With one headlight


She said it's cold
It feels like Independence Day
And I can't break away from this parade
But there's got to be an opening
Somewhere here in front of me
Through this maze of ugliness and greed
And I seen the sign up ahead
At the county line bridge
Sayin' all there's good and nothingness is dead
We'll run until she's out of breath
She ran until there's nothin' left
She hit the end it's just her window ledge


Hey, come on try a little
Nothing is forever
There's got to be something better than
In the middle
But me & Cinderella
We put it all together We can drive it home
With one headlight


Well this place is old
It feels just like a beat up truck
I turn the engine, but the engine doesn't turn
Well it smells of cheap wine and cigarettes
This place is always such a mess
Sometimes I think I'd like to watch it burn
I'm so alone, and I feel just like somebody else
Man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
But somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
I think of death it must be killin' me


Hey, come on try a little
Nothing is forever
There's got to be something better than
In the middle
But me & Cinderella
We put it all together We can drive it home
With One Headlight

Baby Girl

Will Hoge-Baby Girl

May the sunlight find your face
Even when the rain does fall
And get back on your feet again
Every time you slip and fall
Keep your heart wide open
And always taking in
And even when it's broken
Be strong enough to fix it up again

Oh little baby girl
Sweet little baby girl
I wish I could hold your hand in this great big world
Oh little baby girl

And I hope your hands are steady
And never need to make a fist
And I hope that when you're ready
You get one never ending kiss
And I hope that deep inside of you
There's a sweet eternal song
And I hope the words are pretty
And that you'll always sing along

And I hope your friends are many
And your laughter's always loud
To help you when you're lonely
And pick you up when you're down
I hope your eyes shine bright love
And learn to see the light
Take the time to listen
Decide yourself what's wrong or right

Oh little baby girl
Sweet little baby girl
Be strong in this great big world
Oh little baby girl

love unreciprocated

The light from the sun filters through the trees, and lands on your face. I smile and brush the hair back from your face. Your eyes smile back and we drift off into a slumber matchless to anything I have ever known. Later on in this most breathtaking day I awake and find you curled up in my arms. I gaze at you sleeping, scanning each feature upon your face. Tracing them with my finger on your skin, and my heart skips a beat.

In my mind I see you, this loving person in a cage, your hands out stretched, reaching for the key to your freedom, which hangs from the branch of a tree just out of reach. You try many times to touch it, to have it and the freedom it stands for, but you give up, and accept your sentence. And only I can see the other key that lies within your reach, the one that hangs on my heart. I try to verbalize, to get you to understand the ease at which your quest for love can be found, but my words resonance in silence. Suddenly I hear you stir and I am drawn away from my visions and back to the most satisfying of times. Shhh, I whisper and softly stroke your face, a small smile comes through, then fades, leaving me feeling something I have never before felt in my life. The sun has almost finished setting into the sea and I realize that I could lay here forever as the warm breeze flows across us and never tire of such bliss. The male crickets begin their calling out to potential mates as I smile, and view your face in the growing moonlight that is now filtering thought the trees.

But soon, you will again kiss me goodbye and return to the life that you long to escape. Or so you have said. I will be here alone again, waiting for your scraps. Angry at my own foolishness for allowing myself to be a man stranded upon this island of love unreciprocated. I know when you leave, you’ll go home where you will be surrounded by riches beyond comprehension, and I understanding they mean more to you than I do. Yet, I seem unable to change it. Blind, and helpless, my own key calls to me, but I refuse to even reach for it.

Now, on the days I see you I soar. On the days I don’t, I pile them behind my heart, where they began smelling of lies, and become unbearable to view. A Dorian Gray portrait of lonely days existing in my heart. The sad days currently out number the happy. And when you do grace me with your presence and presents I feel cheap. But somehow the hopefulness still masks the lie and I smile, falling in love all over again. Finding I am grateful like an alley cat desperate for a bowl of milk, all the while hating myself for what I have become. Wondering how I could let myself fall prey to your touch and attention. Then another day comes when we bask in the sun like lovers with a future and I am buoyant. Still, I let you take my heart and hold it carrot like in front of your own. And like a puppy trying to please his master I shamefully follow you, never fully retaining the knowledge that I am being used. I do know I am a fool, I know you will never leave him but I am locked agonizingly in your hourglass, feeling the sands of your time run through my fingers, and like a man without a country I long for a home.

tears

The ground was beginning to cool as water cascaded down the hills and into the mountain. Storm after storm had hit McKinney’s Creek bringing complete saturation of the summer baked terrain. The water rose up deep inside the cavern, often inches an hour. Coming to life she did what she did every year, just as she had for tens of thousands of years. As if filling with tears inside, the rain rushed to join the water table, bringing the flood. Still, a few diehards held high hopes that somehow, someway she would still welcome them back. But nature won, as she often does, and sadly, the many passages dug out by the loving hands of the masses flooded. Cave City’s South Lead Dig went under on December 27th, 2006 at 2:35 pm

time to love

She opens the door and walks through, in her mind she was thinking about the dry cleaning and whether she would have time to make it to the gym today. It was 5:00 and quitting time simply marked the moment she’d start a new batch of tasks, still, she was out of there.
He was walking down the street, heading towards his sisters house where he was going to watch the kids for her so she could shop No big deal, he loved those two kids almost as if they were his own, only without the sick part where he would have slept with his own sister. . He just had one quick stop.
She reached for the door to Quincy Cleaners just as he was. He smiled at her, and opened the door. She smiled back………
funny how our eyes can take in a version of a vision that no one else sees and how it starts that chemical process that makes our hearts float and our minds race........

Writing

A writer is a person for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people.

Thomas Mann (1875 - 1955)

No Failure

Children have never been very good at listening to their elders, but they have never failed to imitate them.

-James Baldwin-

Gambini's Money

I know I’m not suppose to tell anyone this, and certainly some folk are going to try and convince you that I have a death wish, but really, it’s more a matter of getting it off my chest. Mind if I smoke……….thanks. I used to work for a group of Jersey businessmen who, not only bent the rules, but turned them over there collective knees and spanked them beet red. Oh, I did my part. We all did. Me and Bernie, we were in for the full pound, screw that penny.
It’s said through the eyes and not words that once a member of the Gambini’s you’ll never go back to your own, unless in a fifty five gallon drum or a wooden box. But I beat the odds, I’m here, almost twelve years later and I’m ready to sing sweeter than a canary returning alive from the mines. You got any beer?
Louis Gambini ran his “family” tighter than any one in the past, present and future had, although I may be speculating some on the later. He knew things that even the Man Up Stairs couldn’t know, just take my word that. His empire was worth over 750 million dollars and stashed in so many off shore accounts if they were all on a single island it would sink into the sea. Lucky Lou was indeed blessed, so much so you’d think he’d never miss a lousy 10%, but I’m getting ahead of my self. You got any food?
Anyway, me and Bernie had got a call from Ernie Halverson, he’s Lou’s accountant, and he had been drinking a little. Seems he was getting ready to be taken upstairs and entertained by three of Maggie’s best girls and needed me to take a certain book…what, oh?.. she’s Lou’s social director….yeah, no problem. Any way, this certain book turned out to be some kinda coded combination to Lou’s fortune, and old Ernie let the wrong head chose unwisely for him. Lets just say a copy of this book fell onto a turnip truck and no one was the wiser. This? It’s a Smith and Wesson, 357. Yeah no problem.
So where was I? Yeah yeah yeah… so Bernie had this sister, Becky who turns out was a total computer wiz, but it was her old man, Carl, who had just returned from the service, and get this, he was a code breaker, I swear! Any ways, it takes us what, maybe eighteen minutes and badaboom, we’re all set for life. Not a full one, but one with penthouse views, and maidservants.
They took Carl and Becky down first. Found them in Vegas, and lets just say if they’d smoked, they could have done it from their throats. Bernie made it two years, but they got him in some backwater joint off a Caribbean reef. I’ve never seen a man sink but I heard it he went like a rock. Poor bastard. So, that leaves me, well me and Maggie, I mean you didn’t think I was smart enough to make this haul on my own did ya? She and I, well, we used some of the money on the French Rivera to get a more youthful look through the wonders of plastic surgery. We spent eleven great years together, in the sun, out in the open and fearless. She always made me smile, seemed like when she’d open up the glass doors every morning that the sun stole its light from her eyes. I loved that woman more than life itself, so when she died last week…What?…no, nothing like that, it was cancer, yeah………How much do I have left?…..Ha-ha, wouldn’t like to know…………..

Hearing Harry

Hearing Harry

Although these are my words, I have only collected them along with the feelings and lessons learned over my time here on earth and arranged them into the story below. This IS NOT the story of me. It is rather, a melting of many people, including a friend named Harry. This is their combined cry for help, again NOT MINE even though it is written as if it is. Please accept my apologies in advance should you find yourself buried within the verbiage below.
After five years of not dealing with this subject I know its now time.
Dedicated to Harry
Sometimes, when the loneliness grows like moss on a boulder, and I wander through these empty late night halls I sense a profound, almost eternal incompleteness inside. It’s as if I live, grasping at the edges of passion, seeking truth for more than a fleeting moment, always coming away with only strands of reality in my dirty hands. Longing for something that eludes me, as if attempting to mix water and oil, no one has ever completed me fully in the ways etched upon my heart by the dreams and hopes within. The pain, feeding upon the loneliness turns to despair and together they have calcified the portals to my heart. Sealed tightly against most melting factors, it simply beats, without chance to again feel. The dark nothingness becomes stronger day after day, consuming my ability to cover the raw ending of nerves left exposed by the cruelty that is sometimes called life. And then, it happens. No longer able to pretend that I am in control I stumble on something that masks itself as peace, hiding among the sheep, clothed as comfort it calls to me, and I step towards it. Like the first ray of sun after the storm it is beautiful, but the smell reeks of death, yet it goes undetected inside my nostrils. I reach for it, and find that I have been deceived, that the line I stand across is final and unending, it leads away from life as well as the wonder it had all along. I had been blind to it while in it, now the images of flowers, and summer days build and I know I have made a fatal mistake. I have rushed head on into deaths arms, and I am sorry.
I wish I had known this then, when he did reach out to me. I miss you buddy.

Fondly Fondled

Her hands, although older, were still so very capable of bringing a full smile to my face. Fondling me as I drove her back from the airport, she started by running her finger along the top of my ear, and tucking back my hair. This produced a tingling that rushed to the receptors in my brain, then back out at nano-second speed to my manhood, and heart. My face lit up, feeling her eyes on me, taking me in as if about to test ride a wild stallion. The years had been good to her. She was still an amazing woman, and I tried to recall why we had ever parted in the first place. The day dream fell away as I felt her breath on my ear, causing me to change lanes. She kissed it softly, stroking me again and whispered, you need a haircut. It was sooooo sexy that I almost pulled over and let her ravage me again along the road side. The first time that happened, she took my virginity away, adding another notch to her cowgirl belt. And while I had offered up little if any resistance I still have a scar from it. As we continued down the hiway, Petty, played with the words of love. She had slid over next to me, her mouth moved along my neck as if nibbling a cob of corn, reminding me that I would most likely end up with a few well placed hickeys. Her hand nimbly unbuttoned my shirt, allowing her hand to glide in, and brush against my nipple. Her hand turned, and she pinched me playfully. At the same time her tongue had entered my ear and was gently moving in little circles. I was now guilty of driving while erect.
Her hands soon unbuttoned my old 501’s and freed Willie, breathing new life into him in ways I had forgotten about. Moving up and back down on me she cooed, vibrating her throat making me look at the toll booth man with a crooked smile of apology. I said she was just happy to see me, trying to offer an explanation to the obvious. She giggled as I accelerated away from him and back out onto the road. Later I found a lonely county lane outside the city and pulled over; turning the key I joined her.
She stayed longer than I had thought she would, and that made me happy, I’ll never turn down the opportunity to spend time with her. But when we actually examine our relationship, both of us know we are looking for more than great sex, which sounds like I’ve lost my mind when I reread this, but it’s the only thing we really have in common, and we both want social intercourse as well. And who knows, next time maybe I’ll get to show her the sights.

You and I

Jason Mraz-you and I

Was it you who spoke the words that things would happen but not to me?
Oh things are gonna happen naturally
And taking your advice I'm looking on the bright side
And balancing the whole thing...
But often times those words get tangled up in lines
And the bright lights
turn to night
Until the dawn it brings
A little bird who'll sing about the magic that was
you and me
Cause you and I both loved
What you and I spoke of
What you and I spoke of
Others only dream of
the love that I love
See I'm all about them words
Over numbers
unencumbered
numbered words
Hundreds of pages
pages
pages forwards
More words then I had ever heard and I feel so alive
Now you and I
you and I
Not so little you and I
anymore
And with this silence brings a moral story
more importantly evolving is the glory of a boy
cause you and I both loved
what you and I spoke of
and others just read of
and if you could see now
well I'm already finally out
and it's okay if you have go away
just remember the telephone works both ways
and if I never ever hear it ring
if nothing else I'll think the bells inside
have finally found you someone else and that's okay
cause I'll remember everything you sang
you and I both loved
what you and I spoke of
and others just read of
and if you could see now
well I'm already finally out of words

melting with the better half

(Modern English)---I Melt With You


Moving forward using all my breath
Making love to you was never second best
I saw the world thrashing all around your face
Never really knowing it was always mesh and lace
I'll stop the world and melt with you
You've seen the difference and
It's getting better all the time
There's nothing you and I won't do
I'll stop the world and melt with you
(You should know better)
Dream of better lives the kind which never hate
(You should see why)
Dropped in the state of imaginary grace
(You should know better)
I made a pilgrimage to save this human race
(You should see why)
Never comprehending a race that long gone by
I'll stop the world and melt with you
(I'll stop the world)
I'ave seen some changes and it's getting better all the time
(Let's stop the world)
There's nothing you and I won't do
(Let's stop the world)
I'll stop the world and melt with you
The future's open wide
(Let's stop the world)
I'll stop the world and melt with you
(Let's stop the world)
I've seen some changes but it's getting better all the time
(Let's stop the world)
There's nothing you and I won't do
(Let's stop the world)
I'll stop the world and melt with you
The future's open wide
hmmm hmmm hmmm
hmmm hmmm hmmm hmmm
hmmm hmmm hmmm
hmmm hmmm hmmm hmmm
I'll stop the world and melt with you
(Let's stop the world)
You've seen the difference and it's getting better all the time
(Let's stop the world)
There's nothing you and I won't do
(Let's stop the world)
I'll stop the world and melt with you
(Let's stop the world)
I'll stop the world and melt with you...

never ending move

I followed the thin gray wires from my house out the back door. They led across the freshly plowed field before disappearing into the barn. Through the barn window, I could see at least two of them. Surely, Jimmy would have sent more than this I thought, but now was not the time to try to psychoanalyze the crazy bastard. I drew my weapon, aimed at the electrical meter on the back of the house and squeezed off three rounds. The first shattered the meter glass and exited out the back. They’d later find it stuck in a tomato juice can in the refrigerator. The second round hit the main feed and everything went black. The third one was simply to put some ground between us. Rolling under the flatbed truck, I waited. When I had walked through my house, I had seen a couple pounds of C-4 waiting to welcome me; to bad for them, their lookout had blinked. Now I was hoping that by cutting off the electricity they would have nothing to set off the charges with. I needed my house for at least another 20 minutes. I heard the barn door creek as the first huge lug of a man came charging towards the house shooting continuous rounds into the old wooden structure. I had already attached the silencer to my weapon and he went down fast and quietly. More shots came from the barn, whizzing past, heading towards some random sudden stop.

The other stayed put. It was now a waiting game, one in which he could be reasonably sure his man had not killed me since no communications came. No, he knew I was still out here, and without the power being on he had the darkness working for him just as much as I did. They’d later find him in the loft, out of bullets and ready to go into their custody. Jail seemed a better then facing me without bullets.

I waited a couple of minutes, and crawled to the end of the truck. Standing up I could see the flicker from a lighter as he headed up into the loft so I made my move. Inside the house, I worked very quickly. I pulled up the loose floorboard in the dining room and lifted two suitcases out. Opening the first one, I pulled out and set up a timer gun which would shoot a round every ten minutes to make sure he did not try to follow me. The second one left with me………

Being a fugitive from both the underworld and now the witness protection program was going to hard, but I was not left many choices. I walked down the street and unlocked a non-descript garage I rented. I got in the old truck and pulled out, heading south, finding myself on the run again.