It's one of their Through a Lens Darkly flash challenges. Your story should be based, or focused on, a photo prompt. This one of a stone castle-type corridor was just too good for me to pass up. Hope you enjoy. Story follows.
PENANCE
Take it slowly, dear heart, just one more step. Now then. Can you guess where I have brought you? Oh my. No sense in your getting all upset. I will remove the blindfold soon enough. I would simply like to find out just how keen your senses are. Try to guess. Please? No? Well, alright. Let me remove the cover from your eyes. Pardon? Oh, I'm afraid not, my sweet. The restraints will need to remain on your hands and ankles, but not to worry. You can be certain that I will explain.
See it, my angel? Yes. It is indeed your favorite place in the entire world. When our village at the bottom of the hill was alive and thriving, this old, deserted castle's corridors are where you used to love to play the games of childhood. As you grew into your teen years, these desolate towers were your sanctuary for solace and long-forgotten tears. And now, as a mature woman, my wife, my devoted counsel and confidante, I suppose it had seemed only natural that you would choose this place above all others to betray me.
No, no, no. Do not humiliate and degrade yourself further with denials. That is akin to your plunging a dagger deep into my heart. Countless lovers have lain here with you on comforters of silk and satin spread on these cold stone floors at the balcony's edge. Always at this time of day too, wasn't it, my pet? Look at how the sun pours through the corridor and caresses the walls. Did it caress you and your lovers too? Did it make you feel warm and comforted and safe as I never have? As I never could?
What happened is that you never understood. You never even made an attempt. You belong to me. There is nothing beyond that, my love. To be able to believe you would always be there when I needed you was all I had ever asked of you. The mundane practice of constant demonstrations of emotion have never suited me, and it was your obligation to be content. Instead, you invited and allowed the touch of strangers. For I have seen it. Here. The playful luring. The hungry kisses. The erratic passion. The caustic laughter. Mocking. Me.
Oh my goodness, you silly pie. Where do you think you are going? You can't run. Not from here. Not from me. Where would you go if you could? And what would be the point? More importantly, who is it that you think you would run to? One of your young mongrels? But, you see, several of them are already here. Well, were here. At my urging, they took a leap of faith from your beloved balcony. Unfortunately, they were all heretics, and God did not allow them to soar on Archangel wings to his Heaven. Their blood now envelops the distant rocks below. As soon will ours.
Come, sweet treat, and walk with me. Walk with me to the edge. See how I have lovingly placed a bed of feathers on which to lay your head with its mantle of spun gold one last time. We will smile and explore and let the sun's rays enfold and embrace us. And, when it is finished, shall come penance for your sins. You and I, together, will take that leap of faith, and if you are filled with remorse, God will take us up as one to Paradise. But, if you still refuse to be accountable for the error of your ways, you will share the fate of those who lay below.
I want us to be together for all eternity, my darling one. It would make me very sad if you forced me to ascend to our Lord's side alone. But, the choice to repent is yours. It has always been. Yours. But look. The sun is beginning to set on the hillside. We must not waste a moment of this glorious time. Come take the walk to the edge with me now. Let us begin.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Needle Flash Fiction Challenge
Here's my entry in the contest.
TILL DEATH...
I’m home, my sweet. Are you awake? I’m sorry to be so late, but I had some extra forms to take care of at work. I can make it up to you though. I brought a surprise for you. I’m getting it ready and I’ll bring it down with me. Can you guess what it is? No? Alright, I’ll tell you. It’s a vanilla shake with a touch of cinnamon. You love those. I’m putting it in a fresh IV bag for you. Now, once I hook this one up, it should provide quite a pleasant sensation, you think?
Oh my. The bulb’s flickering on the basement stairs again. I really have to remember to change that. I know how being in the dark frightens you. I do need to start turning off all the lights at night though so you can get some good rest. Besides, keeping the basement lights on all the time might attract some unwanted attention. You do remember, I’m sure, how nosy some of our neighbors can be.
Darling one, you sewed the button on my work shirt just as I had asked you. You are such a dear. I know it can be difficult, what with the pole, the IV needle and the restraints. But you do know they’re all necessary, don’t you, my love? I can’t have you wandering off again. It was such a terrible ordeal finding you this last time. You remember. You had run off with that handyman I hired, telling him such awful things about me. You even told some of the neighbors terrible stories about how I treated you.
One good thing did come out of all that though. Once those busybodies in our cove found out you took off with that nasty man, they felt ever so sorry for me. Why, the ladies brought me delicious casseroles and their husbands helped me to tend our yard. You know, our garden’s doing really well now too since I buried your boyfriend in it. At least he turned out to be good for something, huh? No one saw us arrive when I brought you back, so you’re completely safe down here. You won’t ever be bothered.
Say, how does that shake taste? Can you actually taste it, or do you just kind of feel it?
Oh, my pet, don’t you cry. I know you can’t answer me, but it’s alright. The sutures sealing your lips together are almost totally healed now. Now, don’t you start fussing again. You have to admit that I was within my rights when I stitched them in, what with you speaking so poorly of me to everyone you knew and met. That was really quite disrespectful, and you know how strongly I feel about not being respected.
Wow. It’s getting so late. Time certainly does fly when I’m with the love of my life. I’ll let the shake keep dripping for awhile. It’s almost totally melted now and should be flowing really smoothly. I’ll tell you what. I’m going to leave the lights on down here for, say, another half hour so you can see well enough to mend the cuff on my blue shirt. I was planning to wear that to work in the morning, but see how the cuff is beginning to fray? It is in desperate need of your magic touch. I’ll change that bulb on the stairs as well to give you a bit more light while you sew. I wouldn’t want you to have an accident with the needle. That would be very painful.
When I go up, I’m going to watch the news before bed. I won’t be back down tonight, so have loads of sweet dreams, love. Just always remember, my angel, what I told you on the day we first met. I said, from this moment forward, you will be mine. Only. Mine. For always.
Remember also, heart of my heart, when I said it,
I meant it.
Too.
TILL DEATH...
I’m home, my sweet. Are you awake? I’m sorry to be so late, but I had some extra forms to take care of at work. I can make it up to you though. I brought a surprise for you. I’m getting it ready and I’ll bring it down with me. Can you guess what it is? No? Alright, I’ll tell you. It’s a vanilla shake with a touch of cinnamon. You love those. I’m putting it in a fresh IV bag for you. Now, once I hook this one up, it should provide quite a pleasant sensation, you think?
Oh my. The bulb’s flickering on the basement stairs again. I really have to remember to change that. I know how being in the dark frightens you. I do need to start turning off all the lights at night though so you can get some good rest. Besides, keeping the basement lights on all the time might attract some unwanted attention. You do remember, I’m sure, how nosy some of our neighbors can be.
Darling one, you sewed the button on my work shirt just as I had asked you. You are such a dear. I know it can be difficult, what with the pole, the IV needle and the restraints. But you do know they’re all necessary, don’t you, my love? I can’t have you wandering off again. It was such a terrible ordeal finding you this last time. You remember. You had run off with that handyman I hired, telling him such awful things about me. You even told some of the neighbors terrible stories about how I treated you.
One good thing did come out of all that though. Once those busybodies in our cove found out you took off with that nasty man, they felt ever so sorry for me. Why, the ladies brought me delicious casseroles and their husbands helped me to tend our yard. You know, our garden’s doing really well now too since I buried your boyfriend in it. At least he turned out to be good for something, huh? No one saw us arrive when I brought you back, so you’re completely safe down here. You won’t ever be bothered.
Say, how does that shake taste? Can you actually taste it, or do you just kind of feel it?
Oh, my pet, don’t you cry. I know you can’t answer me, but it’s alright. The sutures sealing your lips together are almost totally healed now. Now, don’t you start fussing again. You have to admit that I was within my rights when I stitched them in, what with you speaking so poorly of me to everyone you knew and met. That was really quite disrespectful, and you know how strongly I feel about not being respected.
Wow. It’s getting so late. Time certainly does fly when I’m with the love of my life. I’ll let the shake keep dripping for awhile. It’s almost totally melted now and should be flowing really smoothly. I’ll tell you what. I’m going to leave the lights on down here for, say, another half hour so you can see well enough to mend the cuff on my blue shirt. I was planning to wear that to work in the morning, but see how the cuff is beginning to fray? It is in desperate need of your magic touch. I’ll change that bulb on the stairs as well to give you a bit more light while you sew. I wouldn’t want you to have an accident with the needle. That would be very painful.
When I go up, I’m going to watch the news before bed. I won’t be back down tonight, so have loads of sweet dreams, love. Just always remember, my angel, what I told you on the day we first met. I said, from this moment forward, you will be mine. Only. Mine. For always.
Remember also, heart of my heart, when I said it,
I meant it.
Too.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
F-F-F #31 - Killer Scent
This is my contribution to F-F-F #31, and an interesting challenge it was. No starter sentences this time around. Instead there were five words to be used in the story. They are: batch, catch, latch, patch, and coriander. Well, here goes. Hope you enjoy!
KILLER SCENT
“Patch,” tell me the truth. You own stock in all the evil-smelling cologne companies on the planet, don’t ya?”
“I can’t help it if you can smell mosquito sweat from a mile away, Rich. Marie likes to buy me cologne, and even if it smells funky, I still have to wear it, you know?”
Yeah. I know. My old man had the same problem. My ma, God love her, was color-blind as all hell, but Pop wore every butt-ugly tie she ever bought. I’m so glad I’m a prick that ladies date only once.
I’m also a cop--a homicide detective if you want to get technical about it. Name’s Richard Demar--Rich, to those close. My partner’s Patch--well, Julius, really. Julius Swathby. Yeah. I know. I call him Patch cause he always wears jackets with patches sewn around the elbows. Believes it makes him look like a sophisticate.
It doesn’t.
One last bit about me. I was blessed/cursed with the sense of smell from Hell. Not bad enough to cripple me and like, force me to live in a bubble, but there are certain places I will not go. Some smells would just send me fucking screaming into the night. Why don’t I just leave what those are to your imagination.
Anywho, we’ve just caught a case; young woman butchered in her apartment. Butchered? That’s candy-coating it. Place settings for a cozy dinner for two (eaten), a batch of freshly baked cookies on a silver platter (untouched), and wall-to-wall blood spatter.
Leftovers and dessert were still warm when we arrived. Neighbor heard a man shouting, a woman screaming, and dialed 911. Guy did a runner out her patio. Broke the latch off her glass door and went where? Had to be drenched in her blood. So. To the highway in front or to the field in back? Either way, he was a ghost. But, I’m gonna catch this spook cause I know who he is.
Nobody but Patch would understand, so he’s the only one I tell. My proof is bizarre at best, so we take the roundabout. We fill every street snitch with our killer’s name, plans to collar him, and that we just need a little more to nail him. Big man’s in too deep financially with his business ventures to risk even the hint of arrest. Wouldn’t hesitate to take out a couple of dicks either, so we set ourselves up as targets and wait for the hit. Patch isn’t sure this is the way to go, but I tell him to trust me. He does.
Late last night, Patch and me are clanging around in the alley behind one of the man’s strip joints. Noisy, so he’d know just where to find us. Nothing going down, so we decided to lay low for awhile. We passed a stack of crates, and I immediately pulled my pistol, turned and fired into the stack. What should tumble out but our killer, gun in hand, ready to deliver a couple of headshots to me and the Patchmaster. I thought my partner was going to pee himself then and there.
“I know how you knew he killed our vic, but how did you know he was back there?”
“The smell, my friend,” I explained, “the coriander.”
It’s a well-known fact that this piece of garbage topped off everything he ate with coriander leaves. Just to make sure they were always handy, he carried a baggie full of them in his pocket. I had seen some of those leaves in one of the bowls at the murder scene and that’s when I knew. I registered the smell, and in the alley, I picked it up right after I passed the stack of boxes. It was way too close for comfort, so I turned and fired. Righteous kill, by the way. Total self-defense.
Notes were found later in one of his offices documenting that our vic wanted to be more than a good time and was going to make trouble if he refused. Not smart to try to blackmail the Devil himself. But still. She deserved better than what she got. Maybe now, the kid can rest in peace.
And me? Patch’s wife just bought him a new bottle of cologne. Maybe I should just start taking the bus to work. Well, maybe not the bus…
KILLER SCENT
“Patch,” tell me the truth. You own stock in all the evil-smelling cologne companies on the planet, don’t ya?”
“I can’t help it if you can smell mosquito sweat from a mile away, Rich. Marie likes to buy me cologne, and even if it smells funky, I still have to wear it, you know?”
Yeah. I know. My old man had the same problem. My ma, God love her, was color-blind as all hell, but Pop wore every butt-ugly tie she ever bought. I’m so glad I’m a prick that ladies date only once.
I’m also a cop--a homicide detective if you want to get technical about it. Name’s Richard Demar--Rich, to those close. My partner’s Patch--well, Julius, really. Julius Swathby. Yeah. I know. I call him Patch cause he always wears jackets with patches sewn around the elbows. Believes it makes him look like a sophisticate.
It doesn’t.
One last bit about me. I was blessed/cursed with the sense of smell from Hell. Not bad enough to cripple me and like, force me to live in a bubble, but there are certain places I will not go. Some smells would just send me fucking screaming into the night. Why don’t I just leave what those are to your imagination.
Anywho, we’ve just caught a case; young woman butchered in her apartment. Butchered? That’s candy-coating it. Place settings for a cozy dinner for two (eaten), a batch of freshly baked cookies on a silver platter (untouched), and wall-to-wall blood spatter.
Leftovers and dessert were still warm when we arrived. Neighbor heard a man shouting, a woman screaming, and dialed 911. Guy did a runner out her patio. Broke the latch off her glass door and went where? Had to be drenched in her blood. So. To the highway in front or to the field in back? Either way, he was a ghost. But, I’m gonna catch this spook cause I know who he is.
Nobody but Patch would understand, so he’s the only one I tell. My proof is bizarre at best, so we take the roundabout. We fill every street snitch with our killer’s name, plans to collar him, and that we just need a little more to nail him. Big man’s in too deep financially with his business ventures to risk even the hint of arrest. Wouldn’t hesitate to take out a couple of dicks either, so we set ourselves up as targets and wait for the hit. Patch isn’t sure this is the way to go, but I tell him to trust me. He does.
Late last night, Patch and me are clanging around in the alley behind one of the man’s strip joints. Noisy, so he’d know just where to find us. Nothing going down, so we decided to lay low for awhile. We passed a stack of crates, and I immediately pulled my pistol, turned and fired into the stack. What should tumble out but our killer, gun in hand, ready to deliver a couple of headshots to me and the Patchmaster. I thought my partner was going to pee himself then and there.
“I know how you knew he killed our vic, but how did you know he was back there?”
“The smell, my friend,” I explained, “the coriander.”
It’s a well-known fact that this piece of garbage topped off everything he ate with coriander leaves. Just to make sure they were always handy, he carried a baggie full of them in his pocket. I had seen some of those leaves in one of the bowls at the murder scene and that’s when I knew. I registered the smell, and in the alley, I picked it up right after I passed the stack of boxes. It was way too close for comfort, so I turned and fired. Righteous kill, by the way. Total self-defense.
Notes were found later in one of his offices documenting that our vic wanted to be more than a good time and was going to make trouble if he refused. Not smart to try to blackmail the Devil himself. But still. She deserved better than what she got. Maybe now, the kid can rest in peace.
And me? Patch’s wife just bought him a new bottle of cologne. Maybe I should just start taking the bus to work. Well, maybe not the bus…
Friday, May 7, 2010
Flash Fiction Challenge!
Here's the scoop on a truly SHARP event: Needle's first flash contest. You've got until May 18th, so there's plenty of time.
Your story must include a needle. Any kind, any size, any shape--you get the POINT. This is way too cool to pass up. Make sure you keep an EYE out for the entries!
http://needlemag.wordpress.com/2010/05/06/needles-first-flash-fiction-challenge/
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
A Necessary Reprimand
A strange little tale about quality of life and an odd sense of justice. Hope you enjoy.
A NECESSARY REPRIMAND
Maria wiped the tear from her eye. Spending time locked up in a jail cell was the last activity she had ever envisioned for herself. She was not bad, and had never hurt anyone. She just didn't understand why it had to be this way. She knew she had broken the rules, but she had been careful this time. She had always been very careful. She hadn't been seen or caught the first two times she crossed the border, and hadn't been seen or caught this time either--at least, not by the residents of the Forbidden Zone. This time, she had been betrayed by her own.
"This kind of behavior cannot be tolerated," the Mayor had said. "If we overlook your blatant disregard for the law, others will follow suit and bring destruction unto us all. You have already been warned twice and yet, it is as if you care nothing for the lives of your family, friends, and the rest us who depend on our anonymity for survival in this harsh, new world."
"Please, Mr. Mayor, everyone, please try to understand why I did what I did. I know it is dangerous, but you have to believe I would never do anything to put the rest of you in any jeopardy. I asked the children who were on the swings in the playground not to say anything when they saw me approaching the border. I told them I was going to bring back wondrous things for us all to eat, but they reported me just the same. I wanted to help our town, not hurt it.
You've never seen what they have on the other side, but I have. There are fruits and vegetables, and juices and milk, and pastries and cheeses, all fresh and all sitting out just ripe for the taking. What do we have available here to feed our families, friends and children? That colorless, tasteless rubbish on the shelves in our grocery store? And, what of our bakery and our candy shop? I just wish you could see all that is theirs."
Their response had certainly not been what she anticipated. She knew the Council would be angry, but they had no right to imprison her as if she were a criminal. She knew they were deciding on her sentence and would be coming for her soon. This was all so confusing. Why was this happening to her?
The guards unlocked her cell and took her out to the center of town, where the Mayor and the rest of the townspeople were waiting.
"Maria?" the Mayor began, "you have been found guilty of the violation of crossing our border and entering the Forbidden Zone. Three times you have disregarded our warnings, and run the risk of being seen and captured, which would have resulted in the death of us all. The members of the Council and I have decided upon your sentence, and it is to be imposed immediately."
* * * * * * * *
Janie ran into her room and made a beeline immediately for the area on the side of her bed where she had set up the birthday present she had received just the day before. As soon as her mind registered what she was seeing, she put her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. This is too horrible, she thought, my poor sweet dear, Maria. She reached down and untied the shoelace that had been tied tightly around her favorite lady doll's neck and wound around a hastily constructed gallows fashioned from some of the storefront's beams in the doll village. She also undid the twist-tie that had been used to secure the doll's hands together behind her back. The child had placed one of her shoelaces in the hands of two of her little girl dolls so they could play jump rope in the playground. The twist tie had been added to function as a leash so the little boy doll could walk his dog around the town square. All at once, Janie felt like she couldn't breathe and knew just who had to be responsible for this abomination. She called out to her brother in the hallway.
"Billy, I told you not to mess with my doll village. I'm telling Mommy and Daddy what you did!"
She began to cry. Billy knelt down beside his little sister and put his hand on her shoulder.
"Sis, really, I didn't. Don't cry. Please. I wouldn't do something awful like that. Really. Truly. I'm going to go and play with my soldiers now, and you can come in my room and play with any of my toys if you want to. Okay?"
Billy got up and started back to his own room. When he turned and displayed a small smile, Janie saw in his eyes that he was telling the truth.
"Well," Janie sniffled, "if you didn't do this, then who did? I suppose her friends in my doll town did this to her?"
Billy couldn't help but laugh at that, and Janie felt a giggle of her own beginning. Her friends. Right.
Janie bent down and got very close to all the small figures arranged in a semi-circle around the gallows that had been set up in the town square.
"Did you do this to Maria?" she whispered, cheerful now, despite being as upset as she had been a moment earlier. "So, which one of you was it? Now, speak up."
She placed her ear close to the mouths of all the dolls in the group, but none answered. They dared not. They knew the cost.
A NECESSARY REPRIMAND
Maria wiped the tear from her eye. Spending time locked up in a jail cell was the last activity she had ever envisioned for herself. She was not bad, and had never hurt anyone. She just didn't understand why it had to be this way. She knew she had broken the rules, but she had been careful this time. She had always been very careful. She hadn't been seen or caught the first two times she crossed the border, and hadn't been seen or caught this time either--at least, not by the residents of the Forbidden Zone. This time, she had been betrayed by her own.
"This kind of behavior cannot be tolerated," the Mayor had said. "If we overlook your blatant disregard for the law, others will follow suit and bring destruction unto us all. You have already been warned twice and yet, it is as if you care nothing for the lives of your family, friends, and the rest us who depend on our anonymity for survival in this harsh, new world."
"Please, Mr. Mayor, everyone, please try to understand why I did what I did. I know it is dangerous, but you have to believe I would never do anything to put the rest of you in any jeopardy. I asked the children who were on the swings in the playground not to say anything when they saw me approaching the border. I told them I was going to bring back wondrous things for us all to eat, but they reported me just the same. I wanted to help our town, not hurt it.
You've never seen what they have on the other side, but I have. There are fruits and vegetables, and juices and milk, and pastries and cheeses, all fresh and all sitting out just ripe for the taking. What do we have available here to feed our families, friends and children? That colorless, tasteless rubbish on the shelves in our grocery store? And, what of our bakery and our candy shop? I just wish you could see all that is theirs."
Their response had certainly not been what she anticipated. She knew the Council would be angry, but they had no right to imprison her as if she were a criminal. She knew they were deciding on her sentence and would be coming for her soon. This was all so confusing. Why was this happening to her?
The guards unlocked her cell and took her out to the center of town, where the Mayor and the rest of the townspeople were waiting.
"Maria?" the Mayor began, "you have been found guilty of the violation of crossing our border and entering the Forbidden Zone. Three times you have disregarded our warnings, and run the risk of being seen and captured, which would have resulted in the death of us all. The members of the Council and I have decided upon your sentence, and it is to be imposed immediately."
* * * * * * * *
Janie ran into her room and made a beeline immediately for the area on the side of her bed where she had set up the birthday present she had received just the day before. As soon as her mind registered what she was seeing, she put her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. This is too horrible, she thought, my poor sweet dear, Maria. She reached down and untied the shoelace that had been tied tightly around her favorite lady doll's neck and wound around a hastily constructed gallows fashioned from some of the storefront's beams in the doll village. She also undid the twist-tie that had been used to secure the doll's hands together behind her back. The child had placed one of her shoelaces in the hands of two of her little girl dolls so they could play jump rope in the playground. The twist tie had been added to function as a leash so the little boy doll could walk his dog around the town square. All at once, Janie felt like she couldn't breathe and knew just who had to be responsible for this abomination. She called out to her brother in the hallway.
"Billy, I told you not to mess with my doll village. I'm telling Mommy and Daddy what you did!"
She began to cry. Billy knelt down beside his little sister and put his hand on her shoulder.
"Sis, really, I didn't. Don't cry. Please. I wouldn't do something awful like that. Really. Truly. I'm going to go and play with my soldiers now, and you can come in my room and play with any of my toys if you want to. Okay?"
Billy got up and started back to his own room. When he turned and displayed a small smile, Janie saw in his eyes that he was telling the truth.
"Well," Janie sniffled, "if you didn't do this, then who did? I suppose her friends in my doll town did this to her?"
Billy couldn't help but laugh at that, and Janie felt a giggle of her own beginning. Her friends. Right.
Janie bent down and got very close to all the small figures arranged in a semi-circle around the gallows that had been set up in the town square.
"Did you do this to Maria?" she whispered, cheerful now, despite being as upset as she had been a moment earlier. "So, which one of you was it? Now, speak up."
She placed her ear close to the mouths of all the dolls in the group, but none answered. They dared not. They knew the cost.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
F-F-F #30 - Be Careful
Here's my contribution to Friday Flash Fiction. I couldn't let these two super sentences go to waste. Hope you enjoy!
BE CAREFUL
“I know what I saw and years of anti-psychotics and group therapies couldn’t convince me otherwise. You have to believe me, Ethan. I know everybody around here thinks I’m the loony in 4B, but I do take my meds for my depression, and I’m not crazy.”
Marissa’s eyes filled with tears. The pained look on her neighbor’s face made her feel ashamed she had run across the hall and pounded on his door in the middle of the night. A second glance, however, revealed that she was squeezing his hand so hard it was turning a deep shade of purple. She quickly released her grip.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Ethan. I’m just so upset. It’s not every day you see someone getting killed.”
Ethan massaged his hand to try to get some of the feeling back.
“Marissa,” he said quietly, “nobody think you’re crazy, least of all, me. We all have problems, you know, but yours just happen to be rather public. I mean, your parents being killed in that accident because the train signal failed, then the train jumps the track, the lawsuit and the trial--why, the media was all over it. You know how those people are. The more gruesome a story is, the more coverage it gets. Your moving here could have provided you with some peace, but everyone had already seen you on those court television shows. I’ll tell you, your public breakdown was quite understandable and actually predictable.”
Marissa now knew she had made the right decision to tell Ethan what she had seen. She hadn’t known him for long, but he was so calm and self-assured, he made her feel so safe. Yes, he could be trusted. He would let her know what she should do.
“Tell me again now, slowly,” he began, “exactly what it is that you saw.” Ethan got up and put the kettle on. Something hot and soothing was definitely what she needed.
“Alright,” Marissa took a deep breath and continued, “I had finished my dinner, took my medicine and decided to lay down for a bit. When I woke up, I realized I had fallen sound asleep and it was after 11, so I decided I’d have a cup of coffee and go to bed. I didn’t need the kitchen lights on because of all the streetlights and traffic and all. I was pulling the curtains closed by the window above the sink when I noticed something odd across the way. You know those new apartments across the street with the big picture windows in the living rooms?
Well, a light was on in the one directly across from me on the 3rd floor and I saw this woman backing up in the room, holding her hands up. All of a sudden, a man came into view--I couldn’t see his face--but he grabbed her around the neck with his left hand, picked up a lamp with his right, and began to hit her on the head with it over and over, then it all went dark. It was so horrible. I just can’t seem to get that picture out of my head. I wanted to ask somebody what to do and I knew you’d be able to advise me. I know I should call the police, but like I said, I never saw his face, but there was one thing. When he held the lamp up right before he hit her, I saw a bright silver ring on his finger. The light caught it and it flashed so brightly, I could see it all the way over here. It had a really strange shape, like a long, narrow diamond shape. I will never forget that image. But what good would that do the police?”
“A silver ring? Really?” Ethan began. “I’ll bet that would help the police find the killer. An unusual piece of jewelry like that? They could probably check around and find the jeweler that sold or made it and be able to identify the purchaser. Oh, look, the coffee’s ready. Let’s have a cup and then you can call the police. I’ll stay here with you when you call if you’d like.”
Marissa was feeling so much better. This young man’s moving in across the hall was a real Godsend. The coffee smelled fantastic and the company was charming. She’d be able to get through this ordeal in one piece after all. She looked at the coffee Ethan set down in front of her and smiled. He’d added the perfect amount of her favorite creamer and it looked so warm and somehow comforting.
She had finished about half her cup when the began to feel as if something wasn’t quite right.
“Ethan,” she was already slurring her words,” is it me, or does this coffee taste weir…”
The cup slipped from her hand and Ethan caught it before it hit the floor.
“’Weird’? Is that what you were going to ask? Does the coffee taste weird? Truth is, mine was just great. Yours may have seemed a bit off since I spiced it up quite a bit with some of that bottled Prozac you’ve got on the counter. Nice of your doctor to prescribe it like that for you since you can’t swallow pills. Handy, really.”
Ethan began washing the cups and straightening up the kitchen.
“No sense confusing the authorities with extraneous details. The simplest explanation is always the best. You’ve been very depressed of late, and tonight while you were alone, you accidentally took way too much of your medicine. Overdoses are so tragic.”
Marissa was having great difficulty breathing and it was getting harder to keep her eyes open. She looked up at the young man she thought she knew--thought she could trust--and wondered why.
Once all traces of his being there had been wiped clean, on his way out, he decided to explain.
“I had to off that bitch. Just because I got tired of fucking her, she decided she was going to tell her old man I had been helping myself to his investment money. She needed to be silenced, like, permanently. Oh, and the ring you saw? She had that made special for me. It’s supposed to be some kind of Egyptian symbol or something, and was very expensive and one of a kind. One call to the right jeweler and…, well, all I can say is, you should have just closed your curtains and gone to bed.”
He took one last look, and Marissa’s eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow and strained. It should be over by the time he got back to his apartment. The ring should be done soaking in that solution too, he thought, and no more blood should be visible. He looked forward to putting it back on now that he was free to wear it in public. The dumb bitch did have good taste in jewelry, at least. He made sure Marissa’s door was securely locked when he left. These days, one just couldn’t be too careful.
BE CAREFUL
“I know what I saw and years of anti-psychotics and group therapies couldn’t convince me otherwise. You have to believe me, Ethan. I know everybody around here thinks I’m the loony in 4B, but I do take my meds for my depression, and I’m not crazy.”
Marissa’s eyes filled with tears. The pained look on her neighbor’s face made her feel ashamed she had run across the hall and pounded on his door in the middle of the night. A second glance, however, revealed that she was squeezing his hand so hard it was turning a deep shade of purple. She quickly released her grip.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Ethan. I’m just so upset. It’s not every day you see someone getting killed.”
Ethan massaged his hand to try to get some of the feeling back.
“Marissa,” he said quietly, “nobody think you’re crazy, least of all, me. We all have problems, you know, but yours just happen to be rather public. I mean, your parents being killed in that accident because the train signal failed, then the train jumps the track, the lawsuit and the trial--why, the media was all over it. You know how those people are. The more gruesome a story is, the more coverage it gets. Your moving here could have provided you with some peace, but everyone had already seen you on those court television shows. I’ll tell you, your public breakdown was quite understandable and actually predictable.”
Marissa now knew she had made the right decision to tell Ethan what she had seen. She hadn’t known him for long, but he was so calm and self-assured, he made her feel so safe. Yes, he could be trusted. He would let her know what she should do.
“Tell me again now, slowly,” he began, “exactly what it is that you saw.” Ethan got up and put the kettle on. Something hot and soothing was definitely what she needed.
“Alright,” Marissa took a deep breath and continued, “I had finished my dinner, took my medicine and decided to lay down for a bit. When I woke up, I realized I had fallen sound asleep and it was after 11, so I decided I’d have a cup of coffee and go to bed. I didn’t need the kitchen lights on because of all the streetlights and traffic and all. I was pulling the curtains closed by the window above the sink when I noticed something odd across the way. You know those new apartments across the street with the big picture windows in the living rooms?
Well, a light was on in the one directly across from me on the 3rd floor and I saw this woman backing up in the room, holding her hands up. All of a sudden, a man came into view--I couldn’t see his face--but he grabbed her around the neck with his left hand, picked up a lamp with his right, and began to hit her on the head with it over and over, then it all went dark. It was so horrible. I just can’t seem to get that picture out of my head. I wanted to ask somebody what to do and I knew you’d be able to advise me. I know I should call the police, but like I said, I never saw his face, but there was one thing. When he held the lamp up right before he hit her, I saw a bright silver ring on his finger. The light caught it and it flashed so brightly, I could see it all the way over here. It had a really strange shape, like a long, narrow diamond shape. I will never forget that image. But what good would that do the police?”
“A silver ring? Really?” Ethan began. “I’ll bet that would help the police find the killer. An unusual piece of jewelry like that? They could probably check around and find the jeweler that sold or made it and be able to identify the purchaser. Oh, look, the coffee’s ready. Let’s have a cup and then you can call the police. I’ll stay here with you when you call if you’d like.”
Marissa was feeling so much better. This young man’s moving in across the hall was a real Godsend. The coffee smelled fantastic and the company was charming. She’d be able to get through this ordeal in one piece after all. She looked at the coffee Ethan set down in front of her and smiled. He’d added the perfect amount of her favorite creamer and it looked so warm and somehow comforting.
She had finished about half her cup when the began to feel as if something wasn’t quite right.
“Ethan,” she was already slurring her words,” is it me, or does this coffee taste weir…”
The cup slipped from her hand and Ethan caught it before it hit the floor.
“’Weird’? Is that what you were going to ask? Does the coffee taste weird? Truth is, mine was just great. Yours may have seemed a bit off since I spiced it up quite a bit with some of that bottled Prozac you’ve got on the counter. Nice of your doctor to prescribe it like that for you since you can’t swallow pills. Handy, really.”
Ethan began washing the cups and straightening up the kitchen.
“No sense confusing the authorities with extraneous details. The simplest explanation is always the best. You’ve been very depressed of late, and tonight while you were alone, you accidentally took way too much of your medicine. Overdoses are so tragic.”
Marissa was having great difficulty breathing and it was getting harder to keep her eyes open. She looked up at the young man she thought she knew--thought she could trust--and wondered why.
Once all traces of his being there had been wiped clean, on his way out, he decided to explain.
“I had to off that bitch. Just because I got tired of fucking her, she decided she was going to tell her old man I had been helping myself to his investment money. She needed to be silenced, like, permanently. Oh, and the ring you saw? She had that made special for me. It’s supposed to be some kind of Egyptian symbol or something, and was very expensive and one of a kind. One call to the right jeweler and…, well, all I can say is, you should have just closed your curtains and gone to bed.”
He took one last look, and Marissa’s eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow and strained. It should be over by the time he got back to his apartment. The ring should be done soaking in that solution too, he thought, and no more blood should be visible. He looked forward to putting it back on now that he was free to wear it in public. The dumb bitch did have good taste in jewelry, at least. He made sure Marissa’s door was securely locked when he left. These days, one just couldn’t be too careful.
Monday, April 26, 2010
A Real Friend
Here's my entry into Jason Duke's writing contest. Hope you enjoy.
A REAL FRIEND - by J. F. Juzwik
Well, hello. Do you mind if I sit? Have you seen the Crosstown go by yet? I believe it’s the #7. They keep changing the bus routes and numbers on them all the time, and it gets me mixed up sometimes, don’t you know. You too? It’s the times though, don’t you think? The times are so crazy. Can’t even leave the buses alone.
Donut hole? Go ahead. Help yourself. I always buy a box full at Dinah’s Bakery when I’m out this way and if you don’t take some, why, I’ll just end up eating them all up by myself. Now, that wouldn’t be a good thing, would it. Some are glazed and some have sprinkles. Sure. Take a couple of each.
You’re out here visiting your uncle? I see. That’s hard when it’s family. He’s in for writing some bad checks? Oh, well, that’s not too bad. He should probably be coming home to you soon enough. I’m up here to the prison visiting my very bestest friend in the whole world. See, he’s locked up in that death row part because he got himself convicted of several murders in the very first degree. They’re going to do that executing thing in a couple of days and this was the last day he could be visited. They’ll be taking him to a special place down the hall where he’ll be waiting out his final hours. I won’t be there to see them do it to him. I don’t believe I could watch something like that. He’s in there still whining and crying; just like he’s been doing all his life. He never was able to move himself away from that.
You know, I’ve been knowing Jimbo since the very first grade. That’s his name, in case I forgot to mention it. Jimbo McCullough is actually his given name. Well, I do believe it may have been something else McCullough, but Jimbo is what we all ended up calling him. Anyway, Jimbo and me got to be the very bestest friends right from the first day. He was always on the small side, you know, and some of the bigger boys in the bigger grades commenced to picking on him and trying to take his little bit of lunch and snack money. Well, the teacher, she wasn’t paying him any attention at all, so I came upon the scene and told them they’d better stop bothering my friend or else they were going to have some hell to pay. They started laughing and thinking it was all a big joke, but they went away just the same. After school on that very first day, one of those bigger boys got runned over by a car on the highway. Didn’t anybody know how he got over to the highway all by himself either. One good thing did come out of it though. The rest of that bunch didn’t do too much laughing after that for quite some while. Not at anybody.
Jimbo and I were in all the same grades though elementary, middle, junior high and high school. Funny, huh? We always made sure we sat in the same row too, if we could. Those were great days, don’t you know. Well, great days, except for when my friend would be getting picked on and all. All through those times, he stayed kinda small and I’m not sure why they do it, but some folks just seem to try to go out of their way to pick on the smaller ones. You take Jeremiah Copperling. He went all through school with the both of us. Well, at least up until the end of the fifth grade. He had the same teachers and learned the same lessons as us, but the older he got, the stupider he got. It was as if every year that he grew bigger, his brain got emptier. He didn’t know to do anything except to pick on those smaller than him.
He sure was big in those days. I seem to remember one day right in the fifth grade. We were all out running around outside on the playground, you know how kids do, and here comes Jeremiah Copperling, clomping out of the school building out to where us kids were running around. I believe he had been called in to the Principal’s office again for doing something or another. Anyway, he comes out to the playground, and all you had to do was take one good look on that face of his to know that he was looking for trouble and wasn’t going to quit until he found some. He found a group of smaller ones, probably like third or fourth grade maybe, and started kicking mud all over them and pushing and shoving them around. Nobody out there did anything about it, not even the teachers, who mostly just looked the other way. Probably thought he’d kick mud on them and push them around as well.
Jeremiah wasn’t through though, because he came right over to where Jimbo and me were looking over some comics we had bought at the five and dime the Saturday before and Jeremiah just walked over and spit right on them. Yes, that’s what I did say. He just walked up and spit right on our brand new comic books that we had spent our allowance on. Then he started laughing and kicked some mud on both of us and just walked away to go and bother another group of small ones.
Nobody missed Jeremiah the following year when he didn’t show up for sixth grade though. Word went around that he was in one of those house-type hospitals where the patients are living and all, but just pretty much lay around and drool their days away. Some kind of accident, folks said. He was big and clumsy and he fell off of something. Nobody saw him fall sure enough, so the account of it never was very clear.
Jeremiah wasn’t the only one, you see. There was a whole group of them that picked on Jimbo. But, you know, it wasn’t just at the school. They ran together like a pack of something or other and if they saw him out front of his house, they’d pick on him. If they saw him coming out of the five and dime, they’d pick on him. If they saw him going into the grocer’s, they pick on him. It was like they had nothing better to do with their days but to make his life miserable. Things did get just a bit better by the time we graduated from high school though because most of them weren’t around anymore. They were a right dim bunch, probably ought to have been carrying some rabbits’ feet or some such thing. Good luck didn’t really follow these fellows too close, if you know what I mean.
Take Jerry Fuller for a real good sample. He was trucking down Highway 7 going South, and really had the pedal to the metal like he always did. Problem was, when he tried to slow down for that curve out by Aggie’s Bend, you know that one?, his brakes didn’t hold and he just went sailing out over the bluff and right down into Jake Corrigan’s field. His car had flipped a couple times before it landed, and when it did, it caught fire and exploded. Folks were saying that was odd, because the car shouldn’t have caught fire that quick and burned to a crisp like it did, but you know? You never can tell about those things. How would anybody know what a car would or wouldn’t do in that situation. Jerry’s mama was real upset at the funeral because the casket had to be kept shut and she kept telling everybody how she had found out Jerry was alive when the car caught fire and she couldn’t understand why he didn’t get out of it before it exploded. I guess we won’t ever know the answer to that one.
When Jimbo and me finished our school days, we decided to head to the city to get our jobs and make our livings. We both got good jobs working for this medical type place where we pick up and deliver stuff to doctors’ offices and the like. We both had our driving licenses by that time and even though we drove different vans, there were many days when we would meet up and have some burgers and beers together. Weren’t supposed to be having beers of course while we were driving, but nobody ever knew because we made our deliveries and pickups on time. Some days though, Jimbo didn’t make it until late so he only had time for the beer and had to take his burger to go. He never did say where he had been or why he was late, but I never asked either. He was my very bestest friend and you don’t question your very bestest friend. Not ever.
Things were going so good for both of us by then. We had already got us a big place that we shared the bills on. But, you know what? Just when you think things are going to start leveling off for you and maybe have smoother times, those old bad pennies start showing up. Mama used to tell me all the time that you just can’t rid yourself of a bad penny. You can throw it away again and again, but eventually, it’s going to turn up in your pocket. I would ask her, then, how do you rid yourself of a bad penny when it keeps following you wherever you go. She said, you got to bury it, know what I mean? Bury it. Then, it can‘t come back. I knew what she meant and I told Jimbo what she said, and I knew it deep down in my heart that he knew what she meant too.
We were having burgers and beer at lunch during one of our delivery routes, on a Tuesday I believe it was, and who did actually come into the diner where we were eating, but Thomas Krantz and Willie Hoover. Now, I don’t know if those names ring any bells for you, but it sure did chime a dark tune for Jimbo and me. Thomas Krantz and Willie Hoover had went to high school with us and never did anything all during that whole time but bother Jimbo and me. Now, with me, they’d push me in the hallway up against the lockers and such and sometimes spit on my books, but Jimbo? They would get much more rougher with him.
They’d wait for him outside the buildings when we had to go to our different classes, and they would toss his books around on the grass and jump up and down on them, and then push him down and jump up and down on him too. He’d come into the class all bloody and snotty--you know, from crying and all--and the teacher would get so mad at him. Can you believe it? The teacher would get mad at Jimbo and never said one thing to Thomas Krantz or Willie Hoover, who were actually in the same class. They would come in after him and just sit down like nothing at all had been happening and like they were as sweet and fresh as one of mama’s apple pies.
They did see us when they came walking into the diner, and what do you think they did? Why, they just walked over, right in front of everybody and they took Jimbo’s beer and poured it all over his delivery and pickup uniform and dropped his burger on the floor and stepped on it. Just like the teacher in the class too, nobody did anything or even said anything. They just started laughing and walked out. Didn’t order not one thing. It was like they just came over to that part of town into that diner just to ruin Jimbo’s lunch and then go back to wherever it was that they came from. Jimbo started whining and crying, again, as was his custom of doing, and went back to the house to change into a clean uniform and go back to work. That night, we didn’t even speak of it at all.
I have to admit to you that I didn’t feel too badly when I read in the newspaper not too long after that somebody had found their bodies in an alley across town. They were both cut up pretty bad, only the cutting isn’t what they died from. Paper said they were both just cut a lot to where they couldn’t move too well and then they both just laid there and bleeded to death. Took awhile too. Can’t say I was bothered much by that either.
When Jimbo and I next talked, it was at our house that we shared the bills on. He asked if I had seen that in the paper about those two old boys and I told him I did see it. He laughed about it, and I have to tell you, that was a good thing. Jimbo didn’t laugh too much really and it was nice to see him in good spirits for a change.
Life can be a bitter pill to swallow some days--my mama used to say that too sometimes. You’ll never guess who turned up at one of my delivery and pickup doctors’ offices--I believe that was a Monday if I recall correctly. It was one of Jimbo’s and my old teachers from middle school. I remember she was one of the nastiest people I had ever known in my life back then, and it was interesting for real that she was still just as nasty looking. She seen me and remembered me from middle school and started calling me stupid and saying why was I there and why wasn’t I in jail or dead in a field or something. Now, what kind of a way is that to talk to a person? She didn’t have a job in the doctor’s office, but she was one of the sick people waiting to see the doctor. If I had been that doctor, I would not get within ten feet of that dirty old witch, but since I was only the delivery and pickup person, I just put some containers down and took some other ones and left. When I got home at the end of the day though, I told Jimbo all about it. I told him where I saw her and how she acted and all. He got real upset and we didn’t talk about it anymore, and I was glad.
I never did see her ugly face again when I went to deliver and pickup at that doctor’s office. There was a little writeup in the paper awhile after though about her body being found inside her house, which wasn’t all that far from our house that we shared the bills on. She had lots of cords wrapped around her neck and her hands and feet and she was all swelled up and stuff. The paper said she didn’t die easy and that was alright with me. Jimbo laughed about her when I showed him that and I did too. Those were the good times. Yes, they were.
On the day when the police came knocking, now, that was the start of the bad times. I don’t ever remember seeing Jimbo whine and cry that much over anything. They under arrested him for killing some people. They said he killed Thomas Krantz and Willie Hoover. They had a whole list. On the list was old Mrs. Trousdale (the nasty, dirty old teacher I had run into at the doctor‘s office), and then they had some names from our school days, like Jeremiah Copperling and Jerry Fuller too. The other names were some of those boys that used to bother Jimbo and they had all been killed and there was evidence on hand, they said, that made them know that Jimbo had done all the killings.
Well, they did handcuff him and take him out, crying and whining, but you knew that, didn’t you? When they did his trial, he went through boxes of tissues and you should have seen him when they said they were going to do the executing thing to him. He just about fell over, but I suppose anybody would have done that under the same situation. Then they locked him up in the death row part so he could do his waiting, and now his waiting is almost over. I’ve been coming up to the prison to visit him ever since and do you know, that he has never grown up. He has never even tried to. He keeps whining and crying about all of this and this time, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I had to set him straight once and for all.
I let him know that today was going to have to be the last time I would be let in to see him since his executing would be coming soon and I said this is going to be your last chance to act like a man. I told him that I hoped he knew just how lucky he has been during his whole life because he had me with him all during it. Not very many people are so lucky as him to have a friend like me--I mean, a real friend. One who will do things to help you get grown and so you can stand up straight and tall and hold your head up. Well, I did those kinds of things for Jimbo--things that would make people look up to him and be afeared of him so he could stop all his whining and crying, and did he appreciate it? Not one little bit.
Here, I killed all them for him--I ‘buried’ all those bad pennies mama talked about and left something of Jimbo’s there so the police would know it was him who had done them all. Then, you see, people wouldn’t pick on him any more because they’d know they’d end up dead if they did. I looked him right in his eyes and told him when he was on his way to meet his maker, he should square his shoulders back and lay nice and straight and tall on that table when they stick him and be proud because nobody believed he was a pussy anymore. I did that. I did that for him. Because I was always his very bestest friend. A real friend.
Oh, I see the #7 coming. I need to get my fare out. The driver doesn’t like it when you start digging in your pockets after you get on. He likes the fare put in right away. You can keep the rest of those donut holes if you like. I shouldn’t take them with me because from here I’m going to visit my new bestest friend, Tyler. Tyler Johanson. Can’t bring sweets into his house, you see, all because of his missus. She won’t tolerate sweets in the house, or strong drink either. Truly, she doesn’t tolerate much of anything being brought into the house. Tyler having people over either. Now, my friend, Tyler, he generally lets her have her way about most things. He says it’s easier on him if he doesn’t create a fuss with her. But I’m helping him with that because I’m his very bestest friend. Really.
A REAL FRIEND - by J. F. Juzwik
Well, hello. Do you mind if I sit? Have you seen the Crosstown go by yet? I believe it’s the #7. They keep changing the bus routes and numbers on them all the time, and it gets me mixed up sometimes, don’t you know. You too? It’s the times though, don’t you think? The times are so crazy. Can’t even leave the buses alone.
Donut hole? Go ahead. Help yourself. I always buy a box full at Dinah’s Bakery when I’m out this way and if you don’t take some, why, I’ll just end up eating them all up by myself. Now, that wouldn’t be a good thing, would it. Some are glazed and some have sprinkles. Sure. Take a couple of each.
You’re out here visiting your uncle? I see. That’s hard when it’s family. He’s in for writing some bad checks? Oh, well, that’s not too bad. He should probably be coming home to you soon enough. I’m up here to the prison visiting my very bestest friend in the whole world. See, he’s locked up in that death row part because he got himself convicted of several murders in the very first degree. They’re going to do that executing thing in a couple of days and this was the last day he could be visited. They’ll be taking him to a special place down the hall where he’ll be waiting out his final hours. I won’t be there to see them do it to him. I don’t believe I could watch something like that. He’s in there still whining and crying; just like he’s been doing all his life. He never was able to move himself away from that.
You know, I’ve been knowing Jimbo since the very first grade. That’s his name, in case I forgot to mention it. Jimbo McCullough is actually his given name. Well, I do believe it may have been something else McCullough, but Jimbo is what we all ended up calling him. Anyway, Jimbo and me got to be the very bestest friends right from the first day. He was always on the small side, you know, and some of the bigger boys in the bigger grades commenced to picking on him and trying to take his little bit of lunch and snack money. Well, the teacher, she wasn’t paying him any attention at all, so I came upon the scene and told them they’d better stop bothering my friend or else they were going to have some hell to pay. They started laughing and thinking it was all a big joke, but they went away just the same. After school on that very first day, one of those bigger boys got runned over by a car on the highway. Didn’t anybody know how he got over to the highway all by himself either. One good thing did come out of it though. The rest of that bunch didn’t do too much laughing after that for quite some while. Not at anybody.
Jimbo and I were in all the same grades though elementary, middle, junior high and high school. Funny, huh? We always made sure we sat in the same row too, if we could. Those were great days, don’t you know. Well, great days, except for when my friend would be getting picked on and all. All through those times, he stayed kinda small and I’m not sure why they do it, but some folks just seem to try to go out of their way to pick on the smaller ones. You take Jeremiah Copperling. He went all through school with the both of us. Well, at least up until the end of the fifth grade. He had the same teachers and learned the same lessons as us, but the older he got, the stupider he got. It was as if every year that he grew bigger, his brain got emptier. He didn’t know to do anything except to pick on those smaller than him.
He sure was big in those days. I seem to remember one day right in the fifth grade. We were all out running around outside on the playground, you know how kids do, and here comes Jeremiah Copperling, clomping out of the school building out to where us kids were running around. I believe he had been called in to the Principal’s office again for doing something or another. Anyway, he comes out to the playground, and all you had to do was take one good look on that face of his to know that he was looking for trouble and wasn’t going to quit until he found some. He found a group of smaller ones, probably like third or fourth grade maybe, and started kicking mud all over them and pushing and shoving them around. Nobody out there did anything about it, not even the teachers, who mostly just looked the other way. Probably thought he’d kick mud on them and push them around as well.
Jeremiah wasn’t through though, because he came right over to where Jimbo and me were looking over some comics we had bought at the five and dime the Saturday before and Jeremiah just walked over and spit right on them. Yes, that’s what I did say. He just walked up and spit right on our brand new comic books that we had spent our allowance on. Then he started laughing and kicked some mud on both of us and just walked away to go and bother another group of small ones.
Nobody missed Jeremiah the following year when he didn’t show up for sixth grade though. Word went around that he was in one of those house-type hospitals where the patients are living and all, but just pretty much lay around and drool their days away. Some kind of accident, folks said. He was big and clumsy and he fell off of something. Nobody saw him fall sure enough, so the account of it never was very clear.
Jeremiah wasn’t the only one, you see. There was a whole group of them that picked on Jimbo. But, you know, it wasn’t just at the school. They ran together like a pack of something or other and if they saw him out front of his house, they’d pick on him. If they saw him coming out of the five and dime, they’d pick on him. If they saw him going into the grocer’s, they pick on him. It was like they had nothing better to do with their days but to make his life miserable. Things did get just a bit better by the time we graduated from high school though because most of them weren’t around anymore. They were a right dim bunch, probably ought to have been carrying some rabbits’ feet or some such thing. Good luck didn’t really follow these fellows too close, if you know what I mean.
Take Jerry Fuller for a real good sample. He was trucking down Highway 7 going South, and really had the pedal to the metal like he always did. Problem was, when he tried to slow down for that curve out by Aggie’s Bend, you know that one?, his brakes didn’t hold and he just went sailing out over the bluff and right down into Jake Corrigan’s field. His car had flipped a couple times before it landed, and when it did, it caught fire and exploded. Folks were saying that was odd, because the car shouldn’t have caught fire that quick and burned to a crisp like it did, but you know? You never can tell about those things. How would anybody know what a car would or wouldn’t do in that situation. Jerry’s mama was real upset at the funeral because the casket had to be kept shut and she kept telling everybody how she had found out Jerry was alive when the car caught fire and she couldn’t understand why he didn’t get out of it before it exploded. I guess we won’t ever know the answer to that one.
When Jimbo and me finished our school days, we decided to head to the city to get our jobs and make our livings. We both got good jobs working for this medical type place where we pick up and deliver stuff to doctors’ offices and the like. We both had our driving licenses by that time and even though we drove different vans, there were many days when we would meet up and have some burgers and beers together. Weren’t supposed to be having beers of course while we were driving, but nobody ever knew because we made our deliveries and pickups on time. Some days though, Jimbo didn’t make it until late so he only had time for the beer and had to take his burger to go. He never did say where he had been or why he was late, but I never asked either. He was my very bestest friend and you don’t question your very bestest friend. Not ever.
Things were going so good for both of us by then. We had already got us a big place that we shared the bills on. But, you know what? Just when you think things are going to start leveling off for you and maybe have smoother times, those old bad pennies start showing up. Mama used to tell me all the time that you just can’t rid yourself of a bad penny. You can throw it away again and again, but eventually, it’s going to turn up in your pocket. I would ask her, then, how do you rid yourself of a bad penny when it keeps following you wherever you go. She said, you got to bury it, know what I mean? Bury it. Then, it can‘t come back. I knew what she meant and I told Jimbo what she said, and I knew it deep down in my heart that he knew what she meant too.
We were having burgers and beer at lunch during one of our delivery routes, on a Tuesday I believe it was, and who did actually come into the diner where we were eating, but Thomas Krantz and Willie Hoover. Now, I don’t know if those names ring any bells for you, but it sure did chime a dark tune for Jimbo and me. Thomas Krantz and Willie Hoover had went to high school with us and never did anything all during that whole time but bother Jimbo and me. Now, with me, they’d push me in the hallway up against the lockers and such and sometimes spit on my books, but Jimbo? They would get much more rougher with him.
They’d wait for him outside the buildings when we had to go to our different classes, and they would toss his books around on the grass and jump up and down on them, and then push him down and jump up and down on him too. He’d come into the class all bloody and snotty--you know, from crying and all--and the teacher would get so mad at him. Can you believe it? The teacher would get mad at Jimbo and never said one thing to Thomas Krantz or Willie Hoover, who were actually in the same class. They would come in after him and just sit down like nothing at all had been happening and like they were as sweet and fresh as one of mama’s apple pies.
They did see us when they came walking into the diner, and what do you think they did? Why, they just walked over, right in front of everybody and they took Jimbo’s beer and poured it all over his delivery and pickup uniform and dropped his burger on the floor and stepped on it. Just like the teacher in the class too, nobody did anything or even said anything. They just started laughing and walked out. Didn’t order not one thing. It was like they just came over to that part of town into that diner just to ruin Jimbo’s lunch and then go back to wherever it was that they came from. Jimbo started whining and crying, again, as was his custom of doing, and went back to the house to change into a clean uniform and go back to work. That night, we didn’t even speak of it at all.
I have to admit to you that I didn’t feel too badly when I read in the newspaper not too long after that somebody had found their bodies in an alley across town. They were both cut up pretty bad, only the cutting isn’t what they died from. Paper said they were both just cut a lot to where they couldn’t move too well and then they both just laid there and bleeded to death. Took awhile too. Can’t say I was bothered much by that either.
When Jimbo and I next talked, it was at our house that we shared the bills on. He asked if I had seen that in the paper about those two old boys and I told him I did see it. He laughed about it, and I have to tell you, that was a good thing. Jimbo didn’t laugh too much really and it was nice to see him in good spirits for a change.
Life can be a bitter pill to swallow some days--my mama used to say that too sometimes. You’ll never guess who turned up at one of my delivery and pickup doctors’ offices--I believe that was a Monday if I recall correctly. It was one of Jimbo’s and my old teachers from middle school. I remember she was one of the nastiest people I had ever known in my life back then, and it was interesting for real that she was still just as nasty looking. She seen me and remembered me from middle school and started calling me stupid and saying why was I there and why wasn’t I in jail or dead in a field or something. Now, what kind of a way is that to talk to a person? She didn’t have a job in the doctor’s office, but she was one of the sick people waiting to see the doctor. If I had been that doctor, I would not get within ten feet of that dirty old witch, but since I was only the delivery and pickup person, I just put some containers down and took some other ones and left. When I got home at the end of the day though, I told Jimbo all about it. I told him where I saw her and how she acted and all. He got real upset and we didn’t talk about it anymore, and I was glad.
I never did see her ugly face again when I went to deliver and pickup at that doctor’s office. There was a little writeup in the paper awhile after though about her body being found inside her house, which wasn’t all that far from our house that we shared the bills on. She had lots of cords wrapped around her neck and her hands and feet and she was all swelled up and stuff. The paper said she didn’t die easy and that was alright with me. Jimbo laughed about her when I showed him that and I did too. Those were the good times. Yes, they were.
On the day when the police came knocking, now, that was the start of the bad times. I don’t ever remember seeing Jimbo whine and cry that much over anything. They under arrested him for killing some people. They said he killed Thomas Krantz and Willie Hoover. They had a whole list. On the list was old Mrs. Trousdale (the nasty, dirty old teacher I had run into at the doctor‘s office), and then they had some names from our school days, like Jeremiah Copperling and Jerry Fuller too. The other names were some of those boys that used to bother Jimbo and they had all been killed and there was evidence on hand, they said, that made them know that Jimbo had done all the killings.
Well, they did handcuff him and take him out, crying and whining, but you knew that, didn’t you? When they did his trial, he went through boxes of tissues and you should have seen him when they said they were going to do the executing thing to him. He just about fell over, but I suppose anybody would have done that under the same situation. Then they locked him up in the death row part so he could do his waiting, and now his waiting is almost over. I’ve been coming up to the prison to visit him ever since and do you know, that he has never grown up. He has never even tried to. He keeps whining and crying about all of this and this time, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I had to set him straight once and for all.
I let him know that today was going to have to be the last time I would be let in to see him since his executing would be coming soon and I said this is going to be your last chance to act like a man. I told him that I hoped he knew just how lucky he has been during his whole life because he had me with him all during it. Not very many people are so lucky as him to have a friend like me--I mean, a real friend. One who will do things to help you get grown and so you can stand up straight and tall and hold your head up. Well, I did those kinds of things for Jimbo--things that would make people look up to him and be afeared of him so he could stop all his whining and crying, and did he appreciate it? Not one little bit.
Here, I killed all them for him--I ‘buried’ all those bad pennies mama talked about and left something of Jimbo’s there so the police would know it was him who had done them all. Then, you see, people wouldn’t pick on him any more because they’d know they’d end up dead if they did. I looked him right in his eyes and told him when he was on his way to meet his maker, he should square his shoulders back and lay nice and straight and tall on that table when they stick him and be proud because nobody believed he was a pussy anymore. I did that. I did that for him. Because I was always his very bestest friend. A real friend.
Oh, I see the #7 coming. I need to get my fare out. The driver doesn’t like it when you start digging in your pockets after you get on. He likes the fare put in right away. You can keep the rest of those donut holes if you like. I shouldn’t take them with me because from here I’m going to visit my new bestest friend, Tyler. Tyler Johanson. Can’t bring sweets into his house, you see, all because of his missus. She won’t tolerate sweets in the house, or strong drink either. Truly, she doesn’t tolerate much of anything being brought into the house. Tyler having people over either. Now, my friend, Tyler, he generally lets her have her way about most things. He says it’s easier on him if he doesn’t create a fuss with her. But I’m helping him with that because I’m his very bestest friend. Really.
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