Five in the Stone

Tears rolled down the cheeks of Alice as she gripped her fathers hand. He was nervous, blood shot, and the fear was in his eyes. "Its okay, Dad. Its just a check up." She heard herself say reassuringly. She knew it wouldn't be. 

Barney, her father aged 67, was a large man. An electrician all his life, Barney never had trouble putting away the meals from his dutiful wife, Jane, after coming back from strange hours, missed holidays, forgotten birthdays and long nights he had put in for the company his own father had worked for. While his absence was ever noticeable, his love was not. 

His love for his wife, children, and anything nearly consumable was known in most social circles around town. Somehow the man could drink, eat, inhale, inject, snort and swallow; and still come home and be a functional father. Nobody could prove it and nobody ever caught him but they all heard the rumors. 

Barney was seen here and there, doing this and that, with someone and somebody. Jane would get so worried she'd have private detectives follow him everywhere; they even infiltrated his workplace and would sit in the nearby bathroom stalls with recording equipment. She had the small town equivalent of the FBI after him. Detectives would run into each other and eventually they all became drinking buddies. 

But the love at home was the most evidential. Every one of Barney's seven children felt equally cared for and paid attention to by their father. He didn't go home and kick up with a beer and watch TV but he'd watch them. He'd know all their friends (both real and imaginary), help figure out their homework, talk about the after school activities, have a strong shoulder for the failed relationships and was happy when they married. He was always there even when he was barely there. 

So that even when the kid's, for their entire adolescence, were assaulted with these rumors, that grew more bizarre by every passing year, they listened attentively but never really believed them. They thought their mother was a nervous wreck for even entertaining the towns ideas about their father.

But the rumors grew. As the family got older, moved out, and brought around grandchildren; so did the rumors. Federal agents replaced Jane's army of detectives solely on the basis that Barney's "habits" had fuled the Midwest illegal drug industry on his 50th birthday. Nobody ever forgot, that day, of the line of white vans down the neighborhood block and the strange talking one would hear if they picked up a phone and especially the guy who fell down the chimney and let himself out the front door with a walkie talkie in hand. 

What did Barney himself think of all this? What was his alibi for this web of mystery? 

Barney would laugh with a lively twinkle in his eye and say something like "the proof is in the pudding" or "they never did like ol' Barney, did they?" and the personal favorite "three fingers round is worth five in the stone, remember that, laddie". 

Unfortunately, Jane didn't share the same  sentiment. She died on March, 6th, 2004; from complications after a head on collision with a former detective. The detective walked away unscathed but it had seemed that all the years of loyalty and jealousy had taken it's toll. 

She still clung onto her fears as she died in the hospital with Barney at her side. She took the crash as another superstition and cried in Barney's arms as she could be heard wailing "is it true?! Please, tell me its not true!". The official cause of death was ruled as a broken heart. 

Barney walked out the hospital with tears in his eyes and never told anyone about it. He was dead silent through the entire funeral. He shed no tears.

Part II

Alice, the third youngest of the seven children, slowly walked her decrepit father up to the hospital doors and waited as nurses went through usual procedures that she had been through for several months now.

It had been fourteen years since her mother had died, her father took the role of widower with solitude. He retired from the electrical company the year after her mother had died and spent most of his retirement as a recluse. The family home now felt empty, full of ghosts and shadows, and it depressed the kid's to see the warm home, they remember, turn into a cold, dark, recess of memories. He still cracked a smile when he saw his children, cooed the grandchildren, but it felt emotionally empty. He never talked about their mother but they all could see it in his eyes. A distant look that pondered many things and never seemed to resolve any of them. 

Several months ago, Barney fell down the stairs and it wasn't until Alice, who came to drop off the annual holiday string bean casserole, discovered him lying in a mixture of blood and other various bodily fluids. 

The hospital later told her that he had been lying there for 3 ½ days. 

During the physical rehab that followed, doctors began to discover that his physical health started to decline with each visit. Since then, she began to routinely take her father to the doctor once a week. 

But she knew today would be different. 

Last week, his doctor pulled her aside after the check up and told her that his failing health had been due to major drug withdrawal. The most serious that he and his colleagues had ever seen. "Whatever he had been doing, he was doing for decades, by our estimations. We are not exactly sure what because traces of almost every common street narcotic known to man have been found in his system. We are not sure why he's not showing the extreme symptoms of withdrawal that we usually see in drug patients but we conclude this to the apparent time hes been consuming these". He said with a hushed voice. 

He leaned in and said "now, it's not the medical professional's business to lecture a patient or their family but I must implore you that he must be watched at all times.  Any further use of any narcotic, a pain pill for example, will kill him. My advice is to hold him under hospital observation but I'm afraid that there isn't much we can do. His condition is deteriorating rapidly". 

Alice looked blankly at the collar of the doctor's shirt, amazed and frightened, she couldn't speak. A tear ran down her cheek and she suddenly looked up, brushing it with a finger, and after a few minutes, finally said "can I at least have the rest of the day with him? I will bring him back first thing tomorrow". 

The doctor stood silent before slowly nodding as he said "the authorities must be contacted. You and I both know why". 

Alice walked away. 

The FBI officially gave up their case in 2005 with the retirement of Barney. The papers were headlined with the official apology from the head of the FBI at the time. They offered an undisclosed amount of money to resolve damages but Barney, being Barney, declined and celebrated with a feast for this entire family. 

He stood up towards the end of the meal, his entire family around him, and declared "I wish Jane could be here to see us. Look at us. I have more grandchildren than I can count and my children have been completely stable since their conception".

He paused, looking around the table before continuing, "True, I worked very hard, I couldn't spend the time that I wanted with you all; especially Jane. Our family has had to endure his very long situation that has made us all suffer. It took my Jane away from me. But I knew even then, even when my Janie would cry and confess how she would hire men to follow me around, that our name was looked at with a distrustful hatred, that my children were being tormented because of lies spread about me; I knew then that this would be all over as abruptly as it began". 

Alice remembered coming up to him after the dinner, herself being in her late 20s, but feeling as a child again as she asked sheepishly "is it really over?". He laughed, something she had not seen him do since the last time he saw her parents together, and said "aye, remember what I told you when you could still fit on my knee. Three fingers round, Alice. Three fingers round". It was moments like these that each of the seven children could tell themselves that they were their fathers favorite. 

Alice, now in her early 40s, sat at the edge of that same table, the family dinner table, the same faithful family table she spent so much of her life at, and cautiously awed her father as he paced around the kitchen at a lethargic pace. 

She had just told him what the doctor said. As usual, he was silent, but he seemed a lot more thoughtful and grim at this moment. She wondered if it was because what the doctor had said about the police was true, if it was because he was afraid to die, if her mother's suspicion that took her to the grave was true. She was so confused and scared that she couldn't muster up the courage to ask. 

Barney paused, mid pace, and began as he looked to a corner of the room but not with any sort of eye contact: "a man has two options in his life, two directions in life, Alice. He sees others going about in life, failing and succeeding, he takes notes. He learns from the failures and applies what works. Intrinsic concepts, the right and the wrong, are these directions that humanity is constantly doing a ballet between. It intertwines and recedes like the delicate feet of a dancer". He stops again. 

"I'm saying that there are choices that sometimes must be made without a direction. You have a goal but you don't know how to get there. You see maps everywhere but they're all different. Ways and paths beyond your comprehension. Advice only gets you a few more miles ahead. So, you take a chance and wonder until it makes sense. Unfortunately, Alice, it never began to make sense. Jane and the family are the only thing that ever made sense. I could see it, feel it, and experience it all. But what do I have left, Alice? My role has been sufficient and I believe that it is time for it to come to an end". Alice cried quietly. 

Barney walked up to her, embraced her head towards himself, and stroked the top of her head as she cried. 

Part III

Alice and her father slowly made their way through the hospital, behind the nurses, he didn't know it but he began to gradually grip harder as they got closer and closer to his room. 

When they were down the hallway, they noticed the familiar sight of government men as they stood beside the door of his room; hands to their ears and sunglasses to hide their appearance. They nodded at Alice as she walked past them, almost like trying to make her feel that she did the right thing, but she wasn't sure at all. Nothing made sense. She began to grip his hand harder too. 

As tears strolled down her cheeks, she sat him up in his bed, and kissed his forehead. He smiled and kissed her hand. Her loving father. The one who beat her own mother to first hold her. The one who read to her at night when it was too scary. The one who knew all her friends and the one who's shoulder she cried on; the one who loved her when she was unlovable. The strong and energetic man she once knew sat in that hospital bed, still smiling as wide as ever but one who looked as weak as her in this moment. His face spoke strength but his eyes screamed fear. More tears came when she noticed. 

He looked like a child who sat there patiently waiting for something. He rubbed her shoulder, it was shaking, then pulled them back and folded them together. He trained his eyes towards the front of him. 

The agents walked her out and she looked behind her and saw that her father held up three fingers and said "remember, Alice, remember". An agent pulled up a chair towards him and began to talk to him. She didn't hear. Another agent began to close the door. She noticed her father began to speak. 

Three years later, Alice sits at her childhood family table. Her own family sits around her and her husband, George; who she met quickly after her father's passing. She's smiling, her family is happy and healthy. Each child says that they're their father's favorite. 

As her eyes scan across the old table, they rest upon a folded up newspaper that George happened to just finish. The headline "Miracle Junkie Grandpa Tells All In Court". Below the headline was a fuzzy black and white picture of an elderly man on the stand, swearing the oath, with three fingers. She ignored it and smiled at her husband. They kissed. George's hand rested on her pregnant stomach and began to massage it as he kissed her. 

Hallmark's Christlessness

The director, Fritz Bullinger, of the newest Hallmark movie (the 12th this year) sat down for an interview this morning, in our studio, to talk about the production of the latest holiday exclusive Santa Got Ran Down by Grandma. 

"FB: It was a delightful little set, procured by the higher ups, in Rockford, Illinois. A shabby little studio, though not a problem for CG. The natural atmosphere we were able to use was absolutely amazing, the streets were completely ours, and only 4 crew members were wounded by gunfire. 

GMA: One thing me, and I'm sure all our viewers, have always wanted to know is what does the behind the scenes of a Hallmark movie look like? How does one begin? 

FB: We'll we usually have a script, I tell you Darwin himself couldn't have put together a more fantastic team of writers than the Hallmark staff...

GMA: Fritz, Fritz, I'm sure even the more unavant gare members of our audience understand the actual movie making process. I mean more about the relationship between Hallmark and the director; neoclassism vs the bourgeoisie if you will. 

FB: Well, it's all a mystery. Most of it is shrouded in secrecy and blood oaths, but to my knowledge, there is a office meeting every January where the studio picks out directiors for the seasonal films. A handpicked staff is almost always included with the director of their choosing; which is a very strange practice. At the same time, scripts are prepared and given out to the list of directors, once it is decided upon who will direct, and it is always at random. 

GMA: So what's the mystery?

FB: *pulls out an organic vape*

GMA: You can't smoke on live television, Fritz. 

FB: It's vegan. I swear. *Rips a big fat juicy cloud that hangs over the studio*

FB: Anyway, the mystery is how they make their millions! This formula they use, captivates an entire part of the country every year. You American white women are truly amazing! My fellow directors and I make more through the chocolate bon bon advertisements than we do all year with our own projects! 

GMA: *choking on vape cloud and trying to fan it away from her face* Facisinating. *cough* Facisinating. Tell us, what is the story of the film?

FB: To tell you the truth, I'm a little rusty *laughter* 

I only spent twelve minutes reading the script but I can tell you for sure that it is about a desperate widow, haunted by the memories of her mother being whisked away by an older man's charm and deceit only to be killed in an automobile accident (that also included her husband), is torn between reconsiliation with the older man and move her adopted child from Ethiopia in with the older man with the intent to marry him (the ethiopian, not the older man).

OR choose to be swooned by the beautiful billionaire extraordinaire (played by your's truly) that is out to claim insurance fraud from the older man and inherit the widow and child by anicent near eastern rituals. It's a story of eldership and the delusion of capital interest. 

GMA: Wow. Oscar worthy material, Fritz. 

FB: You better believe it! And the cast! The cast is something else! Hallmark really put out all the fixings on this one. We've got Elliot Page as The Widow, President Joe Biden as The Older Man, Shelly Duvall as The Mother, Mel Brooks as The Ghost of The Husband, Justin Trudeau as The Ethiopian and Me as The Billionaire! You just can't make these things up! 

GMA: Indeed. Tell us, with such an eccentric cast, what was the atmosphere like behind the camera?

FB: It was a rush. So much cocaine. My assistant could put a wall street broaker to shame. The amount of narcotics could put ol' Ozzy in a 10 minute coma but let me tell you what was most important to me behind set; friendship. 

It was beautiful, I've never seen anything quite like it in a cast, why Miss Duvall couldn't stop shaking a person's hand for at least ten minutes on the first day! Trudeau would help give me steroid injections every morning! I've never been more affectionately caressed than by my faithful crew members completely high on PCP. 

GMA: Mr Bullinger, you do know that narcotics are still mostly illegal in America?

FB: *laughs* Not in Rockford, Illinois my girl! Don't be silly! We're not in the 20th century anymore. At my ranch in Oregon, I have a fully equipped pharmacy inside the frame of my bed! 

GMA: Wonderful. Now, sir, how do you regard the controversy surrounding the fact of an all white cast? 

FB: First of all, don't assume my pronouns, lassie, and second, I'd say that the cast is about as diverse as you can get. Trudeau is as black as North American oil, we had the eldery, transgenders, the food we ate was mostly chinese, Barney the Dinosaur was an extra and Mel Gibson was everybody's stunt double. I mean, Netflix has pedophiles but Hallmark has family values. 

GMA: That's quite a bold statement. Controversial even. How would your opinions sit with Hallmark exec's? 

FB: (The following was removed due to conflict of executive interest, for more information see court documents filed under Hallmark Entertainment Vs. NBC Studios)

GMA: Uttery amazing. The boys upstairs will have a field day with this one. Now. On another note. What problems has Covid-19 brought upon the set?

FB: *Panting from exhaustion* Well. *Exhales* It was rough. My assistant's immune system was compromised due to all the abuse it had been put through. She got Rona. 2 boom operators died from it but luckily if you stack enough children inside a trench coat; anything is possible. 

Mr Page wouldn't touch any food with a ten foot pole and announced (via Instagram) a Gandhi like fast for most of the production; CG does wonders, I tell ya. President Biden was so exhausted that he had each of his limbs electronically rigged by remote control; courtesy of Mrs Kamala Harris and Mr Elon Musk. I, myself, was on so much cough syrup that I was constantly robbed at gunpoint each time we did any production outside the studio. 

You've ever had a .22 pointed at your head? Absolutely ghastly. 

The state of Illinois, and the mayor of Rockford, were kind enough to shut down the entire city by roadblock and had the national guard man checkpoints. Army engineers had it looking like Afghanistan by week two of filming.

AND THE PROTESTS *smacks table*, LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THE PROTESTS, they were everywhere. Even on the rooftops. They didn't wear masks and almost ruined our outside production by their Spotify playlists. The chief of police gave us armed escorts; even to McDonald's. 

GMA: Who's footing the bill for this? 

FB: Taxpayers, of course. 

GMA: Final Question. What is your description of The Holiday Spirit?

FB: Hmmm *fat vape cloud* The Christmas Spirit? 

GMA: You can't say Christmas on live television. *cough*

FB: Oh, Sorry. *Clears nostrils, spits* Umm yeah, The Holiday Spirit, I'd describe it/she/him/them/they like I'd describe from my childhood. 

The Salvation Army guys jing jangling in your ear, parental arguments, alcohol, fruit cake, socks in your stocking, and oh yeah; That God Guy. The one with the catholic mom. Man, i miss him coming down the chimney. 

GMA: Well, we are out of time! That was director Fritz Bullinger, everyone! Santa Got Ran Down by Grandma will premier December 25th, some time in your time zone, on The Hallmark Channel. The soundtrack, including such artists as Bad Religion, 7 Time Grammy Award winner Taylor Swift, King Diamond, The Hillsong Ch*rch Choir, and Drake will be out on Spotify tonight! This has been Ginger Zee from Good! Morning! America!"

The Sheep Vs. The Slaughtered

The Sheep vs. The Slaughtered

Hello District Residents, the following is a state sponsored message: As you all know, the season that was once called "Thanksgiving" is upon us, this was fully recognized by the state to be a harmful cultural tradition as it promoted the horrifying (yet strategically genius) genocide of what was once called "The Native American People". As you all know, there is no such "people group" in our beloved state. Such cultural barbarianism has been done away with.  What the state has put in place of this tradition is a day of love between comrades; Friendship Day.  On this day, we’ll be expressing words (approved by the state of course) of thanks at a heightened level. The following are some phrases recommended by the state as loving and helpful to your fellow comrade. What if we all put those phrases into action? Words: Since I’m thankful for you, I want to keep you safe. Action: I’ll wear a mask and report anyone, not doing so, to the local police force. Violators will be shot on sight.  Words: Since you rely on me to take care of you and I know you’re grateful for that, I want to keep myself safe. Action: I’ll never go to any parties unless they are state sponsored. I'll stay home and study Chancellor Brad Hart's sacred four volume biography and other party sponsored archive material.  Words: I want (and need) for all the children to be educated by state sponsored schools, and I’m thankful for all the adults, teachers, and armed comrades who work hard to keep children safe. Action: I will take all the precautions to help reduce common sense and mistrust in our comrades. As we all share words of gratitude, let’s work hard to make them tangible, actionable. If we want to experience children back to the state sponsored schools, the community must take action to reduce the spread of common sense. Anything common is evil and suspicious. Remember, we need healthy, educated, comrades to make our schools run smoothly. This is a community issue, not a party issue. I am thankful, in advance, for the fear that will keep us all in line. On a personal note . . . I am thankful. Please enjoy your state sponsored entertainment and be loyal. Happy Friendship Day.  In solidarity, Don Knott's III Kommodant of District 7

Fever Dream (The Martial Law Diaries - Part Three)

 (Week 38, Day 3852 of Quarantine)

Where do the shadows go? 

Do they hide away from the darkness or do they stalk the corners of light?

I saw them moving on rooftops, shuffling around, and talking in the wind. I could see them inside the windowpanes of houses. They disappear in the diffused glow of old lightbulbs. They sit on the street corners, cautiously checking both directions before running across the dark roads, and hold hands in a cold affection. 

The green glow of security lights hum in offices and banks. You can't see them in there but you know they were there. Some are tired, old, and ruffle through empty cash registers so that the others don't ask questions. Some hide in plain sight, or should I say plain light, even through the blinding rays of a spotlight, you can see them wrap themselves against the walls of buildings. Sometimes you share a glimpse between them and consider it something that wasn't supposed to happen. They laugh and yell with no expression but the noise always follows you in a way that lets you know that it at least happened. 

Car lights invade and street lights stand still. Things move and you question why. I've seen entire scenes played out in front of me but could only assume what happened. The shadows cover you in a way that makes you feel invincible; the light only reminds you that you aren't. 

Kisses are shared and intimate moments are felt in a way you can't forget but can't remember. Eyes peer out and you wonder what they see. Entire lives are played out and you only caught a glimpse. 

I've stood inside buildings and called out to them but they never come out. You feel them around you, they sometimes can be heard moving around, but you never see them. I've sat in busy offices and walked around crowded stores but never saw anybody.

It's a quiet world. You do things that you wouldn't normally do for the simple fact that nobody can see you except the shadows. You perform for them, talk to them, even yell at them, and they always seem to listen. It's like living inside your own mind but you can move about freely and feel things you can't in dreams. The dull moments slowly play without regard of time and go nowhere. Staring up at the big billboards feels like your the only one that can but the words on it mean nothing to so who are they for?

If you look hard and long enough, the light will return, and you turn around to see that everything wasn't how it was. A change that you can only feel. You retreat into yourself until the moment comes again when you feel no one is watching.        

     

Beesechurger

Seeptown

(Found artifact found in the library of Nicholas Clay)

"April, 13, 1904

From the Parishoners desk of:

St. Peter Presbyterian Church of the Nicene Creed in Seeptown, IA

The casserole Miss Abdy made was burnt this week. Karen Butterfield put too much flour in the pie mixture. Little Johnny urinated on the recently cleaned carpet and Dorcas Doolittle spilled chocolate fondue all over our marbleized baptistry set. That will cost a lot.

Thanks a lot Mr. Doolittle for angrily beating your wife and forcing us to perform church discipline on you for the fifteenth time. Your wife is a befuddled individual. Doesn't know what to do with her free time. You should be ashamed.

Anyway, in more joyful setting, Sally Mayweather passed her first Sunday School exam with flying colors, exceeding all her counterparts in Mr. Boddicks classroom by reciting the Lord's prayer in both English and Germanic, as well as French, Dutch, Swedish, and shall we not forget Koine Greek. She is an inspiration to us all.

Well, time forbids me to write further, so I shall finish by making remarks on Jed Smeagles and Belinda Burkhiuse's recent departure into the eternal realm.

May God's grace shine upon their families during this difficult time.

Signed

Edward T Jave"

The church was later burned and rebuilt by Mongolian raiders searching for beef on the outer edges of the Bermuda Triangle.

ACABradabra

 Iowa City Protests 6/2 - 6/5

''ACAB  ACABracadabra

I wanna reach out and grab ya
ACABracadabra
ACABracadabra

Every time you call my name
I heat up like a burning flame...

I heat up, I can't cool down
My situation goes 'round and 'round
I heat up, I can't cool down
My situation goes 'round and 'round
I heat up, I can't cool down

My situation goes 'round and 'round'' 

- Steve Miller Band, Abracadabra, 1982*

*I do not condone what has been going on here in Iowa City nor do I support BLM. These were all the pictures I took during that time because I was mostly trying to listen and figure out where everyone was coming from. I don't have much to say about it nor do I feel like I have to say anything about it.

Is It Over?

(Week Eleven) 

Day 3660 of Quarantine. The notches on my wall are one and nineteen more.

While scribbling notes on my wrist, I looked outside, and saw the sky darkened with the hoards of Murder Hornets surrounding the city. Bill Gates has deployed his Nazi army to counterattack but are not successful. The Hornets have overridden city hall, taken the public servants hostage, and refuse to come out until they are sacrificed a young florist, with a taste for free form Jazz, to appease their murderous rage. Ring the cowbell; sanity is over.

HAIL CARONA! HAIL CARONA! HAIL CARONA! The words slowly repeat as they scroll horizontally across the bottom of every news broadcast. I rub my eyes, reddened by the abuse of electronic screens, and switch the channel. I dully changed each channel until I got bored and let it stop on the Spanish channel. Instantly, there were a rush of camera angles rotating around a mother and her son. Her face clearly indicated that he had just told her something incredible. Fuzzy flash edits and quick face zooms sloppily put together; it felt like I was watching something from The Sims.

Isn't this it? Sitting there and be slowly chemically castrated through convenience. 360 cable TV channels of garbage. Cheap entertainment. Cheap fulfillment. Cheap spirituality. They sell it on the corner next to the fake watches.

Everyone wants to go back to normal but there isn't a NORMAL...''BUT WAIT!'', says Becky, ''I just want my margaritas, my compulsive shopping DONE IN PERSON, my Chili's, my waitress job, oh, and Chad and those huge muscles. His tanned bod and heft cash; chiseled with the prospects of two kids (at age 35 or 40 of course) and retirement in Florida. The life chosen by me, me!...and my social security number. 

Cool, Becky, I'm sure I wanna die in a sardine can as well.

BUT WAHT ABOUT MUH RIGHTS!?! Didn't they do away with that a while ago? Was it sold in 1830? 1877? 1963? 1965? 1973?  2001? 2003? Ah, I see. Now we want to talk about rights. A jogger is buried for two months while his killers are whistling ''Dixie'' over his grave before anyone notices.   

I'm also pretty sure it was sold by the same people who disregarded common sense for their own security, greed, and convenience. 

Remember: Give your kids to the state, make decisions on unreliable information, sell off your elders, and let the justice system be privatized! Do what thou wilt.

 

“The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist”—Charles Baudelaire

          

 

Twirling

''The sound of waves
Inside of me
Happiness
Outside of me
The faces on my wall
The faces in the sea
The faces in my life
Are watching me ''

- Casa Del Miro Faces (2011)

Crap Shots (2019)

These are pictures I made on my phone from last year.

 does the pixel war really matter? Sometimes the fuzz in these annoy me.

 I don't wanna taco about it...the depressed cat languishes in it's own sorrow. The famine demanded it's consumption.

Miss going to church. 

These are the moments in between nothing and something. Things taken for granted.  Images that you remember when you look around and don't see it anymore. Too many words can spoil a good image and too many explanations ruin the mystery especially if there wasn't any to begin with. 

Photo series dedicated to the memory of Mike Wheeler.

''Why do we feel it's necessary to yak about bull**** in order to be comfortable? That's when you know you've found somebody special. When you can just shut the **** up for a minute and comfortably share silence'' - Mia Wallace Pulp Fiction (1994)

The Martial Law Diaries (Part Two)

I couldn't stop thinking about it. It's kept me up all night. I smile, knowing that it was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life. My fingers twitch at the anticipation of writing this down.

The fire, quietly licking up against the walls and pouring out of the windows like the ocean emptying out on the edge of the world, it all heaped down in a smoldering mass below; the caramelized glow reflecting back on all our faces. The fridge told me to remember this. This was the first night of my life. 

The paragraph stared back at me like the faces illuminated by the great pillar of fire before us. There was screaming, sirens, and the tear gas that still stung the air; the foundations of the house collapsing in on itself. My fellow officers stood silent, some having suspects on the ground with handcuffs, as perps ran frantically in every direction around our motionless figures.  More squad cars screeched to a halt and the quick succession of sounds, the boots, the yelling, and the click of handcuffs, finally aroused my squad. I looked behind me and caught a quick glimpse of a lawn chair before it knocked me down to the ground.

My equipment made me fall hard; my head bouncing off the asphalt with a dull thud. I closed my eyes in pain and felt my arm being yanked upwards. I opened them again and saw that Dylan had me around his shoulder. He mouthed something and wiped blood off his face. The suspect who hit me was face down in a pool of his own blood. He was twitching when I looked back at Dylan who just shrugged. There were uniforms everywhere. I saw Johnson and Macintosh tugging a perp off a fence, Mcnabb was being shoved to the ground by two perps who ran away with a beer keg, and I saw the back of our cruzers being filled with suspects. All I could hear was the raging fire.

Funnily enough, the fire department showed at the same moment and began dousing the house from the backyard as I slowly started to walk across the lawn. I walked over a minefield of beer cans, some of the furniture, and bodies of angry suspects writhing around like sardines. Mcnabb was tossing them around everywhere, everyone was too busy to intervene, and I ordered him to stand down. He looked ashamed as he paused and looked at me. He stood silent as I picked up a perp and hauled him to my cruzer. Mcnabb followed suit as I started searching the yard for my fellow officers. We aren't animals. We have orders and expectations to follow.

I walked towards the back alley where I last saw Johnson and Macintosh. At that same time, they were walking down the alley holding up their perp by the shoulders. His bare feet dragged all over the ground and his white shirt was dirty with sweat and blood. They nodded at me as they moved forward. The firefighters had the fire controlled now, the glow became darker, and the smoke bellowed up in the sky. One of them approached me, telling me that they had it under control, and walked back towards the front with me. He curiously asked what had happened. Ask why there was so many empy tear gas canisters lying around towards the back. Why neighbors, not us, called them. Why the brutality, the etc, etc, etc. He went on and on until I turned around and quietly gave the schpeel about police business. He laughed and said that wouldn't matter. The refrigerator had warned me of this.

I ignored him and went out in the street. People stood silent on their apartment balconies; their contempt made me look away. Chief stood statuesque as he directed the cruzers out of the street. His anger was quiet and controlled as he told me he'd have my badge for this. He didn't even look at me. I said nothing and turned to Dylan leaning on the back door of my cruzer. Two bloody perps slept on each other's shoulders.

Dylan huffed hard on a cigarette, his ash covered face made the white of his eyes glow back at me, he said nothing. I clutched the car door, hesitant, Dylan flicked the cigarette onto someone's yard and got in. I tried to get in myself but I couldn't. I looked back at what was left of the house and saw that it was a black smoldering mass; the crumpled structure judding out of itself. The street still glowed with the lights of our cruzers. Dylan got back out, walked over, and wiped off some ash on my uniform. He told me he'd drive and I was relieved.

I couldn't sleep. I couldn't stop thinking about it. This was the first night of my life.

I saw Paige slowly climb out of bed and into the bathroom. After a while, I heard the shower, and I got up. My fingers weren't trembling anymore. I walked out towards the front door. I slowly worked down the hallway, past the kitchen, and opened the front door to get the newspaper off the front step. Making my way back to the kitchen, I opened the paper, and lied it across the table. The headline read: Frat Party Ends In Flames - IC Police Shut Down House Party on The First Night of State Shut In.

I closed my eyes and imagined what the TV would say ''lieutenant James P. Shamburger led IC Police in what locals call 'a militant shutdown' of a local house party in downtown Iowa City last night. The party was in violation of the governor's shut in order in response to the COVID-19 pandemic...''. The words started to drown into a dull monotone buzz that rang around in my head as I held my eyes closed. I had all the data, the numbers, and the correct answers but it all meant nothing when I went over it again in my head. I almost screamed but the buzz slowly faded away. For a moment there was complete silence until I heard something. Something familiar. I lifted my head and opened my eyes. My kitchen was completely empty and everything was still; all I could immediately hear was the water from Paige's shower.

I stood silent for another minute until I heard it again. It was a voice. Words. Somehow I knew that it was the fridge. I don't know how I did but it just happened. In a whisper, it said, ''today's the first day of your life''. I agreed. I walked over to it and it said it again in a very gentle whisper. Like someone's lover. I slowly wrapped my arms around my refrigerator and squeezed tight. It was right. It was always right.

        



  

The Martial Law Diaries (Part One)

(Week Four - Desire Lanes)

This struck me last night as I lied staring up at the ceiling. What is behind our desires? Our longings?  These things that keep us up at night?

I have always found it immensely intriguing that one of the common things that drives culture's literature, cinema, and art is the basic human expression of longing. This concept is what ties all these things together. Throughout our own lives, we are driven by longing. It could be said that longing is what keeps humanity dreaming, moving, believing, and changing. But what are we longing for?  Is it happiness? A romantic relationship? Wealth? Starbucks? Phat stacks of toilet paper?

These things are all good but become quickly corrupted when these objects of longing become the objectives of longing. Look at what these stories in art show us when that happens; the great downfall of the Corleone family in ''The Godfather'', the obsession of Jay Gatsby in ''The Great Gatsby'', and the murderous fear in ''Saturn Devouring His Son''. The Bible puts it like this:


''Furthermore, since they did not see fit to acknowledge God, He gave them up to a depraved mind, to do what ought not to be done. They have become filled with every kind of wickedness, evil, greed, and depravity. They are full of envy, murder, strife, deceit, and malice. They are gossips, slanderers, God-haters, insolent, arrogant, and boastful. They invent new forms of evil; they disobey their parents.They are senseless, faithless, heartless, merciless.'' - Romans 1:28-31

What does acknowledging God have to do with all this? God IS the objective of longing, to quote the Westminster Catechism, ''The chief end of man is to glorify God, and to enjoy him forever''.

Humanity has not done this. We get this as a result of making God's creation, as God has created anything we could desire, the objective in life or in other words:  

''Although they claimed to be wise, they became fools, and exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images of mortal man and birds and animals and reptiles. Therefore God gave them over in the desires of their hearts to impurity for the dishonoring of their bodies with one another. They exchanged the truth of God for a lie, and worshiped and served the creature rather than the Creator''. - Romans 1:22-25

This is why our longing becomes horribly corrupted. Our happiness turns into depression, our romantic relationships turn into selfish and unrequited love, our wealth becomes vain, Starbucks becomes a crippling addiction and the hoarding of day to day supplies entirely cuts off the poor and elderly. 

What God has created was never intended to satisfy us entirely. Our longing is to turn us towards Him and recognize that all of what He has created points back towards Himself.

"I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end." - Revelation 22:13

ps - you should read the whole book of Romans

Saint Patrick and The Goddess of Death

^^I do not own the above artwork.

''Cue the scenes of empty streets, stores, and intersections. Long overhead shots of a deserted downtown. Pan over to the trash blowing into the wind, over the Iowa river, and the empty university campus. Cut to a wide angle zoom shot of a decayed corpse alongside a dirty sewer drain...''

''That's it!'' I say aloud to my own genius. The few people in the coffee shop look up at me in disgust. The woman in her mid forties, caked on makeup, beret, and cigarette in hand, sits with mouth open as she couldn't even fathom someone breaking the silence of her own personal space.

Finally, after exactly 120 days, I have finished the first paragraph of my screenplay. The customers soon surround me, as I'm yelling and whooping it up for my achievement, and proceed to douse me in hand sanitizer and light me on fire. ''Fire is the final purifier'' says, former MSNBC war correspondent,  Brian Williams; flames licking up in the reflection of his gyeballs, as the laughter of the corporate toiletry demi gods, could be heard far off somewhere distant...but oh, so loud. 

What was that you ask? Would you really want to know? You've ever hyperventilated into a brown paper bag in the back of a Fairway? Apparently so, because our leaders suggest it, the CDC commands it, and the death squads enforce it. Selah.

28 Javes Later

Well, this is already getting old. Everything's closed and everyone split. St Paddies day, like everything else, has been traded in for fear. How'd it get like this?

You can blame a lot of things: the shadowy figures, the Illuminati, and Elizabeth Warren but I could personally hear the satanic laughing of the Zucc himself this last weekend. Who needs the media when your cousin is telling you that Uncle Jim John Jones is buying out Wal-Mart on Facebook Messenger? 

A garage full of hand sanitizer and enough toilet paper for his men, horses, the cockroaches in the basement, and the two thieves who'll have his entire family held hostage by gunpoint by the end of the month. What's next? Who knows? Dean Koontz and Facebook does.

Barely a week passes and we're already talking about martial law, 5 month quarantines, and drinking the Kool Aid.

I looked out at my parking lot tonight and saw only the empty lots...depressing, depressing, depressing. What else?

The Dual Natures 

“Our Generation has had no Great war, no Great Depression. Our war is spiritual. Our depression is our lives.” - Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

This is exactly what I'm talking about. This fear, this insanity, this isolation. This is the invisible war, my doodes. Not the virus but actually Satan. Spray yourself down with Lysol all you want. I've spent so much trying to understand that I'm driving myself into the hysteria. Who cares about what the crazies are saying. What the kids are smoking. The true battle is spiritual. Our culture worships itself ,and more importantly, it's own death. This ''2012'' crap is what keeps the snakes fed...don't worry, Karen will be the provider and protector now.   

What we are facing is our own humanity. Our sin. Look what happens when the guy down the block starts coughing...for those struggling with the exegesis of my nonsense, our culture, the crowd mentality that says ''BUY THE TOILET PAPER, SWAMP THE STORES, BATHE IN THE HAND SOAP, BRING IN THE ARMY, QUARANTINE THE QUESTIONABLE, SEAL OFF THE CITIES, BURN DOWN THE HIGHWAYS, BINGE WATCH THE ENTIRE GUNSMOKE SERIES, PRODUCE LOCAL METH, etc...'', is the goddess that is worshiped. It's called that because it's not necessarily an ugly beast, the notions of basic survival seem like a human right when you look back at your kids and grandparents, but it quickly becomes this unquenchable blood lust that is never satisfied. That's sin.

As the ambiguous cop out, the missionary bishop, St Patrick, once banished all snakes from Ireland. Not much is known how or why. He just did. Modern scholars understand this folk tale as an analogy of  the spread of Christianity in Ireland; picturing Patrick as the figurehead that progressed the gospel in the little island. I truly hope that this crisis reveals the ''snakes'' in our time in a way that couldn't be denied. That the fear mongers of our time will be driven back into the deepest corners of the Sub-Reddits where they belong.  Either way:

   ''Do not fear those who kill the body but are unable to kill the soul; but rather fear Him who is able to destroy both soul and body in hell.'' 

- Matthew 10:28(NASB)

Saint Patrick himself said this:

The Lord is greater than all: I have said enough. 

   

Elijah

The following is a transcription of a story I was told back in the winter of 2017:

My name is Elijah Parker, my full name is Elijah Mareno Mazetti. I was born in Italy, in a van, on the way to the hospital. My dad kept the umbilical cord as the doctors delivered because he was the only one there. I was the sixth and last child of my mother. I was thrown in foster care because my dad was an addict. He was a hard meth addict and an alcoholic. I was born under the influence of meth because my mother had used an hour and a half before I was born.

I lived in Italy for only about a week of my life, moved to the U.S. I am native american and Italian; half of me comes from native U.S. and the other comes from Italy. My family is a mafia and our family was relocated under the government relocation protection agency act, what they do is they take people who don't wanna do what they were doing before and relocated them under safety and change their names. When my grandmother died, my grandfather married a woman and he took her last name - Parker. So I'm now Elijah Pierce Parker.

When my dad was taking care of me for about two years (my grandparents have been taking care of me since then). He lived in Tulare, California (which is in northern California) and in a apartment. My first memory, at all, is some guy dragging me around, you know, in the apartment. I don't know what ever happened but I can't remember past that. My dad and I, eventually moved from there to southern California. To Sun City, which is by Menifee, and my dad got arrested.

On the way there, we had a U-Haul, my dad pulled over and fell asleep in the U-Haul. I remember the cops knocking on the window, and I was a little kid, shining lights in the window and next thing you know; my dad's getting arrested and the captain called my Uncle Dave (who is my dad's brother and now lives in New Zealand).

After my dad got arrested, I lived with my grandparents, and I was a crazy kid because I found out later in life (I was about seventeen); that I had PTSD. I'm on medicine for multiple personalities. When I was still inside of my mother, she was freaking out and there'd be about a couple different people inside of her head; so I had that from birth.

PTSD is really something that inhibits me from doing a lot things. My whole life, I've been kinda angry and I didn't know why and I found that out.

My grandparents put me in foster care when I was about six, and kept running away from foster homes when I was about nine; I was on the streets and I started smoking cigarettes, smoking weed. My dad got out of jail then he adopted me; he had a place near Sliver (Bodfish).Being with my father was off and on because he was in and out of jail. He was abusive, so I just kinda ran away a lot.

My dad was definitely using meth and definitely selling it. At the age of eleven, I was doing meth. Age fifth teen, my dad had strapped about an ounce of meth and an ounce of heroin on my back and said 'son, you ain't gonna go home till you sell this, okay?'. So I went to school and sold it to my friends (a couple of them have died since then; I blame myself everyday).

From there, I went to Riverside, California; which is more of a slum. I started shooting up and I got a girl pregnant and I had my daughter, Sofia, at the age of fourteen.

I just, to save myself by selling drugs on the street, and so I did and I got around by doing that. Eventually, I got to the point where I'm going to have my daughter, I really didn't care at all, then I got sober at seventeen; off of heroin. I was shooting up for about four years and I was speedballin' (which is both heroin and meth). I have been sober off heroin for nearly three years and sober off meth since September, 4, 2016. My next step is to stop smokin' weed and stop drinkin' (drinking has actually not been a problem for me).

I got arrested, and taken to prision, when I was seventeen years old. Sixteen, I was actually in the junior penitentiary (Tehachapi). I was in there because me and my dad were running a fight club, honest to God, underground in (Newberry Park, California?). They busted us on a father-son fight week, my dad and I were fighting each other when they came in; they had guns and everything but they also had tasers. My dad started swinging at the cops and, next thing you know, I'm getting tazed two times, the third time, with my dad, went over the shoulder and into my back and I have a scar from it. Right on my spine. 

My dad then, took down two of the cops and I took down one of the cops and we got arrested; I got assault charges on a officer and they were eventually dropped, after choosing to fight the case, because the officer's hadn't had started something with announcing themselves or given us our Miranda rights.


My dad just got out of prison, November of last year (2016), and my life has been crazy. I had my own house, sellin' drugs, I also had a couple cars.

My daughter was born with Spina Bifida, which means your disks are growing all funky, and she eventually passed away from it. She was given less than ten years and she passed away, four years and nine months, because she had an brain aneurysm (which is bleeding in the walls of your brain) and it was sudden, and swift, but she survived. She survived for three months and I sold my house, my two cars, and everything I had and ended up on the streets; just to make sure I had my daughter's hospital payments paid and I never paid a hospital payment before that. 

In the past couple years (last year) I lost seventeen people. A couple were to overdoses, and a few people, I've watched die from overdoses and held them and didn't know what to do.

One, I walked on, he had hung himself in the bathroom because he had just broken up with his girlfriend; he was drunk. My friend, Thomas, overdosed at a friend's house on heroin and another one passed away in the ditch by my house; he had overdosed on heroin. I had another one pass away, we were at my friend's party, and his name was Alaska. There were two people fighting, native Americans, they were drunk and someone pulled out a knife; he stepped in between them and he took the blade. He passed away on the curb.

Me and my friends were party hoppin' and one of them had taken a whole bunch of uppers and downers then, the fourth party, we go to sleep and we woke up in the morning (about 9:30) and the night before I told him 'don't go hard. Your gonna hurt yourself. Your gonna die.' and I touched him and he was ice cold. His girl was under his arm and I had to pry his arm up, stiff arm, and she didn't know. She was damaged up in her head. 

My step mom passed away months ago and my grandfather had a stroke.

So my life's been, everything it should be, because I lost faith in God. God's guided me ever since then. God has lifted me up, has been there for me to cry on his shoulder when I needed it. God is there, in the sense, that God is there when I breathe. God is there when I sleep. God is there when I mess up. God is there when I do right things, everything, God has been there and I didn't realize it till recently. 

On the way here (to Iowa); when I walked here from California. I walked from California to Albuquerque, New Mexico. There was a point where I had gotten off of the bus and (I was actually smoking meth on the bus) they caught me. I ran, I had my bag under the bus and it came all the way over here without me.

The next time I ordered a ticket, got back on the bus, it was kinda odd when I got on the bus. There was only one seat I could sit in and that was kinda odd in itself. The bus was packed to the back. I get in there, and I have my meth and I threw it in the toilet before I got on the bus. I had weed in my bag, I had walked around Flagstaff, Arizona and found that on the ground. On the bus, they do searches and stuff, and they searched me but I was paranoid because I knew it was in my bag ( I had stuffed it in my mouth at one point and was chewing it). 

I had started to hear some murmurs and there was a couple of people on the bus, that I noticed when I walked in, looking at me and it was weird; they studied me in a different kind a way that I study people. It caught me off guard when I noticed my bag, that was in front of me, started moving; under my seat. The guy in front of me had apparently reached under the seat and started to pull it. I grabbed it, real quick, and put it to my chest and I thought I had been paranoid or hallucinating. I put it back down and it started happening again. 

This bigger, African American, woman was sitting next to me; she was heavy set and she was nervous. There was a couple on the other side, an older gentleman, an older woman, that were just, literally, looking over me the whole time. It bothered me.

The man had a wife sitting next to him and she, eventually, held up her camera, right? I didn't know it was her camera; I thought it was her phone with her apps because it had apps. She moved and I could see, in her camera, there was me and I could see a little red dot and I was being recorded. On everything on my baby; I was being recorded. I was freakin' out and I was praying to Jesus Christ; that no one would touch me and the guy in front of me was like, 'can I just kill him?' (and I swear on everything. This is what he said) 'can I just kill him already?' and the lady in front, with red hair, was a nurse or something, she was telling the bus driver, up in front, 'no, no, if he had ate it (she was thinking I had eaten a meth bag or something), he'd be gagging and his heart rate would be up and he'd be sweatin' and I could hear all this and I'm thinking 'this is the most crazy thing that's ever happened to me'.

We ended up goin' to this semi-truck stop and there were two different ones on each side of the road. We stopped at the one with the gas station. I bucked it out that bus. I went to the other side and they called the cops. They thought I was crazy but I wasn't. They came and they took me and put me in a metal box, on a pick up truck, and they threw me in there and said ' we're going to take you down to the station'. They took me down to the station and they tested me, had me breathalyzed, did my blood, did my urine, and they said ' this kid's clean as a whistle'. 00 is what they said; I tested negative on everything. They had a craziest look on their faces and said, 'so you were tellin' the truth' and I said, 'yes sir, I was' and they said that I had two options: stay here overnight or leave right now. I said,'I'm gonna leave right now because I don't wanna stay in a cop's station' and they asked why and I said, 'I just don't, it's my personal preference'. So I started walkin' and I walked. 

When I was walking, there was this guy, he was native american and I asked him for a ride and he's like, 'yea, man, where you going to?' and I said,' the casino'. He was a different personality. I noticed when I got in there was an army thing, it was green (a bag?), he grabbed it real quick and put it behind his seat. He looked at me nonstop. Eye to eye contact the whole time.

When we pulled up to the casino, we were in the parking lot, and he says 'honestly, I'm just trying to get laid'. I was like 'he's going to try to rape me' and then he tries to put a knife up to my neck. I grabbed the knife and threw it up against the window. I eventually got to a truck stop and called my grandfather and said, 'grandpa, I need a ride, I'm out in the middle of New Mexico' so he picked me up.

I came to Iowa for a girl. 

When my daughter passed away, no one was there for me except for her, Carmen. She has my baby now; she's pregnant by twenty weeks. She's going to be a girl. God guided me here and brought me here for a reason.

We met over Facebook. She had a fake account, it was a guy that looked a stoner, she started talkin' funny and she said that she wanted to fight me. I got angry and said, 'oh yea, I'll fight you'. I gave her my address and everything then she said  'I'm just kidding. I'm just kidding. I'm actually a girl.' then she gave me her real name; Carmen Arson. She's my angel, she's my  everything, she was there for me when my grandfather passed away. 

Our relationship is definitely based off of God; we really haven't realized that until recently. It started out as desire, then our child, now for God. She's a really quiet girl. We definitely have plans for marriage (she had forgotten to wear her engagement ring when he told me this). 

I'm here for my baby. I'm here for me; to get better for the baby. 

Come Spring

''I can't stand to see your picture
On the dresser where I left it
Another sunny day
And you're eighty miles away...I could stand to be a fixture
In your faded family picture....Who cares if there's a party somewhere
We're gonna stay in...'' 

- The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart Come Saturday (2009)

The Obit Section

The following is a throwaway from a collection of short stories I've been working on:

I don't remember how I first met her or where; she was almost like a strange memory that I can only fuzzily recall. She even dated one of my best friends, Joey...kind of. 

It was weird, Joey always had another girl in his life. Every time we'd hang out, there was always a girl that fit into the narrative. This time it was a fiery little Hispanic girl. I don't even remember where HE had met her but I do remember him talking about this pretty girl who worked at Dunkin' Doughnuts and we were all going to hang out. I nodded and followed his lead. 

The Dunkin' Doughnuts was out by Interstate 380; in front of the Wal-Mart. It was closing time when we drove up to the little store. We walked in and the girl behind the counter shouted ''Joey!''. She walked over and hugged him and he introduced me to her. She was beautiful, short and curvy, her face radiated youth but with a deep exhaustion set into her eyes. The way she stood made her look a lot older than she was; we were all still in high school. 

I was the 3rd wheel who stood there as they talked; looking into each others eyes. Absorbed and laughing. She went back behind the counter and boxed up day old doughnuts she would take home every weekend night.

She finished and we all walked outside. We stood out and talked while she had a cigarette. She was always laughing around him, she'd get into this sarcastic pose where she would cock her head and look straight serious before smiling; almost as if she was getting what she wanted every time. 

We followed her back to her house. It was a typical cookie cutter just beyond a hillside ridge of some of the more richer and fancier homes. We followed her in; she always had a tired expression on her face that would change into a big smile as soon as she was going to see someone close to her. I remember her house being quiet for a family of four. There was a little hallway when you walked in, living room to the left, and a kitchen straight ahead. There was an additional hallway that was connected to the kitchen towards the right and it had four rooms; her's, parents, sister, and bathroom. 
We were standing in the kitchen while she hugged her mother and showed her the box of doughnuts she had brought home. Her mother was unmemorable, typical, and her father, or whoever he was, seemed like a plastic stand in for someone else. 

It seemed all awkward and tense. It was almost like her parents were teenagers that hid in their rooms while she was like the parental figure coming home from work. 

Her sister was a younger, and just as beautiful, version of herself. I was awe struck but I knew there wasn't a chance. She was glued to her phone like every other girl at school.

She walked into the hallway and went into her room which was the last one on the end. We didn't follow her, Joey talked up her mother, but I looked and tried to see what her room was like. I saw the assorted make up on a small dresser, shoes on the floor; typical girl room. She had just started to undo her hair as she turned and shut the door to change. When she came out, we waited in the kitchen, then we watched a movie and left. 

A few weeks of this exact routine passed, It was the summer and the nights were long, and I was talking with Joey in his basement one night until he got really quiet. I had asked him if they were dating or not. He told me that it was complicated. I laughed and asked what that meant. He got serious and quiet before telling me that she had told him that she was a drug runner for the Mexican Cartel. I laughed hard until I realized that he was serious; then I laughed in bewilderment. 

She smuggled drugs through the local airport and the money she had been receiving was paying for her mother's mortgage, her grandmother's mortgage, her car, food; everything. Her whole family was blatantly aware, the ties were in the family, but I never asked her herself about this nor even believed it until one day we all hung out at the mall together. 

We were in Hot Topic, I was eyeing a Nirvana shirt that had the logo and text filled in with pink flowers, she stood next to me, noticing me eyeing it, and said ''you like that shirt?''. I said ''yea, but it's thirty bucks and I'm broke''. She didn't blink; ''I can get that shirt for you if you want''. I looked at her, this beautiful girl wanted to buy me a shirt, and I shrugged and said ''yea''. 

When she took it up to the counter, the cashier told her that the total was 30 something, she pulled out a wad of money in a little clip. I leaned over her shoulder and saw that they were all hundred dollar bills. She actually apologized to the cashier for only having hundreds. I didn't need to ask any questions after that. 

He had also told me that she couldn't date him because a part of the deal was that she could pay her family's entire bills but she couldn't get married to anyone because of the fear of information getting back to the cops. This was all crazy but it got less crazier as we hung out more and I saw how crazy she could get. 

One night, he dropped her off and she asked him to walk her to her door. He got out and they stood in the far end of the driveway; talking and kissing in the darkness. I could only watch from the distance of the backseat of his car but I saw them go inside for a very long time. It seemed decades, I guessed what was going on, but he soon rushed out and exhaled as he got in and clutched the stirring wheel. He drove in silence before I asked him what happened. He told me that she had begged him to have sex with her in her room. She even said that her parents would never know. He declined and left. He was sweating and told me that it was one of the most difficult things that he had ever done. After this, their relationship turned into series of passionate arguments and kissing. 

I sat there at her grandmother's house, a nice stone house in the fancy hillside, as she argued with her sister about what her sister wanted for Christmas. She'd get pissed and talk quickly in Spanish as she threw her arms around in an elaborate display of an argument. When she did talk in English, she said something along the lines of ''I pay for literally everything''. That shut her sister up. 

Her sister was beautiful but so blissfully and ignorantly immature that you felt bad for her. Either she knew about everything and the way she acted was a coping mechanism or she was so literally ignorant that she could enjoy the fallacy of having anything she could want. She had expensive make up, phone, anything that her sister would give her. She sacrificed her entire soul for them because it seemed to be the only way to make them happy. 

I realized this when I tried getting her sister to like me. I would patiently listen to all of her conversations; they were so devoid of meaning that I quickly stopped pursuing her. The beauty wasn't worth it. The supposed happiness wasn't worth it. 

The last time I saw her was when Joey was dropping her off at her grandmother's house. They got into an argument about staying over at her grandmother's for a sleepover. He kept saying no and she would just keep asking. After a few other times asking, she turned and asked me if I wanted to spend the night. I was so tired at this point that I just said yes. She leaned in to kiss me but I moved and she caught my cheek. I wasn't going to disrespect him like that regardless of if she wanted me or not. I got out and she looked at me and said ''go back into the car, Chris, goodnight''. I watched her go inside the house, the storehouse on the hillside of the fancy Midwest, and we drove away in silence. He told me that she was just trying to make him jealous. 

Years passed, I got a phone call from Joey while I was at Inch's house. He calmly told me that she had died. It shook me. He told me that she had went to jail the year before for getting into a fight with a girl in the middle of the street. When she got out, she had apparently gotten involved with human trafficking and she had walked out onto Interstate 380 to kill herself. A car hit her and killed her instantly. 

There wasn't a funeral because it was still being investigated by the cops.