Bye To Philip

I know that you will not going to like it. but brother, I need to put your ass in the ground and also to say a thing or two.

I am also wanting to thank this distinguished crowd that choose to attend your last moments above ground.    

Thanks to the graveyard gardener that stop his war against bad weed for a while, the taxi driver that didn’t mind to leave his meter running and also stand near this hole in the ground that you will call home for the next forever.

I will not make it a long speech for two reasons. The first one is that the taxi driver look like he is in a good shape, and probably will catch me if I will try to run away from the bill. The second reason is, although you were the love of my life, I know almost nothing about you. I am almost certain that you were human, even though I never saw you sad or tired. But I saw you bleed, I heard you breathe, and now I see you dead. In a way to see you lying lifeless only prove to me that you were real and not a freak of my imagination.

You were a man of one passion, your love to the desert and to the open terrain filled your heart almost completely. I will like to think that at least you save some small percentage for me in your heart. In the junction of “where the hell are we”. and nowhere, you felt right at home. The notion of ” we are about to die” brought you into your comfort zone.

You have never looked at life as a sequence of actions and assignments that need to be accomplished before the Grim Reaper send you like on your social-media account. For you, life were like a rubber band that need to be stretched and twisted to the limit.                

I have never known when you will show up or from where you are coming from. but when I saw you in the street waiting for me, I knew that we are going to Hell and back and everything will be just fine. No matter what, you always brought me home in one piece. That was until the day you send me a message to come to pick you up. On my way to the beloved and familiar nowhere, I knew that you are not alive, I just knew it. It took me four days to find you between the sand and the rocks. But I found you covered with yellow sand as, like the desert tried to tell me that you belong to it now.

I know that you will not going to like it but I brought you back to put you in the ground. when you were alive you were like a wind slapping excitement in my face, but now you could be as a rock that I could always find, and maybe just maybe, called you mine.                                                                                    

                                                                           

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Rooms.

“This house is on the market less than a week”, said the experienced realtor. But before she started to say, just how wonderful investment this house will be and so on and so on. The man asks to see the house alone, ” don’t be offended”, he said. ” It’s just easier for me to concentrate when I am alone”. “I was here before”, the man added. But before the realtor had the chance to ask when and how, the man opened the door and went inside the house.

Alone he walked. Crossing the living-room as it was covered with hot ash. Straight to the kitchen. Don’t look into any of the rooms he said to himself, almost shouting it out-loud. “Just to the kitchen”

His legs were shaking and his heart was about to explode. But he did it, He came back. Standing between the stove and the dining table, he whispered. “Can you hear me, are you still here?”.

I am still here, The child answered. Where can I go? Did you come to take me? Can I leave this place?  The child asked the man. You cannot leave said the man, his voice was chock with tears. You died here. I cannot take you.

“You know what happened in the night”. Said the child. In the night I need to leave the kitchen where it is safe and go to my bed-room. You remember your bed-room, don’t you? I do, said the man

Do you remember the fingers touching me? Touching us. The promise not to talk about it with anybody. Do you remember? Yes, I do, answer the man to the child, I remember it all. In our bed-room is where you died.

Why did you come back? The child asks the man.                                                                       To say goodbye, the man answered. Please don’t leave me here, begged the child to the man. In that bed-room you have died, and in that bed-room, you will die again and again every night, said the man to the child.

Back to the door the man walked, almost running. Don’t go he heard the child calling behind him. Don’t forget what he has done to me, to us.

I will never forget said the man to the child. Goodbye childhood said the man.

Goodbye childhood, the man said again and left.

Tough Love

From the bed-room I can hear Mark, my boyfriend walking up and down in the living-room. I can also see through the small crack of the door the soft white light of the computer screen. Once in a while I heard Mark groaning in frustration and anger. Mark was trying to do something he was not good at, He was writing a story, about regret and fear.                                                                                                                                                      As much as he tried his story was without depth, and if to be completely honest “just boring”. The biggest problem with his story was that his characters where not reliable. He just didn’t have the ability to understand his own characters. It wasn’t his fault, that was his nature, to hold feelings inside. If there was a way for him to get his pain out in the open, and channel it into writing, he will write something that for a change doesn’t suck. I felt sorry for him, he really was passionate about his writing, but more than that I was feeling sorry for myself. I was losing him more and more every week. He become distant and cold, and all because of that dam story of his. Until now I had the comfort of the two of us going out every Friday to our favorite Pub, that was the only time that I could see him less stress. Although he got loose only after a few drinks it was nice to get my boyfriend back for a few hours, little bit tipsy but smiling and laughing. But lately even this treat was taken away from me, instead of a few drinks, Mark was getting completely drunk.                                                                                                                                If before we use to walk back as a happy couple, now, I need to carry his drunk completely hammered ass all the way home, with at least a few stops for him to puke. Things need to change; I really care about him. What can I tell you, I love this stupid son of a bitch.

The next day was Friday, and against all my hopes Mark broke his own record by how fast and nasty he became. He was in such a bad shape that no taxi agrees to take us home. for over an hour I carried him back home while he was cursing out-loud everything and everyone. when we got finally home, I had a plan in my head, it wasn’t a nice one or particularly moral, but to get from a tough spot you need a very tough love.

On Saturday morning Mark was walking very slowly from the bed-room to the living-room. He looked as he was hit by a speeding train. We need to talk; I told my half-conscious boyfriend. I need to go back to my writing he told me straggling to talk with his massive hangover. I need to show you something Mark, I said with a serious commanding voice. Mark that wasn’t ready to this kind of good morning sat on the sofa. What is it? He asked. Don’t move I told him; you need to see something. I went to the storage closet and came back holding a brick inside a plastic bag. What is that? Mark asked squeezing his eyes in pain to see better. This is the brick you used to hit the homeless in the head, this is what you used to kill him. I said with a cold monotonic voice. Mark stared at the brick in probably the same way Moses looked at the burning bush. His lips where moving in what look like a mix of what and how?

You were drunk and the homeless said something to you, you just snap, grabbed the brick and hit him on his head. In the morning I heard that he is dead. But don’t worry too much, I washed your clothes several times in the washing machine. and as you can see, I took the brick with me, there is nothing that can lead anyone to you. Mark started to shake, the little color he had on his face was gone. “I’ve never killed before” he said with a whisper. Mark put his hands on his face and started to cry. Mark was crying for hours, once in a while he looked around to make sure that the walls are not closing on him.

In the night Mark started to write, for the first time him and his main character felt the same pain and distress, both of them, Mark and his Main character felt hunted and caged. Mark’s story evolves into something incredible.

On one hand I was feeling bad with myself for staging this all murder story. After all Mark didn’t kill anyone. What I did was taking a brick and with a few drops of red-ink made it look like the murder weapon. together with a simple but reliable story I convinced my boyfriend that he is a murderer, and by that making him an emotional wreck. But one the other hand Mark was writing a masterpiece.    

Days become weeks and the book was close to be done. Also, Mark became less paranoid and stressed, and he actually enjoy his own writhing. For me it was a relief to know that my cruel prank just helps Mark to break out of his shell, and become the writer he always wanted to be. 

“Come here” I heard Mark calling me. His voice was Happy, I have missed this voice so much. “What is it?”. I asked him. “I have finished the story, the book is done”, he said. I looked at the computer monitor. The last sentence Mark wrote was ” I am a killer that is who I am”. My hart started to pound faster and faster. “Mark, what have you done?”. I asked, without really wanted to know the answer. Mark got up and went to the storage-closet. He came back holding a brick, it wasn’t the same brick I used to fool him. this one had real blood on it. “Mark, what have you done?”. I asked again. Mark look at me, and said, ” I am, what I am, but I have finished the story”.

Maybe I went too far, maybe I have created a monster. But what can I tell you, I love this crazy son of a bitch.

Yellow Cheese From the North.

“I cannot see through the window”, my daughter complained. She was only Five and the kitchen window was too high for her to look through, but it was the only window that was facing the north. “I want you to hold me on your hands, dad”. My daughter asked. I have looked at my watch, it was Two PM, there was still an hour until it will start. I pulled a chair for my daughter to stand on. “Thank you dad”, she said climbing on the chair and looking outside the window together with me. “Is mommy coming to see it with us?” My daughter is asking, just to hear me choking as I was hit strongly in my stomach. If my wife was here, she will touch my daughter’s head softly. that was her way to tell her, ” let’s talk about something else”. I always envy the way these two communicate between them, one look or one touch, convey a message of ten sentences.

My wife left the house two days ago, I was begging her not to go. ” it’s too dangerous’, I told her. But she was determined. My wife wasn’t the only one that was demanding for answers. the streets were full of people that wanted to know why the moon is getting bigger and bigger. Why the weather is going crazy and the earth shakes.

My wife, the mother of my daughter, never came back home.

Eventually a public announcement was published. “At Three PM it will happened, the moon will come from the north. There is nothing to do but see it coming”.

“Why do we have to look through this window? The one in the living room is much bigger than this one”. My daughter kept asking. “The big yellow cheese moon, will come from the north”. I answered. “And when the big cheese will hit us, everything will be covered with yellow cheese”. My daughter continued to finish my sentence. “Yes honey, everything will be covered with cheese”. I said, doing my best to keep myself together.

Outside the sky become red and the wind whistled violently. The earth shakes again, stronger than ever. I have looked at my watch, only ten minutes to go. ” I want to go to my room and read a book with you dad”. My daughter asked me. “please dad, I don’t want to look outside anymore”. “We cannot”, I answered, “we must stay and look, its important”. ” I don’t care about the moon and the cheese, I just want to sit with you in my room and read a story”. She is holding my hand trying to pull me away from the window to her room. “We don’t have time for a story”, I said in a firm voice. “I must stay here, near the window”. “Please dad, I just want to be in my room, and to read a story with my dad, that is all I want”. “There is no time, I got no time for your story, I need to stay here”. She doesn’t listen to me. All she wants is to go to her room with me and read. I cannot come with her, what is about to happened is more important than sitting down and read a kid’s book. My daughter cannot understand that, she is too young.

Only five minutes to go. I am by myself looking at the window. My daughter is alone in her room. The whistle from the wind is blowing hard. But I can still hear her crying from her room, the image of the moon is covering the sky.

There is a big explosion, but it’s not coming from the moon hitting the earth. it’s coming from inside my head. I open my eyes to a room full of empty bottles of alcohol. My head is pounding as hell but I can think clearly. The sound of the ceiling fan is the only sound I can hear. I am walking to the window, its dark outside. The streets are empty. No moon hit the earth, no asteroid or a black- hole before that. I am running to my daughter’s room. “I can read the story with you, I got time now”, I said. But she is not in her room. My daughter left long time ago. Only a book is on the floor. A book that her mother bought for her before she died. On the cover of the book I can see a drawing of a moon made out of cheese.

I look at my watch, no time left.

For me, the end of the world finally arrived.

Close The Deal

It is an orgasmic moment for every salesman when he realize that his sell-pitch is hitting the target. that was exactly how Nick felt, driving his use to be expensive car down the twisty road out of town. Nick was about to close the deal, the client on the other side of the phone was actually about to buy a yacht from him. It was too long since Nick made any sale what so ever, not talking about a brand new yacht. It was time for Nick to give his well practice well proven pitch, and to seal the deal. “Sir, very soon you will find the true definition of freedom, you Sir, will look straight to the horizon with hundreds of horse-power pushing you across the ocean.” Nick talked on the phone in his car as he was talking to the client in front of him, when Nick said “look straight to the horizon,” he actually use his two hands to add some visual effect.

“Sir, can you hear me?” Nick was trying to get some reaction from the client on the other side of the phone, but for his great frustration the only thing he could hear on the phone was, “Hello, hello I cannot hear you”. I am right here, Nick shout into the phone, I can hear you, can you hear me? It was for no use, after a few more Hellos from the client on the other side, the call was over. Trying to save the deal, Nick tried to call back just to notice that his fingers are passing through the phone instead of touching the screen. It took Nick a second or two to understand that he is not driving anymore. In fact it took Nick a few more seconds to realize that there is not much car left to drive. He was sitting inside a bended metal box, that use to be his car. Its not clear what thought come to Nick’s head first, was it ” I am dead?” or was it “Oh My God, I have lost the deal” ? What ever it was, one thing is for sure. The fact that he lost the sale bothered him much more then the fact that he just died in a car accident. Stepping out from his crashed car, Nick was still mumbling how he was one minute from selling that damn yacht.

“Are we dead?” Nick heard a voice to his right. The voice came from a man standing near another car wreck. “Are we dead?” the man asked again. To Nick the way that man asked the question was like a kid asking his parents if today “is Christmas morning?” Yes, I guess we are dead, Nick answered. Realizing that the accident was probably his fault, Nick felt the need to explain to the man he just killed why he didn’t pay attention to the road. “I was too busy with the conversation on the phone that I didn’t pay attention to my driving”, Nick started his apologetic little speech. But it seemed like the other man was not really interested in Nick’s explanation of what happened. Instead the other man was walking around the cars debris like a man walking inside a museum. Realizing that the other man isn’t interested of hearing any of his explanations, Nick decided to end by saying, ” Its hard to sale a yacht, it is like to sale total freedom, people just don’t get it” . “What do you mean by total freedom?”, the other man stop his wondering around and look at Nick. “Total freedom means, Nick said, “only you and the sea, nothing around you, you are in control heading to the horizon”. Even though Nick accepted the fact that he is dead, it was still exciting for him to say it. “Total freedom with nobody around”, the man repeated Nick’s words. But then the man continue to say, ” without all the blood sucking leeches that are after everything you got”. Nick could see the man looking into the sky, and Nick could hear him say ” I like the idea of being alone in the middle of the ocean, its like death, nobody to find you”. Nick never associated his freedom pitch with anything to do with death, but as the professional salesman he was, he play along. ” I think that middle of nowhere at sea and death do have something in common”. Nick said. There was a moment of silence, while Nick watched the man behavior, he looked in a very strange way, happy.

“The accident wasn’t my fault, was it?”. Nick ask after a while. ” It was you that wanted to die, to get away from everything”. Nick continue. “Yes”, the man answered. “But I didn’t mean to kill anybody else. I am sorry for killing you and about your sale”. Before Nick had any chance to think what to say to the man that just killed him and worse then that, killed his yacht sale, another voice joined the conversation. “We need to go Nick”. It was a young girl wearing a white t-shirt and a blue jeans. “Lets go”, she said, “unfortunately you are not the only pickup I got today”. The two men looked at her confused. “Are you?” Nick started to ask, but before he finished his question the blue jeans girls answered. ” Yes I am, and I came for you Nick”. “What about him?”. Nick asked, pointing at the other man. “Yes, what about me?”. the other man also asked. He looked terribly disappointed. “No, its only you, Nick”. answered the girl. “And you”, said the girl pointing at the other man,” your death wish didn’t worked out, you will have a full recovery, and you will be just fine”

“I guess that we both lost”, said Nick to the man. “I lost my sale and my life and you, as much as you don’t like it, you will continue to live”. ” Yes I guess you right”, answer the man. The man could see the young blue jeans girl pulling Nicks hand for him to come with her. He started to feel how he is pulled back to his body, he could hear the sirens and the EMT talking around him. But there was another voice that he could hear. It was Nicks voice, he could hear it loud and clear.

” Buy a yacht, be my last sale before I am gone, you don’t need to die to get away from everything”. ” I will buy a yacht, I promise”, the man answered back. The last thing that he heard was a voice of a young woman and a man. ” Its a nice sell-pitch, no need to die to be alone”, the young woman said. ” You look like someone that can appreciate total freedom”, Nicks familiar voice said back. “Did you ever consider buying a yacht?”

Dodo.

What do you mean you did not hear about Bobby J.? I asked my two kids while they were jumping between the beds. We have never heard about him, answer my daughter laughing. Is that going to be our bed time story? My son asked during a half summersault on the bed.

Bobby J. was undoubtedly the most amazing human being ever lived, I opened the bed time story in a dramatic way, trying to get my kids to stop the bed-gymnastic and to listen to my story. They say that Bobby J. started walking when he was less than a month old, In high school he use to run marathons with his girlfriend on his back and still get the first place, Bobby J. had a white shark as a pet that he swam with on the open ocean every day for ten miles. When he got into college, he had two professor degrees already. “I didn’t know that you can have a white shark as a pet”, My daughter wondered out loud. You cannot, her brother told her. Dad, are you making this stuff up? he asked me. Trying not to lose momentum I have decided to continue. Bobby J. Was so perfect that he farted only one time in his life, and that happened when he was a baby. “Now I know you making this up”, my son said, trying to get his voice heard over his sister’s laughter. Just listen, it’s getting better I said.

When it was time to choose who will be the man that will jump into a black-hole it was obvious that the only man brave enough to do it is Bobby J. “What do you mean jump into a black-hole”? My son protested. “Black-holes are millions of light years away”. “What exactly is a black-hole”? My daughter asked, shaking her brother’s shoulder for an answer. “It’s a place far away in deep space that nothing gets away from, not even time or matter”. Her brother answered. “Sounds like school to me.” My daughter started laughing again, with her brother quickly joining her. I love the way that both of my kids can make each other laugh, I thought to myself. “Maybe tomorrow we will go to school with a space-suit,” my daughter suggested. Hearing the word tomorrow I realized that it’s Monday tomorrow and my two kids need to be on their feet early to make it back to their mother’s house and from there straight to school.

It’s getting late I said, it’s time to go to sleep. You guys have a long week ahead of you. So, did Bobby J. jump into the black-hole? My two kids inquired almost simultaneously. Knowing that I cannot leave the story like that I continue.

As the daring brave man as he was, Bobby J. didn’t hesitate and jumped from his space-ship into the black hole. In the name of science. He endures unimaginable forces on his body. Plunging into a place that logic and reality the way we know it don’t exist. while his body is spinning and getting pulled at almost the speed of light, brave Bobby J. Was able to send a short message back to earth. “And what was it?” my son jumped on the bed, almost hitting his head on the ceiling. Come on dad his sister joined him. Enjoying the fact that I got my two kid’s full attention I continued with a low dramatic voice. Bobby J’s last words before he got swallowed by the space monster, we called a black-hole was, “I see a Dodo”. “A Dodo? really? My son wondered, “this fat bird that doesn’t exist anymore?” “What this bird is doing inside a black-hole, a million light years away?” My son bounced around the room, stopping only to bring his sister up to speed about what is a Dodo.

When I close the door behind me, I could still hear my two kids laughing and debating what a Dodo is doing in a black-hole. Good job putting them to sleep, I told myself. Outside at my small porch I have lighted a cigarette. “Nice story” said the man in the space suit sitting on one of the two chairs. Hey Bobby I said, how did you escape from the black-hole? I asked with a smile. You need to tell me, said the space-man, smoking a cigarette of his own. I am sure that my kids will come out with something until the next time I have them for the weekend. I am sure they will, said Bobby, “they will probably find some kind of a reason for a Dodo to be at other-space.”

Do you remember how many suits did you wear? I asked Bobby. I don’t really remember, Bobby said, but the first one was a business suit when you lost your father, after that it was the “cool” leather jacket when I was your only friend, and many more after that. And now you are a brave space-man helping me to put my kids to sleep, I said. Not with great success Bobby said, the voices of my kids debating and laughing about the space Dodo was heard all the way to the porch.

I need to get inside Bobby. I said while putting the cigarette down. Yes, and I got a Dodo to chase said Bobby smiling. Until next time, I said. You know where to find me, Bobby replied. Always I said closing the porch doors behind me, always.

Purpose

The king has left. No letter was left behind, no speech or reason was given. Nobody ask, why? Nobody wonder what now? the kingdom was vacant. No one to read any letter, no one to care for a reason

The king didn’t look back to see his bare domain he left behind. With a taste of gray in his mouth and his head pounding with nothing, he kept walking.

The sound of the waves greet him with contempt. Welcome king they say. Would you understand if you hear it? Would you comprehend if you see it? I don’t know, the king answered, like my kingdom, I am empty. This shore has no beginning or end, the wave laughed. Keep walking empty king, walk until you will see the boy, the boy with the rope.

Like a Greek God there he stood, proud and strong. With his two muscular hands he holds a thick rope that stretched into the endless ocean. What is on the other side of the rope? The king asks the boy. The horizon, the boy answered. Why are you holding this rope? The king continues asking. You silly king, the boy replied. If I let go off the rope even for a split second, the horizon will fall to the other side and it will be lost forever. Who will hold the rope when you get tired? Who will take your place when you will be no more? This shore has no beginning or end the boy laughed. Keep going hollow king, look for the old man that doesn’t blink.

As a stone statue he sat on the hot sand. Old man with his skin red from the blistering sun. With his dry eyes he looked at the sea. I cannot close my eyes, he said to the king. I must see her again. How long have you been waiting for her to come back? The king inquired. For as long as I remember answered the old man. Maybe she wasn’t real, maybe she was a vision of your imagination? The king wonder. You shallow king, the old man said. A beauty like her cannot been touched, it cannot be owned. If she was real or not it doesn’t make a difference, not anymore.

To his kingdom the king returned. No horizon to hold or a beauty to wait for. Only sand in his shoes played as a souvenir from a place with no beginning or end, a place with a Purpose.