It Ends with a Twist
Knots and aches torments the young Justin Gleer. He knows hard work too well and suffers after his late night shifts in near agony. After weeks of pain, his pregnant wife speaks up. “You should look into a chiropractor. You remember Charlie from high school? He might be able to help.” Justin remembers and frowns, but the pain is unbearable and he makes the call.
Dr. Charles Hamilton welcomes Justin with a firm handshake. After a brief, yet detailed explanation, Dr. Hamilton describes his practice. Justin, overwhelmed with relief, lays down on the table and Dr. Hamilton gets to work.
The doctor says, nonchalantly, “I bet Becca had to do some convincing to get you to come see me.”
There is a pop.
“Uh,” Justin says. “Yeah, actually. How did you know Becca and I-”
“We were all so close in high school,” Dr. Hamilton went on. “It’s a shame we…lost contact…with each other.”
There is a pull.
Justin says nothing. He begins to sweat, knowing at that very moment, Dr. Charles Hamilton remembered everything from senior year.
“Becca has been seeing me for a while now,” Dr. Hamilton says as he rounds the table. “Been having these…migraines for a few months.”
There is a jerk.
Justin clears his throat. “She hasn’t mentioned that.” Dr. Hamilton just nods a reply.
“Look,” Justin says as he sits up. “I’m really sorry about what happened in high school. We were just kids, you know? If I knew you two were that serious, I wouldn’t have butted in.”
There is a pause.
“Just one more adjustment,” the doctor grins. He places his hands at the base of Justin’s neck. “You always thought you were so much better than me,” he hisses, “I bet you think you’re the father too.”
There is a twist.
The Angel of Death has blonde hair and blue eyes. He smiles when he sees you and has the sweetest voice. He loves legos and paints, and he listens to music when he's sad. He has no rythmn, but can make anyplace into a dance floor. Currently, he is in fifth grade, with high marks and a best friend named Roy. I know this all to be true. In fact, the only reason I know this, is because I raised him.
I found him, wandering the trees of the forrest, lost, but not lost, with a smile on his face. A deer stood next to him. A white, transparent deer nuzzled his shoulder. He giggled and offered it a scratch behind the ear.
I called out to him. "Hey, buddy," I tried to sound as sweet as the budding wildflowers next to me. My face was red and puffy from the hike, but I smiled and felt the heat fade from my cheeks. "Are you lost? Where are your parents?"
He didn't asnwer, not right away. He considered the question for a moment and then replied, "I don't think I have any. I was put here, I know that much. And I know for why."
"Oh?" I was curious. "Any why's that?"
"So they know where to go," he said, looking over at the deer gingerly, "And when." The deer seemed to nod at me, as if agreeing with the child.
"Where do they go?" I asked.
"Different places, but all good places."
I stepped a little closer to him and dropped down to my knee. I placed a hand on his shoulder and looked deep into his eyes. "And what about you? Do you know where to go?"
"Not usually." When he spoke, I noticed a few missing teeth and the freckles on his cheeks crinkled. "I don't know until I'm there, but I'm always in the right spot." The ghost of the deer stamped its foot impaitently.
"My name is Morgan...what is yours?" I asked the boy.
He looked at me with innocent eyes and stuck out his hand for me to shake. "Pleasure to meet you Morgan. They call me Death."
"I don't know why you called me here," she said in a huff. I took a look around; it was a nice restaurant, with an excellent review. Most girls wouldn't have hesitated to complement the lush ambiance or swoon over the quartet in the corner. Unfortunately, Jessica wasn’t like most girls.
“I just wanted to talk to you,” I said simply. I brought the wine up to my lips and took a small sip. It was fresh, dirty and drier than I remember.
“Really?” she scoffed, “And you couldn’t do that over the phone?”
The waitress appeared, her pen at the ready. I took the time to order for myself. A simple fettuccini with a pesto sauce. I wasn’t the biggest fan of Italian, but neither was Jessica, so there was a slight victory with that. Jessica grinned at me and called my bluff. I watched as she ordered two of the most expensive dishes on the menu, along with another bottle for the table.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said with a sneer. The waitress looked at me with wide eyes to confirm the large order, to which, I just nodded. She left us. Jessica drank half her glass in one large gulp, leaving a print of her red lipstick on the rim. “Dinner was on you, right?”
I smile. “Of course,” I said, “A gentleman always grabs the bill.”
She huffed, “Some gentleman you are.”
I sighed and placed my hands in my pockets. As she was eyeing her favorite waiter, and then another stocky bus boy, I peered through the calendar on my phone. Tomorrow I had a lunch date with Megan P. and then later, I was taking Becca to the movies. Wednesday, was for Kim and her twin sister Kate. Thursday; brunch with Tina and a late lunch planned with Erica. Friday, Megan M. had me for a picnic, and finally Saturday, I set up a family meal. I wasn’t looking forward to it, but Sunday would be my dad to regroup and figure out what was so wrong with me.
“Are you going to be on your phone the whole night?” Jessica said with annoyance.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said and replaced my phone, “Anyway. I just need to know. Why did we break up?”
Jessica laughed for a moment, until she realized I was serious.
“Please,” I said, “We had something great for a few years, and then, next thing I know, I’m trying to catch all my clothes from the street. I don’t know what went wrong.”
“I knew it,” Jessica sat up straight in her chair, “I told you, we are not getting back together. I can’t believe you really thought-”
“I didn’t bring you here to get back together,” I said. Jessica replied with a simple, ‘Oh,’ and actually seemed disappointed. “I just want to know where I went wrong.”
“You want me to tell you what a horrible piece of shit you are?” I was surprised to see my plate of food placed in front of me. Our waitress was quick with the delivery and avoided eye contact with both of us. She excused herself quickly and made a dash to the kitchen.
I chuckled to myself. Jessica rolled her eyes and shook her head. She played with her food and said without looking up, “I feel like I should tell you, but I honestly don’t want to hurt your feelings.”
I folded my napkin on my lap and smiled at her. “Jess, I really don’t think you’ll be able to.”
Stand up straight.
Feet shoulder width apart.
Make yourself tall.
And stick that chest out.
Don't forget to smile.
Look her in the eyes.
And don't look away.
Can't forget to breath.
Grab her hand, gently.
Be firm, but not too rough.
Make sure she's listening.
She has to hear you.
Nothing else will matter.
Just let your heart do the talking.
Don't say too much.
But make sure you say enough.
You'll be able to sense it.
How your hearts sync with each other.
And your toes will graze the tips of the grass.
You'll float fast.
That's why you need her hand.
Or you will barely miss it.
That instant could last a lifetime.
Can you hear that?
Over there in the void.
The broken vaccum
Seeded inside the empty spaces,
The in-betweens of your heartbeat,
The moments that separte breath.
The intervals of the blink of your eye.
The sound tears make when they fall.
The isolation of your thoughts
When you are truly
It calls for you
The echo screams.
For the Audience
"There's a man outside your window," Oliver says, backing away from the curtains.
"I know," Gloria replied, "I see him."
Oliver shifts nervously and focuses his gaze on her.
"Do you," he stumbles with his words, "Do you want me to get rid of him?"
"No," Gloria says with a sly smile. She dims the lights and approaches Oliver. "I told him to come over."
Oliver licks his lips as Gloria undoes the knot of her bathroom. She teases him, making sure to take her time undressing. Oliver's pants tighten, but his eyes dart back to the window.
"Should we, um," his words fight against him, "Should we close the curtains? I can tell him to leave."
Gloria lets her bathrobe drop. Oliver stifens as he takes her in. She poses in her bright red lingerie, the silk dances on her skin with the slightest move. Oliver adjusts the collar of his shirt.
"He doesn't have to go," Gloria says. Her voice is a whisper in his ear. "He likes to watch." One arm goes around his neck as she pulls in for a short kiss. It's tender and the short exchange leaves Oliver barely able to control himself. He shakes and begs to go upstairs.
"Oh, honey, no," Gloria chuckles, "We can't go upstairs. I wouldn't want to get my room messy."
"Ok," Oliver says, "But, can we at least close the curtains?" Oliver points to the window. "That man is still out there."
Gloria smiles as she lifts a couch cushion and pulls out a large butcher knife. "Good."
Oliver's eyes grow wide as he watches her play with the tip of the blade. "I uh, I'm really not into kinky stuff."
Gloria shrugs as she glides over to Oliver. He backs away to the corner of the room. "That's too bad. My friend outside is," she points to the window. The man's face is just outside the glass. The night and dim lighting hides his idenity, but Oliver isn't concerned with him anymore.
"He loves this part." Gloria raises the knife, Oliver screams, and the man outside watches, enjoying every second of their encounter.
A Masterpiece of.
It's the color of sadness.
It's the color of despair and isolation.
The feeing you get when your loved one's hug is too short or that longing when you sit in an empty bed.
It's the color that surrounds you and follows like a cloud, waiting for rain.
It never pours. It won't take it that far.
It only wants company, just like you.
It's rain that falls from no where; and drowns you in possibilities or what could or may never be.
When you call for an echo and receive silence...waiting for an answer you will never get.
It's the color you drink at two in the morning, just after the bars close.
When you are expecting company, who cancels at the last minute or as simple as smelling a flower when you're sick.
Where the expectations meet the limitations.
It's the color of sadness.
If tears were painted...
You could create a masterpiece of Blue.