castalia_mludi

Coda

Fri, 08 Jun 2007 02:11:25 GMT

It’s dark out tonight-

No moon or stars in sight,

And the television drones on and on,

But I can’t seem to hear its siren song.

The silence consumes my spirit and soul,

Where is the knife to bleed me whole?

Return to the black beyond night and day

Not to be anymore and just fade away.

Loneliness always comes with its lifeless return.

Cold doesn’t freeze or fire burn.

The pit seems deeper every year.

Where there’s no heart left, only fear.

And what does it matter to the world any more,

If there’s one less guest to darken love’s door.

No Longer Here And Now

Tue, 21 Mar 2006 15:35:57 GMT

Sunlight dances through leafy tiles
as my feet skip the sidewalk cracks.
Wind licks the edges of my smile,
pushes me along steadfast tracks.

Cars collide, metal creaks,
survivers live, although irate.
Time slips under crests and peaks,
footsteps falling now too late.

Breathing burning, heartbeat pounding,
running ever off the path,
can't shut out the sirens sounding,
or yells of a driver's wrath.

Raindrops fall from many miles;
water fills the sidewalk cracks.
Plans lost like yesterday's smiles,
washed away like muddy tracks.

Firefly

Fri, 20 Jan 2006 02:08:51 GMT

Jason’s mother stopped packing the dishes into the crate and sighed. “Jason, you don’t have to stay here. You could come with us. I’m worried about you.”

He got up from the kitchen table and shook his head. His long dark brown hair swung in front of his eyes. “Mom, I’m 19 years old; I’ll be fine. I’ve got a room at the Seattle Boys Club, and they’ll help me find work,” Jason said, looking at the plate in his mother’s hand. “I need to go catch the bus into town.”

“You don’t want me to take you?” she asked plaintively. Tears were starting to form at the corners of her eyes.

“No thanks, Mom. Don’t worry; it’s not like I haven’t been away from home before.”

She put the plate in the box. “I know. I just… I just wish we didn’t have to part this way. I wish we’d had a chance to make amends.”

He walked up and put his arms around her. She slowly raised her arms and held him tightly, and then he turned and said, “Tell Jim and Sarah goodbye for me. I love you.”

“You’re not going to wait till they get home?” Her voice rose in a quaver.

“Mom, not now. I’d rather not get into this. I’ll call you in a week when you get settled in. Good bye,” he said, and headed out the door.

She watched him through the window, and the wave that she’d held back washed over her in low cries. She collapsed into a chair, put her head in her hands for a moment, and finally wiped her tears back into her hair. I have to pack. This is beyond my control. If I can just finish the kitchen, I’ll make it through this day somehow.

Jason walked through the neighborhood streets towards town, pulled out his wallet, and flipped through the six twenties. These won’t last long, he thought. I hope they do find work for me.

He slowed his pace as he approached NE 8th and spotted the bus stop. He sat alone and let his mind unwind. He'd fought terribly with his parents the past two years, and he just wanted to get out. "Well, here I am," he thought. "Maybe I should've had a better plan. I shouldn't have trusted my friends to help me out; they can't even help themselves."

He caught the Metro from Bellevue into Seattle. Going over the floating bridge, the sunset reflected in the waters of Lake Washington. No point in looking back now, he thought. The only work in Bellevue would be food service or retail for a high school dropout. A feeling, sharp and hot, grew within his stomach, and pressed his fists against his eyes to hold it back. I can do this. I know I can do this. It’ll be alright. The sun disappeared behind the Seattle skyline, and the clouds burned from amber into red.

When the bus passed 4th Avenue, Jason had almost fallen asleep. He yanked the cord, and got off at the next stop. He ambled out the back door and walked up the hill to the Boys Club entrance. It was a tall, older building than the glass and steel around it. He liked the smell of the street, the taste of the air in the city. It seemed so real and concrete, and so unlike Bellevue.

He waved to the watcher at the front counter and boarded the elevator for the 7th floor. When he got to his room, he locked the door behind him, walked the 10 foot length of the room, opened the adjacent window, and kicked back on the little bed. His eyes blinked shut, opened to stair at the ceiling, and wandered over the narrow empty walls around him. His suitcase was propped open on a small cherry dresser with all his worldly belongings- enough clothes for a week and a half, some pictures, and an open pack of cigarettes.

A pang in his gut reminded him that he hadn’t eaten anything since a sausage biscuit that morning. He didn’t want to spend any cash, but Pete, a friend from high school who just left the club to go to his family in Sacramento, had given him his food stamp card and some vouchers to help get by until he found a job. “I’ll go down to the little market on the corner,” he thought. He rolled up out of bed and put on his leather jacket.

Walking down the hall, he decided he needed to take a leak. He swung open the bathroom door, and there was a blonde-haired girl in front of the mirror putting on lipstick. “Oh, Jesus,” Jason exclaimed, “I’m sorry!” He turned back to let the door swing shut and heard a reply in a low baritone.

“Hey, no problem. You’re in the right place,” the stranger replied.

Sure enough, the bathroom door had a big “Men’s Room” sign on the front. Jason went back in and looking down at the floor, headed to a urinal on the opposite wall.

“Don’t be embarrassed! It happens all the time. Name’s Jackie; what’s yours?”

“I’m Jason from Bellevue,” Jason replied, trying to relax enough to pee.

“Well, Jason from Bellevue.” His voice rose and fell in a lilting tone that brought chills up Jason’s spine. “Chris and I just arrived in Seattle last week, and we’d like to go out on the town. We hitchhiked all the way from San Francisco. Some of the guys down the hall are going with us to some teen club a few blocks down the street. Want to join us?”

Jason flushed, zipped his pants, and came up to the sink to wash his hands. Jackie had blonde streaked hair and wore a denim vest, jeans, and a white t-shirt. How obvious to him now that it hadn’t been a girl. His eyes had way too much liner, but he seemed harmless enough. “Sure, but I’d like to stop and get a sandwich at the market on the way, if that’s cool with you.”

“No problem, honey. Let’s drop our cocks and grab our socks, cause we’re gonna have a good time tonight!” Jackie picked up a purse from the wall, tossed it over his shoulder, and led Jason down the hall.

Jackie stopped by his room and propped open the door. “Hey, Ms. Thang, your hair looks fine. Let’s go so we can get a seat before it gets busy.”

“Oh, girl, puh-leaze, I’ve been ready.” Chris came out, a thin boy with a French haircut that gave him a distinctively feminine look. He eyed Jason up and down. “And where did you find this fine man?”

“Before you even start,” Jackie replied, “he’s straight as the day is long. Mm-hmm. This is Jason, and he’s going to walk with us down to the Monastery.”

“Okay, can’t a girl ask a question without you getting all uppity? Let’s go!” Chris locked the door, and they all walked down the hall to the sitting room.

Lance and Boyd, a couple of hustlers who worked together, were sitting on the couch and jumped up when they saw the group. They were both short, but built and compact with crew-cuts, jeans, and muscle shirts. “Hey guys, we ready? Who’s the newbie?”

Before Jason could get a word in, Jackie replied, “Boys, this is Jason from Bellevue. I met in the bathroom, so don’t take my word for it.”

Jason blushed, and they all laughed. “I’m Jason; nice to meet you.” He shook hands with them, and they sauntered down the hall to the elevator.

While Jason as eating his ham sandwich, Lance and Boyd were telling everyone about their last trick. “This guy, he was like 45, bald, and shorter than me, but big as a house, and hairy. He got us in his hotel room, and you know what he had us do?”

Jackie’s eyes got big. “What? Is this going to be gross?”

“Twisted, but not gross. He wanted us to beat him up, kick his ass, and bruise him real good.”

Jason swallowed. “Are you serious? He paid you for that? Why? Did you really do that?” His hand with the sandwich dropped to his side.

Jackie laughed at the expression on Jason’s face. “You can take a boy out of the ‘burbs, mm-hmm.”

“I’m not paid to ask why. And damn right, we beat the fuck out of him. Look at my knuckles; they’re black and blue.” He raised his hand to show everyone.

“Just damn,” Chris said, looking at Lance’s bruised hand. “I hope you got paid some big money.”

“He paid us $150. Not bad for 15 minutes work. He gave us some hash to take with us, too,” Boyd said. “Look up the street. See that Camaro pulled over? That skinny dude is Rick, and he’s charging that kid on the sidewalk. Let’s go back before he see’s us.”

“Fuck me,” exclaimed Jackie. “I thought we’d get away from that shit in California.”

Jason watched as the two guys in the Camaro got out, and straddled the teenager against the car, frisking him. The bigger of the two wheeled the boy around by his shoulder and cold-cocked him. The skinny guy looked up, saw the group, and said something to his buddy, and they got back in the car.

“Let move, ladies.” Lance turned around and led the group back the way they came.

The Camaro paced them on the road while they walked down the sidewalk. Rick waved his hand out. “Hey boys, where are ya heading tonight? Anybody up for some fun?”

Lance waved to him. “We’re heading back to the Boys Club, Rick. Maybe we’ll catch you later.”

The Camaro stopped. “Hey, pretty boy; what’s your name? Come here.” Rick was staring at Jason.

Boyd whispered, “Jason, be cool and go over. Just don’t get in.”

Jason walked over to the car, thumbs in his front pockets. “Jason.” Rick sported a thin moustache over just as thin lips; limp black hair hung down to his shoulders and set off his pale bony face. The passenger who’s face he couldn’t see looked like his muscles were about to burst from his jeans; his open shirt revealed a six pack and a pistol stuffed in the front of his jeans.

“You must be new; haven’t seen you around before.” Rick’s cell began to play some hip-hop tune. He looked down to check the caller-id. “Damn, looks like our meeting is on, Butch. We gotta roll. Pretty boy, I hope to see you around real soon.” He winked at Jason, gunned the engine, and pulled off.

“Shit, that was close!” Lance put a hand a Jason’s shoulder. “I’d lay low for a while from this area, if I were you. Best to stay out of sight than try to run. He’ll have you over at his place, get you fucked up, and then work your ass on the street.”

Jason stepped back. “I’m not working for that guy!”

Boyd laughed. “It’s not like he’d give you a choice. He’d just make your life hell, beat the shit out of you, until you put out some ass for him. You seen Buck’s gun. These guys are for real.”

Jackie rolled his eyes. “Ok, since the shows over, can we go on to the Monastery?”

Chris chewed his gum loudly and looked around nervously. “I don’t know, Jackie. I think I’d rather go back to the shelter with Jason. Tomorrow night there’ll be a lot more people there anyway. I’m still tired from all the travel.”

“Fine. Okay. We’ll come back tomorrow. Jason, honey, don’t worry; we won’t let you out of our sight. You stay with us, and you’ll be fine.” Jason jumped when Jackie surprised him with a slap on the ass.

Jason stomach was doing somersaults. For a moment, he felt trapped under everyone else’s gaze, but he realized that these people were on his side. He never expected so much from people with so little. He smiled and said, “All right, I appreciate your help. That’s really cool.”

Lance grinned. “No problem, man; as long as you blow me when we get back.”

Jason froze and looked at Lance like a scared rabbit.

“Just kidding, Dude! Lighten up! C’mon, let’s get outta here before Rick comes back.”

Back in his room, Jason lay on the bed with his eyes closed. He thought about his room back home, now all packed up or sold off. He thought about his sister and wondered if she would miss him. They fought off and on, and when he got into high school, they just became more distant. He wondered when he would see his family again and if his mother would ever forgive him. “I wish,” he thought, took a deep breath, and sighed. “What the fuck am I going to do?” Only the sirens out the window broke the silence.

There was a knock at the door. It was Van from the next room.

“Hey, man; you around?” he yelled.

“Yeah, hold on a sec,” he answered. As Jason unlocked and opened the door, Van popped his head in, his long black bangs hanging over his right eye.

“Guess what? I made $60 off my last trick and got a bag of Hawaiian for a tip! You up for some Scooby snacks?” he asked.

“I can’t spend anything on drugs, Van. I don’t have a job yet,” Jason said, throwing the door open wide.

“It’s not for sale, Dude. It’s on the house, my treat!” Van stepped in. At 6’4” he towered over Jason’s small frame. Van was a Vietnamese-American who got kicked out of his house four years ago at 12. He learned quick, making money as a card shark, and occasionally doing tricks for male businessmen with a penchant for Asian boys. He wasn’t gay, but the money was way easier than the card games. As far as Jason was concerned, Van could sell Eskimos ice cream. Van was always on the take, and Jason was impressed, if not a little leery about him, from day one.

“Sure, man; take the chair,” Jason said, glad to have the company. “So have you had any luck with a job?”

“Hell no, they told me a about a warehouse job on the other side of Queens Hill, but then I’d have to take the fucking bus. Then I’d have to be lifting shit all day long. I’m not up for that, man,” Van said as he was packing his brass one hitter. “Besides, I made more money today than I’d make all day at that place. How ‘bout you, man; any word?”

Jason sighed heavily, watching Van pry the sticky leaves off his fingers. “No,” he replied, “I only just put in for work three days ago, so I’m still waiting. So how much do you make doing tricks usually?”

Van cocked his head up, furrowed his brow, and said, “Dude, you do not want to be doing that. Let me tell you before you get started; don’t! Once you get in, it’s impossible to get the fuck out. Promise me you won’t do it, okay?”

Jason blanched and replied, “Sure, man. Okay. I was just asking. I thought it was easy money.”

Van turned his chair to face Jason and said, “Look, it pays, man, but I’m not doing it because it’s fun. It isn’t. Sometimes you get hurt, and sometimes you don’t know what the hell you’re in for. You could get beat up or killed; you don’t know whose car you’re getting in. You don’t know what they want until you’re alone with them. You’re a good guy. You can do better than this, better than me, or anyone else in here. You’re smart. You have a chance.” He looked at Jason, half smiled, and said, “You’d be a lousy lay anyway.”

“Fuck you,” Jason laughed, “Like you’ll ever find out. Are you gonna light that shit or save it for a rainy day?”

Van laughed and turned back to tap the end of the pipe. They both walked over to the window and lowered the top half to air the room out. The electric and neon lights reflected off the buildings across the street, so it was never dark in the evening. Only the brightest stars and the moon were visible from the little bits of naked sky seen from the room. An airliner passed just under the crescent moon, red lights blinking on the wing tips.

Van passed the smoking pipe to Jason and said, “I wonder where they’re heading.”

Jason inhaled, held it, and released the smoke through the window in a long breath. The stars seemed to be distinct hot, white points in a cold black void. He watched the plane disappear and said, “I don’t know, Van. I don’t know.”

Fri, 09 Sep 2005 20:43:55 GMT

13 years ago you were there in my arms,
quietly gazing while I walked down the hall.
As I lay you down in the hospital crib,
your cry sounded like a squeaky door.
My fingers touched your tiny hand
which closed tightly for security.

For six years I came home
to see you growing
and hear you laughing,
to carry you up the mountain
and sing songs in the car.

Seven years hence, time passed too quickly,
for every other weekend
we've worked to be there for each other,
to commune at that point
between the what has been and what will be,
in the hope of never losing
what can never be lost,
the bond between father and son.

So here you stand,
a young man wise beyond your years
with so many choices ahead,
and I know with the love endowed you
by your mother, Marvin, Judy, my parents,
with the security of the good friends you have,
and the lessons learned from the Torah,
that you stand to succeed in being a great man.

Mornings in the coffee shop

Thu, 08 Sep 2005 13:18:30 GMT

Upon arrival, I noticed someone had occupied my favorite chair, one of two overstuffed armchairs opposite the fireplace with a small oak and iron table in-between. Dianne prepared my usual in a mug. I can't abide by getting a paper and plastic cup every morning just to throw it away. Now there were so many new faces who worked here. Joyce, a humble lady in her 40s with chestnut hair, had retired, and I missed seeing her smile and challenge me with the daily trivia question. And now Wendy would be leaving soon, as well. She'd told me she was going to a contact lens place just down the street. It's funny how attached we customers become to these busy ladies who come here so early in the morning to greet us with smiles, jokes, and hot coffee as we drag in off the street. Then before you know it, they are gone, to be replaced by a strange face, soon to become familiar in a week or two, and the name will be on your mind as you walk in.

She slides the mug towards me, and I thank her. Glancing down, I see it's filled to the rim. Joyce always left room for cream, and had the forethought to ask if I needed it, but that was her gift for customer service- something that can't really be taught. Some of us go to work, resigned to what we do to pay our bills and make our way, and others take to each day an earnest and fresh outlook, making the best of the situation at hand.

I flash back to a lunch visit two weeks ago, remembering when a new girl, maybe all of 20 years old, handed me a cup and the lid popped off, allowing the scalding black contents to pour forth all over my hand. Fortunately her manager brought me a rag with ice to prevent blistering. The girl had not even noticed, for she'd already gone to fix the next cup as I walked to restroom for cold water.

Now I'm very careful taking my mug to the condiment counter, because I know just how hot that coffee is. I add my usual two sugars and half-n-half, then head to the vacant chair by the fireplace. The interloper in my favorite chair glances up, and I recognize her from the previous week. She'd remarked how someone else had taken my spot that day, and it had never occurred to me that I was also observed as a regular here. Often I think myself an invisible observer, and at times when I realize I'm not, that's the most I ever come out of my terminal self-absorption.

She has those classic black-rimmed reading glasses, mostly oval and flat on top, that look like they are about to slide off a person's nose. She gives me a knowing grin, then turns back to her book. Her smile is that kind of secret smile, and I wonder what lies beneath. Does she smile like that because she knows I usually sit there, or because she is amused by the peculiar character I am here in this other world? My car, a modest Japanese manual sedan, has two bumper stickers that reveal just how liberal I am, and here in this exurb, I stick out like a clown at a funeral, for that is the general reaction received in this conservative outpost.

Over-analyzing her smile, as I so often do everything else, I reflect how this paranoid tendency isn't really new to me, remembering a time at the age of 11. My mother and stepfather had been married a year or so, and we'd moved into his stately antebellum home in a lesser metropolis than Atlanta in central Georgia. They were each so absorbed in each other's lives, that my brother and I were often unintentionally neglected, and we began to feel that we'd become more fixtures of the mansion than actual kids. We were to be seen and not heard; at parties, we were introduced and dismissed almost within the same breath.

Lying in bed at night, fantasies to explain this change in life began to surface, and one above them all crystallized as the most plausible for quite a while. Clearly, my mother and stepfather were KGB operatives, trained early in youth. Mom had married my father to gain access to the Pentagon, had children, probably by accident, then divorced as my father served no further use to her. She and my stepfather could then reunite, and eventually they would have to get rid of my brother and me. Then they could slip into Russian, discussing espionage plans as they wished, without fear of being discovered. And when they came creeping up the stairs at night to do us in, I would be ready with a fireplace poker...just in case.

Yes, looking back to that time and comparing notes on my internal dialog today, my paranoia had markedly become less comically dramatic, while still pervasive. Somewhere there is a six-legged psychobabble word for it, I'm sure, but really, how interesting is life without a little derangement?

Placing the mug on the little table and opening the book to the story for the day, I begin to read.