Masculine Gestures III

I took them to all the cute tourist spots and the whole car was full of sunburned cheeks. We had crowded four kids and three adults in and the hour ride home had been blissfully quiet. The dark skies of up north slowly started to glow closer to the city.

There had been moments all day where I knew this was something torturous I would never do again. Twisted side view of life, lust in my mind, squeezing my eyes. Brushing against his alien skin, smelling his sweat, noticing little things you can’t imagine or make up. A scar on his arm. Chewed down nails. A nervous habit. The way the air lifted his hair off his forehead.

It was thick in my chest. It was heavy on my mind. He drifted off to sleep in the passenger seat. Twenty miles from the city, I pulled into a rest stop. The intimacy of his head nodded to the side, his brow so childish, the essence of the child within the boy, the softness, the vulnerability, I thought I’d die. I thought I would…

I reached out, brushed my thumb under the firm line of his lip, then across them. I felt his breath skitter across my skin. It sent electric shocks down my arm, my body and I gushed a warm response.

Jumping out of the car, I chose the woods instead of the port-o-potty. I plunged into the thick brush, found an empty spot and dropped to a squat. The cold air hit me and I gasped with pleasure. I finished and pulled my jeans back up, buttoning them as I walked. My eyes were glued to the ground, helping me maneuver.

“We almost there?” He said. Standing in the clearing, both our car doors behind him wide open to sleeping passengers. I kept walking and crashed into him. The collusion was hard. He was a natural in the heat. He was long and smooth and I was surprised by the firmness, hidden muscles of his lean body.

I wondered if he had even imagined my body before. Surely he had felt something.  His fingers slid up and down my back, easily under the tank top. Then he stopped and pulled away.

“Let’s go.” I said. We got back in the car. I was grateful to have the city back in front of me, to break the lust like a fever.    

Nowhere Coast

Over here. Stay quiet. Shhh. Just be quiet.

 

It’s safe to talk now. How did you get here? Who sent you? Can’t you talk? Well, my mute friend, you’ve dropped yourself in a real shitty situation. That man, Radley Boomer is NOT going to let us go. What?  I can’t understand you. Here, I have paper. Sam, give me that notebook. This is Sam. What is your name? Tell us your name first?

Angelo. Ok, Sam this is Angelo. I am Cassandra. How did you get to be here?

Where? Was it the engine? Tires?

Sam can fix engines. This is good. What? Ok, Sam. Ok. Hey, do you have a cigarette? Thank you. Two? Oh thank you, Angelo. Thank you. Let me see.

Just under an hour. We were…in the house. We NEED to get out of here, not worry about ancient history. Ok. Ok. Here’s what it is. I heard him go through some sort of…change. Sam? No, he heard nothing. Wait, what was that? Shhhhh.

 

So listen, Angelo. We have weapons. Sam has a pitch fork, I have a knife. We just need to get to your car, Sam can fix it, and we can get out of here. No, listen. THAT is NOT a man. He might have been. Now, he is not. Not a man. Not. What?

No. That’s blood.

The road is his.

Shhh. Quiet. Quiet. Quiet, Angelo. Shhhh.

Cat Burgler

She came in through the bathroom window. Her straw bag ripped when she yanked it after her. With her feet on the cool grey tile, she held her breath. No sound was heard, so Maxine placed the bag on the toilet and reached in. She pulled out a small shoebox that had originally contained toddler sneakers. Positioning the box under the toilet, there was a clicking sound, and then she straightened up. Maxine glanced in the mirror as she hummed. Giving her hair a bounce, she grabbed her bag and left the room.

Her steps were silent on the plush carpet. There was a ticking sound and on her way past the dining room, she spotted the enormous grandfather clock.

“You can’t be serious.” Maxine said to the room.

“Meow? MEwww.” A white cat with orange ears wandered in from the living room. Maxine could see the glint of plastic couches. She sighed.

“Hello Chloe. Daddy not home?” The cat floated on front paws to run her head under Maxine’s bent knuckles. Her purring got louder and Maxine smiled a bit. The phone rang. Four times.

“Hi! You’ve reached Chuck. And Marge! Leave us a message.” Beeeeeeeeeeeeep.

“Hey, Chucky? It’s Winston. I got sort of a disturbing message from Flora earlier. Have you seen…have you seen her? Call me back, okay? Your cell isn’t working. ‘Bye.” Maxine felt her face blush. She quickly straightened up and strode towards the kitchen.

The white cabinets were intricately carved and chemically smoothed. Maxine ran her fingers over their slick surface. The kitchen smelled like coffee and Ajax. Maxine did not miss either one of those smells. She heard a crunching sound and Cronus had joined Chloe over at their food bowls by the back door. Almost a negative of Chloe, he was black with white tipped ears.

“Hey boy.” The cat flicked his ears at her and nothing more. They ate like they hadn’t in years. Maxine approached the fridge and pulled it open. Maxine pulled out slices of mango in a bowl from the top shelf. Using three fingers, she slowly ate slice after slice of mango and watched the cats eat. Chloe finished first and stood to the side, licking her paws and cleaning her face. The fridge motor kicked on then quieted after thirty seconds or so. Cronus finished eating and walked in Chloe’s vapor trail, back to the warm sun spots of the living room rug.

Maybe I’ll just go and lay with them, just for a little while, she thought. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out and looked at the caller ID.

“Ah, the traitor.” She remarked to the empty room. Maxine let the phone vibrate in her hand. She was leaned over on the counter, forehead resting on the crease of her left elbow. The fridge cleared its throat again. The vibrating stopped, but the phone emitted a small beep to indicate a text message. Maxine looked down.

Don’t forget my dentures. Bitch. You did’t have to due that this morn. See tou at 4.

Snapping the phone shut, Maxine spun around and headed towards the back bedroom. She pushed the door open and the smallest cat, Midgie was sleeping in a circle on the twin size bed in one corner of the room. The sun was not coming in the windows just then, but the room was warm and VERY still. Unnaturally still, she thought to herself. Turning to the night stand, a small spray bottle and a Cadbury Crème egg were hanging out with a dentures container. Maxine quickly shoved the container into the straw bag.

Picking up the spray bottle, she pointed it at little Midgie. Perhaps sensing an adversary, Midgie deemed to open her eyes and confront Maxine. The cat lifted its head up further and refused to look away.

“Maxine, you cant win a staring contest with a cat. They have nothing else to do.” Maxine struggled to remember, but she thought Flora had said that. She returned the water bottle to the night stand. Her eyes paused on the drawer. Slowly, she leaned to slide it open and look inside. It scuffed forward on its track as a lovely skunk odor started to fill the room. She didn’t even have to look down to know what she would see. On first pull, Maxine was smiling.

The draw also had cash. She removed a large wad of bills and two bags of wintergreen colored weed. Those followed the container into the straw bag. The aroma of the drugs was so strong, it was making her subconscious. Her mouth was alive with arousal. She straightened her shirt and glancing away, noticed a letter sitting under a thimble in the drawer. I have to close it anyway, she thought. She lifted the thimble and out of habit, slipped it on her finger while she read the address on the letter:

Morris Wildenberg

1212 Monsignor Crudouex Highway

Frankston, LA

The return address was the house with the piano key picket fence. It had been Chuck’s idea.

Maxine closed the drawer by its wee nipple-like knob and scooted from the airless room. Midgie reacted with a mere flicker of a whisker. She knew Maxine had nothing.

Walking through the kitchen once again, she opened the last cabinet door to the left and took out a bag of unopened Wise potato chips. Then she headed for the back door. Maxine left the house, looking at Agnes Maggione’s sad tomato plants recently attacked by roving raccoons. Her cousin Tracey would come over on Saturday and restring the plants up, baby them a bit.

Marge had recommended tuna around the base of the plant, said her Sicilian grandmother used to grow them that way. Agnes scoffed when Tracey told her what Marge had said about her Sicilian grandmother.

“That’s why, their beautiful girl Maxine, she run away. Marge, she a porca puttana.”

Augur

You are late.

I am often late.

Not this late.

Very well. But I am here now.

But LATE.

And HERE.

Yes, here. Did you bring your satchel?

I always bring my satchel.

Including today?

What is wrong with you?

I just don’t even know why you’d ask that.

Fine then. Where should I set up today? The terrace?

Perhaps the dining room today.

The dining room? You know I work better outside.

I do. I think you know where it is.

What is going on?

Again, with such curious questions. Did you not get your money this month?

I did.

Did you get it last month too? And where your expenses paid?

You know the answer.

I do.

You must admit you are acting…out of sorts.

Must I? Watch the candlesticks there. I think that smaller table, in the corner.

Very well. The, uh, energy in here…it’s…odd.

Sit here, Ms. Milner. I think our session today is going to be quite successful.

For He Whose I Am

The bus had been 19 hours and 12 minutes of wasted time.

“What were you thinking?”
“I don’t know. I obviously wasn’t thinking, judging by your reaction.”
“Go home.”
“Okay.”

She was now seated on the bench at the bus station, under the pretense of waiting for the next bus. In her hands, she held the pocket watch.

“That one.”
“This one? Miss, this one is an expensive watch.”
“I know.”
“Ok. Cash or charge?”
“Is it extra to engrave?”
“No, Miss. It’s complimentary. I will get you a sheet of paper.”

For he whose I am.

Counting her money again, she hesitated from buying a ticket. Why did she think he would come and stop her? Just because she came so far? Held back this long, her tears were heavy, overripe and finally fell like devastating bombs on the dry skin of her hands.

Feeling better after her cry, she stood up with purpose to buy her ticket and return home. She would write the whole thing off as an experience, an adventure, and fodder for her work. Maybe she would even get a book out of it…

“Violet!” Then, he was there.

Dream I

She would run from the house, lifting her rough skirts to increase her speed. To get there. The shouts of the sisters would echo, but she would ignore them and laugh, casting her eyes up to a blue sky. The sound of the tall grasses played drums on her tall boots. She would get there, she would. Defying all the rules, she would make it to the place, the illusion he had bloomed in her earthen mind. She would search the forest, wondering if it was all a Victorian fairytale, had she burned her bridges in a free fall for no reason, no promise.

But in her dream, he was there. His clear eyes darted to the side and she saw the carvings. And then he was gone again. She felt with her fingers tips and the wood still hummed and burned with life. She read it like a map and was off.

A new course charted.

Lies

If I strap you in…

it wont hurt.

Another Spoiled Child

I am going to the office. I always go after night fall. We are all such routine creatures. But night is the appropriate time for our work. I am going to the office. Yes, I already said that.

I am going in because I am supposed to but I forget why each time. And then I’m scared. I forget why each time. I could easily work from home.

I go by this very shiny surface once inside and I can’t help but wonder what that is inside the inside surface, the hard colors, the scary angles, the sharp white teeth.

The screams are unnecessary and I get tired of waiting so I quickly return to the closet and meditate while I imagine myself back home.

And little Spencer McGraw and his nosy nature, I should have known to tie him to his bed but I got spoken to for that…

His hands burn me like acid but more than that, now, I can’t remember home and I am just jumping from closet to closet but I have to use these sidewalks and little Spencer McGraw has really set me free as I see the stars and the sun and the ivy league college, I take out loans and don’t intend on pay them back as I am a monster.

Bird of Prey

I don’t know, Sarge. Maybe we should go back.

You don’t go back, you fool. Have some courage! You disgust me.

Two against how many, Sarge? This is suicide.

No, it’s honor.

It’s crazy.

Count of five, Timmelson. Be Ready.

Sarge…

One, two…

Are you SURE about this!

Three, four…

Jesus, I’m going to die.

FIVE!

***

The field was brown and barren under the bluest skies. The sun was hot except when the wind was blowing, and the wind was almost constant, carrying voices of anguish and destruction, clashes of metal.

***

When you were a kid Johnnie, What did you believe in?

The moon and the stars, nothing more.

I read a lot of Poe.

We all read a lot of Poe.

Cask of Amontillado?

In English class I was the only one to pick up on the incestuous relationship of Roderick and Madeline in the Fall of the House of Usher.

Summary of Number 2 pencil memories.

Life of the party.

Just saying, I’ll never slow dance to Stairway ever again…

***

There was a c-shaped collection of trees around the field. Ironically, its forever voice would tell of many battles fought on this soil. All that had changed in this place of death was power lines between earth and heaven.

***

Sarge? How on earth did you get over there…Sarge! Sarge. I’m here. Wake up. Wake up! Oh shit, that’s a lot of blood. Okay. Okay. Let me just look. I’m gonna ease your vest open, okay? Shit. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I tried to be gentle. Okay, let me see…ok, no problem. No problem. Let me open your pack. Ok. Sarge? I’m gonna apply pressure, ok? Then I’m gonna tape it on you. We have to move from here. We are right out in the open. Sarge? Keep listening to me. Can you talk? I know, I’m sorry. I know, that hurts. I bet. It’s not bad, okay? Can’t you talk? Just hold…

***

War is not the best time ever.

Boy did you say a mouthful there.

Want a smoke?

Nah, I’m ok right now.

Listen, I gotta have that shit conversation with you.

Which one?

The if-I-die one…

Christ, I just like you as a friend buddy.

Asshole.

Faggot.

Fuck off.

You first.

I just want you to make sure Cassidy knows I love her. You know Jewel isn’t gonna make it a priority.

Bitches. You leave home to…

QUIET MEN.

***

The heat bugs piped up, then hushed with the force of the wind. Bullet casings flashed, coins rejected and cast wide to dot the tan deadness. A man stood behind one of the taller, more ancient trees. He watched the men rush into the circle, into certain death and knew, once again, the sickness had driven more men to fall.

Soldiers rushed the field, passing easily thru this man on their way to collect the fallen enemy. The man imploded, transforming into a red breasted bird, renewed by more harvested blood and eager for a further possible gluttony of egotistical man.

***

What are you talking about, Timmelson? Did you say mother just now? Timmelson? That your foot? Shit, I’m blown up good I think, I can’t tell, can’t see. Timmelson! Do you…see…that man? Did you see that? Timmelson?

At the Mic

I only found the spot again because of litter and weather. They were vital to your conviction. You should know I loved her, and I didn’t mean to get that drunk that night.

Also, I can walk again.

Enjoy your jail cell.

Frozen Foster's by Eric Alder