Flash Fiction - Fuck My Life! (Blasphemy)

"God has a plan and the Bible unfold this wonderful plan through the message of prophecy."  -Tupac Shakur

*

Why do all these bad things always happen to me? Don't I deserve a fucking break?, he thought as he jogged down the street, the rhythm of his feet pounding against the concrete calming his temper a bit. He couldn't hear the sound of the diesel engine over the angry music pumping into his ears from his iPod as the truck approached. He didn't see it as it crested the hill just as he crossed the street, the crisp, refreshing scent of early morning dew filling his nostrils as he took that first step off the curb. Fuck my life!, he thought, and then everything went black.

The Story Of My Life In One Sentence:

The story of my life in one sentence: People come in like a whirlwind all full of hope and promise, things get intense, reality sets in and then they leave because it's too much for them.

I suppose it is too much for me to expect someone to actually stick it out with me when I don't ever really want to be here myself; I'm stuck with myself, they're not.

And now, for some sappy love quotes:

“If I never met you, I wouldn't like you. If I didn't like you, I wouldn't love you. If I didn't love you, I wouldn't miss you. But I did, I do, and I will.”

“When you smiled you had my undivided attention. When you laughed you had my urge to laugh with you. When you cried you had my urge to hold you. When you said you loved me, you had my heart forever.”

“I love you not because of who you are, but because of who I am when I am with you.”

“Meeting you was fate, becoming your friend was a choice, but falling in love with you I had no control over.”

“Love is when you shed a tear and still want her, it's when she ignores you and you still love her, it's when she loves another man but you still smile and say I'm happy for you, when all you really want to do is cry.”

“Find a guy who calls you beautiful instead of hot, who calls you back when you hand up on him, who will lie under the stars and listen to your heartbeat, or will stay awake just to watch you sleep... wait for the boy who kisses your forehead, who wants to show you off to the world when you are in sweats, who holds your hand in front of his friends, who thinks you're just as pretty without makeup on. One who constantly reminding you of how much he cares and how lucky he is to have you... The one who turns to his friends and says, “That's her.””

“For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul.”

“I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.”

“One of the hardest things in life is watching the person you love, love someone else.”

And, finally the fucking coupe de grace:

“If you love someone, let them go. If they come back, they're yours. If they don't, they never were.”

God Has Infinite Patience & A Sick Sense Of Humor...

When I was twenty-two years old. I started stopping by my grandmother's house a lot, my father's mother. We saw each other randomly, but had never really gotten to know each other. At the time I was fighting a court battle and was set on the idea that I was going to jail for a while. I wasn't sure for how long, but I had this idea stuck in my head that by the time I got out she wouldn't be around anymore. Her and I grew very close during that time.

At one point I asked her where my grandfather and my uncle Romy (her first born son) were buried. I figured I would need to know for when I got out of jail. I knew where the cemetery was because members on my mother's side of my family were buried there as well. I had looked for my grandfather and my uncle's tombstone several times, but could never find it. My grandmother sat down and drew me a map telling me exactly where they were and how to get there.

Several days later, I went to the spot she had told me about. I wandered around for what seemed like hours reading one tombstone after the other. Getting frustrated, I prayed to God to help me find it and I wandered around some more. Still nothing....

I got more and more frustrated until I just couldn't take it anymore. I was ready to give up. I looked up at the sky and cursed God out.

“Fuck you! There's no such thing as God! If there was he wouldn't have me wandering around this cemetery all day looking for my dead relatives!”

I turned to walk away. As I did, I looked down at my feet and realized that I was standing on top of them.

The whole time I had been searching for a tombstone never stopping to think that I come from a modest family who would never spend a significant amount of money on an ornate rock to mark the spot of their deceased. There were just the two headstones pictured above with their names on them, right where my grandmother said they would be....

What I Deserve....

“Isn't it great that we don't always get what we deserve? I know, if I got the things I really deserved, I'd be dead or in jail right now.” ~Anonymous

*

“Just give the program 30 days, and if you don't like it, we'll be happy to refund your misery.”

That's what my sponsor told me when I first met him. That was twenty-six days before this day. I was already dealing with the fact that what was left of my life was crumbling down around me. I didn't have any where else to turn. I figured, why not? I took his suggestions. One really bad night in the beginning he told me to pray.

“Pray for what?”, I asked.

“Pray for God's will to be done, not yours, because your will sucks. Then turn it over, leave it in his hands and see what happens.”

So, that's what I did. Man did God have some shit stored up for me! Things spiraled out of control fast. One revelation after the other... Things weren't crumbling down around me anymore, they were already dust and I had just been too blind to see.

I did what any good alcoholic does, I isolated. I locked myself into a prison of my own making. Praying in between exercising; begging for answers. Leaving the house to go for walks late at night because I knew that the bars and package stores would be closed and because I couldn't sleep. And, when the answers came I didn't listen because they weren't what I wanted to hear. That little voice kept whispering in the back of my mind, and I kept pushing it out until I finally got fed up.

I let the anger take over. Anger is the only emotion I've ever known how to deal with. I've had lots of practice. I can direct it here or there with ease. Anger is such a fickle emotion though. It never does what you want it to do, and always just makes things worse.

That day, I directed my anger towards my sponsor. I called him for the first time in days. He was worried about me. I very calmly asked him, “Do you remember when you told me to give you 30 days or you'd refund my misery?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you've got four fucking days left. I don't deserve the shit's that happening to me. If this is God's will for me, he suck my fucking cock.”

Then, I looked up at the sky and told God the same thing. I walked out of the house and drove to Hartford to visit my grandmother. There's something about her and her house that always have a way of calming me down. She's a sweet old Cuban lady who believes in some of the old Cuban religion. There are statues of saints and candles everywhere, rosary beads, and even glasses of water for the spirits of the dead. Strange things have happened in that house, and sometimes I honestly think she's psychic.

I don't recall what we talked about or how long I stayed. I just sat on the couch and stewed in my anger and misery when suddenly the room started to spin. Things got blurry. My chest got tight and I could hardly breathe. I looked around the room and the statues and pictures of the Virgin Mary and the baby Jesus kept popping out at me. Everywhere I turned they were right there; the only thing I could see clearly. I was suddenly reminded of something awful that I had done in the past. I tried to shake the thought, but it wouldn't leave. Every ounce of me wanted to break down crying, and begging for forgiveness.

I felt trapped. I needed to get out of there. I think I said goodbye and left as hastily as I could. I got in my car, rolled the windows down and started driving hoping that the fresh air would help. I got one, good, deep breath in and it hit me; I was acting like a spoiled child. I was just a fuck-up and I didn't deserve shit.

I went home, got on my knees and asked God to forgive me, laid down and fell into a deep sleep. The next morning I met my sponsor at a meeting, and told him what had happened.

“Isn't it great that we don't always get the things that we deserve,” he said, “I know if I got the things I really deserved, I'd be dead or in jail right now.”

Dear NETWORK (God's A Car Salesman Pt. II)

Dear NETWORK,

This is me reaching out. It's no secret that I've been on the edge for a while now, and I haven't fallen in yet. But, I'm tired of holding on and I'm ready to jump. The water looks nice from here and a pack of cigarettes, a case of beer, an oz of weed, an eight-ball, and some strippers are starting to sound like the promises coming true....

Thank you for imparting this little bit of wisdom in me over the last year: I can't control the actions of other people, only the way that I react to them.

Everyday for over a year now I have taken the advice of strangers and prayed for God's will to be done, "because my will sucks". Well, if this is God's will for me after a year, then his will fucking sucks too! He can keep his fucking Porsche! (Read my last post.) If he dares to give me the keys again, I'll return it this time after a few weeks with one headlight broken, covered in mud, the engine overheating, exhaust hanging down shooting off sparks as I pull into the lot, convertible top ripped and bent beyond recognition, bucket leather seats missing replaced with old milk crates, and the interior smelling like blueberry-scented pine-tree air fresheners, burnt flesh and dirty Mexican pussy! (Don't ask, I won't remember.)

I can see the conversation now:

"Welcome back Jorge! How'd you like the ride?"

"That ride was fucking awesome God!"

"Glad you liked it, it's yours to keep. Do what you will with it."

"Naugh, I'm good. What the fuck would I want with a busted-ass-piece-of-shit car like that?!? That thing's fucking falling apart! I'm surprised it made it back here! Give it to that guy standing over there; he looks like he'd enjoy a good fixer-upper. I'll walk from here!"

Then, I'll flip God the bird as I head out to trudge the road of happy destiny to the nearest brothel.

"Fuck you and your mother-fucking will for me asshole!!!!"

God's A Car Salesman

"We walked for some time, and grew to know each other, as best as we'd allow. These are some of the high points. They lack continuity. I don't apologize. I merely pointed it out, adding with some truth, I feel, that most liaisons lack continuity. We find ourselves in odd places at various times, and for a brief span we link our lives to others and then, our time elapsed, we move apart. Through a haze of pain occasionally, usually through a veil of memory that clings, then passes, sometimes as though we have never touched." ~Harlan Ellison

*

I saw God the other day at a car dealership. He was standing in front of a brand new, silver Porsche 911.

“Here,” he says and he hands me the keys, “Take it for a ride. See if you like it.”

So I do, and of course I like it, it's the best damn car I've ever driven. Then he tells me maybe I can keep it.

“Try it out for a few weeks,” he says, “Let me know what you think.”

A few weeks pass and I see God again.

“So, how do you like the car?” he asks me.

“Are you kidding? I love it! I could go on about it for days! Thank you so much!”

“Good. Good,” he says, “Now, I need the keys back.”

“Huh?” I say completely dumbfounded.

“The keys. I need the keys back. That one's not for you.”

“Well, which one is?” I stutter.

“Eh, I don't know yet. Why don't you walk for now?”

And, as I'm walking away with my head bowed and my dreams crushed, I see a man walk up to God. God hands this man the keys to my car and the guy drives off, peeling out of the parking lot.

And my car is gone...

The Familiar Path

"Growth means change and change involves risk, stepping from the known to the unkown." ~William P. Young, The Shack

I could feel the soft, wet leaves give way under my sandaled feet as I trudged down that path. The familiar crunch of breaking twigs echoing in my ears. The damp smell of the forest filling my nostrils. It was a beautiful summer day. I could see the bright rays of sunshine poking through the leaves of the canopy over my head. But, where I was it was still cool and dark. It was always cool and dark on this path.

As I walked through a clearing, past the bluff overlooking the river below, I came across a man who was just packing up his fishing gear. I bowed my head and started to walk by praying he wouldn't see me, ashamed of what I must look like after walking this path all this time.

"Hello!" he said.

Goddamnit!

I turned to see him smiling warmly at me in the distance. His blue eyes sparkling as he began to walk towards me. The entire forest became settled and calm all around us. An aura of serenity surrounded this man, and I was reminded of a wise old priest. Wisps of grey hair poked out the sides of his fisherman's hat which was covered with all different shapes and sizes of lures in every color imaginable.

"What brings you out here today, fishing?" he asked despite the fact that I was carrying nothing to fish with.

"Naugh, I hate fishing," I replied quickly.

"Oh," he said with a sly grin, "Everybody likes fishing. Do you know how?"

"No, no one ever taught me. I tried a few times on my own, but couldn't catch a thing."

He laughed, "The Chinese say that a man who teaches himself has a fool for a master."

"Yeah, I think I got that fortune cookie once," I said sarcastically.

It just rolled off his shoulders and he continued, "I see you're headed in that direction," and he pointed down the trail I was headed down. "That's good, we can walk together for a bit."

"Sure," I replied even though he hadn't really asked.

We walked together quietly for while until we came to a fork in the trail. Off to the left was a brightly lit path along the river's edge, and he headed that way. The path I was on led to the right, off deeper into the forest. I started to say farewell when he stopped and turned to look at me.

"Ah. You're headed that way," and he stated, "I've been that way before. It doesn't really lead anywhere, just kinda ends abruptly. No good fishing down there."

"Yeah," I replied not telling him that I had been down this way a hundred times before.

"Why don't you come this way with me?" he said, "There's plenty of good fishing spots this way. The water is beautiful and warm this time of year."

"I don't have anything to fish with," I offered as an excuse.

"No problem," he replied, "In some countries of the world people fish with their bare hands. It's more difficult, but the reward is so much greater. And, it a lot of fun!"

I chuckled at the thought of myself standing in the river, water up to my waist, lunging at fish trying to grab ahold of one.

"Thanks, but I think I'll pass," I said, "Maybe next time."

"Well, it was a pleasure meeting you," he said, and headed out.

I stood there and followed him with my eyes for as long as I could, but eventually the sunlight reflecting in shimmers off of the surface of the water drowned him out until all that's all I could see.

A sadness swept over me. I wanted so badly to chase after him. It all sounded like so much fun, but I was scared. I didn't know where that path led or what I might encounter down there.

I looked down the path I had been on. It was cool and dark. The trees in that part of the forest were so dense that they kept all but the smallest rays of sunshine from poking through. I knew where that path led. I had been there a hundred times before. That path led nowhere, and to no one, but it was so comfortable.... so familiar. And, it would be so easy to just continue along that way.

Damn that old man!

To be continued....

Apocalypse

"Life, death and rebirth are inevitable."

~Riq Veda

*

We stood staring out into the abyss, nothing behind us but devastation, a barren wasteland, nothing in front of us but darkness. The pungent smell of sulfur from the explosions filled the air. I held my two-year old daughter in my arms. She grabbed me as tight as her little arms would let her and buried her face into my shoulder. The screams frightened her and she just wanted to go home.

“Don’t worry baby, everything’s gonna be alright,” I whispered and kissed her on her neck, shielding her from the danger that lay beyond.

I turned to face my ten-year old son who had been standing by my side. His body shook with fear, but he stared intently at my face his hazel eyes locked in mine, fighting back the tears.

“You know whatchu gotta do?” I asked him in the serious tone that meant I expected him to already know what he had to do, and that I shouldn’t even have to ask.

He nodded his head slowly and bit his lower lip, never taking his eyes off mine.

“Excuse me?” I growled.

“Yes,” he stuttered, “Yes, sir!”

I handed him his sister. She struggled as I pried her tiny hands free from my body. I felt empty when she finally let go and grabbed a hold of her brother. I could no longer feel her heart beating next to mine and it killed me inside to think that I may never again, but I knew what needed to be done.

I crouched down to one knee, never taking my eyes off of my son’s. I laid my right hand on his trembling shoulder.

“You take care a yer sister now, ya heard? Don’t you dare let nothin happen ta her!”

“Yes sir!”

I squeezed his shoulder and nodded my head in approval.

“I’m proud a you,” I told him, partly because he needed to hear it, and partly because I didn’t know if I’d be back.

I turned toward the abyss, the sound of my daughter begging me not to leave barely audible above the echoing screams from within the darkness. I took one last deep breath and stepped in.

At once everything behind me vanished. I turned around and around, but they were gone. There was no turning back. I stood there, unable to move. The screams grew louder. They were coming for me.

Suddenly the air went cold. My body froze. I could no longer breathe. And, they were upon me. My blood boiled. I wanted to fight like I had so many times before, but I couldn’t. There was no fight left in me.

I opened my arms, lifted my head and smiled. The demons were all there: Pride, Wrath, Greed, Sloth, Envy, Lust, and Gluttony, Pride being the worst of them. They ripped at my flesh and tore at my soul, but I did not fight. I knew it was pointless.

I bowed my head and did the only thing I could do; I accepted them. I let them have what they wanted, and it comforted me. I let them into my soul and they hugged me like old friends with their icy grips. I held on for as long as I could, having no concept of time because it did not exist in this place, until I began to gasp for air, but none would come.

Father help me!, I pleaded, I can’t take anymore!

I no sooner thought the words then a light shone in the distance. It was the Seraphim. They had come, just as I had been promised. The closer they came, the brighter their light became until it was blinding. I closed my eyes just in time to feel them reach me.

I opened my eyes and just as suddenly as it had come, the light was gone and the demons began their attack again. This time they were louder and more ferocious than they had ever been, their screams and hisses deafening to my ears which had started to bleed. There were more than before. The seven multiplied having joined forces with the thousands of resentments I held from my past, ghosts that I had all but forgotten.

I shuddered and began to cry at the thought of what must be done. I took one last deep breath in and closed my eyes again. Then I let it out and as I did I let go. I did not come to fight. They came at me as before and I accepted them for what they were. They were MY demons. I had created them.

They began their descent into my soul intent on taking what they had come for, and again the light shone. This time it came from within me. The closer the demons came, the brighter it got. Their violent hisses and screams turned into painful wails of agony and they began to flee in terror from the light which grew until my body could no longer contain it.

Again I opened my eyes. The light surrounded me in a shield of pure, bright white. The demons circled, but they did not dare come close. They were ashamed and frightened, and couldn’t even stand to look in my direction. I laughed hysterically because after all this time and after all the power I had given them they were nothing more than cowards.

With every breath I took the light grew bigger. The sphere that shielded me expanded until I could no longer see anything but the light. I closed my eyes one last time and everything went blank. I felt like I was falling, suspended in time and space like Alice when she fell down the rabbit hole.

Finally it stopped. A calm settled over me. I opened my eyes and I was sitting on the brown suede recliner in my living room. I could smell coffee brewing. I looked over in amazement at my children who were off to my left, pillow fighting on the tan leather sofa.

My son stopped when he saw me looking his way.

“What’s wrong dad?” he said with a quizzical look on his face. I smiled my eyes meeting his like before, this time sparkling with life.

“Hell’s not that bad,” I replied.

“Huh?” he said, even more confused than before.

I just shook my head and laughed. He didn’t know, and I didn’t expect him to.

Roxanne

"It means suck it up, move on and do something for someone else, or get busy dying." ~Leon R.

*

I woke up naked, covered in sweat, the light blue cotton sheets soaked and cold against my skin. My head was pounding from too much rum and beer the night before. I looked to my right and she was laying there, the girl from last night, her short brown hair just barely covering her pretty face. I wanted to wake her up and tell her it was time to go, but I couldn't remember her name. I rolled out of bed and grabbed the edge of the dresser before I fell, dizzy from standing too quickly.

I headed down hallway towards the bathroom for aspirin and water. My hands were shaking so violently as I jumbled through the medicine cabinet that I dropped several bottles of whatever pills I had on hand until I finally found the aspirin. I threw several of them in my mouth, turned on the sink and downed them with three big gulps of cold water. I splashed my face and wiped the sleep out of my eyes. I felt better, still not sure what to do about the woman in my bed.

I walked back to my bedroom and stared at her sleeping body for a minute. They always looked so innocent when they were sleeping. I took a slow deep breath and just said, “Fuck it.” I walked over to the bed and nudged her a few times with my foot.

“Wake up! You gotta go chick. I got stuff to do.”

I walked to the closet and started getting dressed as she rolled over.

“Huh? What time is it?” she said as she looked at the clock on the nightstand, “It's only five am???”

“Yeah, but I've got an appointment. I gotta take care of some important stuff this morning. Where do you need me to drop you off at?”

“Ugh! Enfield,” she said wearily, “Sorry about your back, sometimes I just get carried away.”

“Don't worry about it, I'll be fine.”

I had forgotten all about that until just then. I flashed back to a vague memory of me grabbing her by the throat last night with my left hand, my right hand balled up into a fist ready to hit her because she had gouged my back with her fingernails as I was fucking her.

She got out of bed and started putting her clothes back on, baggy blue jeans, a baggy white shirt and a Celtic's jersey. I thought it was a shame. She was a pretty Italian girl and an animal in bed. She had potential if she'd only dress like a lady instead of a thug.

Then it hit me, “Roxanne! That was her fucking name!”

“You ready Roxanne?” I said with my keys already in my hands.

“Yup.”

As I was driving, I quickly realized that I was still drunk from the night before. My head hadn't pounding yet, and my mouth was so dry I could hardly swallow. I stopped at the Shell gas station along the way, with it's bright yellow lights just starting to dim as the sun rose in the horizon.

“You want anything?” I asked her.

“No, I'm good.”

I went in and came back out a couple of minutes later with a purple Gatorade and a pack of Newports.

It was a long quiet ride to Enfield. My Newport cigarette made me feel nauseous as I smoked it. We drove right by the strip club where I had met her the night before. She lived out in suburbia near the Somers line in a nice, modern New England house, with sand-colored vinyl siding, white trim, a two-car garage and a manicured lawn. I shook my head in semi-disgust. So much potential, and here she was dressing and talking like some street thug. I wanted to say something, but who was I to talk? I was practically the same way.

We hugged and she kissed me goodbye.

“You want my number?” she said as she got out of the car.

“Sure”

She gave it to me and I repeated it back to her as she was saying it.

“You're not gonna write it down?” she asked.

“Naugh, no need. I got it right here.” I said and pointed to my head.

She stood in the driveway and watched as I pulled away. I lit another cigarette feeling like a complete scumbag, but still happy to be rid of her. She knew I'd never call.

I headed straight for the refrigerator in the garage when I got back home, slapping the bumper sticker on the side of it that read, “Never Trust A Man Who Doesn't Drink.” I opened it, grabbed a cold Newcastle, popped the top with my blue Patriots lighter and took a long swallow.

“Ahhh!” I sighed with relief.

I felt better instantly as the shakes went away. I could smell the stench of alcohol coming through my pores mixing with my body odor. I closed the refrigerator door and headed upstairs to take a hot shower.

“Fucking bitch!” I said to myself, growling and gritting my teeth as the hot water hit the scratches on my back making them burn. I took another long swallow of my Newcastle, which was getting warm too quickly from the steam, and tucked it safely into the soap rack. I still felt like a scumbag.

I put some strong citrus scented body wash on my sponge and scrubbed my body as hard as I could, but I couldn't scrub away the guilt. I started to think about my life and how I ended up where I was. I fell to my knees as I rinsed the soap away covering my face with my hands, sobbing.

“What the fuck am I doing?” I said through clenched teeth. My life wasn't supposed to turn out this way. I had plans at one time. A bright future. I probably should have been in college right then, studying, but something had gotten skewed along the way. Now I worked all week in a warehouse, loading trucks just to keep my probation officer happy and myself out of jail. I spent almost every night hanging out in run-down old strip clubs and dive bars pretending to have a good time all the while feeling sorry for myself. Always blaming other people for my problems.

I took another long, deep breath, stood up and turned the water off. I caught a glimpse of my own eyes in the mirror as I pulled the shower door open. All I could see was an empty shell of the kid I once was, my bright future long past gone. I finished the Newcastle and threw the empty bottle in the trash.

I got dressed and headed back to the garage. Only two Newcastle's left. It was still early in the morning. I'd have to pace myself until the package store opened around eight. I hoped the package store owner wouldn't be late today or I'd have to drive around the neighborhood looking for him as he took his morning walk. I hated doing that to him, but he always jumped in my car with a smile and a pleasant mood as we would drive back to the store. I always wondered if he secretly hated me for interrupting his exercise.

As I was walking out with another cold Newcastle in my hands, my brother poked his head out into the garage.

“That girl still upstairs?” he asked.

“Naugh, I brought her home earlier.”

“You brought her home already??? You dirty dog, you!” he laughed.

“Fuck you,” I replied and shot him a dirty look.

It was him and his girlfriend who had set me up with the girl. She was in the car with them waiting outside when the bar closed. Apparently she was going home with us whether I liked it or not. I hadn't wanted anything to do with her that night. I was too busy trying to talk to this gorgeous Puerto-Rican dancer who I had spent the night with a few weeks earlier. She hadn't spoken to me in a week, ever since I threw her and her obnoxiously drunk friend out of my car at two in the morning.

My brother turned around and walked back to his room, still laughing. I walked into the house and sat down to watch television. I thought about going back to sleep but knew that I wouldn't be able to now that the sun was up. I looked at the clock again. It was only seven. The package store didn't open for another hour.

Another long, deep breath. It was going to be a long day. No doubt we'd head to the bar in Suffield around noon. The French Guyana bartender and her cousin would be there. They were cute and always let us run up a tab without a credit card. Plus they never kept track of what we drank. I can't recall how many Saturday afternoons I had stumbled out of that place completely shit-faced for no more than five bucks.

Yup, it was going to be a long day drowning out the memories of last night and the many nights before that. If someone had told me at that time that there was a better life around the corner and all I had to do was reach for it, I would have laughed and told them to fuck off. Looking back now, I didn't think I'd ever learn. How could I when I already knew everything? I didn't have the time for that shit anyway; I was too busy dying.

The Valley of the Shadow of Death

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil...” ~Psalm 23:4

*

I'm trapped in a dark alley. Cold red bricks rise up around me on all four sides, like skyscrapers with no rooftops in sight. I'm sweating. There are galvanized metal trash cans down one side, their garbage overflowing. The stench of rotted meat fills the small area. There is a rusty, wrought-iron fire escape across from me. It is the only way out, if only I could reach it.

Thick heavy steel chains cut at my wrists and ankles as I struggle to break free. I am pinned to the wall. One is wrapped around nothing but my throat, it's weight bearing down on me like an ox bound to a plough.

My attackers are relentless. They have no faces. They have no gender. Their voices rasp in my ears and all around me, but they do not speak. They whisper and scream, but they have no mouths. They are but shadows.

They claw at me, tearing me apart from the inside out. Flames rise up in all directions from everywhere and nowhere, burning my skin, reflecting in my eyes. All I can do is growl.

I grit my teeth, and spit, “That's it!? That's all you've got!? Harder! Hit me harder!”

And I laugh. I laugh because there is nothing else I can do. I laugh because it hurts. I laugh because I love it! The pain. It brings out the best and the worst in me. It reminds me that I am ALIVE!

“C'mon! Harder! I'm still here! I'm still standing!”

And I laugh again because it hurts so good. I created these demons. They are within me. And I let them loose because they needed to be free.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I inhale them through my nostrils. I can feel them struggle as I push them back down where they belong, deep into my soul. I bow my head and slowly I begin to relax. I feel it begin to snow as they disappear. The weight of the chains melts away as I exhale. I am free. A phoenix risen from the ashes.

I open my eyes. The sun is shining down. The trash is gone and fresh winter snow covers the ground at me feet. I grab a hold of the rusty iron ladder and begin to climb. I cannot see the end in sight, but the the closer I get the warmer that sunshine feels upon my face.

I smile. It is going to be a good day.

Fuck This Fucking Rain (The Poem)

"Don't walk behind me, I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me, I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend." ~Albert Camus

The rain falls down,

all around me

pitter-patter, pitter-patter

I miss you

my friend. You are but a

memory, a shadow

on the wall.

It's pouring now, as I drive

down a long, winding road beneath

the dark night sky.

pitter-patter, pitter-patter

as it hits the ground. I

try

To find a song on

the radio, but

none can match, the

emptiness I feel inside now

that you're gone, only

the rain.

pitter-patter, pitter-patter

We hardly knew each

other, but

your effervescence inspired

me. The rain started

when you left.

A gentle reminder,

a cleansing, washing

the world around

me with it's sound,

pitter-patter, pitter-patter

short-lived

dreams, of climbing

mountains towards castles in

the sky, of Cuban

food and

writing

I had that feeling

before the rain came. I

could smell, even taste

it in the air. I wanted

to hold on

To that beautiful

day forever, but I had

to let you go. I

watched as you walked

away

I sighed

I cannot control

the weather, and I know

that it cannot rain

forever.

Some sunny day

our paths will cross

again

until then, good luck and

farewell my friend.

How The Twelve Steps Ruined My Life!

"I can't tell you how many times I've seen someone turn around and head back down that hill after struggling so hard to get where they were when the top was just a short distance away." ~Brian D

*

I was sitting at the stage in a strip club in Springfield. It was dark in there even though colored strobe lights flashed all around me. It felt like it was getting late. The music was loud. I had moved to the stage from the bar where twenty-year-old girls were busy flirting with men old enough to be their grandfather's. Working them for their money only to gossip about how disgusting they really thought these old guys were later in the dressing room.

There was a drink in my hand: club soda, easy on the ice, two limes. I had taken the straw out. Men who drink out of straws just look gay. I leaned back in my seat and caught the eyes of the brunette on stage. She was leaning against one of the poles and her eyes smiled when I looked her way.

I've been frequenting strip clubs for almost ten years now. It's hard to believe it's been that long since Anthony and his uncle first brought me into one. I can vaguely recall how nervous I was then. If I was new to this I would have thought she liked me or maybe at least that she thought I was cute. But no, her eyes smiled because she had just found her mark.

I can't describe her in detail; they all look the same after a while.

I threw a couple of dollars down and she started dancing. I glanced down at the money, two crumpled bucks.

I flashed back to nine years earlier. My brother had just moved back to town. I started bringing him to the strip clubs with me. Back then I would take one of my dollars, fold it half, fan it out, and place it between two other bills so that it looked like I just put four bucks down. I didn't bother doing that anymore. You get the same dance for one buck that you get for four. If you watch the same girl make her way around the stage you'll realize that it's all just a routine for her. Like dancing by numbers, one, two, three, and turn , one, two, three... Once you've been to the strip club enough the routine of it all becomes comical. The girls have it down just like any other job if you work it long enough. At every fast food joint there's certain steps to take to make a burger. At the strip club there's certain steps to take to have a man hand you his paycheck.

Once she was done dancing, she leaned forward and whispered, “Thank you,” in my ear. She smelled good. Strippers always smell the same. It's like they have some special perfume that only strippers wear: Eau De Stripper. (That kind of sounds disgusting now that I think about it.)

I threw a couple more dollars down. She started dancing again. One, two, three, four....

I haven't been able to enjoy myself in a strip club since I stopped drinking. I can't forget that last column on my fourth step, “What was your role in this?” Ever since I worked that step and then shared it with my sponsor on the next step, I haven't been the same. This little voice in the back of my mind keeps bothering me, telling me things that I know are true but that I don't want to hear.

Right now it was whispering, “What if that was your daughter up there on that stage?”

“Shut up,” I thought to myself, and I pushed the thought away.

When she was done dancing this time, she knelt down in front of me and started picking up her money, adding it to the rest of the crumpled bills strapped to her thigh.

“What's your name?” she asked.

She wanted to talk. I've always enjoyed talking to strippers. They're great listeners. They don't really care what you have to say, but they listen.

“Jorge,” I replied, “What's yours?”

“Giana,” she said.

“Seriously?” I thought to myself, “You've got to be fucking kidding me. I need to get out of here.” I couldn't tell if the little voice was laughing or crying.

“No, that won't do,” I said.

“What won't do?”

“Giana is my daughter's name. We'll have to call you something else.”

“Oh, Steph then.”

“Steph. Is that your real name?”

“Yup. How long are you staying here for?”

“I was just getting ready to leave, Steph.”

“Would you like a private dance before you go?”

Fuck me! Of course I did.

“I guess I can stay a little longer,” I told her.

Ten minutes later I pushed open the cold, steel door with the tinted glass that led out into the street. I had to shut my eyes for a moment as the sunlight hit me. It was only just after noon, and I was already fifty dollars lighter than I had been twenty minutes ago. I walked to the meter where my car was parked. The frigid winter air whipped against my face. I hopped into my car hoping that no one I knew had seen me because I felt ashamed.

Oh, how things have changed since I quit drinking. People say that strip clubs are degrading to women. They're not. They're degrading to men. And I was just now realizing that.

I took a long, deep breath as I turned the key and started the engine.

The little voice spoke to me again, “What was the point of that? You just spent fifty dollars to feel like a scumbag.”

I pushed the thought aside again and looked at my own green eyes in the mirror. The voice was right. I took another long, deep breath, and drove away thinking it would be long time before I would go into another strip club.

Now what was I supposed to do with my afternoon? I should have been at school right then, but it was too late class had already started.

I thought about calling Arelis and seeing if she wanted to hang out as I headed towards Main Street. She was a young, pretty Puerto Rican girl I had met a couple of months ago. She lived right up the road in the South End near the Italian social club. We talked a lot at first, but it dwindled off. She had three kids at twenty-two all with the same guy and they all lived together. One big, happy family. I felt bad.

The little voice started again, “Is it fair to her if you call her to hang out? What about her children's father?"

"Fair to her? Fair to him?" I said, talking to myself, "What the fuck do I care?"

"You were in his shoes once, how did that make you feel? What about your children, is it fair to them?” the voice replied.

“Fuck you little voice!” I spat back silently, and pushed the thought out of my mind. The little voice was really starting annoy me.

Almost a year ago, before I quit drinking and working those steps, this would have been an awesome day. I would've been drunk by now off rum and Coke with lime, “Cuba Libre” it's called. There is an ongoing joke amongst Cuban exiles:

“How do you make a Cuba Libre?”

“You mix rum and Coke with lime on the rocks.”

“No! You kill Fidel Castro!”

So, I would have been drunk by now on this beautiful, frigid winter day playing hooky from school with nowhere special to be. I would have just had a blast throwing money away at the strip club. Imagining that I was so much better then those old men in there who just didn't "get it," when really I had so much more in common with them than I would have ever known.

I would have just called Arelis and made plans to meet up with her for a booty call.

"Tell your boyfriend to watch the kids for a while, because you need to go to the store," I would tell her.

Then we would have met someplace classy like a parking lot somewhere behind a warehouse in West Springfield. And the thrill of it all would be so much fun.

I would wake up the next day feeling like a piece of shit, but it would be alright. I woke up every morning when I was drinking feeling like a piece of shit because I was. I was a selfish, lying, two-faced scumbag.

Instead I was heading home, tail tucked between my legs with nowhere to go and nothing to do. Thanks to AA and the fucking twelve steps, I now had this little voice constantly whispering in my ear, holding me accountable for my actions.

I realized after working those steps that I was responsible for my problems. I couldn't blame things on other people, places or things because I always played a role in my life. Hell, I was the main character.

I also learned that I was powerless over everything in the world around me. I could control myself and my actions only.

Moreover, I held resentments against people for doing things to me that I had easily, carelessly, and selfishly done to others.

All these years I had thought that problems followed me around everywhere I went. When things got to be too much I would run away, but they would find me. The patter would repeat itself over and over throughout my life. Now I knew why. I was the problem. I couldn't run away from myself no matter how hard I tried.

I had developed a conscience.

"A conscience! What the fuck was I supposed to with that?!?" I thought.

I shook my head. Fuck me! My life as I knew it was over. After you took away all the bullshit that had made up my life, the lies and the selfishness, there wasn't much left. I was just an empty shell of my former self. And the thought of having to go down a new, unfamiliar path in life without all of those coping mechanisms that I had grown to love scared the shit out of me.

I could ignore the little voice. I could just say, “Fuck it!” like I had so many times before. That would be so easy. So comfortable. So familiar. But if I did, I would be skirting back down the same dark, winding path that I had worked so hard to climb up. I knew where that path eventually led to, the bad place. The place where nightmares become reality. No money to pay bills, but plenty of money for steak, champagne, and cocaine. Coming down after a long night wanting nothing more than to just curl up in a ball in a warm, steamy shower and die.

Yes, my life as I knew it was over. I couldn't go back to that. Ever.

“Thanks AA! Thank you for showing me the light in all this darkness! Thank you AA for ruining my life!” I shouted to no one in particular as I drove down the interstate, not caring if anyone saw me or not.

I didn't know where I was headed, but at least I wasn't headed back to where I came from.

Fuck This Fucking Rain

"The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed." ~Carl Jung

*

“These things usually happen like that,” she told me.

“I know,” I replied, “Always when I'm not looking for it, when I least expect it, and when it's most inconvenient.”

“That's life.”

“No, that's just my life.”

“It happens to everyone,” she said.

“Yeah, but it happens to me all the fucking time. I must have been a really bad person in a past life. Either that or God just thinks it's fun to fuck with me.”

“God doesn't fuck with people.”

“Seriously? Then why does this shit happen to me? I was doing just fine, living my life, things were going well and he just throws a wrench in the works.”

“Just because you don't understand him, doesn't make God crazy. He knows what he's doing. He has a plan.”

“Oh yeah?” I said sarcastically, “Well, it be nice if he fucking shared that plan with me. That way we'd be on the same page.”

A long silence.

“Apparently you've got your mind made up, there's no talking to you right now.”

“I don't wanna fucking talk. There's nothing to talk about! I wanna ride my bike down the highway, in and out of traffic, as fast as it will take me. I wanna watch cars zip by me in a blur. I wanna just go until I'm so far away that nothing else matters.”

“You can't outrun your feelings, Jorge”

“I can fucking try!”

“No you can't, your bike's in the shop and it's raining.”

“Fuck you! And, fuck the fucking rain!,” I said, “I wanna break stuff, glass preferably. I like the way it sounds when it shatters.”

“Then go break something!”

“Fuck you! I don't have anything to break that I wouldn't regret breaking later when I had to clean it up. I need a drink!”

“No you don't.”

“Rum. No, champagne!”

“Yeah, ok Jorge. That'll help.”

“Do you think champagne would taste good mixed with rum?”

“I doubt it.”

“Why not? Everything tastes better with champagne.”

“Shut up, Jorge. You're not going to throw away a year's sobriety over this because I won't speak to you if you do.

“Yes you would, you love me.”

“I do love you, but you do this to yourself. It's always the same thing. Stop wearing your heart on your sleeve. Then you wouldn't get your feelings hurt.”

“I can't help it,” I replied, “Alcoholics are all emotionally sensitive. It's a scientifilogical fact. It says so right in the step book.”

“Scientifilogical?”

“Whatever," I sighed, "I'm going home.”

“Bye.”

I open the old wooden door and step out onto the porch. I look out across the yard to the farm in the distance. It's pouring rain.

“Fuck this fucking rain!”

Unreasonable F@#%ing Expectations

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference. Thy will, not mine, be done.” ~Serenity Prayer

*

“I can clearly see what role they've played, but I'm having trouble figuring out MY role in these resentments,” I told him.

“Hmmm... How about unreasonable expectations of others?” he replied, “Often times we set our expectations of other people higher than we set our expectations of ourselves.”

“Ok. I can see that for some,” I said, “but what about my mother and father? Is it unreasonable for a child to expect his parent's to live up to their responsibilities? I didn't ask to be brought into this world only to be abandoned.”

“That's in God's hands," he replied, "Is it reasonable for you to expect that it should have been done differently?”

“No," I sighed.

"I'm sure they did what they thought was best at the time. And, I did the same thing when it was my turn. My son lived with my mother until he was five-years-old,” I stated, even though he already knew, “She saved him from being adopted by strangers because I didn't live up to my responsibilities. He would have grown up not even five miles from me, and I never would have even known him.”

“We cannot control the actions of other people, places, or things. No matter how hard we may try, the only thing in this life that we have any real control over is ourselves,” he said, “When it comes to the actions of other people, places, or things, all WE can do is control the way WE react to them.”

“So, no unreasonable expectations of others, only higher expectations of myself,” I said, “I think I've got it, but I'm not sure I can do it. It's human nature to expect other people to behave in a certain way. That would be like asking me to stop dreaming and just give up hope.”

“That's why we strive for progress, not perfection. You may not be able to stop yourself from being disappointed from time to time, but you can change the way you react to that disappointment,” he said.

“True,” I said.

“Pray on it. See what you come up with,” was his last advice.

Then, we said our goodbye's and I hung up the phone. I left the house to go for a walk. As I set out, I took a long, deep breath. The cool night air always had a way of helping me relax and concentrate. I could smell the forest and almost taste the damp leaves on the trees all around me.

There had really been something else on my mind when I called him. I was disappointed about a relationship that I wasn't looking for, but that had come into my life regardless. I couln't bring myself to tell him that though because I didn't want to hear what he'd have to say.

He'd lecture me again, “You're not ready for a relationship yet. Until you take the time to heal yourself, you have nothing to offer anyone else.”

Thinking about that made me angry. I knew he was right. I had known the answer the whole time. It had been whispering in the back of my mind only I kept pushing it out.

No, no. Anything but that, I told myself.

I started to run. I cursed at the sky, "If I'm not ready, then why has this been put in my lap? I was doing just fine until this," but the voice wouldn't leave me alone.

“Let it go,” it said, “Just let it go.”