My cousin was standing in said hallway; in the dark as I related, her head tilted slightly, looking at me with seemingly vacant eyes. No, not vacant….
Horror? No, not horror…..
It was…it was…..I got it.
Her brain was locked up. The blue screen of death look….
That’s usually what happens to dope fiend potheads so I wasn’t too alarmed.
I’m used to her bunch taking a trip and never leave the farm. If you know what I mean….
Anywho, she’s standing there in the dark hall, barefoot on a hardwood floor; vacant stare, tilted head, lips slightly moving.
She was making no sound that I could make out but as I got closer to her, I heard two things; one distinctly….
She raised her hand slowly to ward me off but making the gesture for “hold up”
Her eyes slowly found mine.
The look of a person that has lost their soul….
She made a “shush” gesture and mouthed “oh. MY. GOD!”
I made the silent “What’s up?!” face with accompanying hand and shoulder gestures.
Her finger slid across her throat in a cutting fashion….no, no, she was pointing to a door to my right, my uncles door; her daddy’s.
I followed the finger, looked at the door, didn’t see anything, started to turn back to her then…..I stopped.
I heard something….
What was she hearing? What was I hearing, slight as it was…
She was pointing with more vigor and giving heavier shushing moves….
I leaned toward the door…”W#hat?!” my sneaky shushed silent face said….
Her eyes got wider in that “LISTEN closer” wide look eye thing…
I heard it. I knew the sound.
It was sex.
There was sex going down in my uncles room and he is 62 years old and he’s not supposed to have sex because he’s too old and not married plus his pecker shouldn’t have even been working…because he’s you know, OLD. And, he’s my dead dads little brother!!
My face now had the “WTF” look accompanied by the token slow head turn of the truly baffled, while the realization spreading across my face as I turned back towards my cousin who’s dad was a dirty sinner.
Next silent shushed face wide eye question: “Who the hell is in there?!”
She looked at me, her eyes narrowing; then in a silent lip sync moment she said…
“Mama is in there with Daddy” jabbing her finger at the door.
Dirty, dirty old people fuckers, I thought.
I looked at her. She looked at me.
I needed a shower all of a sudden.
Then, It hit me…
These guys have been divorced for like 30 years! They probably ain’t seen each other but a handful of times in that span!
Hell, I didn’t even think they got along! She was here visiting her grandson for the love of all that’s holy!!! OMGODDDDD!
The sounds were getting louder and more intense.
The bed was actually creaking! Just like in the movies! Moaning and groaning, springs squeaking, headboard banging, faster and faster….!
I had to run. I had to get out of there….I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.
I was mired in sin…..
OMG; I’m gonna puke.
We were frozen to the spot.
Trapped by the sinful sex romp shadow demons that floated around us….grunting, humping and porking!
“Ugh ugh argh argh, yesss, yesss, oh I got a cramp! Bang bang, fucking creak!!!
Just like in the freaking pornos.
Minus the saxophone….
I don’t remember too much after we heard her saintly mother cry out “punch it, dick ninja!” “It’s getting away!
Her mama…..my uncle,,,,her daddy….were doing the big nasty and liking it!
Can. You. Believe. That. Shit?!
Freaking 62 damn years old and bouncing around on each other with their old person bodies, old man balls, granny panties slung over the bed post, slipping and sliding over each other like two grunting, gasping sumo wrestlers fighting over a corn dog!!
It was over.
The noise stopped.
What was said next between the two of them will not be mentioned….
Hint: It had something to do with bull riding….
I knew they were dirty fucker people.
I could see it in their eyes.
Here they were….acting like nice old grandparents; kissing babies, cooking supper, drinking sweet tea and sitting by the fire pit and as soon as we turn our freaking backs…..!
They should be ashamed, dirty old people!!
I don’t think I can ever talk to them again or look them in the eyes without seeing Mamasita and Dick Ninja….
54 years old and I have a fresh new scar for my life.
Great. Just what I needed. More trauma.
Thanks, Unc. You dirty old bastard.
My poor cousin.
I think she’s traumatized, bless her heart.
She told her preacher everything; confessed her disgust and shame.
She got baptized a week later.
She sees Jesus in her coffee now.
Check this out, I swear to God! If you can believe this shit;
Mamasita is dating the preacher…..
My therapist told me to write about the dirty old fuckers.
It helped a little. Not as much as the liquor, but it helps.
The title to this days blog kinda sounds like a western novel or movie or something, don’t it?
Uh oh, wayward tangent alert!
Here’s some more “titles” (while I’m increasing my caffeine levels) Yes, I know…I’m a terrible Mormon.
“The Watch” A fast paced movie about minute to minute time travel.
“Coffee Man” A novel about love and survival
“Loading….” A sci-fi mystery about patience and murder.
“Potty Break” Action “packed” cinematic dynamite, edge of your “seat”, “explosive” thriller about letting go…
Ok, I’m gonna stop now, I can see where this is going.
Speaking of potty break…..
Ok, I’m back. The Potty Break movie had a weak “ending”…..no real substance.
Ok Ok, I’ll stop!
What has gotten in to me so early this Tuesday morning!?
It IS Tuesday, right?
I don’t know what day it is. My phone is off….and I don’t know how to find it on my baby iPad.
Ok, I just figured out that my gps knows what day it is.
It’s Monday Jr?
That can’t be right.
Wayward tangent alert, again….
I just realized that I’ll probably never hold a leadership position in my church because I “may” have used inappropriate language in MANY of my previous blogs.
I kinda cuss when I’m being all emotional and creative….
In my defense, and y’all know this just as much, if not more than me…
Sometimes a dirty word is the only word that can work in certain instances. It takes one to get the EXACT point across: to match the flow of our literary intent….
Or, we (I) couldn’t think of a better word.
In my defense, I only have 33 credit hrs of college. In Texas….
Lets go with the creative juices thing….
Yeah, I’m a Cro-Magnon.
Sometimes I say bad words, think bad things, contemplate mass murder…or is it spree murder?
Hey, you try being a truck driver that goes all over this country, thru tiny towns and big cities and tell me that you don’t feel like running someone off the road!
Good thing is that I can keep fantasy, fantasy. Realistically, speaking….
It’s much more cool in my head; the fantasy part.
I could never kill in real life with the same satisfaction or special effects that I do in my head.
In fantasy dream mode (ok, pretend you’re seeing that daydream thing like they do on tv, with the wavy screen)
Ok, in dream mode, when I kill someone on the interstate (99% of the time its a 4 wheeler; car) there’s lots of screaming, rubber squealing and smoke, metal screeching & crunching, glass shattering and the smell of poop. Oh, and there’s always lots of fire & smoke, blood, guts, people flying thru windshields, the satisfying crunch as my 18 wheeler smashes thru their wrecking cars and over their pavement strewn bodies…..
*shudder in ecstasy*
It puts the lotion on it’s skin….
Thank the holy moly, but in real life, the whole “You’ll not do well in prison” filter keeps me sane.
Plus, I’d probably feel bad later.
Hold up, let me tell Jesus I’m sorry for murder in my heart.
This is my Granny’s fault; all this caring about people and crap.
Social norms…..Not killing fools.
EMPATHY for heck sakes.
Crazy old lady.
She’s the one that took me to church, taught me about Jesus, God and the Holy Ghost!
More importantly, the whole burning in hell thing if I run over people on the interstate, or undress pretty women in my head.
I’d marry them! Don’t be so quick to judge!
I’m a softie but HEY! At least I’m not a sociopath or psychopath , huh?!
That’s good news on this early Monday Jr!
Ok, I gotta go pick up some vegetables and start rolling towards F’n Jersey.
The rain began to patter on the window that looked out over my best friend’s small garden.
I was holding her frail hand, you know, the one with her so called “green thumb”.
I smile at this…
She always giggled when she told me that she could kill a plastic plant…
I’ve seen it happen.
But now her eyes were closed, hardly able to breathe….
….. today was a good day for her though, considering everything….
She may have been asleep but, her fingers gripped mine as hard as she could squeeze.
I could barely tell I was holding her hand at all, as weak as she was.
It’s so painful, beyond belief really, to try and imagine strength draining away from the strongest person you have ever known.
….like sand in an hourglass.
I laced my fingers thru hers, gripping them a little harder, tracing the veins on the back of her hand with my other fingers.
I can’t believe I’m losing her….
My bestest friend in the whole world is dying………Dying!
I can hear the thunder in the distance, the rain coming and going, the branches of the trees scraping lightly across the panes of glass
In the storm graying light of the small bedroom I turn back into time to think of our lives together.
I have done this more than usual lately….
Six months…..seems like yesterday.
It’s been years, really….
…..Way too damn fast.
Doesn’t it seem weird that when you are about to lose someone close to your heart, a piece of your very soul, that we start to reflect on our memories of them more, as if though trying to burn them deeper into our hearts and minds….
It’s as if though we are afraid that we might forget something important….forget them?
I remember when she was sober.
I look at her face as she sleeps….
She’s so beautiful……..even now.
My flower is fading….
The sun is leaving her eyes.
The rain reminds me that I must not cry……
Cloud tears trickle down, the beads of sky diamonds ornament her window…..
I’m not going to cry…not now at least.
She gets upset when I cry.
I sit there, holding my friends tiny hand, staring out the jeweled window as the storm drums the shutters.
The lightning is bright, the thunder is closer….the rain, more insistent…..
I can smell the trees.
I begin the stroll down our memory lane; it isn’t raining here.
There was only laughter, joy and our high school prom.
(I got to first base….ha ha…slut…ha ha)
Seems like forever ago…
There was only skinned knees, gum in our hair and friends we shared.
It was all a dream.
It couldn’t have been real.
It was all….too perfect.
I am brought back from my breaking heart to the bedside when I feel her stir under the blankets….
The thunder moves her.
Her eyes are open and I follow my dying friends hooded gaze.
She’s looking out the window, watching the storm.
Shadows of the window panes, rain drops and lightning dance across her face…..
She is quiet….
Dying sober, thank God….
Oh so still…..
God? Where have you been….”God”?
I notice a small tear is running down her pale cheek and across her dry lips…
She did it all to herself.
I fucking hate her.
I reach up and wipe the tear away with my finger.
All of a sudden, I feel guilty that I’m alive.
She grabs my hand and presses it to her lips and then drops my hand with a tired sigh.
She turns her face toward me….
I raise my finger to my lips and kiss what’s left of her tear….
She gives me that shy grin of hers and turns back to the storm.
“Will you do me a favor?” she asks in her beautiful, weak voice; the stormy sky reflecting in her dimming, pretty eyes.
“I don’t know” I say “I’m kinda busy” I grin.
(I hate you for dying)
She squeezes my hand again before turning to look at me, her gaze imploring.
“I’m serious” She says.
My face softens, I will not cry….
(You did this to yourself, all you had to do was say something)
“You bet” I whisper, both my hands pressing hers to show my promise.
I can’t squeeze her hand too hard…..
She lives very close to pain that I can’t imagine.
(This could have been avoided)
So easy to avoid….(It’s my fault)
She turns her face back toward the window as the rain dances across the roof, the thunder making the panes tremble….
She says “Think of me when it rains….”
I cannot cry in front of her….
I will not….I won’t!
My best friend in life is slipping away like a dream, like water thru my fingers….
“I hope it rains forever” I say….
Her eyes are closed now…
Her fingers relax in mine….
“It doesn’t hurt…” she whispers….”weird” she breathes.
I thank God for this small answer to my anguished prayers….and I curse him.
(This is all your fault, you ASSHOLE!!!)
“No…don’t go…” I say
I feel like the asshole for being alive.
I never thought that would be the last thing she would hear from my lips.
No God….not her….
Not my friend…..
(I HATE YOU!)
Take me instead, I’ll go. I’ll go right now!
She dropped my hand.
Her heart has finished its toil.
I can’t breathe….I gotta get out of here….I…….can’t…..breathe….Oh my God!
Oh my God!!!
She has gone from me into the storm….
……she lives where lightning is born, now….
Our lives will continue as my memory….
I guess I should cry now….
But, I think it would still upset her…
She did it to herself so, fuck her.
I will dance in the rain with the memory of my friend, and we will laugh…
I rejoice in the fact that as long as I live, she will be there with me.
She will watch our children grow.
She will watch our children become best friends.
It is time for me to weep for my lovely…
I thank God for Heaven and eternal life….
(I’m sorry I yelled at you, God…earlier)
Oh my God, why is it so hard to breathe when I think of her?
I don’t believe in heaven, only hell is real.
I can hear her voice in my head…
She’s here…..right now.
….sorry again, God.
I didn’t mean that part about only believing in hell.
I’ve seen pieces of heaven, sometimes; here and there….