It was a Monday night. Through the first-floor window of a large colonial home stood a mother, hands gesticulating wildly, hurling, spitting syllables at the girl who stood before her. The daughter looked on her mother with shoulders hunched, a somber and exhausted glare darkening her face. Encouraged by her daughter's discouraged countenance, the mother indulged further in her irrational fury as she claimed what she knew was true, and that was that her daughter had been doing something behind her back, and that something was what only "white trash girls" did. The mother's eyes widened further and flashed with a demented fervor. Her sense of righteousness could not cool her ranting now. Finally, in an exasperated gesture, the mother's frantic energy seemed to dissipate, and she was almost satisfied. She stood propped against a table corner, hand pressed palm-down across her forehead in a false expression of pitying remorse. She mouthed a few more words, and a pair of incredibly strong arms wrenched the girl backward out of view, so that she could await her fate. Her mother had to think of a way to make an example of her. The girl was maybe seventeen.
A few weeks later I walk by the same house. The lights are on; no one appears at the window. The quiet suburban street seethes a summery sedative. I breath in the thick, humid air and admire a street light's soft beam falling onto...a figure lying partially in the road. I approach with heart thumping but without anticipation or surprise. The girl lies slumped awkwardly on her knees. The ropes which had bound her to the lamp post curl furled around her, having been eroded by weather. One fair cheek lies pressed against the pavement, one intelligent eye stares outward, thoughtfully, down the street. The girl had to be made an example of. And no one from the rows of houses on either side had dared to unbind her.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Kristen:
I knew that I should have stayed home that morning. As soon as I woke up, I was overcome with a feeling of dread. I dismissed that feeling though, thinking it was only the usual feeling of dread I woke up with every morning when I thought about the day ahead. Turns out I should have listened to my instincts. That was going to be the worst day of my life. Sitting here in my hospital bed, I'm thankful to be alive. Let me backtrack and tell you how that day unfolded to leave me laying here, grateful to be alive.
My son woke me up that morning. He usually has to be the one to wake me up so I can get ready to bring him to school. His insistent cries to wake me up that morning were more urgent than usual. After dragging myself out of bed I finally woke up enough to understand what he was saying to me: "Mom! You have to get up now, there's a man at the door who is asking for you!" he yelled. I had no idea who it could have been, we lived a secluded life without much interaction with neighbors or friends. As I threw on a bathrobe over my pajamas, sidestepped the old bottles on the floor, and made my way to the door I ran through a list of the possible people it could be, but nothing prepared me for the man who stood before me. "Hello Kristen," Said the man standing at the door. I was so speechless that I couldn't react. I hadn't seen him for over eight years, right before James was born. "I thought that I would drop in on you. It's been too long and I wanted to see my son." Prior to this day, Ben had not shown any interest in his son or me and I could not believe that he picked today to show up on our doorstep. "I thought that the three of us could take a little ride." I was confused by this and told him so. "I don't think so Ben, James has school and I have to be at work in an hour." He wouldn't listen though and became aggressive, forcing the two of us into his car. He seemed to know where we were going, although I didn't recognize the area. "Mom, what's happening?" James asked me repeatedly. "I don't know honey, we'll be fine though, just stay close to me."
The car started to slow as we pulled into a gas station and parked next to a dark car with a woman sitting in the drivers seat. "Get out of the car, James" said Ben. "Mom, what's going on? what's happening?" Ben screamed at him to get out of the car and told me that if I tried to stop him we would both be in trouble. "It's for your own good James, trust me! Your mother is no longer the best one to care for you. Please get in the other car." James was afraid and so he listened to him and got into the car with that other woman. First Ben shows up to disrupt our life and then my son betrays me by going along along with it. After James got in the car, Ben came to back to our car and got into it, turning the key and pulling back onto the street. He brought me back home, telling me that this wouldn't be the last that he heard from me. I was so shaken that I could not put up any argument. I crawled into bed hoping that when I woke up everything would be better.
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Ben:
Getting the phone call from child services saying that they had been called to investigate a possible case of neglect that involved my son shook me to my core. I had no idea that I had a son, less so that he was being neglected. His mother never told me that she was pregnant. I met her one night in a bar and didn't think that it was anything more than a one night stand. I could tell from a mile away that she had serious problems. She was obviously a heavy drinker and had more pill bottles in her purse than I could count. I never would have had a child with a woman like that on purpose. After I got that phone call I was shocked and could only think of one thing: getting my child out of that situation. I was able to get her address from child services and drove to her house immediately. I don't know if you could even call it a house. The yard was a disaster and I could hear my son yelling for her to wake up after I knocked on the door. He yelled for a while, it must have taken a lot for her to shake off the hangover and drag herself out of bed. When she opened the front door I saw all the empty beer bottles lying on the ground, with my son standing behind her, looking disheveled and underfed. I went into autopilot upoon seeing the situation and forced the two of them into the car. I called my girlfriend and had her meet me somewhere safe that I could leave James. Looking back on the situation, I know that it was not the best way to handle the situation but at the time I didn't see any other options.
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Kristen:
When I woke up at first I couldn't remember what had happened that day. It slowly came back to me and it hit me hard that my son had been taken from me. I didn't know how to react to losing him and decided to have a beer to help me collect my thoughts. One beer turned into five and I kept drinking because I couldn't handle what had happened that day. At some point the beers weren't doing it for me and I needed something stronger. I went out to my usual spot where I never had a problem getting the high that I needed. That night it was different. My usual dealer wasnt there so I approached another guy that I thought could help me. He took one look at me and I saw the rage in his eyes. He knocked me to the ground and took the money I had brought to buy the drugs. After he took the money he kept hitting me, and then...That's all I can remember. The next thing I knew I was lying here in the hospital. My son is gone and i am bruised and broken. I have a feeling that this horrible day will turn out to be for the better though. Maybe I can get my life back on track and give my son the kind of home that he deserves.
I knew that I should have stayed home that morning. As soon as I woke up, I was overcome with a feeling of dread. I dismissed that feeling though, thinking it was only the usual feeling of dread I woke up with every morning when I thought about the day ahead. Turns out I should have listened to my instincts. That was going to be the worst day of my life. Sitting here in my hospital bed, I'm thankful to be alive. Let me backtrack and tell you how that day unfolded to leave me laying here, grateful to be alive.
My son woke me up that morning. He usually has to be the one to wake me up so I can get ready to bring him to school. His insistent cries to wake me up that morning were more urgent than usual. After dragging myself out of bed I finally woke up enough to understand what he was saying to me: "Mom! You have to get up now, there's a man at the door who is asking for you!" he yelled. I had no idea who it could have been, we lived a secluded life without much interaction with neighbors or friends. As I threw on a bathrobe over my pajamas, sidestepped the old bottles on the floor, and made my way to the door I ran through a list of the possible people it could be, but nothing prepared me for the man who stood before me. "Hello Kristen," Said the man standing at the door. I was so speechless that I couldn't react. I hadn't seen him for over eight years, right before James was born. "I thought that I would drop in on you. It's been too long and I wanted to see my son." Prior to this day, Ben had not shown any interest in his son or me and I could not believe that he picked today to show up on our doorstep. "I thought that the three of us could take a little ride." I was confused by this and told him so. "I don't think so Ben, James has school and I have to be at work in an hour." He wouldn't listen though and became aggressive, forcing the two of us into his car. He seemed to know where we were going, although I didn't recognize the area. "Mom, what's happening?" James asked me repeatedly. "I don't know honey, we'll be fine though, just stay close to me."
The car started to slow as we pulled into a gas station and parked next to a dark car with a woman sitting in the drivers seat. "Get out of the car, James" said Ben. "Mom, what's going on? what's happening?" Ben screamed at him to get out of the car and told me that if I tried to stop him we would both be in trouble. "It's for your own good James, trust me! Your mother is no longer the best one to care for you. Please get in the other car." James was afraid and so he listened to him and got into the car with that other woman. First Ben shows up to disrupt our life and then my son betrays me by going along along with it. After James got in the car, Ben came to back to our car and got into it, turning the key and pulling back onto the street. He brought me back home, telling me that this wouldn't be the last that he heard from me. I was so shaken that I could not put up any argument. I crawled into bed hoping that when I woke up everything would be better.
--------------------------------
Ben:
Getting the phone call from child services saying that they had been called to investigate a possible case of neglect that involved my son shook me to my core. I had no idea that I had a son, less so that he was being neglected. His mother never told me that she was pregnant. I met her one night in a bar and didn't think that it was anything more than a one night stand. I could tell from a mile away that she had serious problems. She was obviously a heavy drinker and had more pill bottles in her purse than I could count. I never would have had a child with a woman like that on purpose. After I got that phone call I was shocked and could only think of one thing: getting my child out of that situation. I was able to get her address from child services and drove to her house immediately. I don't know if you could even call it a house. The yard was a disaster and I could hear my son yelling for her to wake up after I knocked on the door. He yelled for a while, it must have taken a lot for her to shake off the hangover and drag herself out of bed. When she opened the front door I saw all the empty beer bottles lying on the ground, with my son standing behind her, looking disheveled and underfed. I went into autopilot upoon seeing the situation and forced the two of them into the car. I called my girlfriend and had her meet me somewhere safe that I could leave James. Looking back on the situation, I know that it was not the best way to handle the situation but at the time I didn't see any other options.
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Kristen:
When I woke up at first I couldn't remember what had happened that day. It slowly came back to me and it hit me hard that my son had been taken from me. I didn't know how to react to losing him and decided to have a beer to help me collect my thoughts. One beer turned into five and I kept drinking because I couldn't handle what had happened that day. At some point the beers weren't doing it for me and I needed something stronger. I went out to my usual spot where I never had a problem getting the high that I needed. That night it was different. My usual dealer wasnt there so I approached another guy that I thought could help me. He took one look at me and I saw the rage in his eyes. He knocked me to the ground and took the money I had brought to buy the drugs. After he took the money he kept hitting me, and then...That's all I can remember. The next thing I knew I was lying here in the hospital. My son is gone and i am bruised and broken. I have a feeling that this horrible day will turn out to be for the better though. Maybe I can get my life back on track and give my son the kind of home that he deserves.
One Snowy Day
In the small sleepy town of Wrentham, Massachusetts, tucked beneath trees and new fallen snow, a girl named Lauren hurried down an empty street to the comfort and warmth of her own home. She was returning from a long day sledding at her friends house. As she was rounding the corner at the bottom of the hill that marked the top of her street, she noticed a young boy laying in a snowbank on the side of the road, he was not moving and appeared to be unconscious. Lauren frantically tried to wake him by shaking him gently. Finally, startled and confused , the boy opened his eyes to look at her. Peering at her nervously, he opened his mouth to speak, "who are you and where am I?" he asked. Lauren replied and tried to calm him down, "my name is Lauren and this is Dana Drive, do you remember how you got here?" The boy finally started to relax and sat still in the snow, thinking. Finally after a few minutes he turned to face her and told her that he lived in her neighborhood, just down the street on Jennifer Drive. Lauren, still trying to figure out how he had wound up unconscious on the side of the road, continued to pry his memory and see if he remembered. "Do you remember what you were doing on this street? or how you got knocked out?" As the boy was trying to remember, a snow plow drove by. "Thats it!" he exclaimed, "a huge piece of ice came up from the a plow's wheel and hit my head... thats the only thing I remember" a few seconds passed by and then he turned to her to speak again, "Wait, I was out here walking by dog, you haven't seen him have you?" Before he could even ask her another question, a dog came running towards them, barking frantically. Behind him was a woman, who appeared to be the boy's worried mother, who ran fast as she saw them. When she arrived at the snowbank she asked the boy what had happened. When he had explained to her the story of the plow, and how Lauren had found him here, she was nearly brought to tears. The mother was so happy that her little boy was okay, and that their dog had led her to them. "I was so worried" she said to him and appeared to relieved when she held him in her arms. His mother was so thankful to Lauren that she invited her over for hot chocolate and cookies. Lauren ended her day by the warmth of a fireplace, eating cookies, drinking hot chocolate, and sharing stories or her own childhood scares with this little boy and his mother, while they laughed and laughed, happy that he was home safe and sound.
The Reunion
Life sometimes comes back to me in sharp flashes of memory. Like the montage of images in a disjointed dream, stitched together in a colorful crazy-quilt, the flashes melt down to something simple, to something meaningful. I realized only later that the first flash was not a memory at all, but an observation that I had been actively making as I stood before you. For at least five minutes, I stood staring at you laying there on the ground. Yet I saw you only for an instant; you were but one of the many momentary flashes. Seeing, recognizing, remembering, and trying to piece you together as you lay dismembered on the marble floor had over-stimulated my mind and, as if to shield my body from the pain that now burdens me, it edited the duration of my mind’s motion picture down to one simple cut.
I don’t know how I recognized you. You barely resembled yourself, or at least you barely matched the memory of yourself which I had neatly tucked away for years. The next flash was the Angela my mind had retrieved from the mental file labeled ‘Do Not Touch’ and, as if conjured magically, you reappear more vividly than ever. You were a healthy 109 pounds (okay, maybe not healthy, but compared to now?), with hair like ebony silk that ran along your slender frame down to your waist, and chocolate eyes that read like books. It was through your eyes, which told so much as you spoke (and you rarely stopped), that I, before even you, knew something was wrong.
As telling as your eyes were, in them was never the rhyme nor the reason for the things that you did- only how you felt when you did them. When we first met, I admired you despite being unable to understand you. Perhaps I admired you because I could not understand you. We were schoolmates; I was lonely and had no friends; you had many friends and you too were lonely. I still do not understand why you, popular and beautiful, chose me. But you did, and we became confidantes.
Despite your beautiful exterior, you were, for lack of better words, damaged goods. Abused by your father for years, and forced to store your “sick, perverted story” in the family closet by your envious and pain-stricken mother, your life was not the Brady Bunch episode that our teachers, coaches, and school principal conceived it to be. Maybe that’s why no one noticed when your body began to waste away. Why should they? They hadn’t noticed when it had begun to round about your belly.
I think it was after your abortion that I tried to reach out to you. And maybe it was too soon, because you very quickly pushed me away. I knew that you were depressed. I knew from your eyes. Why shouldn’t you be? You turned my help away- you turned me down for newer friends, more dangerous ones, with names like ecstasy and cocaine, “crystal” and “bliss.” You stopped eating. We used to get icecream after softball games every Friday afternoon. But you stopped playing softball. And you didn’t like icecream anymore. And then we graduated. Naturally, we lost touch.
Six years later, and the images that flash from years ago are more vivid than the one that my brain processed ten minutes ago. I know I am a little tipsy. I found you while I was out with friends. We are having drinks to celebrate the success of a peer’s final thesis. I found you in the Lucky Star Nightclub. You were lying on the bathroom floor. You were no longer tipsy, but barely responding. I know it is you because you still have your long ebony hair. It’s not silky anymore, but tangled like the frayed ends of your cutoff jean skirt. Your legs are like sticks, and you’ve clearly lost far too much weight. On your arms are the story of your last six years, of your continued drug use, and of your spiral away from real life. I wonder if when you think (or thought) about life, if you see in real life, or like me, you see mostly in images.
Because I was once your confidante, I didn’t want them to see you like this. Your yellow blouse had been unbuttoned, exposing your barely-there breasts and concave chest. Your legs are tucked up beside you as if you had tried to curl into a fetal position, but lost your will half-way. Your arms are spread open and up in each direction, and though you once told me that God was a lie, I think that you look like Jesus with your arms and scrapes and wounds. On my cell phone, I dial 911. I know that technically I am not supposed to touch you, but I button up your blouse, and I fold your arms across your chest. And as I gently stroke your ebony hair, I do not look at the person dying before me, but I shut my moistened eyes and see you as you appear in the stream of ancient flashes.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Karate Lessons
"The victim didn't even have a chance."
"It's sad really how these things happen. Someone gets stupid, forgets their limits and we've got another rape attempt."
"Yep here we are two police officers trying to figure out why Mr. or Mrs. So and So is left dead in the gutter. Like I don't have more important things to do with my time than figure out this kid's whole back story. You would think people in this world would learn. Don't they have parents? Don't they have role models?"
"Guess they don't have anyone like you or me to be the fine upstanding citizen to model their lives after. Well anyways I suppose if they learned their lesson and their were no more dead bodies on these fine Chicago streets we would be out of a job (both laugh). And you have got to admit, this case is not like any I have ever seen."
"You are certainly right there. And dead with one blow its like something out of a movie or something!"
"Ya the movies, right. Well let's go see if the other officers are done questioning our Jackie Chan so we can get out of here and I can go to bed."
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Before giving away the ending this story begins a little future back. Try six months ago, in the happy little small town of Monroe Connecticut. Like many stories that end with some poor soul in the gutter, I would have done so many things different. But despite the circumstances of the seemingly tragic end, my story starts with one girl escaping that oppressively mundane state called Connecticut.
This was finally it. I was eighteen, I was grown up and I could finally leave white suburbia forever. Don't get me wrong I lived a perfectly happy life enjoying ever soccer practice, school play and karate lesson I went to. But I was leaving and there was nothing my overbearing, crazily protective mother could do about it. I could just hear her now going on in her sunflower apron, the sunflower apron that she wore every Sunday in order to "prepare for company" as she called it. Which really just meant she was putting eight packets of Ramen noodles into the pot instead of six. She really went all out when her parents came over. All it meant for me was that there would be three people nagging me instead of one. "Don't you know Chicago is dangerous" one would say. "People die in Chicago" another would blurt. And if I just didn't seem to get their point for effect mother would add "Do you want to end up dead in the gutter with no family around?" To that I always wanted to response "Around for what? To neatly clean up the body." But with ever restraint in me I just smiled, because I was going to Northwestern in the fall and there was nothing the three of them could do about it. And it killed them.
After the Last Supper, as I secretly liked to call the very last time I would have to tolerate spending the whole day with my mother, grandparents and that sunflower apron. I ran over to Liz's house, because there was no way a girl who has spent her whole life in small town Connecticut could handle this.
"Ok Liz, so I got in, I'm going to Chicago. But despite my best attempt to not give in an inch to my mother, what the hell am I doing!? I mean this is what I know, small town, soccer moms, blah blah slept with blah blah after home coming. I am assuming they don't care what color Mrs. Jacobs painted her shutters last week in Chicago."
Liz continued to snap her gum and thumb through last months Cosmo hoping something she owned even remotely resembled the shinny pictures . with their equally shining promises. "Don't worry about it kid. I mean what is the worst that could happen? You go, you study, you meat a hot guy and live happily ever after. I mean look at me, I am stuck in this place, no hopes of escape and you're leaving me."
Despite Liz's best attempts to guilt me with her overly made up puppy dog eyes, in her own perverted way Liz's plea only made me more ready to get out of this place and see what the rest of the world had in store. Any thing was better than this.
For the next six months I lived as happy as any college freshman with wavering interests could be. As an English major, or history I still hadn't decided, I attended every journalist club, poetry reading, civil war documentary and political luncheon that I could find. There was not way I was going to waste one moment of my freedom. I was determined to prove to my mother that a girl from the depths of suburbia could survive and possibly even thrive in the big city.
Luckily my favorite partner in crime that never seemed to fail me in times of late night dancing or heavy drinking was my roommate. Corey who hailed a whooping twenty minutes outside of Chicago acted as my guide. She was amazed that there were still people in this world that haven't experienced the seedy jazz clubs and all night dance clubs that Chicago had to offer. And I suspect she liked having an attentive student that was eager to absorb as much information as I could.
"C'mon we are only here for any other week and they you are back off to the family just in time for the the part of year where families get the most "jump off the roof would rather kill myself" insane. That's why we are going out tonight. I don't care whose final you have, or what paper you still have to finish. This is our last time to celebrate the end of our first semester of college"
She was always doing that. Every night seemed to be the last opportunity to celebrate the first time of whatever. And despite my ability to look back and see through her fake special occasions, it worked just like it had always worked. Normally we go out to the college scene, hit a few local bars with the rest of the Northwestern freshman, all of who know which bars conveniently didn't card underage students. But since tonight was such a big occasion, the first last time to whatever, Corey had something special in mind. She had been seeing a guy for two weeks now, big stuff from where Corey's relationship history had come from. Not that she was easy, but the only time she hung out with guys were between the hours of 11pm and 3am. Not exactley prime relationship material. But anyways, "Mr. Right" wanted to take her and me down town to a new club that was opening up. Apparently as "Mr. Right" was a prime 27 and knew people that knew people it wouldn't be a problem to get two eighteen year olds in. And again if you are thinking Corey is easy she makes it a rule not to talk to men who, as she says "accede my age by double digits." After hours of picking out the right outfit for Corey, and far less time figuring out what of Corey's she would let me borrow so I would be presentable for Chicago's "in scene" we gathered whatever money we had laying around and called a cab. Twenty minutes later, which in Chicago late night traffic, is really thirty five we reached it. Despite the promising description the areas looked particularly seedy and the only light was from a neon sign of two palm trees, with words in the middle that I assumed said "The Tiki Lounge." I say I assumed because the K in Tiki was missing as were the last three letter in lounge. And I assumed they wouldn't name a club after the Lou. But anyways, after finding Mr. Right who was waiting for us at the door we made our way into the club. Despite its less than promising exterior the inside looked like every other bar with a dance floor she had been too. After a few too many hours of drinking and doing something I attempt to pass for dancing our twenty dollar Target shoes hurt and it was time to go home. I think Mr. Right agreed, especially after he had to wipe off drool that Corey left on his shoulder after being asleep for the past ten minutes.
On the way out I regretted not brining a coat, but wouldn't even admit it to myself because it was something my mother and her sunflower apron would have nagged me about. As me, Mr. Right and the half unconscious Corey were leaving out the side exit Corey, emerging from her drunken sleep deprived slumber immediately woke up.
"Whoa, I am only wearing one shoe, and I am sure I came in here with to shoes."
I assured Mr. Right that yes, in fact Corey had come all the way down town and into the club with two shoes on her feet. Not wanting to leaving behind her twenty dollar Target pump I let Mr. Right lead her back to recover the missing shoe. Unfortunately for myself, and every person in there with a cigarette in their hands, I had the sudden realization that I had been inhaling an insane amount of smoke for the past three hours. As I opened the door to the exit, which took multiple tries, because either it was stuck or after my whooping two Smirnoff Ices I couldn't manage on the first try.
After I got outside and waited for the missing shoe to be recovered I let the cold air hit my face and travel down to my legs. I instantly regretted not borrowing something of Corey's that involved pants. But the cool air of the alley beat the stifling nature of the environment that she just came from. I let myself wander in the night air letting it fulling take over my senses. And I blame these partly occupied senses for not predicting the approaching nature ahead. After I had wandered enough I suddenly became very aware that the alley was darker than it had once been and the light from the side door was smaller and farther away than she had realized. In contrast to the previous calm I began to get the feeling someone was watching me. The more I walked toward the lit door the closer the feeling got, until that feeling was no longer just a feeling but footsteps running behind me. All of a sudden I turned around to see my attacker and before I know what was happening, before I could call for help the pursuit ended with a large unnerving WHAM, like human skin against human skin and a body dead in the gutter. Just like my mother had said.
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"Haha, ya Jackie Chan, that's what we can call it if this sort of amazing thing ever happens again."
"Ya ya like next time we won't even have to explain the details of the case, we can just say 'We got ourselves another Jackie Chan case' and that will be it."
"Everyone will know that instead of the rapist actually being able to follow through with his plans, the victim karate chops his ass like in a kun-fu movie and kills him with one swift blow to the neck."
"How did a young girl from the suburbs of Connecticut be able to pull off something like this. I mean we seen hundreds of these cases each year, and they all tragically end with the victim dead in the ally, not the attacker."
"I don't know I heard her say something about thanking her mother for all those karate lessons every Sunday."
"It's sad really how these things happen. Someone gets stupid, forgets their limits and we've got another rape attempt."
"Yep here we are two police officers trying to figure out why Mr. or Mrs. So and So is left dead in the gutter. Like I don't have more important things to do with my time than figure out this kid's whole back story. You would think people in this world would learn. Don't they have parents? Don't they have role models?"
"Guess they don't have anyone like you or me to be the fine upstanding citizen to model their lives after. Well anyways I suppose if they learned their lesson and their were no more dead bodies on these fine Chicago streets we would be out of a job (both laugh). And you have got to admit, this case is not like any I have ever seen."
"You are certainly right there. And dead with one blow its like something out of a movie or something!"
"Ya the movies, right. Well let's go see if the other officers are done questioning our Jackie Chan so we can get out of here and I can go to bed."
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Before giving away the ending this story begins a little future back. Try six months ago, in the happy little small town of Monroe Connecticut. Like many stories that end with some poor soul in the gutter, I would have done so many things different. But despite the circumstances of the seemingly tragic end, my story starts with one girl escaping that oppressively mundane state called Connecticut.
This was finally it. I was eighteen, I was grown up and I could finally leave white suburbia forever. Don't get me wrong I lived a perfectly happy life enjoying ever soccer practice, school play and karate lesson I went to. But I was leaving and there was nothing my overbearing, crazily protective mother could do about it. I could just hear her now going on in her sunflower apron, the sunflower apron that she wore every Sunday in order to "prepare for company" as she called it. Which really just meant she was putting eight packets of Ramen noodles into the pot instead of six. She really went all out when her parents came over. All it meant for me was that there would be three people nagging me instead of one. "Don't you know Chicago is dangerous" one would say. "People die in Chicago" another would blurt. And if I just didn't seem to get their point for effect mother would add "Do you want to end up dead in the gutter with no family around?" To that I always wanted to response "Around for what? To neatly clean up the body." But with ever restraint in me I just smiled, because I was going to Northwestern in the fall and there was nothing the three of them could do about it. And it killed them.
After the Last Supper, as I secretly liked to call the very last time I would have to tolerate spending the whole day with my mother, grandparents and that sunflower apron. I ran over to Liz's house, because there was no way a girl who has spent her whole life in small town Connecticut could handle this.
"Ok Liz, so I got in, I'm going to Chicago. But despite my best attempt to not give in an inch to my mother, what the hell am I doing!? I mean this is what I know, small town, soccer moms, blah blah slept with blah blah after home coming. I am assuming they don't care what color Mrs. Jacobs painted her shutters last week in Chicago."
Liz continued to snap her gum and thumb through last months Cosmo hoping something she owned even remotely resembled the shinny pictures . with their equally shining promises. "Don't worry about it kid. I mean what is the worst that could happen? You go, you study, you meat a hot guy and live happily ever after. I mean look at me, I am stuck in this place, no hopes of escape and you're leaving me."
Despite Liz's best attempts to guilt me with her overly made up puppy dog eyes, in her own perverted way Liz's plea only made me more ready to get out of this place and see what the rest of the world had in store. Any thing was better than this.
For the next six months I lived as happy as any college freshman with wavering interests could be. As an English major, or history I still hadn't decided, I attended every journalist club, poetry reading, civil war documentary and political luncheon that I could find. There was not way I was going to waste one moment of my freedom. I was determined to prove to my mother that a girl from the depths of suburbia could survive and possibly even thrive in the big city.
Luckily my favorite partner in crime that never seemed to fail me in times of late night dancing or heavy drinking was my roommate. Corey who hailed a whooping twenty minutes outside of Chicago acted as my guide. She was amazed that there were still people in this world that haven't experienced the seedy jazz clubs and all night dance clubs that Chicago had to offer. And I suspect she liked having an attentive student that was eager to absorb as much information as I could.
"C'mon we are only here for any other week and they you are back off to the family just in time for the the part of year where families get the most "jump off the roof would rather kill myself" insane. That's why we are going out tonight. I don't care whose final you have, or what paper you still have to finish. This is our last time to celebrate the end of our first semester of college"
She was always doing that. Every night seemed to be the last opportunity to celebrate the first time of whatever. And despite my ability to look back and see through her fake special occasions, it worked just like it had always worked. Normally we go out to the college scene, hit a few local bars with the rest of the Northwestern freshman, all of who know which bars conveniently didn't card underage students. But since tonight was such a big occasion, the first last time to whatever, Corey had something special in mind. She had been seeing a guy for two weeks now, big stuff from where Corey's relationship history had come from. Not that she was easy, but the only time she hung out with guys were between the hours of 11pm and 3am. Not exactley prime relationship material. But anyways, "Mr. Right" wanted to take her and me down town to a new club that was opening up. Apparently as "Mr. Right" was a prime 27 and knew people that knew people it wouldn't be a problem to get two eighteen year olds in. And again if you are thinking Corey is easy she makes it a rule not to talk to men who, as she says "accede my age by double digits." After hours of picking out the right outfit for Corey, and far less time figuring out what of Corey's she would let me borrow so I would be presentable for Chicago's "in scene" we gathered whatever money we had laying around and called a cab. Twenty minutes later, which in Chicago late night traffic, is really thirty five we reached it. Despite the promising description the areas looked particularly seedy and the only light was from a neon sign of two palm trees, with words in the middle that I assumed said "The Tiki Lounge." I say I assumed because the K in Tiki was missing as were the last three letter in lounge. And I assumed they wouldn't name a club after the Lou. But anyways, after finding Mr. Right who was waiting for us at the door we made our way into the club. Despite its less than promising exterior the inside looked like every other bar with a dance floor she had been too. After a few too many hours of drinking and doing something I attempt to pass for dancing our twenty dollar Target shoes hurt and it was time to go home. I think Mr. Right agreed, especially after he had to wipe off drool that Corey left on his shoulder after being asleep for the past ten minutes.
On the way out I regretted not brining a coat, but wouldn't even admit it to myself because it was something my mother and her sunflower apron would have nagged me about. As me, Mr. Right and the half unconscious Corey were leaving out the side exit Corey, emerging from her drunken sleep deprived slumber immediately woke up.
"Whoa, I am only wearing one shoe, and I am sure I came in here with to shoes."
I assured Mr. Right that yes, in fact Corey had come all the way down town and into the club with two shoes on her feet. Not wanting to leaving behind her twenty dollar Target pump I let Mr. Right lead her back to recover the missing shoe. Unfortunately for myself, and every person in there with a cigarette in their hands, I had the sudden realization that I had been inhaling an insane amount of smoke for the past three hours. As I opened the door to the exit, which took multiple tries, because either it was stuck or after my whooping two Smirnoff Ices I couldn't manage on the first try.
After I got outside and waited for the missing shoe to be recovered I let the cold air hit my face and travel down to my legs. I instantly regretted not borrowing something of Corey's that involved pants. But the cool air of the alley beat the stifling nature of the environment that she just came from. I let myself wander in the night air letting it fulling take over my senses. And I blame these partly occupied senses for not predicting the approaching nature ahead. After I had wandered enough I suddenly became very aware that the alley was darker than it had once been and the light from the side door was smaller and farther away than she had realized. In contrast to the previous calm I began to get the feeling someone was watching me. The more I walked toward the lit door the closer the feeling got, until that feeling was no longer just a feeling but footsteps running behind me. All of a sudden I turned around to see my attacker and before I know what was happening, before I could call for help the pursuit ended with a large unnerving WHAM, like human skin against human skin and a body dead in the gutter. Just like my mother had said.
-----------------------------------
"Haha, ya Jackie Chan, that's what we can call it if this sort of amazing thing ever happens again."
"Ya ya like next time we won't even have to explain the details of the case, we can just say 'We got ourselves another Jackie Chan case' and that will be it."
"Everyone will know that instead of the rapist actually being able to follow through with his plans, the victim karate chops his ass like in a kun-fu movie and kills him with one swift blow to the neck."
"How did a young girl from the suburbs of Connecticut be able to pull off something like this. I mean we seen hundreds of these cases each year, and they all tragically end with the victim dead in the ally, not the attacker."
"I don't know I heard her say something about thanking her mother for all those karate lessons every Sunday."
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Seventeen Heroes
It’s 1957. It’s been five years since it happened. We were young and stupid, and had no clue what lay ahead of us. We had golden futures with promises of fame and fortune. But a promise only comes true if you fight for it. A promise can be destroyed.
***********************************************
It was Friday night. We won the big game. Of course we were going out to party. What else would we do, stay home and celebrate with our families?
Jason was the ringleader, so we waited for him to give the call and tell us where we were going. And yes, he was the quarterback. What did you expect him to be, a lineman? The quarterback always calls the plays.
We were standing outside the Whirlpool, the most happening club around. It was right outside of town, the only club within forty miles of our small West Pennsylvanian town. It was 21+, but that didn’t matter. It didn’t matter the year before when we won State. People knew us there. They loved us. Who wouldn’t love a champion?
The night was great, wild as usual. We threw money around like crazy and downed beers like it was our job. That night it was. And we were working overtime.
Jessie wasn’t having such a good time though. He said he wasn’t feeling well, had severe stomach cramps. I kind of figured that’s what it was. I mean he didn’t make a move on any girls all night. And with guys like us, it doesn’t take much to ring in the ladies.
So Jessie took off. We all felt bad that he couldn’t party, but that didn’t stop us. We rocked it even harder. The boys were calling out for shots every other minute. It was almost too much.
The party came to an end when Nick puked all over the bar. It was an accident, but the bartender didn’t take too kindly to it. But because we spent so much money there, they asked us kindly to leave.
Nick stumbled out of the club with the grace of a blind toad. We weren’t much better. We were a pack of hyenas, ready to feast upon the town. Although it felt like the town fed on us; our wallets were empty and our stomachs were growling. We hadn’t eaten since after the game.
“Let’s get some fooooood,” Brian groaned. The glazed stare in his red eyes suggested that alcohol wasn’t the only thing he put into his body tonight.
“Yeah,” Robby shouted. “Let’s do it!”
I had never seen anyone get that excited about eating food before. Other than my drunk dead-beat for a father. All he does is eat food. He sits on his ass, watches the game, and shoves garbage down his throat like a damn coon. Nothing good has ever come from him. Nothing.
“Hey Billy, you coming?” Robby’s voice echoed in the still dead of night.
“Yeah, hold up,” I picked up my feet and caught up with the rest of the guys. “Where we going?”
“There’s this great place called…” Jason’s voice trailed off in the dark.
“What?” I looked ahead. “What’s up?”
I turned the corner and saw two men in the alley going at each other. And no, it’s not what you think. They weren’t fighting. They were loving.
“Damn homos!” Jason ran at them, knocking one in the back of the head with his great fist. The others followed his lead and charged at the other man, hollering hateful words as loud as they could. Their actions spoke intolerance, and I despised them for it. But I didn’t do a damn thing to stop them.
I looked on in horror as the entire team, my friends, beat down on these two men. They stomped on their backs and kicked them hard in the stomach. They were a bunch of animals; fifteen ravenous wolves tearing apart two unsuspecting deer.
It was terrible. Every second of that moment I hoped it would end, but it kept going on. These men, who we didn’t even know, were being beaten down without mercy or meaning. And these other men, whom I have grown up with, they were disgusting. To this day, it sickens me to think that I hugged these vile creatures. These…these beasts, were my best friends.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Robby screamed as police sirens wailed in the distance. I would’ve thanked God that they came, but it was too late. Two bodies laid still, facedown in their own fluids. I stared down at them, emotionless, careless.
Behind all the blood and bruises, I could make out one of their faces. I looked closer and studied its features. It was Jessie. We just killed Jessie. Twelve years of friendship and now…I murdered my best friend.
*******************************
I lay awake at night thinking about what happened. I can still hear their screams. They begged us to stop. They said please. Please stop. Jessie told us to stop. And we killed him. We were a team. We fought for each other. We’d die for each other. Never a day went by where we weren’t together. We were seventeen heroes with seventeen dreams of stars. And now…sixteen men are locked in cells, all alone, and one is buried underground, all alone. We are all alone.
***********************************************
It was Friday night. We won the big game. Of course we were going out to party. What else would we do, stay home and celebrate with our families?
Jason was the ringleader, so we waited for him to give the call and tell us where we were going. And yes, he was the quarterback. What did you expect him to be, a lineman? The quarterback always calls the plays.
We were standing outside the Whirlpool, the most happening club around. It was right outside of town, the only club within forty miles of our small West Pennsylvanian town. It was 21+, but that didn’t matter. It didn’t matter the year before when we won State. People knew us there. They loved us. Who wouldn’t love a champion?
The night was great, wild as usual. We threw money around like crazy and downed beers like it was our job. That night it was. And we were working overtime.
Jessie wasn’t having such a good time though. He said he wasn’t feeling well, had severe stomach cramps. I kind of figured that’s what it was. I mean he didn’t make a move on any girls all night. And with guys like us, it doesn’t take much to ring in the ladies.
So Jessie took off. We all felt bad that he couldn’t party, but that didn’t stop us. We rocked it even harder. The boys were calling out for shots every other minute. It was almost too much.
The party came to an end when Nick puked all over the bar. It was an accident, but the bartender didn’t take too kindly to it. But because we spent so much money there, they asked us kindly to leave.
Nick stumbled out of the club with the grace of a blind toad. We weren’t much better. We were a pack of hyenas, ready to feast upon the town. Although it felt like the town fed on us; our wallets were empty and our stomachs were growling. We hadn’t eaten since after the game.
“Let’s get some fooooood,” Brian groaned. The glazed stare in his red eyes suggested that alcohol wasn’t the only thing he put into his body tonight.
“Yeah,” Robby shouted. “Let’s do it!”
I had never seen anyone get that excited about eating food before. Other than my drunk dead-beat for a father. All he does is eat food. He sits on his ass, watches the game, and shoves garbage down his throat like a damn coon. Nothing good has ever come from him. Nothing.
“Hey Billy, you coming?” Robby’s voice echoed in the still dead of night.
“Yeah, hold up,” I picked up my feet and caught up with the rest of the guys. “Where we going?”
“There’s this great place called…” Jason’s voice trailed off in the dark.
“What?” I looked ahead. “What’s up?”
I turned the corner and saw two men in the alley going at each other. And no, it’s not what you think. They weren’t fighting. They were loving.
“Damn homos!” Jason ran at them, knocking one in the back of the head with his great fist. The others followed his lead and charged at the other man, hollering hateful words as loud as they could. Their actions spoke intolerance, and I despised them for it. But I didn’t do a damn thing to stop them.
I looked on in horror as the entire team, my friends, beat down on these two men. They stomped on their backs and kicked them hard in the stomach. They were a bunch of animals; fifteen ravenous wolves tearing apart two unsuspecting deer.
It was terrible. Every second of that moment I hoped it would end, but it kept going on. These men, who we didn’t even know, were being beaten down without mercy or meaning. And these other men, whom I have grown up with, they were disgusting. To this day, it sickens me to think that I hugged these vile creatures. These…these beasts, were my best friends.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Robby screamed as police sirens wailed in the distance. I would’ve thanked God that they came, but it was too late. Two bodies laid still, facedown in their own fluids. I stared down at them, emotionless, careless.
Behind all the blood and bruises, I could make out one of their faces. I looked closer and studied its features. It was Jessie. We just killed Jessie. Twelve years of friendship and now…I murdered my best friend.
*******************************
I lay awake at night thinking about what happened. I can still hear their screams. They begged us to stop. They said please. Please stop. Jessie told us to stop. And we killed him. We were a team. We fought for each other. We’d die for each other. Never a day went by where we weren’t together. We were seventeen heroes with seventeen dreams of stars. And now…sixteen men are locked in cells, all alone, and one is buried underground, all alone. We are all alone.
Friday, May 2, 2008
Alley of the Shadow of Death
She wanted to find herself. Desperately so, she escaped her comfortable lifestyle, seeking what more life had to offer. She planned to become a writer one day, but writing requires experience. Her previous experiences not worth recounting, she decided to separate herself from everything she knew.
Inspired by Thoreau, she sought isolation. Rather than displacing herself in the woods, she entered the wild world of New York City, where good is bad and bad is good. It was truly no place like home. She quickly embraced the life of sex, drugs, and rock n roll. She heard music could save her soul.
She met a boy who set her heart on fire. Her period of solitude ended. Life seemed right. She no longer lived for herself, she lived for him. Putting her dreams on hold, she welcomed all the debauchery he introduced. She was on a roller coaster ride that never stopped. The world was spinning, but thats how she liked it.
Her life became his. He was her drug of choice. She functioned only on uppers and lost complete awareness of her self. She grew more dependent on him until he broke her heart. He broke her heart, and she lost the pieces. She felt numb; he just moved on. The numbness haunted her until she made a new friend, who gave her a rush and made her heart skip a beat. This friend was constant and never failed to amuse, but the good times didn't last forever.
Life spun out of control, and no longer in the way she enjoyed. She was riding a roller coaster destined to crash, and there was not a thing she could do to stop it. She went out for a good time. She indulged in everything the night life had to offer. She was having the time of her life until her time stopped.
She lied in an alley, her veins cold and sweat dripping down her back. Her body appeared lifeless. Her friend had abandoned her, although still present in spirit. Steam began to rise from the hot asphalt as the rain began. She told me where she would be that night. I felt something wrong. I felt it at my core. I grew panicky.
I looked for over an hour, and there she was. I knelt next to her body, which appeared to be a skeletal version of myself. She was always the thinner one, but I never saw her like this. Mascara ran all the way down to her chin. I thought she was dead so I just held her close to me, as if my body heat could raise her body temperature. I felt the tears streaming down my cheeks even with the pellets of rain attacking my skin. I remember feeling like half of me died that night. That is until she opened her eyes slightly, as if offended by the light coming from the street. She didn't move just looked up at me and said, "I knew you'd come."
Inspired by Thoreau, she sought isolation. Rather than displacing herself in the woods, she entered the wild world of New York City, where good is bad and bad is good. It was truly no place like home. She quickly embraced the life of sex, drugs, and rock n roll. She heard music could save her soul.
She met a boy who set her heart on fire. Her period of solitude ended. Life seemed right. She no longer lived for herself, she lived for him. Putting her dreams on hold, she welcomed all the debauchery he introduced. She was on a roller coaster ride that never stopped. The world was spinning, but thats how she liked it.
Her life became his. He was her drug of choice. She functioned only on uppers and lost complete awareness of her self. She grew more dependent on him until he broke her heart. He broke her heart, and she lost the pieces. She felt numb; he just moved on. The numbness haunted her until she made a new friend, who gave her a rush and made her heart skip a beat. This friend was constant and never failed to amuse, but the good times didn't last forever.
Life spun out of control, and no longer in the way she enjoyed. She was riding a roller coaster destined to crash, and there was not a thing she could do to stop it. She went out for a good time. She indulged in everything the night life had to offer. She was having the time of her life until her time stopped.
She lied in an alley, her veins cold and sweat dripping down her back. Her body appeared lifeless. Her friend had abandoned her, although still present in spirit. Steam began to rise from the hot asphalt as the rain began. She told me where she would be that night. I felt something wrong. I felt it at my core. I grew panicky.
I looked for over an hour, and there she was. I knelt next to her body, which appeared to be a skeletal version of myself. She was always the thinner one, but I never saw her like this. Mascara ran all the way down to her chin. I thought she was dead so I just held her close to me, as if my body heat could raise her body temperature. I felt the tears streaming down my cheeks even with the pellets of rain attacking my skin. I remember feeling like half of me died that night. That is until she opened her eyes slightly, as if offended by the light coming from the street. She didn't move just looked up at me and said, "I knew you'd come."
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