Secrets

            So there we were, sitting around the campfire.  I’d say it was just a normal night, just like any other night, but how many nights do you spend by a campfire? It’s pretty rare for me, I’m just sayin’.  Anyway, so we were sitting there, like I said.  She and I had these sticks with marshmallows on them, and we kept pulling the marshmallows in and out of the fire, not really looking at what we were doing, or each other.  The marshmallows had been in and out of the fire for at least half an hour at this point. They were burnt beyond use, but we didn’t really care, much less notice.  The trees were just so damned beautiful at night, you have no idea.  It was so peaceful that night, I guess neither of us could really find the right words to put to it, so we didn’t say anything.

            That breeze smelled like those tacky tree-shaped air fresheners you see in people’s cars, but who brings those things into the woods?  We hadn’t, I know that much.  We hadn’t exactly chosen a popular camping site, either, so I don’t think anyone else was around.  Just something weird I noticed, you know?  She eventually murmured something about her hand feeling hot, and I realized mine felt the same.  I thought it was some odd-ass cosmic coincidence, but then I realized that our sticks had both caught fire, and were slowly bringing the flame towards our hands.  The marshmallows we had aimed to slightly melt had been reduced to crispy bits of blackness on the already blackish ground.  Useless, just as they had been ten minutes before, so had we really lost anything in that?  We didn’t need those crispy bits of blackness, for we were practically engulfed in the blackness of the world at the time.  New moon nights had that effect, sometimes.  It took me that long to realize that I couldn’t even see the moon, and that it was a new one.  My mind was focused elsewhere.

            I looked away from those captivating trees for a minute, and playfully poked her knee with what remained of my stick.  She turned to me.  I couldn’t help but notice that her eyes were slightly luminescent.  They had a glow to them, and not the kind of glow you say that a pregnant lady has.

            We still hadn’t said a word since sunset.  We wouldn’t for the rest of the night.  We just stood up, slunk into our tent, and never woke up again.

Another Sunday

            Another Sunday, another chance for a confession.  God, I needed it, too.  It had been so long since I had been back in church, and I was starting to feel empty again. There was a part of me that lived in those pews, and I missed it terribly.  How long had it been, two months? More? I’d honestly been kind of afraid to go to church. After screwing those people the way that I had, did I still belong?  It was time to find out, I couldn’t take the stress of keeping everything inside anymore.  I needed to know that I could be forgiven for those things.  All of this was buzzing around in my brain as I tried to make myself get out of bed.  I finally did, if only by rolling a little too much to one side and falling off. That was the push I was looking for, honestly. I was glad to be away from that treacherous mattress. From the floor, I got up, dressed myself in that suit I hadn’t worn in so long, and made my way to church.  Thank God.

            The sermon was nice, but I must admit I did not pay a whole lot of attention to what the priest said.  I was lost in the feeling of being back where I had wanted to be for so long.  I sat there, looking at the inside of the building and the backs of my friends’ heads, watching the priest’s hands gesture in the air as he talked, felt the bible in the little pocket of the pew before me (I love the feeling of those little gold leafed pages), and just being lost in the glory of it all, in general.  When the service was over, I quietly went to the confessional booth, sat inside, and waited for the priest to come and speak to me.  After a few minutes, I heard the door on the other side of the booth slide open, some muffled footsteps, and another slide as the door closed.

            Before I could say anything, I heard a deep breathe in, and “Forgive me, my son, for I have sinned.”

            I’m not sure if the silence that followed was awkward or amusing for him, but I was caught off-guard.  What do you say in response to that? “I’m sorry, what?”

            “I have sinned.  I promised our Lord that I would confess to the first person to be in our confessional, that it would make a better situation. I’m not sure where that idea came from, but does it hurt to let you know that I am human, as well?”

            “No, I guess not. But I thought you were supposed to be better than human: the connection between the masses and God.”
            The priest sighed. I could almost hear his heavy heart, beating. “No, I am all too human.”

Masker's Mark

            Sometimes I like to walk through banks, wearing a Richard Nixon mask. I sneak up to people, shake my jowls noisily and say “BOO!” and everyone jumps to the ground.  It’s like we’re playing “Simon Says”, and “BOO!” means “Simon says scream and get on the ground.” Sometimes people expect me to shoot up the place, but I don’t have any guns. They never believe me when I tell them that, though. I just take some of the candy they offer to the kids, and go back outside. Kids don’t have any money, either, so it’s not like the banks are out anything from my candy jar pillaging.

            I made it on the paper once that way. I wouldn’t have known it was me in the paper, other than any other fake bank robbery, but I’m the only one that wears a Richard Nixon mask and says “BOO!” One time, I tried saying “Yo quero una chimichanga!” but people just asked me to leave.  A guard asked me if he could get some of what I was on, as I was leaving, but I told him that I didn’t speak English.  He quit talking to me after that.  I felt like I lost a friend that day, that guy is a nice guard.  He’s always smiling and pleasant to the people that don’t wear masks, I get the feeling that he’s happy with where his life is at the moment. Fernando, my pet ferret, asked me one time why I do this.  I couldn’t think of a good answer at that time, and told him to just enjoy the Twinkies I got him.  They had sparkles, goddammit, and he fucking loves sparkles.

            Ever since then, though, I haven’t been able to get that question out of my head. Why do I enjoy putting on a Richard Nixon mask and getting candy from a bank?  At first, I thought it was just to make a statement about the role of the government in the rising poverty levels in our nation, and perhaps across the world.  As time has passed, though, I have begun to think that there may be more to it than that. Maybe, just maybe, I’m doing this to fill a predetermined niche in the universe. Maybe I’m a piece of a bigger reality than I could comprehend.  What if there’s a big plan out there that we don’t know about, and I’m playing a part in it? What if someone has to go into those banks, wearing a mask? I just happen to be the guy for the job! I could be fulfilling a destiny, going toward the greater good: the balance of the universe.  If it wasn’t me, someone else would be going in there, doing something similar, but I’m doing it instead. I wonder what the alternative person would do. What would his name be? Or would a woman do it? I like my work, though, so I keep on going.

Ending Departures

            When I woke up, I found myself laying on the floor and bound by duct tape around my wrists, elbows, ankles, and knees. There wasn’t much light in the room, but at least the place was carpeted. I looked around a bit, and saw McFlaherty coming at me from the adjacent room. Tried rolling out of the way, but he kicked me something fierce. I admit, I screamed like a little bitch at that point, no shame in that. It hurt like hell. When I was done, he sat me up on my shins and pulled out his pistol.

            “Wha-why? I’ve only met you tonight! What have I done to you?” I begged him, trying to hold my hands up, but found (much to my chagrin) they were still restrained behind me.

            “You seem like a good enough fellow. I would have enjoyed your company.” Was his only reply. I thought about that for a second. Something about what he said just didn’t seem right.

            “That doesn’t seem right.” I said, figuring he may well want to know that, too. I didn’t see much point in keeping that thought to myself. “If I seem like a good guy, why are you not helping me out of this duct tape?”

            McFlaherty sighed, and told me “You see, I enjoy having friends, but they never really seem to stay around for extended periods of time. I hate saying goodbye, and with hello, there must also inevitably come goodbye, so I refuse to say hello to anyone anymore. I refuse to know any new people, there is no point to it. I haven’t quite gotten to know you, and I certainly haven’t said hello. My plan is to kill you so I won’t have to say goodbye at any point, as I would most certainly want to say hello.”
            “You could have just told me to fuck myself and go home. This is a bit unnecessary, don’t you think?” I said. If I could move my hands, I would have scratched my head. It itched really badly right about that point.

            “Hmm… You have a point, but this is much more effective. Someone may write a book about me some day. Then I can move into the mountains and become a successful recluse. The rum-“ and he would have gone on, but my security gopher bit his heels off and killed him when he hit the ground. It wasn’t pretty.

            But that’s neither here nor there, is it? Sorry for prattling off like that, the closest pharmacy is down on the right, near Sycamore St. Run along, now.