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.

Changes

            Woke up this morning and started scratching, peeling off the skin like I do every morning. This time, it was you, though. I don’t know if you had hid the condition from me this whole time, or if I was contagious, but nevertheless, I sat on the bed and watched as you shed the outer layers of your arms.  It didn’t hurt, though. I know, because it never does. The purple skin underneath was ready for the new day.  I almost felt as though I was watching myself, but I was too caught off-guard to start scratching off yesterday’s skin, now red, from my own body. 

            You acted as though nothing had changed, so I was hesitant to ask.  Then, I remembered the incessant itching of the old skin, and had to peel that off with a vengeance.  While I was taking care of myself, you got ready to face the day from the bathroom.  It’s funny how one change can make an entire routine so surreal, almost like figuring out that you have a tail, and wondering how you were able to sit in chairs this whole time, like a normal person.

            I knew your skin wasn’t like mine yesterday, though.  You had taken a month to get used to the fact that I wasn’t the same, and now I guess the tables had turned.  I hope to accept the change with as much grace as you had, but it won’t mean as much on my end, as I’m familiar with the condition, already.  That doesn’t mean I won’t try…

            You were ready, and went off to do whatever it is that you go do during the day. I try not to bother you with this ceaseless curiosity, and I know it probably isn’t my business.  As if answering my questions, though, I gazed at the city from our little porch on the 23^rd floor, I saw a pig fall from the roof sporting odd little wings.  It fell, squealing and flapping.  It actually flew for a few feet, about two floors below me, then fell again.  The body splattered across the entire street. You’d be surprised how much guts can be stuffed in a pig, even with wings.

air

            Two guys in old wife-beaters, combat boots, and boxers walk over the Deringer St. Bridge at around 10:53 pm. It’s June, so they aren’t really cold, their body language says they’re old friends. I think they’re interesting, being the only people that have walked by me all night. As they stop at the middle of the bridge and look down at the river slowly passing by, carrying little boats with people caught up in their own worlds, I listen in to their conversation.

            “The air.”

            “What?”

            “Do you ever stop and just think it?”

            “… What?”

            “The air! Do you ever just think about it?”

            “Not exactly. It’s just kind of there, what else is there to think about it?”

            “Exactly! It’s just there, that’s the point.”

           

            “I don’t get it.”

            “We’re surrounded by it at all times. We can’t see it, and if it’s moving, we can’t feel it. It doesn’t have a smell to itself, only carries the smell of the things it passes by.  How does such a thing happen?”

            “Fuckin’ magic? I don’t know, why the sciences quiz? You’re reminding me of Ms. Garfunkle, you remember her?”

            “Yeah, of course. She fuckin’ stank. Knew her shit, though. Anyway, how is it that we aren’t like the air? Look at you, you don’t flow. I don’t flow, either; no one does.  The air flows pretty constantly, from one place to the next.”

            “We came out here to talk about not being air? Really?”

            “No, but how did it happen? We’re sitting on a huge rock right now. Rocks don’t exude air as a basic property of themselves, so where did this come from?”

            “Space. All this shit comes from space, you know that.”

            “Yeah, but if there’s air in concentrations like this out in space, why can’t we breathe out there? You’ve seen astronauts, they wear all that goofy shit just to be able to survive out there a few minutes. We had to invent that, and here’s this rock right here that just has this shit. We dubbed it ‘the atmosphere’ and most people don’t even give it another thought. We’d be fuckin’ dead if the air wasn’t here.”

            “You’re serious? You’re blown away by gravity? I know what to get you for your birthday now, at least.”
            “What?”

            “A hole. Then you could test gravity and be blown away to your heart’s content.”

            “I’d like that very much, actually.”
            “I know.”

            And without further ado, they walk away, leaving me to watch the people in their own little worlds. I can’t help but notice that nothing changed.

Raging

            She walked down to the corner store to fetch some milk, if that’s what they’re calling it now. I think it is.  Her little dress flapped a bit too much in the wind, but she didn’t mind.  Dresses and indecent exposure weren’t what concerned her at the time.  Maybe she should have worn underwear, but there was no time for that piddly shit, now, was there?

            She got to the store, smoothed her dress, and walked in. The looks always came in an avalanche, but she had found ways to be ok with that. One of those ways was to not pay attention to them.  The itching made that method the easiest now. Fucking itching, everywhere. It would end soon. She just had to wait a few minutes. In the back of the store, there was the unisex bathroom that no one had cleaned since World War II, but it was as good a meeting spot as ever. She stepped inside and waited.

            She just had to wait a few minutes. Then it would stop.

            It took a bit longer than she remembered last time, but soon enough the guy walked into the stall. They nodded swiftly to each other, and she sighed.  She searched for pockets, frantically yet quietly. Her dress didn’t have any pockets. But where the hell was the money, then? Silently distraught, she brought her hands to her head. The crinkling of bills was heard at the same time, reminding her that she had been holding the money the whole time. Damned brains forget everything sometimes.

            She gave him the money; he gave her the pills. Everyone was happy.  No one outside would expect anything but sex in this bathroom, which was more legal than this, so they didn’t mind.  The water faucet worked, and with its help, she downed a few of her newly bought friends right there. He walked out, and she stayed.

            She just had to wait a few minutes. She left, then, feeling better.