Against the Law

What was I doing here?

I thought of my bed
Warm
Safe
I thought of going home, climbing the paint chipped steps
The threshold, the wood floors, the inevitable pile of vomit
(It didn't matter which cat left it, just that it was there)
Then the bedroom, the bed, the blanket, the pillows
The whoosh and creak as I lay down
The warm cocoon
Where nothing else existed

But I wasn't there
I was here

I took a deep breath
There were voices behind me, waiting their turn
Murmuring
What is taking so long I imagined them saying
I looked at my watch
10 seconds, that was all
That was how long I have been standing here
A lifetime in ten seconds
I took another deep breath and as if someone else had taken control of my body
I watched in horror
My foot, taking a step
The emptiness beyond
The river below
And I was flying

That Time I Knew Better

Photo credit: Robsalot (that's me!)

There’s this one daydream I have where a genie shows up to grant me one wish, I don’t know why it’s only the one wish instead of the normal three, but that’s beside the point. So for my one wish I choose to go back in time, to the exact moment where I have decided I started messing up my life, because like many people I like to dwell on the things that I can’t change. Anyway, the thing is, I know all the rules of time travel, or at least all the ones that every sci-fi book and movie and TV show has ever taught me, so I am aware that by changing one thing, I will change everything. That’s why, in this favorite little daydream of mine, I’m always trying to plan how I can keep the things I do like about my life while fixing the things I don’t. I know, I spend too much time ruminating on this, or at least that’s what my partner always says (he is the main thing I wouldn’t want to change by the way, or at least most of the time I feel that way).

So one day I am riding my bike home from work when suddenly a ground squirrel darts out into the path in front of me, I swerve to miss it but must have hit something else because the next thing I know I am flat on my back on the asphalt. Then there is a shadow looming over me, I squint into the sun and see it is a strange man, and his lips are moving, and he is reaching a hand out to me. I can’t quite hear what he is saying but instinctually I reach out and grab his hand and he lifts me back to my feet.

“Thanks” I say while dusting myself off.

He chuckles, “I guess you didn’t hear me before”

“Oh no, sorry,” I start to explain, but he cuts me off.

“I said I’m here to grant you one wish”

“What?” I must have hit my head, I reach my hand up to check but my bike helmet seems to be intact.

“I said I’m here to grant you one wish, I am a genie, I was trapped in that vessel” he points to an empty Campbell’s Soup can that is laying on the ground.

That’s what I must have hit with my bike I thought, while simultaneously trying to edge away from the obviously unstable person who is claiming he is going to grant me a wish.

“No wait!” he exclaims while blocking my path to my bike, “I must grant you one wish, it is required.”

“Uh, okay,” I stammer, hoping to humor this guy so I can be on my way, “I wish to go back to June 18, 1999.”

There was a suddenly flash of light and the last thing I thought as I faded from the present was Crap, this isn’t a dream…

Shades of Blue

She moved to this neighborhood to start over, after an unhappy time in her life. She found a modest house to rent, which suited her just fine. This new space, it was a blank canvas, a place she could make her own. A cocoon that she could curl up inside and reemerge as who she was meant to be.

It was an early evening, quickly fading to night, the first time she took a walk around her block. She hadn’t noticed the house at the shady end of the street at first as it was hidden behind the green veil of several weeping willows, but when the wind stirred and the branches parted she was startled by its presence. It seemed to be lurking there, protected behind a hedgerow, and she was overcome with the feeling of being watched. She hated to admit it, since the neighborhood had so far seemed so pleasant, but she felt suddenly uneasy and continued past by quickly.

Now she was almost certain that the house had been light blue, in fact she felt sure of it because she made note of how hideous the color was, a faded periwinkle, which didn’t suit its gothic architecture at all. But a few days later, when she was combing the block with her neighbors in search of old Misses Meriwether’s cat, she ventured to the far side of the street again and could have sworn the house that lurked behind the willows was now much brighter in color, like it had just been repainted. But how could that be? She surely would have noticed a crew working on the place.

Several weeks later the cool spring weather was edging towards summer and she was sitting on her porch, trying to enjoy a nice book, but the kids were playing at the end of the block, making all kinds of ruckus and disturbing her peace. Just as she was about to retreat inside for some quiet there was a sudden silence. She looked up, but the kids were gone. How can that be, she thought, because there was no way they could have all left so quickly without her noticing. At that moment she saw through a parting in the trees the big old house… it was now dark blue, almost black.

“Okay, something is definitely not right here” she muttered to herself as she rose from her perch.

Slowly she made her way down the street, creeping silently, because she was afraid of what she would find there. She reached the fence that surrounded the house and carefully opened the gate. Quietly she crept through the yard, peered through the hedges, and couldn’t believe what she saw. There, in the backyard were the children, playing in a pool, and all her neighbors, having a BBQ. Old Misses Meriwether spotted her first, and waved her over “come my dear, and celebrate with us, Bob Peabody is throwing a party since he has finally finished painting his house!”

Anticipating Guests

She thought she was going crazy at first, so she kept it to herself. Best not to say anything and open oneself up to trouble, she thought, but it just kept happening, which led her to believe she really was going crazy, and maybe she should seek help. Unfortunately the professionals seemed to have no idea how to fix her, and after a year of wasted time, wasted money, and more medications then she could remember she gave up. She would have to learn to live with the voices.

Eventually, when she stopped trying to make them go away, she began to notice a pattern in their arrival. It usually happened just like any other normal day. She would just be going about her business, and then bam, they would be there. Well, there were a few signs, some dry mouth when she woke up accompanied by an extra hazy don’t want to get out of bed feeling. Maybe a slight headache which could easily be confused with a caffeine craving, only caffeine never seemed to calm her throbbing temples. Oh well, she would think, just part of being human in this human body doing its thing, every day can’t be perfect. But then, sometime in the early afternoon, that particular time of day where her defenses were at their lowest, they would arrive.

It was when she finally gave in that she figured out what they were, and more importantly what they wanted. What had sounded like a din, like an angry mob, or a frightened mass, screaming inside her skull, suddenly became clear. They were the voices of those who had passed into the beyond, looking for a path back to the world of the living, and finally she had learned how to communicate with them. From that point everything changed so quickly! Once the voices knew they had gotten through, they showed up almost daily. Thankfully they weren’t evil, it’s not like they wanted her to do their bidding, or kill kill kill, or anything like that. Mostly they just wanted one last good bye, one chance to end the final chapter of their lives on their own terms. She had no choice but to listen to them, to help them (though secretly she kind of liked it).

It was quite noble work, really, much better than the desk jockeying she used to do. So she figured out how to monetize it, because she really couldn’t do a real job anymore anyway, not when she was now anticipating her guests almost daily. It’s not like she was trying to take advantage of grieving families, she just needed to make a living. Unfortunately it seemed some didn’t see it that way; there were those that wanted to take advantage, who believed her gift should be shared for free for the good of all. It was self-defense, she didn’t mean to do it, but it didn’t take long before she was a medium to the first person she killed.

The Hangover Cure

Mark was in trouble, he needed money and he needed it now. He thought about selling fake IDs again, there was always a high demand due to the college on the other end of town, but it was risky, if he got caught he might end up in jail. No, he needed something safer. And that was when it hit him, a cure for the other problem that often followed in the footsteps of a fake ID, a cure for hangovers. It was perfect, he already had a built in clientele. The only pesky little problem was actually developing a cure, something that really worked, or made the user believe it did anyway.

He set to work right away, mixing powders and pills, blending fruits and vegetables, and trying to marry it all together in an effective and not completely disgusting concoction. Finally after several less than successful attempts, and one very ruined blender, he had a final product, what he deemed “Mark’s Magic Hangover Cure”. It was beautiful, well not the color, which ended up being a sludgy brown, but just the fact that it existed.

There was another small setback he didn’t count on though. It seemed everyone already had their own favorite methods for curing a hangover, greasy food, Gatorade, even a little hair of the dog. It was going to take some good salesmanship skills on his part to sell his potion. Eventually “Mark’s Magic Hangover Cure” caught on, through a little word of mouth and every college student’s strong desire to go out and party and not feel like shit the next day. Soon Mark was raking in the money, but at what cost? Oh wait, no, this isn’t that type of story. The business was just fine and all Mark’s money troubles were over. He even expanded to sell more than just the original Hangover Cure. He had created a nice little business for himself.

One day, as he was selling his wares at the local Farmers Market, he met a pretty lady. Feeling especially courageous he asked her out. One thing led to another and Mark and the lady fell in love, got married and had two beautiful boys.  Life just kept getting better and better. Then one snowy winter morning Mark was driving his children to school when an out of control car came careening towards them, skidding wildly on the icy street. Don’t worry, it’s also not that type of story, because Mark managed to swerve just in time, while that other car zigged and zagged and eventually landed in a bush and caught fire, luckily Mark ran over and pulled the driver out in time. It turned out the other man was still drunk from the night before (and had one of Mark’s Magic Hangover Cures in his cup holder). He took it as a sign and quit drinking. He was forever grateful to Mark for helping him that day, they became fast friends. Sometimes everything works out just fine.

Back When It Was Easy Breezy

There was work, and then there was WORK. That much she knew for sure. She didn’t really mind the hot sun, sweat slicked skin, calloused hands, put your body into it kind of work; she actually kind of loved it. It made her feel purposeful. And the layer of salt on her skin, tired muscles, collapse into bed at the end of the day feeling let her know that she truly accomplished something.

But WORK, that other kind... Wearing expensive constricting clothes, tottering around in uncomfortable shoes, having to waste hours every morning and night to make sure she looked and smelled presentable only to spend her days navigating complex social structures in overly air conditioned offices, and then at the end of the day left with nothing but a headache from emotional exertion and internalized anxiety? No, this she would never understand, this was exactly why she had run away. But none of that really mattered now because she had no choice, this life she had been born into was her duty, now she was obligated to stay.

She knew it was dumb to hate her life, most people would kill for it (she often entertained the idea of killing to get away from it, but not seriously). Anyway, she shouldn’t joke about death, because that was part of the reason she was here. After her father died she was the only one that could run the empire, it would collapse without her. But on days like today, when someone had accidentally left her five minutes of time between meetings, and she found herself alone with her thoughts, well, she always drifted back to those times, out in the desert, when life was so simple.

Today was one of those days. Five minutes to think. She picked up the phone and slowly dialed the number. She allowed it to ring for a full  minute before she hung up. A moment later there was a knock at her door and then cautiously Bobby, her well-meaning but kind of befuddled assistant, shuffled in.

“Uh hi, excuse me? There is a call for you”

She tried hard not to roll her eyes, wow this girl was awkward!

“Great, who is it?” She really didn’t feel like taking a call.

“They didn’t say, just that they received a call from your number a minute ago?”

“Oh, well I guess that’s okay, send it through.” She was trying hard to sound nonchalant, but the second the call was transferred she snatched the phone from the receiver.

“Hello, Manny?”

There was a pause on the other end that felt like it lasted 5,000 years.

“Uh, no, sorry, uh…”

“Is this the Rustic Kitchen Café? I was trying to reach Manny?”

Another impossibly long pause.

“Hello?” Why hadn’t the person on the other end responded yet?

“I’m sorry, he passed away last week.”

She didn’t say anything else; she just held the phone to her ear and listened to the silence until the line went dead.

Classy is as Classy Does

It was too hot to think, it was too hot to breathe, it was too hot to do anything but stare into the middle distance at the little heat lines rising off the pavement like the ghosts of a million earthworms cooked by the sun. It wasn’t meant to be like this. She had expected a grand adventure, not an extended layover in Nowheresville, Nevada. She supposed that’s what she got for not thinking the plan through. Oh why did she never think these things through?

Just then she heard a voice echoing across the dirt lot; it was Manny, calling for her. Her break was over, time to get back to work. Ugh, as hot as it was outside today, it was even worse in that cramped little kitchen. Resigned to her fate she melted off the wooden bench of the swing that somebody had hung under the only shade tree for miles, and began the slow shuffle across the gravel to the Rusty Kitchen Café. The restaurant’s real name was Rustic Kitchen Café, but rusty was more appropriate for so many unsavory reasons. She chuckled to herself, pleased with her little play on words; she must be getting delirious from the heat.

Manny appeared in the doorway of the restaurant again, he was getting impatient. He opened his mouth to yell, but his words were drowned out by another, louder roar. She turned just in time to jump out of the way of an apple red streak of overcompensation, a shiny convertible sports car that had suddenly flown around the bend in the road and into the parking lot. It skidded to a stop at her feet.

“What the hell!” she threw her hands up in shock.

The car just sat there, motionless, the engine still whining from its race through the desert.

“Hey,” she tried again, louder, yelling at her own reflection in the black tinted window “you almost ran me over.”

With a click the driver’s door unlatched and a well-dressed man slithered out of the cool leather interior like a desert 'rattler.

“Well hello” his voice was melted tar oozing across the dusty asphalt.

“Hi Brad,” She rolled her eyes.

“My princess, I am here to rescue you.”

“Ugh, I don’t need to be rescued!”

He just stood there, the sweat starting to bead across his perfect brow.

“Leave! NOW! And tell Daddy to stop sending all you men here! I am perfectly capable of getting myself out of this!”

As he closed the car door against her venom she hocked a glob of spit which landed with a satisfying thuck on the shiny red paint. She smirked as the engine revved and the car sped off down the highway. Through the dissipating dust cloud left behind by her suitor’s hasty retreat she saw Manny’s silhouette in the restaurant doorway, giving her a thumbs up. She smiled to herself because for the first time she was sure, she really could do this on her own.

Consulting Fate

“Fuck” she muttered under her breath, “this sucks”

“I don’t know why you keep looking at the weather report every five minutes; it’s not going to change.” He said, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

“I know, it’s just, we have been planning for so long and I wanted everything to be perfect, and now it’s going to rain and there is nothing I can do about it, I mean it never rains in California in June. Why is this happening?” she was on the verge of tears now.

“Don’t cry, listen, it will be fine, even if it rains, it will make for a great story in the end, what really matters is we are together, and we love each other, and we are getting married, a little rain can’t stop any of that.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she sighed as she slid her phone back in her pocked.

It was supposed to be an outdoor beach ceremony, like she had always dreamed, her and her beloved, barefoot in the sand, the waves crashing behind them. The date had been picked out a year ago, June 15^th, perfect, a lovely sunny warm summer weather day. Really she had been worried that it might be too hot, but the weather that year was weird, and winter refused to go away. It just never stopped raining, and as the date approached the forecast remained the same, rain rain rain for the next ten days. Still, she couldn’t help looking at the apps on her phone, she had downloaded like ten different ones, just hoping that one of them would show her something else, but they were all the same. 10 days out, rain, five days out, rain, three days out, rain, and then it was the day before, and still rain.

She had resigned herself to fate, there would be no changing the weather. The backup venue was all set, indoors, but at least there would be a view of the ocean, so there was that. Then, on the morning of June 15^th she was surprised when she was awoken bright and early by the sun shining on her face. She flew out of bed and threw open the window, it was amazing, not a cloud in sight, she couldn’t believe it, she would have her perfect wedding after all.

She made her way down the beach in her summery white dress, to the accompaniment of a three piece string quartet, to where he was waiting for her by the roaring ocean. Nobody really saw what happened, mostly because everyone was watching her, and she only took her eyes off him for a second, to smile at her mother sitting in the front row, but when she turned back, he was gone. The coast guard determined it was a rogue wave, churned up from the week of storms.  It had thundered up on shore and swept her love out to sea.

The Predetermined Path

As I stepped across the stage I reached out to shake the principal’s hand and I swear at that moment I heard a cartoonish screeching of tires and slamming of breaks in my head. I froze in place, grasping her hand in mine, and looked out across the field at the faces of all the kids I had spent the last 18 years of my life with. It suddenly became too frighteningly clear, even though we were now all going off to different colleges, nothing would ever change. We would get degrees, we would get jobs, and we would all end up sitting in identical cubicles in bleak windowless offices. From somewhere out in the crowd I heard a murmur, “what is she doing?” and I snapped out of my trance. Hastily I accepted my diploma from the principal, who looked relieved that I finally let go of her hand, and made my way back to my seat amongst my classmates.

The summer flew by. I was supposed to spend it backpacking around Europe with my best friend but I sold my ticket to her boyfriend instead, I would need all the cash I could get. I used the money to travel to Camino, a little town on the American River, where I spent the summer working at a sleep-away camp (my parents had no idea I wasn’t in Europe). It was there I met a group of river guides; I was fascinated by their tales of life on the water.

Before I knew it summer was over and I found myself sitting on my bed in my brand new college dorm room. My parents had just left in a flurry of tears and goodbyes and my roommate had yet to arrive. Now was my chance. I had a bag full of clothes and a few other essentials, the rest was just stuff, and I left it behind along with a note explaining what I was about to do.

I boarded a Greyhound to Stanley, Idaho, where I would spend the last couple months of the season as a cook on the rafting trips along the Salmon River. If all went well then next season I could start my apprenticeship and actually learn how to row the rafts. I rested my head against the bus window and as the road flew by I couldn’t help but smile as I dozed off. My blissful slumber was interrupted by an annoying beeping sound, like the bus was backing up. Had we arrived already? Sleepily I open my eyes and blinked several times, trying to figure out where I was, and then I realized, I was in my bedroom, in my house, and that noise was my alarm telling me it was six a.m., time to get up and go to work. “Crap it was only a dream”, I sighed as I creakily maneuver my aging body out of bed, “my therapist is going to have a field day with this one.”

The Hiding Place

It was a chilly December morning and I was still snuggled in bed when my parents left for their Sunday walk. Wide awake I listened intently as I heard the front door click shut behind them. Finally alone I launched myself out from under the covers and down the stairs to the living room.

There I stood on the cold wooden floor, the cupboard under the stairs directly in front of me. I reached out and placed my hand against the door. I knew my parents had hidden my Christmas presents in here this year, they thought they were being sneaky. They thought if I didn’t know where they were, there was no way I could find them. That was silly, I would never peek, I loved the surprise of opening them up too much.

So there I was, temptation staring me in the face. I wasn’t going to look, but somehow knowing they were in this new hiding place made it really tempting. I traced the edge of the door, squeezed my eyes shut, and threw it open. I paused, my hand now covering my eyes, then slammed the door closed and raced back up to my room. Just opening the door was enough to satiate my curiosity, even though I hadn’t seen anything.

I was still in my room when my parents returned home. I could hear their muffled voices, and then abruptly there was silence. I could almost feel the air in the house change. A second later the quick thump thump thump of my dad’s feet on the stairs, and then he was in the doorway, a silhouette of anger.

“Roberta Anne, you’ve ruined Christmas” he bellowed.

I started to protest, but he wouldn’t hear it, he had rigged up a trap he explained, he knew what I had done. That is when I confessed, I had opened the door, but I hadn’t looked. He didn’t believe me of course, “Why would anyone do something so silly?” he raged “Lying to me is only going to make this worse.” I felt defeated, there was nothing I could do, and there was no way he would believe me.

I spent the rest of the day sulking in my room. Late in the afternoon my mom appeared in my door. They were going out to the grocery store, did I want to come? I declined the offer.

I listened for their car to pull out of the garage, then I crept back down to the living room. I was determined to figure out how my dad knew I’d opened it, was there a hidden camera or something? As I stared at the cupboard I saw it, an ink pen that had been placed on the top of the door. Obviously when I had opened it the pen had fallen, but since my eyes were closed I hadn’t seen it. In a huff I grabbed the pen, ran outside, and launched it over the fence in the back yard.