The Watcher

The Watcher; 2/13/2015; Bryan Sawatzki

He watches the sun rise and fall day in and day out.  The rays piercing through the clouds and beaming his hair, cheeks and shoulders.  The warmth is familiar, comforting.  He looks around slowly to make sure he is not being watched.  Not a darting look around, but he just wants to blend.  His front right pocket of his boxy jeans sticks out just a bit.  The causal sidewalk stranger wouldn’t notice the bump in his pocket, but make no mistake it’s there.  He knows it is.  He knows the power it will weld on his life, from the time it showed up in his possession to the time he no longer owns the object.

He watches the sun rise and fall day in and day out.  The rays are not piercing through the clouds today, and the hard cold pelts of rain are hitting his hair, cheeks and shoulders.  The dampness is not a familiar feeling, nor comforting.  He looks around quickly, not worrying about who is looking at him.  He is in need of quick shelter.  The bump is still in his pocket, still sticking out, and still only noticed by him.  The rain is too much for him today.  He cannot risk his possession getting damp. 

The bench he passes every day is cleared.  He sits and occupies it.  He sprawls out, to make sure he is the only person on his bench.  He watches as the people pass by.  One by one the sidewalk strangers mull by.  Dangerously oblivious to whom they are in contact with as they rub shoulders in passing.  He feels his front right pocket and it’s still there.  It is waiting.  Waiting for the right person. 

The sun is peaking now, he thinks to himself, it must me noonish.  It must be.  Down the street, he sees what he has been waiting for.  He’s been waiting for this, day in and day out.  The sun, rain, breeze and cold days waiting.  The sun today, is perfect.  It’s beaming perfectly.  He looks slowly around like before, to make sure he isn’t noticed.  The look is the same, not a nervous look around, just an inconspicuous one. 

He stands up slowly, he’s body slightly turned away from the direction he was facing, to ensure he isn’t noticed.  He smells the scent.  He knows what he’s been waiting for has passed.  The swoosh of air when he was passed wafted towards him.  It was a familiar smell, comforting.  He walks towards the smell and catches up quickly.  He reaches out his hand and places it firmly on the shoulder of the woman in front of him.  She is startled.  Being grabbed from behind amid the sidewalk strangers is an uneasy feeling for her. 

He has his object in full display awaiting for her to turn around.  He doesn't know if this is the beginning or the end.  He hopes this doesn’t cause the scene he’s seen in numerous movies.  She turns and directly looks into the eyes of the man grabbing her shoulder.  She relaxes, and moves her eyes from his and notices a stiffness in his face and he breath.  She looks down, gazes up on the object.  It sparkles and shines, she doesn’t notice his quick movement.  He’s down and looking up at her now.  His eyes staring at hers.  Waiting for her eyes to move from the object and meet his eyes. 

Silence befalls the sidewalk strangers.  They don’t stop, they actually don’t become silent at all.  But to him and her, there is silence.  The world is actually revolving around them right now.  Her eyes finally meet his.  Their world gets smaller and tighter around them.  There are only a few nods from her head.  He stands, relieved.  Their hands intertwine, hers being a little more heavy than they had been 2 minutes prior.

Alternate

Alternate

by

Bryan Sawatzki

            This bar is not dilapidated by any means, but it looks like it could be from the outside.  Swanky’s is tucked between two bland buildings that held offices on the street level and converted apartments above it.  The street that the bar is located on is marginally busy during rush hour, but midday just after lunch traffic is non existent.  The only car that is moving on this road is mine.  As I park in front of the bar, my phone alerts me of a text message, it’s from my wife.  Ur work just called and said you left. What is going on? Why didn’t you tell me you were leavin?  I think to myself, ‘God this bitch knows everything.’

            I left work shortly after lunch because I couldn’t handle my reality any longer.  Work is always down my throat, my wife is even further down, and I just needed a break.

            Inside Swanky’s looks as expected, semi-clean and dimly lit.  There are three people in the bar and a bartender serving their every need.  I chose not to sit at the bar, but instead behind everyone in the corner booth that gives me a full perspective of the joint.  The booth I picked had a sign above it that read, DOES YOUR WIFE KNOW YOUR HEAR?!.  I thought if she only knew my month would we over. 

“Hey pal you need a drink?”  The barkeep yelled.

“Yeah, a beer and a therapist would be great.”

“Coming right up and I’ll get you a number.”  He bellowed back.

            The beer gutted bartender brought my drink over and smiled, “Leave it open or closed?”

            “Open is fine for now.”  I returned.

            I take a sip and survey the clientele of the bar and I begin to alter my reality.  I begin to create a different life where I was invested and intertwined with other occupants.  This is my therapy, my escape from my reality.

            My alternate reality picked the older gentleman sitting at the bar.  My attention was drawn to him because of the song coming from his cell phone, People are strange when they are strangers, kept repeating itself yet the man doesn’t even flinch.  He just lets it play through.  The man seems content on just sitting there letting the smoke roll up his face as the cigarette just burns while attached to his lip.  His back is to me, but I can see his reflection in the bar mirror directly in front of him.  His reflection seems weathered; each crevasse in his forehead seems to tell a story that is matched by each line of his crow’s feet next to his eyes.  His skin is leathery making it difficult to determine his nationality, but if I were a betting man, I would guess Native American or maybe Hispanic.

            My mind wanders and our story starts to come together.

            A year ago I met Marc Halfmoon at the V.A hospital.  I was there for my physical check up that has been mandated since the explosion I was involved in during the Gulf War.  Marc was there for therapy for his brain, those are his words, from his time in Vietnam and Korea.  We spoke to one another by chance that day.  Marc came into the lobby in almost hysteria, screaming at whoever he was in the room with.  His screaming startled me and I stood up in a reaction to it.  Marc didn’t notice how close he was to me when he turned around in a fit and knocked the both of us to the ground.  The physical contact between us must have snapped him out of it and he helped me up and introduced himself while apologizing.  Once we are both on our feet he nodded at me and sat in the far corner of the lobby. 

            The doctor called me into the room and we completed the physical and everything seemed to be in working order physically for me.  When I walked out of the room, Marc was waiting for me.  He apologized again and offered to buy me a drink.  I could tell he wanted someone unaffiliated with the medical profession to talk to, so I accepted.  We made our way across the parking lot to the sports bar that shared the same parking lot.

            Once inside the bar, we got familiar with one another with the usual chit chat that strangers do.  After the first beer, Marc asked me why I was at the V.A.  I told him about my own stupidity at during the Gulf War and how I came so close to the explosion.  He had a good laugh at my expense, as do I when I tell the story out loud, then I passed the story telling torch to Marc.

            Marc tells me about the tours he did in Vietnam.  His vivid details of the blazing night skies and the countless number of people he killed during the war were fascinating.  I could tell Marc was having trouble talking about it, but he kept going.  He seemed like he needed to get it off his chest, and he felt comfortable recalling this memories to someone who shared the same directives.  Through out the stories he told me and a few beers, I could see each story in the wrinkles in his forehead.  Each wrinkle had its own memory steep in pain and anguish. 

            I was snapped out the fantasy with this weathered bar patron when the bartender yells, “Steve, you gonna drink that beer or what?”

            Steve looks down at his warm spirit and glares, “I will when I’m God damn ready.  If I wanted my wife here, I would have brought her!”

            I wanted my fantasy of us to be real, I wanted that relationship where someone felt they could talk to me and I could relate to them with my own real life experiences.  The moment I heard Steve for the first time destroyed the fantasy.  In his real life, Steve is probably very much like me.  He deals with his wife not because of love, but out of fear of being alone.

            I finished my first beer and the bartender waddled over another one.  I take my first sip of my second drink and I locked on to the overweight couple at the opposite end of the bar from Steve/Marc Halfmoon, and begin to create a new alternate reality with them.       

            Dwayne and Ethal met each other through me a few years ago.  Dwayne and I grew up together in an Angola, Indiana.  We lived in the same neighborhood, went to the same schools, and played football together from pee-wee through high school.  Back then Dwayne was a statuesque middle linebacker for our mediocre high school team.  Once adulthood set in, he traded working out for late night fast food and lack of motivation.

            After high school, Dwayne and I went our separate ways.  He stayed in state and went to an engineering college, and I left Indiana for the blonde bombshells of Arizona State.  We kept in touch and saw each other whenever I would come home to visit, but it wasn’t until our 10 year high school reunion where he’d meet Ethal.

            On my way home for the reunion, Ethal was sitting next to me on the plane.  We began idol chatting to pass time.  She told me that she was heading to Angola for a job interview with the metal fabricating company that is based there.  She told me that she is nervous to move away from everything and everyone she has ever known.  Ethal was a nice woman but she had a few extra pounds on her.  In my estimation she probably heard that she had a pretty face her whole life but was always overweight, causing her to be lacking self confidence.  As we landed Ethal and I exchanged numbers and I told her I could introduce her to some of the people back home if she wanted. 

            At the reunion, Dwayne and I started talking and he expressed to me how lonely he was.  He never meets anyone new and with this increased size over the years, even the high school stay behinds won’t even consider him anymore.  He’s been reduced to the funny fat guy friend.  I sympathized with him and remembered I had Ethal’s cell number in my pocket.  I tell Dwayne we are going to the Machine Shop Bar for a few drinks and to meet a friend.

            Dwayne says his good byes and I called Ethal and told her where to meet me.  I told her that I had a friend I wanted her to meet.

            Dwayne and I get to the bar first and ordered shots of Tequila, to loosen him up for his impromptu blind date with Ethal.  We get the shots down and Ethal walked up.  After the introductions the sparks flew.  I just sat back and watched while they told each other their life stories, accomplishments and embarrassments.  It was beautiful.  A year later they were married and the following year they welcomed my god son into the world. 

            This reality was beautiful until it was interrupted when the two overweight people I was fantasizing about bumped my table on the way out.  They snapped me out of what I believed to be the greatest love story ever told.  I looked down and noticed my beer was gone, and there was nobody left in the room but me and the bartender.  I signal to him I wanted to cash out and looked at my watch.  I was in the bar for an hour, but to me it felt like a life time.  The bartender hands me the bill and I give him a twenty and tell him the rest is tip, he thanks me and I walk out to my car.

            As I pull my seat belt across, my cell buzzes again.  I have five missed calls and ten text messages, all from my wife.  The last text message read, I hope you don’t even come home. You don’t deserve to have a woman like me.  I take a deep breath and put the car in drive.

            

16

 

All of the tests have been passed.  The hours logged with mom dad and the crazy uncle.  The night hours have been done, much to the fear of mothers everywhere.  Your money was saved and the rest was bankrolled by your father.  The plates are clean, and insurance has full coverage.  The DMV line is longer than you anticipated, but the eagerness for the picture washes the wait out.  Your mother tries to make small talk about school or responsibilities while behind the wheel, but all you can think about it the freedom this picture will afford you. 

“Number 272!?, NUMBER 272?!”

You move towards the booth calling your number with your birth certificate, learners permit and your mother.  The lady takes your information and doesn’t share the same excitement you do.  Matter of fact, she almost resents letting you take this first step towards adulthood.  As she directs you to the photo area, you mother is trying to fix your hair so you “look good” in your photo, but you don’t’ care.  You square your shoulder up and lift your chin because today is the big day.  The flash is weak and the lady says you’re done.  A wave of disappointment comes over you because you were unaware that you didn’t get your actual license that day.  The lady hands your learners permit back with a new piece of folded up paper stapled to it.  You glance over it and dismiss what the paper actually says.  Your mother sees slumping of your shoulders and offers to let you drive back home as a consolation prize. 

 

8 o’clock rolls around and you’ve been itching to take your newly purchased 95’ Grand AM out.  Your parents didn’t want you to buy a new car right away, because they figure you’ll ruin your first car.  You argued with them about how you will be responsible and you should get “cooler” car.  Your argument doesn’t stand a chance and your father will only bankroll so much of the purchase.  Your parents are sitting in the living room, and your father has your keys.  You are excited and nervous to ask for the first time, “Dad, can I take out the car?”  Your father smiles and tosses you the keys.  Your mother runs into the bedroom and grabs the digital camera and follows you outside.  As the car starts, mom is flashing photos nearly blinding you from moving out of the drive way.  Once you’ve made it out of the drive, you feel your finally alone and can do anything; Questions about where to go first, or if you could drive anywhere where would it be, overwhelm your brain while you wait idly at the stop sign at the edge of your road.  While you are contemplating your next big life decision on where to go for the first time driving, your cell phone rings and you see “DaD” on the caller ID, “Hello?”

“Son, can you swing by the store first and grab some milk before you go out?”

 

 

Falling Stones

The sky tonight is the shimmering kind, the kind that when you look at the clouds and the deep purple fades in to brilliant orange color.  The kind of sky you wish you had a camera handy for.  The grass tickles the underside of Johnny’s forearms and he reaches over to Crissy who is lying next to him.  She is not the classic Monroe beauty, but the kind of beauty that is plain and clean.  Johnny wants to stay in this moment for as long as he can.  He wants to just be here with the time standing more still than a statue.  His hand finds hers and he grabs it, just hard enough for her to know that he’s there for her.  She squeezes back, but now with the strength Johnny had used.  Crissy feels the same way, just enjoying lying in the grass next to him.  She adores him and he knows it.  He knows how much she cares and thinks about him.  He can sense it in her quick glances, her gentle and subtle touches when there isn’t anyone watching.  Johnny cares for her deeply as well, but he knows he has to tell her.  He knows he has to do it soon, but right here right now isn’t the place.  The sky is too beautiful and the moment is too perfect to do something like that at this moment.  They just lay there together, no words said, no glances exchanged, just staring at the beautiful sky fading away into night. 

Finally as the sun is gone and the crescent is in full, Johnny rolls to his side and just looks deeply at Crissy while she lies there.  The shadow the moon is casting over her features makes his very being ache.  He hasn’t looked at her like this in years.  He hasn’t seen anything nearly as beautiful as she is at his moment, completely innocent and unassuming.  She doesn’t know he turned to look at her, she is just relaxed and letting herself be consumed by the nights air.  Johnny touches her hair and her deep dark blond hair swallows his fingers with its silky qualities.  The wind blows and the grass moves around Johnny’s elbow he has propped on the ground so he can look at her.  Crissy shakes from the chilly breeze and Johnny moves closer to attempt to warm her up.  His movements wake her from her relaxation and she looks at him.  They look intensely at one another; Johnny starts to hurt a little more.  He is hurting because of what he needs to tell her, he is hurting because he knows how much he loves her.   This secret he has been holding on to for months now, but suspects he’s known about it for years.  Maybe that is why he hasn’t looked at her this way in so long.  Maybe this is why he’s been so immensely immersed in his work.  Crissy sees this doubt that came across Johnny’s face.  It was only a flicker, an unconscious facial expression that swept over his face.  To her the expression looked so intense for a brief moment she recoiled a little, breaking the moment they had been having.  Crissy sits up and grabs for her jacket and begins putting it on.  Johnny sits up as well and pulls his knees to his chest and leans forward hugging his knees and buries his head.  Crissy looks at him, and see a vulnerability in him that she has never seen before.  She can sense he is struggling with something.  She knows what it is, she knows deep down what it is.  She knows that she has put him in this weakened state.  She starts to wonder how long he has known.  Crissy reaches out to him and places her hand on his back and strokes it gently as she moves closer to put her arms around him. 

A cloud covers the fingernail moon that was once casting the shadow that made Crissy once look like the prettiest woman Johnny had ever seen.  As she sits down, she feels Johnny’s body tighten.  She hears him take a deep breath and the exhale makes her shiver, like someone just walked over her grave.  Johnny pulls he head from his knees and looks at her.  She can feel him shaking and she sees the tears he is fighting.  The hand that was once touching his back has moved to the front of her face.  It covers her mouth, hiding the trembling lip.  Johnny no longer sees this beautiful woman, but he sees a woman that he doesn’t even know anymore.  His face tightens and the eyes that looked so ready for tears turn cold and hard.  Crissy feels his stare going through her.  It’s going beyond her eyes, it’s going beyond her thoughts and straight to her heart.  The stare Johnny is giving her doesn’t even need words to let her that he knows. 

Johnny moves a little further away from her after what felt like an eternity, and he stands up looking down at her.  Crissy doesn’t attempt to get up, she doesn’t want to, she wants to feel small, she wants Johnny’s gaze to bury her into the ground where she sits.  She looks into his eyes to see if there is any hope, if there is anything that can repair what is broken.  She watches his heart break through his eyes.  His eyes are still stone, but they are a breaking stone, she sees them falling apart.   

Crissy unfolds the single creased noted, and it read:  I want to hold your hand.  She immediately remembers this is the note he wrote her on their first date, when they knew they wanted to be together what seems like ages ago.  She drops the letter and covers her face, shame overwhelms her and she yells out to Johnny but it is too late.  Johnny fights with himself when he hears her yelling his name, he wants to go back to her, but his heart will not let him.  He powers through the emotions he has for her and just keeps walking leaving her behind, in the blackness of the night.  The same kind of night he has felt like he has been in since the day he found out.  The empty darkness of being alone when you were once there with someone you loved so dearly.

Nine Nights

Monday, August 28, 2009

The chair calls to me like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.  It sits there uninviting to everyone but me.  The doctor sits there waiting for me to take my rightful place.  There is something telling him that is where I belong, in that chair.  The pacing and staring doesn’t do anything.  The chair sits and invites me, pulling me towards it.  I want to be intertwined with it.  I want the chair’s power to consume me.  There are memories inside of me that need to be released.  The doctor that sits patiently next to the other part of me awaiting what is in store for him. 

            I look wild eyed at the guard that is holding me.  He seems like a decent enough man.  He is larger than the other handlers I’ve had so far.  His right arm has a tattoo of theater art, the smile and the sad face.  I could only wonder what significance it has.  I could only think it was there for some life and loss he might have suffered.  He moves me towards the couch and clamps me in.  My wrists throb once the final clicks latch in.     

“Are you comfortable?” Dr. Malkin asks.

“Are you?”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

The room is stark white.  There is no emotion or feeling in this room.  There is nothing distinguishable.  It’s the kind of room that makes a person want to walk out of.  It almost forces anxiety.  I struggle with being here.  I pull my right hand towards my face, but it stays cuffed to the chair.  My wrist feels like it might start bleeding if I persist with the pulling.  I want nothing more than to get out of here.  I want to leave this room; I want to leave this place. 

“Byron,” Malkin asks, “do you know why we are here?”

“No!”

“Byron, you are here because you murdered someone.  You brutally murdered someone.”

I can’t believe what he is telling me.  I cannot believe it.  I have a wife and a good job.  I couldn’t have done the things he is asking me about.  I love my family.  Who did I kill?

“Do you recall the events of August 26, 2009?”

“I didn’t kill anyone!  I don’t even know what you are talking about.  That was my birthday.  I don’t know!” 

“Byron” Malkin says, “You murdered someone on that day.  You batted them over and over again until they could only be identified through dental records.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about!  I didn’t do it!”

“Ok, so what do you remember?  What do you remember from before your birthday, can you tell me anything?”

……..

Tuesday August 20, 2009

            The sun blazed through the blinds waking me up like it did every morning.  Sandy, my wife, has no problems with it, but like clock work I was awake.  I threw the blankets off to the side and put my feet on the floor.  My eyes adjusted and focused on the clock on my night stand and it read 6:15.  I didn’t snooze that morning because I had to get to the office early to prepare for my evaluation.  I did the morning ritual of the shit, shower and shave, and remembered staring at myself in the mirror and saying, “Today is your day buddy!” 

            I made my way out of the bedroom and down the stairway to the kitchen.  Sandy was still asleep and I tried not to make too much noise while getting my morning vitamins and cereal.  As I finished my breakfast I began to feel nervous for the day.  My anxiety started and I reached for my Valium ingesting two of them.  I get panic attacks when I think something major is going to happen.  I’ve always had a sixth sense about this stuff.  I always seem to know when something major is going to happen, good or bad.  This mornings feeling was different.  I could tell.  I couldn’t get a read on what was going to happen.  That caused me to have a different type of panic attack.  I wanted to just get back into bed and lay next to Sandy.

            I walked into the garage and get into my red 2009 M6 BMW and turned the key.  I could feel the Valium kicking in and the anxiety dissipating and I began to feel like I can control the day, but there was still a strange feeling in the back of my mind.  The overwhelming feeling of the unknown unsettles me. 

            The drive to work was difficult.  I was agitated at everything from stop lights to other drivers on the road.  I wanted to run them all off the road and laugh at them.  I wanted to just be uninterrupted.  Then like a sign from God, John Cougar Mellencamp came on the radio, Pink Houses, the acoustic version and for some reason it calmed the nerves and made for a peaceful finish for a ride seemly doomed for destruction.

……

“That is a good start.  What else do you remember about that day?”

“Nothing, nothing happened that day.  I just remember the anxiety I felt that morning.  My day was pretty routine.”  I feel my brain searching for anything distinguishable.

“Well let’s keep progressing to the day in question.  What is the next thing you can remember?”

……

Wednesday August 21, 2009

            It is another day of being woke up by the sun blazing, and I remember thinking why didn’t we make the room on the west side of the house.  My morning rituals stayed the same, bathroom, breakfast, and then drive into work.  The panic I felt the day before wasn’t resonating through me like it had the morning prior.  Come to think of it, I didn’t even take a Valium pill that morning.  I walked into work and completed my day.  Then on my way out of the office I noticed an email my computer received from an old college roommate from Ann Arbor.  The email was from Tom Felton.  I hadn’t heard from him in a few years so I thought I should read it before I headed home incase it was something of importance.  The email started with your normal hey, how are you, what have you been up too.  You know the normal stuff.  Towards the end of the email he said something that caught my attention.  “Do you remember that night in Ann Arbor?  I think those guys are after us.  I just wanted to give you a warning.  I’ve been seeing things around my house and work that just seem out of place.”  The email closes with the normal salutations and he signs off. 

            I relaxed in my chair for a few minutes and try to remember what exactly he was talking about.  It’s been 15 years since we were in college.  There has been probably 100 time that amount of pills I’ve ingested since then.  If I could remember every night we had during college I could be a stand up comedian.  I remember sitting there thinking about what he could have noticed differently about his house. 

            On the drive home, panic hits me again.  This overwhelming feeling of not knowing, not knowing what is going to happen next.  Tommy’s email just sat in the forefront of my mind and it just seemed like a drill.  I couldn’t focus on driving home, just that thought of the email and who could be after me.  The panic wasn’t so much for my life, but for Sandy’s safety.  The questions swirled in my head trying to remember what Tommy’s email was referring too. 

……

“Doc, can you loosen these cuffs up a bit?”  The feeling was lost in my right hand and my left one felt like pins and needles.

“Sure, I can get a guard in here in a few minutes.”  Malkin says.  “Let’s just keep going for a few more minutes.  Who is Tommy?”

“Tommy is an old friend from college at U of M.  We roomed for a few years off campus before we both graduated and partied together quite a bit.  I mean back then we partied pretty hard, got into a few fight and met a few women.”  Remembering Tommy somehow clamed me down, I didn’t feel quite as scared for my situation.

“Byron, what happens next?”

……

Thursday August 22, 2009

            Again it’s the same routine.  The 3 S’s, breakfast and drive to work.  When I got into work I had another email waiting for me from Tommy.  The subject was the same as the night before; Hey old friend.  Before I opened it I thought it was just a copy of what he had sent me the night before so I didn’t open it right away.  The beginning part of my day finished and I was sitting in my cubical eating my leftover lunch from the day before and read his email:

     Byron, I’m sure you don’t remember what night I’m talking about because if you did you would have wrote me back.  Byron, do you not remember pulling those two want to be greasers off of that girl out side of Blakely’s?  Byron, he swung at you and you broke his nose, then his friend hit you in the head with a bottle of some sort.  After you came to they were walking away from us when you ran down the other guy and slammed his head into the wall and he just went limp.  The other guy tried to swing at you and I sucker punched him as hard as I could.  He fell on the ground and laid there not moving.  You staggered around because you were bleeding pretty badly out of the side of your head.  The guy who you hit into the wall still wasn’t moving and the other guy was groaning so I dragged you away and we went back to the apartment.  You slept for a few days because your head hurt so badly.  Once you were moving around again you never mentioned anything about it so I figured that you didn’t remember it.  Well the guy you slammed into the wall was named Tim Daley and he passed a few nights after the fight.  The other guy is named Jeff Hanley.  Jeff found out who we were from the bartender that night.  He has been harassing me for about 10 years now.  At first I was just telling him to come out here and try something and I’ll beat his ass again.  That kept him away for a few years, but lately he has been getting worse or closer or crazier.  Normally the email or the call would happen every couple of months, but now it’s every day.  He has mentioned your name more and more frequently telling me he knows who you are and where you live. Look Byron this guy is crazy, my car has been vandalized outside my house last night.  My dog has been missing for three days and my back door was open when I woke up this morning.  I’m just warning you brother.  Keep yourself safe.

Tom

The email pressed my panic button like I’ve never had it pressed before.  I took a half personal day after the email and raced home to check on my wife and house.  My bottle of Valium is almost gone from the frequency of my anxiety attacks lately so I tried to hold off on taking one but couldn’t.  I swallowed it hard and pressed on the gas pedal. 

When I got to the house there was a note taped to my garage door, it read; I remember that night do you? 

With a rush I frantically unlock the front door and call out to Sandy. 

“Yes honey?” I could hear her smile.  “What are you doing home so early?”

“Did you notice anything strange around the house today?  Anything at all?”

“No not at all, why?”

“Just curious that’s all.  I was having one of my anxiety attacks again.”

“Honey, you aren’t taking more of those pills than you are supposed to, are you?  Doctor says that it can cause some of these thoughts or hallucinations.”

“I’m taking what the doctor said!” I said followed by, “plus whatever else I need to stay sane.” Under my breath.

            My day passes and I have dinner with Sandy, nothing special, just dinner.  My pills make food taste like nothing and my conversations were short with Sandy that night.  I might have over medicated from the overpowering panic attack the note caused.  As we lay in bed, I’m half comatose we hear the back door beeper go off.  Sandy looks at me puzzled and said she’d go check it out.  I pull her back into bed and grab my cell phone.  As I walk downstairs I have 9-1-1 pressed into my phone ready to call.  As I looked around my first floor I didn’t notice anything out of place or missing.  The door was just open. 

……

“Did you think it was Jeff that opened your back door?”  Malkin asked.

“Who else could it have been?  I get this creepy email from Tommy saying that same shit has happened to him and this loony knows where I live?  Pull your head out of your ass Doc!”  My wrists are toast and my fingers don’t even feel like fingers anymore, just objects protruding from my new chrome bracelets. 

“Calm down Byron.  Why don’t you remember what happened on your birthday?” 

“I don’t know.  I don’t even know what happened!”

“Well let’s continue with what you remember.  What happened after you found your door open.”

……

Friday August, 23 2009

That night’s sleep wasn’t peaceful.  I never told Sandy that the door was open, nor did I tell her about Tommy’s email.  I guess I didn’t want to frighten her.  The next morning I emailed Tommy from my home computer asking him what he is doing to protect himself from this guy and if he has ever seen this Jeff guy.  My anxiety was at an all time high that morning from the prior night’s events so I might have over done it on the Valium. 

As I got into work everyone was in slow motion.  When my boss was telling me the results of my evaluation, he sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher; WANH WAHN WAHN.  My head started to hurt from the excess in Valium I had taken over the last couple days.  My mind was becoming distorted.  I feel like I remember seeing an email back from Tommy but I cannot remember what it said.

……

 “Byron, I have the email right here.  The police were able to get access through your work for our investigation.  Do you want to know what it said?” Malkin said.

“Ok.”

Malkin reads;

Byron, I bought guns man.  I bought 2 of them, one for my house and one for my car.  This guy is crazy man.  He was at my house last night around 4am.  My back door was swung wide open and he left me a note.  Note said he is coming for me tonight man.  I called the police cause I don’t remember what he looks like.  Shit man that was years ago.  Have you seen anything weird or has he messed with you at all?

Tom

“Shit, so Tommy called the police?”  I said, “Did they help him or do anything?”

“Byron, Tom was murdered August 24^th.  He was shot walking out of his house.  The assailant shot him six times, four to the abdomen and two in the head.  From the coroners’ report it looks like the last two shots were from close range.  You don’t remember this?  You had a clipping of it on your desk when the police searched your house.”  Malkin said. 

“Oh no!  Tommy isn’t dead.  Did Jeff kill him?”

“The police are still trying to figure out who killed Tommy.”

“Am I a suspect for Tommy’s death?”

“I’m not sure.  I’m here to figure out what happened on August 26^th, your birthday.” Malkin says with a sternness in his voice.  “Please continue with what you think happened after you read Tommy’s email.”

……

Friday August 23, 2009

I barely remember finishing work.  The walk out to my car seemed longer than ever, I checked my coat pocket to make sure I had some pills left incase anything happened on the way home.  Once I got to my car there was another note.  Or I think there was another note.  When I saw the paper in my car door, terror overran me again.  I couldn’t get my hand in my pocket fast enough to get a pill in my mouth.

The note said something about him watching me.  I looked around before getting into my car with my key protruding between my knuckles.  I remember this because I had cuts in the webbing between my index and middle finger the next morning.  Nothing happened in the parking lot and I got into my car and drove home.  The drive home was a slow go, because the newest pill I took put my world into slow motion. 

When I got home I asked Sandy again if she had seen anything strange around the house.  I asked her if there were any phone calls that seemed suspicious.  Sandy told me there was nothing strange going on around the house.  She then asked me, “What do you want to do for your birthday?”  I tell her I don’t want to do anything.  I’m sure I did, but at the time the Valium was talking.  Shit now that I think about it, the look on her face was happy that I wouldn’t remember her asking me. 

……

“Byron, do you notice a pattern here.  Why were you taking so many pills?”

“Doc, haven’t you heard anything I’ve said.  I get paralyzed with anxiety.  If I didn’t have those pills I think I’d have a heart attack.”

“How do you feel now?”

“It’s not the same.  I probably have some still in my system from the last time I took them.”  I smartly said.

“Ok, Byron.  Ok.  So tell what happens next.”  Sarcasm filled Malkin’s voice.

……

Saturday August, 24 2009

The Valium intake over the last few days took its toll on me that day.  I didn’t get out of bed until late afternoon.  Sandy let me sleep because she could tell I might have over done it.  When I finally woke up, Sandy handed me my cell phone and told me it had been ringing all afternoon long. 

That is strange because my Saturdays are normally silent.  When I looked, I had 7 missed calls and voicemails, four were from Tommy and three were from numbers not programmed into my phone.  I listened to the first couple from Tommy and they just hung up when my voicemail picked up.  The last one caught my attention.  It seemed like Tommy’s voice and it said something like I think Jeff is here.  I’ve already called the police.  He sounded frightened.  I wasn’t sure what to do, so I listened to the rest of the voicemails.  The first two unknown voicemails were from solicitors of some sort, but the last one was from an unknown number and it just kind of laughed.  There wasn’t any words said just a sinister Joker laugh.  It was strange and it stomped on the gas pedal of my anxiety.  Before I could react I reached into the night stand and took my medication, so that I could think.  I’m not sure how many I took, but it was enough for me to get out of bed. 

……

“You mean to tell me, you got those voicemails and that strange call from someone and you did nothing?”

“Doc, that Valium is a hell of a drug.  I can’t think back to a time in my life when I’ve abused it before.  I think that this Jeff shit just pushed my fears over the edge.  I didn’t know how else to cope.”

“So you wasted that Saturday afternoon.  Then what do you remember?”

……

Sunday August, 25 2009

            It’s another mid afternoon wake up for me.  Sandy was waiting for me to wake up and she looked at me with a strange look.  “Byron, do you know what you’ve been doing all morning?”

“Sleeping?”

“No, you’ve been staring at a Word doc that you must have written.  It says, I’m watching you, over and over again.” Sandy is nervous at this point.  “What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know honey.  I haven’t a clue.  I thought I have been asleep this whole time.”

“Come over here and look at this.”  Visibly angry and scared by my behavior.  “Look at this!”

            I walked over to the oak desk in my office and there it is, a screen filled with the words; I’m watching you.  Between my keyboard and the monitor is the morning paper from that day and I remember it saying something about a slaying in a neighboring town, but I don’t think I read the article. 

“Do you see that?  What the hell is going on?  Are you overusing your prescriptions?” 

“Honey, it has just been a tough week.”  Ashamed I couldn’t tell my wife that I’ve almost finished two bottles of my pills.

……

            Doctor Malkin adjusts in his chair and writes something on his pad of paper that has been sitting on his knee during this interview.  When I actually see him writing, my anxiety starts to set in. 

“Doc, what are you writing?”  My wrists no longer hurt, just numb from the bracelets. 
“Nothing Byron, so you are telling me you used so much Valium you don’t even remember what you’ve been doing?”  He said with a smirk, almost an ah ha smirk.  “So what do you remember from your birthday?”

……

Monday August, 26 2009

            I woke up to the sound of the alarm and took care of my morning business in the bathroom, kitchen and garage.  I headed into work when I noticed broken beer bottle in the back seat of my car.  It reminded me of the story Tommy told me in his first email.  After the what happened the day before with my sleep walking or whatever I tried my breathing exercises to calm my instant anxiety.  It seemed to work for the first few miles into work until a car pulled out in front of my and I lost all self control.  I grabbed the bottle from my jacket pocket and must have popped three or four.  I don’t even remember.  I must have made it into work, but I don’t know if I made it a full day or not.  That is the last thing I remember.

……

“Jesus Doc, I don’t remember what happened on my birthday.  That is the last thing I remember, then the next thing I know I’m in a holding cell.”

“Are you sure that is all you remember?”  There was a finality in Malkin’s voice.

“I swear to you Doc.  I don’t remember anything.” Almost pleading at this point.

“Well, do you want me to fill you in on the details?”

“Please, Please tell me I killed Jeff.  Please tell me I killed that bastard for tormenting me!”

“Byron, you left work around 3 o’clock that Monday, on your way home you ran two red lights and crashed your own car into what appears to be your wife’s Tahoe.  Upon entering the house your wife was hiding with a birthday surprise.  I’d rather not go into detail what the surprise was.  The police speculate that she jumped out behind the bedroom door.  That is where you grabbed her by her throat and strangled her into unconsciousness.  Once she was out you beat her until there was no life left in her body.”  Malkin stopped to clear his throat and adjust the disgusted look on his face.  He stared directly at me, “When the police came to the house from the neighbors calling because of a man screaming, the police found you sitting in front of your computer, with the words typed on the screen; I’m watching you, typed over and over again.”

Tears filled my eyes, and deep down inside I know I did it.  I don’t remember doing it, but I felt something nasty down inside of me.  “No, Please God, NO!”  All feeling left my body with the realization of what I had done.  There was no more fight in my being.  “No!” I could barely get out. 

A Windy Night

The scratching branch outside my window keeps me up most nights.  I know I should trim them to stop the noisy nights but I don’t.  There is something calming about the scratching.  Last night my room was darker than normal.  The moon didn’t seem to shine at all.  The clouds must have covered it.  The scratching was magnified by the deep dark of my room.  The wind must have caused the power to go out around 1:22 A.M., as I was continuously reminded by the blinking alarm clock.  The water glass that usually sits next to me every night has been finished already and needs to be refilled.  The room is so dark.  I shift my weight slightly to see if she’ll wake up and she doesn’t.  I slide the sheets down past my waist and swing my legs to the floor.   I gracefully make it to the door without a sound.  CRACK… CRACK….CRACK…. I swung around with my heart in my hand and my empty water cup at my feet.  My attention was drawn directly to the window.  Everything looked the same, but the branch that scratches the window seemed to be gone.  There wasn’t a flash of lighting or a crack of thunder, nothing to indicated lightning striking the tree branch.  It just appeared to be gone.  I thought nothing more of it and went and picked up my water glass and walked into the kitchen.

 Strange that just happened and she didn’t even move.  Not a twitch.  Wow how did she do that?  I wonder if the darkness of the room put her in that deep state.

The next morning I asked her if she remembered what happened last night, she shrugged and said nothing.  I wandered outside to see what damage had been done to the house but there was nothing.  The branch was on the ground broken and twisted.  At first glance it seemed like the branch just broke.  Then a piece of cloth caught my eye.  It looked like a piece of denim, followed by a few footprints.  I walked past the branch and followed the footprints to the back of my house where they just seemed to stop. 

I walked back into the house and asked if she has noticed anything odd around the house?  She just floated past me like she didn’t even realize I was there.  I followed her into the bathroom talking the whole way and she just kept ignoring my presence.  She undresses and got the shower running.  I stare at her wanting to touch her so badly, but my newfound mystery has my brain running in circles about who could be in the tree? Or did someone come and check out the loud noise from last night.  Why didn’t she hear it? 

The day passes and I sit outside near the fallen branch.  Just staring at it, looking for a clue or something to give me an idea of who or what was out here?  Minutes turned into hours and the light from the day fell away.  I was still no closer to an answer that has escaped me all day.  I walked back into the house to tell her what I found or didn’t find, but she was just sitting by the fire place in the front room weeping.  I looked over her shoulder and she was fixed on a picture of Zach and I.  I haven’t seen that picture in what feels like a few years.  The date on the bottom of the photo read 22-Dec-08.  Come to think of it, I don’t even know what today’s date is.  I leave her shoulder and walk to the kitchen to see what date it is.  The calendar seems old and only one date on the month was circled.  December 22, 2008.  She walked passed me in the kitchen and I caught a smell of her hair.  I tried weakly to get her attention but it seemed to fall on deaf ears.  She turned and stood in front of the calendar, more specifically at the date that was circled.  She wept a little more before she moved to the bathroom. 

As the night fell, she drew her routine bath and glass of wine.  The bathroom looked a little neglected.  Everything seemed clean but lifeless.  The bath ran and she just sat looking at the suds form.  Her hand checked the temperature to see if it is where she can tolerate it.  The water was acceptable to her and she was dropped herself in.  I sat on the rim of the tub and watched her cold absences of movement. 

I heard a noise at the back of the house and quickly made my way to investigate.  There was nothing.  Nobody seemed to be around.  I walked back into the bathroom and she was still there motionless.  I wanted to reach out and touch her, but we’ve been so distant lately.  I couldn’t tell you the last time I heard her voice.  The noise towards the back of the house returned.  I walked back there to investigate again, and nothing.  I knew the noise was there, but why couldn’t I see anything?  I walk back into the house, but I don’t remember leaving the door open?  I felt a gust of wind, push through me, but it didn’t seem strong enough to blow the door open. 

The wind hollowed and carried a cry, a real cry, not a whimper.  I flung myself past the back door and scrambled down the hallway.  I was too late.  The blood wasn’t gushing like I thought it would.  The wounds were drips at this point.  The tub was not blood red, but red.  I think the soap discolored it a little bit.  I tried to get her out of the tub, but she was too slippery and I couldn’t get a grasp on her.  This is the first time I’ve felt close to her.  I felt like she finally recognized I was in the room with her. 

“Steve” 

I turned around and she was there.

“Steve, I’ve missed you.”

“Honey”

“Steve, what happens now?”

“Honey” I cried, as she began to fade away in front of me. 

“Honey!”  She faded even further

“Steve, I’ve always loved you.  I’m sorry.  This isn’t your fault.  I couldn’t get over the guilt of killing you and Zach.  I missed both of you.

“Honey”, I choked out, not even paying attention to her physically lifeless body in the tub.  “Why, Why”   She fades deeper away.

“Steve what happens next?  I’m scared now?” Her voice quivered, but steadfast.  She knew what was the afterlife outcome was from her life taking decision.

“Honey, we don’t blame you for this.  I’ve been with you since the accident.  I love you.  We love you.” I tell her as she has almost disappeared.

“I love you too.”  She faded.

MORNING MATH CLASS MADNESS

So this morning I attended my Math class which I do every Monday and Wednesday morning. So last Wednesday we had a test and I showed up along with 38 of the 40 other students. While I studied the week prior to the test and showed up on time and completed the exam (scored 93%) these other two people decided it was ok for them not to show up. The morning of the test I did not notice their absence, nor did I care. (I still don’t but this situation was the most exciting thing of the day.. well maybe not this thing was the most exciting but my thoughts on the situation is probably the funniest)


This morning I showed up 15 minutes early because I hate being late, and the professor is there and he hands me my test. I’m happy with my results and my head phones are playing a Rick James Skit followed by Method man and Redman. I sit and get my shit together and the class starts. Fifteen minutes into class two women walk in almost together while the Prof is going over the test. Professor mentions they didn’t take exam and that they didn’t call, email, or give any prior notice that they would not be attending. What is funny is that both women walked in with excuses that seemed pretty stupid. The first woman, walked in and said, “Professor Bob, (she’s an advanced middle aged black woman) don’t you member me sniffling and coughing in class last Monday? I was fallin’ asleep, and weezing. I can’t believe you don’t remember. I was gonna call but I was just too tired to call cause I was sleeping. Can I take the test today?

Meanwhile during her excuse to the professor, the second of the absence woman is a young foreign black woman, and she waited patiently for her turn to lay down her idiotic nonsense.

Professor Bob, is an Australian who will make a sarcastic comment that is completely unwarranted, says to the first lazy piece of trash wasting my time lady, “you know what if you score less than your current percentage 67% on the test don’t bother coming to the next class.” (Mentally I was very happy with this response. Because I know my racial profiling and I know that she is functionally retarded and won’t score over a 65%, and with her gone that means I will not have to listen to her interrupt class with , Professor Bob how do you add those to numbers together.)

Middle Aged Black Lady: “I don’t deserve that.”

Prof B: “You don’t deserve anything. The only reason why I’m giving you this is because you will complain and I’ll have to anyways. But mathematically if you don’t score over 70%, you’re going to fail.”

MABL: “My scores are a private matter!”

PB: “You are interrupting everyone else’s learning because you didn’t show up for an exam, and you think it’s okay to take it when you want? Please have a seat and see me afterwards.” He turns and stares at the second of the no test showers and says, “And what are you going to say to top her reason for not showing up.

Younger Aged Black Girl: “Well I wanted to come in but…… (This is when I stopped listening and the funniest thought came into my head)

I imagined myself walking right up to her and extending my right arm with five fingers extended. I wiggle my fingers and say to the class…. “POWDER ME!!” A fellow classmate who feels my anger towards the class interrupters, puffs some Baby Powder on my hand. The young black female’s eyes widen. I say, “What do five fingers say to the face?..... SLAP!!!” Followed by a loud smacking sound and the girl who felt obligated to waste my money (I paid for this class) hits the deck in utter anguish. The Professor gives me a Dap, and class resumes.
Now this thought was just a thought, but I felt it was just. These two women walked late into my class, armed with excuses about why they couldn’t make it for an exam that every other person could make it to. They didn’t even give the Professor a heads up. It’s sad that they were even given the opportunity to retake the exam. What has happened to our society where this behavior is acceptable? Seriously, he had to let them retake it because he knew that if they told on him, the university would ultimately make him allow them to retake it. We have lost all accountability for our actions, because we all know we can just complain our way into what we want.