Christmas
Oh, how the holidays eluded me. I know of them, but my experiences were dramatically different from normal. One such holiday was Christmas. Originally, I enjoyed the holiday. There were so many things going on during the season of winter. Many people’s houses were decorated with colorful lights of the green and red variety. Some blinking, some singing, and some even changing colors. The white snow covered the ground in a soft, yet cold, blanket of ice crystals. When the sun struck the ground, it made the snow sparkle like rare gems in a dark and dank cave before sunlight graced the forgotten tomb. People were always smiling and laughing. Smiling at friends and family. Laughing at the children playing in the snow and reminiscing on when they were young. Entire families were going on occasional outings to shopping malls and coming out with their hands filled with bags and the bags filled with boxes and in these boxes, were their gifts. It was such a wonderful time of the year. The season for giving and good cheer. It was such a shame that such an event only happened one a year.
All of these things I could recognize in a detached, “Through the Looking Glass”, sort of way. I would watch as the families would go shopping with each other. The children running through the store looking for what they wanted so they could go home and write their letters to “Santa”. Not knowing their parents were the ones who got them all their “special little presents”. I’d watch as the other children played in the snow having “snowball fights” against each other. Walking down the streets, I would occasionally glance through the windows of other families as my “Guardian” and I walked through the neighborhood. Inside, some children sat and watched TV, while their parents watched on with a content smile. Others reminded me of some of the old Christmas cards that I saw in the stores. Children sitting before their parents while the parents hold a book telling of the various tales that surround such a time of year.
I watched all of this with a sneer gracing my face. Why should they be able to have so much fun in the snow? My 10 year old mind couldn’t come up with a reason as to why the “powers that be” would allow such “things” to enjoy the cool, fluffy white stuff that covered the ground in a “pure” security blanket, while I stand and watch. Not being able to enjoy the “purity” of the white, because of my shocking birth. There was no birth defect that I know of, to afflict me during and or after birth. I’m not entirely sure if it was indeed after my birth, or if it was a year or two, but my earliest memory is of that color. That color was everywhere. On the ceiling, the walls, I could only guess as to the color of the floor and bed? Was it a bed? It was hard as I tried to turn before giving up, having found that I couldn’t move. Then there were people. Even the people were white! Their faces, clothes, hands...everything, white. ever since, I could never stand the sight of “pure” white for too long. So, why is it that I suffer for something while others are able to enjoy themselves? I could only come up with one reason as to why I suffer, and that is to suffer.
Looking our my window, I continued to glare at the children. They got to go shopping with their parents, while I had to stay home to do homework. They got to go outside while I had to sit inside and watch. They got to spend their Christmas morning with their family, while I awoke to an empty house. I “hissed” silently to myself. It wasn’t fair. What did I ever do to warrant such obvious malice from the “powers that be”? at some point in my life did I slight them in some way? Was it my thoughts? My thoughts about my “family”? was it the thoughts that have been occurring frequently about other people? Was it my wish? Could that have been it? Or, maybe, it was all of them? Maybe I shouldn’t think so much... But I can’t help my thoughts! They hound me as if I were a fox. They pester me as if I was a piece of lumber and them the termites. How was I to stop thinking? That was a stupid question. I know the answer to that question, but I didn’t wish to dwell on it.
Turning from the window, I stood up from my bed and began walking out into the hall. The floor boards creaked with every step that I took. The sound screeched and wailed in the empty hallway. Only a reminder of how empty my “home” was. Coming closer to the “light”, despite how cliché it sounds, I could only feel myself becoming increasingly lighter. Almost as if I was loosing form and becoming a ghost. If it was the first time that I have felt such a thing, then I would, without a doubt, feel fear for my “soul”. but, because it wasn’t , I could only describe it as a sort of “high”. Similar to what most would associate with drug of similar stimulant. Entering the living room, I turned to my left and spotted the Christmas tree. Or what I could see of it. For only the top was visible, being obscured for the most part by a “mountain” of gifts. Even the carpet was covered by boxes.
There was no need for wrapping paper. It would only create mess and clutter. There was no surprise for I knew who Santa really was and was aware of the pointless questions asked of me as a way to get what I wanted. Walking over towards the pile of toys, I looked at the closest one. It was a toy robot that was supposed to play with you when alone. That was something I’ve always been. The current situation only solidified the fact. Clenching my teeth and fists, I release a snort of disgust before kicking it to the side. It was like this every year. Every year, I would get a “mountain” of presents. A “mountain” that I have asked for. Any other child would be ecstatic, elated, and fanatical to receive such a vast assortment of gifts. But, I was not a “normal” child.
I asked for the many parcels that lie on the floor. I asked, only because it is what I thought was expected of me. After all, children are supposed to be impulsive and ask for things that most would consider radical or out of reach. I received them, because that is what my “Guardian” guessed I liked. But that is not what I wanted. And as my eyes looked towards the downed toy, I felt self-depreciating tears flow from my eyes of their own accord. I could do nothing to stop them as they reached down my cheeks to my jaw and settled there for only a minute before hitting the carpet. The main emotion I could feel at that moment was pity. Not for the toy, but for something else. At the time, I couldn’t recognize it for what it was, but now I can. I pitied myself. I pitied myself, because I wanted to go out and play with other children, but I had to stay indoor, like a “good boy”. I wanted to drink eggnog with my “Guardian” while she read me a story, but she had to work, leaving me with the “mountain” and “Good boy”.
That is what she expected of me, so I would do so. Walking over towards the downed toy, I picked it up and opened the box. He was somewhat heavy as I pulled him out, but I managed on my own. Knowing that he needed batteries, I trekked my way into the kitchen, where we kept the spare batteries in a drawer. Opening the wrong one by accident, I spotted “The Key”. “The Key” was a very special “Key”. It was the only way for me to see the “Giver of Life”. I always found the number on it weird though. 440? I had and still have no idea what the number means.
I was going to reach for it, but thought better of it. If “Guardian” came back while I was on my way to see the “Giver of Life”, then she will yell again. Didn’t want that. Closing the drawer, I opened the one next to it. Finding the “DD’s”, I walked back into the front room. Going back over towards the toy, I put the batteries in. It took me a few moments to locate the “on” button, but I eventually found it. Flipping the switch, I stepped back and awaited for the moment it would come on.
At first, it started as a low buzzing. Then, I heard the unique sound of gears shifting and moving plastic limbs. The toy was tall, coming to about low chest while standing and wearing shoes. It was a pasty white thing with a bright red nose and a few assorted lights. As its eyes locked onto mine, I could feel that feeling becoming worse.
“Hi! I’m Buddy! Want to play?” the toy asked in an immature and poor imitation of a child’s voice. I felt Goosebumps on my arms. I nodded my head with a sad smile as I felt a lone tear leave me. Gathering its “hand”, if it could indeed be called such a thing, we slowly walked to my room. I would join in its “Reindeer Games”. It was expected of me. I would play with my new “Friend” like a “good boy”.
As i left the “light” of Christmas, i could finally feel myself, once again, being constantly pressed into the “ground” beneath my feet. And as the “darkness” once again claimed me, i could feel the “ground” give way and embrace me once more as i slept with a small smile on my face and in the cold embrace of my friend.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Angels
Angels
I always wondered whether or not “Angels” were real. It’s not such an easy question to answer. It mostly comes down to your religious beliefs and faith. Most people believe that an “Angel” of some sort watches over the, whether it’s the “Devils” or “Gods”, from “Heaven” or “Hell”, they believe that “Someone” is watching over them. I, myself, know that i am being watched. I don’t know as to which side has me in their sights, but i know tabs are being kept. Notes are being taken. Observations recorded. I do wonder which is watching though. Could it be “God”? Could he be watching me? Watching what moves i make. What i think... My deepest desires...
Is “He” watching me to see what path i will walk down... The path of righteousness and good will, or the “other”... Does “He” enjoy watching me? Am i good entertainment for “Him”? Does “He” enjoy my torment? Is “He” sitting back as “He” watches his “Angels” carry out his orders? How thorough their methods? How precise their strikes? How cutting their words are? I be “He” does. I just know he does. With a smile on “His” face and a gleam in “His” eyes. A feeling of pride swelling in “His” chest at watching “His” “Creations/Angels” working to rid me of my “precious” existence.
Oh, how “He” watches them closely. Like a hawk, “His” eyes are. Watching every little detail. Trying to find the “Chink in my armor”. “The weakest link in the chain”. My “Achilles Heel”. I bet he doesn’t use “His” “All seeing Eyes” to see what i will do next only to maintain suspense and anticipation for the outcome. Many people paint “God” as being a “Just” and “Benevolent” god. One who is fair to all and shows no bias, which is shown by how he sacrificed his “Son” for “Us”.
But, maybe I am wrong. Maybe “He” is watching out for me. Every “Close call”, every “Hair’s breath”, “He” was there looking our for me. Or, maybe “He” was only prolonging my suffering. Yeah... That sounds like “him”. something “He” is capable of. I wouldn’t put it past “Him” i know i sound pessimistic, but those are the facts as i see them. And in seeing them as thus, i feel as if I’ve garnered the attention of “The Morning Star”.
I wonder how “He” sees me... Perhaps “he” sees a bit of “Himself”. Or, maybe he sees potential. A possible partner... If so, then i am not positive if it’s a good thing or not. I mean, “God” is supposed to be “Good” and the “Devil” bad. But, who can really say what is considered “good” and what’s “bad”? It’s all a matter of perspective. A so called “Good deed” can be misconstrued as a “Bad choice” if it is to the others dissatisfaction. And the same could be said vice-a-versa. Where one decision, such as stealing a loaf of bread, can be seen as bad to the casual observer, is only so, because they do not see deeper into the seasoning behind the theft. Maybe he stole the bread in order to fed hi family. Surely his family will see this as a “good deed” because he has given them food.
So, maybe i should give “Morning Star” the benefit of a doubt. You simply can not go around judging books by their covers. Such blatant biased judgment is ridiculous and condemning for you know not what the “other” might do because they were slighted. It normally ends with the accusing party in some sort of discomfort. I know “He” hasn’t done anything to slight me. Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe whenever i was spared my torment, the reason they increased the pain, was because “He” whispered in their ears of their forgetfulness. Maybe “God” was watching out for me all the nights where my tears soaked my bed and my pleas went unheard.
But in any case, I’ve never met an “Angel”. Neither literal or figurative. And seeing as “Angles are “Gods” messengers, it’s safe to assume that “He” has not contacted me. Maybe he didn’t hear my calls... Maybe he was too busy granting others wishes and couldn’t be bothered to help me in my times of need. No. I’ve never met an “Angel”, but i have been call one. As a matter of fact, I’ve been called an “Angel” several times. “I was shocked the first time that someone called me one. I’ve been called many things, jerk, ass hole, whore, bastard, mammas boy, slave, nigger, cracker, white boy, and the list goes on and on in that manner, but NEVER an “Angel”. The first time was when i was wearing my uniform from my stint in the military. I was on my way to a career fair and was going to tell them of the other options that are available to them besides college. While sitting on the bus, and elderly woman, maybe 60-70, sat in front of me. She didn’t say anything at first, but i could see her glancing at me out of the corner of her eyes. She seemed to be nervous. I thought she was afraid of me. The thought of a stranger fearing me has never garnered a reaction out of me before, but this one did. I simply blame it on the fact that an elderly woman was afraid of me and i wouldn’t hurt an elderly. Unless circumstances called for it. So it surprised me further when she turned to me and asked if i was a “Black Angel”. The title threw me for a loop for a second. Mostly because it was very close to what i truly was in the military and before. I was going to ask how she came to that conclusion, but i look at myself. I was wearing a solid black “BDU”, Battle Dress Uniform, with black boots. Looking into her eyes, i could see many things within the older, wiser eyes. I could see happiness, amazement, awe, shock and hope. I wondered what this elderly woman has seen in her long life. What wars have she seen? How many of her friends, sons, daughters, husbands has she lost to the wars? I don’t think I could fathom how she must feel everyday of her life. There are many things that the military hides from the general populous, even from some of their own. This being the case, there are some things that certain individuals cannot divulge due to being sworn to secrecy and under the penalty of death. But even so, they are still “Humans”. And being “Human” comes with flaws. After all, “Loose lips sink ships”. That being the case, life boats were released in the guise of “rumors”, and life jackets, “myths”.
I knew all of these things, but looking at those hopeful and tired eyes; I couldn’t help but wordlessly nod my head in answer to her question. She quickly gathered my hands, which made me wonder why she couldn’t see what I do on them, and proceed to thank me profusely as tears escaped her eyes. I watched her blankly as she cried, not saying a word or offering comfort. If she was put off by my attitude, then she didn’t say anything. I just nodded my head as she praised me for work that she doesn’t know I’ve done nor the others, as she got off the bus. I ignored the looks of the passengers as I continued on to my stop. My only thought was of why I received thanks for my deeds.
The second time I was called an “Angel”, I was walking towards the train station. A man I didn’t know stopped me to ask me for my opinion. Reflex kicked in. i8 inspected him discretely as he began to talk. He seemed to be in his late thirties. His arms seemed muscular enough to cause bodily harm, despite being hidden beneath his bulky jacket. His eyes were semi-wide and pupils were dilated. With his jacked open I didn’t see any weapon. Of course he noticed none of this. My eyes and mind deciding he was no immediate threat at the moment, but that didn’t mean I “trusted” him. My training kicked in as my face remained impassive as he began to talk. I only devoted half of my attention towards his words as we walked. I was paying more attention to not allowing him to get behind me and out of my line of sight. His walk was a bit unsteady and he continuously bumped into my left am. He was beginning to annoy me. As we walked past my train tracks, I idly thought about pushing him in front of the train once it came, but pushed the thought back. There was no train. Turning my attention back towards him, I quirked an eyebrow at the question. Apparently he wanted to know that if he paid for my transportation, if I would be his body guard,. I was going to be his “birthday” on Wednesday and some guys invited him. He said something about me being in the military when he saw me, despite not seeing me before. Training. Conditioning. Reflex. “Old dog, new tricks”. “Old habits die hard.” I simply can’t stop it. But to be honest, I didn’t want to. He asked me for my opinion on whether or not he should go to the party that they were going to throw for him. I told him not to go. He question as to why he shouldn’t go. For an instant I thought about it. I didn’t know him, so I wouldn’t miss him. We had nothing in common, so we could never be more that acquaintances. He didn’t know my name and I didn’t know his. Anonymous. So why didn’t I drop the subject and let him go? Perhaps because I know someone would miss him. But that couldn’t be it. I found myself answering in a monotone that if he has doubts then he should not go. He proclaimed that I was an “Angel”. I didn’t comment on the title. He was under the impression that I was a messenger sent from “God”. I was not going to tell him otherwise. Let him see this as he wishes. It mattered not to me. We ended up walking well past my train station by several blocks. I chanced a glance at my watch. 20 minutes. Nothing better to do. I realized that the man was still talking. He says he’s going to be 40 and that he has a daughter that graduates this year. Surely she would miss him when he’s gone. He was still going on about if he should go to the party. I played with the pen that was hidden in my pocket. How easily I could stop all questions. And how I could answer them. You can’t go to a party when in the “After Life”. Better to not think about that now; many people across the street. Better alone. Again, he said that I must be an “Angel”, because he’s been having doubts about going to the party and he wanted others opinions. And again I made no comment. He asked me if I drank. I answered yes. I had to drink on many occasions where it was common. I still didn’t like to do it much, but I was never one to turn down an offer.
As we continued to walk towards our destination, rather now we had a destination, to the corner store, he made comments about some woman that caught his eyes. I paid no attention to him. It mattered not to me if he liked women or men. When he asked what my type was, i gave no answer and appeared to not be listening. Entering the store, he announced to all that he was going to win the lottery and give everyone some money. He then asked two guys for their names. At first they didn’t answer and i gave him the money to get the alcohol. I was still only a minor. Six more months. My instincts kicked in as i spotted the two guys from before walk back in and ask him what he wanted their names for. I could tell that they were in a gang and had i had no intentions of getting into a gang fight at the moment.
i put myself between them and placed a hand on his chest. I told him to let it go. He was a bit insistent, but i was counting on him believing i was an “Angel” to get him to listen. Once he calmed down, i told him to get the stuff as i walked outside. For a smoke. I didn’t need it, but i was surveying the area for the two to see if they were waiting around or if they left. Either way, i was not going to be around to find out. Its not my fight. As he came out, we started walking about towards my train. 5 minutes. He was still talking about the two guys, and even bothered to ask some random people on the street what they thought of the situation. I stood and watched. I could have walked away, but that would be rude. That, and i told him i would walk him back. Only because it was right next to my train.
Getting to the station, he decided to give me his number. I took it down. I have no intentions on calling him. But he doesn’t know that. He waits with me for my train as it slowly pulls up. I can se the lights. I glance out the corner of my eye and look at him standing next to me looking at the light too. Go towards the light. my right hand twitches. It’s getting closer. ‘He complains a lot.’ And closer. ’He says no one will miss him.’ Almost here. I silently step closer to be just slightly behind him. ’He’s suffering from loneliness.’ The train slows before me and i step out from behind him. As i got on the train and the doors closed, i an hear him thanking me, telling me that he was going to listen to his “Angel”.
As i sat down in the mock leather seats, i turned my gaze towards the darkening sky. I could see the moon.
I wonder if he knew that he came close to loosing his life three times since he’s met me?
And if he did....
Would he still call me an “Angel”?
I always wondered whether or not “Angels” were real. It’s not such an easy question to answer. It mostly comes down to your religious beliefs and faith. Most people believe that an “Angel” of some sort watches over the, whether it’s the “Devils” or “Gods”, from “Heaven” or “Hell”, they believe that “Someone” is watching over them. I, myself, know that i am being watched. I don’t know as to which side has me in their sights, but i know tabs are being kept. Notes are being taken. Observations recorded. I do wonder which is watching though. Could it be “God”? Could he be watching me? Watching what moves i make. What i think... My deepest desires...
Is “He” watching me to see what path i will walk down... The path of righteousness and good will, or the “other”... Does “He” enjoy watching me? Am i good entertainment for “Him”? Does “He” enjoy my torment? Is “He” sitting back as “He” watches his “Angels” carry out his orders? How thorough their methods? How precise their strikes? How cutting their words are? I be “He” does. I just know he does. With a smile on “His” face and a gleam in “His” eyes. A feeling of pride swelling in “His” chest at watching “His” “Creations/Angels” working to rid me of my “precious” existence.
Oh, how “He” watches them closely. Like a hawk, “His” eyes are. Watching every little detail. Trying to find the “Chink in my armor”. “The weakest link in the chain”. My “Achilles Heel”. I bet he doesn’t use “His” “All seeing Eyes” to see what i will do next only to maintain suspense and anticipation for the outcome. Many people paint “God” as being a “Just” and “Benevolent” god. One who is fair to all and shows no bias, which is shown by how he sacrificed his “Son” for “Us”.
But, maybe I am wrong. Maybe “He” is watching out for me. Every “Close call”, every “Hair’s breath”, “He” was there looking our for me. Or, maybe “He” was only prolonging my suffering. Yeah... That sounds like “him”. something “He” is capable of. I wouldn’t put it past “Him” i know i sound pessimistic, but those are the facts as i see them. And in seeing them as thus, i feel as if I’ve garnered the attention of “The Morning Star”.
I wonder how “He” sees me... Perhaps “he” sees a bit of “Himself”. Or, maybe he sees potential. A possible partner... If so, then i am not positive if it’s a good thing or not. I mean, “God” is supposed to be “Good” and the “Devil” bad. But, who can really say what is considered “good” and what’s “bad”? It’s all a matter of perspective. A so called “Good deed” can be misconstrued as a “Bad choice” if it is to the others dissatisfaction. And the same could be said vice-a-versa. Where one decision, such as stealing a loaf of bread, can be seen as bad to the casual observer, is only so, because they do not see deeper into the seasoning behind the theft. Maybe he stole the bread in order to fed hi family. Surely his family will see this as a “good deed” because he has given them food.
So, maybe i should give “Morning Star” the benefit of a doubt. You simply can not go around judging books by their covers. Such blatant biased judgment is ridiculous and condemning for you know not what the “other” might do because they were slighted. It normally ends with the accusing party in some sort of discomfort. I know “He” hasn’t done anything to slight me. Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe whenever i was spared my torment, the reason they increased the pain, was because “He” whispered in their ears of their forgetfulness. Maybe “God” was watching out for me all the nights where my tears soaked my bed and my pleas went unheard.
But in any case, I’ve never met an “Angel”. Neither literal or figurative. And seeing as “Angles are “Gods” messengers, it’s safe to assume that “He” has not contacted me. Maybe he didn’t hear my calls... Maybe he was too busy granting others wishes and couldn’t be bothered to help me in my times of need. No. I’ve never met an “Angel”, but i have been call one. As a matter of fact, I’ve been called an “Angel” several times. “I was shocked the first time that someone called me one. I’ve been called many things, jerk, ass hole, whore, bastard, mammas boy, slave, nigger, cracker, white boy, and the list goes on and on in that manner, but NEVER an “Angel”. The first time was when i was wearing my uniform from my stint in the military. I was on my way to a career fair and was going to tell them of the other options that are available to them besides college. While sitting on the bus, and elderly woman, maybe 60-70, sat in front of me. She didn’t say anything at first, but i could see her glancing at me out of the corner of her eyes. She seemed to be nervous. I thought she was afraid of me. The thought of a stranger fearing me has never garnered a reaction out of me before, but this one did. I simply blame it on the fact that an elderly woman was afraid of me and i wouldn’t hurt an elderly. Unless circumstances called for it. So it surprised me further when she turned to me and asked if i was a “Black Angel”. The title threw me for a loop for a second. Mostly because it was very close to what i truly was in the military and before. I was going to ask how she came to that conclusion, but i look at myself. I was wearing a solid black “BDU”, Battle Dress Uniform, with black boots. Looking into her eyes, i could see many things within the older, wiser eyes. I could see happiness, amazement, awe, shock and hope. I wondered what this elderly woman has seen in her long life. What wars have she seen? How many of her friends, sons, daughters, husbands has she lost to the wars? I don’t think I could fathom how she must feel everyday of her life. There are many things that the military hides from the general populous, even from some of their own. This being the case, there are some things that certain individuals cannot divulge due to being sworn to secrecy and under the penalty of death. But even so, they are still “Humans”. And being “Human” comes with flaws. After all, “Loose lips sink ships”. That being the case, life boats were released in the guise of “rumors”, and life jackets, “myths”.
I knew all of these things, but looking at those hopeful and tired eyes; I couldn’t help but wordlessly nod my head in answer to her question. She quickly gathered my hands, which made me wonder why she couldn’t see what I do on them, and proceed to thank me profusely as tears escaped her eyes. I watched her blankly as she cried, not saying a word or offering comfort. If she was put off by my attitude, then she didn’t say anything. I just nodded my head as she praised me for work that she doesn’t know I’ve done nor the others, as she got off the bus. I ignored the looks of the passengers as I continued on to my stop. My only thought was of why I received thanks for my deeds.
The second time I was called an “Angel”, I was walking towards the train station. A man I didn’t know stopped me to ask me for my opinion. Reflex kicked in. i8 inspected him discretely as he began to talk. He seemed to be in his late thirties. His arms seemed muscular enough to cause bodily harm, despite being hidden beneath his bulky jacket. His eyes were semi-wide and pupils were dilated. With his jacked open I didn’t see any weapon. Of course he noticed none of this. My eyes and mind deciding he was no immediate threat at the moment, but that didn’t mean I “trusted” him. My training kicked in as my face remained impassive as he began to talk. I only devoted half of my attention towards his words as we walked. I was paying more attention to not allowing him to get behind me and out of my line of sight. His walk was a bit unsteady and he continuously bumped into my left am. He was beginning to annoy me. As we walked past my train tracks, I idly thought about pushing him in front of the train once it came, but pushed the thought back. There was no train. Turning my attention back towards him, I quirked an eyebrow at the question. Apparently he wanted to know that if he paid for my transportation, if I would be his body guard,. I was going to be his “birthday” on Wednesday and some guys invited him. He said something about me being in the military when he saw me, despite not seeing me before. Training. Conditioning. Reflex. “Old dog, new tricks”. “Old habits die hard.” I simply can’t stop it. But to be honest, I didn’t want to. He asked me for my opinion on whether or not he should go to the party that they were going to throw for him. I told him not to go. He question as to why he shouldn’t go. For an instant I thought about it. I didn’t know him, so I wouldn’t miss him. We had nothing in common, so we could never be more that acquaintances. He didn’t know my name and I didn’t know his. Anonymous. So why didn’t I drop the subject and let him go? Perhaps because I know someone would miss him. But that couldn’t be it. I found myself answering in a monotone that if he has doubts then he should not go. He proclaimed that I was an “Angel”. I didn’t comment on the title. He was under the impression that I was a messenger sent from “God”. I was not going to tell him otherwise. Let him see this as he wishes. It mattered not to me. We ended up walking well past my train station by several blocks. I chanced a glance at my watch. 20 minutes. Nothing better to do. I realized that the man was still talking. He says he’s going to be 40 and that he has a daughter that graduates this year. Surely she would miss him when he’s gone. He was still going on about if he should go to the party. I played with the pen that was hidden in my pocket. How easily I could stop all questions. And how I could answer them. You can’t go to a party when in the “After Life”. Better to not think about that now; many people across the street. Better alone. Again, he said that I must be an “Angel”, because he’s been having doubts about going to the party and he wanted others opinions. And again I made no comment. He asked me if I drank. I answered yes. I had to drink on many occasions where it was common. I still didn’t like to do it much, but I was never one to turn down an offer.
As we continued to walk towards our destination, rather now we had a destination, to the corner store, he made comments about some woman that caught his eyes. I paid no attention to him. It mattered not to me if he liked women or men. When he asked what my type was, i gave no answer and appeared to not be listening. Entering the store, he announced to all that he was going to win the lottery and give everyone some money. He then asked two guys for their names. At first they didn’t answer and i gave him the money to get the alcohol. I was still only a minor. Six more months. My instincts kicked in as i spotted the two guys from before walk back in and ask him what he wanted their names for. I could tell that they were in a gang and had i had no intentions of getting into a gang fight at the moment.
i put myself between them and placed a hand on his chest. I told him to let it go. He was a bit insistent, but i was counting on him believing i was an “Angel” to get him to listen. Once he calmed down, i told him to get the stuff as i walked outside. For a smoke. I didn’t need it, but i was surveying the area for the two to see if they were waiting around or if they left. Either way, i was not going to be around to find out. Its not my fight. As he came out, we started walking about towards my train. 5 minutes. He was still talking about the two guys, and even bothered to ask some random people on the street what they thought of the situation. I stood and watched. I could have walked away, but that would be rude. That, and i told him i would walk him back. Only because it was right next to my train.
Getting to the station, he decided to give me his number. I took it down. I have no intentions on calling him. But he doesn’t know that. He waits with me for my train as it slowly pulls up. I can se the lights. I glance out the corner of my eye and look at him standing next to me looking at the light too. Go towards the light. my right hand twitches. It’s getting closer. ‘He complains a lot.’ And closer. ’He says no one will miss him.’ Almost here. I silently step closer to be just slightly behind him. ’He’s suffering from loneliness.’ The train slows before me and i step out from behind him. As i got on the train and the doors closed, i an hear him thanking me, telling me that he was going to listen to his “Angel”.
As i sat down in the mock leather seats, i turned my gaze towards the darkening sky. I could see the moon.
I wonder if he knew that he came close to loosing his life three times since he’s met me?
And if he did....
Would he still call me an “Angel”?
Friday, July 30, 2010
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Birthdays
Birthdays
I always wondered just what makes me different. I know such a question is a rather vague one. Everyone is different. No two people are the same. But that is not exactly what I’m talking about. I meant to ask, just why am I not opposed to doing things that others morally abhor? Just what is it about me that makes me care less about others opinions? Just what puts these impulses in my mind and what allows me to act upon them? These are the main questions that find their way into my every thought, of every day, of every hour, of every second, and of every life. Such questions haunt me in my dreams, at work, and even on the streets. In conversations. Everywhere and anywhere. I try to steer my thoughts elsewhere, but am unable to do so. It’s almost as if the thoughts have a mind of their own and are adamant in their quest to pester me into acknowledging them. And I must say that they are succeeding on that front. And it is very irksome, the thoughts that invade my mind.
One such questions that I have always thought about was “Why?”. I’m positive that everyone that has, does, or will exist has thought of this question at one point or another. The question is first posed as a child when they are just beginning to wonder about the things around them. And that’s just it. In order to get an explanation, one must ask “Why?”. And I am no exception to the rule. But my “why” is in reference to “Birthdays”. No, that’s not right. Not “Birthdays”, but rather a “Birthday”: Singular. And the one I would always question would be my own.
At first, when I noticed what was going on, I asked that fateful question. The answer I got was, “Because you are older.” At first, I was satisfied with the answer and didn’t question it further. Mostly because I got my answer to my question, but more so because I was a small child of 4 and I didn’t have much need to seek further answers. All I knew was that you get gifts on “Birthdays”.
When I got my first gift, I can’t remember what it was, I was shocked. It was the first time I ever got a gift. And then there was cake!!! CAKE!!! I was so happy to get to eat cake so early in the day. And I didn’t even have to eat dinner! At the time, I thought it would be great if it was my “Birthday” every day. Wouldn’t it be great to eat cake everyday? I thought so. But that was before I saw something that changed that idea real fast.
I was going to one of my “cousins” “Birthday” parties when it happened. My “Guardian” took me. When we walked in, I immediately noticed some glaring differences between my “Birthday” party and theirs. At mine, there was only my “Guardian” and myself present. I didn’t think it weird or out of the norm, because I didn’t have anything to compare it with. But then, looking at all those people, I knew it wasn’t supposed to have been that way. Then, there were the presents. So many of them. Now, I know there couldn’t have been more than 20, but then I could only count up to 10, so I knew there were a lot of gifts. I only got 3, and two of them were clothing. The thought of it made me depressed, although I didn’t know it. It only got worse as they all began singing “Happy Birthday”. They all looked so happy. I wished that it was me in her place. That the “mountain” of boxes were mine. That the “Huge” cake was mine. But more than anything, I wished “the song” was being sung to me. But as the years rolled by, I came to slowly loath the “day of birth”.
I was 10 when everything came to a head. In my room I sat in the darkness, something I’ve come to love. Why I feel so will have to wait. In any case, I was staring at my ceiling while lying on my back. I was thinking about my life thus far. Having lived for only 10 years didn’t leave much for one to reminisce, but a lot has happened in my life. Which led me to the thought that was constantly bouncing around in my mind as if it was a hive of angry bees that wished to kill the intruder to protect the hive, with my peace being the intruder. “Why” where they here? That was what I couldn’t find a logical answer to. To me, there was none. And yet, here they were again. Just outside my room were “monsters”. My “so called” family. This question always found a way to pester me on this “day of birth”. Always on this day. I wracked my mind for a reason as to why they would suddenly take an interest in me after 8 years of neglect. I was brought out of my thoughts by the sound of someone knocking on my door. It was my “Guardian”. I was proven right as they opened the door and told me to come out. I contemplated ignoring the request, but thought better of it. If I did, then they would, undoubtedly, storm into my room. I didn’t like others in my room. So I stood up and walked out and into the dining room. All along the walls were my “Family”. My eyes grazed over each of them, taking in clothes, attitude, and feelings. As I locked with each of their eyes, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The old proverb goes “The eyes are the windows to the soul.” It’s also the sleeve on which your emotions show. Despite how well you think you have hidden them, how well you lie to yourself and others, they will always show the truth to those who look hard enough. And at that time, I wished that I didn’t know how to look for them at all. Hatred. Disgust. Loathing. They were only the beginning of the long list of emotions that I saw in them. And that was only from one person. One Person!!! I could feel the weight of their thoughts and feelings coming down onto me as if I were Atlas. When their eyes were off of me, due to my “Guardian” calling attention towards the cake, I released a silent sigh to myself. Turning my attention towards the cake, I spotted another’s name on it before mine. That’s right. That’s why they are here. My “Birthday” was only four days after one of my “cousins”. Finding this out, my “Guardian” decided to celebrate our “day of birth” together. It was everyone else’s idea to do so on my “birthday”. So call me spoiled. Call me selfish. But I felt that my name should have been first. Of course I didn’t voice this. I didn’t wish to draw attention towards myself. Looking towards my “cousin”, I spotted his face wide with a smile and so was everyone else. Everyone but me. I didn’t smile, because no one smiled at me. As the lights were turned out, I could feel the “cold” that swept over me and relax my muscles, before they tensed again because of the candles on the cake were lit. One was the number “7” and the other “10”. That’s when “Happy Birthday” was being sung. I could only watch detached as they sang. The words were sung with happy faces as they watched my “cousin” smile and look around. But as their eyes glanced over towards me, before turning back, I felt a lump in my throat before forcing it down with a painful gulp. It was fast. So fast, that one would question the validity of what was seen, but I know better. No matter how fast, how brief, how miniscule it would be, I would notice. And again I wished that I couldn’t, but it would seem that I was destined to see things that I had no wish to see. It seemed to be timed. Too perfect to be coincidence. It was perfect. As one, they all looked at me for a second and conveyed the same emotion. Abhorrence. Complete and total hatred for my being. I was brought out of the thoughts by the voice of my “Guardian” telling us to blow out the candles and make a wish. I don’t know where the custom came from, for one to blow out a flame on a piece of wax and be granted a wish, but I hoped it had some credibility to the claim. Nodding my head, I leaned forward and blew out the candle. I had only one wish, and one wish only. There was no need for me to think on the matter. As the cake was cut, and myself getting the smallest piece, the adults shooed us away into the living room so “we” could “play”.
I sat by myself in a far off corner eating my cake as to avoid what I knew was an inevitability. But, even if it was inevitable, I could try and postpone it as long as possible. As I finished my cake, the plate was knocked out of my hands and onto the floor. As they began hitting me in my arms, legs, stomach, and chest, I found myself thinking distantly that it was lucky that I finished my cake when I did. This was a norm. A routine if you will. They called it “Birthday Licks”. Despite the name, no licking was involved. During this act, the one who was celebrating their “day of birth” was supposed to be hit by friends and family by the amount of years that has past. After which, they couldn’t tell the adults. Feeling my body go numb from the hits, I thought about the first time I tried to “join in reindeer games”. it was my first and last attempt. As I landed my first blow upon the person, time seemed to have stopped. The smile on my face was quickly replaced by fear as they turned on me ant left me crying on the ground before going back to play their games.
When I could finally see the ceiling again, seeing as it was blocked by bodies, I was curious as to how I made it to the floor. But in the end, I didn’t pay it much mind. Simply wrote it off as a reflex. Looking around I could see no one, but I heard the farewells down the hall signaling their departure. For a second I wondered how time passed so quickly, before pushing the thought out of my mind with a new one. A happier one. “They” were gone. Getting up, I slowly walked to my room. It didn’t surprise me that my “Guardian” didn’t look my way. She rarely did anymore.
Making it to my room, I closed my door before lying down and staring up at the ceiling. The darkness came to me like it always did as I thought about the events of the day as I always do. Unbidden, I felt my eyes sting. It was rather irritating. It stated out that way before the warm and salty secretions made their way past my ear and onto the pillow to be absorbed, erased, and then forgotten. I then found my lips moving and vocal chords working to produce the song that I longed for but now it’s simply a perverse mixture of sadness and self loathing, hatred, shame and loneliness. As I sang the song slowly to myself, I couldn’t help but wonder, as I curled up into a ball and felt the darkness claiming me; would my wish be granted by morning? Because if it was, then I could honestly smile. Because then...
“They” would be gone...forever...
I always wondered just what makes me different. I know such a question is a rather vague one. Everyone is different. No two people are the same. But that is not exactly what I’m talking about. I meant to ask, just why am I not opposed to doing things that others morally abhor? Just what is it about me that makes me care less about others opinions? Just what puts these impulses in my mind and what allows me to act upon them? These are the main questions that find their way into my every thought, of every day, of every hour, of every second, and of every life. Such questions haunt me in my dreams, at work, and even on the streets. In conversations. Everywhere and anywhere. I try to steer my thoughts elsewhere, but am unable to do so. It’s almost as if the thoughts have a mind of their own and are adamant in their quest to pester me into acknowledging them. And I must say that they are succeeding on that front. And it is very irksome, the thoughts that invade my mind.
One such questions that I have always thought about was “Why?”. I’m positive that everyone that has, does, or will exist has thought of this question at one point or another. The question is first posed as a child when they are just beginning to wonder about the things around them. And that’s just it. In order to get an explanation, one must ask “Why?”. And I am no exception to the rule. But my “why” is in reference to “Birthdays”. No, that’s not right. Not “Birthdays”, but rather a “Birthday”: Singular. And the one I would always question would be my own.
At first, when I noticed what was going on, I asked that fateful question. The answer I got was, “Because you are older.” At first, I was satisfied with the answer and didn’t question it further. Mostly because I got my answer to my question, but more so because I was a small child of 4 and I didn’t have much need to seek further answers. All I knew was that you get gifts on “Birthdays”.
When I got my first gift, I can’t remember what it was, I was shocked. It was the first time I ever got a gift. And then there was cake!!! CAKE!!! I was so happy to get to eat cake so early in the day. And I didn’t even have to eat dinner! At the time, I thought it would be great if it was my “Birthday” every day. Wouldn’t it be great to eat cake everyday? I thought so. But that was before I saw something that changed that idea real fast.
I was going to one of my “cousins” “Birthday” parties when it happened. My “Guardian” took me. When we walked in, I immediately noticed some glaring differences between my “Birthday” party and theirs. At mine, there was only my “Guardian” and myself present. I didn’t think it weird or out of the norm, because I didn’t have anything to compare it with. But then, looking at all those people, I knew it wasn’t supposed to have been that way. Then, there were the presents. So many of them. Now, I know there couldn’t have been more than 20, but then I could only count up to 10, so I knew there were a lot of gifts. I only got 3, and two of them were clothing. The thought of it made me depressed, although I didn’t know it. It only got worse as they all began singing “Happy Birthday”. They all looked so happy. I wished that it was me in her place. That the “mountain” of boxes were mine. That the “Huge” cake was mine. But more than anything, I wished “the song” was being sung to me. But as the years rolled by, I came to slowly loath the “day of birth”.
I was 10 when everything came to a head. In my room I sat in the darkness, something I’ve come to love. Why I feel so will have to wait. In any case, I was staring at my ceiling while lying on my back. I was thinking about my life thus far. Having lived for only 10 years didn’t leave much for one to reminisce, but a lot has happened in my life. Which led me to the thought that was constantly bouncing around in my mind as if it was a hive of angry bees that wished to kill the intruder to protect the hive, with my peace being the intruder. “Why” where they here? That was what I couldn’t find a logical answer to. To me, there was none. And yet, here they were again. Just outside my room were “monsters”. My “so called” family. This question always found a way to pester me on this “day of birth”. Always on this day. I wracked my mind for a reason as to why they would suddenly take an interest in me after 8 years of neglect. I was brought out of my thoughts by the sound of someone knocking on my door. It was my “Guardian”. I was proven right as they opened the door and told me to come out. I contemplated ignoring the request, but thought better of it. If I did, then they would, undoubtedly, storm into my room. I didn’t like others in my room. So I stood up and walked out and into the dining room. All along the walls were my “Family”. My eyes grazed over each of them, taking in clothes, attitude, and feelings. As I locked with each of their eyes, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The old proverb goes “The eyes are the windows to the soul.” It’s also the sleeve on which your emotions show. Despite how well you think you have hidden them, how well you lie to yourself and others, they will always show the truth to those who look hard enough. And at that time, I wished that I didn’t know how to look for them at all. Hatred. Disgust. Loathing. They were only the beginning of the long list of emotions that I saw in them. And that was only from one person. One Person!!! I could feel the weight of their thoughts and feelings coming down onto me as if I were Atlas. When their eyes were off of me, due to my “Guardian” calling attention towards the cake, I released a silent sigh to myself. Turning my attention towards the cake, I spotted another’s name on it before mine. That’s right. That’s why they are here. My “Birthday” was only four days after one of my “cousins”. Finding this out, my “Guardian” decided to celebrate our “day of birth” together. It was everyone else’s idea to do so on my “birthday”. So call me spoiled. Call me selfish. But I felt that my name should have been first. Of course I didn’t voice this. I didn’t wish to draw attention towards myself. Looking towards my “cousin”, I spotted his face wide with a smile and so was everyone else. Everyone but me. I didn’t smile, because no one smiled at me. As the lights were turned out, I could feel the “cold” that swept over me and relax my muscles, before they tensed again because of the candles on the cake were lit. One was the number “7” and the other “10”. That’s when “Happy Birthday” was being sung. I could only watch detached as they sang. The words were sung with happy faces as they watched my “cousin” smile and look around. But as their eyes glanced over towards me, before turning back, I felt a lump in my throat before forcing it down with a painful gulp. It was fast. So fast, that one would question the validity of what was seen, but I know better. No matter how fast, how brief, how miniscule it would be, I would notice. And again I wished that I couldn’t, but it would seem that I was destined to see things that I had no wish to see. It seemed to be timed. Too perfect to be coincidence. It was perfect. As one, they all looked at me for a second and conveyed the same emotion. Abhorrence. Complete and total hatred for my being. I was brought out of the thoughts by the voice of my “Guardian” telling us to blow out the candles and make a wish. I don’t know where the custom came from, for one to blow out a flame on a piece of wax and be granted a wish, but I hoped it had some credibility to the claim. Nodding my head, I leaned forward and blew out the candle. I had only one wish, and one wish only. There was no need for me to think on the matter. As the cake was cut, and myself getting the smallest piece, the adults shooed us away into the living room so “we” could “play”.
I sat by myself in a far off corner eating my cake as to avoid what I knew was an inevitability. But, even if it was inevitable, I could try and postpone it as long as possible. As I finished my cake, the plate was knocked out of my hands and onto the floor. As they began hitting me in my arms, legs, stomach, and chest, I found myself thinking distantly that it was lucky that I finished my cake when I did. This was a norm. A routine if you will. They called it “Birthday Licks”. Despite the name, no licking was involved. During this act, the one who was celebrating their “day of birth” was supposed to be hit by friends and family by the amount of years that has past. After which, they couldn’t tell the adults. Feeling my body go numb from the hits, I thought about the first time I tried to “join in reindeer games”. it was my first and last attempt. As I landed my first blow upon the person, time seemed to have stopped. The smile on my face was quickly replaced by fear as they turned on me ant left me crying on the ground before going back to play their games.
When I could finally see the ceiling again, seeing as it was blocked by bodies, I was curious as to how I made it to the floor. But in the end, I didn’t pay it much mind. Simply wrote it off as a reflex. Looking around I could see no one, but I heard the farewells down the hall signaling their departure. For a second I wondered how time passed so quickly, before pushing the thought out of my mind with a new one. A happier one. “They” were gone. Getting up, I slowly walked to my room. It didn’t surprise me that my “Guardian” didn’t look my way. She rarely did anymore.
Making it to my room, I closed my door before lying down and staring up at the ceiling. The darkness came to me like it always did as I thought about the events of the day as I always do. Unbidden, I felt my eyes sting. It was rather irritating. It stated out that way before the warm and salty secretions made their way past my ear and onto the pillow to be absorbed, erased, and then forgotten. I then found my lips moving and vocal chords working to produce the song that I longed for but now it’s simply a perverse mixture of sadness and self loathing, hatred, shame and loneliness. As I sang the song slowly to myself, I couldn’t help but wonder, as I curled up into a ball and felt the darkness claiming me; would my wish be granted by morning? Because if it was, then I could honestly smile. Because then...
“They” would be gone...forever...
Soldier's Misfortune
Push the button.
Pull the lever.
Flip the switch.
No matter where I am, I always start out the day as this,
I push the button on my alarm clock.
Pull the lever to start my shower.
Flip the switch to turn on the lights.
every time, I end with the same results.
I see myself.
My eyes that have seen too much.
Eyes that wish to see nothing more than the comforting darkness behind my eyelids.
Eyes that constantly see eyes in the darkness.
Eyes that see everything except that which I wish to see.
Load the gun.
Chamber the round.
Pull back the hammer.
These are the steps that I take every morning to ensure that my skills are sharp.
I load the gun.
I chamber the round.
I pull back the hammer.
My commander always says that practice makes perfect.
By his rules, I am perfect.
I never missed a practice.
I never missed a target.
I never miss.
Check the safety.
Train the sights.
Pull the trigger.
I check the safety.
I train my sights.
I pull the trigger.
My opponent falls.
I don’t know who he is,
Or where he came from.
I only know my orders.
Fight.
Despite my feelings, I listen.
Despite wondering who the real enemy is I pull the trigger.
Despite the whispers around me and inside of me,
About right or wrong,
I listen to my orders.
Push the button.
Pull the lever.
Flip the switch.
Load the gun.
Chamber the round.
Pull back the hammer.
Check the safety.
Train the sights.
Pull the trigger.
Following these steps I have gained acceptance.
Following these steps I have garnered appreciation.
Following these steps I have solidified my position,
In the deepest pits of Hell.
At home I am seen as a hero.
Here, I am seen as a monster.
At home I am a soldier.
Here I am the devil.
At home the things I’ve done haunt my dreams.
Here I live them.
I am what I am.
I am a soldier.
I am a monster.
I am the devil.
I am.
But I do my job.
I do it well.
My thoughts, feelings, emotions have no place here.
I only have to remember the steps.
Push the button.
Pull the lever.
Flip the switch.
Load the gun.
Chamber the round.
Pull back the hammer.
Check the safety.
Train the sights.
Pull the trigger.
Pull the lever.
Flip the switch.
No matter where I am, I always start out the day as this,
I push the button on my alarm clock.
Pull the lever to start my shower.
Flip the switch to turn on the lights.
every time, I end with the same results.
I see myself.
My eyes that have seen too much.
Eyes that wish to see nothing more than the comforting darkness behind my eyelids.
Eyes that constantly see eyes in the darkness.
Eyes that see everything except that which I wish to see.
Load the gun.
Chamber the round.
Pull back the hammer.
These are the steps that I take every morning to ensure that my skills are sharp.
I load the gun.
I chamber the round.
I pull back the hammer.
My commander always says that practice makes perfect.
By his rules, I am perfect.
I never missed a practice.
I never missed a target.
I never miss.
Check the safety.
Train the sights.
Pull the trigger.
I check the safety.
I train my sights.
I pull the trigger.
My opponent falls.
I don’t know who he is,
Or where he came from.
I only know my orders.
Fight.
Despite my feelings, I listen.
Despite wondering who the real enemy is I pull the trigger.
Despite the whispers around me and inside of me,
About right or wrong,
I listen to my orders.
Push the button.
Pull the lever.
Flip the switch.
Load the gun.
Chamber the round.
Pull back the hammer.
Check the safety.
Train the sights.
Pull the trigger.
Following these steps I have gained acceptance.
Following these steps I have garnered appreciation.
Following these steps I have solidified my position,
In the deepest pits of Hell.
At home I am seen as a hero.
Here, I am seen as a monster.
At home I am a soldier.
Here I am the devil.
At home the things I’ve done haunt my dreams.
Here I live them.
I am what I am.
I am a soldier.
I am a monster.
I am the devil.
I am.
But I do my job.
I do it well.
My thoughts, feelings, emotions have no place here.
I only have to remember the steps.
Push the button.
Pull the lever.
Flip the switch.
Load the gun.
Chamber the round.
Pull back the hammer.
Check the safety.
Train the sights.
Pull the trigger.
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