I couldn't be a criminal

I found someone's debit card in the ATM today, as I pulled out my weekly allowance.

I suddenly had, in my hand, a solution to a lot of problems. I could use this card to take care of a lot of things. I could fill my tank with gas. I could go buy my textbooks. I could get groceries and dogfood. Granted, eventually the money would run out, but until it did, the possibilities were virtually endless. This was the opportunity I have needed for a long time.

"Next in line, please."

Every day since leaving the Marine Corps, I have struggled with the fact that I am no longer monetarily rich. I no longer have a steady paycheck that more than covers my basic needs. For ten long months, I have grown used to being poor. To barely making ends meet. To having daily conversations with debt collectors. To having to starve my dogs for a couple days until I had enough to buy them more food. To letting myself starve so I wouldn't grow dependent upon the aid of others. To dodging all offerings of help.

I've grown used to it. It's fine. But with that debit card, belonging to some lady named Amber, I could be rich for at least a day, if I was smart about it. I do need a haircut.

"I can help whomever's next over here!"

Of course, I would have to be smart about it. I would have to skirt the law. That's easy. I'd make my purchases quickly, in the course of an hour, and then throw the card away. Fill up my gas tank, buy my groceries, buy my textbooks and then drop the plastic in some sewer. There'd be no time to track me down, and if I did it quickly enough, Amber wouldn't even know what hit her until it was too late.

And then she'd just have to report her losses to the bank and she'd recoup them, right? Yeah. Sure.

"Sir, I can help you over here."

But no. Banks are unreliable. It's hard to prove a stolen card. And until she could, and until the report were finalized, Amber would be out a few hundred bucks. She'd suffer then. Like I suffer. A few hundred bucks right now would be a godsend; a blessing; a miracle. Losing hundreds of dollars would be the opposite.

Amber could have kids. Not dogs, but kids. Amber could be paying rent or a mortgage. Amber could be paying her own way through college.

And Amber could be a virtuous young girl with absolutely no blemishes on her character, and has done nothing to deserve such spite as theft.

"Sir? How can I help you?"

I put the card on the bank counter.

"I found this in the ATM. Just thought I'd drop it off."

"Oh, well, how kind of you. Thank you."

"Yep."

I couldn't be a criminal. I'm not that guy.

Her Day was Still Happening

Jenny had been planning this wedding for two years. No damn flu epidemic was going to stop her. The news reported that hundreds were getting sick everyday, but damn it, when would she reschedule?

She grabbed her phone and dialed her mother.

"How's the church?" she asked without saying hello.

"The church is fine, sweetling. Everything's been scrubbed and the priest is in perfect health."

"And the masks? Have the masks arrived?"

"Yes. All 20 boxes are sitting in the voyeur."

Jenny sighed and hung up without saying goodbye and refocused on her hair. Samuel, her stylist, was braiding the veil into a bun.

"Samuel, I'm not stupid, am I?" Jenny asked.

"No, of course not. This is your day."

"The flu hasn't even reached here!"

"You're right, Jenny. It hasn't. We'll be fine."

Samuel was wearing a mask and gloves. Jenny plucked at the pearls hanging around her neck.

"Jeremy said he felt a little tickle in his throat this morning."

"I'm sure it's nothing," Samuel cooed as he combed the hair behind Jenny's ears.

"Half my guests canceled."

"That's their loss. It's going to be beautiful."

Samuel let go of her hair and stepped back to check his work. Seeing nothing wrong, he grabbed a mirror and held it up for Jenny to see.

"Voila, my dear. What do you think?"

"OH! It's so good, Samuel! You're the best!"

"I do what I can. Don't worry about payment right now. I'll contact you after your honeymoon. You just go put on your dress and stop worrying so much."

Jenny held back the tear that threatened her makeup.

"Thank you, Samuel. Again, you're just the best."

"You're welcome," Samuel said as he packed up his things.

Jenny stood up and walked to the dressing room.

"Jenny," Samuel called out. "It's going to be beautiful."

Jenny smiled. Her day was still happening.

~~~~~~~~~

Jenny held her father's hand outside the church. She was shaking.

"Feeling alright?" her father asked.

Jenny stopped herself from shaking and breathed.

"I'm fine. I'm not sick or anything."

"Oh, no, no. I just meant, are you nervous?"

Jenny reached up and adjusted her mask. It smelled like lavender.

"I'm fine. I just want this day to go perfectly, Daddy."

"It will. Everything's turning out great."

"Even with the masks?"

"Even with the masks. I even forgot I was wearing one until you just mentioned it."

Jenny smiled behind hers and tried to ignore how the paper muffled her father's voice. She couldn't imagine how the priest would sound.

"It's almost time to go," her father said and placed her hand inside his elbow. "I'm so proud of you for going through with this. You put a lot of work in."

"Thank you, Daddy," Jenny said and concentrated on her breathing.

The church doors opened and the flower girl entered. A waft of bleach, lemon and honeysuckle hit Jenny in the face. She gagged.

"It smells clean," her father said and shook his arm. "It's fine."

They stepped up and got ready to make their entrance. Jenny saw through the open doors that half the pews weren't filled. She pushed the thought from her mind. She quickly straightened her gown, checked her mask and gripped her bouquet and father's arm. The church doors opened. Jenny took a deep lemony breathe and took her first step.

Jeremy smiled at the end of the aisle, and subtly waved his fingers at Jenny. The mask hid his face, but she could tell he was smiling the biggest smile she could imagine on him. His eyes sparkled. A tear escaped and Jenny let it roll down her face.

Her day was still happening.

~~~~~~~

The service took 30 minutes, and was filled with giggling at the priest's voice. Every word he said was muffled, and he sounded like Kenny from South Park. Jeremy and Jenny could barely get their vows out with laughing through them. Now they stood outside the church doors and waited for the limo to pull up. The crowd threw confetti over them.

"Kiss! Kiss!" they called out.

They skipped the kiss in the service because of the illness fear of lifting the mask. Jeremy turned to Jenny.

"Kiss with the mask?" he asked.

Jenny guffawed. "Sure, what the hell!"

She leaned in and they kissed through the paper. Lavender scent crammed up her nose but she didn't care. The limo pulled up, and the driver opened the doors. Jeremy and Jenny ran down the steps, waving at the crowd and dove into the fresh, clean leather seats of the car. It smelled like lemon and windex, but Jenny just didn't care.

Her day had happened. Hundreds of people got sick that day in the worst flu epidemic in years, but she still had her wedding. And it was beautiful.

Jenny leaned in and kissed Jeremy again. He ripped off their masks and kissed her, lips to lips. Jenny smiled and let the tears flow.

Her day had still happened.

Still hurting.

I cried at work today. I didn't know I was doing it. I was helping to clean off a table after the crowd left. My coworker is the one who noticed.

"Are you ok?" she asked.

"Yeah. Just trying to get these plates off," I replied.

"Why are you crying?"

I stood up and wiped away the tears. I just looked at them as they salted the tips of my fingers. Then I felt the sadness. Then I heard the song playing on the radio.

It was Tracy Chapman's "The Promise". One of the many songs I had dedicated to my ex. Perhaps the most special one as it described our living apart for so long. The most heartbreaking line came on then.

Please say you'll be waiting.

I broke. I ran out of the dining room, found a dark corner and just let the tears flow until they stopped. Didn't take long once I got myself together. Once I remembered I am past the pain.

Or at least think I am. I am, aren't I?

I really, really want to be past this pain already. It's been a year and a half. Isn't that long enough? I guess not. The pain is rooted so deeply in my subconcious, that it's not his turn to grieve. Damn it.

I'll get there. I'll be whole again soon enough. The healing is happening.

I hope.

Damn Kazakhs

"Damn it! It's just not beef!" Joshua yelled and threw his knife and fork into his plate, splashing the brown gravy his husband tried so hard to make across the table. He kicked his chair away and stomped to the screen door and stared at the ostriches in the yard, pecking at their feed.

"It's just as good, Josh. Calm down," Mike said.

"No, Mike. It's a bird. Beef is a cow. Cows are better, damn it. They taste better!"

Mike wiped his mouth and placed his napkin, folded, on to his plate. He kept his composure, always mindful of portraying the housewife in these parts, to avoid those looks again. He walked up behind Joshua and wrapped his arms around the lean, muscular chest that began to show softness in troubling times. He kissed Joshua's neck.

"Josh, you do this every other night."

"We don't have dinner every other night," Josh snapped back, and shrugged away Mike's arms. "I'm slowly starving you, and you give me hugs?"

Mike rolled his eyes, swallowed a sigh, and returned to his dinner.

"That's why nobody's buying. Nobody wants to eat a bird as a steak," Josh muttered, as he reached for his whiskey sour on the table. His fourth whiskey sour on the table.

"Plenty of people do. It's what's available," Mike said, biting a piece of ostrich off the end of his fork.

"Because of those damn Kazakhs," Josh said and gulped his drink.

"Always the Kazakhs."

"Well, how else do you explain it? All of America's cows die off and suddenly they become number one in the world of livestock production?"

"They've been ostrich farmers for years, Josh. We saw the documentary years ago. You laughed at it, as I remember."

"Because it's a stupid idea. Birds ain't cows," Josh said and finished his whiskey. He stepped toward the bar.

"No, sir. Four is the limit now, remember?" Mike said.

"You ain't my mother."

"I'm your goddamn husband, Joshua. Grab some milk."

Joshua threw his glass into the sink. Mike winced as it shattered. Not in fear, but in frustration. Glass was expensive, and Josh only had two glasses left. Josh pulled open the fridge and stared into it.

"You're going to turn me into a nagger, Josh. Grab the milk and close the door."

Josh slammed the door shut and walked back to the door.

"Birds ain't cows, damn it. Damn Kazakhs," he shouted. Several ostriches flocked away from the yard.

"Then why'd you buy so many? If it's a stupid idea, why are we trying so hard to raise them?"

"Because I am the owner of the largest ranch in Kansas, sweetheart," Josh said through gritted teeth.

"Were."

"Am. Nobody's larger than me still."

"Because everyone else gave up. They've moved on to the simul...no...damn it, what's the word..."

"Synthetic?" Josh said, now staring at his boots.

"Right. Most of America has moved on to the synthetic. The President says it's the future."

"Oh, what does that gook know? He's probably Kazakh himself."

"Stop blaming the damn Kazakhs, Josh!" Mike shouted and stood up to clear the table. "What happened was not their fault."

He punctuated his words with the tableware as he clanked it all into a pile. He carried it to the sink, dropping all of it on top of the shattered glass. He winced again.

"Animals die all the time. Species go extinct all the time," he said, turning on the water and grabbing a sponge. "It's basic biology."

"No, Mike. Animals don't just contract a random disease and wipe out over night."

"But that's what happened! All the cattle died across the world except for those few in Icyland and Hawaii. And nothing can change it, so I just don't know what's the matter with you."

Mike scrubbed at the dishware, being sure to put Josh's uneaten steak aside for breakfast.

"And now I'm losing all my money while some damn Kazakhs and Hawaiians are taking over the world."

"We're doing fine. We're simply not where we were."

Josh picked at the screen, and flicked bugs away as they landed.

"We were rich."

"And now we're not," Mike said, turning off the water and putting the steak in the fridge. "And you know what? I can't care any less."

Mike walked back behind Josh and hugged him again.

"I married you when you first bought this land. You weren't rich then, neither was I. And did it matter?" he said into Josh's back.

Josh sighed. "No."

"So, you're just frustrated right now. You know what you have to do now?"

"What?"

"You have to pour yourself a glass of milk, and remember that all the bills were paid this month, and our flock is healthy, if not pricey," Mike said and turned Josh around. He kissed him on the lips, and lingered. "I love you. Calm down."

Josh sighed again, and closed the door. He walked to the fridge, grabbed the milk and the steak, and sat back down at the table.

"God damn Kazakhs," he muttered.

"I know," Mike said and made him a whiskey sour.

Kerivan

The church was cold.

Kerivan rectified that by sitting where the sunbeams shined through the stained glass, which illuminated him in red, green and blue. He sat with his face in the light, and breathed deeply. Peace. He was here for peace.
And the letter.

He listened to the choirs practice against one another, while the priest rehearsed his sermon.
“God is among us,” the priest called out across the pews. “Right now. He is here.”
Kerivan shrugged his shoulders and closed his eyes. He loved being here. Not so much on Sundays, when he was forced to attend, but during the week, when it was his choice. There was no place, in his mind, where he could find more raw aesthetic than an empty cathedral, filled with the honesty of a stumbling Gregorian chant and the humility of a priest battling his nerves.
He felt human here. He waited for the letter.

Several years before, he and Tennaris had their last big fight outside this church. It was their second break-up. At least, it was when Tennaris told Kerivan they had to stop talking, months after their relationship ended.
“Keri, I would like to end contact with you and make a clean break between us so that I can find my own way to move on,” Tennaris said.
He handed Kerivan a necklace that was gift during their last anniversary; their sixth.
“I know we've had a lot of back and forth over the last year and a half, trying to resolve the relationship we had. And I am sorry for the circumstances. But I am asking you not to contact me anymore unless it's a professional matter, and to let me be the one to get in touch if at some point I feel ready,” he said.
Kerivan stared at the necklace bunched up in his hand, and slowly tried to make eye contact with Tennaris’ brown eyes that reminded him of root beer candy.
“I…” Kerivan stuttered.
“I wish you the best,” Tennaris interrupted.
Kerivan tried to think straight, but was too confused by the moment to form a stronger thought. He just kept staring at the necklace. Tennaris leaned forward and gave Kerivan a quick hug. He slipped something into Kerivan’s back pocket, and then walked away, as if trying to catch a bus in the rain.
“Take care…” Kerivan said and sat down on the steeple steps.
It wasn’t until several weeks later that he pulled the note from his jeans. It read simply:

I am going to find what we were once looking for. I will find it. And I will share it with you. Be at this church in 5 years. I will send a letter. –T

From the sheer madness and confusion of the situation, all Kerivan could do was shove the note in a drawer and forget about it. Every so often, he’d stumble upon it while cleaning and be reminded. This very morning he realized five years had passed. With a shrug he rushed to the church.
And he sat in a pew in the back, and waited for the letter.
When the choir wasn’t singing, and the priest wasn’t talking, the sound of wind echoed across the stone walls. It was an old cathedral, doubtlessly cracked and weathered enough to allow a steady stream of air in. Muted steps along the aisles interrupted the silence more. Kerivan watched as church members slowly swept between pews, and an altar boy watered plants where the choir stood. He could hear the pencil scratches of the priest, and shuffling of papers. There was a lone woman speed-reading a bible in the front pew, and as she turned the pages, it sounded like a dove flapping its wings.
The choir started up again, and Kerivan closed his eyes. He had been sitting there for hours, but didn’t want to leave. Even if there wasn’t a letter, he found peace here. He needed that more than anything. He laid down on the pew and let himself drift into sleep. He had no idea how long he was gone when he felt the body bump against his feet. He started up and shook himself awake.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s very rude of me.”
“It’s fine,” a man said. “I’m here to see you.”
Kerivan’s eyes shot open wide.
“Oh, um, ok,” he said.
“You are Kerivan Knowlan, right?”
“Yes.”
“I have your letter,” the black-clad messenger said and handed Kerivan and envelope.

Kerivan ripped it open, amazed that it was actually here.

Dearest,

When you get this letter, five years will have passed. I walked away from you, from the church, from the town, from our life. I left you to your graces, and cannot imagine where you are or what you are doing now. I’ve no doubt it’s all good, though. You are an amazing man, and able to accomplish so much. 

I’ve found what we were looking for. I have it. All those years, that talking, and my mindless chatter on and on about my dreams have come to fruition. 

I have my empire, Kerivan. I have our kingdom. 

Join me. The messenger who came with this letter will guide you back to me. Join me. Even if it takes another five years. Join me.

Break Up Evolution

At first, of course, the breakup was the only thing I could ever think about.

Then it became like a really good (or terrible, actually) movie I saw and couldn't get out of my mind.

Then a TV show I would watch over and over.

Then an old rerun I would catch every now and then.

Then a book I would revisit because it was always open on my bedside table.

Now it's a book on a shelf.

How long until I forget the story?

A harsh but healing truth

"I love you

But since that no longer makes me happy

It is time to move on."

The Thoughts Which Must Speak

I spend too much time shaking my head. I am sure my brains are ready to seep out my ears and nostrils by now. I do it violently sometimes, and even include a smack to the temple or forehead; just to ensure that whatever thought I am thinking at the moment surely leaves the space it so rudely inhabits.

I shouldn't. This only gives those thoughts the power they crave. It's not a lot of power, per se, but enough to make them realize that they can make me abuse my noggin if nothing else. Though they could do more. So much more.

And perhaps they will. If I keep blocking and shoving and altogether thrashing these thoughts, they are only going to grow. They will be compelled by the threat of my violence and rise up stronger and more defensive; ultimately taking over my brain and claiming victory.

As I lie and cry and shiver and curse.

Unless I give them leave and passage out of my mind the proper way (for lack of a better phrase). I speak the thoughts, the emotions, the urges, the fears, the reactions, etc. I speak them and release them from inside the tight confines of my skull out into the infinite space of the world. They can't harm me if they are no longer with me.

The thoughts which must speak are spoken, or more often, written down, and I let them go.