i dont know.

The car pulls up to the beach parking lot. Its 2 a.m. and the only set of lights come from the moon, which is half covered by the cloudy sky; and the yellow street lights, that line the walk way. I get up and out of the car. I lean the driver seat back and reach from my 5-pack of imported beer that sit, alone, in the back seat. As I pull the pack out, the cardboard handle gives way and the 5 glass beers hit the concrete with a bang, beside my front right tire. For a moment or two, i sit and stare at the fluid that escapes the box and watch it flow toward the small storm drain that is toward the the front of my car. Finally, i reach down and pick up the case. Only one beer survived the ordeal, so I grab it and throw the rest of the glass and cardboard into the storm drain that, now, hold the previous 4 beverages.
     The walkway that leads me toward the beach is rather dirty. Cluttered with soda and cheap beer cans. Old sandwich bags, red dixie cups. Everything that you would need to have a great day at the beach and then when your done, just leave sitting there, just like an upstanding citizen should do. I continue down the wooden walk way and by this time, a strong wind starts to hit me in the face. I reach for my key chain and find my bottle opener. As the wooden walk way turns into sand, i stop and take my shoes off. I remove the top off of my 22.5 oz beer as well, and proceed toward the water.
     The beach is deserted. only the moonlight, wind, water, and sand remain from earlier in the day. i find a nice spot about 25 feet from the waters edge and sit down in the sand. The beer is about a quarter of the way empty. I just sit and stare at the water go in and then out. Every so often, taking plugs from my beer. It seems peaceful, and this makes me smile. I continue to finish my beer and slowly stand. I make my way back to the the wooden walkway, and notice that my shoes are gone. I look left then right, and then notice a figure running down the beach maybe a good quarter mile down the beach. I'll never catch him, i think. I head toward the parking lot with sand in between my toes and figure out that my car has done the same disappearing act. I laugh a bit, as i stare at the ground. A sarcastic laugh to say the least.
     I walked to the 24/7 liquor store and bought the same beer that I had finished savoring, then, I head back toward the beach. Shit, they cant take my wallet,....can they>......                

being sick...

As he cancels, he lays and waits for the day to come around, the day when he won't be sick again. As he lays in bed, he doses off, then wakes to the view of the overhead ceiling that is always looking down on him. Watching him. He imagines if only he weren't feeling like complete garbage and he was'nt coughing up massive amounts of green and yellow globs of goop; he could be enjoying her company. If his nose was'nt running like an ethiopian in a marathon; he could be the witness of something great, that something would be her smile.
     Instead, he drinks water and chews vitamins, as it begins to rain. The rain hits the roof of the small RV, sending the loud noise through the structure. A small, electric fan runs, and the rain being to scream louder. As he leans up to go use the bathroom, he puts his sock-covered feet to the ground and they begin to dry up the wet floor that's in front of his bed. leaks. leaks somewhere. He stands, opens the door, and does what he has to. He shuts the door and changes socks. lays back, and slowly begins to take him mind else where. some place where he wants to be: anywhere but here, being sick...     

OLD MAN

I wake up from a normal 7 hours of sleep and quickly dress for the first day at work. I was called the previous night by a Mr. Martz, and he told me that I  had the job if I still wanted it. I said yes, and he informed me that I  was to report at the Continental Building at 8 pm. It is 7:51 now, and I was just stepping out the door toward my patiently waiting car.

    Some how, I make it to the building on time. It had something to do with the multiple traffic violations I committed and would have received tickets for, if the random cop car would of been out there to witness. I walk up the steps and I'm greeted by Mr. Martz, on my way through the door. Martz shows me where to clock in and the break room and then proceeds to let me know what he wants done that night. "a Janitor" Martz said.

"Janitor huh. Alright where do I start?"

"Grab your cart and equipment from the closet." He points across from the fridge in the break room to a door.

"Then clean all bathrooms on each floor. Make sure the soap is filled, paper towels are there, mop the floors and take out the trash. There is a men's and a woman's bathroom on each floor. Once you finish that, come and find me.."    

     There were 3 floors, with no elevator. but yet they give me a cart.  It made no sense why I would need a cart. As I went toward the exit door to make my way to the first bathroom, A loud man came in from the door behind me.

"THE HELL WITH THIS PLACE. TO HELL WITH YOU ALL. I DON'T GIVE A DAMN WHAT YOU THINK, YOU ARE STILL WRONG. YOU'LL GET WHAT YOU DESERVE. YOU DESERVE TO GET YOUR ASS BEAT, AND I THINK I'M THE ONE THAT CAN DO IT." 

     The loud and apparent, angry, man could not of been any younger than 70 or at least he looked it. You could tell by looking at his face, he had been through some rough times in his life. He walked with a slit hunch and hobbled around like something was wrong with his left leg. 

      I glanced at Martz with a questionable look on my face. 

"He's been working here for thirty five years. He's my best palletizer. He's an ass most of the time but he works hard."

     As soon as he said the thirty five year part, I understood completely. Thirty five years of the same place takes a lot out of a man, shit, out of any man. I continued toward the closet door and grabbed the cart and mop bucket. Then I made my way to the first bathroom, which was the woman's, right outside the break room door. I checked the soap, the towels, the toilet paper, etc, and then mop the floors. I did a half ass job, leaving cigarette butts in the corners and stray pieces of paper were left behind on the ancient ground. This same, tedious thing happens to the men's restroom and takes, collectively, maybe thirty minutes.
     I decide that its time to take a break. I head to the break room and take a seat next to the large window that over looks the rather small parking lot. I stare outside for a moment, looking at Martz pick trash and notice him as he walks toward his car. He reaches in and  takes a sip from a bottle in a brown bag. This makes me smile. I grab a cup of coffee and head back to were my cart was, just outside the first set of bathrooms.
     I grab a spot mop, wet it, and then head up the stairs toward the next set of restrooms. As I get to the top of the stairs, I hear someone coming from the other side. The door slams open and of course, its Nelson, the loud, old man from earlier that night.
"WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING, YOU LIL SHIT!"
     This catches me off guard and I jump a bit.
"Fuck you old man!"
     Nelson stops suddenly, just before his foot touches the first step that leads down to the first floor.
"WHAT THA HELL DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME, BOY?"
     I stand there thinking; Is this the only way he talks?
"I said Fuck You. What are you going to do about it old man?"
     As quick as I said the statement, he was coming towards me faster than fast. His limp had suddenly disappeared. He raises both of his hands and he begins to chock me. I attempt to pry his fingers apart but for an old man, he was surprisingly strong. As his grip slowly tightened, my face slowly reddened. Veins begin to pop out of my forehead and I can feel myself starting to black out. I only did it because I had to. I raised my right knee and hit him in his jelly babies. He fell to the floor like a Muslim would in time of prayer. I stand, slouched over with my hands on my knees,  and catch my breath, then slowly turn toward the second floor door and open it. I step thru and when I look up, Martz is standing there looking at me.
"What the HELL is going on here?" Martz said.
"The old man came at me. He about chocked me to death."
"Jesus, Peacock, Give the old man a break. I told you he was my best worker."
     I turn, grab my spot mop and head toward the next bathroom. As I walk away,
Nelson utters out, "I'LL GET YOU NEXT TIME, SIR."
Although I appreciated the respect factor, I didn't give a damn about that ball smashed, piece of shit.       

     I figured out that each night, Martz would leave at about 2 am and wouldn't come back. So I busted my ass till then. After 2, I walked out to my car and took a sip from my own brown bag. This job might be alright, I said to myself. 

Funeral

The funeral home. About a hundred people dressed in all black. Some sitting, some standing. But all, not paying attention. The younger viewers, texting. Adults stepping outside to make phone calls about the following dinner or to have a smoke. Even the old, gray haired man that is delivering the eulogy couldn't care less. He makes mistakes in pronouncing his words but after looking up to see the crowd isn't paying attention, he simply shrugs it off and continues with his half ass speech about a man he doesn't know. Even the flowers seem wilted already. Tired, exhausted with dealing with the people that surround them.

A small child is sitting in the front row, no more than five years old. His attention is completely captured by the flowers beginning to move. A thump at the casket and then followed by a thud. The child's eyes grow bigger with every passing second and with every sound that the casket emits. The kid starts to tug on his mom's dress in order to possibly grab her attention but she firmly tells him to stop and to shut up. By this time the kid is on the edge of his seat because the sounds are becoming more and more abundant.

The top of the casket pops up. The kid is borderline tripping out. He just can’t even believe what he is seeing. A hand emerges from the casket and grabs the side of the wooden box in order to pull the lingering body from the incasing. A head rises up. The face of the body...of the man, is glowing with life. The kid looks on in amazement from his front row seat. His bottom jaw on the floor because the man is actually jumping out of the casket.

The kid looks around to find that no one has noticed what is actually happening and he quickly jumps up onto his seat and starts yelling, "Look! Look Everyone! Dad is Alive!!!"
The service stops and the child's mom sits him down. Everyone is now looking at the kid. They don’t understand why he is yelling much less saying such a thing.

He looks back up to see his dad standing there, smiling, like he always did. The kid closes his eyes and opens them again to find that his dad had disappeared. His head slowly sinks, his smile transforms into a frown, and his eyes gloss over. He looks straight ahead and is silent for the rest of the funeral. All he can think about is that...everyone dies....but not my dad.

The Wave of...

The Wave is coming.

He fumbles around his apartment, as the terrified man attempts to pack up his belongings. While quickly grabbing a duffle bag, he snatches up his worn out wallet. Never judge a book by its cover, for it does not matter about the outer shell but rather, whats inside. All of his money. He keeps a spare wallet, which he calls his "Savings Account". From the looks of things, saving isn't at the top of his list of things to do. If you were to open the fold of the leather wallet, you would only see a hand full of change where the paper currency would normally be. Never the less, he throws the pocket change holder in the bag, along with a few articles of clothing. Sweat begins to bead on his forehead as he lifts the bag toward his shoulder.

As he runs toward the front door, he blindly grabs the large picture frame that sits on his kitchen table. He shoves it within the side pocket of the duffle bag and rather violently, busts open the front door.

The street is covered with hundreds of people in full on panic mode. Something like cockroaches scattering around when a light switch is flicked on. Some people are crying. Children running around without there families. But for the most part, people are just trying to get as far away as they can from the ensuing wall of water.

He swings his bag around to his side and as he cradles the duffle bag, he begins to run, just like everyone else, in the opposite direction of the defense; of the wave. His shoes slipping on the loose dirt on the side of the street with every push off, with every step. The pure respect. Respect of what mother nature could do. The thought of staying never entered his clouded head, for that would be suicide. He would have to run. Have to retreat. Being a coward, whether he liked it or not, was happening right now. How could he not flee?

The wave had not been foreseen, at least not by him. Yes of course, he heard rumors of the ensuing incident but payed no attention to it. He knew it were possible, but would it actually happen so soon, of course not. By now, that viewpoint has been thrown out the window. After running for what seemed like forever and a day, he finally spots his truck. He fumbles around for his keys and unlocks the door. The sound of the engine sparks a small smile of inspiration.

As he speeds down the dirt road along the coast of the island, the wave decides to show its angry face upon his rear view mirror. The towering, highrise of fluid almost staring at him, taunting him, with its own reflection. His eyes cut over toward his duffle bag's side pocket. He removes its contents and begins to stare at the rather large picture that was formally on his kitchen table. A myriad of emotions appear upon his face, but he concludes with a shrug of his shoulders as he begins to pull over on the side of the dusty road.

He opens the truck door and without shutting it, he begins to walk toward the waters edge. He takes a few steps and drops his keys onto the warm sand, while still looking at the picture within its frame. He takes a few more steps and finally looks up from the picture. As the wave catches his eye, he lets go of the only object that is still left within his grasp. The old, wood frame sticks up in the sand, showing to the world, the nothingness within its confines.

Just as he arrives where the shoreline would be, he cranks his neck up toward the sky, sort of like a midget would do when first meeting Shaq. As the wave begins to crash down upon him, he closes his eyes and smiles, because he realizes that the decision that has been made, is the right one. The wave crashes down upon him and the feeling is almost soothing. Refreshing. Revitalizing.

As the water, now becoming the coward, begins to recede back toward the horizon, he looks around. His world is full of Change. What was once something that he ran from, he now embraces. With everyday that passes, the warm waters of change saturate everyone and everything. His problems of today, no one really remembers, but rather how he reacts to the problems is what is edged within the stone of time. He can finally see the big picture within the frame.

He takes a deep breathe, and with a zen-like state of mind, he continues...   


      

Silence

It was 3:37 in the morning, and the old car had a flat tire. He pulled over on the side of the road and popped the trunk, only to find some old cloths. Certainly nothing that resembled a tire. He is about 10 miles away from his house so he figured it would be time to walk.

The soles of his shoes help keep rhythm, as he walked, one step at a time, down the asphalt covered street. Head lights turn to tail lights,as single, lonely cars speed past him. The wind turns the once lethargic snow in a ball of energy. With each step, it seems the temperature drops. If it was up to him, he would rise the temperature as his own, but nature's mother has another idea.

The mixture of his hot breath and random tobacco products hit the air as they exit his lungs and mouth. His thoughts turn to walking down the middle of the street. He begins to walk on the middle, yellow line almost like a trapeze artist. This only entertains his frozen mind for only afew seconds as he begins to veer back toward the outside, white line. By this time, he has walked maybe 3 miles. A cop pulls up beside him.

"What are you doing night?"
Stupid question. Looks like I'm walking.
With a single annoyed breath he replies "Walking."
"Do you need a ride?"
"No, I have gone 3 miles, I can go another 7."

He watched the cop's tail lights disappear around the corner.

The silence of the night is fantastic. Its the only thing that is keeping him calm. The trees swaying back in forth in the wind. Leaves Russelling in the wind. For the most part, Silence. no chaos. No loud annoying sounds. Just the quiet, cold, windy night keeps him company.

After what seems like hours, he stands at the end of his drive way. He stares at his small shack of a house. He sighs and slowly walks up the drive.
He removes his keys from his front, left pocket and unlocks his front door. He enters and is hit with a wall of frozen air. he shuts the door and locks it back.

Its almost colder inside his house than outside in the winter waste land that he just exited. He plops down on the couch and grabs the remote control. Without thinking, his thumb clicks the big red ON button and to his surprise, the TV remains black. He laughs at himself, while mumbling "No power, no tv. " He drops the remote on the ground and with a smile, he zips up his jacket and slowly falls asleep.

   Silence. no chaos. No loud annoying sounds. Just the quiet, cold, windy night keeps him company.

(L.R. Ch 8) Monsoon

Skid marks lead Left to her upside down car. He hurries to park and hops out of his car. As he runs toward the mangled vehicle, he hears the cop yelling at him to stop but he doesn't care. Police are the least of his worries now.

As he gets closer to the car, rain drops turn to tears.
"Nooo,Noo,No", he says out loud as he sees the motionless body sitting in the driver seat. As he walks up to the driver side window, he bends down and knocks on the the glass, just like he did in the past.

 With a cracked, emotion filled voice, he asks, once again, "Are you ok? Can I open your door?"

With no reply, he opens the door.
"I'm sorry", Left's cop friend says. Left says the same to Amber.

He picks her up and lays her on the cold, wet asphalt. Now, just like she did on the phone, Left loses control of his emotions. He notices the odd ink mark on the back of her arm again. Of course it wasn't an ink mark at all. She had bruises all over her body. Hand marks from where someone was grabbing her. Marks and bruises that should never be on her. Her face, already black and blue from the punch that was delivered to her earlier. Her face, that in Lefts mind should always be smiling, now emotionless and battered. A mixture of anger and sadness hit him all at once. A type of feeling that is demoralizing. debilitating. The feeling of failure enters his thoughts. He didn't do enough, he thinks. How does this kind of thing happen to someone as nice as her. Someone as Right as her.

The ambulance finally shows up. The EMT  R.I.P her away from his grasp. Her hand finally slipping away from his.

The Gas Station Attendant is Left again but this time is different, this time his heart breaks, his soul cracks and his spirit is shot down. He unlocks the gas station, and without turning on the lights, he grabs a bottle. As he drinks, he watches the tow truck clean the wreck up. Left doesn't cry much. Neither do the clouds these days. But tonight, a monsoon will remain stationary at the gas station.

Now he is Left; Alone.