Candles used to mean so much more as a child. They weren’t needed for warmth, but rather, wishes. Some wishes were juvenile, while some wishes were just naïve. Promising futures, friends forever, love. Who would have thought my wishes would have been better spent on castles, ponies, even money and men? I’ve wasted too many years and too many wishes just to see them all slip away.
On my ninth birthday, I had nine wishes. A wish for every year, my mother would say. I had a friend who never made it to nine wishes, and my mother didn’t live long enough to hear my tenth. When you’re young occurrences such as unexpected deaths don’t make much sense, and as you get older, they only become more complicated. An innocent death, one of a child, a single mother, or one of someone never really given the chance to live at all, is the most tragic. Not only is such a death unnecessary, it is always undeserved. Someone on the brink of living herself or someone who works so others may live better deserves to live for as long as the beats of her heart will let her. Or possibly him, I’m not sure who it is yet.
These thoughts of failed wishes, of undeserved death, and of the inevitability of it all bring me here, rounding some corner on Rouse Boulevard. The slight rain does not keep me from taking the long route through the town to get to the bus station. This will be my one last journey through it. Even merely walking down the street has become much more difficult, though. Not only is the onset of old age taking its toll on my joints, the shooting pain up and down my left arm has returned. It showed up just a few days after I learned of the death to come. Some days it’s just a dull pain, a relieving distraction. Other days it’s an overwhelming reminder of an impending tragic end. But whose?
I certainly hope it’s not Ronald. I’ve come to enjoy his visits and even look forward to them most days. I left what little I could spare for him in a jar next to a freshly baked loaf of bread. The rest of my money I’ll use for my ticket. Wherever the next one out will take me. I can’t imagine being here long enough to find out whose death it is I saw. Just knowing of the unforgiving fate awaiting someone unsuspecting is a burden even the heaviest heart cannot hold. I’ve spent my life uncovering secrets I wish not to have uncovered, finding answers which would have been better off unknown, and unlocking mysteries which do more harm than good. All this I have received unasked for and not until now has it troubled me so much. An innocent death. Undeserved. Unnecessary. Unasked for.
Coming up to the park, the light shower suddenly turns into a heavy downpour, making it hard to see more than a couple feet in front of me. The single shooting pain seems to have multiplied into several shooting bullets, racing throughout each and every limb of my body. I suppose it wouldn’t be so bad to take a small break. It’s gotten more difficult to breathe, too. It feels as if a chest as heavy as the one I left in my shop has been placed on top of my lungs. Perhaps if I could just lie down a moment, I could regain my strength and still make it to the station by morning.
The slide offers to me its protection from the rain. The mulch underneath it seems to be in the exact mold that it was when I slept here as a child. And even though I’ve grown significantly since I was nine, I still fit perfectly. I might as well not have grown at all.
Early last week a vision had shown me yet another innocent death. Even after all those I’ve lived through it dared to show me one more. Another life cut short just before it had the chance to improve. No clues as to who it will be. No chance that I can save him. Or her. Most likely someone young, but perhaps they’re older. Maybe someone new to this town, or maybe someone working hard to get out.
My breathing is slowing but becoming easier to control. The shooting pain has become a numbing sensation, making it nearly impossible to move. All I can do is look up at the slide. No longer covered in rust, but new, bright red paint. The talk of the town. No more gum, only the shine that comes with new steel. It’s just as it was years and years ago. Safe. Nine years old. A great time to be alive. It was never my job to change the future, only predict it. Nine wishes, nine dreams, nine friends forever, nine promises kept and nine different ways to be happy. I couldn’t stop it then. I cannot stop it now. If only a person could be nine forever.
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Monday, May 18, 2009
Going Home
Whether I'll hear someone "calling me home" when I go is still undecided. Whether my time and date of death is my "time to go home," I don't know. I'll figure all that out later. Right now, call it fate, call it destiny, call it His plan; it's basically the same thing. Who will ever know why shit happens the way it does?
I'm still not sure if the program at my funeral will say "Homegoing Celebration," like my great-grandfather's did. Why not call it what we know it is? All we know is that I'll be six feet under one day. For all anyone'll ever now, that's my last destination. Mind, body, and spirit might just come to an abrupt, expected, or long-awaited end right then and there.
Most people, I'm afraid, are scared to stick to what's evident and only that. So, they embelish the truth. I don't blame 'em. Who wouldn't like to think eternal life awaits us all after death? But call it home, call it heaven, call it paradise, or simply six feet under. No one will ever have the facts to prove anything about afterlife happenings. So, fuck it.
Maybe one day I'll decide to come back to the path that was beaten for me. Maybe I'll become too afraid of the naked truth to recognize it. Just maybe I'll bank on having a reunion with all of my lost buddies in the land of no sorrow and no pain. But nobody's guaranteeing that reunion; my philosophy is applicable. Fuck it. That's exactly why I don't think twice about earning green just to spend green just to smoke green. I see nothing wrong with living every day like it's my last. That's why whenever Mary Jane calls my name and I have the means to answer her call, I do just that. She's my only love in this world. She makes me feel good.
Now, even when she doesn't call my name, I call hers. Communication is a two-way street, after all. Take right now, for instance. I'm running low, so I'm calling her name. The last joint of the stash is an ugly reminder of the trip across town that has to be made. But I always roll one up before I make the trip; it makes me forget about how long it is. The trip is even uglier when it's dark outside. So, now, since the sun is up, I'll go and come back quickly.
I've never been one to watch weather channels to find out what the weather is gonna be like. That's why I wasn't surprised when the drizzle started as soon as I stepped through the emergency exit. The rain wasn't enough to chase Ronald away from the back of Mo' Liquor, though. He was standing there, looking intently at something in the direction of the playground, looking like a nutty bum in the rain.
My lighter is never in the first pocket I check. I always end up fishing for it. It doesn't help that I wear cargo pants every day, either. It works out thought, because as soon as I find my lighter, Ronald starts to begging for it. "You got a light?" It was sort of a rhetorical question. He saw the green lighter right in my hand. I looked up to hand it to him and he didn't even attempt to look my way. What was he looking at? My first guess is that he suffers from pedophilia, but there are no kids to stare at. No kids are on the playground. It's raining hard by now. Yet, he stands there, inanimately, unaffected by the rain.
I looked towards the playground to figure it all out. Nothing. Had he gone mad? Puffing his cigarette, he kept his gaze still. "It'll still happen without her telling us it will," he said as he handed the lighter back to me. What will happen? What does that even mean? I dared not ask. He looked as if he could snap at any moment. He heard my thoughts. "The future," he answered. I looked again towards the playground. She was laying underneath the slide, motionless, protected from the rain. She looked ironically peaceful. She looked as if she had seen it coming and was prepared for it, just not the weather.
I made fire and lit the joint. "She's in a better place," Ronald said. "Rest assured."
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Brushing his hand across the math homework that was due tomorrow, William had grown tired of doing homework at the moment. The park was a perfect place to unwind and get away from the homework due tomorrow. Walking out the apartment complex door William ventured towards the setting where childhood imagination and comfort existed together. Suddenly, small drops of rain began to fall on William's arm and the rainfall began to build. Instead of turning around William hurried towards the play structure to search for shelter. It was pouring. The rain fell down so hard that William was having difficulty seeing through the thick rain. As he slowly arrived to the playground William noticed somebody sitting underneath the slide.
William recognized her before, it was Madame Maureen the fortune teller. I wonder why she isn't at her fortune telling shop? William thought.
Moving closer William spoke softly to Madame Maureen hoping to get her attention.
"Excuse, Madame Maureen? Um, are you busy?"
No response.
Is she sleeping?
Reaching for her hand, William immediately pulled away. Her skin was ice cold, like sticking your hand in a cooler of ice searching for a soft drink. Stepping back, William realized that Madame Maureen was gone. Her body was left but Madame Maureen was gone, up to the skies, just like Mom and Dad. Not knowing what to do, William sat beside her and began to cry. Death was such an awful thing, why did it happen at all? Does anybody really deserve to have their life ended?
The rain continued to pour, and William cried even louder and stronger. An ambulance pulled up on the side of the road and two paramedics rushed over to the slide.
"Are you okay? What happened? Is this your mother? Do you know this lady?" one of the paramedics asked.
Catching his breath, William looked up and rubbed his eyes. The two paramedics were staring anxiously at William searching his facial expression for answers.
"I'm fine, no, I don't know her." William finally said with a deep sigh.
"Okay well were going to take her to the hospital where we can contact her family and such." The paramedic rolled the gurney towards the slide and together, the two paramedics lifted Madame Maureen's body up onto the gurney.
Watching the gurney being rolled away, William sat under the slide and listened to the rain hit the surface of the slide. Closing his eyes, William drifted asleep among the mulch.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
The End, The Beginning
The cold rain began to pour down, at first as a light drizzle, then a steady down pour. The sharp drops fell onto Felix, staining his light brown coat to a heavy black mass. Felix looked up at the sky, the rain stinging his face, running down his cheeks like tears. Felix looked around the empty playground, at least he had thought it was empty, he caught a glimpse of a figure huddled under the slide, he recognized the woman as Madame Maureen, the fortune teller. Felix wondered if it was his imagination, he wasn't too sure of his sanity at this point. Felix thought it better to leave her be, she looked peaceful, and he didn't wish to disturb her.
Felix walked passed the slide, the rain muffling the crunch of mulch under his feet. As he walked down the alley, he heard the screech of a siren approaching the playground. Felix blocked out the incessant noise and continued down Rouse to the bus stop next to the entrance of the tunnel that had served as his home for so long. Through the years Felix had collected coins here and there, he wasn't one for begging, but if people saw him sitting by the road, they would throw a quarter, sometimes a dollar, at his feet. Felix estimated he had enough to get to the next state. Maybe he could find another tunnel and start over.
The rain falls like a million microscopic hammers on the back of my skull as I meander through the muck-lined streets of the city. The last time that I was as lucid as I am now was back when I was tracking him. The weather was the same, bleak, dreary, and wet, always wet. Soaked to the core. It never ends.
I finally see the city for what it truly is. I always knew that those living here were self-preserving bastards, but I was never really that aware of my surroundings. I mean, yes I knew what street was which and where every building was, but the fact that everything is actually shit was completely lost to me. Peeling paint, rusting frames, and crumbling brick.
Hair plasters my face as I continue to trudge through all of the mud, blood, and beer. Not actual mud, blood, and beer, but I don’t care. It could be true.
Balboa is pretty much gone. It’s been weeks. Nothing. However, I do have one final, last resort.
I don’t put much faith in soothsayers and other paranormal activity. In fact, the only thing that I put any faith in at all is the propensity for egoism that is common among all humans. Man, woman, child. White, Black, Asian, Hispanic. It does not matter. Everyone partakes. Even I used to. That was before I became enlightened.
"Do you understand now?"
"Yes."
"Very good. What are you going to do?"
"I'm going away. I'm going to embrace what you have told me. They are all unworthy, selfish, violent, indulgent swine."
And they are. Every single one of them.
So why am I going to see Madame Maureen? I'm desperate. I've suffered through the bullshit of every other member of this god-forsaken mess, I thought, why not go for all or nothing? People say that see possesses actual powers. I don't believe it, but why not try? She could have some information on Balboa.
The grainy streets seem to weep out of anger or despair as I stroll through the downpour, always vigilant, always alert. You never know what could happen.
Madame Maureen's shop is not far from home. The storm drains are worthless, leaving the streets flooded in the rain. I actually have to wade across an asphalt river to get to her door.
Dusty windows reveal nothing but a distorted image of the interior. No one is inside. There is a jar of money on a table next to a loaf of bread. Odd. She's usually in at this time of day. She must have given up. I haven't seen any people around the shop for days. Business must be slow. Serves her right. Horrible work. Horrible work that I am in need of.
Looked everywhere. Where is she?
Last place. She must be her. Unless she's been constantly on the move, and she is back where I started.
The one bright spot of the entire city is the playground. When I say bright, I mean bright.
The newly painted slide is an attempt by the city council to improve the aesthetics of the city, drawing people in, resulting in an economic boom.
Someone is sleeping under the slide. A small figure. Looks like a mouse, frightened and reclusive.
It's her!
As I approach her, I sense that something is wrong. Any person walking by, not paying close attention would think that she is sleeping. She's not moving. She doesn't appear to be breathing.
Shit. She's dead. Goodbye Balboa.
Still warm. No pulse. Died recently.
There's some money in her pocket. Should I take it? I would use it to finally leave this place. Balboa would want that. Forget him, move on.
A new city. That is what I need. Walk away. Leave him. Leave your rock.
I started visiting Madame Maureen about two weeks ago; I liked the company and I think she did too. In that sense we were a lot alike, both lonely and in desperate need of some comfort. She was alone with her sooth sayings as I am alone with my thoughts; both detrimental to ones health. When we talked, occasionally, we talked about this: Thinking and Divining. I really enjoyed our encounters, but I never got the chance to tell her that. I guess I'm too bitter and introverted to express my feelings. She never knew this about me, because she made me feel contrary to my true colors. Madame Maureen died, I guess she read her last palm--mine. She had been complaining about her breathing for three days and I had noticed the problem for longer. My initial diagnosis was Lower Respiratory Tract Infection, but she said other wise. I laughed at the humor, a soothsayer arguing with an ex-doctor, two people you generally don't argue with. We agreed to disagree. But to strengthen my argument, I proposed an idea for her to read my palm and we see if my fate is true. She initially refused, telling me that it would hurt her, and that fate is a dangerous thing, but I soon convinced her. The next day she was dead. I came by to visit but the police were there instead. They told me she was in the hospital. My heart raced, and my capillaries in my eye increased blood flow. I ran to Beatrice's Suit Store and grabbed the most handsome suit, flowers, shoes, and cologne I could find. I was left empty, not myself, just an unoccupied body with too much cologne, useless flowers, and a dark suit. Maureen just lied there motionless, dead, gone. She told me it would hurt her, I didn't listen, I persisted. That night I lied in my cardboard bed and thought. Her voice echoed in my ears, "Ah your life line is short, I guess your thoughts and sadness are going to get the best of you Ronald." She won the argument, for my fate was fulfilled. I finally thought the last thought and blew out the last candle. See you soon Madame. See you soon.
So I was riding home in the rain the other day. It actually felt kinda nice since it was so god damn hot on the boat. Anyways I was riding home and I saw a body being taken out of the Fortune Teller shop, it was that crazy gypsy. I asked one of the guys working what happened and he said it looked like a heart attack. Now I feel bad for in a way but if she could see the future why wouldn't she have taken an asprin. Way to read that crystal ball. I guess thats what you get for scamming all of those people all of those years, finally came back and bit her in the ass. Oh well, glad I never wasted my money on her.
As I am kneeling I hear a small sound coming from my right. With my concentration broken, I rise and begin to follow the rows of pews towards the sound. As I get nearer the sound resolves into a gentle snoring sound. For some reason this sound irked me more than it should have, some part of it was nagging at me. I didn't understand what it was. I eventually reached the wall of the small chapel, and followed the wall with my hand until I came to a slightly ajar door, nestled in its frame with huge hinges. As I pushed the door open I recognized the sound as that of snoring, coming form the room beyond.
I slipped into the room, and as I did so I was assaulted with a smell so unlike the gentle incense-laden air that was present in the chapel I was rooted to the spot I was standing in for a moment. It smelled exactly like the woods, by the well. Exactly like the man who ripped me off, and mugged me just to get into some door. I hastily retreated, slipped the door shut on its near-silent hinges, and went to find the priest. He was not far, I asked him who the gentleman was who was sleeping in the room off the chapel. The priest told me he was a tenant, he'd been staying there for a while until he could get back on his feet. He said he would go and close the door better, and he led me back to the pews, but as he was heading for the door its not quite lubricated hinges squeaked the tiniest bit, followed by a quick in-drawing of breath. I recognized that same intake as the one that I heard when I had hit my assailant a few nights before. He turned back around and slipped the door shut quickly, and I got up to leave the chapel. I followed the carpet down the center aisle and made it all the way to the door without incident. I slipped out of the church and was met face first with veritable torrent of rain.
My hat was soaked through in the first minute after my emergence into the world again. Within two my clothes were drenched. I fumbled my way along the edge of the sidewalk, using its grassy terminator as a guide for my right foot as I traversed its distance towards where I thought my home was. As I passed by the apartments large vehicle with its sirens blaring nearly side-swiped me. I paused for a few minutes under an awning of the apartment building, listening to the frantic movement of people around me. When the noise and rain both seemed to have abated a little I stepped out and began to cross the street, across from my book-smelling home.
I pass through the entryway and slide past the familiar smells of the books that never sell here, and head to my door, my stairs. This place has become familiar to me in a way that no place hadn't since before. The railing of the stairs felt RIGHT to me instead just a place where I was an interloper. When Shadow was with me my place was with her, but now I am home. I cross the room straight across to the shower instead of hugging the wall, and grab a towel to dry myself off.
I was walking down the street on a rainy evening. It had been a disgusting day and I was working the night shift patrolling the streets. So far the evening had been pretty quiet, almost eerily quiet, like just before something is about to happen so I was trying to stay on my guard. The steady rain had lightened up and become more of a drizzle as I was walking down Rouse Boulevard. I headed down the alley between Mo Liquor and Sunshine Day Care and came upon the tiny playground that looked more menacing than inviting in the darkness. After having walked the street blocks for a few hours I decided to sit down on a swing for a few minutes and take a rest.
The playground had been recently remodeled and was no longer rusty and dangerous but shiny and new. Having caught a drug deal or two go down in the past here I decided to scan over the tiny lot for any potential threats. That's when I saw her laying under the slide. Nothing but a dark lump that remained eerily still, barely visible through the night time drizzle. A flood of thoughts filled my mind. Was she sleeping? Has she been hurt? Is she already dead? Trying to remain hopeful I crossed my fingers for an older person just laying down for a moment to try and escape the rain. I crossed the tiny lot and as I got closer I realized who it was. Madame Maureen was lying under the bright red slide, eyes closed, and completely motionless. After checking her pulse (or lack there of) my stomach started doing flips in my stomach. I immediately called for back up and an ambulance. About an hour later it was decided that her death had been natural and no further investigation was needed.
A heart attack. A woman that can't have been much older than me crawled under a slide to die tonight. A sweet woman who told fortunes and never bothered anyone was dead while really bad people were still out roaming the streets. I had seen a lot of killings and deaths on the job over the past few years but it always gets me when an innocent person checks out way before it seems like they should. Why her and why now?
I finished up my shift and headed home to try and get some rest after the surreal events of the evening but it was useless. I couldn't shake the image from my mind of the woman lying under the slide looking so calm and peaceful. Had she felt pain? Did she know death was coming for her? Why was she out alone on such a dark and rainy night? I still had a million questions going thorough my head. I don't know why I couldn't get my mind off of the deceased fortune teller but something about her death was really nagging at me and I couldn't shake this feeling that was almost anger mixed with a great deal of remorse and sorrow.
The next morning I knew what I had to do. I couldn't stay in this town anymore. These past few years had been really tough. The visit from my mom made me miss home and realize just how much time had gone by. The days seemed to draw on endlessly and it was just the same cycle of similar happenings over and over again. I had experienced more than my fair share and after having served for what seemed like decades on this shitty police force, I was ready to call it quits. This town had turned me into someone I didn't even know anymore. I had become a man who was either angry or lonely all the time and who drank more than I ever used to. This wasn't me and I didn't think I could handle this new me for much longer.
Over the next few weeks after the death of Madame Maureen I got the things I needed to in order so that I could head back to the town I used to call home. Before I left, my friends and colleuges told me I wouldn't last in such a rough city and that I would be running back in no time. In a way I guess they were right, after almost ten years I was heading back, but this city I lived in now was no place to call home. After this long I still hardly knew anyone except the people I worked with and my life was centered around work. It was like I hadn't actually been living these past few years, just watching my life go by. For some reason Madame Maureen's death snapped be back into things and made me remember that you never know when life could be over for you and this was certainly not the life I wanted to end with.
I didn't know if things would be any better back home but at least it would be the start of something new. I can't say I was really going to miss this run down town. I had tried to come here and help "save it" in a way but I had had enough. I don't even really know if I'll continue on being a police officer anymore. Maybe I just won't work out in the field, I've definitely had plenty of action since I moved here. So I packed up my apartment, which was fortuneatly still somewhat clean from the visit with my mother, and headed for the train station. I was going back to my old life with way more baggage than I had left with and optimism for the future. I didn't know what was going to happen next but I knew that I needed a change now more than ever and hopefully I would be able to get my life started up again.
I've flipped through pages and pages now, dialed countless numbers, spoken with barely half as many "managers on duty at the moment." This is the price of trying to better myself, but at this point, I'm getting sick of sounding cheery to gum-smacking teenage girls who've lived here their whole lives and don't care about me half as much as I care about talking to them. I turn the page to the J's, not even near the end of the alphabet but nearing the end of my patience.
I'm not a religious girl. When I was little I went to school at St. Andrews Catholic Academy for Young Ladies and I went to mass whenever our family piled into the old Volkswagon and drove the four and a half miles to the stone building I could never see as the castle my classmates thought it was. But so did everyone else. So the feeling I felt last night after hanging up on my Mother was unfamiliar to me. I wouldn't go so far as to call it a come-to-Jesus, but it was pretty damn close. I cried. I don't remember the last time I cried, maybe a lack of emotions goes with the lack of imagination, but the tears just poured. And I came out of it feeling stronger than I've felt in years, my resolve to be better was overpowering. "I should be in a Gatorade commercial," I thought, the classic [fill in the blank] picking herself up off the [blank] and trying again.
And that's where I am now, making myself better. I dial the last J number, and start counting rings. I usually give up by the twelfth or thirteenth ring but I kept listening this time. Lulled into a stupor by the incessant tone, my eyes glazed over as I thought of what I could become. I'm actually going to do something with my life after sitting in this shithole for nearly six months. Which is why I was probably so startled by the rapid rapping at my thin door.
"Ma'am, open up," a gruff voice called much too loudly for my landlord downstairs. I drop the phone on the ground with a clatter. With shaking hands and a shakier voice, I place the phone in the cradle with difficulty and stand on wobbly feet to answer the door. Before I can make it there, it's pushed open with fat sausage fingers that definitely don't belong to the skinny Asian man downstairs. "Ma'am," he says, "we received a call to check in on ya. Somethin' 'bout you actin' weird an' stuff." I rack my mind for my actions over the last twenty-four hours. The liquor store. "Is everything goin' okay here, ma'am?"
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine," I stutter out. I guess it sounded more like a slur because the man who's badge I now recognize looks me in the eye and asks if there's anything I'd like to tell him about. I stand with my mouth agape, not quite knowing what to do next. I've alway been the good kid. Always. His beady black eyes search the flat, finally coming to rest on the counter where I left the unopened bottle of whiskey last night. "Oh," I say, "I'm feeling much better..." But apparently that's not what he's looking at. The Ambien. Except for there's one problem with it: it's in a Zip-Loc bag, and I don't have a prescription.
"Ma'am I think you should come with me," he says easily, like it happens all the time. But I'm not a criminal. I got these right before I came. "I just. Sleep. Hard. I can't." But he walks toward me. The cold cuffs click behind my back. And for the second time in twenty-four hours I cry. I tried so hard.
I step into the backseat of the car and the man closes the door after me. There is no point in my resisting. We drive slowly toward the other end of this slum that I tried so hard to make the best of. I see ambulances and police cars and an assembling crowd by the playground. But everything going on outside is nothing. The cop slows down and asks another overweight cop what's going on. Something about a dead woman on the playground. Usually I'd feel some sadness for her, her family, the things she left behind undone, but to myself I'm dead. There is no point in trying.
Walk Through the Park
Zoongash trudged along through the downpour. There was something about the rain that calmed Zoongash's nerves.It was as if the rain washed away all of his problems, allowing him to for a brief moment to put his violent past beihind him. Zoongash decided to cut through the park on his way back, deciding to avoid the splashing cars that roared by. He was half way through when he noticed something underneath the slide. At first he couldn't decipher what the big object was until it suddenly moved. He then realized it was actually a women huddled under the slide, trying to find some shelter from the torrential rains that came down around her. "Maybe I should help," thought Zoongash. It was not often that Zoongash considered acting so compassionately, but it was something about the rain that seemed to change the way Zoongash acted. In the end his bitter cold-heart won out and he merely waved his hand in the direction of the slide and walked away. All the way back to Mo Liquor, no matter how hard he tried he could not put the women out of his head. He tried to justify walking away by telling himself that maybe she had a reason for being there and just wanted to be outside during the storm, but he had trouble believing this himself. Zoongash just shook is head, " Bloody Americans". He doubted that he would have any business until the storm died down, so he decided to order some noodles from Chan's. Within the next hour Zoongash received his food had managed to finish the entire bowl of curry noodles. As he was cleaning up form his meal he noticed that he had yet to eat his fortune cookie. He tore through the wrapper and cracked open the cookie. As he stuffed the cookie in his mouth he read the small text on the paper. "What goes around comes around". As he read the fortune his hands began to shake and images of the woman under the slide began to run through hs head. "Bloody Americans".
Leaving the police station Robert was furious. Angry at how the officer treated him and mad as hell at the guy who kidnapped him. The flame inside Robert grew larger and larger until it consumed him. The flame withstood the rain that he was now walking in and continued as the rain became more relentless. Drenched, Robert didn’t try to seek shelter. Instead he just stood there and the flame continued to burn. Slowly the flame was beginning to extinguish and the anger began to subdue. Suddenly an ambulance hurried around the corner, interrupting Robert’s silence, peace, and calm. Intrigued, Robert followed the speeding car as fast as he could. It didn’t go far because once it was out of sight, he saw it parked and the paramedics aboard hurrying to get to the playground. Damnit, I hope no kid has been hurt he thought. To his relief it was only some old lady. Probably just slipped in the rain. She'll be okay. This was quickly dissolved when he said that the woman didn't look at okay at all. She wasn't breathing. She was still, just there. It was so sad to Robert that he quickly left to go home with a morbid outlook on life.
Life was easier for Margret with out her father around. She sat with Mazurka at her knee and she sneezed again. Margret laid down in a coughing fit. She thought back on her fathers departure. John didn't leave the car but sat still in the dark truck. She knew he couldn't see her face. Her father gave her a small hug, possibly a thank you but Margret wasn't sure. When John drove away Margret might have seen him look back a little. But it was all muddled and she decided not to dwell on the details.
She had heard of the poor fortune tellers death. It was to bad; she had heard she was pretty good. She wondered if she predicted her own death. Margret would have liked to have that skill, to predict deaths. It would have come in handy. Margret curled up in the covers and began to fall asleep.
The Present
As Fanny Mae stood at the bus stop across from Jupiter Apartments, the rain started to come down hard. She made a motion to run for cover, but then nixed the idea. Who cares? she thought. The bus will be here soon anyhow, I'm already wet... Fanny Mae continued to stare out into the distance, not focusing on anything. Her mind was as blank and her newly emptied apartment. She suddenly looked up at a strange figure, bent forward, trying to block the rain. As the figure got closer, Fanny Mae recognized it as Madame Maureen, the palm reader. Madame Maureen did not look up to acknowledge Fanny Mae, she just walked past, hunched over, gripping her left arm. Fanny Mae occasionally walked my the palm reading shop, but never went in. What was the point in knowing the future? If what you find out sucks, you can't change it anyways, right? She never let herself be tempted to know what her future holds, to know if she would ever settle. Sure it would be nice to settle in one place, but how could I really do that? She thought about Madam Maureen again. The poor woman always looks so hungry. She had heard someone say that Madame Maureen has lived here all her life. The majority of that life was spent in poverty because she wouldn't just tell people what they wanted to hear. There's no reason to stay somewhere if your life there get all screwed up! Why would I want to stay here? I don't know anyone, no one cares, and now everyone thinks I'm crazy because I stabbed a guy. Madame Maureen's shadowy figure was no longer in sight whatsoever, as she turned down the alley between Jupiter apartments and Sunshine Daycare. It looks like she's going to the playground...She is all alone I don't want to end up that way, I can't bear it. What if when I die I have no one to hold on to. If I live to be 99 years old, I want to have my loved ones at my side. What loved ones? Will I have loved ones? What will my future hold? The future... Fanny Mae glanced toward the direction of the playground. Throwing all of her ideas about foreseeing the future aside, Fanny Mae walked towards where she saw Madame Maureen disappear into the rain. She kept walking and didn't turn back, even as the bus pulled up behind her. I have to know. I can't live without knowing where I'll end up. I just need something to look forward to, even if it's a terrible fate. There has to be something that I can hold on to, that can ground me. Fanny Mae found herself sprinting towards the playground, then she noticed a crowd of people staring at something by the slide. Fanny Mae froze, she didn't even have to go any further, she knew exactly what had happened. She was stuck, she had left the past, she no longer could dwell in it, and now her door to the future was closed. She was trapped between the two, with no where to escape to.
An old, umbrellaed woman comes, wobbling on the uneven wood chips beneath her feet. She grows blurrier as she moves, less and less distinct from the pouring rain around her.
Near the slide, she bends stockinged knees, leans on her cane while left hand reaches for the ground. She folds her legs, twists a little to sit. Hands behind her shift her back, along the rough mulch, underneath the slide.
Rain pelts the aluminum, gathers its splashing self into drops, runs gullies down the corners of the slide. Beside it, the woman has left the umbrella, open and up, catching rain, pooling water, reflecting dimpled gray. There were dimples in Grammadame's cheeks.
Greta, swinging, up, down, stomach dropping beneath wet shirt. Rain hits harder when you move. Watching, staring, wet, red eyes.
Beneath the slide, the shape , rocking, slowing like breath. Slow. Slow. Rhythmic. Slow. Wind whips as breath dies. Death coming, pooling in an umbrella, preparing to tip.
The woman stops rocking, stretches prostrate in the slide strip of dry, almost invisible. Blurry like memories, wet, uncomfortable. Still. Still.
Had her grammadame crawled beneath a slide? Had anybody seen? Could the man from L'Royale feel it pelt like rain when you move, sink in, soak?
Greta flew, jumped from the swing, walked, bent beneath the slide. This was the face on the poster in the lobby of the apartment building. A teller of fortunes, future, future, what would come, future. So old, past, past, future with past.
Greta bent to kiss her.
Fueled by my confidence in wooing Lu, I decided to change up another unnecessary routine. I decided to walk home by going on Bentley, turning left on Chester, and back to Jupiter Apartments on Polaski. As rain began to drizzle on my hopeless attempt at a hairstyle, I took cover under Madame Maureen's Palm. I had never been in the place before, never had a desire to, but whenever I passed by it she was always in there, seemingly longing for something that could never be given to her. At least not any time soon. Something was different this time. She was nowhere to be found.
At that point I had a gut feeling that this town would not be the same, or at least as I perceived it. I wasn't sure in what capacity change would come in or how dominant the change would be. But I was ready for it. I think I've been ready for longer than I've been aware of. I heard an ambulance screaming into town, and I swiftly pushed out the door to greet it.
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