DARK CLOUD 2

a fish out of water

V

THERE IS NO LADDER

There was a time when Rosalind gave a shit, but those days were gone. Now she worked her job, but could no longer ‘invest’ in the company. She couldn’t afford the time and energy the company extorted from her, in the name of ‘climbing the ladder’. There was no ‘ladder’. So, she put in her time, and the rest didn’t matter. She’d be passed over again, but knew now what to expect, and kept those expectations tampered down. She’d get by ‘til they caught on, but she read the writing wall, and it wasn’t favorable, so she shut it down.

Arnold was older, and perhaps a little wiser, but only by a bit. He’d kept his pencils sharp, and his papers tidy, and gave every impression of being a solid company man. But inside, he put aside the mundane pain, and went about his chores with the dulled precision of an assembly line worker. Lost in a digital sea, awash in numeric clutter, there would always be numbers, but somewhere in there, the client didn’t really matter, just the calculations. He’d lost his affinity. It frustrated him and he wondered how he got to this place, and was counting ‘the days to his pension’…that’s the only math that mattered, yet so long a wait.

On the day they met, all blustery and keen, he held the door open, and that was their start. She thanked him, demurely, and he gratefully accepted. They’d each asked for a table for one, but after some small negotiations, they settled on a table for two.

He proceeded to inquire about her life, which made her uncomfortable, at first, but with his gentle coaxing she found a willing ear, and could not shut up, nor did he want her to. They talked, long and involved, he, drawing her out of her shell. He'd even invoked some  laughter...it grew naturally, and unexpectedly. 
They talked through the lunch hour and beyond…well beyond. Enraptured by the chatter, each decided, this was a significant matter, and their job could wait. In fact, it could wait until tomorrow, because the rest of today was unexpectedly spoken for. It was so ‘spoken for’ that that afternoon was spent in, first a gallery, then a museum, followed by dinner, followed by an intimate episode, back at her place.

“The place is a mess, What will you think of me?”

“I think the sun and the moon, not the state of your room, so please…”

So please him, she did, and he, her. They’d found each other on a normal, stormy, Tuesday, out of the blue, blindsided, and suddenly the jobs didn’t matter, and life took on a new meaning.

V

* * * *

         Vacuum

He opened the file 

and there it was

On an empty page, 

the word 

    'Floating there

Upper-left top

Of an otherwise 

blank screen

Odd....

He doubted it was his. 

Yet no doubt it was.

It had to be 

Who else's?

What's it mean?

....Drawing a blank?

.......Feeling drained?

..........an emptiness, perhaps.

It was a beginning 

and an end

With nothing in between

What does it mean?

Whose words? 
Whose drive?

Whose brain?

Was so vaccumous

As to suck us into

Filling 

his ...

        void

Bet he feels like hell

For dragging you

Into this ploy

V

Little turds...

Crass realism

Crass assumptions

Run Amuck

With no distinction

No recollection

Of past successes

Skilled...

Or simply

Luck

In this town 

double down 

on the luck 

and who you fuck.

The more I'm exposed to the multitude

The more I embrace my solitude

Not an elitist 

In the least

But beasts 

Roam the streets

So fuck'em

Greed rules

The Street

So fuck em

Old shit gets stale

Then flush it

New shit... 

…Baby shit 

And the fresh 

Little turds

smell even 

worse

So fuck 'em.

V

dark cloud

V

LAKEFRONT

Ingrid took the towels from the linen closet, to walk

down and meet the girls at the lake. But she

lingered at the closet door and took in the crisp, fine, smell, regretting that the summer was almost over. The girls had been hers for the past three months, and her heart was heavy with their eminent departure. For the past eight summers they had been hers and she had feared that, too, was almost over. One, maybe two, more summers and they would disappear from her life. Then what?

Oh, there would be the promises - let's keep in

touch - but Ingrid knew the day would come when

'summers' meant trips to Europe and points beyond, that did not include her. What would she do, hire herself out to another family? At her age she wondered if she had it in her to start anew with

someone else's retinue. She would be hard pressed to start with someone young, her years declining, not so gracefully now.

She very quietly shut the closet door and stood

silent, listening to old house, listening to the lapping from the lake. It had been her privilege, but that, too, was closing. She held the towels close to her face and breathed in. Summers.

She heard the girls squealing out by the raft and set out down to the lakefront. The back stairs moaned under her weight. The grass, so lush and green, felt like velvet under her feet. Then the pebbles, so smooth and rounded, down to the shore and the kiss of cool water up to her knees. She took it all in.The lake, the house, the woods beyond, a magical place she sensed she would miss even before leaving. Ingrid sighed deeply but her reverie was broken by the girls, who hurled themselves into the water and swam frantically ashore, and into her arms. She dried them briskly, both giggling, as the sun was setting and hints of Fall were already the air.

Their laughter continued to fill the early evening,

and night would mean sitting around the campfire,

perhaps one last time. The parents would arrive

tomorrow, stay a few days, perhaps a week, but it

wasn't the same, and then they'd be gone.

V

FOR CAPERS

Killed on a Sunday morning, doing a favor for a friend. A run for capers, because who can have a lox plate without them. He agreed, and suggested he grab another bottle of bubbly, and juice for mimosas, as well.

Just a dash, be right back.

But that never happened. 

As arbitrary as  could be, a ladder, dropped in the lanes, from a truck bed …moments before…strewn upon impact by the one car that failed to react with the others, swerving up ahead, colliding and sending the ladder  careening into the air and through his windshield. Blinded, he immediately, instinctively, braked. Tires screeched all around him, but miraculously, amid the massive skids, there were no collisions.  There was a moment of quiet – a reality check, scented by fresh burned rubber…but all survived. With the help of some cooperative fellow drivers… while still impaled…he hobbled his Nissan safely over to the shoulder,  and fortunately, not far from a call box, because he had left his cell phone behind. He took a deep breath as his hands started to shake - a result of  delayed-shock. Then, He laughed, hearing himself explain the delay, knowing she would say, “this stuff only happens to you…for capers, yet! ”

She’d be right, of course. The laughter relaxed him, just giddy to be alive, he drew in a deep breath, and knew he had to get himself some assistance in this situation. Traffic was building back up to speed…and then some, as there were those that took exception to ‘his big mistake’ and the delays he had caused them.

(Hey, this is LA… people have important shit to do or they wouldn’t fuckin’ be here.)

 

Okay, he got it. First order of business, remove the “penetrater” and find what, or if, he could see out the windshield, and drive himself off. It may have sounded simple but it was not possible from within the vehicle because the aluminum was bent and twisted from impact. 

He would have to step out and yank it free from over the hood. That’s when it happened. As tightly as he was situated, his door swung into the lane as he exited, and the next vehicle took them both out.

For Capers…

V