THE WORMHOLE

 

It don’t matter much, how we got here. This is either the end of the story, or the beginning. I’ll just have to see how it plays. Does it play out, or does it play on? A strange dilemma, to be sure. I’ve found a dent in my invincibility…a chink in the armor…not much of anything, barely a wormhole, but there just the same. So, my dilemma - do I invite the worm in, or do I patch the hole? You see, this worm knows something, it’s a worldly worm, and it says ‘get outa your skin’. Imagine that, get outa your skin. At first, I was like you, and thought it best to patch and forget it, but this worm had a way of crawling inside your mind and creating a certain havoc. This havoc wasn’t something new, but it was so long ago forgotten. It was akin to panic, to the darker realities, groping for a way out. This worm spoke to me, ‘get outa your skin’. I didn’t know…at first, I thought I was going mad, but came to realize it was a mad world, and none of us is safe, or sane. So why not partake?

Partake in the greed, the gluttony…sadism, and cruelty – get them before they get you? But that would take some great effort…a heroic effort, and for what? I have come to know my invincibility was a sham, my armor, paper thin and full of chinks. Whoa is me, my pride’s been shattered, my ego, strewn upon the rocks by a raging sea, chum for some other bottom feeder to feast upon. But one must have a plan, and tonight, I’ll cozy up to my mescal, ask for the worm’s good graces, and find a way out of this skin I’m in.

V

A MOST DREARY DAY

It was like having the crystal clarity of the moment, snap back to blur. The hustle continues, and the moment didn’t happen. But it did. Was it the look in her eyes? Were they angry, tired, or just drawn blank? They lacked emotion and for the first time he saw it. The emptiness. The cold abyss of nothingness. Crystal clear. It was over.

He packed his bag carefully, more carefully than he’d ever packed before. This counts, there’s no going back, so best be selective and careful not to forget.

Take a cab to the airport two hours early because he had no alternatives.

 

They ran cold 

as a witches 

britches, 

which, I understand 

can be quite

frigid

He wasted time

making rhyme

Awaiting

his departure

His was a wasted talent

An underachiever

An ‘almost was’,
but  a true 

Believer

Hours passed

Departure Delayed

terminal emptied

a price to be paid

This wasn’t his life

but one he grew

to  endure

The moments

they dragged by

until he reached 
a conclusion,

curled up,

and died.

 V 

LUNCH WITH NANCY

 

Adolph met Nancy at McGill’s. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was suitable, and Nancy didn’t have much of an appetite to begin with.

She was nervous, her stomach twisted with tension. Her bowels…they were ‘irritable’. She ordered a clear broth, with extra soda crackers, and an herbal tea. Chamomile. She had to admit, it calmed her.

He settled for a club sandwich, but left it half-finished, out of deference to her, and had the bus boy clear his plate well before she was done. She needed time, and he had plenty of that. He didn’t need to rush her.

Finally, she sighed, a satisfied sigh, and was visibly relieved, as she touched the napkin to her lips, and set it down.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Much. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It’s only ‘lunch’.”

“No. I mean thank you for your patience. It’s much appreciated. I…have troubles with…”

“It’s fine. Not to worry.”

“…and, thank you for lunch…and the company.”

“My pleasure. Please…”

“Very well. I guess we’d better address why you asked me here, in the first place.”

“If you’d like.”

“I would.”

“Very well. I am here to say, ‘Your Father Passed Away’. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I never knew my Father. Makes no difference to me.”

“He regretted that, in the end.”

“Well, that’s a fine time to regret, isn’t it?”

“I can’t defend…”

“I don’t expect you to. One hell of a goodbye note… What am I supposed to do with that information, file it under ‘Tidy’, and forgive him? HA!”

“Hardly…”

“What’s he done for me, ever?”

“Left a large void, I would imagine.”

“A void ? …a void? As in ‘avoid’ ?  That’s right, he Avoided me.”

“He left you this.” He slid the folder across the table. She stared at it for awhile, before responding, “I have no strings to pull. He’s not getting me.”

“Maybe you deserve it, if it’s property or money…”

“Maybe it’s divisive…something left to haunt me…”

“It’s for you to decide.”

“Might I have more tea? Do you have the time to spend…?”

“Of course. It would be a pleasure.”

He gestured for the waitress and ordered two chamomiles. As the waitress was walking away, Nancy stopped her, “Excuse me, but, in your office, is there a shredder?”

“I think so,” she answered. “Why?”

“Do you think I might use it?”

“Well, I’d have to ask the Manager first.”

“Would you, please.”

A few minutes later she was back, “Manager says, ‘Help yourself.’”

“Shall we?”

The waitress led them to a closet of an office, so small the three of them could barely fit. 
“It’s there,” the waitress pointed out, but it was hard to miss in the cramped quarters. 

“I’ll leave you to it. Want a refill on the tea while I’m at it?”

“That would be great,” he responded.

Then they were alone, just them and the folder. She waited, maybe five beats, before inserting it and watching, as it got sucked down into the teeth, only to come out the other side in shreds.

“How’s it feel?” she said to the now-quiet machine,
"I think I could do with something stronger than tea.”
"Are you sure?"
"Never more so."

“I shall see to it."

And that, was that.

V

The Wait

close the door

wait for a

                  ….    sound

away from the hideous hiss of the city

no ripple came close to disturbing

the tiny hairs in the tonal tunnel

of his inner-canal

can you appreciate

the loneliness

exposed to us

by those

that left 
us behind?

I grieved at their

funerals

but knew no names.

All the same

mutter goodbye

wipe a tear

from your eye

speak your last

for no one

to hear.

you will miss them,

              in the end.   

V   

HIKE UP YOUR SKIRT

 

If you’ll hike up your skirt and lean over the table…

Why would I do that?

So that I might inject you.

While bent over a table?

It’s just a little prick.

Size aside, it’s the act I question.

I just need one buttock.

Good lord!

It’s preventative.

It’s perverse. One buttock, instead of two?

Don’t need two. But, you can have your pick!

My pick..?

Your pick of which buttock I prick.

Hold on. There are consequences, you know…

Ah! If it’s the side-affects that concern you…well, perhaps you’ll feel a bit lightheaded, some residual, minor…and I do mean “minor”… pain in the area.

Minor pain in the area?

There, there, nothing to get worked up about.

Any other side-affects?

Nausea…but, nothing of note…

Not by your notes maybe, but I think I might want to jot down a thing or two. And, I’m warning you…

Warning me? What on earth for?

Oh, I don’t know…Assuming the position, perhaps? …‘chose-a-buttock’? Or maybe we’ll just do with your ‘small prick’.

Ooohhh! Hah! Now I see where this came from. Good lord, you’ve got me red-faced…I’m afraid I’m just learning this game…profession…intern. I’m fairly new…

Oh?

The shot? I could have a nurse administer…

No, I think I’d want you administering.

It’ll be painless.

I believe you.

V

GRACE AT NIGHT

 

It might sound trite, but Grace felt safe at night. He knew the horror existed, he just didn’t recognize it.

One might add, “…until it’s too late.” 

Maybe, when, it’s "too late" he’ll know. But until then, you couldn’t convince him. 

“Just going after the Dark,” he’d say.

Didn’t make a lot of sense to me, then, or now. 
But if Grace was going to put in 14…18…30 hours a night, it wasn’t going to be in some fluorescent cubic box. He chose the street, where you can see, smell, taste…the decay.

There is no taste to ‘victory’. None whatsoever. There are no victory’s. Don’t delude yourself. You only get a “get by”, and that’s all you’re entitled to, so take it, and get on with it. 

If you feel you are entitled to something more, please check your receipt, 
it outlines the DO’s
...DO NOT’s...

and most importantly, 
 ...your ODDS OF WINNING . 

( - spoiler alert - ... odds are nil.) 

BUT, it’s there in black & white, and if your Mama didn’t pass one on, I guess you’ll have to take my word for it.

Apparently Grace had enough of that bad taste. The last thing he tasted was gun oil... inserting the barrel into his maw. Pulls the trigger... Nevermore.

It awaits pickup...the still figure, slumped in the night.

No rush. He’s not going anywhere.

V

RENO CARSON

“Reno Carson was no friend of mine. Let’s make that clear from the get go. Where he was headed or where he was destined, I have no idea, nor concept. He dealt cards with a higher order, and frowned upon those that couldn’t keep up. I was one of the latter. He shuffled off, is all know, and it’s bound to be all I can tell you.”

Another fella spoke up. Why he offered the information I don’t know, but I was grateful for it. “There was some said he headed north, but North of here is plenty far north. I don’t think you want to be caught North. My bets either, West…or East…or maybe, South.”

I thanked him for narrowing down the parameters. He said, think nothing of it, so I dismissed it. I had my hands full and no help getting a start.

“He may even be in a big city. Someplace back East. Sittin’ pretty.”

That thought had crossed my mind as well, and if that’s the case, I am at a loss. I simply do not have the men nor resources to carry out such a manhunt.

And would he survive in a Philadelphia, New York, or even Atlanta...Miami was out of the question, but New Orleans…? 

South was Mexico, and if he made it, he had it made, but that was long trek.

Out West, there was both solitude, and opportunity…he’d be ready for each.

I’ll sleep on it, but tomorrow just might find me on a westbound trail.

That was five years ago and the dust on the trail had settled to nothing. Nothing was stirring. I was piss outa luck. By this point, I had landed in a bar in Bakersfield where I had taken up semi-permanent residency, at least for the time being. The bar shall go nameless, which it was – Nameless. Which is lame, but just the same, coincidences happen, and happened to be at this bar. 

A guy comes in and sits down next to me…a couple stools down, and for the longest time we stare at our beer, raise the glass, then order another. Finally, I turned to look at him (all this time we were communicating, and very little, as reflections in a smudged mirror). I was struck...Reno Carson!

It turns out he was just released from a Canadian prison. He had tried to steal an auto-mobile, with little success, and had been incarcerated all along.  He was arrested as ‘Wendell Hamilton’, which, apparently, was his real name. All those years, and no one knew. No one had reason to check otherwise.

I told him my story. I made it the condensed version,

He shook his head and said, “Oh man, I’m sorry,”

“So am I.”

We sat there and drank, and, still do so, on a regular basis. 

"You still need to catch me?"

"No. The hunt is over…been over a long time. I just didn’t know."

V