Dear Me

By Anthony Henry Joseph Maria

Copyright 2013 Anthony HJ Maria

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Part

1

 

 

 

 

 

A page from the Diary of Keats:

 

Please listen carefully before these thoughts…

Slip away as they seem to be

Where does the time go?

I wonder if a thousand lifetimes

Would lead to the same destiny

All I can do is hope

I hope for this to be our destiny

Always, in every life, and every dimension

From the destructive natures we live through

We have sparked pure love

We have detonated a love cataclysm

We exist forever

If not in reality

Then in our gracious hearts and minds

Love is love again

You remain the last thing I remember

The dearest thing inside my mind

Until we meet again…my love

 

Yours,

Keats

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 1

 

Tell me…

Does this theory of true love exist?

Or am I mistaken?

Because I think it does…

But everywhere I look I don’t see it

Have you all forgotten?

Love can be beautiful, pure, and everlasting…

Are you too jaded, too afraid, to experience real love?

What if you are?

Is that good enough for you?

Not me…what is will only be…

 

Every time she disappears, Keats ends up in the same places.  We’re staying at the Empress Hotel in Victoria, British Columbia.  I paid the manager a ton of money to rent a suite people claim is haunted by the hotel’s chief architect.  Supposedly he committed suicide by leaping from the North West window.  Keats loves that kind of shit.  I love to prove it’s fake.

When I found her poem on the nightstand, my heart dropped.  My stomach developed a punishing knot.  For a while I couldn’t breathe.  The walls closed in around me.  My world crumbled once again.

This is how it always goes.  First I stumble, and think about giving up.

Then it hits me…this sharp electric spark…this vibrant light.  I get up, and buy a plane ticket to Windsor, Ontario.

Because one time, a long time, and further from anything I ever dreamed possible…She was it.  The last thing I remember.  The last thing on my mind…

she is it

I remember the curves of her toned frame.  How fragile she held herself.  How her skin was like a peach, so smooth, so soft, and so deliciously ripe.

I remember the scent of her perfume, like tangerines, and the oceanic breeze…wonderfully fresh, sexy, and female.

I think of the curly strands of blonde hair flowing from her head, making my heart jump beats.  The sly, reluctant smile, which seemed to exist despite her best efforts to stop it.

Most of all…I remember the white light exploding behind her, as she opened the door…My door…

It hit me like a lightning bolt…she hit me like a thunderstorm.  In the back of my mind, something clicked.  I would never be the same as before.  I was changed…life was different.  Life had meaning, and she was it.  The last thing I’d remember, the very last thing on my mind…

always and forever more

People used to tell me about life.  I‘d hear things like, “life is hard, and then you die,” or “life isn’t fair, and you only die alone.”  There was a time when I would have agreed.  That was before her.  The way I feel now, I just can’t.  I know they are all dead wrong.

Life is completely beautiful…a supremely orchestrated mystery…a grand opera.  Life is like a birthday gift that nobody sees you open.  When you do, an instinctive smile hits your face, and a warm feeling floods your veins.  Because in your heart, you know it hits the mark.  It's the perfect gift.

Life has a plan.  If you look hard enough, life will give you what you want.  The question is, are you able to see it through to the end?

I feel like that daily, and I know by our conventions of life I shouldn’t.  No one would call what I have perfect, and most people would say it is a horrible situation.  But I don’t see it that way…

I think most people die without ever truly seeking what they desire the most.  Instead, the tragic side of humanity catches them.

we are made of fear

They heed the poor advice of unhappy people.  People who say you can’t, you won’t, there isn’t.  It’s a horrible fate to live in a box of trepidation, and acceptance.

I think the key to life is to love.  Loving someone you can.  Loving someone who loves you back.  Loving someone you love truly.

Unhappy people are willing to accept less because it’s harder to push forward.  It takes a certain kind of capacity to be happy.  It takes strength to find true happiness.  You can never accept less.  It also takes sacrifice.  It takes absolute commitment.  It takes self-dependency.  It takes resolve.

Unhappy people would rather be doing what other unhappy people tell them is right, than think for themselves.

They live in keen moments of fake happiness.  But are they happy at all?  They accept this stasis of non-fulfillment, as a reality of life.  They are so afraid to put themselves out there, to be vulnerable, that they’ll live in a tightly knit quilt of denial.  Entire lives, wasted in fear.  Lives wasted in acceptance.  Life in a box. 

life is a box

Jealous as they are, they have no choice but to preach their unhappiness to others, and attribute it to brutal realities.  They look at people like me with spite.  They join forces against me, thinking power is in numbers.  They try to find faults in me.  They try to tear me down.  But I never waver.  I have the truth on my side.  I have love on my side.

I believe that happiness is found in truly loving someone more than yourself, and I am that way.

I truly love a girl more than myself.  More than any pain it causes me, and more than any inconvenience of insecurity.

To me, there is nothing more secure, than the feeling of love in my heart.

To feel that one absolute surety, that singular emotion, makes the entire puzzle of life suddenly come together.

Love is like the border you need, to fill the rest of life’s puzzle in.  It allows you to understand life better.  It allows you to see the plan…the life plan.

The mental stability of love is eternal, and lucid, and transcendent.  All it takes is strength.  It takes knowing your heart, and listening to it.  Forget the things people tell you, forget the things you’re supposed to do.  Be selfish, sufficient, and strong.

Unhappy people will try to make you surrender, try to get you to submit yourself, to the cause of mass consciousness.  The only true way to be happy is to be selfish.  Only when we all stand on our own, and seek what we truly desire, will we all find happiness.

We can all love, and be loved.  It is our ultimate destiny.  But if we accept loving or being loved, not because it’s true, but because it’s convenient, then it becomes an issue and it slowly kills you.  Destiny is not delivered.  It’s sought out. 

I know this because my father showed it to me.  He was a man who found his one true love in life.  My father stayed the course, and accepted nothing less than the most.  He endured years of loneliness and solitude.  But once he found her, he knew it, and absolutely nothing would stand in his way.

My father is the reason I continue to stay the course.  In many ways it’s because of him this all occurred.  I know that without him, I may have never met her.

Some words have lifelong effects, and sometimes we don’t even realize it till well after we’ve heard them.  This happened to me the day before my father disappeared when he said,

“Mason, I met a girl who swept me away from everything.  She replaced all my fears and sorrows with hope and courage.  She fills me with continual strength, and energy, because I know she existed, and I had her.  I mean whatever happens to me now, it doesn’t matter.  I have lived to see the truth son.  I had nothing until I met her, until I spoke to her, touched her, and loved her.

“She is beyond every single thing I ever thought I’d have.  I would be nothing if it weren’t for her.  On top of all the amazing things I was born into, all the privilege in my world, I realize it was all shit until her light descended on me.  Her beautiful sense of life that made me finally realize how precious it truly is, and how much I took it for granted.

“You’ll know it when you find it, Mason.  It will speak to you.  Until that happens, don’t ever settle for less.  In the end, there’s one thing you can take away from me, Mason.  A special love exists for everyone, a singular love that separates the many from the few.  Wait for it, son, and once you have it, never, ever, let it go…”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2

 

When my mother died, I was too young to truly understand what it meant.  But I was certainly old enough to feel a great loss in my life.

I felt this overwhelming sensation, like vital parts had been cut from my body.  She was an organ inside me, crucial to my survival.  And when she was gone, I couldn’t function properly anymore.  Regardless of how little I knew her, she left a never-ending mark.

I remember my grandfather, speaking to me on the day of her burial.

“Life is not fair, Mason.  It’s just not right.  A man should never have to bury his children.  And yet I can’t help feeling a great sense of culpability here.  I feel responsible.”

He looked at me with his big green eyes.  Put his brittle insect-like hands on my shoulders.  Stared straight into my soul.  I looked up at him, too young, and too pure, for such a bitter reality.  He said,

“I hope this never happens to you, Mason, my boy.  This is a father’s worst fear in life, I guess.  I never imagined this day happening.  Not in my worst nightmares.  She was a beautiful girl, a beautiful daughter, and now she’s gone, she’s gone forever.  My beautiful daughter, she was so young, so pure.  She didn’t deserve this.  She didn’t deserve me…

“This is tragedy, and it’s all because of the family, Mason.  I know you can’t understand what I mean right now, but trust me, one day you will.  It’s our fault, my boy.  But believe me, as much as I blame myself, I certainly blame your father more.  I will never forget it.  I will never forgive him, for this.

“I hope he gets what he deserves.  I hope he dies decrepit, and alone.  I hope his cells disappear to the point that he’s like a child again.  Like a pathetic disgusting mess of a person, like a sad intolerable newborn.  I hope his life is a cruel horrific journey from here on in.  I hope that one day he’s sitting where I am now.  So that he’ll know, so that he’ll understand.

“Don’t buy into the bullshit, Mason.  Life is meaningless.  Life doesn’t matter one God-forsaken bit.  In the end you realize it’s all nothing.  You are nothing…”

Even before my mom died, my Grandpa was an angry man.  I tried not to let his words affect how I saw my father.  But I grew up with his words entrenched in my subconscious.  I can’t say I’d ever truly realized it, until now.  But those words definitely manifested themselves inside me.

I grew up feeling dead inside, and out.  All I wanted to do was follow my mother out…until I met Keats Cameron…

I swear she smiles and it’s the brightest thing I have ever seen on Earth.  It took me by complete surprise, and twisted my heart, and struck me to the brittle bone.

She is all there is now, the last thing I remember, every day, every night, she is always the last thing on my mind.

I live for her love…in my box of vibrant white light.  She’s made my days beautiful, purple, magenta, violet, crimson, orange, pink, green, and florescent.  She’s made my nights, bleeding, and burning…

She is serenity, lovelier than any other entity; she is all there is of me.  She is life to me.  She makes every day my birthday, and she is the only gift I ever need.  She’s a drink I’m addicted to.  Mere splashes of her liquid excite me.  I can’t live without her…

Everything she does compels me to smile.  She is like Christmas morning, before the Santa illusions are crushed by the tragedy of reality.  She makes illusion real.

She gives my imagination hope, color, depth, and being.  I love her so uncontrollably much.  I will do anything to protect it, and her.  I would sacrifice my life in a heartbeat, if it meant giving hers one second-chance more.

I caress her with all my love and attention.  Yet it’s never enough.  She still needs more, and more, and more, to the death.  I swear it’s close, so goddamn close.  But it’s not enough for her…it’s not everything.

what is will only be

The stains of our pasts hinder our efforts.  Which begs the question.  Will we ever truly escape our pasts?

I believe we can, I believe we will.  This is what I live for, to transcend our histories, to rise above our scars…to make it through…to come out alive…on the other side…to ride the falls and survive.

Did I say it was perfect?  No, real love never is.  But what’s inside this box of imperfection is something beyond dear, and more than most ever have.

My girl, she’s born with these terribly amazing, and horribly angelic wings.  Tragically they carry her down the wrong path, away from me.

Now goddamn aloft, carried in flight, all day every day, and all through every night, I will search.  I will follow my father’s instructions.  I will never let her go, no matter what.

She has a curse as deep as her love for me.  It’s cruel, harmful, and poisonous, and it never recedes.  The emerald green seeds of her perpetual need are always lurking in the shadows.  It’s the same with me.

So I will do what I must to find my light again, and will again, and again, and again, if I must.  I will do whatever it takes.

I will never stop

I do exactly what I have to.  I search for her trail.  I follow her wherever she may lead.  I never judge.  I only love!  I only love…I will never stop.  I will find her…

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 3

 

Windsor is where Keats was born, and the city is like an addiction for her.  No matter how many times it hurts her, she just keeps going back.  Chasing her precious bygone ghosts…

The flight is okay, Victoria to Windsor straight through, five hours roughly.  I sit next to a young guy in a suit, neither of us interested in conversing.

He plays with his laptop.  Mumbling the phrase, This call cannot be completed as dialed, over and over again.  Occasionally he says the name Elliott Ashford a few times in succession.

I read the collection of until we meet again poems I have.  I’ve always wondered if Keats was meant to write poems, and her parents somehow knew that.  Or, if somehow, she developed the talent because it seemed appropriate.

The story goes that she wasn’t named after John Keats, but rather Peter Keating, a character in her father’s favorite novel, The Fountainhead.

Whatever may be true, Keats reserves her beautiful art for one purpose alone: to let me know she’s gone.

when the heart breaks

the mind bends

I always struggle reading through her poems.  In one way, they make me feel so loved.  I take pleasure in her words, the way she crafts them, the thoughts in her head that lead to the expression.  The way she puts things…

But then there’s the crushing realization that she’s gone.  A longing that eclipses any other feeling I have.

That longing keeps me going.  Anywhere, everywhere, never ending…

*****

I call for a taxi from the airport, and my taxi driver, Rafie Patel, smells like a bouquet of rotten fruits.  Not the most alluring scent to be stuffed against, yet somehow I enjoy it.  Admittedly, it’s a weird smell to enjoy.  But here, in this moment, that’s exactly why I do.

the things I enjoy the most

they remind me of you

I take deep meditative breaths of the rancid fragrance.  Fondle the aroma through my nostrils.  Taste the sour, sweet stench on the tip of my tongue.  It cuts through the old cab with the precision of a Ginsu knife through a pop can.  Delicately, severely…

Slowly driving away from the airport, the dark sky luminous ahead, I begin to picture a moment in my past.

Grade six.  Our teacher Mr. Hamlin decides we should spend an hour cleaning out our desks.  He’s angry with us for something, I can’t recall why; it seems he always is.

Stanislav Foster pulls this soggy black apple from the cavernous reaches of his messy station.  Stan is known to annoy teachers.  It’s always been that way.  Even when he isn’t doing it on purpose, they find a way to make him their target.

I sit far in the back, and notice my classmates’ recognition taking hold like a tidal wave coming towards me.  The smell quickly permeates our small bungalow’s confined air.  As the typhoon progresses, so does the laughter.  Soon shrieks and shrills reverberate through the room.

I watch my classmates, as kid after kid closepins their nostrils together.  A wave of annoyance rushes over me; the group is harmonic in their stupidity of thinking that would block the scent.

Stan Foster notices the uproar and totally revels in it.  He grabs the apple proudly and holds it up for all to see.  His tall lanky body and oversized ears further emphasize the grotesque humor of the scenario to us.

The apple is leaking a black oily substance down his arm, and I remember being disturbed that he didn’t care about it, not at all.

Mr. Hamlin sits at his desk in complete silence and aggravation.  Back then, I always thought Mr. Hamlin’s ridiculous anger resulted from his bald head.

To me it made sense.  I figured, with that ugly dome, he probably didn’t have a nice wife, and therefore not a nice life. 

In a way, I guess, I’ve always looked at life in those simple terms.  That all it took was true love.  That happiness was only found in real, passionate love.

Mr. Hamlin waits till the commotion dies down, and then he pounces like a Bengal tiger on the unsuspecting Stan Foster.

There was always something so sinister in the way Mr. Hamlin released his frustration on us.  He should never have been a teacher.

His boiling point reached, he storms over to Stan Foster’s desk, grabs it with a fury that should never exist inside a grade school, especially not towards the children within it, and tosses it across the room.  Books, papers, and forgotten snacks fly everywhere.

The whole class immediately goes silent.  Frozen in fear.  Instantly you can cut the tension with a dull blade.  It’s palpable, and frightening, and none of us know what in the world is going to happen next.

Mr. Hamlin just stands there…lurking.  Letting the mood settle upon the whole class, pausing for the crowd like a rock star before he bursts into the chorus. 

Hamlin is about five feet eight inches tall, with a round potbelly on an otherwise slight frame.  What's intimidating is his severe demeanor, and those sunken eyes, barely visible behind the glasses resting on the tip of his nose.  Always tense, always brutal.

Physically he doesn’t look like much, the kind of guy that spends more time reading books than lifting weights.  But his harshness, and strict accountability to an unattainable desire, makes him scary as hell to us kids.

His lone enjoyment seems to be his love affair with antique furniture.  The only decent memories I have from that year are when he would regale us with his antiquing expeditions.  If only he could have translated that inspiration to his teaching, if only…

Stan Foster was always the kid to poke fun at Mr. Hamlin’s stories.  Always the kid to get caught sleeping during them.  He was either braver, or stupider, than the rest of us.

Mr. Hamlin stands there furious.  The jubilance we felt minutes earlier is completely forgotten.  In many ways instantly regretted.  Maybe that’s how he wants us to feel.  It often did seem that in school, enjoyment was practically a malicious crime.

I remember the look on Stan Foster’s rectangular face.  He wasn’t afraid, but beaten.  Like his life was a constant game of roulette, and his number never, ever, hit.  Everything always went wrong, but he remained strong.

Mr. Hamlin gave Stan a look of complete revulsion.  As if Stan Foster were the lowest possible worm in the dirt.  As if he were worth less than nothing.

less than zero

He said something like, “Stan, you make me sick.  You’re a waste of my time.  You’re a waste of the class’ time.  You’ll never amount to anything.  You’ll never be worth anything.”

Our supposed teacher, the man intended to be our guide, our shining example.  He gets real close to Stan Foster, right in his face.  They are practically the same height.  They’d be able to smell each other’s breath.

Stan just stands there, silent, sweat starting to drip down his face.  Mr. Hamlin continues to berate him.

“In all my years of teaching, I’ve never met a more worthless piece of crap.  In my entire life I’ve never met a kid as stupid as you.  You’re a scumbag…a bum…a lazy, retarded, goddamn moron.  If you don’t end up in prison, or in the Army, you’ll be picking tomatoes in Leamington, with all the goddamn lazy Mexicans.  So why not just start right now, you little prick.  Why not just start right now? You don’t have anything to say now, do you?  Imagine that.  The big comedian suddenly goes silent.  What a surprise.”

Stan just takes it -says nothing, and gives up nothing.  But then Mr. Hamlin says, “Look, it’s not totally your fault, Stanley.  I know your mother and father.  I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree!”

Then Stan Foster bursts like a champagne bottle after game seven.  He throws a wild punch at Mr. Hamlin, which grazes the side of his face.  I’m completely stunned, everyone is.

Before Mr. Hamlin has a chance to react, Stan is on top of him, throwing punch after punch.

I remember the sound of girls screaming, the sound of eyeglasses breaking, the sound of Stan Foster grunting, and the flesh hitting flesh, over and over.  Astonishingly, I also remember the sound of Mr. Hamlin laughing and egging Stan Foster on.

Mr. Hamlin lets Stan beat on him for at least ten seconds, and then rolls him over like it was nothing, like he could have done it anytime.

I watch Mr. Hamlin drive his knee under Stan’s chin, cutting off his air.  Stan is whimpering now, tears streaming from his flushed face.  Hamlin holds him there, taking extreme pleasure in Stan’s pain.  He tells this brownnoser Sarah Rizotti to get the principal.  She leaves in a rush, wailing her guts out.

Mr. Hamlin holds his knee there, cutting off Stan’s air, until Stan’s face turns from purple to blue.  Finally Hamlin lets go, but not before I feel a rush of sadness for Stan, and anger at the situation.  I feel rage building inside.  I want the power to do something, but I don’t have it, I’m too afraid.

The thoughts keep racing through my mind, images of the brutal scene, the look in Stan’s eyes, and the sinister smile on Mr. Hamlin’s face.  My brain begins to boil.  I feel like I’m about to explode.  It comes faster and faster, and then it stops.  Everything is blank, everything dark.  Nothingness…

Sarah Rizotti stood at the door crying.  Principal Osborne was helping Mr. Hamlin to his desk.  I gazed around the room.  I found that like me, the other kids were waking from some kind of sleep.  Nobody had any explanation for it.  Nobody knew why it had happened.  Except me…

Stanley Foster left the class drenched in tears, completely humiliated.  Meanwhile Mr. Hamlin remained our teacher, but from that day on he was different.  Something about him had drastically changed.  He never looked at me the same way again.  Though I couldn’t exactly be sure, I felt like he feared me.  About a year after I left, Stanley Foster finally went back to the school.  He brought a gun with him and killed a bald headed teacher, and six innocent students…

*****

I couldn’t be happier dealing with Rafie Patel’s choice of personal hygiene, or lack thereof.  I revel in such a uniquely human oddity: to choose good hygiene, or not.  I think of it as a gift, that unlike animals, we have the ability to choose our hygienic practices.  That some of us choose differently excites me terribly.

I think everything unpleasant turns me on in some way…everything real and identifiably, uniquely human.  It’s these choices that make us special.

Keats says that every single one of us humans experiences scent differently.  We all apply our own distinct sense to it.  I loved when she said that.  I loved knowing that only I would ever smell her the way that I do.  Only I would know how fascinating her scent was to me.  I loved that it would only ever be me that smelled her that way.

Life today feels like a smoldering mess…like a decaying apple.  Is Keats the dying fruit?  Have the drugs, and ghosts, sapped her of her energy, her natural glow?  Are they slowly turning her ripeness into a putrefying prune?

I pray it’s not true.  I pray I will find her soon.

Am I the apple being turned by oxidation?  How many more times can I deal with her leaving me?  Does each subsequent break color me browner?  Does each poem further deplete my love harvest?

Never.  In fact, I find this search is growing me, like I’m still on the tree.  Like I haven’t descended yet.  Like I’m still hooked to the life-giving force, feeding off the nutrients from the tree of love.

It can be a bitter struggle to keep moving.  To keep stammering on, and on, and on, when sometimes it seems like it’s for nothing.  Sometimes it seems utterly hopeless.

But there’s always one exquisite vestige left in my lungs.  Keats…my love…

beyond anything I ever imagined

I’m engrossed in a storm.  One that’s surrounded me since the day we met.  All I’ll ever need to persist is the hope, the payoff, that Keats will be there…to calm me on the other side.  It’s all I’ll ever need.  Just keep going.  I have to keep going…

The smelly Indian chauffeur says something to me, something about the weather maybe.  I just stare out the window at the defunct businesses passing by.  Walker Road wasn’t like this the last time I was here.  Things are getting worse.  I pretend I don’t hear him.  He either accepts that or doesn’t, but converse we don’t.

Our little yellow vehicle pumps black smoke out its ass, into the unsuspecting atmosphere.  I watch the smoke litter the street, the cancer of time eating the world away… 

The sky continues to turn greener, close to a forest of evergreen trees now.  Darkness descends over the city, and it feels more like ten pm than ten am.  We all know what’s coming…

Destruction, chaos, and damage, only nature itself can create.  California has earthquakes.  Thailand has tsunamis.  Here in this area, we have thunder, lightning, and tornadoes…

I spent a good majority of my childhood in Detroit, just over the river, and a little east, in this tiny suburb called Grosse Pointe Hills.  One thing I know is weather patterns.

When I was seven or eight, I used to pray to God every time a tornado watch was in effect.  Sitting there, horrified, listening to the news blaring downstairs, or in my brother’s room, I used to pray, swear that if he’d keep the tornado away, I would never do anything bad.

My brother Julian used to tell me God didn’t exist, that I was wasting my time praying to him…I didn’t care…I needed to say it to feel safe.

Amazing things happened in tornadoes, dangerous things.  The only safe place was the basement.  I’d always want to go down there, but my brothers made fun of me, called me names.  I packed a suitcase, with who knows what, whatever I needed back then.  Just to be safe.  Just in case.  I was going to be ready.

Nowadays, I find thunderstorms one of the most beautiful things in the world.  But I rarely see them anymore.  Except when I'm back here, in this city.  There's something so fitting about it.

a storm of my own

A catastrophic reminder of how potent nature’s energy is, and how connected every aspect of nature must be, for it all to work.  There is so much sense in nature, it’s impossible for me to believe in God anymore.  When I add it all up, it’s God that seems less plausible to me.  Nature has order, even amongst chaos.  The mistake we make is thinking we matter any more than any other piece of nature’s puzzle.  We are no different than the tiniest bug, the single length of grass.  We are no different…

Suddenly my phone chimes…one new voicemail…I’ve listened to it before so I don’t understand why my phone is telling me it’s suddenly new.  I haven’t received any new calls.  Still I listen to it again anyway…

Honey it’s me.  The sky is striking.  The bridge is aglow.  It’s so hard to call you.  So hard to know I do these things to you.  I don’t deserve your love.  But I miss it.  Because I love you.  I really do.  I am no good to you though.  To leave you so abruptly.  I watched you sleep before I went.  You’re so beautiful when you sleep.  You’re so perfectly innocent.  I am so wicked.  I don’t deserve you.  I’m ungrateful.  I’m ashamed.  I shouldn’t do that to you.  It’s hard to say stuff.  I can’t stop.  It’s not your fault.  You’re everything that’s good in me.  I am losing control.  The wheels are turning.  The walls are closing in.  I’m scared.  I wish you were here.  The people are screaming.  I think I lost my ring.  Maybe on the plane.  Can you call them?  I wish you were here.  They told me to call you.  Your brother, you need to go see him.  They say it’s important.  Please go, Masonry.  Maybe I’ll see you soon. I’m so sorry.  I have to go now.  I…

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 4

 

Maybe I’ll see you soon, she says.  I hope to God she’s right.  It gives me strength to hear her voice.  To know she is alive.  I will find her again.  But will it be too late?

My biggest fear in life is that.  I’ve envisioned it so many times.  Getting to her, only to find her cold, lifeless, a corpse.  I know I’ll find her.  But what if I am too late?  What if she is gone for good?  What if she has sucked her last breath, withered, died.  What if she has succumbed to it?

What would I do then?  Where would I go?  How would I deal?  It’s something I just don’t know.  So I ask myself, would it be better to never find her again, than to know that obstinate truth?

The reality is, it doesn’t matter.  I won’t stop.

she opens the door

*****

Redolent cabbie Rafie Patel has us on Riverside Drive now.  A long, winding, two-lane road that spans the City of Windsor’s picturesque waterfront…vivid compared to the decaying monstrosity of downtown, metropolitan, Detroit, about a mile across the Detroit River.

Rafie pulls out a Player’s Light cigarette.  Lights it.  Offers me one, which I decline.  Smoke fills the taxi…like a seedy nest of furious hornets…attacking me like I’ve thrown something at them…carcinogens, tobacco, chemical components swarm all around me, like angry caustic snakes…

He’s a bulky fellow, my front seat man.  Reminds me of my father’s truck drivers.  I’d be there at the dispatch office, and they’d come in after long hauls, stinking like sewer rats. 

I’d ask what was wrong with them, and Dad would say, time is money.  They drive their four-day deliveries without showering, to save time…that even I would smell that bad after four days of road raging, with no shower.  He’d say, out there nobody cares what you smell like, it’s just you, the road, and freedom.  I’d retort if those guys smell like freedom, I’d take containment, and if money equals smelling like a landfill, I’d take poverty.  Dad would always laugh at that, because I was too young to have to be serious then.  That was before everything changed…

Rafie Patel sends an overwhelming sense out into the world…a sense of life being an unfortunate burden…an impression of his days, flowing from one problem to another, one issue to the next, always expecting the worst, always seeing the negative…

Rafie Patel is like a rotting, overgrown, beetle.  Eight arms: two for smokes, two for burgers, two to grope chicks, and two to drive…a twisted smile, hidden beneath a scowl…

As I’m looking around aimlessly, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the rearview mirror.

Could I be projecting this sentiment on Rafie Patel?  Do I have this negativity seeping out of me?  That voicemail…see your brother…there’s little I want to do less than see him…probably no other way I would…

anything for her

Where I’m going, who I’m about to see…I’m afraid of it…I’m nervous.  I want to turn and run, but I can’t.  I won’t.  I have to follow the trail.  Her trail.

she is it

I reassess Rafie Patel.  There is innocence in us all.  Even when people try to take it away from us, it’s still there.  Maybe Rafie isn’t so much a beetle as a butterfly.  Maybe he’s just cocooned by something in his life, or past.

“Aren’t we all…”

Rafie turns around with a question-mark face.  “What was that, my friend?” he says.

“I didn’t say anything…”

“So sorry, my friend,” he says ingenuously.  “I thought I heard something back there.  I must be mistaken.”

“I was talking to myself,” I reply, feeling guilty, even though I’m sure I haven’t said anything.  “I do that sometimes.”

Rafie jokes, “those are always interesting conversation, eh?”

I don’t answer him.

We stop at a red light.  There’s a convenience store on the corner.  I ask Rafie to pull in for coffee.

In the parking lot, on the way out, this little kid is spilling orange pop all down his baby blue shirt.  He smiles shyly, like it’s possibly the most fascinating thing he’s ever experienced.

I watch his little eyes ignite in a glorious flame of childish spirit.  His lips part, stretch a mile-wide smile.  He notices me smiling at him, turns to his father for shelter, and acceptance.

I feel a glow rising inside me, a sudden happiness in the void, like sunlight shining through the storm. 

His father looks down at him.  Snatches the cup from his hands like an animal, yells at him, like he’s expected to understand the value of a dollar.

The father is covered in tattoos.  He’s smoking a cigar, and wearing oversized jean shorts and a dirty white wife beater.  He doesn’t notice me.

The surprise on the kid’s face is haunting.  From a moment of naïve happiness to complete and utter horror.  I feel pieces of goodness in him being ripped out.  Like his entire world has been crushed by something he can never expect to understand.

life in a box

I worry about him now.  How much longer will that childish spirit remain, when this man, this God of his, continues to tear him apart?  When will it be enough…when there’s nothing left?

After I have my coffee, we start driving away, and I picture him at his father’s age: dressed the same way, smoking the same cigar, snatching a drink from his own kid, punishing him like he was taught to do, never thinking twice about it…

what is will only be

Life is a cycle, in turmoil and inertia.  We are rarely the primetime television version of ourselves.  Or the lovely things we aspire to be in books.  We are common components of a sad reality.  We are a combination of experience, biology, education, and fear.  We repeat our past, and we believe we control our present.  Do we?

Sometimes, I’m relieved that we’ve never had a kid of our own to mess up.  Other times, it makes me sad, to think our kid will never experience the love we share…that we will never share our beauty with our child, never pass our love on…

The Hiram Walker Distillery creeps up on our right side; the overwhelming fragrance of yeast permeates the vehicle’s lungs.  We drive past a factory-looking building, and then three round canister-looking buildings, with catwalks spanning above them.

The factory disappears, and there is a park area that lets me see straight across to Michigan.  Belle Isle sits directly in my view, the Glasshouse looking ever so haunting.  I’ve always wondered what’s kept in there…

My dad took us to the Indycar race they used to have on the island.  My brother’s and I spent the day walking through racer booths, trying to find stuff to steal.  I was too nervous to go through with it.  Julian made fun of me.

My dad hung out with his business partner’s luxury section, drinking champagne and eating catered foods.  It was really hot, and I didn’t have a very good time.  The cars only came around every once in a while, and you could never tell who was winning.

The only good thing was the sound of the engines.  Spencer said they were jet engines, and I didn’t really believe him, but the sound boomed like giant explosions every time the cars came around.

After the race we went to visit some big time driver.  Mario something.  He gave me his baseball hat, but I cried because he wouldn’t let me drive his racecar.  I was too little for that, but I was so upset anyway.  On the way home my dad let me sit in the front, with the driver, which never happened, to make me feel better.

“Hey Rafie.”

“Yes, my good man.”

“You ever been to the races over there, on Belle Isle?”

“No, my friend,” he says, laughing.  “They haven’t had those while I’ve been here.  But I’ve heard you could hear the engines from over here.  Is that true, my friend.”

“Yeah…” I say, trailing off.  “You could hear the screams too…”

The river can’t be more than a couple miles wide.  The distance separating Canada from the US is so miniscule you could almost throw a football across it.  Yet the difference in perceptions of Windsor and Detroit couldn’t be further apart.  Worlds apart…

Finally we arrive at the corner of Riverside Drive and Goyeau Street.  The Windsor Casino is on the left.  It seems so small and insignificant, and out of place.  Compared to the goliaths they build in Vegas, the Windsor Casino feels more like an ugly midget stepbrother than a sister casino.  I guess it’s what’s inside that matters the most.

The building rises up like an overturned cruise liner.  It reminds me of what people thought the future would look like in the nineteen seventies.  A bland combination of white and turquoise, accented with gold.

Out front there’s a large fountain display with flowers, and other landscaping crap around it.  I’m probably too desensitized to that kind of stuff to give any real indication of it’s effect.  To me, it’s pretty lackluster, but in the large scheme of things, this is Windsor, not Atlantic City.

Rafie makes a quick turn, and stops in front of the main entrance.

“Here you are, my friend,” he says leisurely.  “Casino Windsor, just as you say.  Twenty-four dollars.  Make sure you save some for the way home! Heh heh heh.”

I hand Rafie Patel, and his beautifully disgusting scented self, a fifty, and tell him not to spend it all at one place.  Something I heard my father say countless times.

I stand in front of the casino’s sliding glass doors.  I can smell the water behind me, fishy and crisp.  The weather hasn’t changed.  The darkness still settles upon us.  The storm is coming…

The blue-green walls and gold CASINO WINDSOR sign hover above me, bearing witness to my shame.  I know he’s somewhere inside these walls.  If only there was another way…

I try Keats’ cell phone.  Unavailable.  I try a few more times just in case…nothing.  I have no other choice.  It’s him or me.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 5

 

It’s nice to write yourself a fiction once in a while…even if it’s in your head…even if it may never come true.

The story I’m writing is about my brother Spencer.  It’s been years since I’ve seen him.  The last time I did, he wasn’t in a good place at all.  I try not to think about it.  But he didn’t have control.  It wasn’t his fault.  Back then I didn’t know how to deal with it.  I didn’t have the knowledge I do now…

Standing outside the casino, in the midst of a rising storm.  Asking myself, should I go in?

Reluctantly, at this time, I decide against it.  Instead I walk down to the water.  The river, as you might imagine, is alive today.  Waves roll down the corridor at eighty degree angles.  Like they’re coming out of some unseen faucet at the other side of Lake Erie.

The mordant water feels angry.  Nature itself has a remarkable ability to convey strong emotions to us.  As I look at the waves, they seem to tell me to destroy the world.  I feel the energy coming from them.  It feels like nature is pissed off, and so am I.

Spencer’s cell phone is off, I can tell because it goes straight to voicemail.  I leave him a weird message, letting him know I’m here and I want to meet him.

A crippled guy in an old fedora with feathers on it stumbles past me.  His cracked, wrinkled face is sun burnt and pockmarked.  His limp is terribly evident with every step he takes.

My body shivers with sadness, for what I assume is his burden in life.  To be like him…to feel that weight, that pain…

I would rather not see him.  I prefer to deny his life’s sentence exists.  He makes me feel guilty for my healthy legs, for my ability to walk straight.

I’ve never done anything to deserve what I have.  What did I ever do to be so lucky, and him so forgotten, so spent.  His sorrow has no remedy, no fix.

Does he ever get real love?  I assume he has no chance for it, and what chance at happiness is that?  He might settle, but in my estimation, that’s not good enough.  And would someone settle for him? Either way, it’s not good enough…it’s not everything.

My grandpa was right.  Life is not fair.  I hope this crippled guy has a greater appreciation for life.  What else is there?  I hope, at least, he has that.

He notices me staring, and shrugs it off.  Maybe he thinks I’m an asshole picking fun at his situation.  I think about saying something, but I don’t know what.

I want to be a cure for him.  I want to be able to take it all from him.  Take it all away, and put it on me, like the guy in The Green Mile.  I want to suffer for him, for all, so that no one else has to.  I want everyone to live happy, free of defections and subjugation.

I don’t want him to exist.  I don’t want to be reminded of my own failings…how I take for granted my regular human abilities.  How we all do it so easily…

*****

The casino slots are ringing in my ears, like I’m a pin in a bowling alley.  Whichever way I turn, things are trying to knock me down.

The smell of smoke surrounds me like it’s coming from the AC vents.  The walls are monotone, dreary, painted a dull gold.  The carpet is a mixture of red, gray, gold, and silver, in some flowing, circular, pattern.

Do I really care about people?  Do I really care about anyone but myself?  These sad old-timers…spending government checks in this crappy casino?  That forlorn cripple…do I really care if his leg is screwed up?  Is his life really any less than mine?  I don’t know if I really do.  It’s all just momentary.

then there’s her

eternal and lucid

Certain privileges have forsaken mankind, and purity is lost on me…I only care about me, and my Keats…

Casinos bring out the child in me.  They’re like the adult version of the boardwalk arcade.  Like being inducted into a feeding frenzy…a piranha, hovering among hundreds of glowing, noise-making carcasses…every machine slightly different than the last.

When I was young, I was consumed by the fear of running out of quarters.  The dread of asking my dad for more money, and the fear he would say no.  I would walk around the entire arcade, searching through every game, before spending a single quarter.  I had to make sure they were well spent…money is time after all.

Who am I kidding?  This scene before me is more like rats in a goddamn cage…

The casino hums, and turns like a carrot at the end of a stick, which Bugs Bunny can never catch.  It’s like a drone effect in here, hitting the button, watching the wheels spin, watching the numbers turn, hearing the subtle hues of balls dropping on roulette wheels, cards being dealt smoothly and professionally; it all hypnotizes the senses.

The air is cool, minus the cigarette smoke.  The machines are lined up in aisles, creating various sections, arranged by price…hundreds of noisy, neon boxes, expunging money, and taking in millions more.

After the first push of slots come the roulette tables.  Most are empty this early…it’s hours before the dawn of the truly hard core addicts.

I pass an abandoned Wheel of Fortune table, and spin the wheel for fun.  The sound of the thing clicking from knob to knob is soothing.

Some servers walk by in a rush, their outfits not suiting their ages.  I wonder what that must feel like, why they can’t cover their legs…

The craps tables are also empty.  There’s a maintenance guy working under one of the tables; just as I’m about to pass he sees me…

“Mason?” the deep voice says.  “It’s me, Nima.”

“Nima Ghomali?” I reply uncertainly.

“Yes, motherfucker…Nima Ghomali!”

Nima is a family friend, from Iran.  He looks scary as hell, which has always been his best attribute.  He’short, dark and stocky, and has a crazy scar on his left arm.

“How have you been?”  I ask nervously.  “It’s been a while.”

“You think?” he says energetically.  “It’s been forever, man.  I swear to God it’s so crazy that you’re here.  We should get together later, you know.  I got some good stuff right now.  Sick shit.”

“Yeah,” I say, bothered.  “That sounds alright.  Is this what you do now?”

“Today,” Nima Ghomali says, sort of laughing.  “I still work for your brother.  He keeps me well fed, if you know what I mean.”

“I think I do.” I don’t really.  “How is he?”

“Same old,” Nima says, getting serious.  “What am I saying?  He’s changed a lot since you saw him last.  Not the same man he used to be.  It’s under control now.  Has been for years.  He’s rising quickly, Mason.  It won’t be much longer really.”

“I’m glad.  It’s good he’s better.  I have to see him today, I was worried.”

“Fuck it,” Nima says.  “He talks about you all the time.  This is a big surprise.  We need to celebrate.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll see you later.”

“For sure, Mason, I love reunions.”

I don’t trust my brother’s friends.  They make me feel nervous…like things aren’t being said, but are being thought…it’s hard to tell where you really stand.

I reach the true depths of the real casino gamblers:  the poker rooms.  I walk under this sort of hanging doorframe.  It’s a circular room, with roughly twenty-five tables.  Less than ten are open.  A big guy in a black suit looks important, and watches everything.

You don’t see people in here with government checks.  You only find true, hardcore gamers.  People that want to gamble on their skills and instincts, not just throw money in a machine like a chimp.

It takes me twenty minutes to find a table to sit at.  I end up in the far corner, where I can see the sports betting section.  I’m not here to win, I’m here to bide some time.  I may as well watch some game highlights.

I drop down three grand, and the dealer looks at me funny.  He says something about it being odd.  He seems to think he knows me.

His light brown eyes seem conflicted.  It’s hard to tell if there’s attitude in his voice or just plain confusion.  His name is Brett. 

I start playing Texas for fifty small blind.  There are two people at the table with me: one is a thirty-something girl in a black dress and tied-back, black hair.  She has deeply wrinkled eye lines on an otherwise attractive, modelesque face.  They make her look super tired, or acutely consumed by something.  She instinctively smiles at me, and then quickly checks herself.  I can tell she hopes I haven’t seen it.

Sitting next to her is an older man in an Armani suit.  He’s stubborn and refined, with gray hair and black-rimmed Prada glasses.  Russian looking, thick-headed, cold blue eyes.

I introduce myself to them.  The man shoots me a disgusted look, and the girl just nods anxiously.  I smile and start playing, starting with a low flush draw.  The Stalin lover raises five bills to begin, and I call it, just to see the flop.  He looks at me frowning, and starts playing with his gray mustache.  Maybe he doesn’t like company, or competition.

“What’s your family name?” he throws out, surprising me.  His accent is definitely Russian.

“Gallo,” I say cautiously.

“This is not surprising,” he says confidently.  “You are a spitting image, as they say here.”

“You know my brother?”

“Very well, comrade.  We have several arrangements.  But I like to think of him as a friend.  He’s more than just an associate.  Perhaps we will be friends as well.  Are you here to join us?”

He takes a cigar from a silver case he pulls from his inside coat pocket, lights it.  The strong, deep, Cuban tobacco permeates my senses.

“I’m just passing through,” I say, conflicted. 

“That’s too bad,” he says, eyeing me sharply.  “We can always use another Gallo man here.”

Maybe this is all bullshit.  Maybe this is some kind of trap.  How am I supposed to know?  What are the impossible odds I’d sit at this guy’s table?

The only thing I truly know is that nothing short of murder will pull me away from this table, not today.  I wait…for she is in the wake…

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 6

 

“Well, well, look what the mother fucking pussy dragged in…Mason…I was starting to think I’d never see you again.”

My brother’s smile is wide and pretty.  Like a happy ball of energy, traveling aimlessly through the atmosphere, it hits me, and I receive it, and instantly I feel less burdened.

“Yeah well, I’m here now, right?  You look good. I like the beard.  Makes you look sophisticated.  Not old, I swear…”

“Ha ha ha,” he mocks.  “You’re a comedian now…Go fuck yourself, little brother.  I’d still wipe the floorboards with you anytime.”

I’m down three thousand cash, and a variety of people have come and gone.  The Russian and his friend are the only people still here.  Despite my best efforts to avoid conversation, he’s been telling me stories for hours…

“Funny,” Spencer says, tensing his eyebrows.  “You managed to find my table.  Sergei, is this your doing?”

“The odds,” Sergei says, rising from his seat, “would say so.  But this is total providence.  He landed here with me.  His own volition.”

I watch the dynamic between them.  It’s obvious to me that Spencer doesn’t feel the same way about their relationship as Sergei does.  It’s not blatant, but it’s there.

“Of course,” Spencer says, smiling mischievously.  “Mason is a special case, Sergei.  So I take it you’ve been introduced?”

“Yeah,” I say hastily.  “Sergei’s been telling me stories.”

“Well,” Spencer replies leisurely, “Sergei Rachenkov is known for little else, right buddy?”

“I do like to discourse, comrade.  What can I say, it’s the business I’m in.”

I’m surprised by Spencer’s lightheartedness.  I haven’t seen it since I was really young.  The Spencer I know always takes life way too seriously.  It’s something people say about many members of the Gallo family.

The Spencer I know is charismatic, but hard to enjoy in long spells, and impossible when he gets into certain moods.  Spencer feels his moods so goddamn deeply, and because of that, he’s always had trouble with people.

The Spencer I know is terribly overconfident, to the point of overindulgent arrogance.  I’m left to wonder who this Spencer Gallo before me really is. 

“You’re in my seat, bro,” Spencer says, smiling.

I get up and move over.  Although I want to, we don’t hug or shake hands.  He just sits down, so I sit down next to him.

“So Mason J, what do you drink?”

Spencer has been a shut-in at Casino Windsor for years now, practically since the day it was built.  At least that’s what I’ve heard.  Although he’s never been paid a legitimate dime for any services rendered, they do technically sign his checks.  Of course, he’ll never qualify for any medical or dental benefits.

I guess Spencer is like Windsor’s version of The Aviator, except outside these casino walls, nobody really knows my brother.  Most people will never know where he came from, and they’ll probably never meet him.  Only those lucky enough to sit at his table will meet my dear sibling.  That’s exactly the way he likes it.

He has been gambling since birth it seems.  I guess the game excites him.  Who knows, maybe he likes the fate of the whole thing.  Either way, it’s not for the financing. 

Spencer is taller than I am, and wider in build.  His rugged face is prettier, and he’s by far the charismatic one.  Like every guy in our family, he has a big long Italian nose and uncharacteristically light skin.  Spencer has dark reddish hair, straight as an arrow.  Mine is very curly, and lighter.  Today he has it slicked back, long.

Spencer’s eyes are amazingly grayish blue.  They suck you straight in, like a tracking device in Star Trek.  Typically, twenty-four hours later, they spit you back out, naked, alone, abused, and wondering what the hell just happened.

“I’ve thought about quitting,” I say bashfully.

“Well,” he responds with an air of acceptance I don’t expect.  “What fun would life be without having things to quit?  You know, little brother, if I didn’t have my vices, I’d have nothing at all.  Controlled dependence, Mason, that’s what I call it.  Addiction is for the weak-minded, bro.  Those who need to feel like they have no control, like it’s out of their control, like they aren’t responsible.  It’s their excuse.

“I learned a long time ago that the mind has absolutely no limits.  Nothing is beyond our control.  Anyone who tries to tell you otherwise is fucking debole.  The mind is our playground, our sandbox.  It’s pliable.  It becomes what we want it to.  It does what we need it to.  People who can’t control their own minds are running rampant.  We feed their incompetence.  Excuses, lies, deceit, transferring blame…we’re a corrupt society, Mason.  Suckers.

“They’ll try to say you can’t control these things, because somewhere it pays to say that.  There are forces at work in the world…profiteers.  In a lot of ways I am one of them, profiting off the weakness of others.  Don’t be a victim, Mason.  It’s unbecoming of us.”

“I just said I’ve thought about it, man,” I say, defending myself.  “Relax.  Besides, it’s not like I’m gonna go join a program or anything.  I know that bullshit dogma.  I know it’s all on me.”

“In Russia,” Sergei interjects, “we call these kind of people сосунок …”

“Exactly,” Spencer confirms, “fucking suckers!”

“Anyway,” I say, changing the subject.  “I’m glad to hear you’re under control, you seem happier.”

Yeah,” Spencer jokes, looking at Sergei.  “I don’t have much choice.”

“Whatever,” I defend.  “I know what’s in your heart, Spencer.  I know it’s good.  Somewhere along the way that got lost.  We’re very similar, in that way.”

“You think you know me, Mason,” he says cryptically, as I fade away from the conversation.  “But you…”

Growing up, I barely saw my two brothers.  Really I didn’t know much of them at all.  But of the two, I knew Spencer the most.  For a while he was the person I looked up to.  He would teach me things, about life, about girls.  He was always so cool, and although people never seemed to like him, they always followed him.  Spencer always had a bunch of girls chasing him.  I wanted to be just like him.  I thought he knew it all, had it all.

As a child he was so happy.  He just had this exuberance towards life, this benevolence about him.  But then one day that all changed.  Like it was on a dime.

Suddenly he was gone…vanished.  Four years passed without a word.  Until finally, when I was seven, he came home, a different person entirely.  It changed my whole life.

what is can only be

“Mason!” Spencer laments.  “Snap out of it brother.  I see some things never change.”

“Maybe so,” I tell him recovering.  “What were you saying?”

“I was saying,” he continues unabated.  “You think you know me.  But you don’t.  I don’t care what they say about you, Mason.  Some things are just meant to be.”

“That’s funny,” I say smugly.  “You don’t even know how goddamn true that is to me.  Do you even remember that night?  When you came back home?”

Immediately, Spencer gets irritated.  He tries to hide it as best he can, but it’s obvious.  He doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Sergei,” he says sharply, while staring at me.  “Excuse us, will you.  We’ll talk later.  I think I should show my little brother around.  It’s not so often we get to reminisce.  Mason, will you join me…”

*****

The night Spencer came back, he snuck into the house after we were all asleep.  I had a nightmare that night, about him being gutted by this gargantuan African guy with a scythe.  Spence was dangling by his hands from a tree branch in the middle of a desert.  After the guy cut Spencer open, he reached in and started pulling out organs, and all sorts of bloody parts.

The whole time, Spencer just kept looking straight at me like he was trying to tell me something -to make me understand something.

I woke up feverish, and couldn’t think of going back to sleep.  I crept past my parent’s room, and went downstairs, guided by instinct.  There he was…seated at our kitchen table with the lights off.

At first I was petrified, and thought it was a ghost.  Seeing him there right after having the dream was miraculous.  It caught me totally off guard.  I thought maybe I was still asleep.

I asked him if it was real…if he was really there.  The way he responded was unusual; he seemed different from the last time I had seen him.

“Little brother,” he said vehemently.  “Please sit with me.  I wasn’t sure I wanted you to find me.  A hundred times already, I’ve considered leaving.  I don’t know what to do really…should I keep this secret the rest of my life?  I’m so misplaced…is it right of me to influence another?

“I live with this regret, and every day the pain is the same.  It never goes away.  Fuck what people say about time healing all wounds.  Time has only given me moments of reprieve.  The pain is still there, like the day it happened.  It never goes away.

“I’ve heard what people say about you, Mason.  To hear the stories is one thing, but to actually witness it…that’s different.  To think that when I came here, I sat down and thought about you…and then you came…”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” I yelled, ashamed.  “It just happens.  I can’t control it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Spencer said, wrapping his arms around me.  “Be proud, brother.  You have a gift.  You’re special, Mason.  Don’t be afraid to be different.

“I wasn’t sure if I could tell you or not.  I knew I would probably never tell anyone else.  I swear it’s so funny, little brother.  I sat here, and thought about you finding me…”

Abruptly his demeanor changed.  Like he had a sudden realization.  Slowly he let me go, and walked backwards until he bumped into the kitchen counter.  There was shock and horror on his face…

“I suppose,” he said, ghastly, “you already know, don’t you…you can see it, can’t you?”

I couldn’t.  I had no clue what he was talking about.  I was frightened by his change…he grabbed a Vodka bottle from the cabinet and swigged from it.

He looked at me with big terror-stricken eyes.  “I didn’t mean it, Mason.  I swear to God.  I didn’t.”

“It’s okay, Spencer.  I believe you.”

I did believe him.  In those days I worshipped Spencer.  I trusted him completely.  When he calmed down a bit, we sat at the kitchen table, silently…

He just smiled at me, for longer than I could understand why.  Finally he spoke.

“It’s sad, little brother, but fear is what most of us are made of.  It’s these fears that truly reveal our insides.  We are fear, blood, veins, muscles, and bones…We are scared cells, multiplying and contracting, spreading and disappearing, always scared out of our minds, desperately trying to convince ourselves that we belong, that we have value…

“I don’t think I’m a horrible person, Mason, but I have sinned severely.  This is my punishment, and I understand that.  I will have to live with this for the rest of my life.  I deserve it.  It would be wrong of me to ask forgiveness.  In fact, I never will.  I don’t want to be forgiven.  I want to remember. 

“I think about it every day, and it never, ever, goes away.  There’s only one thing I can do to ease my pain even just slightly.  I want to warn you, Mason.  I want to pass on something good for once…I want to pass my awakening to you, before it’s too late.

”This will be hard for you to understand, Mason —I know you well enough.  But trust me, this is for your own good.  To save you the tragedy the rest of us have endured…

“Remember this, brother.  No matter what you do in life.  No matter where you go.  Never fall in love!  I know it doesn’t make any sense, but trust me.  Just don’t.  Just turn, and run.  Just let it go.  Love is the end of life…”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 7

 

As we walk into the main game room, I notice how much busier the casino is.  It’s Friday night.  I guess people are in the mood to take chances with life.  Make some easy cash, cure all their sorrows, and alleviate the pain of past failures.  In the back of our minds, we know the house always wins.  But isn’t it fun to try?  Isn’t it exciting to take that chance?

I’m about to take a chance, one with odds no better than hitting on nineteen.  Still, the slim possibility of getting what I want…that cancels all.

I will never stop

Spencer leads me to a closed bar which he has a key for.  The place is called Kabal, in the lobby of the newer hotel.  It’s a very open-concept, warehouse style, with the outside wall made of glass, overlooking the river…

We start drinking vodka crans, which Spencer pours for us, taken from a granite bar lined with bottles, opposite a wall-sized mirror.  After laying out some lines, he offers me a variety of pills, both of which I struggle to decline.  Gradually, Spencer is beginning to resemble the old version of himself, the one that had no hope and no control.

“It’s been a long time, Mason,” he says sourly.  “I’ve tried to forget all that.  I’ve tried to do what I can…to forget.  I can’t say it’s been easy.  But it is what it is.  There’s not much I can do.  This life I lead now, it suffices, it’s what I’m allowed.”

“I don’t get it, Spencer.”  I’m discouraged.  “That night you told me to never fall in love.  You said it was to protect me…protect me from what?”

“It’s happened,” he says solemnly.  His eyes narrow, and turn brutally concerned.  “Hasn’t it, Mason?  Fuck…I always knew this day would come.  What’s her name, little brother?”

“Keats,” I say, feeling hollow inside.  “Her name is Keats, Spencer…she is everything to me…”

beyond my wildest dreams

“You have to understand,” he says, pouring more drinks.  “This goes back generations, Mace.  Dad knew about it, but he kept it from us.  He didn’t want our lives to be affected prematurely.  If it was going to happen eventually, he thought, let us discover the truth for ourselves…

“Who knows, maybe he thought things had changed.  Maybe he thought we could escape.  That’s why they came here…to get away…

“But, as I came to find out, we hadn’t.  Just like Pop, and Julian after me, I was robbed of my love.  All I was trying to do was save you.  Save you from the inevitable sorrow of this…this fucking family disease.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Neither do I, Mason,” he says dejectedly.

I can’t tell if it’s the truth, but a moment of forlorn kindness passes between us.

“I demanded candour from Julian, and Pop, and neither one of those fucking dicks would fess up.  Maybe you’d have better luck though, considering…”

“Then what makes you think we’re…infected?”

“He told me…the day it happened…”

“Who?”

“His first name is Victor, and he only has half a face.  That’s as much as I know.  The guys with him, they called him Mr. M.  Victor M.”

“But,” I say, irritably confused.  “You said you didn’t know what the hell it was about.”

“I don’t, Mason,” he replies compassionately.  “He just said, love would never be mine.  As long as I live, I’ll never be able to love a woman.  This was our curse…our penitence.  That was it, he never said why.”

*****

We spend a few hours in Kabal, drinking till Spencer is pretty drunk.  He continues to try and push blow and pills on me.  I’m not exactly sure where I’m finding the strength to say no…every time he offers, I want it more…

I am the apple

Throughout our conversation, I prod Spencer on the off chance he’s lying about this curse thing.  Or even if he’s lying about what he knows.  But he seems ingenuous.  He doesn’t let anything on…

As the employees begin to arrive we decide to jet.  It’s probably ten or eleven.  It’s hard to judge.  The hotel lobby is filled with people in some sort of group.  The women are all wearing red dresses and purple summer hats, the men black tuxes and fedoras.

“What the hell is this?” I say, louder than I expected.

Spencer starts laughing hysterically. 

“Hey,” he yells at one of the men.  “John Dillinger, what the fuck are you motherfuckers all about?”

The man just looks at him awkwardly, scared even.

“I asked you a question, fucking Capone.  What is this shit?”

The way the man looks, worried, frightened, and innocent, I start to feel really bad.

“Forget it, Spencer, leave them alone.”

Spencer keeps staring at the guy, instigating shit.

“Seriously, Spencer, just quit it.”

“Jesus Christ, Mason,” he says, annoyed.  “I’m just fucking with him, you’re the one who asked.  Don’t be such a fucking pussy.”

“You’re an asshole,” I say aggressively.

“Aww,” he mocks me, “you gonna fucking cry now, little bitch.”

“Fuck you,” I say, throwing a punch at his chest.  “You fucking cocksucker!”

On impact, he grabs my arm and throws me to the marble floor.  I feel the icy smoothness on my cheek.  He rests his knee on my back, and whispers in my ear.

“Mason, I don’t want it to be like this.  Just let it go.  Think about her…I’m letting you up.”

what never fades

“Okay,” I say, getting up.  “You’re right, I don’t know what came over me.  It’s just…”

“You don’t need to explain, Mason…I already know.”

The next couple hours are not entirely lucid.  I know we spend it walking around the casino.  I vaguely remember Spencer talking to practically every cute hostess, bartender, cash runner, cashier, janitor, dealer, manager, and patron in the place…

As much as I’m able, I watch him closely, checking for signs of how he’s doing these days.  Trying to assess who Spencer Gallo, my brother, is now…

From what I’m able to muster from the conversations I overhear, it seems he’s telling the truth about his abuses.  The girls find it comical and cute, not annoying and insipid.  Which means the spirit he keeps isn’t what it used to be in those dark days.  They seem to crave his attention.  They hang off every word, and fawn all over him.

By the time we make it back to the card table, the Russian is gone.  Spencer exchanges texts with him, and his expression turns serious.  He says we have to go upstairs.

“Is there a problem?” I ask.

“Maybe,” he says distantly.  “It doesn’t matter, just business shit.  Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ve always wondered,” I say openly.  “What that life is like, you know.”

“It’s not something you should ever consider, Mason.  Trust me, it’s not worth it.”

Then he stops in his tracks and looks at me extremely gravely.

“Promise me, brother.  That whatever happens from here, you never, ever, let yourself be drawn into this life!  Seriously, Mason, this isn’t a fucking joke.  Promise me you won’t.  Promise me!”

“Sure,” I say, at a loss.  Since nothing could be further from happening.

“I would never do that, Spencer.  I want no part of that life, I never have, I’ve seen too much already.  I promise.”

“Good,” he says, still in deep thought.  “Good.  That’s good.”

We take the main escalator to the second level, the strangeness of that conversation still lingering.  There is a big chandelier above us with dangling glass pieces.  I stare up into the light.

the light that gives birth

I think about Keats…her body resting beside me just last evening…the smell of her V on the tip of my fingers…lost in a maze of shadows…a web of obscurity.  My face between her thighs…her squirms, and the concentrated expression she makes…the pinnacle…the release…her spasms…

Her being illuminates my life, her big blue eyes shower me with delight, and her devious smile warms my aching body like a fire erupting in the night.  I picture us burning in effigy.

The fragments of Keats’ energy linger on me, oxidizing me completely.  Loving her is like the universe telling me I’ve found my socket, and it’s time to plug in.

“Spencer,” I begin apprehensively, “what happened with you and her?  You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.  But I just want to know.”

“Mason,” he replies sensitively, “You remember when Dad took us hunting?”

“No.  I didn’t even know he did that.”

“Well.”  He gives a pre-emptive inhale.  “One time, a long time ago, he took us.  Somewhere up north, near Traverse City, maybe you stayed in the hotel.

“We sat in the woods for hours, waiting for a deer to show up.  I was so excited, you know.  I wanted to kill something.  I thought it was going to be cool.  But we just sat there, and nothing fucking happened.  Hour after hour went by, still nada.

“Finally, as we were walking back to the car, I spotted this doe.  It was alone, eating some red berries from this bush.  As I crept closer, its ears shot up, the little fucker could sense something was wrong.  But it was too late anyway: before it had a chance, I put a bullet right into its neck.

“The thing dropped to its knees, and then fell completely.  We walked up to it and it was convulsing, it looked like it was in a lot of pain.  I remember thinking what a shitty way to die, you know.  Three Italian assholes watching you writhing in horror from a gunshot wound.  The whole time knowing the end is inevitable.  Having to look at the cocksucker that did you in, standing above you.

“Dad said, ‘Spencer, you have to finish the fucking job.’  So I did…I finished it.”

I look at him, confused.  “I don’t get it, what’s that got to do with your girl?”

“Wait,” he says, looking away preoccupied, “till we get upstairs, Mason.  I’ll finish the story.”

*****

As we walk through a section of designer shops under renovation, Spencer seems distant and isolated.  I can’t help but mirror the sentiment.

sapped by oxidation

The floors and walls in the hallway are dark granite.  It’s extremely cold.  The shops themselves have glass walls and doors; but they’re mostly unoccupied now.  Only a few have tenants.  The area is predominantly empty, lonely, longing, void…soon the stores fade away…

Together we travel down a long corridor without speaking.  Alone in our thoughts.  Alone in our hearts…

The ceiling has a half-painted mural that simulates a sunny sky.  Spencer sees me staring at it and says, “Don’t look straight at the sun, buddy.  The rays will kill your eyes.”

He starts laughing like it’s rich comedy, and I can’t help but smile about it.  His face gets all scrunched and turns beet red.  Spencer laughs in long deep segments, as if he truly finds it hilarious, or he’s releasing some other energy.

We come up to a Roman fountain thing in the middle of the corridor.  It’s made of white marble, with a Romanesque woman statue in the center of it spouting water to all sides.  Spencer decides he’s going to try and throw me in.   Fortunate for me, the liquor and drugs have dulled his strength, and I control his movements, until finally he gives up.

“Fine, Mace,” he says.  “You don’t want to go for a swim, fuck you then.  I’ll go alone.”

He undoes his shirt and takes it off while I stare at him, a bit worried.  Seconds later he’s buck-naked in the goddamn fountain.  He’s floating on his back, with his dick bobbing up on the surface like a buoy.

Spencer’s body is ripped.  His muscles are tight, and bigger than I expected.  He’s got large patches of brownish red hair on his chest and crotch.  The veins on his arms, biceps, and legs bulge like they’re bursting out of his body.

“Hey, Spence,” I say coarsely.  “How long we got before the security shows up, and drags you out of there by your balls?”

He splashes some murky water at me but I avoid it.  He takes some in his mouth, which I cringe at, and starts spurting it through his teeth like a faucet.

“You’re retarded,” I say, but it brings a smile to my face.  The water gets nowhere near me, and Spencer loses interest in the game and sits up.  All I can think of is my bare ass touching dirty pennies, nickels, dimes, and loonies.

He runs his hands through his soaked hair, and rubs his beard.  After moments in thought or reflection, he spots the closest security camera.  Then he stands up and goes over to the naked girl statue, and starts simulating some awkward sexual positions with it.  All the while he stares at the camera for whoever’s watching.

But still, no one rushes to remove us.  You’d think in any casino, when a guy disrobes and starts bathing in a fountain, that would be cause for concern; but not this one apparently.

Spencer gets tired of showing off and jumps back into the water.  He starts grabbing quarters and throwing them at me, but tires quickly, and finally decides to get out.

“You’re no fun, Mason,” he says.  “You should relax, and learn to enjoy the little things.”

“Maybe,” I say sharply.  “Maybe I just want to keep my dick to myself.”

“Why,” he jibes.  “With such a beautiful piece of hardware, you might think of sharing it with the world.  Beautiful things shouldn’t be locked away, bro.  They should be shared, displayed…”

“I don’t know what to say to that.  I’m half disgusted, half amused, half confused…”

“Jesus Christ, Mason,” he says desperately.  “You’re so tragically serious…It’s like being with a fucking algorithm or something.  Is there anything that makes you happy?”

there is her

“It’s no wonder you can’t keep a girl.”

I rush towards him, seeing red.  “I’ll fucking kill you!” I scream.

We end up in the fountain, and Spencer is able to pull me under him.  I watch him through the cloudy water as I struggle to break free…

In my mind, there’s only one thing…murderous rage…anything to protect it…anything to protect her…

Spencer’s slate eyes sparkle through the water, but his smile turns to disgust as the recognition of drowning dawns on him.  As I become aware that my breath is about to be gone, I lose my temper, and Spencer releases me.

“Look, Mason,” he says, full of compassion.  “I swear to God, I wasn’t thinking.  I forgot the circumstances, you know.  I just made a joke, and what a bad joke to make.  Talk about poor timing.  Accept my sincere apology, Mason.  Please forgive my utter, base, arrogance…”

“No,” I say, feeling incredibly guilty.  “It’s okay.  It was a crappy thing to say, Spencer, but you’re my brother, and I know you didn’t really mean it.  God, I have the worst temper sometimes, and you hit the worst spot in me.”

After helping me out of the fountain, Spencer throws his clothes back onto his soaking wet body, and we continue down the long hallway leading to the old hotel.

“What’s the deal with security here?  I thought casino security was supposed to be like super tight.  You have that all set up, right?”

“Gnaw,” he says sarcastically.  “You’re my good luck charm, little brother.”

“Funny,” I say, messing with him.

“Seriously though,” he says.  “Don’t get me wrong, there’s no such thing as luck.  There’s only energy—positive and negative energy.  Surrounding us, making things happen one way or another.  Sometimes under control, sometimes out of control…but regardless, it’s the energy we inspire that creates anything resembling luck.”

Spencer stumbles and braces himself against a Dior storefront.  He leaves a large handprint on the glass.  He laughs about it, and then looks at me seriously again.

“By that logic,” I say confidently, “those who don’t have control or knowledge of their energy would always be projecting it subconsciously, without manipulation.  Therefore, at any moment they could be contributing either positive or negative power.  By that standard they could, through no fault of their own, produce a positive or negative effect.  Couldn’t you call that good or bad luck?”

“I guess,” he says, interested.  “Depending on the result, and how a moment of chance subconscious behaviour produced X conclusion?  That’s true…I see your point.”

Spencer bolts for a nearby washroom, presumably to un-digest some of earlier tonight’s liquid extravagances.  Suddenly, another voice resounds behind me…a soft, lovely, female voice…one I know so well.

*****

“What’s the point?” she says, sounding confused.

I turn around to look at her.  A beautiful, soft face greets me, with glossy lipstick and nice pinkish eye shadow.

We’re standing in a tunnel dug behind Niagara Falls.  It’s dark and damp, and water is dropping from the ceiling into various puddles on the concrete floor.  The sound and smell of water falling at the end of the tunnel is tremendous, and overwhelming.

Immediately I feel shy around her, which is how I’ve always been around beautiful girls.

My face goes a little red.  She notices it, and smiles at me.  She takes my hand in hers.  Hers are so small, supple, and delicate.

“The point,” I say, struggling with confidence, “is that people gave their lives to dig this tunnel.  People died, to create this stupid goddamn power station…just so that we could have cheap, convenient electricity.  Someone probably died right here.  Can you imagine?  Dying for something so worthless?”

“People die all the time,” she says vacantly.  “At least electricity helps people.  We need it to live.”

“That’s not the point,” I say, discouraged.  “What I mean is…it just sucks.  This tunnel we’re standing in, a guy died for it, for nothing.  It’s like I can feel him here right now…I can tell there’s regret…”

“Stop it, Mason,” she says, frowning.  “You know I don’t like when you do that stuff.”

“You’re right.  I’m sorry. It’s just really strong in here.”

“Let’s get out of here then.”

“No, Keats” I say defiantly.  “We have to see the edge first. You know we do.  We’ve come this far, don’t you want to see this through to the end?”

“Fine,” she says reluctantly.  “It’s just hard, Mason.  Those thoughts are consuming me.”

“I know, baby,” I say stroking her hair, “I’m here.” 

We walk through the tunnel lit at intervals by soft yellow bulbs, positioned near the ceiling.  Keats trails one hand on this blue iron railing, the other I hold in my hand.  Her hair is pinned up, and she’s wearing a torn purple summer dress.  We walk towards a different light source, one that is discernibly natural.

When we get to the end we climb over this protective barrier, ignoring a sign that says not to.

“It’s absolutely beautiful,” she says.

“So are you,” I reply.

"But still, I feel like I might throw up or something.  I don't know how much longer I can take this, Mason."

The water thunders in front of us.  Cool mist touches us.  The smell of the water is fresh, yet dingy.  There’s not much to see.  Just a bunch of wet rocks, and a wall of water, falling five, maybe ten feet away.  But she’s right, it’s captivating.

“The light behind the water,” she says, spellbound.  “It makes me want to jump in.”

“It’s more than visual really.  It attacks all the senses, it makes you feel something.”

“Yeah,” she says in her sexy voice.  “You make me feel something.”

“Keats,” I say gravely.  “I think I love you…”

She stares at the water, reluctant to acknowledge my words.  A moment feels like a lifetime.

“I’ve never said that before,” she finally relays.  “But I’ve never felt closer to saying it.  I’ve never felt this way before, you know.  Never.  Not even close, really.  I’ve never met someone like you, Mason.”

“I’ve never said it before either…I never thought I would…”

“Mason, I'm happy we did this.  Just so you know.”

*****

Spencer walks out of the bathroom.  His eyes are blood red, and his shirt’s unbuttoned.

“Mason,” he says wearily.  “I need a fucking drink quick.  Let’s get the hell out of here.  Go up to my place…”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 8

 

Spencer uses the entire top floor of the old casino hotel as his apartment.  He tells me the people in Windsor think it’s unfinished, and empty.  He has a special key to get the elevator to reach that floor.

As we exit the elevator we approach a door at the end of a walkway.  The door is light brown with a circular peephole and one of those key card locks.  Spencer stumbles to the door, and I reach to help him, but he pushes me away, somewhat disgusted.

I can feel the effects of the alcohol fading away, aided by the cold fountain water soaking me.  The inside of his place is really extravagant, which doesn’t surprise me.  The walls in the anteroom are royal blue, with a white trim on the top and bottom.

Spencer leads me into a larger main room with a wall-to-wall window at the rear.  There are large cascading paintings on the east and west walls, one in particular that I like.  It covers the majority of the east wall.  The style is a bunch of boxes all at various depths and angles, in different colors that accent the room.  The other painting is smaller: a more basic white background with color splotches all over it.

I walk over to the glass wall and stare across the river at the Renaissance Center.  Spencer sits down at a large round oak table in the middle of the room.  Some dark brown lounge chairs occupy the space around the table.  After a few minutes I take a seat in one of them.  The fabric is soft, and corduroy, which scares me.

“Don’t worry about it,” Spence says, noticing.  “I’ll get more to replace these ones.  It’s just spare change.  You want a line, bro?”

“Maybe just one,” I say, and shudder.

“So tell me about this girl, Keats.”

“Keats Cameron.”  I smile.  “She was born here in Windsor.  I met her in Niagara Falls when I was there with Dad.  She’s a couple years younger than me.  Her parents abandoned her when she was five or six.  They left her in the tunnel under Niagara Falls.”

“No shit,” he says, surprised.

“Yeah, imagine that, what some parents could do.  This couple found her huddled in a ball near one of the openings to the waterfalls.  She doesn’t even know how long she was there.”

“That’s fucked up, man.  The weakness of some people is ridiculous.  We need fucking parenting licensing.”

“Yeah, I know.  Who knows what happened.  For all she knows, her parents jumped in.  That couple ended up adopting her.  I guess they couldn’t have children themselves and were trying to adopt, and thought it was like fate, you know.  Providence.  They were from Niagara Falls, so she grew up there.

“I guess at some point she began to have these visions.  She says they gave her this feeling.  That she needed to be back here.  Like the city was calling her.  So she’d go…”

“You want another one?”

“Sure, I guess…”

“How long have you been together?”

“It’s hard to say, Spencer, it feels like forever.  I haven’t left her side since the day we met.  She’s the love of my life.  She’s the only girl I’ve ever loved.”

“Has this happened before?”

“Yeah,” I say dejectedly.  “She’s got some—”

“I get it, Mason.  You don’t have to explain any further.  Come with me, I’ll get you some clothes, and I want to show you something.”

Spencer leads me down a hallway to a room with double doors.  He pushes the doors open and smiles.  We walk into what is undoubtedly his bedroom.

At the head of the room is a large bed with a giant mirror above it.  On the bed are three naked, beautiful young girls.

“This,” he says, pointing to the girls, “is the love of my life now.”

“Bullshit,” I confront.  “I know you better than that, Spence.  You think I don’t know?  You think I don’t see what’s inside you?”

“Mason,” he says, smiling like the devil.  “The past is just that.  There’s absolutely nothing to see anymore.  This is it.  This is all there is.  Nobody gets hurt.  Nobody dies.  We take pleasure from them, and then we let them go.  Let them have a life with some other guy.  Someone who can give them the predestined life they can’t help but covet.  You need to understand, this is all there is…”

“No,” I say, livid.  “This is your life, your goddamn choice.  I won’t accept this.  It’s Keats or no one.  I will find her, I will have her!”

“It’s too late,” he says cryptically.  “The fact that you’re here, Mason…think about it…what other reason could there be?”

There is an awkward silence for a few minutes.  I don’t know what to say.  Spencer rummages around in his closet, eventually producing boxers, socks, jeans, and shirts in cellophane wrapping.

“These,” he says, disheartened, “might be too tight, or too loose, Mace, but it’s all new stuff.”

I don’t reply, and eventually he says,

“Look man, I’m really sorry.  I can’t help myself, you know.  It’s hard for me to put myself in your shoes again.  I don’t mean to be so definite, but you have to understand.  I’ve been where you are.  I know the possibilities…”

He leaves to take a shower.  I stumble back into the main room.  I can feel the sadness growing inside me.  Worse than I’ve ever felt it in my life.  Yet somehow I know it’s been here before.  I can feel the tears coming from my eyes.  I can taste the saltiness on my lips.  I pop a Xanax, and bury myself in coke…

what is can only be

*****

I wake to Spencer nudging me.   It’s hard to tell how long I’ve been asleep.  Spencer is all slicked up.  He has a gray Armani suit on, minus the coat.  He pours himself a drink, notices the missing lines, and smiles to himself.

I open a bottle of red wine from a local winery in Point Pelee.

“I don’t know what to think, Spencer,” I say sadly.  “I’m trying to tell myself you don’t know what you’re talking about.  That whatever happened to you isn’t going to happen to me.  But you make a compelling argument.  I just don’t know…”

“It kills me,” he says sympathetically, “to be the one to break this shit to you.  I just don’t want you to have to see what I have.  Who knows, maybe in the end it would be better if you did.  I don’t know.  It would be torture either way.  But something tells me it’s better if you don’t.  I just felt like I needed to warn you, prepare you for what could be coming.

“Let’s be honest, Mason.  This is the first time I’ve seen you in years.  Doesn’t that tell you anything?  I wasn’t going to bring this up either, but do you know what day this is, Mason?

“What do you mean,” I say confused. 

“Just forget I said it.”

“No, Spencer, what is it?  What’s so significant about today?”

“Today,” he says harshly.  “Today is the fucking day Dahlia died, Mace.  My true love, man.  To me she fucking died today, alright!”

“What do you mean,” I say unsure.  “To you?”

“Today,” he says recovering.  “Is the day she died on the inside.  Sure she lived for months afterwards, but she was never the same.  After that, she wasn’t the girl I knew anymore.  Today is the day they killed her.  You know what else, Mace?  Today is also the day Cassandra drove her car off the bridge.  The same fucking day.  Doesn’t that tell you something, Mace?  Doesn’t that compute?  Every other time you’re girl has gone missing, you never came to see me.  So what’s different now?”

Suddenly the thought strikes me.  What if he’s right?   

I don’t want to tell him about the voicemail Keats left.  As if hiding it could make it an illusion.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I say resolutely.  “It doesn’t matter.  Maybe it’s just coincidence.”

“I don’t blame you, Mason.  I don’t like to believe it either.  Part of living is denial.  Talking about it makes it exist, and it doesn’t exist.  It never happened.”

One of the girls from his bedroom walks in.  She’s Indian, very dark, her skin smooth like porcelain.  Her eyes are endless black, and piercing enough to draw my attention away from her naked flesh.  Spencer doesn’t even look at her.

She walks through the room into the kitchen, and fumbles around for a bit.  She comes back with a bowl of cereal.

“Do you mind,” she asks, pointing at the coke.  She takes a seat next to me on the floor, resting her bowl on the table.  She smiles at me like she has no cares in the world.  Like her nudity is comfortable clothing, wrapping her in contentment.

She wears her long black hair drawn around the right side of her neck and draped down over her right breast.  Most of her pubic hair is shaved, but the curly black strands left pop out like a Mohawk.  Her brownish purple nipples are erect, and she smells like perfume, and sex.

“Take some,” Spencer says crossly, “and get the fuck out of here.  Take those other sluts with you.”

“God,” she says, suddenly crushed.  “You don’t have to be an asshole.”

She abandons her cereal and leaves the room quickly, her ass jiggling.  I watch the tiny circles floating in white milk.

“Just like I said, Mason.  Take what you want, and give them away.  Like it doesn’t exist.”

“But it did, Spencer.  You know it did.  It doesn’t matter how much you try to forget it.  It’s there inside you.  It’ll never disappear.  It’ll never leave you, until you let it go.  The harder you try to forget it, the more you’ll remember—the more it will devour you.  You have to face the truth.”

He stares at me blankly.  I can loosely hear yelling in the bedroom…the room starts swirling, and getting colder by the second.  It seems like spiders are descending from the ceiling on fine, silky, strings…

Some time passes in silence, and thought, or possibly none at all…Finally the three girls come out of the bedroom and hustle out the door.  Today.  Suddenly I understand it.  Today is the day my mother…

“I’ve never told anyone about it,” Spencer says listlessly.”  I thought that if I kept it to myself, if I kept it inside…if I was the only one who knew…”

“Then,” I say coldly, “you could erase it from existence.”

“Yeah, exactly,” he says vacuously.  ”If nobody else knew about it.  Then it’s as if it never happened… like a tree falling in the forest.  I told people nothing.  I kept it to myself.  Even when I questioned Dad and Julian, I never told them why.

“I’ve made this my burden, my nightmare, all so that I could erase it from existence…because I want it to be gone…I want the truth to be the lie.”

“The truth,” I say sharply.  “As much as it’s cliché, can set you free, Spence.  It won’t erase the past, but it can present a brighter future.  Let this tragedy go, you’re not to blame.”

“Yeah,” he responds petulantly.  “How the fuck would you know?”

“Maybe,” I say, deflecting, “you want to tell me?”

That special Spencer smile arrives at the table.  I can’t help but reciprocate.

“Maybe you’re right,” he says, exhaling deeply.  “My little brother, always the great manipulator.  You know, you would be a tremendously valuable asset in this business.”

“You need someone good in your life, Spencer, instead of all these…girls you date, and…family men you associate with.”

“Yeah, but these girls fit this imagined universe, Mason.  They know the fucking deal, not to make a pun.  They don’t get all weird when I’m not attached.  I’ll never be like you again, Mason.  I told you this before.  Time does not heal some wounds.  I can never trust loving a girl again.  And we both know that once you’re in, there’s no way out, Mace.  You know that now.”

I feel sorry for him.  I can see why he punishes himself.  But I can’t help believing he’s wrong.  I refuse to believe in this curse.  I choose to believe in chance.  Things don’t always happen for a reason.  Sometimes they just happen because they’re supposed to.  I know he could have a better life if he could only let go, and live again.  He is so stubborn, and in his way, he thinks he’s protecting the woman wearing his ring, simply by never letting her exist.

“You’ll never control the world, Spencer.  And this way, you’ll never control yourself either.  Look at this shit.  Living in a casino, drugs, screwing random girls, and the business.  What’s it all add up to?  Nothing.  Hiding, that’s what it is.  Hiding from the ghost inside you.

“I don’t exactly know you that well, Spencer, despite the fact that you’re my brother.  But one thing I know is that you didn’t want this life.  Everything you’ve become is because you let them do it to you.  You’ve succumbed to their desires.  Keeping this secret keeps you here.  Because you tell yourself this is all you deserve.  This is all you can have.  Well to hell with that.  Who gives a damn about this bullshit?  Is this life really what you want?  You’re letting them win.

“The only cure is love.  You have to let yourself be vulnerable again.  You have to let yourself love.  You have to let someone love you, no matter what happens.  Love is a sky dive, with a parachute sewn by a blind man.  Even if it goes wrong, at least you’ll have peace of mind knowing that you tried, that you lived again!”

“I only hope,” Spencer begins forlornly, “that you never meet Victor, Mason.  Sincerely, I hope that he has nothing to do with the disappearance of this girl of yours.  Truly, brother, I would never wish that fate on anyone.

“But in this matter, do me the courtesy of saving your opinions to yourself.  I know you just want to help me.  But you don’t know shit about it, Mace.  There are some things much worse than living without love, buddy.”

“Spencer,” I say as emotion bursts from me, “you’re the one that doesn’t know shit about it.  You’re my brother and I want you to be happy.  If you have any respect for me at all, trust me when I say this: I’ve never felt anything surer in my life…you are free to love again.  This can all end!”

He looks at me manically, and I can tell it’s pointless; there’s no convincing him.  I should have known all along, because I’m exactly the same.  Just like he’ll never convince me to stop looking for the love of my life, I’ll never convince him to start.  Maybe in our own right, we’re both lost causes.  But I don’t feel like giving up.

I’ll never stop

I walk to the window and stare at the river.  The water rushes feverishly east.  Riverside Drive is lit by streetlights, and I can tell it’s been raining from the discoloration of the asphalt.  Along the water stretches a concrete sidewalk.  Nobody is out there…

A massive oil tanker comes into view, traveling west against the current.  It looks awkward in the smallish river, like a G.I. Joe aircraft carrier in a bathtub.

The bulky red and black metal machine cuts creases through the middle of the water.  Waves roll off it and splash against the breakwall, frothing with foam like a cappuccino.

Behind the scene, the Renaissance Center hovers like a black glass space station over Windsor, ready to blast off.

I put my hand on the glass and think about Keats.  I can feel her breath on my shoulders.  Smell her beauty in my nostrils.  It’s like she’s inside me.  Like she is always next to me.  Calling me to meet her, to find her.  I have to find her.  I cannot stop…

what is will only be

Back at the table, Spencer has lined more rows of white powder.  He offers me another line, but this time I find the courage to say no.  He shrugs, tackles three rows, and sits back in his chair, sniffing multiple times to get it all.

Calmer now, I ask, “What is it about trusting someone that scares you so much?”

He pulls out a baggie filled with pills, and swallows a couple…then organizes more rows on the oak table.

He looks up at me like I should already know the answer to my question, his hazy eyes shooting evil into me…fear, anger, resentment.

“Seriously,” I say, annoyed.  “What’s your malfunction?  Why do you want to torture yourself?  Why do you have to hide here the rest of your life?  He sits back sheepishly, thinks for a minute.  I watch his eyes searching inside his mind, and sense something growing there, ready to expunge itself.  The room starts transforming into our old house, the kitchen, the day he came back…

*****

 “Time,” Spencer’s, saying, “has only given me moments of reprieve.  The pain is still there, like the day it happened.  It never goes away…

“We are fear, blood, veins, muscles, and bones…We are scared cells, multiplying and contracting, spreading and disappearing, always scared out of our minds, desperately trying to convince ourselves we belong, that we have value…

“I have sinned severely.  This is my punishment, and I understand that.  I will have to live with this for the rest of my life.  I deserve it.  It would be wrong of me to ask forgiveness.  In fact, I never will.  I don’t want to be forgiven.  I want to remember…

“I think about it every day, and it never, ever, goes away.  I want to warn you, Mason.  Before it’s too late…

”No matter what you do in life, Mason.  No matter where you go.  Never fall in love!  I know it doesn’t make any sense, but trust me.  Just don’t.  Just turn, and run.  Just let it go.  Love will be your end…

“I’ve never told anyone about it, yet it’s at the forefront of my mind every second of every day of my life.  Sometimes I feel like my life stopped the moment it happened.  Like everything since that day has been one prolonged dream state…a place where I exist, and walk around, but everything is fake…concocted…make believe.  In this world I control everything around me, but it feels like it controls me…”

*****

Back in the Casino apartment, I stare at him as he searches his soul, or what’s left of it.  I’ve seen Spencer in this state only once before.  It feels suddenly special in the room.  Like light is bursting through the curtains.  But it’s so lonely in here…

I picture Spencer living here alone, with these drab hotel walls and stupid paintings, longing for something, but enjoying nothing.  It makes me sad.

“Look,” he says finally.  “When I disappeared it was because of a girl, Mason.  Just like yours, she was the only girl I’ve ever loved.  She was everything to me, and I would have given anything for her.

“Dahlia, was the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met… She had feline eyes that sparkled like fireworks.  She had a face that was like seeing God.  It was fucking divine.

“I’ve never met another girl who impacted me the way she did.  I had a hard time breathing around her.  She made my heart jump like a fucking volcano erupting.

“Dahlia had beauty inside and out, Mace.  She was pure, kind hearted, and altruistic.  She was in med school in New York when I met her.  I was supposed to be taking film classes, but basically I was just wasting my time playing poker, and getting to know certain people, you know what I mean...

“But from the moment I met her, everything changed.  My whole life stopped.  I became a different person.  There was me before her, and me after her.  Two different people completely.  Once She graduated she was going to spend two years in the Peace Corps, and I was going to join her.  She wanted to help people around the world, Mason.  She wanted to do something bigger than herself.

“To a guy like me, you know, a guy who didn’t do a damn thing that wasn’t selfish, it was more than I could have ever imagined.  Dahlia made me want to be a better person.  She made me see past myself.  For the first time, I saw the world in a different light…her light.”

the light that gives birth

“She was a remarkable girl, Mace: driven to help others, and lovely to love.  I would have spent the rest of my life with her.  That I know.  I would have been faithful to her, I’m certain.  She was my entire world, and I had never been happier, nor since.

“We had been together about three years when it happened.  During the break in her last semester of school we took a trip up to the Hamptons.  Nono knew some guy who had a house we could use for the week.  Everything seemed fine, but after that week things changed…

“She went from being this simple, carefree, happy person, to suddenly having this darkness surrounding her.  Right after that she started slipping away from me.  I could tell, but I couldn’t tell her.  I watched her falling into the darkness, falling away from me.

“She barely finished the semester, and when she was done she moved back to her parents’ house in Connecticut.  I rented an apartment close by, but she just didn’t come out of it.  She just boarded herself up in that house, and tossed all her dreams in the trash.

“I decided to make a stand.  I had to know what the problem was, what had changed.  She lived a few blocks away in this tall white ranch house with a red wooden fence.  Like something out of a Civil War movie, with a red door and everything.

“I went up to her room and found her lying in bed.  The room was painted little-kid yellow with these old-fashioned white curtains blowing in the breeze.  It looked like she had thrown a fit inside, there was shit all over the walls, torn papers, and clothes on the floor.  It looked like a fucking hurricane.

“That’s when I really started to feel something.  I can’t really explain what it was, but it was there, and it was undeniable.  It was like I knew, you understand me?  Like that was the moment I realized she wasn’t coming back.

“Anyway, at first she wouldn’t really talk, she would just sit in bed staring at the wall.  Her parents didn’t know what to think, but they were decent enough people.  They tried to care for her any way they could.  The longer it went, the worse she seemed to get.  Eventually it was at the point where she was practically catatonic.

“We brought in some doctors, but in my mind, I already knew they wouldn’t find anything wrong; it was obvious that whatever it was…it was psychological.  The whole while she just kept receding further into her box…”

life is a box

“After six or seven months, she finally opened up.  That day, I found her in a rocking chair staring out the window.  It was the first time I had seen her anywhere other than in bed.

“She was babbling about having seen a family of deer in the backyard.  She was saying how beautiful they were, how beautiful nature was.  How the world was wasted on humans, how we ignored the beauty of it all, because we were so caught up in our own conceptions of ourselves and our place in the world.  She said we’d forgotten what we are.  We’d forgotten our rightful place in the world.

“I didn’t know what to think.  This was something new, and in a lot of ways it seemed worse than not speaking at all.  She just had this fucked up smile, man, it scared the piss out of me.

“A few weeks after that she finally confessed the truth.  I remember that day like I remember our first kiss.  It’s a permanent stain.  It was raining, and the rain on the window patters in my mind like a broken record.  Playing on and on, tap, tap, tap…

“She sat in that rocking chair, looking like a fragment of the Dahlia I knew.  She had those beautiful big eyes, cat eyes.  They stared into mine, and began to brim with tears…

“’Spencer,’ she said, ‘my love, my darling.  I know you will never forgive me now.  I know you will never love me now.  I know I’m tainted now.  I know it’s over now.’

“I was confused.  I asked her what she was talking about.  I tried to reassure her that nothing could be further from the truth.  That nothing could pull me away from her.

“She got extremely frustrated.  Started yelling and screaming at me.  Saying she was ruined, contaminated, and shit like that.  It was so fucking sad, Mace.  Watching this perfect female you spent so much time with, knew so well…devastated, broken, torn apart.

“When she finally calmed down, I asked her to tell me what it was.  I said I knew it had something to do with the Hamptons.

“The minute I mentioned it, her eyes went icy, and she stared daggers into me.  I could feel the swirling emotions inside her, the connection to that place, that word.

“She started talking like it was a ghost inside her speaking.  She was monotone, and it was like the words came from somewhere far away.

“She told me that the day I went to the poker game, which guys in the neighborhood had invited me to, a man had knocked on the door.  She looked through the peephole and didn’t know him.  She thought he was the owner or something, and for whatever reason, opened the door.  I never told her about the family, and she…

“The second she opened the door, the motherfucker smiled like a fucking devil.  She said that was the moment she knew…

“She didn’t have time to run, or scream.  He was too big and strong for her to stop…

“He brought her into the bedroom and raped her repeatedly, in many different ways.  Essentially, he stole every ounce her humanity.  He destroyed the life-giving source from inside her.

“When he finished, he told her she had to leave me, and if she ever said anything to anyone about why, I’d be murdered for it.

“I listened to her speak, and I could feel both extreme sadness and intolerable rage.  I wanted to suck the pain out of her, and tear the fucking balls off this fucking rapist bitch.

“And she said to me, one last time, ‘I love you, Spencer.’  Then she said, ‘but it doesn’t matter anymore.  It’s all over now.  This is finished.  Because I love you so much, you have to go.  Don’t ever tell anyone what I’ve said.  You have to go.  You have to live the life I wanted to, because I can’t anymore.  I’m gone.’

“I tried to reason with her, but she became irate; she started screaming, and attacked me.  She said horrible shit to me, stuff I knew she didn’t mean, but still, coming from her, it had a way of seeping in.  I got frustrated, and left…

“I walked outside in the rain.  I didn’t know what to do, where to go.  For years she had been my beacon, my lighthouse, and suddenly it was done, just like that?  I just sat there, getting drenched…lost.  To top it all off, I knew it was my fault.  This was a family issue, Mace.  This was some kind of vengeance on us…

“Then this deer walked up.  Just fucking strolled right up to me.  It wasn’t afraid of me or anything.  In fact it seemed to be there for me, you know.  Like a sign or something…

“So that’s when this memory clicked in.  Dad telling me to finish the job, the day we went hunting.  I was staring at this innocent fucking creature, into its crazy blue eyes, with rain pouring down on me, and I went into a trance.  I don’t know why things added up to what they were to me, Mason.  I can’t explain it…

“The next thing I knew I was standing beside her bed, and she was fucking dead…

“I swear to God, Mason, I didn’t kill her.  I swear to God I could never do that.  The whole scene was like waking up from a dream.  I don’t remember what happened.  I don’t know how I got back in the house.  But she was dead.  Then I noticed the pills everywhere, and I just got the fuck out of there.  I wasn’t thinking.  I just panicked…

“When I got back to my apartment, these fucking Goombas were waiting for me.  They tied me up and gagged and blindfolded me.  I thought it was over, Mace.  I thought that was it for me.  To be honest, I couldn’t have cared less.  In fact, at that point I was hoping for death.

“Then this Cyclops motherfucker Victor M. walked in.  I could hear the bitches asking him what to do with me.  That’s when he told me about the fate of our loved ones.  He said that anytime I tried to fall in love, or let someone love me, they’d end up dead…

“Not me though.  He said my fate would be to live with the knowledge that it was my fucking fault.  My ultimate fate was to live alone, and know that the actions of my ancestors made it this way…

“We’re all paying for their sins, Mason…that’s why I tried to warn you.  I didn’t want you to feel the way I do.  I thought I could spare you the relentless burden of knowledge.  Love, Mason, they take away our loves, and they ruin them first.

“You never truly know how much something matters to you, until you lose it…

“They knocked me out, and when I woke up, I was alone in that apartment.  By then her parents had found her, and they were calling me, non-stop.  They believed it was suicide, you know, given the preceding days…who could blame them?

“I wanted to tell them the truth, but what difference would it have made?  It would only have gotten them involved.  I don’t know, maybe I should have, but I was worried they’d just end up dead as well…

“I felt this world I had built for myself crumble.  It was destroyed, and it fell apart from beneath me, instantly, ruthlessly.  I was annihilated.  I knew my life was over.

“It’s weird in a way…because despite the circumstances making it near impossible to love again, I’ve never actually met another Dahlia either.  I’ve never met any girl at all who gave me that feeling again…a girl I could love…a girl that made it worth fighting for, worth risking everything again.  Mace, real love is the rarest fucking commodity on Earth, I swear…

“There was only one girl out there for me.  She was it.  She was my shot.  She died because of it.  So when you ask me why I can’t be open to that concept again, you have to understand, it’s never been about fear.  It’s always been about love.”

she opened a door for me

“And,” he continues, “if I’m being completely honest with you, Mace…If I did find another Dahlia out there, maybe I would risk it.  Maybe I’d give it another chance.  I’d tell her, though.  I’d make sure she knew what odds were stacked against us…”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 9

 

I walk out of Spencer’s place in angst. Being near him is making me feel further and further away from Keats.  This knowledge of things that may be coming weighs on me.  I don’t want to believe it.  It can’t be the truth.  I think about Julian…he always made things make sense.  He’ll have an answer.

I understand Spencer better now.  I see his tragedy, his choice, for what it is.  It’s not exactly like he’s hiding.  He’s just not giving himself much chance for change.  I can see how that might be.  To want to find that perfect love again, but to know that if you do, someone will drop a ball in the incredible machine.

I can’t help but wonder about it.  How far am I from becoming like him?  If Spencer is right, I’ll see Keats again.  But who will she be?  What if I never find her?  What would I do?  What point will be left in life? 

what is will only be

I walk through the hotel and down the hallway with the fountain in it…past the same empty stores…when love means death…life has no heart…do I really want to know how this will all end?

*****

I leave the casino and walk down Riverside Drive, with the expectation of going down to the river.  A red neon ticker sign above some bar shows it’s about two am.  A cold chill breeze is coming off the water, and the smell of storms is pungent.  The street is covered in puddles, and the concrete sidewalks vomit, but no rain is falling now.

I have a new goal, secondary, but ultimate.  I will find Victor M and I will finish the job.  But first there’s Keats.

forever and ever more

I try her cell again just because, but it’s still unavailable.  Apart from random cars passing every few minutes, the street is empty and desolate.

I pass a bar with a large window on the second floor looking out on Detroit.  A young Italian guy with long brown hair and an apron is staring out at me.  He smiles.  I pass a Travelodge hotel, and a CIBC bank, and then turn down toward the waterfront, staring straight at Hart Plaza.

The sound of the waves crashing against the breakwall sticks in my mind like a hypnotist talking in hushed tones.  It hits over and over, a soft sway of water moving and then a crash.  It reminds me of Niagara Falls, only much softer.  Hearing water roll over the falls is like a drug, watching the tremendous force of nature hammering the bottom of the lake with thousands of gallons of water.  Every second is spellbinding.

The drugs are wearing thin.  The world feels warmer, and more tangible.  Certain senses are heightened, others diminished…

I lean over the railing, smelling seaweed, and dead fish…stare across the black rushing water.  Downtown Detroit, with its ancient skyscrapers…the four-headed black beast with the General Motors sign on it…to the left, the Joe Louis Arena.

I watch the People Mover shoot by the arena, hovering on its concrete platform, thirty feet in the air.  I remember a time when my dad took me to a game.  We rode the mover, and it was scary because I had never seen so many poor people before.  People covered in blankets, and looking like zombies…

…spaces, places, people, talk…silence, isolation, despair, loss…make me a movie to watch all night long…sing me a song to accompany my waltz…wear me like a blanket, to comfort cold bones…throw me out the window to fly away…home…

Walking down the asphalt boardwalk, the noisy wind picks up.  The city is asleep.  Where to begin?  How do I find this Victor M. before he finds me?

The biggest question:  Did Keats leave on her own, or was she kidnapped?  Based on what Spencer said, I can presume certain facts about Victor M., which makes it impossible to know the answer to the question.  It’s only been a day.  She did tell me to see my brother…why?

The walk leads me towards the bridge.  Before long the asphalt path ends, and I’m staring at the bluish-green legs of the Ambassador Bridge rising from the river.  I stand under it and listen to the sound of trucks driving over me…metal creaking…wheels meeting the cracks in the pavement…

The wind swirls around the bridge in a tunnel created by its presence.  I feel a chill run down my spine as I stare up at the bridge.  I find a certain place in the middle where I imagine it happened.  Where I know it happened…

I stand there alone, cast away for some time, just staring at Detroit, watching the water rolling along into oblivion.  The moon is hidden behind a wall of dense fluffy clouds spanning the horizon like a fortress.  Behind me, a large maple tree starts to sway violently.  When I turn around and look, it seems to stop.  The wind rests dead…everything stops…

Spencer gave me a key to a room in the casino hotel, and I’m ready to use it.  Once I get back downtown, I walk up a grass hill to street level.  But as I get to the corner of Riverside and Ouellette, I see a blue hospital H lit up down the road, and it calls to me.

I walk over a few streets to get into the residential area.  I turn up Victoria Avenue.  The street is empty as I walk towards the hospital.  All the buildings have a similar war-era design.  Something about the time period is obvious.  The way all the windows have concrete ledges, and the trim the buildings have.  The only stand out is the DaimlerChrysler building, which is new.

Some of the buildings are decorated with Halloween ornaments.  Some leave their lights on.  Some are completely dark, and eerie.  The majority of them are boarded up.  This city is on life support…

Cars are lined up on the street.  I walk on the sidewalk feeling lonely, an outsider in the world, discarded, a being without meaning…completely lost.  The trees begin to sway, and I watch the leaves plummet, and die in the street…

what is can only be

*****

The Emergency waiting room is filled with people in various states of agony and depression.  A fat couple argues with an attendant through a small hole in a glass window.  The receptionist is asking them to have a seat, and wait like the rest of the people here.

The walls are bare white, with a faded orange stripe at waist level.  Some magazines sit in a pile on a table in the corner, and rows of red adjoined seats sit back to back in the middle of the room, and lining the walls.  In the corner a ceiling-mounted television plays the news.  It smells like all hospitals smell, like rubbing alcohol…sanitary, clean, and chemical.

I take a seat next to a lady with her little kid sleeping on her lap, and wait and watch the news…

October 18.  The weather will not change, more storms to come, possibly something worse, but nothing imminent.

When an elderly woman gets called in, I help her walk into the patient area.  Once she’s situated, I take a turn around a corner into a long white hallway.  I pass various doors as I go through, and look into them, but the lights are all off.  I can’t see anything.  Soon I reach an elevator and take it to the fifth floor.

There is a nurse at a reception desk, but she doesn’t notice as I walk by her, down the hall.  I pass rooms with doors closed and lights off.  It smells like feces, and antiseptic.  Finally I reach room 505 and I stop and stare at the number on the door.

“Excuse me,” I hear a nurse say behind me.  “Excuse me sir, can I help you?”

I turn around and apologize to the nurse.  She stares at me awkwardly.  She’s chubby and young, with her blonde hair in a ponytail.

“You’re not supposed to be in here, visiting hours are closed for today.  Do you know Mr. Ashford?” she asks with a blushing smile.  “Are you family?”

“No,” I say, disoriented.  “We’re not related, I just…”

She looks at me…searching me out…she can tell I’m nothing to be afraid of, that I present no danger.  She smiles and her lips part, she has on red lipstick, her eyes seem kind…

“You look familiar,” she says hesitantly.  “Have we met before?”

“Not to my knowledge,” I say uncomfortably.  “But I was here before.  A while ago…this room has some special memories for me.  I guess I just wanted to see it again.”

She seems to understand what I’m talking about, and lowers her guard.

“Well,” she says, comforting me.  “You can see the room if you want, Mr. Ashford is gone for now, so it’s empty.  Just let me know when you’re done.”

I smile and thank her and walk into the room.  I’m not sure if it actually looks the same as before, but it feels like it.  The walls have this ugly green granite paint, and the hospital bed looks the same as it did years ago.  It even seems like the bed is still in the same exact spot.

I stare at the stiff white sheets, pressed like they’re sedimentary rock.  A television is hanging from the wall, which I know for sure wasn’t there before.  On a shelf behind the bed, flowers and cards are arranged neatly.

After reading some of the cards, I walk to the window and look out at the waterfront.  Immediately I begin to feel the past coming back.  I remember the last time I was here…the same issues, confusion, fear, wonder, shock, and alarm.

Hospitals have always made me feel bombarded.  They mark a gateway between life and death.  That closeness crawls inside you.  It’s like a cavern of spirits…of all kinds.  I can feel the multitude of specters around me, circling like hungry vultures.  Some are angry, some sad, but most are just there…just here…waiting…

Mentally ill patients stay on this level, before being referred out.  You can almost breathe in the stress here.  The pressure of life is high.  The burden of these people bleeds through the walls, and closets, and hallways.  They suffer like normal people don’t suffer, they see what normal people don’t see, they know what they can’t know, and it’s all too much to deal with…

what is will only be

I walk to the reception area.  The chubby nurse isn’t there and I decide to leave.  I walk down the white hallway towards the elevator and press Lobby.  After descending two floors, it suddenly stops.  The doors open and nobody is waiting.  I decide to investigate.  I notice a room with an open door and lights on.

I walk up and see a guy, unconscious in bed, and a girl sitting beside him crying.  I’m glad she doesn’t notice me because I can’t help her feel better.  It would only embarrass her to know I’m watching as she talks to her comatose boyfriend, pleading with him to hold on…hold on…

But suddenly her animal instincts kick in.  I love the fact that humans can sense being watched.  That we have this innate feeling telling us what’s out there.

She catches me watching her.  As I expected, she immediately blushes.  I take a step back, but she raises her eyebrows like she doesn’t want me to go.

“I’m sorry,” I say hesitantly.  “I didn’t mean to intrude; it’s just that your faith and devotion is nice to see.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” she says, on the verge of a breakdown.  “It’s nice to talk to someone who can talk back, for a change.”

She seems so lost, so alone.  I ask her to get a coffee or something, expecting her to decline…my mistake.

“My name is Laura.  This is my husband, Jake.  A coffee would be really nice.  It’s not like he’s going anywhere…God, that’s horrible…I shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Don’t worry,” I concede.  “I understand completely.  Trust me, your eyes tell the truth your sentiment betrays.”

She looks at me confused.

“I just mean I can tell how much you love him.  Nothing you say betrays that.”

“Thanks,” Laura says, reluctantly smiling.  “It’s nice to hear somebody say that.”

We take the elevator to the second floor, and don’t say much along the way.  It’s sort of awkward.  Laura is slightly overweight, but she wears it well.  She has a big purple bruise on her left arm just above the elbow.  I find myself staring at her ankles and sandals.  She has long red hair and freckles.  She smells something like bubble gum…

The pain she’s dealing with gives her a beautiful quality and shine.  It sort of makes her glow in sadness.  It’s weird to think about, but seeing the pain in her eyes makes me feel guilty…that a moment can pass where I am not totally consumed by Keats’ disappearance.

there she is

*****

In the nearly empty cafeteria, we take a seat after getting coffee.  I also get a piece of rubbery pumpkin pie with whipped cream on top.  It’s the first thing I’ve eaten all day.

Laura is wearing a thin blue cotton sweater and a woolen skirt with a black belt around it.

“So,” I say warmly, “Obviously I understand if you don’t want to talk about it, but what happened to your man?”

“It was a car accident,” she says solemnly.  Ready to break.  “We were driving home from a Wings game.  We had gotten in a fight.”

She pauses, holds back tears…

“We were both a little wasted, but thought he could drive.  I don’t remember how it started anymore.  I don’t even remember how we got to the car, you know.  I was so pissed at him.  It was my fault he didn’t see the red light.”

She pauses to hold back more tears.

“He was too busy yelling at me.  The semi…”

She pauses to cry…

“Hit the driver-side door head on…t-boned us…

She cries more, and looks at me for comfort.  Her hand extends hesitantly on the table.  A subtle human sign…reaching for another…establishing a connection…communal relations…

“Jake,” Laura says, recovering, “has been in a coma ever since.  It’s almost been a year.  The doctors say the chances of recovery are not good after a year.  But I still have hope.  I know he can get better.  I know he’ll come out of it.  I must seem like an idiot to you.”

“No,” I say honestly.  “You’re not anything like that.  He needs you whether you think so or not.  You are helping him by being here.  You might be the only thing keeping him alive.  You should never feel bad about that.  Never question your devotion to him, to love.  Wherever he is, you can help to pull him back.  Trust me, I know…”

“That’s nice of you to say,” Laura says quietly.  She wipes some tears from her eyes, smearing the makeup she has on.  “People have been trying to tell me to let go, to see the truth.  He’ll never be the same guy again, to prepare myself for that reality.  But I can’t, I don’t want to.  I want my Jacob back, the way he was before.  I want to share my life with him again.  I don’t know what I would do if…”

She buries her weathered face in her hands; the burden is too much weight.  I feel awkward, thinking of things I don’t want to begin to…

“You’re in trouble too,” she says finally.  “I can see it in your eyes.  I’m sorry to be so selfish.  We’re all hurting.  Are you married?”

“No,” I say, uncomfortably.  “I…have a girlfriend…I mean there’s this girl who I love.  We’ve been living together.  She…she disappeared.  I’m trying to track her down, she’s missing.”

“What, that’s so messed up,” Laura says keenly…reaches out her hand and grabs mine.  “You’re going to find her.  I can feel it, there’s something telling me that you will find her.  You just have to keep looking, never stop and you will find her.  You have to tell yourself you will find her, you have to envision it, and then it will happen.  That’s what I do.  They call it the secret…the energy you put out will bring her back to you.  You have to see it happening, you have to think like it will, and then it will.  Is she here in the hospital?”

I’m caught off guard by her question.  “Uh…no…she’s missing remember?”

“Right,” she says uncomfortably.  “I’m sorry.  I wasn’t thinking.  I’ll probably stay here all night.  I don’t sleep much anymore.”

There’s a struggle going on inside her.  Like there’s something she wants to say, but she’s unsure if she should.  She’s afraid to let it go.  In the end she decides to forget about it.

“What are you looking at?” she says.

I’m staring at a picture in the newspaper unfolded on the next table.  It’s a mug shot.

“Do you know that guy?”

“He’s my brother…”

“Oh,” she says awkwardly, then pauses for a few seconds.  I can see the inner battle taking shape again.  This time she has her answer firmly entrenched.  I watch the math inside her, and feel noble to point her back towards love and devotion.

“Well, um,” she says, standing.  “It was nice to meet you…”

“Mason.”

“Nice to meet you, Mason.  I really appreciate this.  I needed it, you know.  I haven’t had someone to talk to in a while.  Neither of us have any family here.  It was just what I needed.  I think I’m going to see Jake now.  I’m sorry about your girl…Make sure you picture yourself finding her, pray for it…”

She shakes my hand, and leaves me alone in the cafeteria with my pie.  I stare at it for a couple minutes.  It looks so tasty, the pumpkin filling plump and oily, and the whipped cream fluffy and white on top.  The pursuit of American happiness rests on my plate.  Carved out of the need for greed in all endeavors.  No work, all success.

Across the way a couple of doctors sit down and share a sandwich.  Maybe they’re married.  Must be nice to work with your wife…lunches together, that feeling of knowing where she is all the time.

I’d love to have that safety and security…but I don’t...

what is will only be

In the empty cafeteria sit two doctors, sharing a bite…and a table with a newspaper open to a picture of Julian Gallo, with numbers below his face…and a piece of pumpkin pie on a white porcelain plate, untouched…

 

 

 

 

 

Part

2

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 10

 

And now, the day I met her…some time ago…the one…the everything…my meaning…

We arrived in Niagara Falls at dusk.  My dad went to meet some associates, while I lazed around the hotel, reading White Noise.  We had just driven in from Detroit, from the funeral.

We got in a fight in the car and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.  I was so livid with him I wanted to kill him.  I felt completely distracted.  I kept flipping pages, yet it seemed like I hadn’t read anything at all.  My eyes glazed the words, and my mind didn’t process them…

so little time

“Mason,” my father’s blistering voice detonated through my dreams. “Mason, wake up.”

He was standing above me, hovering like a phantom, as I opened my eyes.

“What the fuck?” I said, annoyed.

“If you want people to respect you, Mason,” he said with death creeping from behind his eyes, “then drop the goddamn tough guy act.  You’re as transparent as glass.  You don’t have to play games with me.  I’m your maker.  Parts of you are mine.  I know you better than you know yourself.  Talk to me with the respect I deserve.  I can bring a storm to your tranquil life.  It wouldn’t take much to rain down on your privileged parade.”

“Whatever.  Why’d you wake me up anyway?”

He looked at me oddly, with a vulnerability I rarely noticed in him.

“I just wanted…”

Seconds passed.

“Just.  If you go out tonight, don’t go to the falls.  We should see them together.  Do me that favor.  I know things haven’t been…Just give that to me.  Sia un buon ragazzo.  For once.”

The look he gave me was astounding.  It was the closest I’d ever felt to being truly loved by him.  Without another word he went to sleep.  I could tell the funeral was still bothering him.  She had been the daughter he never had.  I should have felt good about his lifeline.  But the fight in the car was stuck in my mind.  This deep seated resentment was overwhelming me like some kind of madness…

*****

Later that evening, or early the next morning, you could say.  I just couldn’t take it anymore.  I had to get out.  Sitting there by myself in that innocuous hotel room, I just felt so…empty.  Something inside me had changed.  I wanted to erase my mind, I wanted to push the eject button.  I wanted eternal escape.

My entire childhood, I lived like a tourist.  My father and I spent a lot of time in the air, and in expensive hotels.  He said it was for business.  But I always felt like he was running away.  I mean I know he never sold our house.  But since the day they found her dead, we never slept there again.

We never stayed in the same place more than a couple days.  Again, he said that was to protect us, but I just never bought it.  Over time, this life became my norm, my personal wasteland.

Traveling could do many things for you.  It gave perspective.  It opened your eyes to so many differences, and similarities, among us all.  Not to mention the effect that seeing the natural world in all its glory had on a person.  But traveling too much also did something to you.  It made you feel like a ghost.  Like you had nothing to you but extended distances.  At some point, everyone needed a home, everyone needed a place where they knew they fit, and they belonged.

As I stepped out of the hotel that night, into the crisp summertime air of Niagara Falls, I was virtually invisible.  The innumerable miles I had traveled had all but erased me from the real, functioning, world.

The funeral really got me thinking about my mother.  I hadn’t gotten to go to hers.  I had wondered all my life what it was like.  How my dad looked and acted.  What my mom looked like in her coffin.  I guess I’d always felt like I never got the chance to say goodbye.  I never even knew her…

My dad never talked about her around us.  But some of his family certainly had a lot to say about it.  It was an embarrassment to them, to their name.

I would sit at the top of the stairs, or hide behind doorways, and listen to their conversations.  I never really understood the dialogues they had, but something made me feel their sentiment.  I could feel the implications of their words.

Words like, “well it’s not like you couldn’t see it coming,” and “you remember the time when.”

They had this way of talking around me.  Like if they didn’t come out and blatantly say what they were talking about, I wouldn’t be able to put it together.  I could never reconcile myself to forgive them for that.  My part in the family was etched so many years ago.  I would never be one of them.

Back then I was tormented by my father’s silence.  Why wouldn’t he speak up?  Why would he, who should have been standing up for my mother, his wife, remain so goddamn silent?

I imagined what he felt like in those days, with all those pompous assholes, torturing him with accusations and insults about my mother.  I really hated my father’s family then.  A part of me always will.  They’re leeching, soulless flesh-suckers.  They live consumed by fear.  They lack the strength to stand on their own.  

It never occurred to me that the family could be the reason for my mother’s habits and eventual death.  But I always blamed them for how they turned on her.  All they wanted to do was separate their family name from the “accident” as they put it.  An “unfortunate prescription medicine reaction.”  I saw their truth when she died.  I swore it would never be mine.

I never truly understood why he said nothing, but in Niagara Falls I was starting to.  He had his place, his position to maintain.  He had no choice.  In a family, showing any kind of weakness could get you killed. 

Dad didn’t have the fight in him to challenge the family.  In the same circumstances maybe I wouldn’t either.  But something tells me I would, even if it meant my life.  Dad wasn’t built that way.  Maybe I’m just more. 

Once I met Keats I realized something else.  That maybe there just were no words…there’s nothing he could have said about loving a woman who had death as a friend.  No matter how much he would have tried, they would never have felt the way he did.  They would never have understood it…but I could have, and I do… 

*****

As I walked through the hotel lobby, I felt ice in my veins.  So much emotion, so much longing, that a body turns ice cold.  We think the ice means we aren’t feeling anything, like we’re devoid of heart.  The truth is the opposite.  Overloaded with heart…

My dad’s words rang in my mind.  “Do me this one favor…sia un buon ragazzo…be a good boy…”

Something inside me said, to hell with him.  Go see the Niagara Falls for yourself, and laugh at him tomorrow, when he thinks you haven’t.  Why does he deserve your concern?

But the steps down to the falls were wet like it had been raining.  Only the sky had been crystal clear all day.  I felt like it was him.  Like he was reminding me.  “sia un buon ragazzo…be a good boy…”

“It’s the mist,” I heard from behind.  I turned to face this gray-bearded, French-Canadian-accented doorman smoking a cigar.  He had on a bellhop suit that was a little too big for him, and a top hat.  There was something sinister in his manner… 

“What?” I said, confused.

“I see, son, you’re looking at the street wondering why it’s wet.  Mist,” he said.  “Every night the falls create all this mist from splashing down on the cold water and clashing with the heat in the air.  There you have it…the answer to that question inside your head.”

“Oh,” I said.  “Thank you, I guess.”

“Did you know, this is the honeymoon capital of the world, son.  Magic happens here, believe me, it does.  But you don’t look old enough to be married.  Are you here all alone?”

“No,” I said, trying to get out of the conversation.  The old guy was freaking me out.  “I’m just here with my dad.  Business.”

“Fathers and sons, spending time together.  Makes me jealous, you know.  My son and I, we haven’t spoken in years.  Issues, you know.  It’s stupid, really.  I see him every once in a while.  All I can think about is go talk to him, say something, you know.  But…I guess I’m too stubborn.  Maybe I’m too weak.  I just wish I could go back.  Do it all over.  Stay out of it.  He’s in Montreal now, in a rock band…”

“My dad,” I said, interrupting, “asked me to wait until the morning to see the falls.  He always wants to see crap together for the first time.  That’s how he likes things.  I guess he feels it’s some sort of generational passing-on thing, transference.  We spend like hours, even days together, and we barely even speak.  There’s all this substance, like these giant elephants, yet all he ever wants to talk about is bullshit…goddamn, this building was built in this year, and by this guy, and this earthquake caused this elevation, and this ice age caused this stupid fissure, and garbage like that…”

Doorman looked at me like he was about to cry.  “Son, it all sounds so familiar…”

“Yeah,” I continued sarcastically.  “We have that kind of peace between us, don’t we?  Fathers and sons…such fulfillment.  So much is said, but all the words lack substance.  It’s all surface material, no depth…we’re more like casual friends, acquaintances than blood…than maker and creation…than father and son.”

“I used to talk to my son about the Habs.”  The doorman let a tear slip from his beaten-down eye… “My wife used to say all the time, ‘he doesn’t care about that stuff.  He cares about music.’  But I couldn’t help it.  When I was young, my father and I talked about the Habs religiously.  Everyone in Quebec does.  But not my son, you know.  He didn’t care about hockey.  I used to tell myself lies.  I thought he would come around, you know…eventually.  Anyway that’s how we broke apart.  We would fight all the time because I was relentless with it.  I wanted us to have the same connection as I had with my father…

“Once his mother died, he stopped coming around at all.  I guess he figured why should he.  Our conversations always ended in arguments…I made him feel like he wasn‘t good enough for me…”

“You know,” I replied, “My dad provides me with millions of experiences to fill my head with.  He gives me shelter, and safety.  It seems like all I’d have to do to make him happy is ask some bullshit questions about random stuff, you know, art, architecture, geology… stuff that makes him feel like a father, like he‘s teaching me things.  I know this.  I know deep down he loves me, and this bullshit is his way of showing it…It’s my choice to be part of it or not.  Your son has that same choice.  You don’t think he knows the Habs are your way of connecting?  You don’t think he understands that?  We all make choices.  There’s never one side to a story.  If we live like two separate countries sharing a small border, it‘s because both of us choose that.  The first step is asking yourself what you truly want.  If you know that, it’s easy to make it happen.  But I think people never know what they really want.  Like why did you come here, if your son’s in Montreal?  If you really wanted a closer relationship with him, wouldn’t it have made more sense to stay there?”

“I guess,” he said, shaken.  “I guess I thought he never really needed anything from me.  I figured he was okay by himself.  My wife and I came here for our honeymoon; I guess I just like it here.  It reminds me of her.  It’s like she’s here with me…It’s all I have.”

“Yeah,” I said, remorseful.  “My self-sufficiency could be mistaken that way too.  I always appear content.  But the truth is far from that.  Only I never show it.  That’s my way, I guess.  I learned that from him.  I have all this freedom in our transient life.  My father raves about how independent I am.  Never once has he considered that it might be tearing me apart inside…”

“I guess,” the doorman said, “when you give your son so much freedom, you assume that’s how he wants it.”

“But there’s a necessity for balance,” I replied, drifting into the mist, “between freedom and constraint.  A necessary balance that I’ve never had…”

*****

I started to feel intense guilt.  Picturing myself seeing the falls with my dad, having to lie about how amazing it was up close for the first time.  I’d be taking away the one thing he felt we shared together.  I didn’t want to do that, especially if this was the last trip we’d ever take together.  Guilt was a stronger emotion than angst.

I had no idea it would be the most important decision of my life.  It’s why I give my father so much credit for what I’ve got now.  Without the guilt I felt for him, I never would have met her…

I walked the other way, uphill, towards the downtown area.  After all, beyond everything else, the isolation, the mood swings, the lack of emotional connection, I truly loved and respected my dad, even if it was beneath the surface.  So I told myself, if I ever see Niagara Falls, it will be with him…

As I reached a plateau about a mile from the falls, the entire area suddenly reminded me of an amusement park.  Although it was amazingly beautiful, I couldn’t help feeling depressed about it.  It smelled like cotton candy and popcorn all the way up the road.  Even though most of the stores were already closed, the streets were packed with people.

I passed a variety of carnival-like attractions, and one of those rides you sit on that shoots you up into the air.  I felt like I was in a movie, like Big.  There was a magical mysteriousness floating around the whole place.  It was like the doorman had hinted.  You could feel something there, or in his case, someone.  I half expected a genie to jump out and grant me a wish.  And inside, I did want to make a wish, but what was my wish going to be?

That’s when I saw Keats Cameron for the first time.  Suddenly, everything in life made absolute sense. 

there she was

Right in front of me, no more than thirty feet away, was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen…all my senses were alive and screaming…could she be my dream, my purpose, my life…would she be my lover, my woman, my wife?

I walked a few steps closer, still encapsulated in a feverish daze.  The dead planet was blazing like a fire all around me.  She was like the bonfire erupting from the bush.  She was the shining beacon amidst the chaotic multitude.

The universe had seen fit to lead me to her, and finally, thankfully, I saw my destiny.  By the beating of my heart, I had made the wish a billion times before, for something, anything, real.  Then in Niagara Falls, at long last, my secret wish was granted…I knew a higher power certainly existed, and it guided me there, to witness…

I watched her interact with some guy and girl.  They all looked around nervously as they talked about something or other.  I stared at her…stalking…thought she didn’t notice me, because she mostly looked at the ground.

The guy talking to her was obviously interested in her, that I was sure of; even though I probably would have been jealous regardless.  He kept finding ways to touch her while they spoke.  It pumped me with jealous rage.  I thought about ripping his goddamn eyes out.

Keats had this orange T-shirt on, a Baltimore Orioles shirt.  The trio was standing beneath an awning of the Criminals Hall of Fame Wax Museum.  Michael Jackson’s “I’ll Be There” was blaring from its outdoor speakers.  The streetlights above lit them all up, allowing me to see her clearly, through the masses.

that hair, those eyes, those arms, those hips…that face, that smile, that ass, those lips…

The most striking thing about her was her hair.  She had this mad curly blond hair that flowed over her shirt and made her look like a lion.  I remember thinking it was the kind of hair that screamed contact, sweating, and nakedness.  Her hair was electricity and it made me glow inside, it struck my bone.

For as long as I could remember, my entire world was shrouded in darkness.  But seconds after seeing her, my world exploded into light.  The light that gave me birth came from her; the radiance and beauty of life, I found only in her.

The darkness was quickly disappearing from my world.  Into my heart she leapt, sprung from a jungle and ready to devour my entire being.

there she is

I watched the trio standing there.  In reality I mostly watched her, and mostly watched her staring at the ground, with her hands in her pockets.  The guy continued to try and get with her, while the other girl tried to remind him he was with her.  She stood there nervous, awkward-looking, until…in one earth-shattering moment, her eyes met mine and I froze, as her lips formed a subtle smile.

I felt a chill flood through my body, and tingles rippled up my legs and arms.  There were thousands of people around us, but we were in a tunnel.  Only us.  Nothing else existed anymore.  Everything else ceased to be.  Only us there…only me and her…

Keats said something to the other two, and then they hugged and the couple left, and she was alone.

For a moment she stood there waiting for something.  Impulsively I stepped around a corner to avoid her eyes again.  She started walking.  I followed her as she descended the street towards the falls.

For some reason when I picture this whole thing, the sky seems to have no life in it.  Obviously I know that couldn’t have been the case, but in my memory it’s like everything happened in that tunnel.  Like everything around us was black and white, and only she was in color.  I don’t remember the weather, the smells, or the rest of the scenery.  I only remember her, and the falls…the sound of the water was louder than life…

I followed her footsteps slowly, about twenty-five feet back.  It was late, but the streets were still overflowing with people.  I’d have lost her if not for her orange shirt that stood out like the sun.

When an ambulance drove by with sirens blaring, I lost track of her completely.  For those few seconds, my heart sank to the bottom of my oceanic world.  But then she reappeared again, full of light, a lighthouse guiding me towards the shore.  I remember feeling like I was on some sort of pilgrimage, like I was walking towards my Mecca.

When we reached the bottom of the hill, I stood and stared at the Niagara Falls.  I took in the immense glory of nature once again.  I felt the pull the falls had on me, like a magnet.  I felt it in my heart.  I equated it to death.  When confronted by such immense power, all I could hear inside my mind was fall…

Quick and pulsing, all over I was paralyzed, spellbound by the spirit of the falling water…and the sound was tremendous…louder than thunder…all I could think was fall…

*****

She crossed the street quickly.  Started running down the lane next to the falls, kind of trailing her hand along the railing.  I watched the mist rising behind her, and the purple lights illuminating the falls.  It was beautiful.  It was like the falls had some sort of pull on her as well.  We were Marietta dolls, our strings being pulled by the thundering water around us.  I wondered, did it tell her the same things it told me.

Cautiously, I made my way to the railing.  I looked down over the cliff.  What a wonder it was, like nothing I had ever seen.  All I could think about was myself in the river, approaching the edge, and the fall…

For a brief moment it saturated my mind, thinking about my life coming to a brutal end, falling down and smashing into those rocks at the bottom.  The End…

When I snapped out of it, I looked around to see where she was, somewhat afraid she had been a dream.  But there she was, further down the way.  She was still dancing along like a puppet.  I walked towards her, closer, and closer, until she was no more than ten feet away.

I remember thinking she had to notice me now, because there was no one else around.  I was so close to her, close enough to see her heart beating, maybe even hear her breathe…even if it was impossible because of the water…It was just the two of us, just me and her, and the falls.  Nobody else existed.

I couldn’t say how much time passed…but finally she looked straight at me.  Her big blue eyes met mine, and I fell into her gaze like it was an endless, timeless cavern.  For the second time that night she smiled at me…then she bolted to the exact point where the water went over the edge on the Canadian side…

That time, I knew for sure she wanted me to follow her.  That was the point when I realized she had known I was following her the whole time.  That was when I realized with mathematical certainty, that she had noticed me watching her back on the hill, at the Wax Museum.  For some reason I remember feeling like that impressed her.

I gathered myself.  I was totally uneasy.  Hell, I was practically shivering with fear, and completely paralyzed by hope.  I kept telling myself, don’t let this fear take you over, don’t give in and hide like you do.  I told myself to be strong, to fight through my hesitation.  I remember thinking, what’s the worst that could happen?

Timidly I walked towards her.  As I did, I suddenly felt the first drops of mist descend on me.  I looked down to see that the sidewalk below my feet had turned darker from the moisture.  I thought to myself, I’ve passed the point of no return.

She stood still even though I was getting close to her, which eased my tensions.  She leaned her back on the rail, and stood facing me, but with her head down.  Behind her there was the drop off point, with water thundering down, and mist everywhere.

To the right I could see the enormous hotel shimmering in the distance, a couple hundred yards away.  I was about six feet from her.  I took a deep breath, and with all the verve I could seize, I looked at her.

Her T-shirt was drenched, and I could see the outline of her black bra underneath it.  Her hair was getting soaked but she didn’t care.  It fell closer to her head, gradually losing its curl.

In a moment of extreme clarity, I walked straight up to her, lifted her chin with my hand, and kissed her delicate lips.

She looked at me, and I could sense a momentary hesitation in her.  I guess she realized the gravity of the situation.  What girl wouldn’t be afraid of some guy stalking her?

I remember clearly at that point, the sky around us seemed to be swirling with brilliantly colored lights.  Purple sparks flew, blue lasers shot out, red bombs went off, orange grenades detonated, and silver shrapnel pierced our bodies everywhere.

I was thinking, could life really be so simple?  Could life really see fit to bring you where you needed to go?  Put you exactly where you needed to be, at the exact moment you needed to be there?

Dealing with my second thoughts, I stared at her long and hard, inches away from her face.  It seemed like an eternity of silence, and hope, passed between us.

She stared into my eyes, and her beautiful face revealed nothing.  I was soaked, and so was she.  At the time, I didn’t even realize it, but the water was cold, and so was the air.

Her face was white like marble, so white and pale that she seemed to glow in the darkness, like a full moon.  Her eyes were a fine blue mist, and pure like the ocean.

I sensed that she wanted to say something.  But she was just waiting, quietly and patiently.  I felt like she could read my mind, like she knew my thoughts before I did, and was waiting for me to realize them.  She had led the way to that point, stringing me along like a dog on a leash, but then I kissed her, and threw everything out of balance.

I felt like it was my turn to act again, to take the lead, but I was frozen by consternation.  So we both stood there, staring at one another, water thundering next to us like the universe imploding on itself.

Finally, and I knew reluctantly, she said,

“Well aren’t you going to tell me?”

I knew I had dropped the ball, being such a goddamn pussy.  I could tell by her inflection that she was annoyed by my lack of spirit.  In my mind, I thought I had already ruined the moment, and possibly my chance at having her.  I didn’t know what I would do if I couldn’t…

“Tell you what,” I said, blushing.  The words skipped out of my mouth like I was a frightened schoolgirl.  She was so hot, and so close to me.  Her angelic face awed me completely.  I could smell her electrifying fragrance.  The taste of her lips was still on mine.  I had the hardest time saying anything.  I felt scared out of my pathetic mind.  I remember thinking, how could talking to this pretty girl be more difficult than kissing her?  Yet I had made that decision in the blink of an eye.  All the history of my life, the pain I felt in my heart, had prepared me for that moment.  Yet it all proved worthless, because when I needed to, I couldn’t speak.

“I don’t know,” she cynically replied.  “Why don’t you tell me how beautiful I am?  How my eyes are like pretty fucking J birds, or some bullshit like that.  Tell me something lame, like you’ve never seen someone like me before.  Tell me something predictable, like you just had to follow me, to explain all that crap.  To be honest with you there’s nothing you can say now.  You already ruined the moment.  So why don’t you just give up?”

It was like she had read my mind—like she knew me so well already.  I was so used to people never getting me…challenge…was that what I wanted?  Was that my craving?

“You are beautiful,” I managed to say, and then I just stared at her.

“Nice,” she scowled.  “What are you going say next…that you’ve always been afraid to talk to pretty girls.  That seeing me finally gave you the strength?  Because you couldn’t live another day if you didn’t?”

I stared in complete silence and awe…she was everything I dreamed possible…

“That’s it,” Keats continued.  “That’s all you’ve got.  You’re going to follow me all the way here, try to get into my pants, and all you have to say is, you are beautiful.”

I looked into her soft blue eyes, and thought about it for a second.  I had no idea what to say to her.  There was something burning inside me.  I just let go of everything and said what came to mind.  It felt like it was the first time I had ever done it in my life…

“Look,” I declared with hostility.  “I’m really not good at talking, I never have been.  I’m probably the shiest guy in the world, who knows.  I’m just really quiet I guess.  Really, really quiet…conversation is so overrated.  People never know what they’re saying.  People always speak from a different place…never from their heart.  It’s always insecurities with themselves.  I guess I don’t see the point…you know?  It’s all goddamn bullshit.

“My whole life I’ve felt like grain of sand, just a speck in a vast landscape, a meaningless fragment.  But then I saw you.  And in the blink of an eye, everything changed…I mean the whole world just stopped being black and white…

“There have been so many people in my life that have avoided me and run away from me.  Something about me seems to repulse people, or scare them away I guess.  But you didn’t get scared.  You seemed to want me closer even.  Maybe I’m just an idiot or something, maybe I’m reading this all wrong, but I hope not.  I sincerely hope not.  I have two brothers who I barely know at all.  My mother died when I was just a kid.  My father is barely that.  He thinks it’s more important for me to see the world than to have a home, and friends, and a normal life.  All I have in my life are empty spaces.  I live alone, I spend all my time alone, and I have always felt like I don’t know where I’m going or why I’m alive…goddamn taxi drivers and chauffeurs are practically my best friends, and I don’t even know their last names…

“My dad told me, one day I might find someone, and that when I did I would feel something, and that’s how I’d know it’s the right person.  He said that he couldn’t explain what it was, but that it was obvious, and it would separate the many from the few…and I felt it when I saw you…

“There has never been anything in this entire world that felt like home to me.  Then out of nowhere I see you today, and this rush of something consumes me.  It’s like I’m looking at life with hope for first time.  I feel that when I look at you…and I don’t even know your name…how pathetic is that…I just followed you because something inside told me to…it‘s as simple as that.”

She leaned in and kissed me.  It was sudden, and mesmerizing.  With her lips on mine, it felt like all of time was being sucked into a void.  My head started pounding with energy.  I felt her soft fingers on my arm, as her lips caressed mine.  I stood with my arms draped limply at my sides, and let it happen.  The most amazing feeling flowed through my whole body.  Blood rushed through my veins, making all my extremities tingle.  The flames consumed me…

“Was that good?” I said, somewhat confused.

She looked at me and smiled genuinely.  “I think so…by the way my name is Keats…”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 11

 

We walked along the boardwalk the rest of the night.  She held my hand, and we kissed some more.  We didn’t say much; it didn’t seem like anything needed to be said…words had their way of interfering.  I was so glad she understood that…

As the light began to dawn, this really nervous feeling began to take shape…fear that it would all end.  I knew for a fact that everything had changed.  I knew that whatever happened, I couldn’t let it end, because I knew there was nothing else.  Without her…

I wanted the night to last forever…anxious paranoia quickly took hold of me, shook me up…the more the light erupted, the more I felt it.  Everything about her fascinated me.  Every inch of her body…every strand of her hair…every breath she took…every subtle movement of her lips…every word she uttered…held me awed.  I wanted to die before I wanted the night to end.

As if she felt this same impulse to prolong everything, she took me back to her parents’ house.

We walked uphill through this forest for a while.  It was dawn, really misty, and somewhat creepy.  The smell of trees, soil, and undisturbed life permeated the air around us.  The murky trees were everywhere, and at various odd angles, blocking visibility.

She marched along following some unseen pathway…as if she knew this path from childhood…just turning occasionally to make sure I was still there.  Whenever she did, I smiled, and she tried not to.  But I could tell she wanted to.  We didn’t say anything the whole way; the sound of nature and our footsteps was enough.  We had something.  We both knew it.  Felt it.

When we finally emerged, I was staring at this giant mansion.  We had sprouted from the forest into her backyard.  I was surprised to say the least.

“You have money,” I said, trying not to sound stunned.

“My father does,” she said harshly.  “Not me.”

I was confused by what she meant; it occurred to me that something was odd.

“What does he do?”

“He’s an asshole,” she said with authority.

“Oh.” I dropped it.

We walked up to this iron fence surrounding the main house. The sky was ceramic.  I followed her to this high side gate.  She punched in a code, and it opened.  She smiled at me, challenging my doubt.

“So what?” I said.  “Anyone could get that.”

“You’ll see,” she said and took off running.

I stormed up the lawn, after her.  As we were running towards the house, the sprinkler system started up and put us in its crossfire.  I tried to dodge the water, as if I wasn’t already soaked.  She went straight for it.  I watched her playing like a child, and admired her courage.  She didn’t care what I thought, she wasn’t afraid to be who she was.  When I reached her she started kissing me straight away.  I threw her down on the ground and wanted to screw her right there, in the middle of the lawn.  I tried to take her shirt off, but she recoiled quickly…

“What the fuck,” she screamed.

“What,” I said distracted.  “I thought…”

“It’s just,” she said, calming down.  “I just wanted this to be different.”

“I’m sorry.”

She looked at me, and she could tell I was just caught in the moment.

“Me too,” she said.  “It’s not your fault.  Come, I want to show you something.”

We kissed.  Her beauty, her laugh, her happiness…it struck through my heart like a fiery lightning bolt.

She led me to the back of the house.  There was a service ladder that led to the roof.  We climbed up.  I could see Niagara Falls under the rising sun.  It was truly an amazing location for a property…it loomed over the falls.  The moment was second only to her.

“What do you think?” she asked eagerly, living through my fascination.  “Pretty sick, eh?”

“I can’t even believe it,” I replied wholeheartedly.

“I know,” she said.  Then she seemed to get nervous.  “Come on, we better get inside before my dad gets up.”

It was a large, beige, twentieth-century home, obviously built by a tremendously wealthy family.  It was almost square in appearance; imagine a stone house, made of square building blocks of different sizes, stacked on one another.  The roof was like a castle, with jagged angles, and turrets on each corner; and the left side of the house, from where we watched the falls, was raised up higher than the rest, and flat.  Keats said they landed helicopters there.

“Look,” she said seriously.  “We have to be quiet.  Like super quiet, alright?”

I didn’t understand why, but I obeyed.  We entered through a large garage area.  There were six or seven sports cars of various models in pristine condition.  That led to a large auxiliary kitchen.

I made a joke about how waking anyone up in such a giant house would be impossible, and she shot me these death eyes…it was the first time I saw those eyes.  They cut through me quickly.

I felt really bad about it.  Because I knew she wanted me to be quiet, and that challenge had made me speak.

“I’m sorry, Keats,” I said gravely.  “I don’t like being told, you know.  It’s this thing I have…”

She looked at me in compliance.  She gave a soft smile and eyes that understood completely.

I couldn’t help but start to question things again.  Intuition told me she was lying about it being her house.  Eventually I had to say it.

“Keats, tell me the truth.  This isn’t your house, is it?  Honestly, it doesn’t matter to me, I just want to know.”

She turned and smiled at me, that way she does sometimes.  Her cheeks got all rosy.  She liked my intuition.

“No, retard,” she whispered demurely.  “This is my house, believe me.  But I'm not exactly supposed to be here right now.  Tell you what, be really quiet for like five more minutes, until we’re clear and safe, and then I’ll explain everything, okay?”  She kissed me softly…

“Jesus Christ, Elaine,” a commanding, manly voice boomed through the silent darkness.  “I already answered the goddamn question.  I don’t want to hear it.  Figure it out.”

I guessed it was her dad, the asshole, and he seemed pissed, that was obvious.  Keats got super scared.  Actually frightened to death, would have been a better description.  She grabbed me tightly, and pulled me closer to her, putting her finger up to her mouth.  Her petite body started to shake violently, and goose bumps covered her arms.  Her face was so tense, and terrified.  I remember thinking that whatever scared her like that would never be able to do it again.  I wouldn’t let it happen. 

The voice faded away, and slowly she calmed down a bit.

“That was him,” I said as a fact.  “Feels like home.”

She smiled, kissed me.  “You feel like home…”

We made our way in the dark, through the enormous house.  Corridor after corridor, we ascended five stories.  We reached a room where Keats stopped.  She opened the door, and we walked in.  She turned on the lights, and once again, her beauty overtook me like a tidal wave.

All I could think of was kissing her again.  I wanted to feel her tongue on mine, feel her heart beat against my chest.  She flooded my system like antibiotics, and she cured my syndrome.

The room was old fashioned.  Looked like it could have been decorated a hundred years ago.  The bed sat up off the ground a foot, and the blankets were in a mess.  Next to the bed was this old wooden night table, with an old-fashioned metallic rotary phone on it.  All the pictures in the room were in ancient gold-rimmed frames.  The floral wallpaper had roses and daffodils in shades of beige and dark brown.  Pressed up against the wall opposite the bed was a long oak dresser, underneath a giant mirror.

Keats asked me to take my clothes off, and I got really scared, and nervous.  She laughed at me.

“Jesus, twenty minutes ago you were dying for it, and now you’re afraid to show me what you got.  Relax, we’re not having sex, idiot.  You’ll get pneumonia if you stay in those wet clothes.  Give them to me.  Trust me, there’s nothing down there I haven’t seen before.  Come on, give them to me and I’ll go dry them.”

Reluctantly, I took my clothes off and gave them to Keats.  She didn’t try to hide the fact that she enjoyed my display, smiling devilishly.  After that she told me to stay in the room and be quiet, and then she left.

I walked to the window, and took in the view of the lake.  In the distance I could just barely see Niagara Falls.  Mostly I could see the sun rising over the falls.  It was so goddamn beautiful.  I certainly understood why Keats chose the room.

Feeling a certain kind of release, I went over to the bed and climbed underneath the soft down covers.  Without really wanting to, but in peaceful indifference, I fell fast asleep…

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 12

 

I woke up confused, then panicked, not realizing where I was…Keats was sleeping next to me, and it clicked in.  A television she had brought in on a rolling platform, was on and the soaps were just finishing.  I thought, did I really sleep that long?

I called the hotel to let my dad know where I was, but he didn’t answer.  Keats hadn’t woken up yet, and I stared at her for a while just lying next to me.  I could feel her bare legs against mine and it was hard to tolerate.  My heart was telling me to lift up the covers but my brain was saying no, it’s not proper.

For what seemed like years I lay there and watched TV, listening to her breathe…watching the movement of her eyelids.  I was so worried about waking her up I didn’t even move to find the remote, I just watched Oprah talk to this dude who married a girl only to come out gay ten years later, and then the nightly news, where the big story was some Chinese tourist girl who fell into the falls…I really had to piss…

When Keats woke up, her eyes opened slowly and she saw me there…she smiled and touched my cheek with her hand.

“Good morning,” I said, smiling back.

“What time is it,” she replied, out of sorts.

“Must be around five or six, the news is on.  I can’t believe we slept so long.  Last night was so awesome.  It‘s kind of weird in a way, it all feels like a dream.  I think I expected to wake up this morning in my hotel room, but here you are.  You‘re real.  I still can‘t believe it.”

“Well, when I came back this morning you were flat out and looked so cute I didn’t want to wake you up.  I watched TV until I passed out too.  I had nice dreams…”

“I don’t think I’ve slept so good in my whole life, Keats.  Usually I have trouble…bad dreams, you know.”

“Yeah…I know exactly what you mean…so you want to get breakfast with me?”

“I want to do everything with you…”

“Somehow,” she said coyly, “I don’t even know your name yet.”  She laughed.

“Mason Gallo.”

She smiled, blushed, and pulled the covers down, unveiling her nearly naked trim body.  She was wearing a sheer red bra and black bikini panties.  I could see her nipples through the bra and couldn’t tear my eyes away, and the blood rushed to the bone.  She noticed me staring and told me to back off, but I could tell she liked it…she smiled in a devious way on our way out the door.

She brought me to a bathroom and told me to go back to the room after I had showered and everything.  About an hour passed before she returned with my clothes.  Keats had jeans and a purple T-shirt on; her hair and makeup were done.  She straightened her hair and it was mostly in a ponytail except for the pieces in front that fell by her eyes, which were hidden behind dark aviator sunglasses.

I stared at her in awe until finally spilling out, “You look really hot.”

“I know,” she said playfully.

I took her in my arms and told her I liked her.  She smiled at me.

beyond anything I ever dreamed

After sneaking out of the house, we walked back into the downtown area, this time sticking to the main roads, which were bustling and alive.  The sun was just beginning to fall, and the temperature was perfect.  The whole area really did have a carnival feel to it, and that made for a very auspicious setting for the two of us new lovers.

After breakfast at Denny’s, we checked out a few tourist shops and interesting wax museums, which made me think Niagara Falls was easily the wax museum capital of the world, on top of the honeymoon capital…weird.

Keats said she had to make a stop somewhere.  We went down Clifton Hill and turned down this little dead-end road called Oneida Lane.  Tall maple trees lined both sides of the road.  Keats and I walked side-by-side, mostly quiet, but finally alive after years of sleepwalking.

The house was a narrow old three-story like the ones they build in San Francisco, or used to, I’m not really sure…It was painted dark green and had black widow casings, which were coming unhinged.  All in all it looked really destitute and dilapidated.

A large willow tree resting out front blocked most of the house, its branches reaching down to the heavily weed-infested lawn.  The stairs that led to the peeling porch were half gone, so some clever guy had tied a rope to the awning so you could pull yourself up.  I thought it was kind of funny, and a good common-sense, albeit lazy, solution to the problem.

“Where are we?” I asked Keats with some cynicism.

“What,” she replied coyly, with that devious smile.  “Are you scared, rich boy?”

“Yeah, a little,” I said comically, my honesty making her laugh.  “And if I’m a rich boy, you’re like the goddamn Queen of England herself, Keats…seriously.”

“Whatever,” she said, slightly chagrined or feigning it.  “We’re not that wealthy, besides it doesn’t mean shit, all the money in the world can’t buy what we really need.”

“And what’s that?” I said.  I pulled her close to me under the willow tree.  We shared a moment in each other’s blue eyes…

“Whatever it is,” she said with the weight of the world.  “Money hasn’t gotten it for me…or you, Masonry.”

It was the first time she called me that and I never forgot it.

Sometimes when people would talk, I felt like I was listening with my entire body, not just my ears…through every nerve, every pore, every synapse, every muscle, every cell…everything within my core.  In those times I got this odd sensation like my brain was shivering and that caused my spinal column to shiver, and sent a ripple through me…beyond explanation, beyond scientific reasoning.  It was like hypnosis, a melding…and when Keats spoke that’s how I felt.  But when she said that last thing to me, I felt it more than ever…and I knew she knew me…I knew she was everything…it was cosmic.

I wrapped my arms around her and started kissing her gently, passionately…she returned serve with fervor.  By the time we separated it seemed like it could have been hours, and I’m pretty sure I was crying.

Keats said we’d just be a second and to try and keep my mouth shut.  I told her that wouldn’t be difficult…I stared nervously at the crumbling house.  Suddenly it hit me, what my purpose had originally been the night before.  It occurred to me that, although it had been less than twenty-four hours, I barely knew that guy anymore.

she opened the door

Keats didn’t knock.  We stepped inside the place and collided with the smell of tobacco and ingrained marijuana.  I started to get the feeling that Keats might be hiding something deep inside…I reserved judgment for that moment…

The floor was covered by this old flat rug with threads popping out the edges.  The center was crimson red, with a blue and silver flower pattern around the sides.  It was covered in a thick layer of dust.  In the back corner of the room sat a giant brown sectional with a young pale girl passed out on it.  One of her arms was hanging over the side and she looked kind of dead.  There were thin red scars all down her arm.  The rest of the room was filled with plants in all shapes and sizes, and they seemed to be growing into the house itself…

“Keats,” I said hesitantly…

“Look,” she cut me off…“Masonry, maybe you should just wait here.  I won’t be long.”

I watched her disappear down a hallway I could hear animal sounds coming from…maybe it was just a television.  The whole place reeked, and reminded me of the muggy indoor huts they had at Sea World.

It also reminded me of my Nono’s greenhouses he used to walk me through when I was really young.  The only thing I remember about him was his many greenhouses, and how marvelous it was that they were warm even when it was cold outside…

Keats came back into the room and grabbed my hand.  “He wants to meet you,” she said irresolutely.  “Don’t worry, just come and say hi and we can go.  And don’t mind him, he’s harmless.”

“Okay, I guess.”

She could sense my hesitancy.

“Mason.  I’m serious.  Just don‘t let him get to you.”

“No problem, dear,” I joked.

I wanted to leave.  But I followed her down the dark hallway, into a room that was actually a lot like a zoo.  There were a few giant fish tanks loaded with tropical fish of all sorts and colors…some tanks with snakes and spiders…a few lizards…and then a huge monkey cage lining one entire wall.  It smelled like total shit.

Keats kept going and I tagged along but stared at this little monkey reaching his hands through the bars at me, his human eyes calling me.  I felt sorry for him…

We ended up in the kitchen.  The guy I had seen with Keats the day before was sitting on a blue couch, which seemed out of place in the rectangular room.  It was lodged against the wall next to the fridge, with a small oak table in front of it.  The dude was angled in the corner facing us, one of his skinny legs dangling on the couch.  Two knives were sticking out of a coil on the stove…

“So,” he said slyly.  “This is the guy eh?  Looks like a snob, fucking private school bitch.  So pal, what’s your moniker then?”

I told him my name and he smirked at me…he was intimidating in a crazy drug dealer kind of way…

“Just give me the stuff now, Gustavo,” Keats snapped.  “Stop being such an ass.”

The guy looked considerably older up close…his face was sunken in and beaten, his eyes just tiny black slits.  When he spoke, his ugly jagged teeth showed…his hair was balding…

“Kensington Samantha Cameron,” he said mockingly.  “When did you get so honorable?  Bitch…don’t you fucking mess around with me…you think one night with this clean-cut rich boy absolves everything?  I know you better than that, darling.  You owe me…Fuck, you know it yourself, don’t you?  Now be a dear and come sit next to Gussy and get high as mother fucking Jupiter, baby…be a good girl now…”

My blood began to boil, and I’m sure he could see it in my eyes.  Keats certainly did; she squeezed my hand and looked into my eyes, trying to tell me everything was fine.  I wasn’t so sure…I wanted to destroy the pervy scumbag.

She sat down on the couch, and since there wasn’t room for both of us, I sat on the edge.  The dude pulled out a tray with marijuana on it, and something that looked like heroin.  He started rolling a sizable joint, mixing in both products.

“So rich boy,” he leered.  “You ever smoke the chronic bomb?”

“Leave him alone, Gustavo,” Keats repeated.  “Seriously…he doesn’t have to smoke that if he doesn’t want to…”

“Bitch,” he snarled aggressively.  “Did I fucking ask you a question?  I’m talking to this motherfucker…”

I stared into his black eyes and was sure he could sense the anger rising within me.  I wasn’t trying to hide it.  He passed me the joint and I inhaled cautiously…nervous and anxious to see what it’d feel like mixed like that…all the while trying to intimidate the dude.  The night before I would have died for something like that joint.  But sitting there, having met Keats, I didn’t feel the impulse to smoke it.  Still I did it anyway…

“See,” he said, satisfied.  “He ain’t all what you thought, now is he Kensington?  Rich boy’s down too.  Drugs are a universal language darling…Ain’t nobody immune.”

The joint went around a few times peacefully…I started to settle into the high and forget about the dude…he didn’t seem so caustic anymore…he was telling stories the whole time, about things he’d done, people he’d known and dealt to, people he’d clashed with…places he’d been.

The truth of his words was suspect, but he certainly had a story to tell.  The joint went around another few times…

When he put his hand on Keats’ thigh, I nearly exploded.  Immediately she pushed it away.  He gave her the most awful perverted smile it made me sick to my stomach…had she?

Another few rounds and then it happened again, and again Keats pushed his hand away.  The moment it took place I started to get extremely nervous…my whole body began to tremble and shake.  I wanted to say something to him but didn’t…I just watched and boiled over inside.  Keats told him to cut it out and he just laughed like it was okay, like she wanted it but was embarrassed in front of me…

“So rich boy,” he sputtered.  “What do you think of the fucking bomb?  Really fucks you up eh?”

I was feeling a little spacey and the whole place seemed to be crawling and more acerbic than before…even the kitchen was filled with odd plants and smelled of mildew…I noticed the floor was strewn with droppings and various dead things…like the house was a living organism and everything within was part of its life-force…

I caught the dude looking at me for a second, sizing me up.  Then he went to the fridge and sat back down with some beers…offered them to us.  He leaned over Keats really close to me, close enough I could smell the foul musk he had, like he hadn’t showered or washed his clothes in days.  He was trying to intimidate me, and it was working…his package was basically right in Keats’ face and he knew I saw that…he leered at me, smirked, tried to incite me…

My whole body was hot and swelling, and I wanted to crush him, but it was obvious he expected that, even wanted it, which made me think I needed to proceed with caution…

Eventually the whole scene didn’t go where he wanted it.  So he sat back down but stayed basically right on top of Keats, who looked worried and annoyed.

“Gus,” she said forcefully.  “Can I have my stuff now please?”

He ogled her like he wanted to devour her.  I was so disgusted by his expression I wanted to kill him.  I started to think more and more, concentrating on whether Keats had actually ever done anything with the disgusting piece of trash…what exactly he meant by she owed him…

“Soon enough, darling,” he said slyly.  “Are you too busy to spend a little time with Gussy now, all of a sudden?  After all I‘ve done for you.”  He put his filthy hand on her thigh again…

It was finally too much for me to bear.  I exploded, lunged at him and caught him straight in the temple, cranking his head back and forth like an elastic.  Our beers went splattering on the wall before crashing onto the floor.  He lay there limp with his head sloped back against the fridge…

“What the fuck!” Keats yelled.  “What the hell is wrong with you?  You asshole!”

I was surprised by her reaction but at the time didn’t really care.  I was still completely out of control…angry with the jerk…craving to hurt him more.  Disappointed that he was already knocked out.  I stood there above him hoping he would get up…then I felt her tugging at my arm…

“Hurry, we have to get out of here.  You shouldn’t have done that.  Hurry, let’s go!”

She rifled through the kitchen cabinets, searching for something, and I kept my place above the dude, still eyeing him.  It’s hard to say how long it took.  It all happened so fast.  But soon we were rushing out the door and away from the house.  We cut through this abandoned lot to get to Falls Avenue and then she stopped me…

“I can’t believe you just did that,” she said with tears in her eyes.  “What the fuck is wrong with you?  Are you crazy?”

“He kept touching you,” I said, still seething inside…“That look in his eyes…”

“You didn’t have to hit him, Mason,” she interrupted.  “He’s harmless.  He wasn’t going to do anything.  He’s harmless.  He just likes me.”

I was half hearing her words and half thinking about her in bed with him, touching him, breathing heavily.

“Do you like him or something?” I said.

“What?” she replied, infuriated.  Then she started to cry.  “I can’t fucking believe you…you’re no different at all, are you?  You’re the same, exactly the fucking same…I can’t believe I thought…just get the fuck away from me.”

She turned and bolted towards the falls.  The look that she gave me said it all, and it instantly brought me back to Earth.  I realized what I had done to her…I realized I did what I did because of me, not her…it was so confusing…

I hollered and took off after her.  I followed her back to the falls.  The whole time she knew I was behind her.  She refused to stop, refused to turn.  I kept my distance, gave her some breathing room, and felt justified.  In my mind I hadn’t done anything wrong.  I thought he got what he deserved.  Plus, who was he?  He seemed like some piece of shit pervy dealer, and I hated the fact that she knew him…

When I got to the falls she was just walking along staring out over the edge.  I took a seat under a tree and looked at the gun in my hand…the sun was almost set, and there was a cool breeze in an otherwise warm evening.  Keats looked so sexy in her tight shirt and even tighter jeans.  She had taken out her ponytail and her hair was flowing out in long silky strands. 

I watched as guys flocked around her, which didn’t surprise me, she was so goddamn hot, but still incensed my jealous rage.  I thought a few times that I hated her because she was talking to them.  Still I was too proud to move on her.  I wanted her so badly it burned.

Eventually I couldn’t handle the distance and walked to the falls to be closer to her.  I looked over the edge and watched the beauty again….such magical love the falls…nature’s way of French kissing the human race.

After a while, it’s impossible to say how long, she finally looked at me.  I stared into her eyes with a smirk, and as she looked away I saw a sparkle in her eye and a warm smile spreading across her lips…she started walking towards the path to her house…I followed…

I caught her just before the path through the woods.

“Look,” I said critically.  “If you’re looking for an apology, I’m truly sorry…but only because I offended you.  As far as the thing with that guy, I’d do that again in a heartbeat.  I’d do that to any guy that tries to handle you like that.  You’re never going to be treated like that again!  I won’t let it happen.”

She looked at me with her huge doe-like eyes…deer me baby…

“I wasn’t trying to protect you,” I continued.  “I just can’t stand him touching you.  Not now…not ever.  I don’t want anyone touching you but me…”

It looked like she was going to cry.  “Who are you?” she asked empathetically.  “Where did you come from?  It’s just…there was a time in my life when things got really…fucked up.  Gustavo helped me out, Mason.  Although he wants me in that way, it’s never been like that.  But I do owe him a lot.  He really did help me.  I was just so caught off guard and when it happened I was really scared.  He’s not really a bad guy, but he’s fucking crazy.  There’s no telling what he could do to you after that.  I was afraid I’d lose you…I don’t want to lose you, ever.”

I felt my heart bouncing up and down like a basketball in my chest.  I felt my brain swelling and tears forming behind my eyes…

“Me neither,” I replied lovingly.  “What do you think he will do?”

“Don’t know, but he knows people who will hurt you…maybe we should leave town.”

“We can go anywhere in the world, Keats…and trust me, once I make a few calls, he won’t be a problem.  I didn’t really want to get into this, but my family is…connected.  You know what I mean?  I promise I have no part in it.  I’m not like those guys, you know.  I don’t want that life.  I’ve seen too many things.  But in these situations it can be useful.”

“Have you ever been to Big Sur?” she asked.  “This writer I like talked about it a lot.  He lived there.  So I’ve always wanted to go there.  In Northern California.  Could we go there for a while…”

“Nothing,” I smiled, “would make me happier.”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 13

 

We walked back to her house.  I stayed in her room and watched Star Trek while she left to get some things organized.  I thought about calling my dad at the hotel, but somehow I knew he wouldn’t answer.  So I called my brother Julian and let him know what happened.  He told me everything would be taken care of, to lay low for a while in the meantime. 

When Keats got back she had different clothes on.  She looked stunning in a pretty black ballerina dress with pink accents.  Her hair was freely curled again and sexy…

The moment she opened the door I could feel my heart sink to the bottom of the ocean.  I considered it impossible but her beauty had just quadrupled.  I stumbled on my words, but I think I got out something about how beautiful she looked, and she grudgingly blushed.  Then she threw me a gray Ralph Lauren suit jacket, some jeans, and black dress shoes.

“Put that on,” she said confidently.  “We’re going out.  You called your dad?”

“My dad,” I said startled.  “No I called my brother Julian.  He said it’s all good.  Don’t worry Keats, we’ll be fine.”

“Good,” she said.  “We’ll leave tomorrow morning then, tonight were going out…”

“What about Gus?”

“The city is packed, Masonry.  Plus I’ve made some arrangements; he won’t be able to find us.”

*****

We went to this restaurant, Hibachi, which was actually closed, but like Keats said it was hooked up.  The place had a window that overlooked the falls, and that’s where we sat.  The table was black mahogany and elevated like a bar table.  It was Japanese minimalism.  It was very intimate being the only people in the entire place.  Our waiter was a short Asian dude with impeccable manners.  The food delicious raw fish, and rice rolls.   

“So,” she said bashfully.  “Your family is in the mafia.  Like real Godfather shit?”

“Not exactly,” I responded, agitated by the subject matter.  “I mean, yes, is the short answer to your question.  I mean, I don’t really know that much about it.”

She could tell I wasn’t comfortable.

“Look, bud, it’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.  I just want you to know it doesn’t bother me, you know.  I don’t care.  I mean you said you’re not involved right?”

“Definitely.”

“That’s good,” she replied looking me in the eyes.  “To be honest it wouldn’t bother me even if you were.  I might even like that in a way.  As long as you stay who you are now.  As long as you stay with me.  That’s all that matters.  The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable.”

“Thanks,” I said fading into thoughts.

We were silent for a while.  Both lost in memories I guess.  Family histories that neither of us wanted to delve into.  Shared avoidance…

After dinner we ended up back down by the falls.  We walked along the railing again, but this time we stayed far away from the mist.  She told me about her family, who she was estranged from, how she couldn’t deal with them anymore.

She didn’t mention anything specific about the situation, but it wasn’t hard to figure out her dad had something to do with it…to me it was too soon to pry.

She made allusion to the fact that her father was in some sort of trouble, but it was obvious she was covering for him.  As best as I could, I tried not to imagine what was going on.  The thought of what her father could have done to her made me want to kill someone…him specifically.

I told her about my mother’s death.  It was the first time I ever told anyone.  I told her all about my vacant brothers who I looked up to so much, but who never seemed to care about me.  I told her about my lifeless father back in the hotel.  I told her the things my grandpa had told me, things I never forgot…

It seemed to calm her nerves about her own issues.  I told her about the funeral for Julian’s fiancée.  How guilty he felt for how he had treated her before she died.

I remember right after I said that, Keats suddenly stopped walking, and started kissing me again.  That time I held her in my arms, and touched her body.  I touched her face and hair, and then the rest of her.  Once again, it felt like we kissed for hours.  It was just us standing there, while the falls rumbled thunder behind us, the whole thing a meditation.

We took a break, leaned over and stared at the falls, completely mesmerized.  She said that even though she had seen them her whole life, they never stopped being completely amazing.  Then she looked into my eyes and said she was thankful she had met me.  I looked back at her, and said the same thing.

We walked through the city until we ended up at a Ferris wheel.  The ride was unique in that the cages you sit in were entirely made of glass.  We got in, and the thing started moving us up slowly.  I didn’t say anything but I was actually scared out of my mind, from the heights.  Keats, meanwhile, was fascinated, and kept walking around the enclosure, taking in the view from different angles.

Finally I had to ask her to sit down, because the cage would rock every time she moved, and I thought I was going to throw up.  She laughed a little when she noticed how scared I was.  She smiled, came over, and sat down on my lap, draping her bare legs around my waist.  She looked into my eyes…we started kissing again.  The thought of her body on mine eliminated all my fear…All I could think about was how other parts of Keats would taste.

She felt my growing interest in her, and reached her hand down and started to tease me.  I looked around and the wheel had stopped at the very top.  It left us hanging in the air with the craziest view of the city.

Keats quickly unzipped my pants and reached her hand around me.  I could feel my entire body burning for her.  I reached my hand under her dress and found her wide open.  We sat there kissing like mad lovers, our bodies thriving with blazing emotion, devouring each other.

I slipped myself inside her, and everything else in the world seemed to disappear.  Everything in my life vanished.  All I could think about was Keats.  I could never forget the scent of her hair, like tangerines, and the oceanic breeze.  We rocked as the Ferris wheel sat on top of the city…as the water rolled on and on and on until it crashed down.

Afterwards we walked back to the falls.  Keats said she wanted to look at them one last time before we left.  On the way we stopped in one of those little picture booths and took some shots.  We kissed through the entire thing.  When the pictures finally dropped down we both laughed at them.  But there was this one where Keats was looking straight at the camera, and I was kissing her cheek, and that one was my favorite.  She was so beautiful in it.  She lit the whole thing up…the whole world up.  I keep it with me every day.

she opened the door

We stood there, arms wrapped around each other, feeling the beauty of love.  She raised herself up and hugged me tightly; it was so sudden and mesmerizing that I heard all of time being sucked into a void and pounding at my head to be let out.  I felt her soft fingers on my arm as her lips gently caressed mine.  I stood with my arms draped limply at my sides and let it happen.

It’s amazing…that one single action in one unidentifiable second can make an entire life of suffering worth living…one single second of brilliance can make everything have meaning.  The guilt I felt for my absent father…without it, where would I be?

“You know Keats,” I said avidly.  “We are meant to be together.”

“Mason,” she said, smiling, “you’re so sweet and innocent.  Maybe we are, but it’s impossible to know for sure.  We just met.  You couldn’t be sure of something like that yet.  That’s not real.  We barely even know each other.”

“Whatever this is.  It’s for real.  I’ve never felt this way before.  No girl has ever made me feel like this.”

“We’ll see…” she said awkwardly.

It was a depressing reaction for me.  I expected something different.  But I didn’t say anything.

We walked back to my hotel.  We took a shower together.  The entire thing was like one long waking dream.  Life had never seemed so possible before.  All I could think about was how I never wanted it to end.  Afterwards we climbed into my bed naked, and she fell asleep in my arms…

Her words rolled through my mind… “We’ll see…”

What did it mean?

*****

I woke up feeling like the previous days had been a complete hallucination.  Like everything that had occurred since we got to Niagara Falls was a fantasy.  But a naked Keats Cameron was sleeping next to me, her beautiful chest rising as she took breaths, confirming it had all really happened.  Regardless I couldn’t shake the odd thought that I was missing something.  Something felt off, like I was forgetting something, but I couldn’t figure out what.  I went to tell my dad what had happened. 

I walked into his room, feeling elated like never before.  I wanted to tell him that he had been right all along.  But when I opened the door to his room, he was gone.  His clothes were gone, his bags were gone, and there was nothing left of him.  I walked back to bed, and stared at the ceiling…

When she woke up, Keats asked me what was wrong.  I told her what had happened, and she tried to comfort me.  The weird thing was, I didn’t really care.

Maybe my father had finally realized the truth; that what was lost between us could never be recovered…to me losing him just felt natural.  Still that morning, staring at the ceiling, Keats in my arms, all I could hear was my father’s voice in my head telling me…

“I met a girl who swept me away from everything.  She replaced all my fears and sorrows with hope and courage.  It fills me with continual strength and energy, because I know I had her. I had nothing until I met her, until I spoke to her, touched her, and loved her.

“She is beyond every single thing I ever thought I’d have, Mason.  I know I would be nothing if it weren’t for her.  On top of all the amazing things I was born into, all the privilege in my world, I realize it was shit until her light descended on me.  Her beautiful sense of life that made me finally realize, how precious it truly is, and how much I took it for granted.

“You’ll know it when you find it, Mason.  It will speak to you.  Until that happens, don’t ever settle for less.  If there’s anything you can take away from me, and what I know, it’s that.  A special love exists for everyone.  A singular love, that separates the many from the few.  Wait for it.  Once you have it, never, ever, let it go…”

I knew it had finally come true for me.  Everything was changed, and somehow my dad knew.  I was okay now, on my own.  It was destiny.  I remember thinking that regardless of him being gone, I still felt better than I had ever felt before…

That was the last time I ever saw my dad.

 

 

 

 

 

Part

3

 

 

 

 

 

A page from the Diary of Keats:

 

Love at a crossroads but not in me

Love bursting from my seams

Like a flower that blooms all season long

Love ferments the threads of my veins

Love envelops every cell

Stable broken unmade gone

Love survives any four walls

Love goes on and on and on

In one spot for eternity everywhere at once

In two hearts together and each alone

Love needs no fuel no place to go

It needs no nutrients it needs no soil

Without water without light

I urge to meet you every night

Love bursting without reception

Love burning without connection

Where are you where did you go?

The multitude of things I’ll never know

Love a phantom to those who don’t feel it

We are lucky ones who share it speak it eat it

And to you I swear until I go

I will preach it love Mason love love love

 

Your Keats

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 14

 

Julian

 

Alas time is short now

So short indeed I fear the end

I fear the beginning of the end

I fear the end of this beginning

Its arrival time is scheduled

I can feel it in my heart

The day is close

Behind me stalking me haunting me

The day is too close

I know I’m going to die…

The clock is ticking…tick tock…tick tock…

Four walls, three concrete, and one mechanized sliding glass.  This is my asylum, my home, my life in a box.

l'amore è la fine di vita

One day this world will cease to exist because of me.  Although I won’t be able to escape with my life, just knowing that it’s over is enough.  I loathe this state of affairs.  I cringe at the thought of seeing my brother, but I know it’s what must be done.  The time has come to reunite.  This vermin must die!

“Julian Gallo,” the familiar Arabic guard asks tapping on the glass.  “Here’s breakfast.  I heard it’s going to rain.  Do you need anything else today?”

“Yes,” I reply watching the sun rising through the cell window.   “I need him to know the truth.  Tell her I’m ready to see Mason.”

“Really?” he says cracking his knuckles, chuckling to himself.  “After all this time, Julian, now you’re ready to talk?”

“It wasn’t my choice to make,” I reply vaguely.  “You should understand that, right Nima?”

“Gallo,” he responds jokingly.  “Did you know it was me the whole time?”

“Yeah,” I say disgusted.  “I could fucking smell you the minute you came in.  What brought you down here?”

“I stopped trying to understand things years ago,” Nima says thoughtlessly.  “They told me to come and I do what I’m told.”

“You know,” I say smirking.  “That’s a luxury I’ve never had.  I kind of wish I did.  Life would have been so much…”

“Julian Gallo,” another guard yells through the intercom.   “Room one.”

“What’s it all about Nima?”

“Got nothing to do with that,” he says opening the door and handcuffing me.  “Like I said, Julian, I just do what I’m told.”

“Don’t we all,” I say to myself.  

 

Mason

 

I wake up to the sound of a computerized voice.

The time is six am local time…this is your wakeup call…

I hang up the phone and sit up in bed.  I have no idea where I am.  What city, what hotel, what day…the only thing that matters anyway…is Keats here today?

Why did I order a wake up call?  Why six am?  I reach for my cell phone.  What’s happening to me?

…the order of things, fragments, theories I contradict, passengers wait by the doorway, calculated sentences, passionate flowers, desperate tales, undivided attention, collective bargaining, despicable notices, pigs slaughtered in baths of endive, Honolulu blue…notice I have a message I must have slept through…

Good morning, dear Mason, my baby.  I know I told you this would never happen again.  I guess that was a lie.  I wish it wasn’t.  I hope you can forgive me.  I know I don’t deserve your love and devotion.  The politics are killing me…I’m waiting for the color to arrive…I hope it will be here soon.  I think I may have found them…all this time I’ve been looking on the wrong side of the water…can you believe it…after all these years…I couldn’t wait…I had to leave…we will be together soon…free at last… I know you love me and I love you too.  You are the light in my dim life.  I’m so sorry I had to go like this.  It’s so hard to be away from you.  But I had to do it alone…this is my war…waiting for the night to take you far away from here, soon we will wait no more…I have to go now, I’m…

The memory of last night begins to settle upon me.  She was here, next to me, on top of me, under me…her body moving to mine, ecstasy culminating in chorus.  I smell her sweet, innermost secrets, ingrained in these stained sheets.

The weight of her breast resting on my lips, as she rubs her body against mine, plays in my mind.  I want it now, again…but she’s gone again.

I have to have her in my grasp.  My carnal desires are left unfulfilled…her body like an ornament on my tree…satisfying pleasure, rapture, insanity.  I need her now, I want her to release me…those hips, those thighs, those tits, those lips…that face, those eyes, that hair, that clit…

I want to push my shit deep inside her.  I want to lose my fingers in behind her.  I want to suck her nipples until she hurts.  I want to twist, and turn, and make her burn.

But she’s not here, so nothing to do but ease myself, thinking of you…Keats…I’d lick every inch of you…nowhere I wouldn’t go…nothing left untouched…I want your lips around my bone…

This fear has crept inside me now…that any moment a man named Victor will appear…

I haven’t told Keats about it.  There’s no reason to.  As much as I want to be completely open with her, I just think some things need not be said…she’s got enough weighing on her mind already.

The wrong side of the water…I know exactly what she means.  I get up, walk to the window, and pull the green blinds to the side.  In front of me a brown desert, orange mountains, and blue sky.  To the right I see another arm of the MGM Grand hotel sticking out.  Vegas, I think to myself.  I’m in Vegas.

*****

From the Detroit airport, I merge onto the I-75 highway in a rented navy blue BMW 280I.  I meld with rush hour traffic, four lanes wide, everyone rushing to destinations, denying the possibility of accidents through the spreading arms of lighting striking down at us. 

Cars speed by me unperturbed, until red lights flicker, and a row of us step on the brakes.  The people behind me jump into the next lane, and roar on like crazy, unsettled monsters…

I watch a group of birds attempting to fly in formation through the strong winds.  They break position a few times before turning in unison, to a new direction.  I love how beautifully they fly in sync, how connected their parts are, and their instincts to survive.  I love the black silhouettes they paint against the cloudy gray sky.  I wonder what makes the leader the leader.

Seek shelter, I say to them.  We all need shelter from this goddamn storm.

I keep my blurry eyes focused on the blurry road.  Keats once told me once that sunglasses help see in the rain.  It doesn’t seem to make sense.  My mind is swirling like a Slushee machine…color blue.  I’m not sure what to expect when I see Julian.  But I feel obliged to since I’m here now.  I’ll make good on Keats’ request.

I’m afraid to see the look in his eyes.  Julian has been charged with the second-degree murder of his fiancée, Cassandra.  The investigation has taken years already, and his trial is expected to take at least another to complete.  Until that time he has been locked up, and denied parole.

I certainly want him to be innocent, but I worry that he isn’t.  Either way, when I look in his eyes, I’ll know…

what is can only be

She died in what the police called a freak car accident…however as Spencer has suggested, it may not have been an accident at all.  It’s impossible for me to forget the tragic thing that happened to her…the circumstances are horrifying.

I never suspected Julian to be involved, but something he said to me at her funeral has always haunted me.  It raises some serious doubts.  Still, I won’t make any assumptions until I speak to him.  Plus, with Spencer spinning this conspiracy theory to me, I’m interested to see where Julian comes out on it.  Maybe it’s all connected…

Cassandra’s funeral was the first real one I can actually remember being at.  I can still picture it like it’s today…

…clear as day…dark as night…high as a kite…drunken fight…allegory tight…spaces say…take it away…blown to bits…thrown to fit…make it known…leave it alone...

out of control people cover the globe

What I remember most about the funeral were the hundreds of our family’s phonies, hanger-ons, surrounding this looming Nordic Cathedral in South East Detroit.  All in black suits or dresses, all pretending they gave a crap about Julian.  When we all knew they didn’t.

I remember the people from her family as well, poor and hardened.  Many in jeans, sweatpants, second-hand suits.  I noticed the way the two families clashed, and it made me loathe the rich Italians, once again…they always think they’re better than everyone else.

I asked to ride with Julian, in the hearse, on the way to the burial, and he let me.  He looked understandably distraught.

I felt horrible for him.  I had never seen him look so pathetic and miserable.  Something about the look in his eyes gave me a bad feeling about him, which at the time I merely attributed to her death.  Now I’ve begun to question it, thinking that maybe he was trying to hide something from me.

I knew her death would haunt him forever, but I didn’t exactly realize, or understand, why at the time.  I certainly had no inclination it would lead to a prison sentence…

Julian is the most confident, intelligent, and driven person I’ve ever known.  I can’t remember a time in my life when he wasn’t stable and in control.  By the age of twenty-two, he was running a flourishing real estate business in Detroit.  Which I came to discover was merely a front.  By the time he was twenty-nine, he was in Forbes 500.  A testament to how clever Julian’s cover business really was.  He’s like, Spencer’s complete opposite.  Which makes a lot of sense in this individuality-carved world.

That day in the hearse, I didn’t know what to think, or say to him.  How was I supposed to know how he felt?  I had never been married, or in love.  But despite my insufficient emotional connection, I felt propelled to somehow ease his burden…take the weight…release the pain.

Without any notion on how to handle the situation, I believe I told him it wasn’t his fault that she had died.  I said it was an accident, and that he couldn’t control it, so he shouldn’t blame himself.

That’s when things got a little weird.  Something crazy took hold of him.  I remember this crazy smile he had.  His dark eyes flashed like he was about to cry or kill me.  I couldn’t get a firm grasp of his emotions.  They were all jumbled, and there were varying degrees of various feelings.

I watched his face, so rough but well defined.  He has a very masculine beauty and handsomeness to him.  Like he’s cut from the stone of some Roman god’s statue: chiselled jaw, high forehead, thick lips.

He’s extremely quiet and reserved.  Always seems humble and genuine.  People generally respect or fear him.  He never really had many friends, because he never let people get very close.  I guess we’re similar in that way, although it’s more likely a forgone conclusion, given our family’s business.

I remember him looking at me so intently that day.  I was drawn to a scar he had above his right eye.  It cut through his eyebrow, leaving it with two sides.  I never knew where he got it, and I guess I never thought to ask.

He implored me with his large dark eyes.  I stared back at him, into the vast white circle of his eyes surrounding the color, and the tiny red lines that led up to that dark circle, within the circle.

He looked at me for what seemed like a long time, long enough that I began to look away.  Suddenly he grabbed me tightly by the shoulders, tight enough that I was afraid.  It was the sort of grip that elicited foreboding.  Then he said to me,

“I don’t even know you, Mason.  You’re my brother, and I don’t know a goddamn thing about you…It’s not your fault.  I’m sure you wanted to have real brothers…I’m sure you’ve wished we were closer.  I know I’ve never even thought about it till now.

“It sucks to admit but it’s true.  I’ve been so focused on myself, for so long, that I never even considered what a piece of shit I’ve been to you.  You’re my brother for God sakes, my blood…

“I’ve been a poor sibling to you.  You have more humanity in your baby finger than I do in my entire body.  It’s in your beautiful tender eyes…

“I am a completely selfish beast, my friend, if you’d let me call you that.  I only think about myself, and I always have.  Everything always has to be my way.  My whole life I’ve been this way, and I’m beginning to see how much life I’ve wasted, on myself.  And look what it’s made of me!”

He stared at me, eyes flashing, as if he expected some kind of answer.  I didn’t know what to say to him.  I just stared back.  I remember thinking about the coffin with his girl in it, no more than a few feet away from us.  And the smell of the flowers to cover the death…cold as ice.  Finally he spoke again.

“Mace, I want to tell you something, because I know I can trust you to never speak of it again…

“The night it happened, we got into a huge fight.  I thought she was leaving me.  I thought it was over.  I couldn’t have that.  We were supposed to be together.  It was meant to be.  Nothing was going to separate us…

“My selfishness is why she’s…dead.  God I struggle to even say it.  I can’t believe it.  I don’t want to believe it.  Three days ago I held her in my arms, and now…

“I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this.  She made me swear I’d never tell anybody.  It doesn’t really matter now, does it?  What’s the damn difference?

“Cassy grew up in Detroit…I mean the real Detroit, Mason, not the kingdom we knew.  She grew up in this little house off Ryan Road, near 9 Mile.  She took me there once, to see her great grandmother.  It was like being in another world entirely.  At the time I almost started to re-think our relationship.  That’s the kind of asshole I was…I am…

“It’s a different world, Mason.  It’s like you’re not even in America anymore.  It’s like places you see on TV and think to yourself, thank God I don’t live there, you know.

“She wasn’t ashamed of where she had come from, but she was happy to be somewhere else.  She knew what life in that ghetto meant for her future.  When she was sixteen, she took the tunnel bus over, and never came back…

“So Dad heard about this girl.  She was trying to work, you know what I mean, kid?  She had seen Paul Dommicello, over at the club on Howard.  I guess he felt really bad for her, and didn’t want to see her get ruined.

“So Dad ends up taking a liking to her, and I don’t mean that, he says she reminds him of Mom, and sort of adopts her.  He puts her through school, finds her real work, rents an apartment for her…

“Anyway that’s how we met.  I was doing some work over there.  You know, summer stuff, at the transport place.  She walked in with coffees for the guys, and instantly my life changed.

“I always thought people saying stuff like that were full of shit.  I thought there was infatuation, and there was commitment.  I thought most people referred to love, when in fact all they ever felt, or wanted, was infatuation.  On the other side I thought these couples that stayed together forever just did it because they had made commitments to do it.  I thought it had nothing to do with the love aspect at that point.  They just went along with it however their relationship was going.

“Cass changed all that.  She was the only girl that gave me both.  I mean I really wanted her from the very beginning, and of course that feeling subsided.  But still there was something about her, something that always kept me interested, and wanting more.  Even after years together, the way I felt about her remained vigorous…

“I wish I would have been better to her, Mason.  I wasn’t.  I was so selfish, so consumed by myself.  Hell, I probably never told Cassy that my entire life.  This woman I loved completely, and I couldn’t even explain that to her.  Christ, even the fact that we were together for a decade and I just asked her to marry me now.  I’m such a selfish asshole, Mason.  She wanted that for so long, and I just kept ignoring her.  I never told her how much she meant to me.  Never.  Don’t ever miss that chance, Mason.  When you get a girl, make sure she knows how you feel about her, always.

“I treated mine like a possession.  I acted like I wanted her to be the perfect wife, you know.  All she was there to do was keep house, and raise kids.  The saddest part is that it wasn’t even me, Mason.  I never wanted a relationship like that.  I just sort of fell into it, like I couldn’t control it.  Like I was acting out this counterfeit relationship etiquette based on experiences I had growing up.  I loathed seeing that stuff as a kid, you know, the men being the men, and the women being the women.  It made me sick.

“As I sit here now, I see how easily I became exactly what I had always refused I wouldn’t.  It’s my fault, Mason.  I know you’re just trying to make me feel better, but it’s just the truth.  She never wanted that life, and neither did I…yet somewhere along the way I got lazy, I got selfish…

“She gave up so much for me, Mason.  She had big dreams.  Coming out of the ghetto, and making her way on her own, she developed a tremendous drive.  I took that away from her.  I expunged it.  I made her subservient to me, and eventually it took its toll on us.

“The night it happened, minutes before actually, she called me.  She was hysterical, wouldn’t calm down for nothing.  It was hard to get a firm grasp of everything because she was incoherent.  It sounded like she might be drunk.  All I could understand was that she was fed up with the life we’d fallen into.

“You know what I did, brother?  I goddamn blew her off.  I told her we’d talk about it when she got home…and then…

“It’s my fault.  You’re probably too young to understand this, but trust me, one day you will.  When you meet a girl and you get to know her, spend a lot of time with her, you’ll see there will be times when you think things don’t matter.  But please, little brother, if I can teach you anything, just don’t be like me.  Even if it’s the smallest detail, just do one thing…just listen.  Whatever it is, whatever amount of times you’ve heard it before, just listen, again and again, and always.

“Don’t be like your older brother.  That day, I blew off the love of my life like she meant nothing to me…just because I was too much of a pussy to actually be vulnerable with her.  I was too weak to acknowledge the issues we had, too weak to change, too weak to rise above our traditions.

“I made a grave mistake, Mason.  One I never want you to make.  I put her feelings off.  I pushed them aside.  I thought I had more time.  I never thought that would be the last time I’d speak to her…”

we have very little time, and soon it will all be over

“Cassandra’s very last image of me was as a self-absorbed asshole who couldn’t take two seconds to hear what was on her mind.  I was supposed to be the guy that loved her most, and now she’s dead, without knowing how I actually felt.  Now there’s no time left…”

Julian stopped speaking long enough to turn and stare at her coffin.

“I will never forget that moment,” he continued.  “I can never change it, but that’s all I think about, that’s all I want in life.  I just wish I could go back to that day, even if things ended up the same way.  I just wish I could go back to that phone call, and just listen to her before she died.  I just wish she knew I loved her.  All I can think about is how she would have felt after that phone call, Mason.  And then I think I understand why she did it.  She did it because of me…it’s my fault…I killed her.

“Remember that, Mason, my precious brother.  Remember how valuable every second is; never forget how volatile and fleeting this life is.”

We spent the rest of the ride in silence, and I kept hearing his words in my mind.

volatile

no time

I killed her

When we got to the graveyard, I was surprised.  She was going to be buried in the same neighbourhood she ran away from so many years before.  It was abnormally hot outside, and steam was rising off people in waves.  It was so uncomfortable, and not because of the heat.

The Italians were disgusted that one of them was going to spend the afterlife in such a terminal location.  Not only could I feel the revulsion in the air, but many people were saying things as well.

“They can all go fuck themselves,” Julian said callously.  It was the only time I’d ever heard him say fuck.  “This is where she came from, this is who she was.  It’s nothing to be ashamed of.  It’s to be admired.  It’s a testament of her character…of humanity.”

He didn’t say another word to me the rest of the funeral.  As the readings and prayers went on, I noticed he seemed to be angry with my dad about something.  At least that’s the impression I got.  The way he looked at him said something to me.

At the time I thought it was because our father had a way of dominating every situation, as if he needed to be the center of attention at all times.  He wasn’t very good at seeing that in himself.

He should have known that it was Julian’s time to be comforted, and cared for.  But instead he lost his shit.  Made out like it was his lost child...

I don’t know, maybe it reminded him of Mom.  Or maybe he really did feel like she was his daughter.  I wish I had known Cassandra better.

I watched Julian when they lowered her casket into the ground.  He didn’t cry, but I certainly cried for him.  My dad made a fool of himself, and we all saw.  I noticed Julian’s expression at him, and it made me sad to think how much he despised him that day.  But now I think, maybe the whole time he was just angry with himself.

what we can’t have

we want the most

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 15

 

Julian

 

Four walls, I’ve waited for this day to come.  I knew it would.  Everything is destined to end.  Everything good already has.  I live in the aftermath, alive in the aftershocks.  He is the earthquake.  He brings the storms, the flood.  I’m ready to succumb.  Let the waves roll over me.  I’m happy to no longer exist.

I lost my true life the day she did hers.  I sank to the bottom of the Detroit River with her.  My throat tasted the shit water she tasted.  My lungs filled to the brim with liquid.  There was no room to breathe.  I choked to death with her.  We died side by side, together, in each other’s arms, eye to eye, lips to lips.  I continue to exist as a lifeless zombie roaming the halls of this prison each day, waiting for the end to come.  And finally at long last, I believe it is…he is ready…

“Look,” Nima says chaining me to a table in interrogation room 1.  “I’ll tell her you’re ready to talk.  It shouldn’t be long.  I hope you know what you’re doing, Julian.” 

Nima leaves and I stare at the camera filming me and then at the one-sided glass ahead of me.  The room is small and bare, the table metallic and weathered.  On the table is a file folder.  I wait for someone to arrive but nobody does.  The red light on the camera flashes like a metronome, challenging my will and patience.  Reluctantly I decide to open the folder. 

“I see,” says a distorted voice over the intercom.  “Curiosity has gotten the best of you, Mr. Gallo.  Please continue.”

“What is this?” I say annoyed.  “Why don’t you just get to the fucking point?”

“In time,” the synthesized voice blurts slowly.  “Please read the documents Mr. Gallo.”

I scan the pages of FBI documents highlighting the criminal enterprise I’ve spent my life building.  After placing all the pages out on the table, I can see my entire organization laid out before me, sorted and detailed by what duties and rank they hold within the family.  I can also see pages detailing all the outside agencies we have ties to, arranged by connection and duties performed.

“My life’s work,” I say vacuously.  “So what, who gives a fuck?  None of that matters anymore.”

“Please,” a slim man in a black suit says walking into the room.  I notice his right eye, and half his face is missing.  “Mr. Gallo, accept my apologies.  We have to follow certain guidelines.  It’s all very pointless if you ask me.  Unfortunately, the FBI is no different than any other bureaucracy.  We specialize in among other things, wasting a lot of goddamn time.  Allow me to introduce myself.  My name is Victor Morro.”

 

Mason

 

The rain starts to let up as I exit the highway.  The trees no longer sway and visibility is better, but the sun is still in remission.  The cancer of Detroit continues to eat away…

My family is like a thunderstorm: constant and persistent upheaval with only brief periods of sunlight.  I wonder why my family is so messed up.  Or are all families like this?  Do we all have such ugly skeletons in our closets?

My mother commits suicide.  My father disappears off the face of the Earth.  One of my brothers hasn’t left a hotel in years, and my other brother accused of murdering his fiancée.  Where did it all go so wrong?

I see the cancer of Detroit is spreading further and further into its landscape, and into its residents’ souls, every day.  The city is in desperate need of some amputations, and fast.  Driving through 6 and 7 Mile is fascinating in the way that ancient ruins of lost tribes are fascinating.

Street after street of abandoned houses, Liquor stores, burned-out houses, boarded windows, fortified gas stations, empty restaurants, vacant auto shops, empty spaces, despair.  

I’ve always wondered why people continue to move out of Detroit.  But looking around, it isn’t hard to see the answer.  Instead of leaving, why didn’t they just tear it all down, and make it better?

Why is Detroit the fat kid at the party that everyone wants to get as far away from as possible?  Why is Detroit always wearing last season’s fashion?  When will the people of Detroit say enough is enough, rise up and demand something better?

I drive down Davison Street lined by old houses, closed auto factories and empty fields of long grass spaces.  Most of the shops are gated and have been vacant so long that no one is even trying to sell the property anymore.  They just stand there like block carcasses, ten or twenty years after they were shut down.  The houses have long grass patches in front, and cars in various states of deconstruction seem to be put to rest everywhere…

There’s nobody on the street.  It’s certainly no place where anyone should have to reside.  It looks more like a war zone than America.  It’s a depressing place to be…this forgotten spiralling cityscape.

How does a city that supported and grew one of the country’s largest manufacturing empires fall so far and so fast?  Neglect…Detroit is Moses sent up the Nile.  Detroit is a baby in a dumpster…

I drive past a mile of fifteen-foot fencing topped with barbed wire.  Behind the fencing is a ten-foot hill lined with evergreen trees, blocking the view of the prison.  Ryan Correctional Facility used to be a Big Three car plant back in the seventies.  The irony is not lost on me…

greed is god

It seems odd to have a state prison surrounded by boarded-up crack houses and abandoned buildings, but here it is.  I guess it sort of makes sense.  It fits in.

The site actually consists of two separate prison facilities split by a long row of unused train tracks.  Mount Carmel is a low-security lock up and Ryan is medium security.  Julian is in Ryan waiting for trial.

I pull in and stop at this yellow shack.  The sky above is still gray and rumbling, but the lightning is absent.  The air smells of factory.

An African American guard leans out in a blue uniform under a raincoat.  Drops start to pat down on him, and the sound throws me into hypnosis.

tap tap tap tap tap

“Hey,” he says sternly, breaking my trance.  “You can’t wait here.”  He’s holding a black rifle. 

“Excuse me officer,” I say casually.  “When can I get inside the prison?  I want to see a prisoner.”

“Don’t move,” he says, crazy-eyed.

“Are you serious?” I respond, confused.

“I said don’t move.  Keep your mouth shut.  Hands on the dash.”

He radios somebody else, and then just watches me.  Slowly he makes his way around the car.  All the while the rifle is pointed at me.  I start to get anxious and my head starts pounding.  The time on the clock is seven forty five.  The time on the clock is seven forty six.

I can see another African American guard approaching, with the gray sky swirling behind him.  He’s wearing the same uniform. 

“Hi there,” he says walking up to the car window.  He’s got a deep voice.  “Can I see your ID?”

I hand it over to him, still clueless as to what is happening.

“Mr. Gallo,” he says after a minute.  “We apologize.”  He says something to the other guard, who promptly disengages combat mode.

“Has anyone ever told you,” he says, smiling, “you look a hell of a lot like your brother?”

“They have.  Is that what the deal is?”

“Yeah, like I said.  We’re sorry about that.  Guard Kellen noticed our facial recognition software showing some alerts, and he did what he is supposed to.  This technology stuff is bullshit if you ask me.  Takes the common sense out of people’s hands.  Since nine eleven they want us to be protected.  We have to treat these things seriously.”

“You never know,” I say.  “So can I get in there now?”

The rain picks up, and the wind hits hard.  The guard’s jacket smacks against his muscular body.

“Actually,’ he says loudly to combat the sound of the storm, “can’t get in for about a half hour.  But you can’t stay here either.  Just make sure you’re back within the hour, or else they won’t admit you.”

“Okay,” I say, amused.

“Yeah,” he says, concurring.  “Nine eleven, right.”

…fly planes into buildings…build a regime focused on doing…settle the score…make use of war…burn every pennant…mortar and pestle…make me a martyr…more power than life affords…

I back the car up and drive down Ryan Road looking for a diner or coffee shop.

I find a small diner called Jack’s Coney Island.  The place looks like it was built in the early seventies, and is in disrepair, with cracked walls, grease stains, broken tiles, and taped windows.

I take a table near the window, looking out at the street.  The walls are beige, and plastered with old magazine covers, the seats brown, and the table has chucks cut out of it with a knife.

Bonita, this lowly black waitress with a tiny potbelly and prominent bags under her eyes, comes to the table.

“You lost or something son?” she says indifferently, eyeing my gray suit.

Bonita’s green outfit is old and wrinkled.  Her white apron is faded yellow, and has what looks like bloodstains on it.  She smells like onions and grease traps; it’s not a kind combination.  She seems as run down as the place she works in.  They are a comparable pair.

“I’m visiting my brother at the jail,” I say softly.  “They don’t open till eight thirty though…”

“Mmm hmm,” she hums carelessly.  “You want something then, or what?”

*****

While I stare at my greasy food and wonder if it will kill me, I watch a group of homeless people standing under the awning of an abandoned barbershop across the street.  The little pole still hangs in the window, turning from the wind, but its only color is white now.

I stare at them huddled around this canister they’ve started a fire in.  One of the dudes is sleeping on the sidewalk outside the cover of the awning, getting soaked by the rain.  Something he doesn’t seem to mind.  He has an old comforter wrapped around his body but I can’t see how that’s helping anything.

Another one of the guys with long white dreads is picking through ashtrays.  The rest seem content in their squalor.

A cop car rushes by with its sirens on.  Even that looks old and beaten up, like it’s been through a few battles too many.  What doesn’t in this city?

what is will only be

I begin to realize the place smells odd for a diner, like burnt toast and something medicinal.  It smells old and stale, and I find it kind of awesome, and start to wonder if anyone has ever been murdered in the place.

Then a man walks up to my table; he’s old, black, and shrivelled, yet something about his stature and presence is noble.

He looks at my half-eaten plate and says,

“Right there, Thomas Jefferson.  That’s America.  What a goddamn mess we’ve made.  The foundation we’ve cracked.  They killed the heart of our revolution.  Shit.  Somebody should have told them, after every revolution is an empire.  This is the fall, Benjamin Franklin.  This is the fall of our empire.  You better get ready, Mr. Washington, because the storm, he is coming for you...”

He walks to another table and sits down, without acknowledging me further.

I look down at my plate, at the remnants of soggy eggs, home fries, and ketchup.  I stare at the plate for a while, trying to make sense of what the guy’s saying…

amessica

feeding for profit

On my way out, I notice a big black and white picture of downtown Detroit.  It was taken back in the fifties when things were much different.  They have it tacked on this brick wall across from the window, and it makes the city look so much less frightening.  As if at one point in time, there was order, beauty, and a plan for Detroit.  At one time Detroit was a Mecca, a powerhouse, and a leader…

you can still hear their screams

I don’t remember those times.  I haven’t lived a day in that existence.  I wonder what it was like.  I hear the memories around me; I visualize the place.  But it’s gone now.  What was will never be again…but Niagara Falls…

Niagara Falls rolls on forever, the water pounds the riverbed, the foam escalates into the horizon, the sounds reverberate endlessly…caustic fragments, explosive resonance, liquid cycles…and her…Keats standing at the railing…always…forever…in my mind…together…synonymous…hand in hand…

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 16

 

Julian

 

“Victor Morro,” I say gratified.  “Of course… I’ve been expecting this meeting for as long as I can remember.  Spencer warned me about you.  It’s nice to finally put a one eyed face to a one eyed name.  I’ve spent a lot of time considering what I would do to you.”

“Now, now, Julian,” the skeletal Cyclops says hovering below the camera.  “Don’t get your hopes up.  I am and will always remain just out of your reach.  Just like your father has managed to continually elude me. “

“Yeah,” I say irritated.  “Don’t be so sure you fucking piece of shit.”

“You didn’t really think it would be that easy to kill me,” he says pompously.  “Did you?”

“I don’t give a fuck,” I say pissed.  “Whether it’s today or not, one day I will end you.”

“Well,” he says austerely.  “If it’s meant to be, I suppose it will be.”

“What is can only be, Victor.”

“How sweet of you to remind me of your lonely little brother’s mantra,” he says amused.  “Mason, he is such a sad creature.  So loyal, and yet so completely confused and distracted.  If only he realized the potential he has, right Julian?”

“This could all be over so soon.”

“Yes,” he nods.  “And yet here we still are, alive, well, and ready to devour one another.”

Victor Morro looks like a shell of a person, like a hollow bag of bones fueled by one sinister desire.  I can see it in his remaining eye.  I can see the void left behind.  What was it that we took from him?  That my father took from him?

“Victor,” I say concisely.  “You’ve taken everything from me and my brothers.  If I had the power to hand my father to you, I would do it happily.  Trust me nothing would please me more.  I wish both of you never existed at all.  But the fact is, my father is gone, and who knows if I’ll ever see him again.  He told me some things about you.  But he would never tell me why you were after us.”

“Typical,” he says disturbingly.  “Your father was always a selfish fucking prick.  You know, Julian, if you took the time to remember, I think you’d find that you already know why I’m here.  You’ve known all along.  What a sad game this is we play.  When the heart breaks the mind minds.  I see it all the time.  In all of you in fact.  What a family the Gallo’s have become.  So much potential locked inside such tightly guarded walls.  I can help you get out, Julian, do you understand me?”

“No, I don’t get it.”

“Tell me,” Victor says motioning to someone on the other side of the glass.  The red light on the camera suddenly stops flashing.  “Do you remember going to Sicily as a little boy?”

“No,” I say confused.

“I thought as much,” he says gesturing to the glass again.  The lights inside the room all turn off.  Complete darkness and silence.  I can feel Victor walking towards me like a ghost.  Some kind of high pitched squeal starts emanating from him, escalating volume rapidly.

“What the fuck is this,” I call out.

The noise reaches excruciating levels.  I can feel my head pounding, and cover my ears.

“I’ll see you again, Julian.” Victor whispers as if he’s inside my head.  Then I pass out.

 

Mason

 

When the world is tearing apart, why am I still together?  If I am falling apart, why does the world remain unchanged?  What is it that makes one and another?  Why is it that nothing stays the same?  When everything happens over and over, cycles of cycles, when will anything ever change?

The metal prison door swings open with a loud screech.  In walks my brother, accompanied by a massive Black prison guard.

…where this will lead…I’m completely unaware…but I know she’s near and so I’m here…she’s near…she’s near

With my eyes closed, I listen to their footsteps pound on the laminate floor, like metallic thuds tapping in my brain.  I smell the remnants of auto fabrication in the air…rust…corrosion…chemicals…

There’s a lovely music in the air, memories of better days, happy people making money, living lives, supporting families…

I can sense their spirits around me, dominating the spatial density.  But this landscape has harsh competition, and the recent adversaries bleed anger, hate, and resentment…powerful combustion…

When they get close enough I open my eyes and look up at Julian.  He’s like a ghost…he doesn’t register any expression when he sees me, but I smile fondly at him.  I’m nervous to speak to him again, and unsure of what he’ll say.

The room reminds me of the cafeterias in factories my dad used to take me through on tours: drab yellow walls, and thick glass windows all around.  Large circular tables with chairs firmly attached.  There’s no air in the room, no circulation, just a single vent in one of the corners, with a piece of cloth hanging from it, slightly blowing.

This is the first time we’ve laid eyes on each other since Cassandra’s funeral.  Jules is different than I remember him.  He’s more muscular, but still slender and tall.  His nose is prominent and the scar across his eyebrow is still obvious.  His dark eyes sit back far in their sockets, creating luminous shadows around them.  The proud gleam that used to rest in there is gone, and a vacant stare remains.

It’s hard to look at him.  Tattoos cover every inch of exposed skin, and there are ugly scars on his arms and neck.  I feel ashamed to be here.  So much of him has changed.  It begins to dawn on me…I don’t know him at all.  My brother.  A stranger.

a strange land

The guard removes Julian’s restraints, and reluctantly, he sits down across from me.  I notice him making eye contact with one of the other prisoners, and nodding.  The prison-issued clothing is dark blue with orange stripes, and his number is imprinted on his left leg…4897245JG.

I watch Julian’s large hands beating at the table like a drummer.  He doesn’t say anything…just sits there, rubs his practically buzzed head, accuses me with his dark eyes.

“Julian,” I say finally.  “Are you ok?”

He just stares at me indifferently, almost with a hint of anger or resentment, banging away on the table. 

like strangers

The other inmates are hugging and talking with their families.  I listen to them talking about their kids and what’s been happening outside of prison.  Some of the kids have taken a board game out of this closet, and are getting the pieces ready to play.  I make eye contact with a guard stationed at the door, and he nods at me.

“Mason,” he finally declares, in a tone loaded with resentment. “Why are you here?”

“Do I really need a reason?” I say antagonistically.  “I guess you’d prefer to suffer in silence and solitude?”

“Look Mason,” he accosts sharply.  “Don’t misconstrue me.  I’m glad to see you.  But you shouldn’t have come here.  Seeing you reminds me of other things.  Things I’d prefer to ignore now.  I don’t deserve your good will.  This is justified.  This is what I deserve.  I don’t need you to come here and pity me.  I don’t want you here to ask me those questions, to look at me with those doe eyes.  I’m fine, brother.  I’ll be fine.  I belong here now.  I deserve this.  The only thing you can do for me, Mason, is leave…and never come back.”

like memories are dreams

Every syllable cuts through me like he’s using a Katana.  He’s always been so goddamn proud.  As if I didn’t already feel abandoned by my family, here is my brother telling me this.  As much as I try to be strong, it hurts.

“You know what, Julian,” I start, with a knot in my throat and tears welling behind my eyes.  “I came here because I’m looking for someone very special to me.  She told me to come see you.  I don’t know why, or how, but for some reason this is fucking important.  It’s important for me to see you.

“I don’t think I can handle this anymore.  It’s so hard…life is so hard.  I miss Mom, and Dad…I miss you and Spencer…I feel like I’m alone.  I don’t even know my own brothers.  I can’t handle it.  Life is a box that’s closing in on me…I’m so claustrophobic…I lost my girl, Julian.  I lost the girl I’m in love with.  I don’t know if you can help me, but I don’t know what to do…I’m losing it…I need help!”

“Look,” Julian says, looking ready to get up and leave.  “You need to get a hold of yourself.  Trust me, everything’s going to be fine.  What’s the matter with you?  Life isn’t perfect, Mason?  It’s not working out the way you want it?  Do you even remember how the story goes?  It doesn’t always go the way you think it does.  But it comes around.  Be thankful for what you do have, Mason.  At least you have this.  You’re so caught up in your own little drama that you can’t even see the bigger picture.  You’re alive, brother, you’re free, the only box that’s closing in on you is in your mind.  Wake the fuck up!”

I’m caught off guard; I don’t know what to say.

“Who’s this girl anyway?” he asks, calming down.  “What happened to her?”

she opened the door

“Her name is Keats Cameron.”

I feel a rush of love, as if just saying her name takes me away from this place.  But that quickly fades, and I’m overcome with grief.  I put my head in my hands, and start to speak, because I can’t hold it in anymore.

“We’ve been living together.  She’s originally from Windsor, but grew up in Niagara Falls, and that’s where I met her.  She is everything to me, Julian, my entire life.  Remember when you told me that Cassandra was your whole world?  That’s exactly how I feel about Keats.  It’s like I don’t exist without her, it’s like life has no point.

“She disappeared.  It’s happened before.  It happens all the time.  She always comes here.  Well normally she goes to Windsor.  Her parents abandoned her when she was little.  They left her in the tunnels under Niagara Falls.  She always thought she would find them in Windsor, because she found out that’s where she was born.  She left a note saying she was wrong.  They were from Detroit, all along…

“You know, we’re all the same in this family, every one of us.  It’s like we’re cursed!”

I notice Julian’s eyes spark when I say the word cursed.  Something I intended to find out.

“I don’t know what to do,” I continue.  “Honestly…I have no goddamn clue.  All I know is that I can’t stop looking.  I have to keep going…”

“You’ve been talking to Spencer again,” he responds delicately, but not without condescension.  “It certainly is true, Mason.  There’s no end to what love can do for us, and to us.  I know it as much as anyone.  I know exactly how it feels, to love someone so much you want to die when you’re apart.  And I know how it feels to know it’s gone forever.  But there is no limit to the things a man will tell himself in that position.  So it’s hard to trust what that type of man might tell you.”

“So,” I say quickly, “you’re saying Spencer has concocted this whole conspiracy story to like, appease his sorrow?  You don’t think there’s any truth to it at all?  Even with you being pegged as Cassandra’s killer?”

Julian’s voice turns cold.  “I prefer to exist in reality, Mason, unlike him.  Can you really trust the words of a man who never leaves a casino?  To me that’s pretty suspect.”

“More suspect than a guy who’s in jail for killing his fiancée?”

“Is that what you really think?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore, Julian.”

“We’re done here,” he says vacantly, as he gets up.  “Good luck finding your girl.  Seriously, I hope it works out for you.  At least you have hope, Mason.  Think about that as often as you can.  At least she’s still out there.”

I start to panic, as if he is my only hope, and it’s walking out the door.  The small amount of air in the room seems like it’s being sucked away completely.  My hands start to get hot.  I feel a storm brewing in my head…everything starts to add up…

I start to burn…I can feel my control slipping…the anger is taking me over.  I feel it coming up from my stomach…my brain firing electrons in a lightning blast of cataclysmic proportions…It builds and builds…I feel a lifetime of loss culminating in a sphere of rage.  Images of people flash across my mind.  My mother, my dad, my brothers, and then Keats, all the people I’ve loved, leave me…All the people I need abandon me…

The feeling overwhelms me completely.  Finally with all the fury inside me, I slam my fist on the table, and suddenly the entire room goes dark…

*****

when the heart breaks the mind mends

I see lies and deceptions everywhere.  People living in despair…people living a fake happiness…escaping reality.  Everywhere I look and everywhere I go.  We’re trapped.  But I found an escape…by truly loving someone more than myself.  Transcending reality…with love in my heart.

One time, a long time, more than anything I dreamed was possible…now…forever…and ever…ever more…love…love more than myself.  Love more than any inconvenience.  Love secure…for her.  Love in this tragic atmosphere…

The cab driver says, “Maybe true love really exists…but you’ll never convince me of that.  That’s just some corporate bullshit you’re buying.”

“In my heart I know it does,” I reply.  “I think here in this place, we’ve forgotten that love can be beautiful, pure, and everlasting.”

“Sure,” he reluctantly agrees.  “Maybe here, we have.  But I‘m still not buying it.”

“The boredom of our reality has made us too jaded,” I disclose.  “We’re afraid to experience real love.  We’re too lazy, and too selfish, to endure real love.”

“The coward in all of us,” he says coarsely.

I hear him in the back of my mind, but I’m drifting…looking out the window.  The Ambassador Bridge flashes across the screen.  There’s a weird smell.  I don’t know what it is.

Into view: a muddled, gray, luminous downtown Detroit.  The sun halved by the horizon…a pinkish yellow slice through melancholy haze.

“Look at Detroit,” the cabbie dribbles.  “It’s like the aftermath of a hurricane…but there’s never been a hurricane, ha ha ha…”  He starts snorting, incessant misery striking him as funny.

“It will never get better,” he continues.  “Every year it just gets worse and worse.  They just can’t escape the past.  Worst part, it’s coming over here now…they should blow up the bridge, fill the tunnel with water…keep that goddamn mess over there.  Where it belongs.”

“Yeah,” I say half-heartedly.  “But aren’t we all part of the same mess?”

It’s not an opinion the driver cares to indulge.

“Looks like rain,” he pronounces.  “It’s always something here, isn’t it?  Definitely rain.”

I stare out the window…on the screen: the water rushing west with violence…legs holding up the bridge…in the air, miles above us, two countries rejoicing in unity…cars darting around us.  The feeling of being boxed in.  Memories…

“Yup, news says it’s supposed to storm,” he confirms, as if I had asked him to double check…

I stare at the big red letters that say Ambassador Bridge fading away in the distance.  Wonder if the weather people ever get bored making guesses.  I realize there’s not much I truly know…

Just that one time, a long time, further than anything I dreamed possible…one time, a long time, beyond my wildest imagination…one time…one time…a long time ago…one time I…met a girl named Keats Cameron.

She swept away everything that was crushing me…she destroyed all my fear and sorrows…she filled me with eternal hope and courage…

I close my eyes and see her face on the black side of my eyelids…she’s burning like the holy bush.  She filled me with boundless strength and energy…she filled me with beautiful love.

“Love can be phenomenally beautiful, pure, and everlasting.”

“Huh,” the cabbie questions.  “I said it looks like a storm.”

“You know,” I spill frenetically.  “I had everything…and yet I had nothing, until I met her.  The moment I talked to her.  The moment I touched her.  I swear it made being here transcendent.”

beyond every single thing I thought was possible

“I had everything in the world.  I come from money.  Never had to work for a fucking thing my whole life.  Everything I needed I got, and everything I wanted I got.  I had all the privilege in the world…education, connections, opportunity.  All this privilege, and yet it did nothing for me.  All advantage ever did for me was hollow me out.”

“I’m telling you,” he spouts irritably.  “There’s not a storm strong enough to wash away that mess.  They should flood the tunnel, and blow the bridge up.”

“The truth is,” I charge ahead, ignoring him, “before I met her, I had absolutely nothing.  No hope or purpose.  My advantaged world was shit, until her light descended on me and illuminated my self-centered life.”

beyond every single thing I thought

“Her beautiful sense of life made me finally appreciate how precious being here truly is.  How much I took it for granted.  She had this incredible sincerity.  She saw through me…accused me of being the exact person I was.  Made me accountable here, to myself.  It altered me.”

In my mind the sky is opening and letting the sun dawn only on me.

“Things are changing,” the cabbie says bitterly.  “That mess is spreading over here.  I can see it happening before my eyes.”

“Her name is Keats.”

And she is beyond every single thing I thought was possible…and she opened a door for me, that didn’t exist before…and she is the shepherd who leads me…and she is the port in the storm…and she shows me the door, her door, and she holds it open for me…and she is the light that gives birth.

“I see that everlasting love does exist.  I swear my heart only beats for something as pure as that love.  Keats changed the entire course of my life.  I feel the magnificent beauty of true love, flowing through me.  There’s peace in that love.  Fear disappears with that beautiful love.”

“The whole city,” he utters.  “Is going to shit quick, it’s inevitable.  Definitely a storm.  What did you say you’re doing here?”

“My girl,” I say dejectedly.  “Keats…the one I’ve been telling you about.  I’m here for Keats.”

“Well, um,” he says, preoccupied.  “I hope you brought your umbrella.”

all day, every day, and through every night…I search for her

“Bad memories,” I say, disoriented, vanishing from here.  “They never sleep…just like dreams…they’re always awake.”

I stare through the window screen.  Water rolling in endless patterns.  Waves cutting like scythes under the Ambassador Bridge.  Sky vividly threatening thunder and lightning, a grayish green color.  The car slowly making its way along the path of the river, isolated.  Scrolling across the bottom of the screen, words…

I will never stop.  I will search for her forever, till my time is up.  I never judge.  I only love!  I only love.  I will never stop.  I will find her…and she is beyond every single thing I ever thought.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 17

 

Julian

 

I come back to life in my cell.  Four walls, three concrete, and one mechanized sliding glass.

life in a box

Something has changed.  I can’t exactly say what but I can feel it inside.

l'amore è la fine di vita

“My son,” my father’s voice resonates from the hallway.

“Yes,” I say rushing to the glass to see him.

“I am here,” he says cryptically.

“Why,” I respond unable to see him.

“To deliver a message,” he says taking shape before me, his voice hoarse yet commanding.  I have to take a step back.  To see him after so many years, standing there looking exactly the same as he did before.  “Julian,” he continues, eyes blazing bright blue.  “When you were a boy I took you to Sicily.  Do you remember?”

“No,” I say disordered.  “I don’t remember it.”

“Here,” he says pressing his skeletal hands on the glass.  “Watch.”

I stare at his face and wait.  At first nothing happens, but slowly his eyes begin to lose color and then his mouth starts to open unnervingly.  The sounds of hundreds of bees start to emanate from within him.  I take a step closer as his mouth continues to expand.  Suddenly the nest explodes from within him, and bees flood my cell, attacking me, stinging me in bunches until I can’t take any more…

 

Mason

 

Earsplitting thunder reverberates through the building.  Emergency lights quickly flash on, providing the minutest of light.  The fallen prison guard wakes up, grabs his radio and starts asking questions about the situation.

Julian rises, waits for him to stop, and then asks him for a smoke.  It’s as if they’re equals, which I find weird.  He turns back to me, his sharp eyes barely visible…cutting across the room into my livid heart, calming me.  He smiles… soothes me further…

Waking prisoners are comforting their sleepy children as Julian walks back to the table apprehensively.

“Look, Mason, all that shit I said, it was just to get you out of here.  I apologize if I hurt your feelings.  You really pissed me off, and I didn’t want you to be here in the first place.  But I guess it’s like they’ve always said about you, little brother.  How do you manage these things?”

I watch him as he inhales deeply, and looks up to release the toxins into the air.  I can feel something imminent.  He sits down across from me, and smiles.

“You know, Mason, back in the seventies, this prison was an engine plant for one of the Big Three.  Think about that.  Obviously you’ve seen the area now…you’ve seen what it’s become.  Imagine all the families that lived here back then, all the fathers that worked in this place, all the mothers that raised their children off the lifeblood of this facility.

“This entire community was built because the car companies came in here and built these factories.  They brought the people here, offered them a means to an end, a life…a simple, hard-working American life.  What happened, Mason?

“Somewhere down the line the world changed on them.  The companies became too powerful, too commercial, got consumed by profit.  The fabric of the country changed, and with it the goal of industry changed.  Once that happened the object was viciously clear: make more money…sell more shit…turn it all over and reap the profit.  Greed…

“So what happens next?  You get these companies looking for cheaper places to make their stuff because then the profits are higher.  Meanwhile you got these unions here, that are equally obsessed with money and power…they’re running the companies away that pay the workers they’re supposed to be protecting.  Soon there’s an empty factory and a community of people who can’t afford to live here anymore…so they leave.

“This prison population exists because some corporate asshole, decided he’d rather pay a fucking cheaper price somewhere else, then keep this community going, the community that built the company, abandoned by the company that built the community.   What’s left, Mason?  These goddamn abandoned buildings.  These crack-neighbourhoods where these forgotten people make a living. 

“So the city decides to put up a prison because there’s too many criminals for the ones they’ve already got…and what do you know, here’s this old abandoned engine plant, wouldn’t that make a great place for it…

“Tell me that’s not a perfect match?  First you take their jobs then you give them a place to go when they take their bread.  What a slap in the face to the people that live here…

“Look, whatever happens, Mason, you can’t let it ruin you.  The one thing I’ve learned about life is that it is inexorable.  Life doesn’t care about you.  It doesn’t protect you from the truth or make things easier to accept.  Life is just there…and it’s unavoidable, and a lot of it is horrible.  But then there’s the beauty as well…then there’s love.  Whatever it takes, live that love…”

The power stays off…through the guard’s radio we hear that all the phone lines are dead, and they can’t contact anyone on the outside.

Everyone in the visiting room, save Julian, looks worried.  The family members are getting frantic, and they barrage the guards with questions.  Slowly but surely, fear and impatience begin to strangle the room.  They’ve seen this movie too many times…

I try to ignore it and focus on Julian.  He looks around the room with a sense of purpose now…I sense the compassion in him for me, and annoyance of everyone else…we’ve never had much faith in people, as a family rule.  Thunderous sounds continue crashing loudly and the heat is rising with the air conditioning off…

“Listen,” Julian says evenly.  “Now that you’re here, I just want you to know…I think the world of you, Mason J…I’ve never been a good brother, but I’ve always admired you and the way you treat people.  You take so much in…there’s so much sincerity in you…”

I nod.  He struggles with himself…

“Our heroes are dead, Mason.  They’re gone.  There are none left anymore.  The world needs a dramatic change and it may never come from America.  A veil of deceit shrouds even the good people here, whether they know it or not.  Power and iniquity in the United States is a web that is impossible to escape…we are living in a hurricane of propaganda and lies…I thought I knew things…I thought I understood it all, but I was wrong…

“I need you to know, whatever you do with your life…forget about the pain you feel for people.  It’s a trap, a waste, Mason.  Trying to make sense out of this life, trying to understand it, will only make you suffer terribly…it will take you over the edge.  Forget about the things in your head…just do what’s in your heart.  Don’t be afraid of it…don’t shy away…your pure heart will always lead you exactly where you need to go…

“When I lost Cassandra, Mason, it was like losing my will to live.  I still blame myself for it…my selfishness.  I’ve done a lot of bad things thinking I could purge that guilt from my soul.  Nothing ever worked.  I deserve to be in here, Mason.  I belong with these men.  Only out of the true evil of my actions did I find the spirit, the motivation, to do some good.  But I am vain, and even in my supposed altruism, it’s still always about me…I can’t escape myself, brother…

“Cass, she had this dream her whole life, she used to talk about it all the time…Her mother lived on Berkshire Avenue, right off Ryan Road, pretty much minutes from here.  All her life before she fled, Cass was surrounded by these horrible burned out and abandoned buildings, and she hated them.  She watched her mother get raped by her dealer inside one of these derelict homes.  She watched the same man get murdered on her front lawn.  In this city the devils are everywhere…it’s a horrifying travesty.  It’s sickening, Mason, this goddamn city is a hive of dysfunction.

“Cass loathed the state of this community, and she worked hard her whole life to forget it.  But I know in her heart of hearts she wanted to do something about it…but then…well you know…”

He pauses for a moment, and the softer side of him shows through, the part he tried to kill to avoid remembering her…I try to think of something to say but decide to stay quiet instead.  I notice one of the other inmates staring at Julian suspiciously; Julian notices as well, checks himself, and that sensitivity quickly dissipates.

“Anyway,” he says forcefully.  “When I came back, I devoted myself to changing it.  Have this entire city reconstructed, all this vast wasteland destroyed and rebuilt.  A new Detroit, Mason, that’s what she would have wanted.  That’s what I hope to give her.  Money has never done me any good, and finally I have something I can use it for.  I just wish…well…they say things happen for a reason.  Anyway, I deserve this…she won’t die in vain.  Whether I get out of here or not, things will change…”

I can’t help thinking about the supposed murder.  Everything inside me says Julian is innocent.  But he never once addresses it head on.  It’s all dancing around it, and quick subject changing.  Still, I feel that if I stay this course it will lead me where I want to go.

…heaven knows…eternal truth…desperate proof…fiction plays…mental games…concocted organs…denied origins…system havoc…maize and blue…where are you…where are you…

“Mason,” he says, snapping me out of it…

“I know how you feel,” I say passionately.  “Love is the end of life!  I’d do anything for Keats…anything.  I want to find her so badly…I need to find her.”

“Tell me more about her, your girl.”

“Well,” I say ardently.  “Keats is the one, Julian.  The minute I saw her, I knew it for sure.  It was exactly how Dad said it would be.  One time, a long time, and further from anything I ever dreamed possible, there she was…”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 18

 

Julian

 

“This is my son,” my father says in Italian, to the man across a white and red checker clothed table.  “Julian, say hello to Victor please.”

I try to look at the man, but the sun is blinding.  We are on the patio of some café in Palermo, Sicily, a mountain visible in the distance.   

“Julian,” my father commands. 

“Hello, Sir,” I say hesitantly trying to remember my Italian words.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Hello, my boy,” the man responds assertively.  “I would like you to meet my wife.  Her name is Siena.  We do not have children yet, but both of us would love to.  Do you have any brothers or sisters at home, Julian?”

“Answer the man,” my father barks.

“Yes, sir,” I say timidly.  “I have two brothers.”

My father makes an awkward face, and I feel like he wants me to be quiet…

“So lucky,” Victor says attentively.  “That would be quite a blessing, right darling?  Could you imagine three boys?”

Siena gives Victor a very odd glance.

“I apologize for my wife,” he says curtly.  “We recently lost a child in the womb.” 

“My mom,” I say trying innocently to make him feel better.  “Is in the crazy house.”

“Be quiet, Julian,” my father says addressing Victor’s wife.  “I am terribly sorry for your loss.”

“It’s ok,” Victor responds taking notice.  “You had no way of knowing.  It’s fine, forget it.  Let’s just get to the business at hand.”

“Sure, sure,” my father concurs.

“So,” Victor says willingly.  “As I’ve explained to your associates in the States, we have a product that is not only reliable, but safe, and equal to anything else out there.  But the key is that we know how to work this thing, you know, without all the bullshit that these other cultures can’t seem to avoid.  We can see eye to eye, because we share all this,” he motions to the surrounding area.  “We come from the same place, Luciano.  We are…”

The gunshot detonates before I can even think.  The bullet shreds the right side of Victors face.  For a second he tilts back from the force and his chair teeters on the brink of falling, but then swings back and he falls lifelessly onto the table.  Blood seeps from the gash on his face and quickly saturates the white tablecloth.  The ringing in my ears is painful and creates what sounds like thousands of bees circling me.  I stare in shock and the bleeding man in front of me.

“Julian,” my father orders.  “Julian,” he repeats. 

I’m in shock.  The scene plays on repeat in my mind.  I don’t see where the bullet originates, just Victor’s face explode as if it’s happening from within.  The sun is beating down on the table covered in his blood.  People are running away from the cafe, their screams become the background music in my head.  Bees and screams. 

“Si doveva essere,” my father says to Victor’s wife.  “It had to be.”

“Cosi, in questo modo?” she replies.

“Yes,” he answers ominously.  “There was no other way.  L'amore è la fine di vita.  Love is the end of life.  His life!”

My father drags me into the café bathroom.  I stare at myself in the mirror.  My face is covered in blood and fragments of Victor’s left eye.

“Here,” he says coldly, handing me a towel.  “Use this to wash your face.”

His words resonate but I can’t seem to function.

“Hurry up, Julian,” he shouts shaking me.  “We don’t have a lot of time.  We have to leave.”

Slowly the feeling returns to me body and I do what he says.

“I know this is hard to understand, Julian.  But this is who we are,” he says proudly.  “This is the business we are in.  I am in love with her.  If Victor found that out he would have killed her without the slightest consideration.  He would have tried for me, and probably you as well.  I had to do it.  I wanted to do it.  She is mine now, Julian.  She will be your new mother, and you will treat her with that respect.  Okay?”

I just stare at myself in the mirror, the words echo through me, but it’s like hearing someone yelling at the other side of a tunnel.

“Julian,” he screams.  “Do you hear me?  Answer your father!”

“Yes, dad,” I say terrified.  “This is who we are.”

“I’m proud of you,” he says callously.  “You did good, my son.”

I start to cry quietly…As I stare at my face in the mirror the change inside me begins. 

 

Mason

 

Julian sits patiently listening to my whole story, and apart from my time with Keats, it’s probably the happiest moment of my entire life.  It leaves me longing for her in a terribly desperate way…

Afterwards I ask him, “Julian do you think Mom and Dad regretted having kids?”

“No,” he says, exasperated.  “What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know…Spencer told me about Mom’s life before Detroit, and she seemed happier before…I thought maybe it was me that made her crazy.  And Dad, I guess I just always felt that way about him, like I was holding him back from something.”

“Mason, there are some things you just couldn’t understand.  Dad didn’t want you to know about it.  I wasn’t going to tell you, but that thing you did, to put everyone to sleep at the school, it changed things…but mom would have been that way with kids or not, it was always just a matter of time.  It was her condition not you.  It had nothing to do with you.  Dad, well…he just didn’t know how to communicate.”

“I don’t know…I guess I just miss them…”

“We all do, Mason.  When Cassandra died, I lost all touch with reality.  Spencer took over the business, while I dodged the cops, and all that shit.  I started hurting myself.  Drugs, alcohol, drifting from place to place…I avoided real life, Mason.  Without her I just couldn’t see any point anymore.  I didn’t want to face these accusations.  I fled.  I remember standing at her funeral, and watching Dad make a fool of himself.  Cass was like his daughter but she was my fiancé.  I couldn’t see his side of things.  I couldn’t understand that he was exactly like me.  I felt like I had lost so much in my life.  I never considered how much Dad had lost as well…”

It feels like we are being transported from the swelling room.  Who knows where, somewhere different, somewhere cool and cosy.  I can smell flowers…I can see sunlight…I guess it’s easy to drift in darkness…

“One night,” Julian continues, “I was languishing through the jungle, somewhere in Brazil.  I stumbled upon this old church.  The whole thing couldn’t have been more than say ten feet long and twenty feet wide.  It had a simple triangular roof with a cross projecting from the top of the front part.

“I opened the door and stepped inside.  Not much there, just a couple rows of old crummy benches, and a wooden statue of Jesus on the cross.  I stood where the priest would preside and looked out where the congregation would sit.  The ceiling had begun to erode and some of it was bare.  The moon struck straight through to the floor, illuminating a gospel covered in cobwebs and dust.  There were a couple thick crossbeams also covered in webs, with birds’ nests in the corners.  The place reeked of rotting wood and bird shit.

“I stood there watching a bird fly in from outside, a big black sparrow or something, and then I started to weep, Mason…all that time I wanted to die, I never spilled a single tear over Cass’s death.  I never gave myself that relief…

“I knew in that moment, when I broke down in that church, that once again I was being the same old selfish conceited son of a bitch…I remember I was down on my knees crying like a madman when suddenly before me I felt something.  I looked up and hovering right in front of me, was you…you were glowing like an angel…you didn’t say anything, but by looking at you I felt a transference take place within me…It was like you were telling me I had some purpose to fulfill, like my destiny had not yet been met…In the blink of an eye you were gone.

“I don’t know how to explain what I felt.  I just know that afterwards I came home, and something about seeing that vision, whether it was real or not, had changed me.  I don’t know what it was.  I just realized that in life, there is no walking away from things.  There is no escape.  One life is all you have, and it can only be done one way…”

“You’re saying,” I ask him, “that it’s worthless to try and escape the past?  That avoiding it only leads to continued misery.  That’s why Keats is so obsessed with finding her parents.  It’s like there’s this undying substance inside her…a question with no answer…a virus with no cure.”

“Yeah,” he says.  “I’d imagine, from what you said about her, that she needs that peace to be free.  She needs to know the truth.  The truth is a vital aspect of humanity.  Without it we can’t exist properly.”

We both sit there in the dark for a few minutes.  The hysteria in the room continues to baffle me.  People are never what we want them to be.  They’re usually less…

“I have these dreamlike memories of Mom,” I say.  “She’s always smiling at me.  She’s always got long, curly, red hair, which looks salon finished.  For some reason I remember her smelling like vanilla.  I see her happy face, glowing and bursting with life, and kissing me…

“It doesn’t make any sense.  I never even knew her, Julian.  I only knew what she became.  I can’t tell if these dreams are real memories, or just an image of her from pictures…I always see the end…I see the blood on the grass…”

“That’s right,” he says with difficulty.  “You were there, Mason.  Do you remember what you saw that day?”

“Only bits and pieces,” I reply searching.  “I remember afterwards, when you found me in the house.  I do remember the look in her eyes.  When I went outside and looked at her.   I already knew she was dead by then.  I saw her from the window but I couldn’t believe it yet.  I had to wait.  Wait for her to get up and come back in the house.  But she didn’t.  She never got up.  So eventually I went out just to be sure.  I looked into her eyes.  I remember them.  I see them in my head all the time.  Or I did.  Now I see Keats.”

“To me,” Julian interjects.  “Mom died long before she ever actually passed away.  I can recall her face like she lives within me, but I don’t know how she exists there.  In actuality I barely knew her at all.

“Dad,” I concur, “never talked about her after she did it.  She became something to be ashamed of.  She was forgotten.  Whenever I asked him about her, he would cringe, say things like, it took too much out of her to love me.  That she loved me, but not more than she loved herself.  I spent years trying to figure out what he meant.  If I asked him, he wouldn’t speak to me for days.  I grew up thinking he blamed me for whatever happened to her.”

“I wish I could have stayed closer back then,” Julian says sadly.  “But Dad couldn’t handle things when that happened.  Someone had to step up and run the business.  I never had the choice, Mason.  He had lost his wife.  I know how that feels.  I can understand it.  I can picture the world you grew up in, Mason.  I can see why now. 

“I think if I’d had a son when Cassandra died.  He might have turned out to be just like you.  What you did makes sense, Mason.  I understand it.  You realize that right?  You do remember that right?”

“It had to happen,” I say coldly.  “We all agreed.”

“I know,” he says nodding.  “In the end, love is the end of life.”

“Dad,” I say reminiscing.  “Told me the first time he saw her, he knew.  He said I would know too.  I always thought it was a lie.  But it’s not.  All this time, he was right.”

“It’s ok, brother,” Julian says trying to comfort me.  “I know what you saw that day.  I know everything.”

As Julian continues to talk, I can’t help but drift into my own thoughts.  I don’t know what to believe.  I can tell he’s hiding something.  Like he’s protecting me from something, or someone, but for what, and who?

*****

I open my eyes for the first time in forever.  Feel the car engine get quiet, and a door opening.

“We’re here, Mason, and you slept the whole way.  That’s four hours you’ll never get back.  Do you know what I did with my time, son?”

“No Dad,” I say sharply.  “What did you do?  Save the world?”

“Smart ass little prick,” he snaps, slapping me across the cheek.  “You know, I hear comedians are doing really well these days.  Maybe that’s a vocation you should pursue.”  He grabs my face really tight, until he can see the pain in my eyes…

“We may have finally found that hidden talent you possess, Mason.  Maybe your mother did leave you something worthwhile…”

I can feel my spirit shrink, and rage begin to hurtle itself at a wall inside me.  Over and over again, his words play in my head, your mother…

“All these years,” he continues, “all these schools.  Finally a winner.  You’re a goddamn faggy fucking comedian.”

There’s a couple seconds of silence, until a dark feeling creeps into the Lincoln.

“Whatever, Dad,” I say, trying to pull away, whispering as he releases me.  “My only vocation is killing you.”

“What was that, son? Huh, tough guy.  You got something to say?  What did you say?”

“Fuck, nothing!”

“That’s what I thought.”

The hotel looks like the rest…lavish…phony…cold.  While my father makes some calls to alert certain people that we’ve arrived, I walk around with a hurricane inside me.

“Your dad is fucking crazy,” Javier, the driver, says when I bum a cigarette from him.  “I was going forty over the limit, and he was still saying it was too slow.  I really thought he was going to fire me, right there in the middle of nowhere.”

“Um,” I say uncomfortably.

“I feel sorry for you, Mason,” he says compassionately.  “I really do.  He’s the big guy, but he’s such a fucking prick sometimes.  How do you live with him?  It‘s punishment.”

“I wouldn’t feel sorry for me, Javier,” I reply nonchalantly.  “He’s not really that bad.  It’s just this whole funeral thing, you know.  It’s playing on his mind a lot.”

I watch a bellhop rush to our car, smiling in this terribly fake way.  It strikes me as sad for some reason.  Just seeing his odd smile.

“It’s like that guy doesn’t even understand how worthless it is,” I say.

“What guy?” asks Javier.  “The bag boy, what’s wrong with him?  You need to lighten up, Mason.  Things aren’t really that bad, you know.  There’s a lot to enjoy out there.  It’s no good to feel so down all the time.  Have some fun, man.  Don’t be afraid to live a little.”

I look at him and realize what I have to do.

“Life isn’t about fun, buddy,” I say, devoid of any emotion.  “It’s about accomplishments.”

“Jesus, Mason…you sound like the boss.”

I watch the bellhop grab our bags and load them onto a cart, all the while smiling that hollow grin.

My dad appears from somewhere, and stares at me, confused, a little irritated.  The sun is falling down behind him.

“By the way, Javier,” I say coldly.  “There’s something I have to tell you.  We won’t be using you anymore.”

“That’s funny, homey.  Sure dude, I believe that.  Buddy, you can’t be serious.  Come on.  Are you serious, Mason, seriously, you’re joking, right?”

“Would I joke, Javier?  You know I fucking wouldn’t.” I stand up tall and lean into him, grab his collars, and flip them up.

“Don‘t worry though,” I say like a prick.  “I‘m sure we’ll give you a good reference, for where you’re from.”

I stand there waiting while he fades out in shock or something.  I want to hug him, tell him it will all be okay.  Instead I focus on how soon I can get out of here.

“I‘m really sorry, Javier” I say, leaving.  “Who knows, couple weeks you could be right back with us.  I’ll see what I can do.”

He looks into my eyes.  His eyes look red.

“You should watch what you say, Mason,” he says bitterly.  “Things aren’t always as they seem to be.  This isn’t some schoolboy joke to me.  This is my life, my livelihood.”

“Things could change, Javier.  You never know.  Don’t worry, this will all work out for the best, trust me.”

“You won’t get away with this,” he says with fire behind his eyes.  “You’ll get what’s coming to you, Mason, you and your fucking father.”

“Yes,” I say vacantly.  “I think we will.”

I leave him standing there talking shit, and walk towards my father.

“What was that all about, Mason?” Dad says crossly.  “I thought I told you to stay away from them?”

The sky is vibrant behind him.  I can smell the miles upon miles of water evaporating in the air.

“I told him he was fired,” I say harshly.  “Of Mice and Men, right?”

“There was no avoiding it, anyway, Mason,” he concludes.  “No sense wasting his time.  How did he take it?”

“He was okay,” I lie.

“Good, Mason, good boy.”

I can tell he’s proud of me, and it feels good.  I hate that it feels good.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 19

 

Julian

 

“I remember now,” I say to Victor, once again in the interrogation room.  “I forgot everything.  I can’t believe it.  The most pivotal part of my childhood, and I forgot it.  It made me who I am.”

“Yes,” Victor says conclusively.  “It certainly did.  In more ways than you’ll ever be able to fathom.  It’s not uncommon for children to repress horrific things they witness.  What the heart can’t take, the mind eliminates.”

“I thought you were dead, Victor.  I saw you die.”

“I was dead,” he says indifferently.  “Until I wasn’t.”

“Whatever,” I say confused.  “I see why now, Victor.  But I can’t forget what you’ve done to us.  When I get the chance, you goddamn one eyed banshee, I’ll finish what my father started.”

“Maybe so,” he replies smiling.  “Who really knows, Julian?  In this crazy world of ours, who will ever know but the one…”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I reply annoyed.

“Revelations,” he says assuredly.  “There are reasons for everything, Julian.  Why am I here?  Why are you here?  Where is your brother?  Where is your father?”

“This is bullshit, Victor.  Let me the fuck out of here.”

“I need your help, Julian.”  He says desolately.

“Why the fuck would I ever help you?”

“Because,” he says sadly.  “I can give her back to you.”

her words in my mind all the time

“Bullshit,” I say infuriated.  “Let me go.  She’s gone.  Nothing can bring her back.  Let me the fuck out of here.”

“It’s true,” he says ice cold.  The room starts to chill, the one sided glass frosts over, and snow begins to fall from the ceiling.  “If you want her back, you will help me, Julian.  I can make it happen if you consent.”

I try not to think about her, but the uncontrollable images rush in violently.  I would do anything to have her back.  She is all there is of me.

“What would I have to do?”

“Not much, Julian,” he says slyly.  “Just make a few calls, say a few words, really nothing at all.”

“Sure, Victor,” I say incredulously.  “I don’t give a fuck anyway.  I would do anything to have her back.  Just tell me what I have to do.”

“First,” he says blankly.  “Give this to your brother when he comes.”

“Mason,” I say alarmed.   “Why would he come here?”

“Julian,” he says amused.  “There’s no need to be coy.  I know everything in this world.  There is nothing beyond my grasp.  Have you wondered why you suddenly felt the need to talk to him?  I am the voice in the back of your mind.  I am the hand controlling the strings.  What is will only be, Julian.  You took his girl from him.  You sent her the word.  You know he will eventually come.  When he does, I want you to give this to him.”

Victor hands me a folded piece of paper.  

“What is it,” I ask.

“Bread crumbs, Julian,” he responds pleased by himself.  “Bread crumbs.”

 

Mason

 

In this darkness exists a hollow void.  I am succumbing to the void, becoming the invalid space.

lies and deceptions

…pounding on the door…thuds in my brain…talking incessantly…complaints…family history…the truth is in the pudding…the proof is in the paper…the obvious greed…we do what we need…we are molded…shaped…cut…we crack…break…crumble…

I interrupt him mid-sentence.  “Julian, I’ve never asked you for anything in life.  I’ve never wanted anything from you, more than to know you.  You say you made mistakes, and you say you wish you had been better to me, to her.  But is that the truth?  I don’t know what kind of web it is you’re spinning.  I don’t believe your motives.  Maybe you think you’re protecting me.  Maybe you’re the lunatic yourself.  Maybe you invented this entire fantasy to appease the guilt you feel inside.  Whatever it is, I want you to know one thing.  I’m your brother and I’ll always forgive you…”

As I finish my sentence the power is suddenly restored.  The florescent lights flicker on, and begin to warm up.  The beautiful sound of air conditioning floods the room, and the cloth hanging from the vent begins to sway back and forth.

The people in the room relax, and their smiling faces are pleasant, yet altogether poor reminders of human frailty…so weak…so afraid…

babe in a mother’s arms

“Mason,” Julian says cryptically.  “Your burden is needing to know what you shouldn’t.  A tragedy I always hoped was an exaggeration, but I’m seeing now it isn’t.  I can’t fathom what your shoulders carry, Mason.  To seek this totality around you…to always need to see things for what they truly are.  It must be encumbering.  It must be difficult to bear.  The truth of the matter is Victor M…”

“Julian Gallo,” a prison guard shouts.  “Time’s up, you got to go.”

“Yeah,” Julian says indignantly.  “One second.”

“Now, Gallo,” the guard barks.

“Quick, Mason,” he says anxiously.  “Take this and don’t come back here.”

He hands me a piece of paper folded into a tiny square, right before the guard yanks him from his chair and drags him towards the exit.

“Forgive me,” he shouts passionately.  “I’m so sorry, brother.”

 

 

 

 

 

Part

4

 

 

 

 

 

A page from the Diary of Keats:

 

The world falls apart beneath my feet

As I’m dragged through endless dead ends

I’m starting to see color arrive

Complete fabrications, every one of them…

I don’t know what to think anymore

As I’m finally starting to understand the score

When so much of our reality is an illusion

Who can tell what is or not anymore

If this is all meant to be

Than none of that matters anyway

In the end what is will only

I hope that leads you to me

I want you so bad I don’t know what to say

Yet following me is an extremely dangerous game

All I want to say is please Mason keep going

I want to scream it at the top of my lungs

From the bottommost recesses of my heart

I want you so dearly, so madly, so much

I can’t control it, I can’t stop

But nothing would hurt me more than losing you

Just knowing you’re out there is enough

You are my eternal love

Don’t trust anyone, Masonry…

Only trust what’s in your own heart…

I accept any outcome

For I have loved and that love is enough…

 

Your Keats…

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 20

 

“Mason,”

“Yes.”

“Where you been.  I’ve been looking for you all night.”

“I…I went to see Julian…I.”

“She’s here, bro.  Your girl.  She fucking found me.”

“Keats…how did she find you?  Is she ok?”

“Look, she doesn’t look good, but she’s alive.  She’s been asleep for eighteen hours.  You need to come back.”

“Spencer…”

“Yes.  Mason, what is it?”

“It’s…life is a box…what is can only be…she opened the door…”

“Mason, snap out of it.  Jesus Christ.  Get your fucking head on straight.  You need to come and take her now!  She’s at Julian’s condo.”

“Spencer…I…just…thanks…I love you.”

“Just get here fast, Mason, before it’s too late…”

*****

 “Why,” my father mutters to himself, “are these fucking assholes driving so goddamn slow.”

“Mason…Mason…Mason,” he says energetically.  “Look out the window.  You’re missing this.  This is pretty interesting.  Lot of history on this river.”

I focus on the radio and try ignoring him.  The song is “Uptown Girl.”  We’re flying through traffic in the stretched Cadillac at speeds that terrify me…dodging in and out of the two narrow lanes available to us on the Ambassador Bridge.  It baffles me why my father needs to get everywhere fast, so recklessly close to sudden death.  Under the circumstances it’s terribly bad taste.

“Jesus Christ,” Dad moans.  “This coffee trader will never work in this country again.  I swear.  He’ll be back in Guatemala, picking my espresso beans, by Friday.  That’s how easy it is…control people’s lives, and show no fear.  Always be confident, and they will fear you, because of…everything else.”

“Dad,” I interject blindly.  “Javier is from New Jersey.”

I stare directly at the floor listening to the song.  For the first time understanding what an uptown girl is, and thinking I’d like to do stuff to her.  I’m dressed in a gray Armani suit, facing my similarly dressed father.  I have no hope.  I have no life…

“Mason,” he says sternly.  “I would really prefer if you stopped speaking with the help.  It doesn’t bode well for your future prospects…For Christ sakes, can’t we move any faster?  Is it fucking Sunday every day in Windsor?”

I look at the floor thinking about Julian, and what happened.  It only takes a few minutes to cross the bridge, but it feels like hours.

Safe on the other side, I can finally relax.  Since it happened I’ve been having these visions of driving off the bridge.  I try not to picture it but its inescapable…over and over again…cars smashing into us…pushing us over the rail.  Falling into water…locked inside the Caddy, drowning.

“Javier,” my dad mispronounces, before the divider window lowers completely.  “Drive at least ten times faster, or you’re fucking fired.”  Then he quickly closes the divider again.

“He’s fired anyway, Mason,” he says haughtily.  “But you can’t be honest with these people.  They’re all scumbags at heart.  They need some incentive or else they never do anything the right way.  It’s part of their heritage.  People like him are a dime a dozen.  They‘re ours for the taking.  They have no respect.

“Jesus Christ,” he practically screams.  “What do I have to say to get through to this fucking idiot?  When I said fast I goddamn meant it.  What, do I need to say it in Guatemalan for Christ sakes…Mason, do you know how to say faster retard in Gook?  He’s lucky this is fucking Canada.”

“Dad,” I say delicately.  “We have nothing but time.”

“Mason, my boy,” he replies menacingly.  “We have a very limited amount of time, and soon it will all be over.  You have to take what you can get while you’re here.”

*****

 “Huh,” I say dazed.  “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Elliot Ashford proclaims.  “You spaced out, man.  You alright, Mason?”

“What happened to the furniture?” I reply, confused.

“The place…”  Elliot scans the room.  “Yeah I know, simple right, on my way out of here actually.  Victoria finally.  Most of the stuff’s already moved.  Lucky you caught me.  Something smells weird right?”

He is right, it kind of smells like decaying fruit in the small apartment.  I feel déjà vu…

“The oddest part,” I say, smiling awkwardly, “is I’m sort of enjoying it.”

I take a deep breath and fondle the fragrance through my nostrils.  Sour, sweet, rank, rotten, rancid…

“Maybe something died in here.”

“I’ll open a window.”  He walks over and does.  “It’s fucked up,” he says.  “We say it smells bad, because we’ve decided which smells are good, and which are bad.  In a different world the smell of death could be considered lovely, you know, aromatic.”

“True,” I reply absent-mindedly.  “I guess.”

“And it’s the bad smells that interest us the most,” he continues, unabated.  “More so if they’re human.”

“Um, sure…I guess.”

“People don’t get it, Mace.  Humanity is a fucking gift.  Think about that.  Unlike animals, we do have the ability to choose.  It’s the biggest thing that separates us.  Our ability to choose, and some of us don’t choose a fucking thing.  How do people live in the dark, man?  They live their entire lives without making any decisions at all.  Just follow the path set before them.”

“Keats told me that we all experience scents differently,” I say, keyed up.  “We apply our own distinct sense to it, or something.  I really liked when she said that.  Thinking no one else would ever smell her the way I did.  It’s fascinating, captivating.”

“Sure, fuck face.  What I find truly fascinating is who the fuck you are these days.  What the fuck happened to you, Mace?  You look like a mess.”

“El,” I say gravely.  “My life is in complete disarray.  Keats is missing.  She’s fucking disappeared.”

the search for her is growing me…renewing the strength in our love…like unchallenged love is a seed, with no water, or sunlight…this desperate loss…has re-ignited the light of my love…raining water down on it

“Mace,” he says, mortified.  “I had no idea, man.  I…”

…the seed of my love has busted through the soil…reaching for the light…the longer this goes on, the more love grows…rising through the atmosphere…bulbs forming on love’s branches…flowers erupting…love apples flourishing…fueled by the nutrients of need…

“It’s a struggle to keep moving, El.”  I feel hollowed out.  “Stammering on, and on, and on.  But it’s for everything.  It’s all that matters to me…just one beautiful hope in my lungs, Elliot.  Finding her.  Since the day I met her, things have always been…”

“Fucked up?” he says quickly.

“Tangible,” I say, searching.  “I’ve been in this storm, you know, this whirlwind of Keats.  But in the middle of it all, there’s this amazing calmness.  There’s this substance to life with her.  I’ve never felt it before.  It’s like suddenly, there’s something in life I can hold on to…something with value…

“That’s all I need.  All I’ll ever need.  I have to keep going.  I need to find her.  I have to keep going…”

*****

 “…Life is many things, my boy.  But life is definitely not fair.  In the end, each of us is nothing, and nothing at all matters.  It’s meaningless, and doesn’t matter one forsaken bit.  In the end you realize it’s nothing.  You are nothing.  It’s all probabilities.  Chance.  The reason Elliott lived is because he made a decision.  He chose to stay at our house that night, and if he hadn’t, he’d be dead like the rest of his family.”

*****

“Um, Mr. Gallo, Sir…”

I snap out of my memories like I‘m re-entering the restaurant from somewhere far away.  A waiter stands in front of me, looking self-conscious.

“Sorry to bother you, Sir,” he says uncomfortably.  “But your brother called.  He says he will be unable to meet you here.”

Mom said it was because he was sick.  That I’d asked him on a bad day

“I have a message from a Mr. Gallo, your brother, Sir.”

Mom said I couldn’t take what he said to heart, because he didn’t really mean what he said

“He says he’s unable to meet you here, at the moment.

Mom said he was just sick…Grandpa is sick

“But as much as I’ve tried to forget his words,” I say mistakenly.  “They are entrenched in my subconscious.”

“I’m sorry, Sir,” the waiter says, apprehensively.  “What was that?”

“Nothing.  Nothing, I was just thinking about something else.”

“I was just saying, your brother called, Mr. Gallo.  He says he is unable to meet you here, at this time.  He sends his apologies, and asks that you meet him later.  He said you would know where.”

*****

There she was…right in front of me, no more than thirty feet away…the most beautiful thing I have ever seen…all my senses alive and screaming…could she be my dream, my purpose, my life…will she be my lover, my woman, my wife…she was beyond my wildest dreams…

*****

“I’m living in a box without her,” I say through the line.  “I’m trapped inside it.  Surrounded by four bleak walls.”

“What are you talking about, Mason,” Spencer says back.  “Where are you?”

She has made my insides beautiful, purple, magenta, violet, crimson, orange, pink, green, and florescent.

“Before meeting her, Spence, everything was all gray.  Keats added the color to my life.”

She makes my dull life florescent…and she melts my glacier soul…leaves me bleeding and burning.

“Mason,” he says restlessly.  “Slow the fuck down.  Who the hell is Keats?  Your girlfriend?”

“She is the light that gives birth,” I say madly.  “She is my serenity, lovelier than every other entity.  She is all there is of me.  She is life to me.  She makes every day worthwhile.  She is the only gift I ever need.  Splashes of her electrify me.  She is the cup that I drink from.  I am her addict.  I can’t live without her, Spencer.  I can‘t exist without her.”

“Mason,” he says, from far away.  “You’re not making any sense here.  What’s it all about?”

“Everything she does, Spencer,” I continue, “is beautiful.  She compels me to smile, like when I was a kid on Christmas morning.  You know, before the whole façade blew up.  She makes the possibility of illusions exist again.  But now I’m all alone.  She’s gone, Spencer, I’m alone.”

“Mason,” he says, still distant.  “What are you talking about?  I already told you she’s here.”

“Spence, I love her so uncontrollably much.  I’ll do anything to protect it, and her.  I’d sacrifice my life in a heartbeat, if it meant giving hers one second more.  I’d do anything just to give her a second chance at a better life.”

“Look, Mace, what the hell is happening to you?”

“This box of imperfection is more than most will ever have.  I know that.  I’ve seen enough people, in enough places, to understand that.”

She is beyond every single thing I thought was possible.

“Mason, are you still there?

“I’m praying again, Spencer.  I’m praying for her.  I pray this is the right path.  They call it the secret.  Sometimes in my darkest moments, I start to ask myself…question things…”

“Sometimes,” Spencer says like ice, “the unknown is preferable to the reality.”

“She’s all I think about, it’s consuming me.  It’s like I’m trapped in a box, these four bleak walls surrounding me.  I’m coming for her like a storm.  I won’t stop till I have her back.”

*****

She leaned in and kissed me.  It was sudden, and mesmerizing.  With her lips on mine, it felt like all of time was being sucked into a void.  My head started pounding with energy.  I felt her soft fingers on my arm, as her lips caressed mine.  I stood with my arms draped limply at my sides, and let it happen.  The most amazing feeling flowed through my whole body.  My blood rushed through my veins, making all my extremities tingle.  The flames consumed me…

*****

“That kiss is my life cemented in time.  The kiss is what I always think about…it’s what keeps me going, Elliot.  Our first kiss, with the falls behind us…”

“Are you sure you’re okay, Mace?” he says vacantly.  “Maybe you should just stay here tonight, you know.  You shouldn’t go anywhere, in your condition.  Just chill out here, we’ll smoke a joint, and you can leave in the morning.”

“No, El,” I say urgently.  “Screw that.  I have to go to the apartment.  I have to see if she’s there.  Julian showed me where she is.  I can’t rest not knowing.  If she‘s really here again, I have to go now.  I called Spencer and he confirmed she’s here.”

“Fuck,” he says, partially concerned.  “I know they’re your brothers, but you can’t trust those guys, they’re not like you.  You don’t know what they’re really like.  Let me come with you, for protection.  Company, you know.  What if it’s a trap?”

“It doesn’t matter, anyway.  I have to go.  Good luck with, you know…with everything.”

*****

I’m driven down the Detroit waterfront, in the darkness of a black SUV.  As we pass over the bridge I stare at the big red letters.  Every time I see them, I’m reminded of my Dad.  For a while it feels like I’m in a trance…

we have a very limited amount of time, and soon it will all be over

I wake up to the overwhelming fragrance of yeast.  Everything feels familiar.  The Seagram’s factory is creeping up on my left side.  A smell Keats hates, and gags at.  She holds her breath every time we drive past the factory.  It makes me laugh.

“What’s better than fresh baking bread,” I always say.

The distillery covers both sides of the street, and the buildings are connected by a walkway that spans above.  After we pass it there isn’t much to look at, just parks and darkness…one thing Keats always liked about this place was how quiet it was.

The driver lets me off at the Yacht Club across the street from the condo building.  There’s nobody around anywhere.  I walk up to the L-shaped red brick building, pass through the door into the lobby, and talk to the security girl behind a glass window.

“Look,” I say, as neat as possible.  “This is going to sound a little weird, but my brother owns a condo here, and he’s letting me use it.  I used it before as well.  You should have me on record.  I was flying in from New York, and I forgot my keys.  I was hoping you could let me in.  I have ID.  It would be really helpful to me.  It‘s sort of urgent.”

“Uh huh,” she says skeptically.

The guard doesn’t look like she could protect much.  She’s this skinny little old lady with a bird face and big veins bulging out of her tiny neck.  She has short red hair, and old-fashioned square glasses, and a faded blue uniform.

I sense that she is suspicious of me.

“Here’s my ID, and I swear if you help me out I’ll really make it worth your while.”

I hold up my ID, hoping she doesn’t take her job too literally.   

“So,” she says accusingly.  “You think you can bribe me, good looking?”

“Um,” I say confused.  “If it will help,” I smile.

She starts laughing really oddly, but agrees to let me in provided she accompanies me.

“I like your honesty, Mr. Gallo.  It’s in your eyes…not like those tenants you had here before, they were shifty.  And that girl…”

I’m blown away.  What tenant.  What girl.  Was Keats here…with who, and why, and when?

“People are so suspect these days, Mr. Gallo.  You seen that movie, with the guy from Flint?  It’s really true…fear mongers are everywhere these days.  All these news programs, and identity theft commercials…makes you wonder who the real predators are, and who is the prey.  You know what I mean, kid?”

“I think I do…”

“Wendy.”

“Nice to meet you, Wendy.  I really appreciate this.  I can’t tell you.”

I hold out a hundred dollar bill to her…

“Don’t worry.  It’s worth it just to help another human being.  I believe it all catches up with you in the end.”

Wendy lets me into the apartment, and stands at the door.

I walk in and it’s like being transported into a memory world of Keats.  I see her face everywhere.

Around every corner, visions of her dance out, and go somewhere.  Her curly hair, her luscious smile, and her slender body…Thousands of her start coming towards me from all the different rooms and different angles…the curves of her hips, the bubble of her butt, the lines of her abs, the knocks on her elbows, the cups of her breasts…

I walk into the kitchen and see her baking cupcakes…I spot her getting something from the fridge…I see her throwing something in the garbage…I watch her washing her hands…I glimpse her reading at the table…getting things from the cupboards…

I see her everywhere and I feel her everywhere.  I suddenly feel terribly close to her.  Every room I walk into has precious memories.  Even the bad memories make me miss her more, want her more…

I’m looking out at the river when the thunder and lightning start.  Rain begins hammering away at the Earth.

…one drop at a time, eroding slowly but surely, what’s left behind, nature’s ultimate fury, species die, everything is inevitable, intentions irrelevant, what is will be, nothing will stand in the way of progress, all change is advancement…

I watch a streak of lightning, like a needle stretching from the heavens.  It burns into the fabric of the building.  Instantly the power goes…I bring the storm…

“Mason,” Wendy shouts from the hallway, knocking me from the daze.  “If it’s okay, I’ll leave you here.  Duty calls.”

By moonlight, and memory, I stumble through the apartment, until I find our bedroom.  It feels like centuries since the last time we were here.  Drug time lapses the mind.  I crawl into our bed, and smell her pillows, and there she is…

there she is

My mind begins to waver to thoughts I’d prefer not to have…who was with her?  Why?  I try not to let them consume me, but it’s difficult.

Through the bedroom is a door to this little corner room that looks out at the waterfront.  Keats and I used it as our high room.  We would sit in there, and watch the weather, and space out.  I thought we found peace and comfort in that room…we had found one another and ephemeral peace.  But I see the truth in it now.  It wasn’t peace at all.  It was escape…we had to escape…

“You know, Wendy,” I say softly.  “For the longest time I was convinced I didn’t need anything or anyone else but myself.  For a long time I thought it worked.  But even though I acted tough on the outside, inside I was empty.  I had nothing…

“I remember getting to Niagara Falls that day.  I felt alone, lost…truly void, hollow, and vacant.  I walked through the city, and I began to realize that everything there existed simply because of a giant hole in the ground.  It became all too meaningful, and I felt so goddamn irrelevant.  Because the truth is, when we are all alone we are insignificant.  If we have no one to love, or who loves us, what point is there to exist at all?  That day I felt like I was the only person in the world.  I felt completely alone…

“I started to think about death, about dying, because living seemed so worthless.  I anchored there, in some kind of despondent frenzy, my whole body feeling chills, like the flu.  Life was just a random, hollow probability…a meaningless, indolent journey.  A journey that was destined to end anyway, so…

“But then I saw this girl…I saw her…Keats Cameron, for the first time.”

she was beyond anything I thought possible

“I swear, Wendy.  Suddenly, inexplicably, everything made absolute sense.  For the first time ever, I felt this obscure sensation surrounding me.  It targeted my soul.  It locked on.  It was absolutely lovely.  I knew it was impossible, but somehow I felt like I already knew this girl I had never met.  As if I had known her previously, like she had been there in the back of my mind my entire life…

“My feelings changed completely.  In that one second I saw meaning in life.  I understood that everything had led me to that exact moment in time.  That’s when I realized there might not be any point, or meaning in life.  But there certainly was in love…and I love her so incredibly much…”

all day, every day, and through every night

As I open the door to the drug room, I cower inside, at what could lie beyond the threshold.  With drug addicts you just never know.  If she was left alone, and with enough supply, my beautiful girl, might she have died?

But the room is empty.  Relief followed by sorrow.

Keats

The high room is a small square space, with floor-to-ceiling windows on three of its four walls.  Remnants of past and present drug use litter the room everywhere: needles, spoons, papers, baggies, and more.  A tapered green loveseat sits next to the door on the only non-window wall.  In front of that is a small end table.

Sitting in the middle of the table is her journal, which she never goes without.  I pick it up and flip the inked pages slowly, unable to make out words in the darkness.  I can’t escape a feeling of deep agony.  Fearing the worst, I recede into a box of inescapable desperation.  I wonder if I will ever see her again, and what will I do if I don’t.

Is it better not to know?

I stand by the window in the dark, and watch the storm.

The storm rages on…

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 21

 

Spencer

 

I’m waiting for a reason, but it never seems to appear…

The closest I get to the outside world:  This air-conditioned double doorway.  One thick inch of glass separates me from everything.  From the society I don’t seem to exist in.  Never bother.  There’s nothing for me out there…

“Look,” I say, demeaning the pathetic but loyal family lapdog.  “The reason it pays to be up front and honest, Nima, is that honest people never fucking lie.  You get me?”

“Gallo,” he says feebly, struggling to understand my meaning.  “Relax, I get it…I think…”

I watch the struggle in his brain to form words on his tongue.  He doesn’t get me at all.  Why would he?  Deduction’s not his strongest suit.

“That’s lost in translation, Nima.”

“Bill Murray,” he says, totally confused but laughing it off.  “Scarlett what’s her name?”

“Exactly, buddy.”  I pat him on the back.  “What I mean, though, is that as long as people perceive you as unable to lie, you can lie like a motherfucker, and they’ll believe you.  So it’s key, that as much as you can, you have to be honest in situations where people would expect you to lie.  You have to say things that people don’t want to hear.  You have to tell the fucking truth…even when you’re lying.”

“So…”  He pauses, gears working slowly.  “Tell the truth so you can lie?”

“Exactly, so on that note, Nima, give me the shit and get the fuck out of here.  One more thing, before you come to see me next time, take a fucking shower.  I can feel your smell on me.  I can feel it sticking to me like some kind of rancid dog hair I sat in.”

“This is good stuff, Gallo.  Only the best for you, my friend.”

“Look, Arab.  Of course the shit’s good.  The shit will always be good, even with Julian locked up.  I have to be honest:  I don’t know what he likes about you so much, but lucky for you there’s something.  Otherwise I would have fed you to his pigs years ago, à la Mad Max Thunderdome…two men enter asshole, one motherfucker leaves.  Just so you know, Nima, you’re the one that doesn’t leave.

“Regardless,” I continue, “My little brother Mason will be coming to see you later.  I need you to occupy him for a while.  Do what you have to.  Just keep him away from the casino till later tonight.”

“Why, what’s happening tonight?”

“Pigs, Nima.  I would feed you to the fucking pigs.  By the way I’m sending some girls by, if you get me.  Give them something to remember you by.  Make sure they’ll work.”

He takes the cue and leaves without another word.  I watch rain start to hit the glass door.  The wind outside is picking up, and whistles through the crack under the door.  It smells cold.  It’s freezing.  I press a Percocet pill on my tongue and swallow it.  Check my pockets to verify the meth and coke is still there.  All good.  Head to the bar and drink two Red Bulls.  So many things left to do…At Legends Lounge I grab a booth in a dimly lit corner.  Spread three lines on the table…wave at Tiffany, the current waitress, for an espresso.  Once the lines disappear, I reach for my cell, hands shaking, trembling; and forgetting the storm outside, I make the call…

there is nothing for me out there

“Yo…”  Unbearable silence ensues.  “Fuck, I hate when you do that.  Look…he’s back…on the way.”

“Good.  How do you know?  Is it for sure?” 

“Pretty much, we talked last night, he seemed sure.  I was supposed to meet him this morning.”

“Goddammit, Spencer.  You shouldn’t see him yet!  Can’t you do what you’re told…for once in your life?”

“Fucking relax, Julian.  God.  I didn’t say I did.  I said I was supposed to, to clarify the fact that he is indeed on the way.  I can handle my business, despite what you think.  Don’t they have yoga classes or something in there?”

“Just make sure everything goes as planned.  It’s essential for the future.”

“Uh huh, I know.  I get it.”

“Good.”

“Later, Jules.”

“…”

“Asshole…”

“…”

 

Mason

 

I’m walking the Niagara Falls waterfront in my mind.  It smells like tangerines, it’s cool, and mist is falling on me…I’m thinking how many more miles till I see her…drifting.  I’m suddenly caught staring at the buildings in downtown Detroit.

“From this view, my friend,” I hear Nima Ghomali say, “they look like they’re here, you know, in, in Windsor.  Maybe right at the end…the end of the street.  It’s like the water.  The Detroit River.  Like the water out there doesn’t even exist.  It’s like we could just keep walking down the street, and we could reach them, my friend.  From here…can you imagine, we could walk across, and get over there, to Detroit.”

Substance has brought me here.  I’m falling apart at the seams.  The fabric of time is sewn unconsciously.  When will it ever seem…tangible…again…am I even alive?

“You know, Nima,” I say, disheartened.  Staring at a widescreen computer, some porn site loaded up, pop ups everywhere, some dude passed out in the corner.

“The river used to freeze over before.  When they had Prohibition in the States, like in the twenties, gangsters used to drive cars loaded with liquor to Detroit.  They literally would drive cars over the frozen river.  You believe that?”

“After living here for seven years, it’s hard to believe,” Nima replies after a pause.  “Maybe it’s true, my friend.  They say the weather is changing.  The global heating, right.”  He pauses for a moment.  “My people think this global heating, is some kind of American invention.  They think the Americans created it, to shift media focus from the bombing.”

“The fucked up part is,” I say blankly.  “They could be right.”

He leads me to the balcony of his luxury apartment, from where downtown Windsor looks like a ghost world.

“The city is falling apart,” he says callously.  “But it’s only a microcosm of this whole world, you know.”

things are changing, I can see it happening before my own eyes

The scene behind him is changing like a movie in fast motion.  The sky changes from the shadiest gray, to purple, to black, to green, to blue, to white, to gray again.  No people.  People.  More People.  Less People.  Few cars.  More cars.  Tons of cars.  No Cars.  Rain.  No rain.  Slight rain.  Pounding rain.  Wind.  No wind.  Touch of wind.  Swirling wind.  Trees swaying listlessly, or not at all, and sometimes just barely.

“Buildings are like lonely prisoners,” I say lifelessly.  “In the annihilated remains of this city.”

“Fucking cocksucker,” I think I hear him say.  “Where is this God-forsaken sun?  The weather here in this country, has no kindness, my friend.  It‘s no surprise the people stay inside all the time.  I miss the weather back home.  The living is shit, but the warm is good.”  He pauses, and it looks like he’s thinking about something.

“So my friend.  You’ve been gone somewhere for a long time.  I thought maybe I would never see you again.  So where did you go, Mason Gallo?”

“Um,” I say awkwardly.  “Just away, Nima.  Just away…”

“Don’t worry, you gonna feel real good very soon…”

“Nima, is it cool if I do it here?”

“Mason, my friend.  Stay here, hang out, you know.  I got some…uh, girls coming by…it‘s gonna be a lot of fun.”  He hands me a needle from a package, and syringe.  Heats the heroin, watches it melt.  I suck it up, and wait, conflicted.  Am I ready to give in to the end?

“Look at this bullshit,” he may be saying.  “This whole fucking street is for rent.  Every other place is out of business.  Fucking brown paper on all these windows.  It’s fucking bullshit, my friend.  These teeny bars look like shit during the day, you know.  Look at those assholes…”

A group of street people huddle on the steps of an old church, holding a blue tarp as a cover.

“These fucking poor fuckers, every day the same bullshit.  That fucker in the wheelchair, you know that piece of shit?  I watched him one day, that fucking piece of shit, he actually came crawling into the beer store.  Dragging himself by his hands, and looked up at me, and asked me for a beer.  I wanted to smash his head with my boot.  These assholes, they’re always trying to get free shit off me, you know.  They want it for nothing.  They don’t want to work for anything.  Back home I would kill this fucking scum for asking me for free shit.  Your country lets this happen, you know, my friend.”

He pulls out a joint laced with coke, and lights it.  Tendrils of scented smoke fill the enclosed balcony, like snakes being charmed.  The luscious drugs slither around me, crawling up my nostrils, into my open mouth.  I try not to let it bother me; I tell myself it’s my choice, and I can stop again.  I did it before.  But my faith is rapidly diminishing, and I fear there may be no going back…

Nima spits at the open window a few times.  It lands on the balcony’s pavement with a quick spatter, leaving little puddles of salty white foam.  I catch a hard whiff of fermented apples…

“I can’t fucking do it,” I say hesitantly.  “I want to but I can’t.  You have to do it for me…”

“Relax, my friend,” Nima dribbles.  “You’re freaking out.  It’s cool.  Maybe it’s been a while, eh?  But then, you never could handle that shit, could you?”

“I don’t like needles…”

“But you love the tracks, right?  You love the dreams…”

“I wouldn’t call it love…I wouldn’t call it L-O-V-E.”

…it’s like I’m reaching out…out of this body…out of this world…out of this mind…reaching for the only thing that’s ever been tangible…reaching for Keats.  Keats Cameron, the girl of my dreams…the flower among the weeds…the apple from the seed…the absolute everything…the waves rolling over me…

“Your brother told me you would come,” I think I hear between waves crashing over the falls, and visions of Keats standing next to them.  “He is very good man, Mason.  Strange…but very brave…very smart…”

Her hands are all over me.  We laugh, kiss, throbbing hearts beat…the bed is wet with sweat, and sex.  Her blue eyes are sparkling.  Her hands are all over me.  My fingers inside her.  Our eyes meet and we laugh between serious pulsing.  She’s on top of me, and I’m pulling her hair.  She crawls beneath me, and I’m pushing her shoulders down, getting further into her, and she orgasms again.  We collapse on the bed, and rest next to each other.  We start kissing again.  Her lips are so soft, moist.  I play with her V as we kiss.  Her hands touch me, and then trace up my shaft, her thumb circling the tip, until I release on her stomach.  I bury my face in her, sucking, and licking back and forth, in and out, up and down.  I get hard again and flip her around.  Find my place between her legs and push her head down into the bed while I do her from behind.  She moans, I moan, and finally we expire together…

“Is he dead, Nima?” I hear her scream.  I feel a hand touching my neck.  “I think he’s dead, he’s not breathing.”

“You check the neck for a pulse,” Nima shouts back from the other room mid-thrust, “you imbecile, not breathing.  He’s fine, maybe you should do something to wake him up, Umbrella…”

“Briella, you asshole.  Go fuck yourself.”

“I already fucked you, and between the two, I would prefer myself.”

“Whatever.  Where’s the coke?”

Opening my eyes, I see a naked brunette sitting next to me.  One leg propped up reveals her shaved pink pussy lips.  Her nose is buried in a line on the mirrored table.

“Who the fuck are you?” I manage to get out slowly.  “Don’t touch me.”

“God,” she says sourly.  “You guys have serious issues, you know.  Both of you need to chill the fuck out.  Whatever happened to having fun, you know.  All you serious druggies never fucking smile, it’s stupid you even do that shit.  I would never do a drug that made me sad.”

I can feel this ugly confusion infiltrating my mind.  This horrible realization that the dream I was having, may have been more…

nothing is as it seems

I reach my hand down my pants and feel around, and I’m relieved to find everything is good…

“Seriously,” I say tensely.  “We didn’t do anything, right?”

“Not yet,” she says with a smirk.  “Do you like what you see, baby?”

“No, I have to go…”

When I stand, the room starts spinning, and I have to brace myself against the wall.

“Maybe you should stay awhile,” the naked girl says, laughing as she buries her nose into a line.

“I’ve been here too long already.  This was a bad idea.  It was weak.”

“You know what’s weak, dear,” she says childishly.  “Being serious all the time.  You have to live once in a while.  You have to have fun, you know baby.  Come here and I’ll suck your cock.”

Stumbling through the dimly lit condo is slow, and reeks of sex, incense, rotted apples, and marijuana.  As I pass through the main room Nima is naked on the couch, his hairy ass sweaty, and flexing tight then loose, over and over.  He’s plowing his cock doggy style into this other blonde girl, who keeps moaning, and occasionally screaming.  He doesn’t notice me leaving.  The whole scene is draining the life out of me, it’s so putrid.  I feel like the cesspool I’ve allowed myself to exist in at the moment.  I feel dirty…guilty…

As I’m closing the door I can hear Nima yelling inside:  “Hey, where did he go.  You fucking slut, I told you to watch him!”

“I don’t know,” I hear her say.  “I thought he was here.”

“Come here, you bitch.”  I can hear a thud against the wall as I’m walking away, and then screams.

things are changing

I can see it happening before my own eyes

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 22

 

Spencer

 

In the back row of the casino’s auditorium, two moving shapes in a large empty space…two moving shapes, two human shapes, cavernous empty room.

I’m fucking a hostess named Heather, with big tits and a funny upturned nose.  I feel my phone buzzing in my pocket resting around my ankles.  Her arms are wrapped around my neck.  Her tits pressed against my chest, bouncing up and down, with each thrust.  She smells like cigarettes, and cigars, which she vends in a sexy black outfit.  The scent makes me want to break her neck.  The longer we go, the more I think about the phone…

“What are you doing?” she says, a little put off.

“I just need to see who called.”

“You couldn’t wait?”

“I could have.  But I didn’t.”

“It never fails,” she says, getting up and straightening out.  “Seriously, I always fall for the assholes, always.”

“Yeah, what does that say about you, darling?”

“I should have listened to what they said.  The girls told me about you, but you were so nice, like twenty minutes ago.”

“The Brits thought Hitler was nice the first time they met him too, sugar.  Then he massacred six million Jews.”

“I don’t get it.”

“The final solution, baby.  Things are not always as they appear.”

When she leaves, I walk drearily down the steps of the cavernous auditorium.  I pop another Percocet, and check my pockets for coke and find some.  I wet my finger and dab it in the bag and sniff some, then wax the rest over my gums.  Every movement echoes through the enormous mass of emptiness inside the building.

The chairs are covered in black cloth or rubber or something, there’s nothing planned for tonight.  The stage at the bottom is made up for Celine Dion, who is appearing this weekend.

I flip my phone open, reluctant to return the call I missed.  I climb the stairs to the stage as its dialing.  Walk in between various props, covered in heavy blankets, which have been arranged for Celine.  It’s suddenly freezing inside the theater, so cold I can almost see my breath, and smells like refrigerator exhaust.

“Spencer Gallo,” Nima says urgently, and then pauses.

“You know it’s me, jerk off.  You can see my fucking name on your phone.  What’s it all about?”

“Well, it’s okay now, I found him, but…”

“Where is he?”

“That’s the thing, he’s just walking around the casino…”

“I fucking told you to keep him out of here, you fucking incompetent desert dweller.  What the fuck!  Are you retarded?”

“I know, Spencer.  He took off from the apartment.  I swear it was only a few minutes.  I left him, and then he was gone.  But don’t worry, my friend, I caught up with him.”

“And he’s just walking around the casino, he’s not going in?”

“Yes…”

“Alright, well let me know if he does.”  I hang up.

I walk through the curtains to the backstage area.  Impossibly, it’s even colder here.  I can feel my hands trembling, my legs shaking.  I flip a switch and white florescent lights illuminate everything.  It all looks so regular under intense lights.  The glamour of onstage seems ordinary and plain now…

things here are never what they seem to be

“Look, it’s going good.”  I’m sitting on some kind of wooden prop, lone man in a giant empty space.  The phone is on speaker beside me.

“Is that all?”

“Pretty much.”

“Stick to the fucking plan, Spencer, no more deviations.  That shit with the girls was admirable but ultimately we both know it’s a waste of time.”

“Yeah, I know, Jules, it’s just a little sad, don’t you think?”

“In the end, it’s what matters most.  You understand that.”

“I know.  I know.”

“Good, then do your fucking job, this world needs to end.”

I feel a little down, but I don’t have time to worry.  I leave through the back exit of the auditorium and make my way down a long gray service hallway, which smells like chlorine.  I pass a porter named Phil, smoking a cigarette, half inside a closet.  He smiles, nudges my arm, asks me about the over/under lines this Sunday.  I brush past him and he rails at me, something about not having enough time for the little guys.  I keep hearing his yelling as I walk along listlessly.

When I get back onto the casino floor, it feels like the walls are slowly closing in on me.  The noise, the lights, the people, all create this hectic mess of servitude, and I’m tempted to rip my clothes off and go ape shit, like the animal I am.  Suddenly Heather strides by, shooting me evil eyes, and I flashback to the moment I penetrated her vagina, and picture her panting, her bouncing tits on top of me.

I grab my crotch, and rub the tip of my dick through soft Armani fabric.  It sends shivers up my spine, and with my other hand I pop open my cell, dial…

“Elliott, hey…”

“Ugh, hi, Spencer,” he says alarmed.  “Ugh, what’s up?”

“Look…you did good kid.  You followed the plan and it worked.  He’s here.  We just wanted to thank you for your service to us.  It won’t be forgotten.  If you ever need anything, don’t be afraid to call.”

“Um, thanks I guess.”  He sounds shaky, holding back, his tone very tense.  So I interject.

“Don’t worry about Mason, Elliott.  Trust me, he’s going to be exactly where he should be very soon.  It was meant to be this way.  You’ll see.  One day he’ll thank you himself.  You’ve helped him immensely.”

“I’m not exactly sure I helped anything, Spencer, least of all your brother.  I think we both know it’s all about the family, isn’t it?  Anyway.  I gotta go…see you later, Spencer...”

I close the phone, and notice a blonde girl staring at me from one of the blackjack tables.  She has this sweet-but-looking-for-trouble thing going on.  There’s a guy sitting next to her, playing intensely.  His muscles bulge out like he’s some kind of action figure, and his short frosted hair is spiked with a firm caked gel.  Around his neck there’s a necklace, which is more like a rope really, with interchanging black and white tiles.

he’s that guy

Her words, in my head, always there…I’ll never see her again.  Her words, still in my head, after all these years, so many things she said…why…why can’t I forget about her…

I walk up to the table and nod to the dealer, Brett, who I’ve partied with many times.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Gallo.  Will you be playing with us today?”

“Yes, Brett,” I say, staring straight at the girl, winking, not caring that the guy sees it.  “Give me ten, will you, and notify service.”

“Yes, sir,” he says with a mocking, this is so bullshit that I have to act professional around you, kind of tone.

“So, what’s a beautiful girl like you doing in this neck of the woods?”

She smiles.

“What’s going on, Spencer,” Muscles says gloomily.  “Look, man, we’re just trying to have some fun, you know.  I thought it would be okay.  I don’t want any trouble.”

“Sure, Chris,” I say overconfidently.  “Yeah, fun is good.  Yeah, have some fun.  It’s a lot of fun, isn’t it?  But correct me if I’m wrong.  Is this still fun?  Are you really having a good time now?  What do you say we play a game, you and me?”

“What are we playing for?”

“I think you already know, right?”

“Look, man,” he says, desperate.  “I’ll leave alright, no beef, I’ll just leave, okay?”

“Leave the girl…”

“Sure, Spencer.  No problem, she’s all yours, I’m out.”

I watch him collect his chips and stalk away like a floundering child.  It’s ridiculous to see such a large man cowering so insignificantly.

“So, my little lady.  My name is Spencer Gallo, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She smiles. 

I check a text message…he’s here…

“Here you go, darling.”  I hand her a key to one of my rooms.  “Penthouse 3.  I’ll be there in a bit.  I have to meet someone right now.  I won’t be long.”

 

Mason

 

Chatham Street,

The Windsor Casino,

“It seems so small and insignificant…”

“Yeah,” Pookie says sharply.  “Compared to the fucking goliaths they build in Vegas.  Once you go inside they’re all pretty much the same shit, y’know what I mean.”

“Keats would say that’s not true.  No two things are ever exactly the same.”

Keats baby, where are you?

“I’m not ready yet,” I say solemnly.  “I just need to walk around for a while, Pook.  Get my bearings back, you know.”

“I get it, Ace of Mace.  Like we stalking it, buddy.  We gonna be prepared for this shit, I feel ya.  Get the lay of the land, you know.  Be ready for anything.  Ain’t no concern of mine, time is on my side.”

Pookie’s a short and slender tattoo artist, originally from Cambodia.  His eyes are jet-black, and he’s always wearing glasses that don’t fit.  His arms and back have thick burn scars from some kind of abuse.  I have eight tattoos, six done by Pookie.  I first met him in Toronto while he was living with my friend Miller Marshall.

“I remember, Pook, when they first wanted to put a casino here, people kept saying it would bring crime, and bad elements.  I never thought…”

“You never thought that they meant you?”

“Yeah, it’s weird how perspective manifests itself…”

“Dude, I think they have like one murder a year.  Last time I checked, anyway.  Casino hasn’t changed a thing here.  Don’t worry about it.  Crime hasn’t increased.  You’d have a better chance finding a fucking deer around here, than a gangster.”

“What people don’t know…”

“Don’t hurt ‘em.  Dude, these people are oblivious to everything.”

We get to the front of the building…I stare at the main doors…my body starts to tremble…

“Fuck, it’s all messed up.  I’ve been here before.  This spot.  A man in a hat with feathers sticking out of it, is going to walk up…it was raining before…”

“Where you been at all this time, anyway?”

“Just away, Pook.”

“I hear it, nuff said, dude.”

There’s the fountain out front, the flowers and landscaping all around it, the words CASINO WINDSOR all lit up; everything is familiar, everything where it should be…everything except…

It smells like wet grass.  The wind picks up, it’s cool.  For who knows how long, but enough, I stare at the water rippling slowly across the fountain.  Pookie is busy talking on his cell.

“Yo,” he says suddenly.  “There’s that nigga, Nima, over there, again.  What’s that mo fo doing, following us.  I swear I just seen him like a minute ago, on the other side.”

“What?”

“Yeah dude, I swear, nigga be stalking us, stalking this place.”

“Maybe it’s a coincidence,” I say.

“You want me to find out?”

Reluctantly I decide to flee…

“Um, no Pook.  Forget it.  Let’s hit the BK.”

I tell myself it’s probably too early anyway, but inside I know that’s a lie.  I’m just making an excuse to postpone the unavoidable affair.

Somewhat deflated by my lack of nerve, we turn away from the casino, and start walking south down Goyeau, towards the BK.  Staring at the Renaissance Center, I say, “I love Detroit, Pook.”

“Detroit rock city, dude!”

“But this feeling inside me is killing me.”

“You think a whopper is gonna change that, Mace?”

“You’re right.  Enough is enough is enough, screw it.”

We turn around and start heading back to the entrance.

“I’m so fucking nervous, Pook.  It shouldn’t be this way, I’m not crazy…”

In the disheveled sky, the color is changing once again.  As the sun continues to rise, it showers the scenery with light, illuminating a blue hue behind the frosty clouds.  There is confusion in the air, as the dark gray underbellies of the clouds spell one thing, and the blue behind them another.  But to me the sky is crystal clear, and spells only one thing…fear.  They can smell it on me…

“Sometimes family is the worst,” Pook says.  “Mason dude, I got family I can’t even stand to be in a room with too, man.”

I think about Pook as a kid, making his way through fields of six-foot grass, escaping a country that threatened to kill him for leaving.  Now he’s here…

the substance of freedom dissolves quickly

what is will only be

Suddenly the ground rumbles, barely, but enough to feel it.  Miles away there’s a loud explosion, then the earth rumbles again.

“What the fuck is that shit?” asks Pook.  “It happens like, a lot.”

“Probably the mines, Pook, the Windsor Salt mines.”

“I never knew they had that shit here.”

“Well they do.  We should take a drive out there one day.  I know where it is.”

I picture Keats and I taking a drive out there…the haze of the area…driving through Sandwich Town…Keats looking at me from the passenger seat…her hair curly, her smile making me feel wild and sexy…lazy days when we had nothing to do but drive around and see shit.

she is more than anything I ever dreamed possible

Standing in front of the casino, Pook walks up to this old guy smoking a cigarette.

“I dig your hat, dude.  Dem feathers are the motha-fucking shit.”

I walk past the guy, who looks like he wants to kill himself.  I start to feel sick, my stomach turning, my head spinning.  This is all too familiar.  He’s smoking a cigarette like he needs it to live.  Like he’s sucking the life-force from it.

“God, Pookie, I feel the star of some reality show and nobody told me.  Life can go wrong so fucking quickly.”

“For sure, Mason.  It’s all so fucked up.”

We step inside the casino swiftly, trying not to freak the guy out or anything, quickly becoming part of the scenery.  Pook looks over at me, his face suddenly tense.

“I gotta check out here.  I’m sorry, dude.  Mason, it was good to see you again.”

“I guess if you have to go,” I say, at a loss.

“Yeah, it’s just something has come up, man.  I have to go now.”

“Alright, well in case I don’t see you take care, Pookie…”

“For sure, dude.  I’m around.  Later Mason.”

Pook leaves.

Just as he does, the feather hat guy walks past me, on a bum leg.  He hobbles past, and I smile, and then start picturing myself as him.  His shotty clothes are old and tight, his brittle body weathered and red.  What would it be like…not enough…not everything…

I watch as he tosses his cigarette, and mumbling something, walks away…has this happened before?

The Windsor Salt Mines, why do I keep thinking about the Windsor Salt Mines?  Where does this stop…I don’t know…where did this start…where will it go…

…spaces, places, people, talk…silence, isolation, despair, loss…make me a movie to watch all night long…sing me a song to accompany my waltz…wear me like a blanket, to comfort cold bones…throw me out the window to fly away…home…

*****

 The slots are ringing in my ears…I’m just standing here, dazed, fixated on this vision of the crippled guy in the feather hat, and the Salt Mines explosions.  Why does everything feel so familiar?  Why am I repeating the same things over?  God, I love her so.  Do I really wish to know?

A sudden rush of cigar smoke fills my lungs.  I start coughing and realize where I am.

Blinking lights

Dinging

Rhythmic twirling sounds

All kinds of shit going on

People all over the place

Non-stop walking

Girls in uniform

Freezing cold

It feels like I’m smoking.

I aimlessly walk through aisles of machines.  Spencer could be anywhere in this place.  I call his phone but it’s voicemail.  I just walk around, confident I will run into him eventually.  Thinking the thoughts to make it be…the secret…

blow up the bridge…flood the tunnel

The crippled guy keeps flashing through my mind.  I see him smoking in the feather hat, Pookie saying something to him.  What did he say?

There was this weird face that the guy made.  Did the guy say something back?  When Pookie was leaving, did the guy look at him?  Was he looking at him?  Why did Pookie suddenly have to go?

The Windsor Salt Mines.  Why do I keep thinking about them?  Bodies eroding in salt piles flash through my mind…crystallized corpses…drug overdoses…fingers in blood…dredged in mud…where does the story end…begin again…what is and what is not…the mess in my head…the longing for love…the discarded black dove…

My heart jumps.  I catch a glimpse of Spencer.  He quickly walks out of sight.  Instead of chasing, I hesitate; I don’t know what to do.

I keep rolling it around in my mind, what am I going to say?

Say…

I need help finding my girlfriend.  My girlfriend.  My best friend.  My only friend.  I need help finding Keats Cameron. 

He’s your brother.  He’s got to do it.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 23

 

Spencer

 

“Yes, fuck.”

“Umm, he’s inside.  What do you want me to do?”

“It’s not important.  Fuck off now.”

“Are you sure?

“…”

“Okay boss, I’m taking off then.  You call if you need me.”

The casino hums behind me.

it’s all about the chase

I watch a lot of these people, as they follow the prizes they will never catch.  I couldn’t give two shits.  To me they’re all fucking drones.  But they affect my bottom line.  So I need them.  I dial a number.

“What’s happening?”

“Everything is happening.”

“Don’t be a fucking moron, Spencer.  Just tell me what’s going on.”

“So far so good.  He’s here.  You were right.  The plan is working.”

“Good.”

“What should I do with Mason?”

“It doesn’t matter.  He will follow the script.  Everything will go exactly as we intended.  Just keep to it.”

“I hate doing this to him, Julian.  It’s so fucked up, he’s our brother, and we both know this is all he has left.”

“Don’t lose your fucking nerve, goddammit.  You now this is the right choice.  Mason doesn’t know what’s best for himself.  If we don’t intervene, he’ll be going around in these circles for the rest of his life.  This has to end.  We need to do this, for us, for him, for the family...understand?”

“Gotcha.”

 

Mason

 

I find myself watching the roulette wheel spinning, watch it twist and turn, hypnotically hitched to sounds of the ball rolling.  The way it clicks from number to number, slower and slower until it finally stops, and with it, people gasp, or gulp.  It’s like a meditation.

I watch people bet, and time floats by without direction.  I mostly consider the people running out of money, making their last bets, and with it losing the most.  They probably have some heart and soul in that bet.  Some kind of dream they had tonight will die.  I think it’s probably the best thing that could happen. 

we’re all alone here and we are dead

I drift over to the craps tables; the smell of rotted apples is back.  I see some guy in a red shirt winning big.  It suddenly turns into a movie scene:

People all around him…infectious winning energy…spark in his eyes…crowd fueling his ego…pretty girl blows his dice…much fanfare…

Luckily, the winning guy oozes charisma.  He’s a regular Vince Vaughn.  I think he’s got the whole scene in love with him, making speeches, telling stories.  It’s nothing if not boring.

A man in a suit walks up to the table, and stands there with his arms folded, and I sort of smile at that.  He meets my eyes and I realize it’s Stan Foster, my childhood classmate.  He notices me and smiles.  It doesn’t make any sense.  How could he be here?  Something feels wrong with it…something obscure…telling…he raises his hand to his temple, like he’s holding a gun, and pulls the trigger…then he smiles…

The people around the table start arguing about what the Vince Vaughn guy should do.  People are pushing to get bets on the table.  I see a few guys just there to steal shit.  Another couple guys show up who just want to fight.  More security starts circling the area.  And then it erupts.

I step back and watch as everything just kind of explodes, all at once.  Fighting, shouting, running, screaming, chips flying.  I walk away, staring into the faces of people clamoring to see what’s going on.

I don’t know where to find Spencer.  I try his phone again, nothing.

Why do I keep thinking about the Salt Mines?

It becomes so familiar in your mind, you stop registering it in your consciousness.

one day we’ll take a drive out there I know where it is

The blackjack tables are full, and I don’t see him, so I search for the high stakes rooms, but he’s not there either.  I check the two poker sections on the ground floor and then go upstairs to the high limits room.

“Hey,” I say to this guy sitting there, who looks like Sergei Fedorov.  “My name is Mason.  People ever tell you you look just like Sergei Fedorov?”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,’ he says in a deep Russian accent.  “Around here anyway.  It’s nice to meet you, Mason.  I am called Vadim Nazarov.  I swear you look exactly like my associate, Mr. Gallo.”

“Yes,” I say smiling.  “My older brother, probably.”

“Small world,” he replies, laughing.  “Your brother, Spencer, is a different kind of individual.  That is what makes him the man that he is.  It’s probably what makes him great.  But he scares me sometimes.  He’s a scary guy to deal with, you know.  People ask questions.  They talk about his reliability.  Since you’re his brother, you should know.  Would you?”

“Would I say Spencer is reliable?”

The answer seems to come without hesitation, as if it were intended to happen, as if it were predestined.  I follow the script like I should…

“You know, Vadim,” I say coolly, “this kind of question about my blood brother is very risky for you.  Which I’m sure you’re well aware.  In fact, it seems to me like maybe you’re just trying to sort me out.  The reality is, Vadim, I don’t really give a crap, and to be honest with you, I don’t even know who Spencer Gallo is…”

My thoughts suddenly turn to Spencer’s conspiracy theory.  Something makes me very suspicious of this Russian.

He smiles at me, devilishly, and speaks.

“So the rumors are true then.  Mason, it’s a shame.  I can already tell you would be so great with us.  Your value has certainly not been overestimated.  What happened with you, and him?  Why such distance?”

I start to think of other things…

“Growing up, Vadim, I never really saw my brothers.  I was years younger.  They were grown up already.  They were gone.  I saw them on holidays, but even then, not much.  We were like strangers.  I had all these ideas in my head.  How close we would be some day.  How we would finally be like brothers, that kind of shit, especially with Spencer.  He was different than Julian.  When Julian and I were alone, he never said anything to me. It used to freak me out.  But Spencer was nice to me, he showed me things, he smiled a lot.  I looked up to him.  I idolized him.

“So anyway, I had all these aspirations, and slowly time shattered them all.  Every time I would try to talk to Spencer, or go near him, he’d just yell at me to get away, to leave him alone.  It seemed like he hated being near me, and eventually it really started to hurt my feelings, so I stopped trying.  Now I know there were things that kept them away from home. 

“Anyway for a period of years we lost track of Spencer completely.  He vanished off the face of the Earth, at least to me.  Then one night he showed up.”

“A woman,” Vadim says interrupting me.  “Right?”

I’m caught off guard by his response; is he playing dumb?

“Do you want to hear my story, Vadim?”

“Yes,” he says, laughing. 

“So out of the blue on this stormy night, something really auspicious happened.  It started out with this intense nightmare I had about him.  I woke up shivering.  I couldn’t fall back asleep.  It felt like my brain was on fire.  For a few moments I sat in bed…listened to the rain hit my window…Then I walked down the long corridor from my room.  Tiptoed past my parents’ room, and then down the lavish staircase we had…

“I walked into the kitchen to get a drink.  I wasn’t expecting anyone to be there, you know.  I went straight to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of peach juice.  I walked over to the wall and turned on the lights.  I nearly had a goddamn heart attack…Spencer was just sitting there in the dark, alone, staring straight at me.  For a second I was in shock, until I heard the peach juice shatter on the floor.  He said he thought I was a ghost.  I guess I felt the same way about him.

“I started picking up pieces of the bottle.  I told him I would leave him alone after I’d cleaned up the mess.  In the back of my mind I was freaking out.  It all seemed like a dream, except the pieces of broken glass, and the thin line of blood dribbling down one of my fingers.

“Spencer took a giant swig from a bottle of vodka he was holding, and then yelled at me to leave it, to sit down.  He was muttering something under his breath.  I was worried he was so drunk he would die, because that summer, John Bonham did.  I hurried to finish picking up the glass because I knew Spencer wouldn’t do it, and then my Dad would find it.  But he got up.  I watched his bare foot come down on broken glass.  I loved the way he crushed it and didn’t give a shit how much it hurt.  Then he kind of picked me up, and put me in the seat.

“He started ranting about how sorry he was.  He looked insanely troubled.  I felt truly sorry for him.  I meant to say that but the words wouldn’t come out…”

I don’t say this to Vadim, but the memories quickly flash through my mind…Spencer saying this to me…

I’m not fucking right!  I’m so miserable, Mason.  There are things playing in my mind that I don’t want to speak of, promises I mean to keep!  But the pain, it comes in droves and it’s tearing at me.  To see me this way, and under these circumstances, its punishment.  My heart is broken.  Your essence is so translucent.

I continue talking to Vadim, who shows no signs of suspicion…

“The air in the room got extremely thick, and I didn’t have a clue what to say.  For a couple minutes Spencer just sat there motionless, racking his brain and gulping vodka.  Then he smiled at me, and stared at me for longer than I could understand, it was awkward.  I didn’t know if there was something I was supposed to say, but I couldn’t think of anything.  Suddenly he smashed his fist down on the table.

“‘Mason,’ he said.  ‘I can’t let you bear the secret forever.  I know what’s locked inside you.  I know what you never speak about.  You have to understand that what happened to Mom, it wasn’t your fault.  Just because you saw it happen doesn’t mean it’s your fault.  You have to tell me now, Mason.  You have to let those feelings out.  If you don’t, they will kill you, and you’re much too young to die now…’

“My whole body began to tremble, and I could feel these needles crawling up my spine.  With every syllable uttered from his mouth I felt sharp twitches in my brain, and the overwhelming feeling that I was about to cry.  Images of my mother’s lifeless body started flashing through my brain, and it felt immense.  I wanted to get up and run out of the room and bury myself somewhere far away…

“‘Listen,’ Spencer said.  ‘You can never hold on to terrible secrets.  We are not meant to live with them inside us.  They devour us from within.  You have to let them out.  You have to share them, or they will kill you…’

“Then there was silence, for what felt like hours.  And then with tears in his eyes, he said, ‘Mason…I’ve been carrying this secret around like some kind of million-pound weight, for years.  I’ve never let anyone in on it.’  He said that night was the first time he’d ever even considered telling it.  He started calling me Miraculous Mason after that day, because in his eyes, our meeting was a miracle.  He said it was predestined to occur.

“He told me his secret.  And right after he did, he threw the vodka bottle at the sink, and it busted into a million little pieces.  And he said he would never take a drink again.”

Everything I’ve said is intended to reveal Vadim’s mental state, to show me if he’s hiding something.  But he reveals nothing.  Which means he’s either exceptionally practiced in deception, or he’s completely innocent…

“So, let me ask you, Vadim.  You say you know my brother Spencer.  Well, have you ever seen him take a drink?”

“When you truly reveal our insides,” he responds earnestly, in a thick Russian accent.  “Some of us are nothing more than instincts, ego, fear, blood, veins, muscles, and bones.  Scared cells, multiplying and contracting, spreading and disappearing, always scared out of our fucking minds, repetitively, desperately trying to convince ourselves we belong, that we have some value, and some purpose.

“I think,” Vadim continues, “Spencer Gallo is a different individual.  And I think that is a good thing.  I appreciate your time, Mason.  Perhaps we will be meeting again.”

I watch him walk away, convinced he’s some kind of Russian thug, or pro hockey player going Looney Toons; but either way, he’s revealed nothing.

“Was that story true?” this pretty redhead sitting at the next table asks.

“Sure,” I say, smiling.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she says abrasively.

She looks like a famous red-haired gymnast.

“He’s a drug addict,” I say slyly.  “But he never drinks around business.  It’s like a rule he has.”

“No,” she says delicately.  “I didn’t mean the part about your brother.  I meant you.  The thing you said about your mom.  How you found her when she died?”

the blood on the grass

I shudder at the thoughts.  She can tell I’m lying when I say, “I made that part up for sincerity.”

She smiles awkwardly.  I walk away.  Don’t want to think of the day. Want these thoughts to wash away.

I start thinking about Spencer.  I really do get afraid of him.  Everything he is, I’m not, and vice versa.  Watching him sometimes, I get jealous.  I don’t know how he does it but he just does.  It’s like people just love him.  They can’t help it.  He says the most crazy, unguarded, and candid things.  Only he’s so full of shit.  I guess people can’t help but trust someone who says things they don’t expect to hear.  Sadly, Spencer knows this, and uses it to his advantage.  I think that really captures people; they don’t know what to think.  It’s exciting to be around him, he never disappoints.  Check that, he always disappoints.  But you still can’t help loving him.

“I really appreciate what you did for my family,” this Italian-looking dude walking up to me says.  “I really can’t thank you enough; it’s made a world of difference to us.”

“You must mean my brother, Spencer.  Maybe Julian.”

“Ah, maybe,” he says awkwardly.  “Well, if so, you guys look exactly alike.  I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”

“Yeah,” I say blankly.  “That’s great.”  I feel like I might vomit.

The guy shrugs his shoulders, and rolls his eyes, and I can tell he has something on his mind.  I get this feeling that I should flee this place, but whatever.

forever I will wait

for she is in the wake

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 24

 

Spencer

 

“Hey, Spence, your brother’s here…I just thought I’d let you know.”

“Thanks Brett.  I’d heard.  Where’s the kid at?”

“He’s playing cards in the downstairs room, I was dealing to him.  You want me to keep an eye for you?”

“Whatever man, if you want to.  If not, it doesn’t matter, really.”

“Um, okay then.  I guess I will, just in case.  Anything to help.”

“Is that all, Brett?”

“Um, yeah I guess.”

“Later, then.”

“Cheers, Spence.”

I head upstairs on the service elevator to avoid people seeing me.  In the back of my mind I’m thinking, that guy Brett the dealer is a nuisance, and may become a problem.  I make a call to security to black out certain cameras in the hotel.  Basically the entire journey I take, from the floor to room 802, never happens.  And when I get there, I wait at the door and brace myself for what will happen next.

 

Mason

 

“Sitting in the cab,” Tyler Monfortin is saying.  “I see empty McDonald’s wrappers scattered on the floor, and a giant pop cup in the holder between the two front seats.”

“Uh huh,” I say, waiting…

“It’s just, Mace, I appreciate our self-murdering nature, because it separates us from the animals.  But it’s also such a pathetic statement of humankind.  Sometimes we listen to the easiest voice in our minds, even though it’s the hard voice that leads us the right way.  It’s the voice you don’t want to hear that knows what’s best for you.  People want to pretend that doing the right thing is too difficult.  People are sometimes lacking the will to stand on their own.”

The sentiment is extremely ironic coming from a drug addict.

“Uh huh,” I say carelessly.  “What’s it all about, Ty?”

I’m up about ten thousand cash or something like that, blackjack.  The dealer looks oddly familiar.  The whole scene is receding into some lost conscious moment.

Tyler is an annoying acquaintance from long forgotten days.  Days involving more drugs, and abandon.  He’s been talking nonsense and twitching like a tick ever since he spotted me. Constantly asking if I’ve seen Spencer.

He says, “Our food is our fuel and it makes our engines run.  So why do we choose to fuel our bodies with poison, when we know the octane we need?  Because we are human, we are weak, and we cannot be held responsible for ourselves…isn’t that why?”

It reminds me of something…

“When you truly reveal our insides, Ty, some of us are nothing more than instincts, ego, fear, blood, veins, muscles, and bones.  Scared cells, multiplying and contracting, spreading and disappearing, always scared out of our goddamn minds, repetitively, desperately trying to convince ourselves we belong, that we have some value, some purpose.”

He’s really engaged now…

“Yes, Mace, exactly.  It’s so annoying because we would never put that kind of shit in our car.  We wouldn’t pay for fucking gas, if it hurt our precious automobiles.  So we acknowledge the fact that our possessions deserve great care.  But we don’t bat an eye when we fuel our bodies with shit.

“Greed, Mason, because of our fucking greed, we do this to ourselves.  Our quest for colossal wealth has transformed every fabric of our society.  The rich guys monopolize every ounce of industry they can.  They distort the natural environment to produce higher yields, spurn higher profits.  Conversely, the poor guys choose to buy the cheapest shit to eat, because their priorities are fucked.  Food should be a top priority for us.  We should be happy to pay more for the best food we can possibly get.  But instead we do what the rich guys want us to do.  We buy what they’re selling, even though it’s killing us.  The cycle rolls on and on, and we all suffer.  The rich get richer, while the poor multiply endlessly... 

“Honestly, try finding something to eat that doesn’t have either foreign chemicals in it, or that fucking high-fructose shit.  You might, but I guarantee it won’t be cheap…yet this cancer epidemic bewilders us, fucking moronic people bewilder me…”

“Do they, Ty?”

He ignores the question, and continues.

“In the past, people didn’t eat all this shit.  Not to mention how much more active they were.  They didn’t have fucking television to sit in front of.  They rose with the light, slept in the dark.  They followed the natural way of the universe.  They worked hard.  They farmed their fields every day, and accepted what crops remained.  They didn’t fuck with the natural order.  They made do with what they got.  At the end of the day, they lived in tune with the Earth.  They could go to sleep knowing some kind of truth existed.”

“The truth is relative,” I say, smiling.

“No Mace, whatever your personal belief, one thing is always true.  Earth.  The mother fucking Earth, you know.  All the energies, the plants, animals, fish, and humans, everything is born from the Earth.  But us modern fuckers have separated ourselves from our planet.  And our planet is God.  Money is the invention.  Power is the disease.  It unites us against ourselves.  It lives in our every move.  It’s in the background of everything we do now…cash, loot, wealth, safety…

“Meanwhile, our bodies we don’t give a shit about.  The vessels that drive us through life, they can deal with synthetic, highly salted, pre-made, pre-cooked, health-sapping crap, and that’s okay with us.  We fuel ourselves, every day, with so much chemical crap.”

“Where does it all end, Ty?”

“Maybe we expect that some scientists or doctors will save us.  Maybe that’s what we are taught to believe.  Maybe we just ignore it, because it’s easier that way.  But the things we do to ourselves, they never go away.  Always in the back of our minds, late at night, when we finally have to let them in, when we can no longer deny them, they speak to us, and slowly kill our minds.  The food we eat eventually kills us from within.  Humans are not meant to bear it.  You know this as much as I do, right?”

“Do I?” I mutter more to myself than to Tyler.  “I’ll tell you what I know, Ty.  One night, I found my girlfriend Keats crying and feeling really miserable about life.  I could tell she was having one of those moments when nothing seems worth it.  I’m sure you know what I mean.  We’ve both had our share of those moments.  Anyway, she said,

‘The saddest thing, is watching what people do to themselves.  The worst thing, is watching what they do to others.’

“There’s out of control people, Tyler.  Out of their goddamn minds people all over, you know.  They come in all shapes, and sizes.  They fill the streets of every country on every continent.  Everywhere there are people going out of their minds.  Everywhere there are humans committing the same crimes.  All of human life is in cycles.  It all comes up, and goes back around.  The only straight line is love.  The only consistent goodness throughout humankind is love.  Love sets us apart from the animals, makes us unique among beings.”

“Yet,” Tyler says, looking down sadly, “so many of us live without love.”

“Yeah,” I reply.  “It’s not good for us.  We don’t know what to do.  We go out of our goddamn brains.”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 25

 

Spencer

 

The room is quiet for the first time in over an hour.  Had room 802 not been specifically built entirely sound proofed, top to bottom, violent screams would have made their way through the floors of the hotel.  Although it’s stopped now, I can still hear the screaming ringing through my brain, like a broken record.

all about the chase

I stare out the window at the river watch the current move with force.  Behind me, two large black dudes are dragging a lifeless body toward the bathroom, where they will begin to dispose of it.  The smell of burnt metal and flesh creeps through the room.

Everything we needed from it we’ve already got.  A person stops being human the minute they pass on.  They become a simple object, a vessel without a captain…abandoned meat.  Check that, a person stops being human the minute they enter room 802.  Two men enter, one man leaves.  We’re all eventually just pig feed…I dial hesitantly…

“Yes.”

“It’s done Julian.”

“Did you get what we needed from him?”

“Uh huh.  It took a little convincing, but in the end, he gave it up.  Victor is on the way.  The meeting is supposed to take place at the Caesar Bar.”

“Is everything clean?”

“Soon enough.”

“You know what to do now.”

“Uh huh.  It’s already in progress.  We’ll spike the drinks, take him at the meeting.”

“Good, Spencer.  What about Mason?”

“On my way.”

“Don’t let me down.”

“Uh huh.  ‘I am the Walrus.’”

“Spencer, you are a fucking moron.”

“I love you too, motherfucker.”

“Don’t fuck this up.”

 

Mason

 

“The end of civilization…”

“Or something like that,” I say, bored to death.  “Look, Tyler.  I think I’m going to get some rest…”

I can tell he doesn’t have anywhere to go.  Camped out here trying to score.  I’m his only connection right now, but he would never ask me. 

“Let me make a call for you, Ty.”

“Mason.  Forget that.  It’s cool, man.  I’m good, really.  I just got out of rehab.  I’m off that stuff. You don’t have to.”

I watch his hands shaking as he speaks…

“Forget about it, Ty, it’s the least I can do, for a friend.”

“Um, actually Mace…”  He seems suddenly terrified.  “Actually, I have to go.  I have to go now.”

He gets up in a rush.  “It was good to see you again, Mason.”  Sweat beads his forehead.  Quickly walking away, he says, “Look me up sometime, if you’re sticking around.”

“Yeah, I will,” but he’s already disappeared into the surrounding chaos…

My peripheral catches the dealer looking behind me, something odd in his eyes, awed…

“Well what do you know,” a voice says loudly behind me.  Familiarity, rushing memories, connections…

I turn to see a brash smile across his face; instantly one stretches across mine.

“Look what the mother fucking pussy just dragged in,” Spencer says proudly.

Something feels off.  This isn’t the way it’s supposed to happen.  My stomach is turning.  It grows severely cold.  I feel claustrophobic, walls closing in on me…what’s happening to me?

He looks exactly the same, and yet completely different than the last time.  It’s like I can sense the person within, despite all the outward changes.

“That beard,” I say involuntarily.  Like the words are written for me.  Like I’m reading from a screenplay.  “It makes you look…I don’t know…illustrious, and refined, Spence.  I don’t know if it suits you right…”

“Come on, Mace,” he says boldly.  “You know you like it.  So do the ladies.  They really dig the man fur.  Our heritage certainly hasn’t let us down in that respect.”

I notice a momentary flash of concern in his eyes.  He tries to hide behind his smile and bravado, but there’s something wrong here.  Something he’s not saying.

“So, kid.  I’d say I hope all is well, but you’re here, right?  What exactly brought you back?  I’ve just been wasting away here in my noisy prison.  You’d imagine with all these people around all the time, it wouldn’t be so lonely.  But it is.  I miss you.  I miss Julian…Mom…

“Still, I’d rather be in here than out there, Mace.  There’s so much more to think about outside, and too many chances…opportunities for my enemies.  At least in here, I know I’m covered 24-7.  This life has its downfalls, brother, and they are severe.  I’m glad you stayed out of it.  That was smart.  You were smart to disappear.  You’re smarter than us…maybe too smart.  You have a life now, and you should enjoy it, Mason.  You should leave here and never come back.  Crawl back into that hole you dug for yourself, and forget all of this.  I say it like it’s easy, but we both know you won’t, and I understand that.  I just wish things were different.  Coming here was dangerous for all of us, more than you can possibly imagine.  Still I guess it has to be…what is will only…”

I’m caught off guard; something feels wrong, and I don’t have any words.  I stare at him in mixed trepidation, straight-faced…

“Relax,” he says, softening, raising his fist in the air and shuffling his hips like Elvis.  “Don’t be cruel, baby.  You’re here now, right?  So fuck it.  Let’s have a night, shall we.  Fuck, Mason, laugh a little, and stop being so goddamn depressing around these beautiful people.  Nobody likes a sad face.  God knows this world is full of them.  Come on, flesh and blood, Miraculous Mason, smile for me, smile kid, smile.”

the cancer of time

He has this way of getting inside me, the way he talks incessantly and nudges me to be happy.  It feels good to have family, to have backup…

“So,” he says, quickly turning serious.  “Enough of this inane banter.  Mason, seriously, what the fuck has brought you here?  Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled as all hell to see you again.  But for real though…I know it’s not for the comfort of familial relations.  Tell me the fucking story, Mace, the truth.  Is it the curse?”

“It’s just…”

I have trouble spelling it out, though she’s so much a part of my being.  The future is clouded with doubt, though she makes it all worth believing.

He looks at me vacantly, while I stumble to try to explain.

“It’s just…”

I can tell he’s not intent on listening, which hinders my efforts.  Why should I bleed my heart to him, when he doesn’t even care about it?  She deserves better.  I deserve more.  He keeps looking around the room…

“It’s just, my girl…you said…”

“Well,” he finally interrupts.  I can’t tell if he realizes I’ve said something, or if he just doesn’t care either way.  He looks spacey, hollow…

“L'amore è la fine di vita!,” he cheers.  “Love is the end of one life, and the beginning of another!”

I see his eyes glaze over, in a moment of quiet reflection.  Like he’s caught in between two emotions simultaneously.  Then he gets a text message.

“Look, Mason,” he continues after the reprieve.  “I need to delay the events till later on, when the moment accords.  Right now I have business to attend to.  Nothing you should be part of.  Be here around ten, okay Mason, this table, I’ll meet you…I have to go…”

With that he’s absorbed into the flow of traffic.  As if he was never even here.  A ghost of what once was, standing before me.

He’s brushing me off…again.  Motherfucker.  But I feel guilty being selfish.  I’m the one infiltrating his territory.  Part of me thinks he’s avoiding me, that he won’t show up later.  But I’m holding out hope that he cares, or even just wants to spend time with me.  I hope he can help me.  Then again, I know he can be entirely vain, and preoccupied, and part of me thinks he just wants to mess with my head.

Maybe I am putting him in some kind of jeopardy…

coming here was dangerous for us

opportunities for my enemies

I am in love and my love is beyond imagination.  The stars have aligned.  The planets are in orbit.  The universe is harmony.  The love bleeds from my seams.  The blood of love crowds my veins.  The thought of her most serene…the thoughts of her forever in me…indispensable…corporeal…when, if ever, will I see her again?

 

 

 

 

 

Part

5

 

 

 

 

 

A page from the diary of Keats:

 

There he was…standing before me, lips locked on mine, insanity, time, beauty, so sublime…the kiss that lasts forever in my mind…under the mist, in Niagara Falls.  A moment frozen in time, the scene, the beginning, that heavenly truss, where everything had meaning…

There we stood…soldiers in the dark trenches…lifeless corpses at every step.  Me, the girl in the orange shirt…him, the boy in a gray suit…both of us completely soaked…both of us completely free, completely alone, but finding solace in shared experience.

The beginning of a second lifetime…I think…hope…maybe…

The night sky revolved behind us, the clouds moved in and out, the moon glowed bright, the lights illuminated the falls, and the sound of crashing water reverberated loud…

When I opened my eyes, I immediately wished I hadn’t.  Why couldn’t I have appreciated it more?  The dull certainty of reality could never live up to the magical bliss of his surprise kiss.  I wanted the feeling to linger…more…

He was just staring at me.  His big blue eyes looking into my soul…slowly playing with my thudding heart.  My body ached for more; my mind was left unsatisfied by his patience.  It could be a virtue, but everything has its time and place.

His next steps came too slowly…like anti-gravity moonwalks…the moment that had just passed, looped in my head…re-living the kiss in my mind, and here I was succumbing to the torture of his inaction.

The nerve, what was he waiting for?  My door was propped open, my welcome mat waiting for his shoes…

But he was so silent…a perfect stillness about him…an eerie ocean of calm…the most interesting…the most frustrating…boy.

Some kind of raw power radiated off him…some kind of pure unhinged self-assurance.  I couldn’t handle him staring at me any longer.  Like I was being interrogated, but not asked the vital questions…are you guilty?

He was quiet in a way that was daunting to me.  Had I not been obvious enough already?  Had I not let him follow me around town?  Had I not let him kiss me?  And yet there he was just waiting, just being quiet.  What was his problem?  What was wrong with me?

Finally I looked away…tried to portray my disappointment obviously, so that he couldn’t possibly miss it.

The sky, swelling and dark, the stars sparkling, and the shape of the crescent moon…the fine mist descending from the falls creating a wall around us…the air cold, crisp, and beautiful. A girl…sad…alone…needy…desperate…drained of hope…offering a detached body…given the one boy in the world with valour.  Was I disappointed?  Could I still feel?  Had I been mistaken?  Wasn’t this what I had always hoped would happen in these moments?

There was something different about him.  A substance…if only…

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 26

 

Spencer

 

The thoughts creep in but I shut them out.

She’s always there, but I make her invisible.

This thing Mason brought with him.

This need I can feel on him.

Reminds me of a time I need to forget.

To keep forgetting.

It’s too much to endure.

I don’t need these reminders.

Things buried long ago.

That life is over.

Has been.

That life never even began.

Her words in my mind.

They never go away.

She never goes away.

But she doesn’t exist.

Never has.

Never will.

Always still.

Those thoughts creep in…

I walk towards a service hallway, in a rush.  But before I can disappear, I’m accosted by Vadim Nazarov.

“Spencer, my friend.”  He holds his hand out to me.  “So good to see you.”

“Look,” I say, flushed with various emotions, staring down the handsome, blond-haired Ruskie.  “Now’s not a good time, Vlady…later okay?”

“Just a moment,” he says sheepishly.  “Just to say we are in.  I spoke with your brother—”

The rush comes before I have a chance to slow it down.

“What the fuck did you just say?”  My hands go around his neck, pushing him up against the gold wall.  “Don’t you ever fucking go near my brother, you hear me?  We all agreed there would be no interventions with Mason.  You got that, you Stalin-loving motherfucker?”

Although his sick black eyes bulge, he is calm, and waits for me to release him.  When I do, the fury subsides with the speed it came.  I peer around; the people who stopped to watch quickly return to their business.

“I apologize,” Vadim says evenly, while straightening himself out.  “You are most right.  It was inappropriate of me to speak with your brother.  Our agreement remains intact.  We know he is not a part of this…everyone knows that.  Truly, I am sorry, Spencer, sincerely.  Let’s put it past us.  Our opinion remains the same.  We are always, and remain your humble servants.”

All I can think about is what the fuck have I just done.  What the fuck did I just do?

“No worries, Vlady,” I say, attempting brevity.  “Look, what’s done is done.  I’m happy to hear we have your support.  I’ll be sure to report it, as soon as possible.  Take care okay, tell Dmitri I said thank you, from the heart…”

“Yes, I shall,” he says vacuously.  I start to walk away, feeling daggers staring at me.  “I will tell him everything…”

Once I pass through the service door, I stop and scream fuck at the wall.  I reach for another Percocet and take it.  There will be consequences.  I don’t have time to consider them.  I dab a wet finger in the bag of coke and plaster my gums.  I start walking down the long gray hallway until I reach another door.  Once through it I grab my phone and dial…

“So?”

“I met the kid, and everything is going as planned.  He’s on the verge, Julian.  He’s beginning to slip away.  I can tell it’s working, everything is coming together perfectly.”

“And what about the other thing?”

“It’s impossible to tell so far.  Things are in motion, and so far so good.”

“Good, Spencer, follow the plan.  Don’t fuck this up.”

“You say jump, cocksucker.”

“Astute.”

“Blow me.”

“Every rose has its thorns.”

“Every cowboy’s blown a horse.”

“Probably.”

“Look, there’s something else.”

“What?”

“The Russians.”

“Yes?”

“I met Vlad on the floor.  He said he was talking to Mason.  According to him it was innocuous, but still...”

“Yeah, that’s good to know.”

“Julian, there’s something else.”

“Your tone isn’t encouraging.”

“Yeah, I may have fucked it up.  When he told me, I lost it, and made some threats.”

“Well not to worry, Spencer.  They know the agreement we made.  They know the goddamn terms.  They’ll respect your actions.  It wouldn’t surprise me if that was what they intended to happen, to gauge your reaction.  These are very suspicious players, Spencer.  It could have been a test.  So is that it?”

“Yeah…um…thanks, Julian.  I was worried.”

“Anything else?”

“I love you too, bitch.”

“Just do your job.”

“On it.”

 

Mason

 

“I was in no hurry to take another breath, or move to another mired second.  Together we looked at the waterfalls.  I smiled at her, feeling something amazing, tremendous bliss, and then we kissed again.”

“That’s such a cute story, Mason,” Elliot’s girl Sasha Keller says, feigning interest.

“Look,” she says awkwardly.  “Elliot called me, you know, and I’m really sorry but I don’t have much information for you, really.”

Her breasts are exposed in front of me, pear shaped, and gleaming with an oily sheen.  As she speaks they move and flex.  But my thoughts center on Keats and Niagara Falls.

The music inside is deafening, and the raucous crowd of hard-ons is frenzied with piranha-like pussy lust.  But the thoughts play in my mind like a DVD, constant, infallible, serene…

“I thought I saw her…uh, here,” Sasha continues uneasily.  “Like last Friday maybe, or Wednesday.  It could have been her.  I mean I thought it was.  But I was pretty, uh, stoned, you know.”

A dude walks by and slaps her bare ass.  The sound of flesh on flesh rings through my ears, and burns a cord intensely.  Sasha’s face contorts in possible anger or embarrassment, and then into a crooked smile of appreciation…or submission.

I can’t tell what she thinks about being demeaned.  But whatever she feels, it’s certainly something the man felt was allowed.  I look into her eyes, and let her know that if she wants me to do something, I will.  But she just ignores it, and continues…

“But I thought I saw her…uh, I mean that’s why I told Elliot, you know.  I thought it was weird…I mean you guys disappeared like…maybe it wasn’t her.  I wish Elliot hadn’t said anything.  I feel bad now.  I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Elliott is moving,” I say stupidly, unsure of myself.

“Yeah I know,” she replies.  “He asked me to go with him, but…”

“But what?”

“God, Mason,” she says, blushing.  “I just can’t, I have obligations here…”

I’m not really paying attention to her anymore.  Once I start the story in my mind, it doesn’t stop till it’s done.  It’s my story, the only one that matters…Keats.

Later on Sasha is lap dancing the dude who slapped her ass.  His eyes bulge with a disgusting licentious fury.  He rubs his crotch through his pants while she teases him with her exposed femininity.  She rubs her tits in his face, puts her pussy on display.  I wonder when it took this turn.  She used to be something.  Now this?  Any beauty she had is ruined.  It’s unfortunate.  I watch the dude; his tongue hangs out like a dog waiting for a treat.  The room works like a single gyrating vagina, squeezing the cash out of these lonely sexless males.  Men without shame here, men able to act like men.  Inside these walls, a secret personality emerges.  One that is only available to them within.  The music thumps and helps with the grinding.  It helps the men to feel natural.  To feel the lust they must hide elsewhere, for every woman’s flesh…for every woman’s submission…

*****

I look at her, into her eyes, and it’s frightening to have my hands on her body.  I’m practically shivering…Keats Cameron.

“You’re a good kisser,” I say glowingly.  “I love the way you smell, it’s like tangerines or something…it’s so nice.  I wonder how long we’ve been here, this is so messed up…I love the falls…”

She watches me like I’m a kid on a playground getting into trouble.  Like she’s waiting for the next stupidly cute thing I’ll say or do…

“I’ve been here all my life, and they never get old,” she replies candidly.  I have a hard time taking my eyes off her breasts.  We are at the falls sitting on a patch of grass on the wrong side of the railing.  The drop off point is only a few feet away.

“My favorite thing in the world,” Keats continues, “is watching the water roll over the hills, on the horseshoe.  Whenever I’m feeling down, I just come down here and watch it.  Everything seems to get better…”

When she talks she sometimes pronounces words oddly.  She accentuates sounds that people don’t normally accentuate.  Every time she does it I smile.

“Yeah,” I say solemnly.  “I know what you mean.  We wear the weight of the world on our shoulders.  But compared to nature’s monstrosity, when you see it up close like this, our issues seem so petty and insignificant.  Nature’s rampant power and form, the impossibility of it all…it’s breathtaking…we are all just a single drop of water in the framework of the world.  We are transient, and it is eternal.”

“You know,” she says incredulously, “you remind me of something…”

I run my hand on the inside of her thigh, and she quivers mid-sentence.

“That feels good,” she says, and gives a luscious smile.  “But like I was saying, you remind me of something.  I’m not sure what though…like those old black and white movies, from the fifties maybe…it’s like you’re from that era or something, I don’t know, it’s kind of weird (she sees me look at her awkwardly)…in a good way.  You seem like you’re from the past…it’s nice.  There’s something calm about you.  I like it.”

She looks up at me…

My world is broken in two…pre-Keats…post-Keats…and so suddenly.

“I think I like you,” she says.  “You definitely remind me of something.  Something we‘ve lost.”

“I like you too,” I say brashly.  “You’re so beautiful.  You’re so smart.  Your mind works like a machine, there’s never a second where you appear uneasy.  Every look, every movement, every smile, all calculated and precise; I have no chance, and I don’t want one anymore.  I just want you…forever.”

Together we watch the sun rise over Niagara Falls, from our oasis at the edge of the horseshoe.  The wrong side of the railing...

“You have me,” she says, looking into my eyes, deeply connecting.  “Mason, forever, I’ll be yours.”

Drifting in and out of a haze.  Tired, relaxed, warm…I hold her body next to mine…a grassy perch overlooking the falls, on the wrong side of the railing…inches away from death…centimetres away from endless falling…

It’s frightening, but she likes it, and I do too.  In a life of perpetual hollowness, fear adds a touch of feeling, a sense of actual being.  We lie here, and watch the sun rise…her soft body breathing next to mine.  We talk, but mostly we fool around…

“Mason,” she says demurely.  “When will this all end?”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 27

 

Spencer

 

Sometimes I watch the sunset from the roof.  When it’s clear, the sun turns pink before it disappears.  Today it’s hidden behind gray clouds.  Maybe a sign of the times…maybe it tells me Mason’s still around…maybe he brings the gray…maybe he brings the storm.  Why did he have to reappear?  Why couldn’t he have stayed lost?  Do I ever care?

there are so many things

I can smell the exhaust from the building.  It blows a warm breeze through the cool evening sky.  There is an eerie quiet up here.  Subtle sounds from the street, the occasional cry of a passing bird, but that’s it.  No ringing alarms.  No digital noises.  No hum of human talking.  No love, no angst, no anger, no despair, no feeling, just being.  Just space.

“Spencer?” I hear Vadimonovic Nazarov say.  “Spencer, you out here?”

Quickly I reach inside my coat, and grab hold of my nine.

“Yeah Vadim, right here,” I say nervously, holding the pistol before me.  “How did you find me?”

“Look,” he says, holding up his hands.  “Downstairs I acted stupid.  I mean you no harm, Spencer.  I must apologize for it.  There was no call for my actions.  I should not have stepped outside the lines.  In this business promises must be kept.  I’ve beaten other men for less.  You must accept my apology.  Our business together is too important for some boyish bullshit to interfere.  I beg your forgiveness.”

“Yes, Vlady,” I say nonchalantly.  “Think nothing more of it.  It’s water under the bridge.”  I put my gun away.

“Good,” he says, smiling.  “Such bullshit, you know, gets in the way of business.  Over the years, these kinds of things have ruined so many men like us.  So many fortunes lost, due to amateur shit like this.”

“Like I said, Vadim, think nothing of it.”

“Good, Spencer, that’s real good.  Now that that’s through with, I think we have some information that can help you.  Perhaps we could go somewhere to talk?”

Something about him just sets me off…something menacing and corrupt.  A total lack of love, or something like it.  What is he made of?  What is he missing?  When did he lose it?  Was it ever there?  In a perfect world I’d throw him off the roof.  Just because I can never trust him, and a man I can’t trust may as well be dead.  One less person to think of…one less person to worry about…

“I’m sorry, Vlady,” I say vacantly.  “Right now isn’t a good time.”  But I realize it’s probably bad to act so unaccommodating.  “I do appreciate your help and our continued business together.  Could you just give me like an hour, and we can talk, free of distractions.”

“You mean your brother?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I understand, Spencer.  Do what you need to.  There’s plenty of time…plenty of time, for us.”

nothing is ever as it seems

keep your enemies close

Before leaving the roof, I watch the sun disappear, and along with it, something inside me…a lonely feeling stays behind.  With the night comes control.  With the night comes action.  Time to resolve the things that need it…keep that life that doesn’t exist far from my mind.

“Yes, Spencer, hey, how’s it going? I’m glad you called.”

“Look, Brett, you’re not still following my brother around, are you?”

“Hell yeah I am.  He’s having quite the time too, Spence.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well first he went to Jaguars Lounge, talked to some stripper.  Then he just sits there in some kind of trance for a while.  Then, like a bomb goes off in him, he like rips the girl off this dude in the middle of a lap dance, just like tears her away from him.

“The guy gets all uppity, you know, acting all tough.  Your brother, he just whispers something in the guy’s ear, and suddenly it’s like his nuts are cut off, right there, with a few words.  Same thing with the bouncers, and even the manager.  Mason just says something to them.  I don’t even know, maybe he just looked at them.  They all just back off, and let him walk out of there with her.  It was crazy, Spencer, fucking crazy.”

“Where did they go?”

“I followed him, he brought the girl to her place, I think.  They came back out like a half hour later, and got a cab.  I followed them.  They went to the Airport.  He bought her a ticket.  She was crying, talking all this shit about regrets and blah blah blah.  When she was gone he called someone.  They talked for a while, and then he came back here.”

“Where?”

“The casino.”

“You’re here now?”

“Yeah.  He’s playing poker.”

“That’s perfect, Brett.  Hey, I owe you one.  Big time.”

“No problem, Spencer, just keep me in mind, you know, for stuff.  I won’t let you down, trust me…I got something to offer.  I’m ready and willing, you know.  This dealing shit, its bullshit, man.  I want some real work.  Real money…”

“Be careful what you wish for, Brett the dealer.  Things are not always what they seem…”

As I’m walking back into the Casino, I make a call.

“How is it going?”

“Fine, everything’s good.  Everything is starting to take shape.  I’m on my way to see Mason.  Things are going according to the plan.”

“Are you sure?”

“Did I stutter?”

“Don’t fuck around, Spencer.  Get it done!”

“What did I say?  It’s fucking happening, alright?”

“I hope so.”

“Trust me.”

“If only I had a choice.”

“Good to know.”

“Should this conversation end here, Spencer?  Or would you like to continue?”

“As if it matters anyway, Julian, but sure, I’ll call you later.”

“Good.”

 

Mason

 

The effects of the heroin are gone.  I’m left wanting more.  This brittle life…it’s starting to eat at me.  I need my strength.  I need my home…

she opened the door

“Look,” I say sharply.  Terribly annoyed that this chick is talking to me, but lost in conversation nonetheless.

“I know my brother has more charisma in his left ball than most of us do in our entire beings.  But he never stops moving from one conquest to the next, and he doesn’t think about anyone but himself.  That’s the thing about him…”

The scene:  drift towards some faraway escalators, the carpet golden, with tiny circular patterns of purple and red.  Rows of machines, random hollow corpses pushing buttons in endless cycles.  Reach an atrium marked with a giant Roman god.  Follow another hallway.  Reach the hotel.  Take the elevator.  Top Floor.  Spencer Gallo please!

Suddenly I find myself back in the conversation.  Was she talking that whole time?  It feels like she just finished.  Waiting for a response.  Have we been sitting here in silence?  Has this happened already?

Expecting Spencer to descend any minute, I’m nervous…

“Just don’t be naïve,” I say, searching for recognition in her expression.  “It’s all a front.”  She seems to be buying it.  “He’s bad for you; you should just forget him…you’d be better off.  It’s all a trick.”

“That’s so true, you’re right,” she says, barely listening.  “Still, there’s something inside him.  I just wanted to help him…I swear, you look just like him though.”

She looks tired, dead to the world.  Standing here like a lost puppy in the middle of the casino, another name on Spencer’s list.  Could be pretty, but not like this.  She’s not making any sense.  I’m close enough to the table to see Spence when he arrives, but will he?  This girl just came out of nowhere, hysterical, confusing me for him…

fill the tunnel with water

“Yeah,” I say, shaking. Starting to sweat.  Regurgitating sentences like I’ve eaten them thousands of times.

“But we couldn’t be further apart.  Spencer is at his best around a lot of people.  He actually seems more comfortable that way.  He hates being alone.  I’m like the complete opposite, I generally move at a much slower and more isolated pace.  When I’m around a lot of people, I just want to fade into the shadows.  Spencer just fits into this world better than me…always has…I prefer my own company to others’.”

except hers

blow up the bridge

“It would be easy,” I continue thoughtlessly, needing drugs, “mistaking his overconfidence for arrogance.  But the truth is he’s actually quite humble, in certain respects.  He knows he doesn’t deserve anything better than anyone else.  He just listens to his heart exceptionally well.  He’s seen the edge of the cliff, and he knows what’s on the other side.  In our family it’s hard to be innocent.  It’s hard to take what the world gives.  We’ve grown up with the understanding that if we want something, it’s ours to go out and get.  Never stop.  Never relent.  Live each day as if it were our last, because the end is around every corner, waiting for us…”

“Uh huh,” she interrupts remotely.  “You don’t know where he is, do you?  I mean I just have to tell him something.  I hate to look like one of those girls, you know…but it’s important that I see him.”

Her nametag says Bella…her eyes are dark brown; she rubs her hands relentlessly as she speaks.  Her jaw line is like a model’s, but she’s wearing too much makeup.  She’s yesterday’s headline…she’s like me…

“Look,” I say, hardly concerned by her desires.  “I can’t say for sure if I’ll see him.  But if I do, I’ll let him know you were looking for him, Isabella.”

I watch her frown, her sad eyes confused.  The smell of cigars suddenly overwhelms me, drowning me in copious smoke.

“What did you call me?”  She sounds alarmed.

“Your name, on your nametag.  Bella.  Isabella.”

“Oh,” she says, disoriented.  “Right, the costume.  It’s just this thing.  That’s what I have to talk to Spencer about.  It’s really important.  Seriously, I think I fucked up.”

Tears stream down her face in lines that she doesn’t attempt to impede.  Part of me, the part that worships her, wants to catch the tears with my tongue…to taste the sadness…the emptiness…the sorrow…misfortune…purity…

“Costume?” I say.  She nods sadly.

“It can’t possibly be that bad,” I continue to dribble.  “Ah, whoever you are.  What exactly happened?”

“I…” she sobs.  “I don’t…” she sobs more.  “I don’t know if I should tell you.”  She tries to settle herself.  “I don’t know what he’ll do.  I’m not supposed to say anything.  I didn’t mean for this to happen.  I was just supposed to take his order.  I was just supposed to tell the chef what he ordered.  That’s all I had to do, but…but…”

“What,” I say compassionately.  “What happened?  Look, I’m his brother, he trusts me.  You can tell me anything.  Whose order was it?”

“I don’t know,” she says, conflicted.  “Some guy name Victor.  I’m worried.  You don’t know what he’ll do to me.  You can’t know.  I swear I didn’t mean to screw everything up.  I swear…I have to go…”

the apple sapped by oxidation

Bella looks directly into my eyes, and I can feel the fear behind her stare.  I see a sudden change.

“Don’t tell Spencer you saw me.  Please.  Don’t tell him anything at all.”

“Sure,” I reply.  “I guess.”  Knowing I have no choice but to confront Spencer about it.  “I’ll keep it to myself.”

The girl not named Isabella fades into the abyss, swallowed by the sea of like-minded victims.  The machines suck the money from them, as if they have no choice but to obey.  Is this what they call love?  Devotion?

A text message appears…from Elliott.

Don’t trust your bros, Mason.  They want u there.  They made it happen.  They know about K.  Don’t believe the lies.  I’m sorry.  Had no choice.  S called me.  Thank you. Truly.

When I reply I get nothing, no response.  My message is sent back undeliverable.  I feel terror snaking through me, spreading like a virus, quickly attacking all my senses.  I trust Elliott.  I trust him more than my brothers.  This hits me slowly, sadly.  But I don’t know what to believe.  Elliott could easily be coerced.  Spencer couldn’t.  Who do I believe?  Why is this happening?

never as they seem

Some kind of emotion overtakes me.  I stumble, and almost fall.

“You alright buddy?” someone asks.

“Maybe you should sit down,” another says.

“Should we call somebody?”

“No,” I say, recovering.  “I’m fine, thanks.  I’m alright.”

I walk to the proper table, sit down, wait…my mind is on fire…my thoughts are a hurricane…this world is crumbling around me.  Keats…Keats…Keats…

“Mason,” Spencer says softly, practically whispering in my ear.  “Life is an exceptional mystery, which will always remain unsolved.  But not you, brother…you are an absolute truth.”

He takes a step back and addresses the whole table:  “My brother giving the rest of you enough trouble?  Well…we all win once in a while, right?”

Impulse grabs hold of me, and I get up to move over for him.  But before I can, he wraps himself around me, hugs me tightly.  Sort of devouring me in his arms, kissing me on the cheek.  He whispers, “Lei sa sempre la verità…”

His distinct Italian voice makes me shiver.  Something is terribly wrong, I can feel it.  I know he’s hiding something from me.  The world is failing to remain stable. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” he says savagely.  It causes me to blush.

Grabbing me by the collar, he says, “You ashamed to hug your own brother, Mason, are you?”

“No,” I say nervously.  “It’s just…I don’t understand what’s happening…”  I’m thinking about Elloitt’s text, and the girl, and Victor.  I look around and say, “all these people are here, it’s freaking me out.”

He pulls me aside walking into a nearby alcove. 

“You think I care,” he says enraged.  “Fuck those people, who gives a shit about them?  We are blood!  Family!  Brothers… Siamo il sangue!  Those people don’t mean shit compared to that.  They mean nothing against the weight of that!  They are pawns in our chess game, Mason, fucking pieces under our control.”

It’s like some kind of bad dream—I feel about five years old again.  Spencer sees this, he sees the frightened look in my eyes, and his posture softens.  If only I could say it…

He puts his palms on my cheeks, and a little less angrily he says,

“Please, I’m sorry, I overreacted.  You know how our blood runs torrid.  That fear on your face, Mason.  Just don’t let me see you make that face again.  Got it?  I don’t give a shit where we are.  I don’t care if I get naked right here on this casino floor, for Christ sakes.  You better just smile about it, and you better be fucking proud of me.  Got it?”

there are so many things

I feel really awkward and out of place now, like a pawn in a chess game.  As we walk back to the table, I try to make light of the situation, all the while.

“Right here, cocksucker,” I say, smiling.  “You’re going to get naked right here on the floor?”

“You don’t fucking believe me, motherfucker,” he says, unbuttoning his shirt.

The people around the table start watching the whole thing like it’s some kind of primetime drama.  Collectively, as they seem to be working, they start to laugh and get abnormally excited.

“Okay, Spencer,” I reply quickly.  Thinking, just tell me the real goddamn truth.  “Christ, I believe you.  Please keep your clothes on for real.  What is it with you and nudity anyway?  You have some sort of complex or something?”

“Miraculous Mason,” he says with a long sigh.  “It’s good to see you around.  As much as it complicates things, it’s still nice…to know you exist.”

Once Spencer stops the fiasco of getting undressed, he walks around the table, apologizing to everyone for the display.  It’s more than a little ridiculous to witness once again how smooth he is when he wants to be.  He quickly has the whole scene in the palm of his hand.  I watch their faces light up and their cheeks get rosy as he charms each person.

what separates us all

In truth I find it scary for humanity in general to be so easily controlled by another.  But he means well, and I think they all understand where he’s coming from, regardless of whether they condone his reaction.

“To family,” Spencer says loudly, raising his glass.  This after he’s ordered drinks for everyone, paid for hotel rooms, spa treatments, golfing, dinners, breakfasts, theater tickets, women, everything…

“There’s nothing,” he says eyeing me severely, “more important in this world.  Nothing more honored, sacred, or priceless, than family, la famiglia.  They are there to see us struggle, and fail.  They are there to see us overcome, and achieve.  They give us a home.  They give us support.  They make us who we are, and show us where we came from…”

Really…I say to myself.  Is that right, Spencer?

His speech makes me think about my mom…her green eyes, large, bulging ovals…such depth I could swim in them…her pain…this hollow presence in her…this void…falling into it…isolation…despair…life in a box!

*****

Leaving Spencer in the Kitchen, I walk back upstairs to bed, but stop when I hear my mother crying.  I stand at her door watching, but she doesn’t notice me.  She gets up then stumbles back down to the floor…cries even harder.

She’s wearing a purple bathrobe, and holding a glass of red wine.  I walk to her doorway, and ask her what’s wrong…

She gives me a look that intimidates me.  A look of accusation, and then guilt.  She tells me to go away, to go to my room…leave her alone.

I’m scared but I stand there anyway, reluctant to leave, not understanding at all what’s happening, but feeling like something’s is wrong…

She screams at me, “Mason, go to your room.  I’m so tired and it hurts to see you right now, baby.”

It burns through me.  I start to well up, feel responsible, feel angry, and begin to cry.  She throws her shoe at me so I run away…

I creep back up to her room, hear her sobbing…peer through a crack between the door and the wall…watch her stagger to the open window, climb onto the sill…teeter there for a moment.  My eyes burn with sadness, and confusion.  I watch her step off and disappear.

I run into her room and look out the window…I see her lying on the ground, her face looking up at me.  She’s trying to say something, but I don’t hear what…  One of her arms is twisted under her body in a way that shouldn’t be possible.  Her left leg is deformed.  I see a branch sticking out of her shoulder, and blood all around it.  Her eyes have blood coming out of them, and so does her mouth.  The look on her face is horrifying…

I’m too young to tell, but my heart breaks into two halves, split by one catastrophic sorrow.  It’s my fault… I remember the look she gave me moments before.  She blamed me for everything…for everyone leaving.  In my heart I took them all away from her…it’s my fault…my brothers, my dad.  I am the reason people are afraid…I am the disease they want to escape.

I’m left all alone with my misery…sitting in my room, for days…alone, while she’s dead in the backyard…thinking about it over and over again. 

I feel this intense sadness funneling through me.  This realization suddenly connects so many dots…the loneliness, the isolation, the sadness…Keats is the only person I’ve told this to…Keats is the only person who didn’t run away…Keats is the one who stayed…because Keats truly loves me…more than anything else in the world, Keats loves me…Keats loves me, the real person inside of me, the crazy, rage-filled, depressed, lunatic me…

she opened the door

beyond anything I ever imagined before

*****

“To family!” everyone at the table says in unison.

Or the death of it! I think…

The dealer tries to encourage a return to the game.  People are reluctant, but Spencer agrees.

“Mason,” he says proudly.  “Let these people have their glory.  Walk with me, will you?”

“As if there’s a question about it?” I say, irritated.

Spencer makes a face like he’s astonished, yet he knows exactly why I said it.

We get away from the table, and he pulls me into a nook leading to a washroom.  He pushes me against the wall and holds me there.

“What the fuck was that all about,” he says with a fanatical grin.  “You got a problem now?”

“My girlfriend is missing, Spencer,” I practically shout.  “She’s missing.  Disappeared.  Gone.  The girl I love.  The girl I want the most.  My whole life, Spencer.  So yeah, I got a fucking problem!”

“Seriously though, Mason J,” he says sarcastically.  “Whine much?”

“Fuck you, motherfucker.”

I swing at him, but he catches it and squeezes my hand.  Quickly he twists me around so that my arm is nearly broken.  His other arm wraps around my neck holding me tight.

“Look, Mason,” he says, expressionless.  “Calm the fuck down.  I know your situation, and I’m trying to help you.  But you need to get your head straight.  I’m on your side.  Stop fucking around with those tracks.  They’re playing mind games with you.  Now I’m going to let you go.  If you pull that shit again, we’re done.”

For a couple seconds we stay tense, and then I calm down.  There’s nothing I can do anyway, he’s got me beat.  Maybe it is the drugs, or lack thereof.

“Alright,” I say reluctantly.  “Let me go, it’s over.  I’m sorry, everything’s spinning out of control.”

out of control people doing out of control things

“Follow me then.  Take this…I have to make a call.”

He hands me a pill.  I down it without a thought.  After a two-second conversation, we head down the main staircase to the lower lever.

It’s like Spencer knows every girl, and every girl wants to know him.  It’s like they breathe for him, so ready to be his next one…do they not understand meaninglessness, or is that what’s so attractive?

On the ground floor, people are buzzing.  Security guards rush past us towards the fray.  A huddle of people are gathered around someone screaming, a woman.  Spencer looks at me, acknowledges the interest we both cannot help.  I notice a tear in the side of his white shirt…what looks like blood around it.

“Your shirt is torn, Spencer.  You’re bleeding.”

He removes his black Armani suit coat and looks at the hole.  He puts his finger through it. 

“What a waste,” he says blankly.  “Never mind that.  Let’s see what the riot is.”

Before we can get to the scene, everything and everyone begins to disperse.  Two Arabic security guards are dragging the screaming woman away, and they walk right past us.  It’s the girl, the Bella girl from before.

“You know her,” Spencer says, seeing the recognition in my face.

“That girl?”

“Yeah.”

“Um, no, should I?”

“I don’t know, should you?”

“I’ve never seen her before.”

“Okay.  Follow me then.  I want to show you something.”

We head towards the east exit out to McDougall Avenue.  Spencer doesn’t speak, he just looks ahead austerely.  I can’t tell what he’s thinking.  The pill starts to take effect.  I feel a loss of feeling, a loss of caring, of emotion.  The world around me starts to swivel into a different world.  Duller, less obvious, more layers start to appear.  In a way it feels like I’m receding into myself.

We pass a Roman statue made of fake marble.  Nima, at exactly the right moment, steps out from behind it, as if it was planned.  Which leads me to understand it was.

what is will only be

“My friends,” he says critically.

“Mason,” Spencer interrupts.  “Give me a minute, will you.”

I walk away from them, towards a coffee place.  These round metallic girders function like an entrance, with walls of glass, and a black sign above the threshold.  A strong scent of dark coffee seeps from the place.  From a barstool I watch Nima and Spencer talk.  The conversation seems intense.  Nima is pleading, it seems, and Spencer is accosting him.  I sip an espresso with a touch of cinnamon.  The scene is fluctuating around me.  I try to figure out how I can get Nima away from Spencer to get more H.  I feel ice cold, yet feverishly burning.

“Hey,” Spencer yells, waking me up.

“Oh,” I say semi coherently.  “Ready?”

“I have to go do some business.  It won’t take long.  Do you need a room or something?”

“Yeah, that would be good.”

“Alright follow me then.”

We walk to the exit, turn and head up this four-story escalator.  The sky outside is black.  I feel so cold, like I can see my breath.  Spencer seems preoccupied, nervous.  There is the constant thought of her…the constant longing…

there is no truth here

“You plan on seeing Julian?” he says, completely uninterested.  “I wouldn’t suggest it.  He won’t be happy to see you again, after everything.  Maybe I’m wrong.  Eventually everything subsides, right?”

everything changes while it stays the same

I don’t tell him I’ve already paid a visit to our brother in prison.  There are too many ulterior motives floating around.  Sometimes it’s best to keep things to yourself, and wait for the color to arrive.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 28

 

Spencer

 

“Please,” Zoe pleads.  “I’m so sorry.  I swear I tried.  I don’t know what happened.  Please, Spencer.  What are you going to do to me?”

What a waste this girl is.  I used to enjoy fucking her, back then.  She was beautiful, but not now, no longer.

“You made a deal, Zoe, and unfortunately you reneged.”

“But I didn’t.  I tried.  I don’t know what happened, Spencer.  Believe me, I did exactly what you said.”

“But you didn’t, you fucking bitch.  The guy only has half a face.  How do you fuck that up?”

“Don’t hurt me.  Please.  Don’t hurt me.”

“You’ll get what everyone else who reneges on a deal gets, Zoe.  It’s nobody’s fault but your own.”

“No.  No, Spencer.  What can I do?  I’ll do anything.  I swear, anything.”

“Tell me one thing.  Tell the truth and maybe I’ll give you some brownie points.  Did you say anything about our deal to my brother?”

“No,” she says, bursting into tears.  “Nothing, I swear.”

I pick up a scalpel from a portable table next to me.  It’s one among many instruments of torture in room 802.  She is naked before me, arms and legs fastened to a special chair, the Bella costume lying on the metallic floor.  Her black eye shadow runs down her oily flesh, carried by her worthless tears.

what is will only be

As I get closer she struggles to break free.  Her screams begin to escalate.

“I’ll give you one more chance, dear.  Now take a second and seriously consider this decision.  To be honest with you, Zoe, either way you’re basically fucked.  But if you tell the truth, well let’s just say this will all be over so much sooner.  So, did you say anything to my little brother?”

“I’m serious, Spencer, I swear I didn’t.  I wouldn’t lie.”

I straddle her thighs, and look deep into her brown eyes.  She relaxes for a second.  I softly touch her face, and twist her left nipple gently, while caressing her neck.  She smells like the summer:  warm, soft, light.  We kiss in a deep emotional lock.  I can feel a passionate fury burning deep inside her, the hint of absolution bringing forth such a ferocious sense.  I keep kissing her till she’s completely lost in it.  As I feel that submission, I make my first cut.  Beginning at her clavicle I make a fast straight incision to just beneath her breast, splitting her nipple.  The sudden terror in her eyes is magical.

“Anything to say now, my dear?  Or shall I continue with this mastectomy?”

“Alright,” she says between violent shrieks.  “Please, stop.  I’ll tell you.”

“Good, Zoe,” I say, and kiss her.

“Look,” she says, sobbing acutely.  “I didn’t tell him anything specific, Spencer, I swear.  But I may have made some allusions to what I was supposed to do, you know.  I was scared.  I knew I messed up.  That’s it.  I swear.  He said I could trust him.  He said you would be okay with it.  I knew it.  I fucking knew I shouldn’t have said anything.”

I look through her eyes into the corpse that will exist seconds in the future.  This body cavity which holds the ultimate secrets…the mind…the soul…it…the person…whatever it is…I look in there to find it…to feel some sense of emotional connection to any life…nothing…

“I believe you,” I say, smiling.  To hopefully project some sense of leniency before her brain is blown out… “Baby.  Truly, I do believe you.”

From my mouth, the last words she hears in this life…“Nima, do it.”

I close my eyes.

The shot rings through the room.  Zoe’s life is over instantly.  Her head hangs limply to her left, a bullet hole in her temple, blood everywhere.

I feel hollow in the recesses of my mind, the absence of everything…

“What a waste,” I say to no one.

“She gets what she deserves,” Nima says ruthlessly.

“Sometimes,” I say blankly, “things end before they ever begin, Nima.”

Knowing he won’t understand my meaning, I don’t wait for a response.

“Take care of this, and then call me.  We have work to do now.”

I leave the room and head to the service elevator.  Now I’m a little nervous, and take another Percocet.  This isn’t good.  Why the fuck did I put such faith in others?  I should have known.  I’m getting lazy.  I’m getting sloppy.  All this because of a fucking stupid girl, fuck!

 “Yes.”

“Julian, we may have a minor complication.”

“This is counter to what you’ve been saying.”

“No fuck, really?”

“Should I call the Russians?”

“Fuck you.  Keep your pants on, alright.  Everything is under control.”

“If everything was under control, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?”

“Look, call them if you want asshole.  I don’t give a fuck.  I’ll finish what we’ve started.  Trust me.  I will clean up this mess.  It will all go as planned.”

“You haven’t left me any choice, Spencer.  I’m tired, I want this to be finished.  It must be done!”

 

Mason

 

“I can’t have a drink,” Tyler Monfortin says, suddenly back from the hole he crept into.

I’m at a bar in the middle of the slot machines.  There’s a couple TVs overhead playing sports highlights.

Ty unbuttons the wrist of his American Eagle plaid.  Rolls up the sleeve.  Shows me the tattoo on his arm, a big black X.

“Good for you Ty,” I say somewhat uncomfortably.

“Yeah,” he confesses.  “I’ve never really been one for dogma myself, but it helps to have people to talk to.  People who understand, you know?”

I don’t, but say, “Yeah man, all power to you.”

He condescends, “I know what you’re thinking, Mace.  It’s all about replacing one habit with another, right?  You think the program is a place for helpless people to express their hopeless feelings in communion.  You think we’re suckers, fools, and tragedies in our own rights.  The old, “If I know I’m not alone, I can get through it” kind of bullshit.  But the truth of it is, that shit actually works, man.  Trust me, Mace, it helps.  It helps to have companions in any struggle.  It helps to let it out.”

In my head I can hear Spencer saying, “Watch how they get suckered by one dogma or another.  They don’t have enough confidence to make any choices for themselves.  Most people don’t.  Control is something few of us posses over ourselves, Mason; it’s sad, but it’s the truth.  Weakness is our calling card.”

“Tyler,” I say sadly, attempting to follow the script.  “I think everyone can control their own mind, if they work hard enough at it.  I’m like you in some ways.  I had a lot of problems.  For a long time I chose one way to deal with them, but then it all changed…”

she opened a door for me

“Exactly,” Ty concurs.  “I made the decision to answer to myself, every day.  I made the change.  The truth is the only way.  It’s all within you…the power to be different, the power to overcome.  No one else matters…”

I stare at him.  He’s got this childlike charm, this innocence…

“Honestly Ty, if it wasn’t for her, I don’t know where I’d be.  If it wasn’t for her, there would be no more me…”

“Yeah,” he says self-consciously, pointing at his straight edge tattoo.  “This thing is just to remind me of my commitment to myself…like she is to you.”

“You fucking Americans,” this Ogre sitting across from us says.  “What fun is life without having things to quit?  I swear if I didn’t have my vices, I’d have nothing at all.”

He looks Russian, sounds Russian, and is wearing a tracksuit under a leather jacket.  His face is badly scarred; his eyes are cold, hard, and sinister.

“I think,” he continues unabated, “you Americans are made of fucking porcelain.  On the outside, you’re pretty to look at, but underneath you break so easy.  You’re hollow.  In my country we live with our choices.  We accept our decisions.  We are responsible.  You Americans are all about having reasons for things.  You make up excuses why you do these things you do.  You pretend you don’t have a choice.  It’s all bullshit.  Your weakness is your frailty in will.”

I stare at the guy, intentionally seeking confrontation.  I’m sure he can see it in my eyes.  I’m sure he understands my challenge.

“You better watch your step, my friend,” he says, cracking his enormous knuckles.  “I don’t want to hurt you, so don’t fuck with me.  You listen?”

Another Russian guy comes walking up, dressed slick in a pinstriped gray suit.  He grabs a drink at the bar.

“You should watch what the hell you say bitch,” I say coldly.”

“Mason,” Tyler says apprehensively.  “Just let it go.  Who cares what he thinks.”

“Nobody here,” I continue with a smile, “asked for your gladiator opinion of humanity, Russell Crowe.”

“Mason,” Ty pleads.  “Seriously, just forget about it.”

“In America, we have a saying, called mind your own goddamn business.  You feel me, Stalingrad?”

I prepare for what may be my end…as the comrade stalks towards me…

“Gentlemen,” says the slicker Russian, charging between us.  “Gentlemen, please.  Resist these comical temptations, these amateur impulses.  It’s not becoming of our kind.”

“Dmitri,” the big Russian says, surprised.  “Get the fuck out of my way.  This American pole-sucker needs a lesson in hospitality.”

The Dmitri guy is pencil thin, some kind of vampire look:  dark flowing hair, angular face, and pale milky skin.  He says something severely to the Ogre, in Russian.  The Ogre’s demeanour changes drastically, like he’s a child being chastised.  Held in check.

I turn to Ty to gauge his reaction, but he’s gone.  I feel a chill up my spine.  The room seems to be losing air.  I can feel the temperature dropping.  Ice forming on the walls and windows, snow beginning to fall from the ceiling.  I’m shivering.

“Forgive my friend,” the Vampire articulates calmly.  “He speaks out of turn.  But he is a loyal dog, and has his uses.”

“Yes,” the Ogre remarks apologetically.  “My brother has explained everything.  Please don’t judge me by these actions.  I am not always so hostile.  The issue has a strong place in my heart, for my family, and my country.  I don’t mean to be a…prick, I think you’d say.  I apologize to you, Mason Gallo.  I mean no harm to you, or your family.”

I catch my breath.  The frozen room starts to thaw.  “It’s alright,” I say, hardly able to speak.

“Good, Mason,” the Vampire charges.  “What do you say to a drink?  We have some information you may be interested in hearing.  Join us, will you?  But not here, let us find a more suitable location…”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 29

 

Spencer

 

I make my way to the Caesar Bar where the unfortunate Zoe made her ill-fated mistake.  Along the way I call Brett the dealer.

“Hey, what’s happening?”

“Spencer, he’s with these Russians, big guy and a tall skinny guy.”

“Shit, where?”

“I found them at Kaballa ready to fight.  But now they’re waiting at valet.”

“Fuck.  That asshole couldn’t resist could he.”

“What was that, man?”

“Nothing, Brett, just forget about it.”

“So, you want me to try and follow them?”

“Whatever phantom.  I only play the game, I don’t make the rules.”

“But every piece plays it’s part, Spencer.”

“Yes it does…Brett.  Look let me know what happens.  He is my brother.“

“Sure, Spencer, sure.”

“Thanks.”

“Spencer,” she says…

“Spencer, it’s me…where have you been?”

I turn around but nobody’s there.

her voice in my head, it never ends

She is always there.  But she doesn’t exist…

“Spencer…Spencer…Buddy?”

“Huh?  What?”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Jesus fuck, Nima.  Get a fucking clue.  This isn’t daytime drama.  You saw the tape.  She fucked it up man.  It couldn’t be any fucking clearer.  It’s over.  Forget about it.  Do what you want.  It’s out of our hands now.  Good enough for you?”

I’m standing in the kitchen of Caesar Bar, where Zoe fucked her life forever.  Such a simple error, but life is in the details.  A slight tinge of remorse hits me:  Zoe’s eyes staring back at me, her weight on my thighs.  But those days are gone.  Those days were long gone long ago.  There isn’t a moment to pinpoint when Zoe became a victim.  But she played that card till its finale.  Remorse is for the doctors…

there is nothing out there

The walls are tiled white and clean, new.  They sparkle.  The cool metallic surfaces of appliances and prep tables lend a bitter contrast to the dude passed out on the floor, the wrong dude.

“What should we do with him, man?” the Jamaican cook says, pointing.

The heat from the ovens is making me sweat, and I don’t appreciate it.  I can smell fruit rotting.  There’s a picture of the cook and his wife and kids.  They look happy.  They look normal.  They look unhindered.  Free…

“Fuck, why are these ovens so fucking hot?  You’re not even open yet.”

The cook and Nima exchange a confused look.  The cook is short and slender, light skinned, half the size of Nima.  His arms have dark spots on them, like he’s been burned or something.

“You alright, Gallo?” Nima says awkwardly.

“Never better, pig feed.”  I keep my eyes on the picture…Freedom.  Normalcy.  Marriage.  Children…

“Time to lay off the dope, Mr. Gallo,” the cook adds, laughing.  “The ovens are off.”

The fucking cook, with his slack unassuming face…All he has.  Everything he’s built.  That little family life he enjoys, or endures.  He should understand the frailty.  He should realize his limits.  He should appreciate what he’s got.  How quickly it can all be taken…lost.

things are never what they seem to be

I watch the instant transition in his expression, to utter terror and shock, as Nima crushes him with a body blow.

“Got something to say now, bitch?” Nima prods.

“No, goddammit,” the cook says, reeling.  “I didn’t mean nothing, man. Please.”

“Then keep your fucking mouth shut unless you’re asked a fucking question.”

“That’s enough, Nima,” I say, bored.  “Get this motherfucker out of here.”  I kick the wrong guy.

“What should I do with him?”

“Pigs, Nima.  Pigs’ feed.”

“Seriously?”

“Just bring him outside.  Fuck, who gives a shit.  Just get him out of the casino.”

“Okay, Gallo.”

Once he’s gone I take the cook’s family portrait.  The cook has recovered, and, wisely, is going about his prep business quietly.

“Did you meet in Jamaica?” I ask him.

“My wife?” he says, unsure of himself.

“Yeah,” I say drifting away.

“That’s a crazy story,” he replies eagerly.  “We were childhood friends.  We had known each other almost our entire lives.  In our teens her family moved to the States.  We tried to stay in contact but it just faded as time went by.  I always had a special place in my heart for her, but I had given up on having a life together.  When I moved to Toronto in my twenties for work, I had no clue where she lived or anything.  One night I went to a bar with a couple friends of mine, and guess who was there…”

As the cook speaks I’m completely lost in thought, while staring at an email forwarded to me from an unspecified source…it reads:

Alleged crime lord, and murderer Julian Gallo was found dead in his prison cell earlier this evening.  Officials claim he hanged to death shortly after sunset.  Suicide is suspected, but nothing will be confirmed until after an autopsy is completed in full…

“Spencer,” the cook says a few times.  “Is everything alright?”

“Time is fleeting,” I respond vacantly.  “The end is near.  I can see it.  I can hear.  I know were doing the right thing and yet I’m completely devoured by fear and resentment…”

 

Mason

 

“Have you ever had authentic Russian Wodka, Mason?” the slick Vampire before me says.  We’re in a club in the west side of Windsor, no windows, very dark, a lone stripper dancing in the shadows.  Smoke, or dust, or mist seems to fill the room.  There’s a large bar that spans the entire east wall and faces the stage.  There’s no bartender.  It feels more like a hangout than a regular club.

“Would you be offended,” I say slyly, “If I said yes, Dmitri?  Check that, would you even believe me?”

“Smart,” he replies, stone-faced.  “Very intuitive.  To answer your question, no…”  He starts to chuckle.  “No, I wouldn’t have.”

“My father always said, why ask a question if you don’t require an answer.”

“I would have liked to meet him, your father.  I’ve heard many things.”

There’s a certain eloquence to everything the Vampire does.  The way he speaks, the way he moves; it’s all calculated, precise.  He possesses an aura of power.

“There you are, Mason,” he declares, handing me a glass.  “Straight from the motherland.  The purest Wodka money can buy.”

“So,” I say between sips.  “What’s it all about, Dmitri?”

“Fair enough,” he replies, smiling.  “Down to business.  I appreciate your candour.  Follow me then.”

We walk through the dimly lit bar, passing a few Russians engaged in a game of cards.  It smells rank, like rotted wood, and rat poison.  The other men nod to the Vampire as he coolly slides across the surface of the establishment.

He leads me through a door marked Private and into a bright hallway.  At first I’m blinded by the intensity of the powerful lighting.  Before long I’m adjusted and we’re heading straight for a black door at the end, in front of which stands the Ogre.

“This way, Mason,” the Vampire says cryptically.  “I think this will help to answer many of your questions.”

I’m confused.  The whole thing feels off.  Like he knows more than he’s leading on.  Like this could be the end…

l’amore è la fine della vita

The Ogre opens the door, and we walk in.  It’s a tiny room, more of a closet really.  The walls and ceiling are lined with tear away paper, and one single light bulb hangs on an exposed blue wire.  There’s another door on the other side, which, based on my visualization of the property, should lead to the alley…a kill room…

In the center of the room, on a bolted-down barber chair, is a blood-soaked man, whose missing half his face.  He’s unconsciously slouched over with his hands and mouth duct taped.

There’s no time for me to mask my obvious confusion.  I know the Vampire notices it.  I feel nervous.  I hear Keats saying “is this how it all ends?”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 30

 

Spencer

 

“Hey, what’s the verb, Brett buddy?”

“Spence, they took him to some club off Sandwich Street near the water treatment plant.  They wouldn’t let me in…”

“I knew it…I guess it was inevitable.  It’s been a dream…”

“I don’t understand.  Do you want me to wait?”

“Brett, the need is extraneous.  The game is over now.  I would have liked to get it done myself, but in the end, what is will only be.  It’s been a pleasure to know you Brett the dealer.  See you in another reflection.”

that voice in my head…doesn’t exist…it never relents…that voice in my head…

I can feel things slipping away.  I walk out of the Bar and through the casino’s first floor.  I smell popcorn, and rye whiskey.

So many people, with so many hopes and dreams, and inevitably they will all perish the same as me.

We are nothing but fragments in a large, cascading pattern…organisms in constant flux, and flow, and change.  One day this body will cease to have lived.  One day this species will surrender to a better-suited ilk.  The planet will not be concerned by our death.  The planet will not care that we have lived.  What we do, or accomplish, or become, is irrelevant.  Everything is meaningless.  There is no God.  There is no order, but disorder, and chance, and opportunity.

Mason asked me once about luck.  Now that the end is upon me, I feel differently.  Much is luck.  In the end, it’s the simplest things that mean so much…to every life…

As I know it’s for the last time, I ascend the escalator with a genuine sense of emotional capacity.  Every human around me, every soul, every thought, every sense, every feeling, every sorrow, every hope, every dream, seeps through my sensibility.

We are this tremendous mass of ability.  In whole, we are creatures with unending potential.  Yet absolutely nothing to do but procreate.  We are all lost.  We are all wasted.  We are nothing but time…

When I reach the hotel I take a few seconds to appreciate everything one last time…the girls at the front desk, the chandelier dangling from the ceiling, the Roman statues and fountain in the hallway, the paintings on the walls.

This life has been great to me, and yet it’s been very sad, and encumbering.  These walls have been quite a burden to endure.  I feel like I made the most of what I was given.  But really, who the fuck knows…

I walk to the elevators and insert my special key.  I stare at myself in the mirror as I’m ascending.  What a pretty face I was given.  What a strong muscular frame.  What was the point really…to help?

When I reach my floor the elevator opens and I stare at my door, and I can almost feel the light of a non-existent heaven, the light of death shining from it, calling me towards it…the end.

I walk through my room.  Why did I choose to decorate it this way?  Why did each night end with a parade of broken girls?  Drugs…has it always been like this?  Is it like this every time?

I find myself in the bathroom staring in the mirror.  What do I feel?  Death?  A scratch of lead from a pencil, written on a page about to be erased…Am I afraid, for once?  Something tells me I’m happy.  That I’ve waited for this day for years…since…

I’m distracted, the thoughts aren’t clear.  My face, my eyes, disgust me…when I look at me I see only her…what I did…revulsion, weakness, responsibility, blame…

My hand makes a fist and smashes the mirror to pieces.  There’s blood.  The sink is littered with glass.  I remember smashing the vodka bottle in the kitchen, when Mason appeared.  More blood…

I leave the bathroom torn apart and my charade continues…the bedroom…the kitchen…the living room…everything torn to pieces…everything broken and battered.  Shattered mirrors, ripped paintings, LCD televisions in pieces on the carpets, furniture ripped to shreds, speckled with bullet holes.  More blood, red plasma everywhere I go…

Standing in front of the window facing Detroit, the pistol pointed towards the glass, the shots, the sudden gust of wind, the change in pressure…the bloody hand grasping broken glass, feeling the puncturing of my flesh, the burning, the lust for pain…looking down, forty-two stories, the ground calling my name, asking for me, the craving to fall, the yearning for nothingness, the release, the finale…

Turning around, unable to do it myself…the deformed face staring back at me, Victor M, seated in a chair I somehow missed.  Thinking, was he here this whole time?

“Spencer,” he says zealously.  “Years ago, your father tried to take everything from me.  But as you know he only partially succeeded.  Since that day I have had one single motivation in life, one absolute desire…revenge.  Now the time has come to sew up all the loose ends.  To that effect, do you have any last words?”

“Much,” I say smiling coolly.  “Is luck.”

The last image I see is a blinding white lite erupting from Victor’s mouth, and then…nothing…

 

Mason

 

“So,” the Vampire Dmitri says.  “Does this piece of shit look familiar?”

“No,” I say, struggling.  “Should he?”

“I just thought maybe,” he replies coldly.  “Never mind, it’s not important, Mason.  This man is Victor Morro.  I’m sure you heard of him in your travels.  From the beginning, he has no doubt played an integral part of this entire thing.  He may look like a man, a human, but he is no such thing.  He is a fucking vermin, Mason.  He is a fucking phantom…”

I run my hand over the holes in my arm, thinking about earlier.  Picturing it before me.  Nima’s apartment…the guy passed out on the couch…the Ogre…I flash back to Stan Foster in the Casino, pointing his finger at his temple and simulating a gunshot.  I don’t understand what’s happening.  I don’t understand how it’s possible…

“You see,” Dmitri continues, smiling, “there is nobody sitting in this chair, Mason.  In reality, the chair is empty.  This person you think you see, this Victor Morro, he is a figment of your imagination.  He may exist in reality, but nothing like he does here.  As I said previously, he is a phantom.

“You subconsciously created this entity Victor Morro to allow this world to exist.  Without him this would crumble all around you.  Like a gateway drug, he has become the enemy behind the scenes, the presence that keeps this struggle moving forward.  For as we both know.  That is the most important aspect of your life, isn’t it?  We are here to help you, Mason.  To protect you.”

“I don’t understand,” I say, stunned.  “Protect me from what?”

The Vampire stares at me with wide angelic eyes, and for the first time, I start to appreciate his deep sense of concern for my well-being…

“From you, my friend,” he says desolately.  “We are here to protect you, Mason, from yourself.”

His words are like thunder crashing around me, and lightning striking through me.  The world I understand to exist in finite details begins to lose shape, to bend, break…fall apart…this hollow depth…callous steps…broken arrangements…empty equations…Keats will save me…Keats amazing…

“So,” I say, shaken.  “Has this happened before?”

“Yes, Mason,” Dmitri replies icily.  “This is not the first time.”

“When?”

“What do you mean, when?”

“When did this all begin?”

“That,” he says, stumbling.  “That I can’t say.”

“You can’t,” I counter tensely, “or you won’t?”

Dmitri’s voice is flat.  “Do you remember Niagara Falls, Mason?”

“Of course,” I say stunned.  “I met Keats there.”

“Do you remember the night you got there?” The Vampire replies.  “Before you left the hotel?”

“I don’t understand,” I say confused.

“That was the last time you saw your father?”

As he says the words, I can feel the ground start to shake beneath my feet.  I watch the world around me give way, and fall into the abyss…

“It was me,” I say as I fall.

 

 

 

 

 

Epilogue

 

 

 

 

 

A page from the diary of Keats:

 

I watch him twist and turn

I yearn for him

I burn for him

My lover has so many sides

He changes places at various times

I wish they all loved me

I wish they all could see

Still I love them all without reserve

I never Judge.  I only love

They say that nothing’s perfect

But some days are to me

When I get to see the beautiful light

Mason sheds on me

When times are the worst to bear

Staring at him before I close my eyes

Not knowing what I’ll wake to

Or if he’ll even be there

His body stays locked in shape

While his mind mends as it needs

To accommodate his broken heart

Late at night, it’s hard to sleep

Never knowing who he’ll be

Will he be here when I wake?

Will he still be my loving mate?

Mason Gallo, forever more

I will hope to see you at my door

I’ll never say it.  But I think it often

Those words in my mind all the time

If only things could be settled, and forever secure

From this God-forsaken family curse

What is will only be

Deep inside I know it’s not my fault

Sometimes I wish we had never met at all...

But those thoughts they never linger

I only love you more and more

Mason dear

If you can hear me in your dreamland

I just want you to be sure

I love you no matter what

No matter where you go

That fact will always remain the same

My love runs like the blood in your veins

Your love sews the fabric of our destiny

If I have to wait till the end of time,

I will, for eternity, even after I die

Whatever it may take, to have you

Still, peaceful, serene, and pacified

Love is our devil and our god

Love is our fruit and our rot

I opened this door for you

Now I live with the burden of the other side

And I struggle to know if I was right

Regardless I am here.  I am alive

Whenever you are ready

I hope to see you whole…

Your Keats, forever, and ever, and ever more…

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 31

 

The blinding light in the room recedes and I make out two figures: One a slim Vampire looking man in a white frock, and the other a muscular Ogre looking man in a blue jumpsuit.

“What can you tell me about you’re father, Mason?” the Vampire asks vacantly.

“He’s dead,” I respond icily.  “I shot him.  That night we got to Niagara Falls.  I shot him in the head while he was asleep.  I used a pillow to deafen the sound.”

“Do you know,” the Vampire asks, “who I am?”

“Yes,” I respond candidly.  “You’re my Doctor, Nima Ghomali.”

“Good Mason,” he says eagerly.  “It’s been a while since we’ve spoken like this.  Last time you were telling me about the day your mother committed suicide.  Can we talk about that day now?”

“I don’t know,” I say irritated.  “I don’t really like to talk about that.  Is Keats coming today, Doctor?”

“Keats visits when she wants, Mason.  You know that.  Try not to think about her right now.  I want you to tell me about your mother.  Specifically I want to know why her death led to you killing your father.”

“I never remembered,” I say distantly.  “I don’t know why.  I didn’t remember until later.  Until the day we were driving to Niagara Falls.”

“You didn’t remember what,” Dr. Nima says absorbed.

“That night my mother died.  I was watching her through the crack in the door.  I watched her climb onto the window sill.  But she didn’t have it in her to do it.  That’s when I saw him push her off.  I waited for him to leave, and went to the window.  I looked out at her but she wasn’t dead.  She was hurt badly but she was struggling to get up.  Then I saw him.  He put the gun in her mouth and pulled the trigger.  He killed her.  He finished the job.”

“Why, Mason,” Dr. Nima asks delicately.  “Why do you think he did that?”

“Love, Doctor, he had fallen in love with another girl.  L'amore è la fine di vita, love is the end of life.  It was truly the end of my mother’s.  I think I could have forgiven him if things had been different.  At first I thought maybe he wanted to end her suffering.  She was miserable, she was depressed, and she wanted her life to end.  But she could never bring herself to go through with it.  I was wrong though.  It wasn’t sympathy my father had.  It was love.  Love for a woman he couldn’t bring himself to see until my mother was gone.  I found that out on the way to Niagara Falls.  He explained it to me.  All those years he had hidden his true love from me…in Niagara Falls.  We were going there to scatter her ashes.  He knew I could tell at the funeral in Detroit.  He knew I finally remembered meeting her in Sicily.  He knew I remembered what he told me that day.”

“What did he say to you, Mason?”

“He said my mom was weak.  He said she had given birth to a weak son.  He said we both deserved each other because neither of us could handle real life.  We were a waste.  He said he was glad he didn’t have that nuisance in his life anymore.  He told me to never fall in love, because no woman would ever stay with a weak piece of shit like me.  He told me I was a failure.  He said I was a disgrace to his name and family.”

“So,” Dr. Nima interrupts.  “You killed him.”

“I think so,” I say hesitantly.  “I mean, yes, I did.”

Silence takes shape in the cool room and absorbs everything in its wake…After a few minutes, I start to forget everything that has just happened.

“Do you think Keats will come today Doctor?  I hope she brings me more poems.”

 

She stood up and kissed me

It was sudden and mesmerizing

I heard all of time being sucked into a void

Pounding at my head to be let out

I felt her soft fingers on my arm

Her lips gently caressed mine

I stood with my arms around her

I let it happen

At the end of it all

One single action

One unidentifiable second

Makes an entire lifetime of suffering worth living

One second of brilliance

Makes everything have meaning

 

 

 

 

 

About the author:

 

Anthony Maria is thirty three years old.  Was born and lives in the City of Roses, Windsor, Ontario, Canada.  Married to Rachelle Norris, has a three year old daughter Avie James, and currently expecting a second child.  Dear Me is the authors first published novel. 

 

 

 

 

 

Connect with Me Online:

 

Email: anthony.henry.joseph.maria@gmail.com

 

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/AnthonyHenryJosephMaria

 

Twitter: @anthonyhjmaria