#bigrednotebook

Accordion man,

Won me over with his songs.

Now I like polka.

Note: I was busy today editing video and doing a digital painting of a llama.  Hence the haiku.  I have included the llama for proof.

Compunction, Part 1

A small black spider slowly made its way across the massive flat white expanse of a ceiling.  Grace eyed it carefully from her seat on the uncomfortable couch of her therapist's office.

At this rate, that'll take her hours, she thought.

What was she even heading toward?  Maybe, rather, she was trying to get away from something instead.  Grace tried to imagine the view from the spider's perspective, the ceiling laid out before her like the great salt flats.  On the horizon, the crown moulding, like mountains in the distance, served as her target, her destination.

"Grace?  Are you listening?"

Abruptly, Grace was reminded that she and the spider were not the only beings in the room.  She tilted her head down to make eye contact with her therapist, Dr. Forsythe.  He was a late middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a stupid tie.  Grace didn't dislike him, she just wished she didn't have to spend her Wednesday mornings with him, as required by law, which she had been for the past three years.

Dr. Forsythe was the only one who could decide when she was ready to "graduate," and Grace suspected that the paycheck her employer was providing him was influencing his decision.

"Sorry, no," said Grace.

After three years, Dr. Forsythe no longer masked his frustrations.  He stared at Grace and let a long sigh escape.

"We were talking bout how the people around you can influence your decisions, both positively and negatively.  I was asking if you could think of an example from your own life," said Dr. Forsythe.

Grace found the question stupid.  Of course one's decisions could be influenced by the people around them.

"I mean, ultimately you make your own decisions," Grace replied.  She returned her attention to the spider.  It had moved about twelve inches.  Grace stared at it hard, trying to influence its path.

If people really had the power to change others' decisions, that spider would be changing course, Grace thought as she concentrated on the spider.  She recognized the flaw in her logic, but boredom won out, and the spider, after all, was much more interesting than Dr. Forsythe.

A timer went off.  Dr. Forsythe closed his notebook, relieved at another session gone by.  Another paycheck on its way.

"Well our time is up for today, Grace.  I'll see you next week at the usual time."

Grace shot up from the couch.  She picked up her messenger bag and bike helmet which had been sitting beside her, taunting her the entire session.  She rushed out of the room without saying goodbye to her therapist.  What was the point?  She would see him in exactly a week anyway.

I knew what I'd done as soon as the door closed.  I stood there, as still as possible, letting the weight of it sink in.  Sunlight entered through tears in the curtains of the old RV, revealing the dust in the air, agitated by my entrance.  It should have been a comforting sight, a warm room on wheels, well-traveled and broken in.  The events of the day, however, made it impossible to relax.

I stood there, my back inches from the door, until the silence overwhelmed me.  I took a deep breath and moved further into the room.  I reached inside a cupboard above the small cooking area and grabbed a towel.  From a lower cabinet I pulled a bottle of water.  I began to wash myself.  Red and brown slowly gave way to the pale skin tone below.  I was slow and methodical, careful not to miss the smallest spot. 

After an hour or so, the water in a bucket I was using to wring out my towel had taken on the swirl of colors that previously adorned me.  My body was clean, but there was no hope for my clothes or my conscience, and I could only dispose of one of those.

I changed into a clean if not fitting set of clothes from the RV, picked up the bucket of water and my stained clothes, and headed outside.  As I opened the door I looked nervously from left to right, though I knew no one would have been able to find me yet.  They wouldn't even know anything had happened.  

I pondered what to do with the bucket and clothes.  I set them down and went back inside.  After some searching, I found a tube with which to syphon some gas from the tank of the RV. I should have balked at the fumes, but I felt numb, unable to be affected by the tastes and smells and even the burning sensation in my eyes.  I poured the gasoline onto the clothes in the bucket, lit one of the matches I found in the RV, and set the filth ablaze.

Once there was nothing left but a smoldering ant hill of melted plastic and the smell of chemicals in the air, I turned and made my way back to the motor home.  I wanted to set the fire away from the vehicle, though I didn't know if there was any strategic value to the idea.

My eyes were focused on the ground in front of me and not straight ahead, as they should have been.  I noticed the man standing outside the RV too late.  He had already seen me.

"Good afternoon," he said, as I approached slowly.  He had a uniform on.  State police.

I did not know what to say.  My heard began to pound in my chest.

Oh no, I thought.  Not again.

"I was just driving by.  Noticed a little smoke, and thought I'd make sure everything was ok.  Is this your camper?"

Say something.  If you don't he'll be suspicious.

I couldn't make myself speak.  My heart was now racing.  My head began to ache.  It was starting again.

Rightfully, the officer took a more defensive stance.  I was now well into the realm of suspicious character.  His hand moving toward his gun sealed the deal.  

A sharp pain tore through my head, from back to front.  I cried out in pain, but if anyone else had been around they wouldn't have heard me over the screams of the officer doubled over in front of me.  I stared at him, trying to will it to stop, but knowing it wouldn't.

The officer looked up at me.  Blood streamed freely from his eyes and out of his ears.  He stared straight at me.  I could tell that he, somehow, knew it was my fault.  I just wanted it to end.

One more jolt of pain through my head and the officer whipped his head back.

And then his head no longer existed.  The explosion sent blood and skin, bone and brain shooting in every direction.  What remained of the officer fell limply to the ground.  

Silence.

My heartbeat slowed.  The pain in my head subsided.  Without another thought I numbly walked over to the side of the RV.  I retrieved the shovel I had placed there just hours before and walked back to the officer's body.  I noticed as I walked that, once again, I was covered in blood.

The Countdown

"10." A lively crowd churns around her.   Her stillness is amplified by their gyrations. All of her senses are hyper alert, a result of the fact that her energy does not match that of the crowd engulfing her.  She has always had trouble with this. Though her body is still, her mind flits through thoughts, memories and plans, should haves and what ifs.  In this moment she knows that the next 10 seconds will be an aeon.

"9." She turns to the man standing beside her.  His cheerful and kind face first met hers nearly a year ago and his presence in her life has shaped that year.  She races through memories of men past, realizing that none of them treated her the way he does now.  She can see the love for her in his eyes.  It is a love that she has a hard time acknowledging sometimes.  She has always been the one to love unrequitedly.  To have it returned is a wonder. 

"8." Another second gone, and her mind wanders to her work. She feels that she has sacrificed so much just for her steady job.  Her mother applauds her responsibility.  She, however, feels that she has betrayed her being, her essence.  She also feels bad for not wanting what others are starving without.  She wonders who else in the world feels the same.

"7." She wishes she had done more for others.  There were so many chances, so many horrific things happening all around.  She feels unworthy of her comfort.

"6." The crowd feels as if it is collapsing in on her.  Their cheer makes her uneasy.  She wishes she could feel as they did.  She worries that her introversion will drive away the love of her life.  

"5." She wonders what is in store for her.  She is embarking on an adventure that will last the entire year.  Is she strong enough?  Is her relationship strong enough?  Has she made an unwise decision to leave her stable life?

"4." How many more people will die unnecessarily?  Will science be able to stop the spread of a horrific disease that has terrorized the world?  Will people decide to be people and accept each other for who they are?  Will the media stop sensationalizing tragedies?  The thoughts in her head churn faster and faster.

"3." Will she lose another loved one?  Will she herself die?

"2." She wishes she could shut the world out.  It is too loud.  it is too hot.  She feels suffocated.  Her breathing becomes heavy.

"1." What if? Why? Will it? How? Help. Too fast.  Too much. Too many.

"Happy New Year!"

The roar of the crowd is deafening.  Her brain is pulsing in her skull.  She feels as if she is going to implode...

...and then his lips are on hers.  She closes her eyes.  The sounds of the crowd drop away, as if she had pressed the mute button of a television.  The tempest of doubts and fears, worries and regrets, is washed away.  All that remains is love and joy.