#januaryscribe

One of the main reasons I love my apartment so much is because of the bathtub. It is really old and really big. Big enough for me to stretch completely out in. The plug is a little bit tricky. I have to turn it a certain way to stop the water from draining, but I'm always able to figure it out.

I used to be a quick shower type of person until I moved into this place. Though in the beginning I didn't fully take advantage. I would draw up the water, sit in it for two minutes (if that), get bored, drain it, and run a shower.

Then I started getting really confused and baths became my comfort.

I hadn't been feeling well for a long time. I was very achy-- everywhere. Muscle achy, head achy, eye achy, everything just hurt. I remember it taking me so long to just get dressed and the near impossibility of brushing my hair. I blamed it on stress, the stress of Grad school, working as a mental health counselor, interning at a Psych hospital, just moving after losing everything in Hurricane Sandy… and finding out Dad was in his final stage of Congestive Heart Failure- all at the same time. To stop the aches I started to take these really long, really hot baths.

It wasn't until I was in a car accident (where I was hit from behind leaving my car totaled) that I had something to blame all of the aches on. With the convincing of the doctors covered under my no-fault insurance, I learned that I most likely had Post-Concussive syndrome. That also justified my confusion; driving to school instead of work, sitting in the wrong class on the wrong day, forgetting about my clothes at the laundromat for days on end, etc. In order to find out for sure, I was put on a medical leave and was sent to get a brain MRI.

I remember staying home and being miserable. I was set to be graduating in just 2 months, but I couldn't focus on my thesis. I could barely remember what class I was supposed to be in, let alone what assignments I had to get done. I chopped off all my hair claiming it was a “professional move”, when really I just couldn't brush it.

I was in the bathtub when my Dad called. I was really feeling “out of it” and I was lonely so I answered. While I tried to explain to him that I just couldn't focus to get through my classes and I really needed to take a medical withdrawal, he kept saying, “Just get it done. Just finish. Just get it over with.” I knew he was dying and I knew he wanted me to see me graduate so badly.

While on the phone with him, the call waiting started beeping. It was the Doctor's office. They were calling to give me my MRI results. I let my Dad know I was hanging up with him to answer.

“Hello?”

“Miss Tootle?” a man’s voice questioned.

Neglecting that he completely butchered Tuttle I responded with a simple, “Yes.”

I don't even remember his name. I don't even remember the exact office that I went to. All I remember is what followed.

“Miss Tootle, have you ever been told that you have MS or something similar?”

Not even knowing what the fuck MS was, I confidently said, “No.”

“Well, it would appear as though you do. Your brain is covered in lesions. Covered. Not normal for someone that is 23. This means that we can no longer treat you here at this facility. Your symptoms do not appear to be car accident related. You may come to pick up your results at your convenience and take them to a Neurologist for urgent treatment.”

And he just hung up. That was it.

“What the fuck even is MS exactly?” I thought, “I know it's bad. I know I've worked with patients with it before.”

I did a quick google search. I remember seeing the words and phrases “rare”, “can't be cured”, “damage to the CNS”, “possible paralysis”, "confusion", "fatigue", "muscle aches", "weakness", "memory loss".

Still in the bathtub, I called my Dad and did my best not to choke up.

"What'd the say?" he asked.

“He told me that I don't have a concussion."

"Well that's good news then!" my Dad said happily.

My heart sank and through sobs I managed to say, "No, Dad. It's not good news. He said it looks like I have MS. He said my brain is covered in tons of lesions. He said this isn't from a car accident. I need to pick up the results and see a Neurologist."

I don't remember anything else that was said. All I remember is my Dad telling me, “It's okay my little Baby. You're going to be okay. I'm going to get a heart transplant and I'm going to take care of you.”

After that he and I just cried on the phone together until the water got cold and I hung up to get out of the bathtub.

That was almost 4 years ago. My Dad passed away a year later.

Erin was always an odd little girl. Even by the age of five, folks could see she was strange. She didn’t seem too interested in making friends with other kids. She was to wrapped up in her own imagination. She could clearly see creatures and characters that no one else could. Her father joked about his imaginative daughter but as the years went on, he began to worry. He didn’t want her to go nuts like her mother did.

Erin was born in County Claire, Ireland in April 12, 1985. There were no complications for the first child of Sean and Maureen Dwyer. It was a small hospital. Maureen stayed in an adjacent room to the small nursery. The two rooms were separated by a large window. Maureen was grateful that she could keep an eye on her new born.

When Sean came to pick up his family in the morning, Maureen was in histerics.

“It took her! It took her!” She screamed over and over! Panicked, Sean ran into the nursery where he found little Erin smiling up at him. The hospital staff eventually gave Maureen a tranquilizer. She was never the same after that.

She would insist that the beautiful little girl living with them was an imposter. In her more lucid moments she would describe the horrible creature that crawled into the nursery. It had a human body but it wore no clothes over it’s grey skin. It had unnaturally long fingers and a face that was “all teeth”. She would describe the sack it dragged into it that was black as night. As if one could carve out a piece of the night and make it into a bag.

The beast simply stepped out of a shadow. Soon it was looming over her baby. She gasped and the creature’s head turned towards her. She saw a gaping hole where it’s face should be, filled with therethrough in various shapes and sizes. As soon as she gazed upon it she was frozen. She couldn’t move or speak. Or scream as she watched the horror reach into her baby’s crib, lift the child out, and place her into it’s sack.

When the creature withdrew it’s arm it was holding a new baby. This baby had the same great skin, the same long fingers, and the same horrid maw in place of a face. As the monster stepped back into the shadows Maureen began to scream. And scream.

Everyone knew this was nonsense, of course. The security footage of the night showed nothing out of the ordinary. But Maureen couldn’t accept that she was simply the victim of a nightmare. She never touched her daughter. She refused to acknowledge her at home. Eventually, Maureen tried to kill Erin.

Shortly after Erin’s third birthday, Sean felt Maureen leave his bed. He groggily got up to check on her. He found Maureen in Erin’s room with a pillow over Erin’s sleeping face. Sean saved Erin just in time. Maureen had to go away after that.

Erin loved her father Sean. By all accounts he was the only real friend she had. He would listen to her go on all day about the strange faeries and arrange folk she could see. But the kids in school were starting to make fun of her. Sean slowly became less and less encouraging of these fantasies until he would simply say,

“Erin, don’t tell lies.”

Erin caught on and stopped talking about her strange friends that no one could see. Eventually she stopped seeing them too. This was an immense relief to Sean. Around the age of ten, Erin began making friends at school and seemed to all a normal girl. Except when Sean would take pictures of her. Whenever Sean would shake a Polaroid photo, he could swear he saw a different face on his daughter through the developing image. A face that was all teeth.

The years went on. Erin made friends and good grades. She had forgotten about the strange folk she used to see. Until she slept. Her dreams were filled with horrors that felt bizarrely familiar to her. But morning would come and they would be forgotten again.

When Erin was fifteen, a new term had entered her and everyone else’s lexicon. “Y2k bug”. The kids in her school could talk of nothing else. Erin didn’t fully understand what it was. From what she could gather from other fifteen year old students, the year 2000 was going to bring some sort of global catastrophe. Some kids said it was the end of the world.

Erin was terrified. For some reason none of the other kids seemed as scared of the prospect of global annihilation as her and this upset her. started spending more time with her father. Sean didn’t know why his teenage daughter wanted to spend time with him all of the sudden but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. For months, every weekend was a father daughter excursion. Picnics, parks, and pony rides. It was a happy time.

On Christmas, Sean took his daughter ice skating. It was Erin’s first time. She fell a lot but she didn’t seem to mind. She had a smile on her face the whole time. Sean wanted to capture that smile so he took a picture.

When it developed he dropped his camera. The camera hit the ice with a loud crack.

“Da, are yeh ok?” Erin shouted.

Sean had already crumpled up the photo in his hands.

“Just slipped, love.” Sean called back. He picketed the photo. Later he threw it in his fire place. He could never let his daughter see that picture. A picture of a grey creature in his daughter’s clothes. Looking towards the camera with a face full of monstrous fangs.

Erin knew something happened out on the ice that night. The following week she felt her father withdraw from her. This broke her heart. The new year was coming and for reasons she didn’t understand, she couldn’t face the new year alone.

On the morning of new years eve, she saw footage on the news of people claiming the end of the world was here. She started to cry. This got Sean’s attention. He appeared next to her and hugged her. Erin felt herself enveloped in strength. Sean felt his strength melt away. The two were locked in a silent embrace for longer than either one could tell. Sean promised Erin he would be by her side until the new year arrived.

True to his word, the two spent the entire day together playing board games. But the clock marched the two of them closer and closer to midnight.

The TV was broadcasting the crowds gathered in Dublin. Sean held Erin’s hand as the countdown began.

“5…4…3…

"Da, I love yeh!” Erin squeezed nervously. Sean squeezed her hand.

“…1!”

The world went black. Erin looked around. The TV, her house, her father even the floor were all gone. She was surrounded by a tangible blackness.

“Da?”

“I’m here child.” Hissed an unfamiliar voice.

Erin spun around. From the darkness stepped a tall grey figure. It towered above Erin who only stood up to it’s navel. It’s gangly arms hung by it’s thighs. One of its massive hands held a black sack. But Erin didn’t notice any of this. All she saw was it’s face.

The head seemed like it was looking at her. It was hard to tell as the beast had no eyes. No ears. No nose. Only a mouth. A wide circle that nearly encompassed it’s entire head. Within this maw were rows of gums and rows of teeth that seemed to go on forever in an oblivion contained in one skull.

Erin immediately remembered. She remembered the fairies that use to play with her. She remembered the cranky headless dulluhuns that juggled their own blood. She remembered the small imps that told her dirty jokes. She felt no fear. She simply asked.

“What am I?”

“My daughter.” Answered her father. And Erin wept. She cried harder than she ever cried before.

“What happened?” She managed to sob.

“The world ended.” There was a long pause before he continued. “Not the end of the world of man, but the world of the Folk will not see the next century.”

“What am I?” Erin asked in a squeak.

“You are a changeling. We you were switched at birth with a human baby that I’ve kept in my sack for fifteen years.”

“You are not my father!” Erin shouted through her own disbelief.

“Look at your hands.” Responded the monster in a fatherly tone. Her hands her grey and long like his. She stood silently staring at her hands.

“Normally we would not have met till you were eighteen. You would have brought me the corpse of the man who raised you and we would have eaten him together.” The beast said casually.

“No!” Erin protested

“Yes” he said simply “you would have.”

“Then why?!” Erin screeched, “why am I meeting you now?!”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Because the world ended.”

Erin collapsed. “So, what happens now?”

Erin wasn’t sure, but she thought the face/hole smiled at her. “We come back. You…” He pointed at her, “will bring us back.”

He reached into his sack and pulled out Erin. The real Erin who was still an infant. “You have a choice. You can take this child and return it to it’s father, or you can kill the father and give us another century on earth. And not just changelings. The Pucas, the leprechauns, the banshees, and faeries of all kinds will return to the world of man. The fate of the Folk is in your hands.” Erin’s father spoke with gaining intensity until the infinite loops of teeth began to shake with fury. Erin didn’t have a chance to respond. In an instant she was sitting with Sean again. He was still holding her hand.

Her other arm held his baby. He turned his head towards her and a confused expression invaded his face.

“Erin, where did that baby come from?”

Erin didn’t answer. A ravenous hunger filled her belly. Sean’s apparent confusion turned to terror.

Erin’s hunger combatted her shame. She knew why her adopted father was frightened. She knew exactly what she looked like right now. She placed the child on the floor. She would save that for later.

I sat down in the passenger side of the silver Jetta he’d borrowed from his mom and pulled the door shut behind me. As I fastened my seatbelt, JR shifted the car into reverse and he backed out of the parking lot of the Flamingo Bar and Grill on the corner of 9th Street at 5th Ave. His long lean arm was wrapped round the back of my seat so he could see better out the rear window; neither of us was speaking, the volume turned low on the stereo so you could barely hear the music. JR drove up to the Hampton Inn on 34th Street. He told me to wait in the car. I found out later he cashed a check from his grandmother he’d gotten for Christmas to pay for the room. JR is my one true love.

After a little while, he comes back out and motions for me to follow, grabbing also a liter of Jameson from the trunk. The air outside feels colder now, so I pull my leather jacket tight around my body as I walk behind him inside into the lobby, then the elevator, down the long corridor, and through the doorway to our hotel room.

There’s something about hotels that really gets me going. I don’t know where it started, but they drive me wild. I took my shirt off then, and lay down on the bed. JR had the bottle of Jameson in his left hand when I pulled him down on top of me, feeling the full weight of his body on top of mine. JR feels exactly the same as he had before-- it has been two years, 7 months and 11 days since we have been together.

I lifted his shirt up and over his head as he hands me the bottle.  I took a sip then poured some into my belly button. I’m always doing stuff like that. Pouring whiskey on my belly so men can lick it off. When he did, I arched my back and wrapped my legs around his neck. JR has these real pale blue eyes and over the right one he has this tiny mole. It’s funny because when you really love someone you fixate on stuff like that. We started really going at it then, he put his hands around my waist and I knew then that I’d never be able to quit him. I think I really wanted to feel guilty, but I just couldn’t. This was the only way I could have him, and for the first time since the whole thing got started, I realized that. This was our world. Hotel rooms and broken hallelujah’s.

Later that year, he came to the City to see me. I’m not really sure what he told his wife, but he stayed through Sunday. He drove my car way out to Carnasie where he got us a room. He was always doing that, paying for us to get a room. We could have stayed at my place but it just didn’t seem appropriate. There’s a way you can only be really honest with someone if you’re paying by the night.  

That was the time I’d outfitted myself in JR’s discarded button down shirt. I was wearing these stockings that came up past my thigh. When I took my panties off, I left on my high heeled shoes. I put on this real slow show for JR, and he’d take pictures with his vintage Hasselblad. The room smelled full of cigarettes and sex. I was breathing it all in as JR was taking my picture. The click-click the camera made was invigorating, the sound carved into my brain creating a candance that kept me going.  

Standing at the window staring out, I watched as afternoon came down and into the room through partially closed patterned drapes. On the nightstand to the right of the bed sat a half empty bottle of Jack next to a bucket of ice fast melting. I’d wished so desperately that the daylight wouldn’t end. It was so beautiful and sad, coming in through those heavy curtains.

I was lying on the unmade bed and it was then that JR told me a story about this time he’d been out in LA, years back when he was just 24. He was going on about how he’d walked around Hollywood all day by himself--from La Brea to Melrose. He had this feeling, the kind where you just couldn’t shake it-- mostly because he’d been cheating on his girl again. JR didn’t feel bad about it, really. I think that was the hardest part for him, admitting to himself that he’d do just whatever he could get away with without ever experiencing any remorse. He wanted to be good, but he just wasn’t. 

I guess he had to come to terms with all of that, so he’d started to write these letters, you know, apology letters to people that he wouldn’t ever send. And he wrote them all on these tiny pieces of hotel stationary. One by one, he wrote those letters and then he just let them drop to the ground as he walked around. He just left them there, for whatever was to come of it. He left all those words and feelings and everything back in California. JR knew then. Zebras don’t change their stripes. 

I am a Youth Pastor. I have touched so many young lives through the words of the Lord. My following on social media is getting pretty large too. I thank God for Facebook because it engages the kids of today to listen to the “good word”. Every time I get a friend request I well up with pride.

Except for today. Today I got a friend request from Satan incarnate.

At first I couldn't figure out who she was, "Meg Elizabeth". She looked relatively young and impressionable so I accepted the request. As soon as I started reading her posts I was brought back to the sheer terror that nearly crippled me over a decade ago.

It was the Devil’s Child.

She was a terrible student. Her Mom was a fellow Sunday School teacher, so I had to give her more leeway than the others when it came to arguing over his word and questioning my sermons. On one occasion she even said that the only reason she showed up to Youth Group was for the free pizza.

It wasn't until she rolled “six, six, six” in Bible Yahtzee that I was able to be rid of her. (I know, Bible Yahtzee is so clever. I really am great at coming up with fun ways to engage these kids.)

Scrolling through her page, she ended up just as I would have expected. She appears to be unmarried and promiscuous. It would also seem as though she has developed a strong affinity for alcohol. I had my suspicions that she had been stealing the communion wine even when she was twelve. This I could never prove. Now I am certain.

She has moved to New York City… a good place to blend in with other heathens. She is actively feminist and liberal. In one of her profile pictures she is sporting a pink hat resembling female genitalia. It doesn't seem like she supports our President. She even posted an article highlighting the importance of birth control and abortion.

I clicked on the “About” section to see what she does for a living, hoping wouldn't be anything able to reach too many young and impressionable youth.

Occupation: Self-Employed Fag Hag, Child Psychologist

It got worse.

Religion: Atheist

Quotes: "When a man gives his opinion, he's a man. When a woman gives her opinion, she's a bitch."―Bette Davis

"I always wanted to be a femme fatale. Even when I was a young girl, I never really wanted to be a girl. I wanted to be a woman." —Diane von Furstenberg

Just reading her page sends me back to those days. The days where being in her presence simultaneously brought me chills and hot flashes. The days where she questioned the Lord I could feel the heat radiating from my neck. The day she implied that I myself may have homosexual thoughts my stomach pained and churned inside me. The day she cursed and called Jesus a “sly son of a Bitch” I swear I lost my vision in one eye. And the day she managed to roll “six, six, six” in Bible Yahtzee, I felt as though I was being possessed. It was as if the Devil himself crawled into my skin. I was only able to release him by exonerating her from my presence and future classes. I must do the same now and block her.

Oh, but first another request.

A funny thing happened on the way to the airport a few weeks ago. It was Christmas day. I usually fly on Christmas day. It's cheaper, much less crowded, and most years doesn't involve having my life turned inside out.

I was taking the subway to Kennedy airport. I stepped off the F line to transfer to the E. The overhead display said the E train was 7 minutes away. I was making good time so I shuffled over to the end of the platform hoping to avoid a crowded subway car. That's when she cornered me.

She was a slightly heavy and unremarkable looking woman in her upper 40s. She wore black slacks, a practical red coat, and a grey scarf.

"Hello, stranger." She said as she approached. It was an ironically odd thing to say to an actual stranger. I hope she's not crazy, I thought to myself.

"Um, hi." I responded curtly. I pretended to be engrossed in my phone. Maybe if I ignore her she'll bother someone else.

She didn't even slow down. I could hear her heals clicking toward me as intensified my focus on my phone. She gently put her hand on my forearm. I looked up at her despite myself. Damn it! I've made eye contact. Rookie mistake.

"Help me out. This is my first time doing this." She pleaded.

Doing what? Was she hitting on me? My stomach sank. I felt an uncomfortable dread that I may have to shoot down this unusually forward woman. Although I simultaneously felt flattered. It had been a long time since someone made a pass at me. Even a come on from a weirdo at the Roosevelt Avenue subway stop was a refreshing boost to my self esteem.

"I'm here to recruit you." She added.

My self esteem plummeted back to the floor where it belonged. I remember being surprisingly disappointed. Christ I must be lonely.

My bruised ego shifted back to suspicious caution. This was getting weird. I needed to be shrewd. I chose my next words very carefully.

"Recruit me for what?"

Nice.

"I'm so glad you asked!" She said cheerfully.

Damn. I played right into her hands.

"I represent a global community dedicated to convincing the world that the Earth is round."

Where the fuck was my train?

"That's...nice."

"Now, I know you might be skeptical," she continued, "but the truth is the Earth is a disc shaped object that is hurling upwards through space."

For reasons I still don't understand I responded. "Sounds like you're doing a great job without my help. Why recruit me."

"Because you're about to board a plane that's going to fly over the Pacific ocean, correct?"

That was spooky. How did she know I was going to Japan? I froze. She continued.

"The problem is that the Pacific ocean actually ends at the edge of the world."

I was absolutely speechless. What the hell was going on. At that moment my train pulled up. Thank god! The train doors slid open and a crowd of passengers vomited forth. I shoves my way through, desperate to get away from this bizarre encounter.

I found a seat next to another man with a suitcase. The odd woman stared at me through the window of the train. The doors closed and I felt the car start to move. As the platform disappeared behind me I closed my eyes and began to relax. The gentleman next to me looked at my suitcase.

"JFK, huh?"

I nodded without opening my eyes.

"Where you headed?"

"Japan"

"No way! You must be the new guy!"

My eyes popped open. He grabbed my hand and shook it vigorously.

"My name is Harry Conrad, I've been in the round earth conspiracy for 36 years." He added enthusiastically.

"New guy?" I asked

"Sure. Everyone else on the flight is already in on the joke."

"Just how big is this conspiracy?"

"Not sure exactly. I think about half the population."

"So one half of the population has been trickier g the other half for thousands of years?"

"Yup!" Harry answered with a toothy grin.

"Why?!"

"You know, I'm not sure." Harry pondered for a moment. "I guess it's just funny."

I had enough. Somebody was pranking me. I stood up and moved to the next car. I made sure not to make eye contact with anyone.

I arrived at JFK without further incident. Checked my bag, printed my boarding pass, went through security. Then I stepped up to my terminal. I stared at all the folks waiting for their flight.

They can't possibly all be in on some global conspiracy. That would just be nuts.

I boarded the plane. Found my seat quickly. The man sitting in the window seat next to me looked strangely familiar. As the cabin door sealed all the flight attendants ripped off their faces revealing lizard heads underneath.

"Holy shit!" I yelled.

"What's the matter, boy. Ain't you never seen no lizard people before?" Said the man next to me whom I now clearly recognised as Elvis Presley.

I started hyperventilating. My chest felt like it was shrinking. The plane was taking off. My head was spinning. Elvis was doing his best to console me. Eventually a lizard hand put a rag over my mouth and everything went dark.

I woke up under the stars next to an American flag. I sat up. I vomited. I closed my eyes and counted to 60. When I opened them I recognized where I was. Then I vomited again.

I was sitting in grey dirt that stretched out to an horizon of starry night. And next to me and the American flag was the lunar lander. I was on the fucking moon. Harry and Elvis were standing over me. None of us were wearing astronaut suits. The air seemed perfectly breathable.

"You feeling better, son?" Harry asked with what sounded like genuine concern. I didn't reply. I stood up.

"Here ya go, man. Take swig of this here moon juice." Elvis said as he handed me a flask. I took a big pull, then turned around. That's when I saw it. The earth. The real earth.

A massive disc hurling upwards through space. The north pole was right in the middle. The oceans encircled all the land masses and continuously poured off the edges. Beneathe the earth was a massive tortoise. Beneathe the tortoise was Goliath whale. And supporting all of that was a collosal mosquito.

"Oh, by the way, merry Christmas!" Said Harry. "And welcome to the round Earth conspiracy. Life is going to get pretty sweet for you now!"

"Unfortunately our friend here never signed the agreement."

I turned back around and saw the woman who tried to recruit me that morning.

"W...wait..." I stuttered. "What does that mean?"

"Means you ain't nothing but a liability, man" growled Elvis as he yanked his moon juice out of my hand.

"I'll sign it. I'll sign it right now."

"It's too late" Harry said sadly.

I looked at the woman who ruined my day. "So what now?" She just turned around and walked away. So did Harry. So did Elvis

So that is the story of how I got stranded on the moon. Fortunately there was a pen and some paper in the lunar lander. So now I'm writing messages and throwing them back to earth as paper airplanes. Hopefully one of these messages gets through to someone. Maybe, just maybe, the truth will find a way.

“What do you do when I'm not home, huh? Starve? Go thirsty?”

Oh, this is getting good. My neighbors are at it again.

I’ve lived in this apartment building a little over a year. Never before have I wanted to overhear my neighbors conversations, but I'm bored out of my fucking mind. I'm out on a medical leave recovering from a torn ACL repair surgery. I've had more than enough of TV and I'm stuck in bed for the rest of the day. Tomorrow I get to leave for a follow up appointment.

After a week of Netflix I discovered that my favorite form of entertainment is listening to the couple next door in Apartment 4A.

I've seen them both several times before and have made my basic judgments. She seems nice enough and he seems to be a bit of a dick. After listening to their interactions for days, I'm starting to think that I might be right.

It is the weirdest thing though. She is always the one doing all the talking. Sometimes I think I can hear a faint mumble on his end, but that's about it.

Whenever I have seen the two of them in the hall, she is always the one to say “Hi” or to give a smile. He usually pretends that I’m invisible. I can see that that translates into their relationship as well.

“I really don't know what to do with you anymore,” she said. “This thing with your food is just crazy.”

He didn't say anything.

That's basically the same stuff she says everyday. That without her he would starve and she doesn't know what to do about him and his food anymore. I guess this guy is a real caveman type, the kind that expects his woman to fix him three meals a day.

“What? What do you want? Are you seriously talking to me from the other room? Just come here!”

For Fucks sake. This guy is seriously an asshole. He can't even walk into the same room to attempt a conversation?

“No. No you can't do that. Oh, come on. You have so many expensive bad habits. You are driving me crazy.”

Uh oh. Pot head? Maybe worse. Why does she stay? She's cute enough. She's nice. Leave this guy already. Kick him out!

“Where are you sleeping tonight? Your bed or mine?”

I didn't know that was a two-bedroom over there, huh. Wait? Separate beds? Wow. Things are getting really bad.

“Alright, if you are going to sleep in my bed you can't bring that. Leave that in yours.”

What is it? A vibrator? A magazine? What?! What?!

“How is it that you manage to take up the whole bed. You aren't that big!”

He is a short guy. Usually I would think that would be something shitty to say to a short guy, but this dude deserves it.

“Good morning. Let's go for a walk.”

Good morning is right. Let's see what happens today. I have never been so happy to go to a doctor’s appointment.

“Seriously. You should really put your boots on. I'm glad you put on a sweater, but it's cold and icy out. They salted the sidewalks. I don't want you to get cold feet. Please put your boots on.”

Is she dating a child? What is he trying to put on? Fucking flip flops?

I can even hear their door shut as they leave. This is so weird. How come I never realized this all before?

And I can also hear them come back.

“Okay. You need to learn how to listen better. When it is time to come in we come in. It is too cold to be out all day.”

Did he expect a marathon? Doesn't she get sick of parenting him?

“You know you really can't live on treats. You need to eat real food. Do I have to start cooking for you? What do you want? Rice? Carrots?”

Yeah, she's right. I noticed he's gotten a little chubbier.

Kind of pathetic having my Mom get me dressed for a doctors appointment. At least I'm getting out of the house. I've never been so thankful to live in a building with an elevator.

“Alright I'm going to get the mail.”

Fuck. I'm going to run into her in the hall. I hope she doesn't know I've been spying on her. Yup. Here we are waiting for the elevator together. Act natural. Try to talk to Mom.

Her eyes look a little puffy. I hope she hasn't been crying. She smiled.

“How are you?” she asked. “I see you're in rough shape”

“Just recovering from ACL surgery. I'll be alright. How are things with you?”

Over the last two months, Lucas did any and all chores that the old men demanded. He cooked their meals, cleaned their latrines, fed the chickens and washed their robes. During that time he paid careful attention to the goings on. The monks spent most of their time in the largest structure in the cloister, the still. The monks gathered wild apples and pears from the trees in the forrest and created liqueurs and brandy in the still. Based on their demeanor as they exited, Lucas deduced that they spent much of that time sampling the wares, especially Brother Arno.

The diminutive old monks were a curious bunch. In nine weeks he had yet to see them enter the chapel. He never saw them pray. In fact they didn’t even mention Jesus once. The only religious behaviour he’d noticed was Brother Albert’s vow of silence. If it was a vow of silence. Lucas had not yet heard the man speak. Perhaps he was just shy.

Another curiosity was the old stone building. Every Friday night, all seven monks would file in very somberly. Even sick old Leopold would climb out of bed for the occasion. They would not leave till after midnight. Once Lucas asked about the strange ritual.

“Where are you going, Brother Stanislaus?” He asked one Friday evening.

“It is of no concern to you.” Stanislaus replied seriously as he walked towards the mysterious stone hut.

“Perhaps I could be of help.” Lucas offered “If I knew what you were…” Before Lucas finished that thought, Brutus grabbed Lucas by his shirt and shoved him against the giant birch tree with enough force to knock the wind out him.

‘You are not to ask about the lodge again. Understood?“ Brutus snarled. Lucas was astounded by the strength of the small old man.

"I understand.” He gasped.

Brutus unceremoniously dropped Lucas at the roots of the Birch tree and joined his brothers in the “lodge”. Lucas didn’t ask about the lodge again.

Then there was the birch tree. It was the largest tree. Lucas had ever seen. Stranger than the size of the tree was the way the old monks treated it. Every time they walked near it, a sad look crossed their faces. Often they would stop and place a hand on the bark. Lucas even saw mean old Brutus place a soft kiss on it once.

One day, Arno approached Lucas while he was washing the garments in the river.

“Good morning to you, coward.” He called out. It wasn’t mean spirited. None of the monks had bothered to learn his name. They all just called him coward.

“Good morning, brother Arno.” Lucas called back. “Did you need something else cleaned?”

'No no no.“ Arno said in his typical cheerful tone, "I have gift for you.”

That got Lucas’s attention.

“A gift?”

Arno produced a bottle of green liquid.

“Time for you to have a taste!” He giggled excitedly.

“What is it?” Lucas asked with a mixture of eagerness and skepticism.

“This is a special spirit we keep for ourselves.” Arno said with a mischievous grin.

It was a dodgy answer to the question, but Lucas was happy to have a break in the monotony of cloistered life.

Arno pulled the quark out of the bottle. Lucas could smell it immediately. His nostrils were assaulted by a bouquet of jasmine, mushrooms, plums and soil and rain. Arno took a swig and handed the bottle to Lucas.

“Drink deep, Coward.”

Lucas tool a tiny sip. It was not like anything he’d ever tasted before. First he tasted rose petals dipped in nostalgia. As the syrupy beverage moved over his palate he could taste pickled oranges squeezed over an orgasm with a finish of forgotten dreams and mint.

“Jesus!” Lucas shouted. His face reddened when he realised he had just blasphemed in front of a man of God. Arno didn’t seem to notice. He just smiled at Lucas expectantly.

Hello… it can be the best or the worst thing to hear all depending upon the lips that it exists.

“Hello,” a deep male voice said over the phone receiver, “Are you calling to make an appointment to make all of your desires come true?”

“Umm, yes… yes I guess so,” a woman's meek voice responded.

Sheryl was unsure of what she was even doing. She was in her mid 40’s and had recently just gone through a divorce. She was looking for a little fun and excitement in her life and had found herself unfulfilled by traditional activities, i.e. Book Club and crotchet. So, with the encouragement of her spinster sister, she called an ad for a male escort service.

“What is your type? Blonde, brunette? Tall? Dark? Muscular?” the man on the phone questioned.

“I don't really even know,” Sheryl paused, “I guess someone who is easy to talk to. That's all I'm really interested in.”

“What day and time were you looking at?”

“I guess Friday around 10pm.”

“I’ll arrange for Damon to give you a call to confirm. I think you'll like him.”

Sheryl hung up and didn't even know what she had agreed to. She hoped that Damon had more to offer than just pleasant conversation, after all that isn't really all she was after. She anxiously awaited his phone call and no more than an hour later were they subdued by the abrupt ring from her cell.

She quickly picked up the phone and before she could even respond a man’s deep, commanding, voice said, “Hello, this is Damon. I believe I am what you're looking for.”

Flustered, withdrawn, yet excited, Sheryl responded, “I hope so…”

Yet, in her head, she didn't even know what it was that she was looking for.

The conversation was brief and abruptly ended as soon as Sheryl confirmed that she would be meeting Damon at a local bar on Friday at 10pm.

She spent the days preceding the meeting anticipating and daydreaming about what it would be like to meet Damon. She wondered what he would look like and what people would think seeing the two of them together. She feared that she would look like she was robbing the cradle. However, she justified any doubts by reminding herself that she had spent the majority of her youth married and unhappy and that she deserved some fun with a younger charismatic man.

On Friday, Sheryl spent her time getting ready for the meeting. She was so nervous she took the entire day off of work to fulfill an excessive grooming ritual. She went to the salon and got a fresh cut, dye and blowout. After that she went to get a manicure and pedicure. Then, she went to the mall to pick out “sexy” underwear and the perfect outfit. She didn't even know if any of this made her feel better or more nervous.

As soon as 7pm rolled around, Sheryl contemplated calling Damon and canceling. But as soon as her fingers went to dial, a text message rolled in,