Eight
One. “I’ve begged.” On the streets. For petty cash.
Two. “I’ve stolen.” I stole a puppy once. No one ever found out.
Three. “I’ve lied.” In court. In front of a Judge.
Four. “I talk to God.”
Five. “I’m not Whole.” I have missing parts. Irreplaceable.
Six. “I know no Hate.” I hate no one and no thing. Never have. Never will.
Seven. “I’ve played Hero.” I’ve saved lives.
“Here comes another one!” I yelled at my brother. He stood a couple of steps ahead of me, knee deep in the brook. It was mid summer. Hot. My brother and I used to spend whole days in the small brook which ran past our grandparents’ house. He always stood a few steps in front of me, legs apart and slightly bent at the knees, hands together forming a cup half way in the water breaking its smooth surface and causing ripples. The ripples always made it harder on me to see. But I stood there too, legs apart and slightly bent at the knees, hands to my side palms out, fingertips just touching the surface of the water. Waiting. We never had to wait long. They always came. Tens of them. Dozens. A few dozens. I lost count. Poor little flies, bees, ants, and all sorts of unfortunate bugs fallen in the water, drowning, struggling to no avail. We saved them. We scooped them up from the water and threw them to the side of the brook to dry and go on their merry way. We were good. The ones my brother missed, were my souls to save. We were a good team. At the end of the day our feet and hands were so wrinkled, they resembled a sponge. But we felt good. We were heroes. At night, when we lay in bed, I’d wonder what happens to all the bugs that fall in the brook when we’re not there. But that lasted only a couple of seconds and then I drifted off to sleep.
Eight. “I’ve seen A Forest’s Soul.”
I lay in my sleeping bag on the damp hard ground. It was the middle of the night. The forest was cold, dark and quiet. I was being shaken awake. I opened my eyes. The man who was shaking me was crouching on the ground beside me. In the darkness, I could only barely make out his outline but I knew who he was. “What is it?” I mumbled half asleep.
“Get up” he whispered, “Come with me. I want to show you something.”
Unwillingly, I got up and out of my warm sleeping bag. Ouch. I realized I had no socks on and it hurt to walk barefoot on the forest floor. He leaned down and picked me up piggy-back. He walked slowly through the sleepy forest without making a sound. I was wide awake now, eyes piercing through the darkness, slowly getting accustomed to it and starting to make out outlines and shadowy shapes. The forest seemed magical in the dead of night. So quiet. Suddenly, he stopped.
“Look” he whispered and pointed somewhere ahead of us. I pulled myself up a bit on his back so I can peep over his left shoulder. A few steps ahead of where we stood, a tree glowed. The bottom of the tree was surrounded by a faint, fuzzy, white light which crawled up the trunk of the tree reflected by the mist in the air. A second tree glowed not too far away from that one and another and another here and there throughout the whole forest. It was the most beautiful and magical sight.
“What is it?” I whispered my question in his ear.
“It’s the Spirit of the Forest, son.” he said.
I know now it was phosphorus deposits which accumulate around the base of trees in a forest absorbing light during the day and emitting it out at night. But then, so many years ago, I sat wide-eyed on my father’s back in the middle of the night in the middle of the forest and watched the Spirit of the Forest dance around the trees right out of a fairytale.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Brief Six
The Drink
I stood naked in front of the closet. It was mid summer and the heat was unbearable even in the late hours of the night. My body was covered with a thin layer of sweat as I stood in front of the open closed not wanting to touch my clothes with my damp palms. I needed to find my uniform. I hadn’t needed it in a while so I knew it had to be buried at the bottom of the closet somewhere. I had to report to the Superior the next morning. I dreaded the times I had to don on my uniform and give my reports. Who had voted me leader of the team anyways? They ought to have known better. I wrote great reports and gave great speeches but that was all on paper. In real life, I was no good as a leader. But the majority had voted for me and here I was on the night before report day, sweaty and nervous and hot.
The open window let no air in. I lifted the bottle of absinthe up to my lips. It was given to me by a friend as a birthday present two years ago. I had thanked him and put the bottle in the box under my bed, next to all the other bottles I thought I would never touch. I don’t know why I had dragged the box from under my bed earlier that evening. I had dusted it off and opened it up. And there they had been, bottles of poison, forgotten, untouched. It should have stayed that way. But I had reached for the bottle containing the green liquid. It had looked so tantalizing, so irresistible, almost teasing me, whispering “pick me, pick me, drink me!” So I did. It was madly strong. I remember chocking on the first sip. It shot up my nose as I swallowed against my will. I set the bottle on the coffee table and went back to my report. I was stuck. I couldn’t gather my thoughts. I turned on the TV. There was nothing on. I turned it back off. I looked at the bottle on the table and it looked back at me, grinning. I picked it up and took another sip. No chocking, no coughing this time. I felt it slide down my throat and all the way down warming the inside of my chest. I took yet another sip. Suddenly it occurred to me what I should write in my report. I started typing. The words came out with ease one after the other stringing along the page like a beaded necklace. I wrote for over an hour. The report was finished. I reached for the absinthe again and drank.
The air in the room got dense and a wave of heat came over me. I took off my t-shirt. The phone rang and startled me. I picked it up but there was only the free dial tone. It was getting hotter. I took off my jeans. Time for a shower and hit the sack. I got up. My head buzzed in a funny way and I felt a little dizzy. I took off my boxers and headed for the shower. Shit. I needed to dig out my uniform from the closet. I better do it now before I pass out for the night. I started for the bedroom and halted half way. One more sip. I went to get the bottle of absinthe. I walked in the bedroom and opened the window. Nothing. Not even the slightest breeze. I walked to the closet and opened it. The sigh came directly from behind me. It was a long, sad sigh. A cool breeze blew in from the window and over my damp body. My hair stood up. Suddenly, it was freezing in the room. I turned around slowly. Behind me, on my bed, sat a woman dressed in white. She looked at me with big sad eyes. “What do you think, Leo? Am I gonna make it?”
I don’t know how I was able to exercise control over my legs, but I bolted out of the room and all the way out of my apartment. I stood in the hallway naked, shaking and breathing heavily, the doors from my bedroom to the front hallway left wide open behind me as I ran. No one came after me. I waited a long time. No one came after me. After what seemed like an eternity, I gathered the courage to go back inside the apartment. I walked to the bedroom and pocked my head through the door. She wasn’t there. The bottle of absinthe lay on the floor in front of the closet spilling its green guts all over my carpet. I picked it up and threw it in the kitchen sink. I closed all the doors and windows. I took a cold shower, put on my track suit and grabbed a blanket from the bedroom. I went down to the first floor and rang the bell of the middle apartment. After a few minutes my friend pocked his sleepy head out the door. I was late for the meeting the next morning and I gave the shittiest speech ever but my report saved my neck. The Superior called it “brilliant”. I was not so sure.
I stood naked in front of the closet. It was mid summer and the heat was unbearable even in the late hours of the night. My body was covered with a thin layer of sweat as I stood in front of the open closed not wanting to touch my clothes with my damp palms. I needed to find my uniform. I hadn’t needed it in a while so I knew it had to be buried at the bottom of the closet somewhere. I had to report to the Superior the next morning. I dreaded the times I had to don on my uniform and give my reports. Who had voted me leader of the team anyways? They ought to have known better. I wrote great reports and gave great speeches but that was all on paper. In real life, I was no good as a leader. But the majority had voted for me and here I was on the night before report day, sweaty and nervous and hot.
The open window let no air in. I lifted the bottle of absinthe up to my lips. It was given to me by a friend as a birthday present two years ago. I had thanked him and put the bottle in the box under my bed, next to all the other bottles I thought I would never touch. I don’t know why I had dragged the box from under my bed earlier that evening. I had dusted it off and opened it up. And there they had been, bottles of poison, forgotten, untouched. It should have stayed that way. But I had reached for the bottle containing the green liquid. It had looked so tantalizing, so irresistible, almost teasing me, whispering “pick me, pick me, drink me!” So I did. It was madly strong. I remember chocking on the first sip. It shot up my nose as I swallowed against my will. I set the bottle on the coffee table and went back to my report. I was stuck. I couldn’t gather my thoughts. I turned on the TV. There was nothing on. I turned it back off. I looked at the bottle on the table and it looked back at me, grinning. I picked it up and took another sip. No chocking, no coughing this time. I felt it slide down my throat and all the way down warming the inside of my chest. I took yet another sip. Suddenly it occurred to me what I should write in my report. I started typing. The words came out with ease one after the other stringing along the page like a beaded necklace. I wrote for over an hour. The report was finished. I reached for the absinthe again and drank.
The air in the room got dense and a wave of heat came over me. I took off my t-shirt. The phone rang and startled me. I picked it up but there was only the free dial tone. It was getting hotter. I took off my jeans. Time for a shower and hit the sack. I got up. My head buzzed in a funny way and I felt a little dizzy. I took off my boxers and headed for the shower. Shit. I needed to dig out my uniform from the closet. I better do it now before I pass out for the night. I started for the bedroom and halted half way. One more sip. I went to get the bottle of absinthe. I walked in the bedroom and opened the window. Nothing. Not even the slightest breeze. I walked to the closet and opened it. The sigh came directly from behind me. It was a long, sad sigh. A cool breeze blew in from the window and over my damp body. My hair stood up. Suddenly, it was freezing in the room. I turned around slowly. Behind me, on my bed, sat a woman dressed in white. She looked at me with big sad eyes. “What do you think, Leo? Am I gonna make it?”
I don’t know how I was able to exercise control over my legs, but I bolted out of the room and all the way out of my apartment. I stood in the hallway naked, shaking and breathing heavily, the doors from my bedroom to the front hallway left wide open behind me as I ran. No one came after me. I waited a long time. No one came after me. After what seemed like an eternity, I gathered the courage to go back inside the apartment. I walked to the bedroom and pocked my head through the door. She wasn’t there. The bottle of absinthe lay on the floor in front of the closet spilling its green guts all over my carpet. I picked it up and threw it in the kitchen sink. I closed all the doors and windows. I took a cold shower, put on my track suit and grabbed a blanket from the bedroom. I went down to the first floor and rang the bell of the middle apartment. After a few minutes my friend pocked his sleepy head out the door. I was late for the meeting the next morning and I gave the shittiest speech ever but my report saved my neck. The Superior called it “brilliant”. I was not so sure.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Brief Five
Doctor Alistair
Doctor Alistair was an old man when I was a young apprentice. He was a good doctor and a good man. He was good to me. He didn’t pay much but he was good to me. Always had a smile on his face, even when the work got rough.
The work got to him. Doctor Alistair had worked hard all his life. A little too hard perhaps. He did it because he loved his work. And he did it because it gave him the opportunity to live by the golf course and drink vintage wine. Doctor Alistair loved his wine. I think he loved all other liquor as well but wine was, by far, his favorite. Some mornings, I thought, he had it at breakfast. It steadied his hands I think he thought. But it actually made them shake even worse. Sometimes a patient would throw me a nervous look as Doctor Alistair started at them with his unsteady hands, but the majority knew him and trusted him despite his shaking.
The shakes spread to his head right about the time my apprenticeship was nearing its end. He hated change Doctor Alistair did. He hated when it was time to welcome a new apprentice. He hated the unknown. The number of pills he had to swallow in the morning grew exponentially in the last few weeks. I would see them on his desk in his private office when I went down there to bring him the newspaper. It made me sad to think of leaving but I had no choice. I couldn’t be Doctor Alistair’s apprentice forever.
He had to give up his precious wine. But he was able to steal a glass or two now and again when we went to lunch some days. “Leo,” he’d say, “have a glass of wine with me, won’t you!” And I’d humor him and drink a glass with him. My head always spun afterwards during the afternoon work while Doctor Alistair always worked better during those afternoons. I’d even hear him humming away in his laboratory.
I left in the fall. I told Doctor Alistair that I’d come back and work with him one day. But I never did. I got enticed by the big city and the big enterprise and the big life. I met a man who came to work at our conglomerate one day many years later. He knew Doctor Alistair. He said Doctor Alistair had survived a massive heart attack. That was over three years ago. Poor, old, shaky Doctor Alistair.
Doctor Alistair was an old man when I was a young apprentice. He was a good doctor and a good man. He was good to me. He didn’t pay much but he was good to me. Always had a smile on his face, even when the work got rough.
The work got to him. Doctor Alistair had worked hard all his life. A little too hard perhaps. He did it because he loved his work. And he did it because it gave him the opportunity to live by the golf course and drink vintage wine. Doctor Alistair loved his wine. I think he loved all other liquor as well but wine was, by far, his favorite. Some mornings, I thought, he had it at breakfast. It steadied his hands I think he thought. But it actually made them shake even worse. Sometimes a patient would throw me a nervous look as Doctor Alistair started at them with his unsteady hands, but the majority knew him and trusted him despite his shaking.
The shakes spread to his head right about the time my apprenticeship was nearing its end. He hated change Doctor Alistair did. He hated when it was time to welcome a new apprentice. He hated the unknown. The number of pills he had to swallow in the morning grew exponentially in the last few weeks. I would see them on his desk in his private office when I went down there to bring him the newspaper. It made me sad to think of leaving but I had no choice. I couldn’t be Doctor Alistair’s apprentice forever.
He had to give up his precious wine. But he was able to steal a glass or two now and again when we went to lunch some days. “Leo,” he’d say, “have a glass of wine with me, won’t you!” And I’d humor him and drink a glass with him. My head always spun afterwards during the afternoon work while Doctor Alistair always worked better during those afternoons. I’d even hear him humming away in his laboratory.
I left in the fall. I told Doctor Alistair that I’d come back and work with him one day. But I never did. I got enticed by the big city and the big enterprise and the big life. I met a man who came to work at our conglomerate one day many years later. He knew Doctor Alistair. He said Doctor Alistair had survived a massive heart attack. That was over three years ago. Poor, old, shaky Doctor Alistair.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Brief Four
Little Golden Piglet
I pushed the cart along slowly. I had overfilled it and it rolled heavily along the uneven ground. I knew I could probably do without a few of the things I had piled up into the cart but I didn’t want to discard them. What would people say? Look at that spoiled little brat, they’d say, getting rid of things, throwing things out of his cart like he doesn’t need them. I shouldn’t have cared what people would say, but I did. And I pushed the cart along with all the unnecessary junk. The man pushing his own cart beside me gave me a disapproving look as if he could read my thoughts. We had been pushing our carts alongside each other for a while now and I was beginning to think he was my friend. I shouldn’t have trusted him but I did. Though I pushed the cart along trying not to look at him or draw his attention.
The gorge came up completely unexpectedly. It sliced the road from left to right. The people who’s carts were lighter and pushing along quicker had no time to react and were quickly lost in the gorge disappearing from view. I pulled back in the last minute and managed to bring my cart to a halt just at the edge of the gorge. The front left wheel slid past the edge and my cart tipped to the left sharply spilling half its contents out on the road. I managed to steady the thing and straighten it back up. I looked around me for the man. He stood a few steps behind me, a safe distance from the edge of the gorge. He must have seen it coming and brought his cart to a careful stop in time. He stared back at me with an expression I couldn’t decipher. Was it fear? Or sadness? Or even….Was it disappointment? Was he disappointed I didn’t tumble in the gorge? I looked back and over to my other side. Some of the people who didn’t fall down the gorge were turning their carts around and heading back. Others just stood there with blank expressions on their faces. But why wasn’t anyone trying to go over the bridge?
It was a precarious old thing hanging dangerously over the gorge a few steps to my right. I turned my cart in that direction. I took a look at the man. He glared at me. I should have been scared but I wasn’t. I gave my cart a gentle push. It was lighter now that it was only half full and it rolled along quite well. I reached the bridge. I put the two front wheels of my cart onto the old, rotten wood. Was my cart too heavy still? Could I make it? I gave another push slowly, carefully. The bridge swayed and creaked under the weight. The cart was on the bridge now but my feet still stood on solid ground. I turned to look at the man one last time. He seemed to be gesturing at me. Pointing wildly towards the other side of the gorge. I turned to look at what he was pointing to but the other side was too far for me to be able to see anything. I gave the cart another gentle push and stepped on the bridge.
I squeezed the little golden piglet in my palm so hard it dug its little sharp feet in my skin. Where did I have it from? Did I find it? Or was it in my cart the whole time? I wouldn’t have known for my cart was overfilled with useless junk. It should have been hard for me to push it along with one hand but it wasn’t. Beside me, the woman pushed along with me. I had the feeling that I knew her but I didn’t know how. She smiled at me. I opened my palm and looked at the little golden piglet. It seemed to be grinning at me. I looked back over my shoulder. I could see a great deep gorge slicing through the road behind us. People were falling in from the other side. A man stood by the edge of the other side of the gorge. He was pointing at me. I couldn’t understand what all the fuss back there was all about but it was none of my concern. We weren’t headed that way anyway.
I pushed the cart along slowly. I had overfilled it and it rolled heavily along the uneven ground. I knew I could probably do without a few of the things I had piled up into the cart but I didn’t want to discard them. What would people say? Look at that spoiled little brat, they’d say, getting rid of things, throwing things out of his cart like he doesn’t need them. I shouldn’t have cared what people would say, but I did. And I pushed the cart along with all the unnecessary junk. The man pushing his own cart beside me gave me a disapproving look as if he could read my thoughts. We had been pushing our carts alongside each other for a while now and I was beginning to think he was my friend. I shouldn’t have trusted him but I did. Though I pushed the cart along trying not to look at him or draw his attention.
The gorge came up completely unexpectedly. It sliced the road from left to right. The people who’s carts were lighter and pushing along quicker had no time to react and were quickly lost in the gorge disappearing from view. I pulled back in the last minute and managed to bring my cart to a halt just at the edge of the gorge. The front left wheel slid past the edge and my cart tipped to the left sharply spilling half its contents out on the road. I managed to steady the thing and straighten it back up. I looked around me for the man. He stood a few steps behind me, a safe distance from the edge of the gorge. He must have seen it coming and brought his cart to a careful stop in time. He stared back at me with an expression I couldn’t decipher. Was it fear? Or sadness? Or even….Was it disappointment? Was he disappointed I didn’t tumble in the gorge? I looked back and over to my other side. Some of the people who didn’t fall down the gorge were turning their carts around and heading back. Others just stood there with blank expressions on their faces. But why wasn’t anyone trying to go over the bridge?
It was a precarious old thing hanging dangerously over the gorge a few steps to my right. I turned my cart in that direction. I took a look at the man. He glared at me. I should have been scared but I wasn’t. I gave my cart a gentle push. It was lighter now that it was only half full and it rolled along quite well. I reached the bridge. I put the two front wheels of my cart onto the old, rotten wood. Was my cart too heavy still? Could I make it? I gave another push slowly, carefully. The bridge swayed and creaked under the weight. The cart was on the bridge now but my feet still stood on solid ground. I turned to look at the man one last time. He seemed to be gesturing at me. Pointing wildly towards the other side of the gorge. I turned to look at what he was pointing to but the other side was too far for me to be able to see anything. I gave the cart another gentle push and stepped on the bridge.
I squeezed the little golden piglet in my palm so hard it dug its little sharp feet in my skin. Where did I have it from? Did I find it? Or was it in my cart the whole time? I wouldn’t have known for my cart was overfilled with useless junk. It should have been hard for me to push it along with one hand but it wasn’t. Beside me, the woman pushed along with me. I had the feeling that I knew her but I didn’t know how. She smiled at me. I opened my palm and looked at the little golden piglet. It seemed to be grinning at me. I looked back over my shoulder. I could see a great deep gorge slicing through the road behind us. People were falling in from the other side. A man stood by the edge of the other side of the gorge. He was pointing at me. I couldn’t understand what all the fuss back there was all about but it was none of my concern. We weren’t headed that way anyway.
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