Daft Script

The Final and Editted Version Continued

2011-05-09T13:56:00.000-07:00

“Well, Thompson's book is a study on survival. He was paid to write about a culture that was feared and hated at that time. It took balls to immerse himself in their doings, and he paid for it with blood. They pummeled the piss out of him, but he survived and served a very honest depiction of a lifestyle on the fringes of society. As for Cuehlo, its about recognizing that there is more at work in our lives than just living. There is a hand that is guiding, and a hand that wants us to see our worth and what we're capable of accomplishing. Life has literally beat the piss out of you, I honestly don't know how you are sitting beside me with a smile. Being able to do so under your circumstances speaks volumes of your strength and character. But that being said, there is something wading under the surface of your gaze that suggests that you haven't any idea just what your capable of, or just how strong you actually are.”

“Flattery will get you every where with me, sir. You keep this up, you'll get my pants off for sure,” I said focusing on the wet napkin under my glass.

Jason chuckled, “Good to know, but that's not what this is about. Sometimes a person needs to be reminded by a stranger that they have all the potential in the world. It would be a waste to throw it away or believe that you are nothing more than fodder for fire.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, and squeezed his hand, “Thank you. You will never know what your words have meant to me.”

He held my hand in his as I attempted to pull mine away, “Now that that's out of the way, let's get back to the business of getting your pants off,” Jason took notice of my empty glass, “Rum and Coke, right?”

Despite our heavy flirting throughout the remainder of our evening, Jason and I both slept alone. As I readied myself in the morning, Jason met me in the common area with a cup of aromatic coffee.

“A little something to wake you up. Semuc Champey is as close to Paradise as one can get on Earth. Its amazing, I wouldn't want you to sleep through it,” he then pulled a weathered copy of The Alchemist from his back pocket, “Remember what I said...”

“That my hair would look spectacular sprawled out across your naked chest, or that I have an amazing tongue...you said so many things, refresh my memory.”

“You're incorrigible,” he laughed, “I said you have an amazing tongue, really? I don't recall kissing you,” he said utterly confused.

“It was after I tied triple knots in that cherry stem.”

“Ah, yes...but no, I was talking about the serious stuff that I can not recall now thanks to the memory of the stem.”

I hugged him, “I haven't forgotten what you said to me, and I could never thank you enough for saying it to me. Be safe where ever your adventures take you, and from the bottom of my heart thank you for a perfect evening.”

Jason gave me a quick peck on the lips, but lingered a bit. “The pleasure was all mine, and Rose I hope you find all the happiness the world can afford you. Now here's the coffee and don't forget the book. It's a bit of ride to Paradise.”

I settled into my seat in the air conditioned mini-van and waited for take off. Soon the van was full, and we began our journey to Semuc Champey. There were conversations in Spanish, Hebrew, and German all around me. But all I could hear were the words on the page echoing in my head. The Shepard boy Santiago, and his journey offered lessons for any adventure in life. A sojourner should recognize the signs, listen to the language of the world, trust/talk to your heart, but ultimately never give up. There was still an hour of travel time left when I finished the book. Once again the story transcended the page. Cuehlo's words always moved and inspired me, and they always came to me at the exact moment when I need the message veiled in the paragraphs and pages.

I asked the girl beside me if she had a pen and piece of paper I could borrow. She ripped a sheet from her notebook and handed me a pencil. I nodded my thanks and started to write to my brother. It'd been awhile since he made an appearance.

“Have I lost you” I wrote.

“No, I am still here. You had quite the evening,” Josh scribbled on the page.

“Yeah, it was serious, yet flirty and fun. Tell me were you prompting Jason to say those things to me.”

“Actually no, he did that all on his own. Good man.”

“He really was. Can I ask, is he one that will stick around in my life, or was this a chance meeting?”

“Your time together is going to stay with you for forever, but the two of you have different paths to take and they don't cross again.”

I gazed out the window and enjoyed the view of high, rolling, and lush hillsides. The sun was shining, and from emerald to kiwi – the landscape was covered with every shade of green one could imagine. Basking in the light and relishing in the warmth radiating through the glass – I was rejuvenated and felt that nothing could hurt me. I was shedding my skin. All the horror and angst was flaking to the ground, and I was pulverizing it under my feet.

“Josh, is it wrong that I haven't thought of Amber or Lisa in the past few hours?”

An unmistakeable warmth was enveloping my heart, and I knew that even though I couldn't see him, Josh's hand was on my shoulder.

“Let me ask you a question – Do you think that Amber and Lisa would want you to mourn them every second of every day, or do you think they'd want you to enjoy what time you have on this Earth?”

“They'd more than likely want me to do a bit of both,” I said with a soggy smile, “We were all friends for a reason, we're all kind selflessly self-centered,” I wrote.

“That sounds contradictory.”

“It is, but its true. We would do anything for anyone, but we wanted recognition too.”

“Are you ready? It won't be long now before you're there. You'll see Semuc Champey today, and then Lanquin Cave the following morning.”

“None of this seems real to me, so I guess I am as ready as I will every be,” I wrote.

“Well Sis, it is very real, and it is happening to you, so be ready for what tomorrow brings. The closer you are to the cave, the more you'll understand what I am warning you against.”

…...................................................................................

The following morning I sat under a rotting pavilion sipping a cup of rancid coffee. People were moving about the out door shacks of the hostel, and were heading to either the dark out house or the glacier cold shower. It was true that the sun was shining, and the morning was already humid – but the chill that had seeped into my bones would not be moved. As I had lay sleeping, my dreams were haunted by memories of Dwayne.

Every bad thought I'd ever known was from him. Every doubt and all my lack of self-worth were due to his rages. I couldn't look in the mirror for fear that he'd be standing behind me. He was the head popping out of the wall, and the gasp of terror as the monster rips the heroine's heart out with his bare hands. His words had always been his greatest weapon against me, but his hatred my undoing.

The thought of having to face him and ultimately defeat his sinister urge was beyond comprehension. I hadn't seen him in 10 years, but the wounds he'd inflicted upon my soul were still fresh. He never laid a hand on me. I was never kicked, shoved, or bull whipped – but it felt like I had. His roars and bellows still echo in my mind. I can still recall the venom dripping from his snarl as he cursed me. His eyes – black holes that swallowed me in their vacuum of hate – plagued me even now. I'd done everything I could think of to escape those eyes. But they always found me.

Gone now was the peace of yesterday. Even in the shining gaze of the sun, I was lost in the thick shadow creeping along the fringes of what was seen and unseen. All around me the people in my tour group were laughing, smiling, and enjoying the day. Not me. I could feel him. Dwayne was near and he was biding his time. Soon I would be within his grasp, and he was going strike. But not until he'd reminded me of the old days. Those days of torturing apprehension. The moments of never knowing who was going to greet me at the door – the man who I'd grown to love as a brother and father, or the devil who craved the mind fuck of psychological abuse. He was darker than a Sith Lord, and more deadly than a viper.

Soon the group and I were ushered to a couple of junkyard trucks. We piled into the back and did our best to avoid searing our skin on the hot skillet that was the bed of the truck. As we drove down the gravel road hitting every pot hole and divot, I was struck my the lush beauty of the Guatemalan countryside. We were surrounded by rolling hills spotted with grazing cattle and sprinkled with twisted green foliage. It was teetering on the edge of a primal wildness and a tamed serenity. Rickety shacks popped up here and there. They were over brimming with poverty, but also a joy that glowed about the people in a heavenly halo. Most of them had less than nothing, but their smiles revealed a deeper richness that many will never know.

As wondrous as these sights were, they did nothing to appease the rising bile in my gut. Every cloud pass across the sun etched a foreboding chill in the marrow of my bones. My knees were knocking with unchecked fear. My pulse was beating a rhythm that belonged to tribes in Africa. It was crazed and frenetic. An energy sapping panic was invading my sensibilities, and I searched through the scattered items littering the bed of the truck for something to write on. I found an paper cup, and I tore it in half. The girl I'd borrowed a pen from on the they way to Semuc Champey was sitting next to me, and I bothered her once again for the writing utensil.

“Josh, talk to me please,” I wrote.

“I told you the closer we get, the worse you were going to feel.”

“Well knowing that and experiencing it are two totally separate things.”

“(sigh) I know, and I wish this wasn't happening to you at all – but there was nothing I could do to stop this from transpiring. If I could have saved you from this task, I would have.”

“I know I have to have this battle as you call it, but honestly, what is it going to solve if he is in a coma somewhere? Won't he just sprout back up like a weed?”

“You know that urban myth that if you die in your dream, you die in reality?”

“Yeah.”

“Its not really a myth in this instance. Destroy the soul, destroy the man.”

I swallowed a moan. “I have to kill him?”

“Or be killed.”

In a fit of terror and rage, I crushed the paper cup into a ball and tossed it as far as the wind would carry it.

Those sitting near me spoke amongst themselves in Spanish. My outing companions consisted of a doctor from Barcelona on a holiday with his partner and a group of traveling musicians from Spain. Three men and one woman. At first they had looked upon me with fair regard, but now as I was trembling and mumbling to myself – I was falling from favor. The musician with his dreadlocks pulled back in a pony tale spoke to me in English.

“Miss, are you okay?”

“Not really. I am not used to the food down here. My stomach is really starting to kill me,” I lied.

“Do you want me to tell the driver to turn around and take you back to the hostel,” he said with a sympathetic smile.

I shook my head, “That is nice of you to offer, but I will be alright. I will just hang back by the truck instead of swim. The altitude and fresh air is starting to help.”

He nodded, “Okay, but if you start to feel worse, come find me and I will get one of the drivers.”

“Thank you,” I said with a smile.

Not long after we pulled into the tropical oasis. Everyone shared the same expression of quiet awe and silent reverence. The leaves on the trees sparkled with an emerald iridescence. Pools of clear looking glass water shimmered at the bottom of lackadaisical waterfalls, and a sea-green river meandered just on the other side of the parking lot. On the ride we'd climbed to a decent altitude and the air was cooler. The humidity was no longer an irritating dew upon our skin. Forgetting my troubles, I left the sanctuary of the truck and explored the area.

Vines rocked and waved from the tall trees, and butterflies skipped along the breeze. Birds were singing from the cover of the jungle's canopy, and spider monkeys howled with laughter at those of us hiking below. Wanting to be alone, I let the tour group pass me on the muddy trail.

When they were well past me, I followed the steps that led to a secluded platform. It was then that the scenery turned on me. A herd of hairy, jumping spiders hurdled my feet as they sprinted down the hill. They were soon followed by an army of huge, red, fire ants. The tropical jungle was all of a sudden as silent as a mortuary. There was a voice in my head.

“He is here. Run.”

I had no idea where my feet were taking me. I jumped over fallen trees, and slapped low branches from blocking my way. I didn't think. I couldn't. No coherent thoughts entered my mind. Every thing was a cryptic scramble of fright and flight. Twigs snapped under my sandaled feet. Sweat and tears streamed down my face. There was a putrid breath whispering on the back of my neck causing my skin to ripple with goosebumps. A sinister chuckle mocked every misstep and trip. I was the dodging rabbit and the leaping doe – Dwayne was the rabid bear and wild boar. He knew that I knew this chase was all for show – he could take me when ever he wanted. But he loved the thrill of the hunt, he reveled in the fear he could smell on me. The jungle was getting darker. The shadows and shades were boxing me in. And then at once I had no where to run – no where to go.

With a ricocheting pop, and a cloud of smoke Dwayne appeared before me. He rushed me at with a roar and snarl. Then the world went black.

….................................................................................................................

Sulfur and acrid heat woke me from the bludgeoning darkness. I scowled and attempted to move, but couldn't. Shifting on the tepid and slimy rock surface beneath me, I noticed an oozing pressure on my wrists and ankles. My eyes opened, at least I thought they opened. But I was still in the dark. If it weren't for the flicker of light billowing in the distance, I would have thought I'd gone blind.

“I know I came on a little strong back there, but I think we can manage to let bygones be bygones, hmm?”

Instinctively I shuddered. “Where's Lisa?”

“I don't know, she's hanging around here somewhere,” Dwayne chuckled.

“So's your brother. He gave me a bit of a chase – must run in the family – but I guess he figured that since I had you, he may as well come and join the party.”

“I want to see them.”

“What makes you think you're in any position to start spouting off demands?”

“Because she's not the coward hiding in the dark,” growled Josh.

“That'll do Sprite,” Dwayne sneered and snapped his fingers.

A groan escaped my lips and a tear rolled from the corner of my eye, as my brother howled in pain. He was ethereal and had no substance, but whatever Dwayne was doing inflicted a hurt that I couldn't bear to listen to.

“Stop,” I screamed.

At once the light that filled the belly of the cave was crackling and spitting to life. Dwayne slithered over me and gripped my chin between his thumb and forefinger. My eyes widened as I realized he could touch me. His wasn't a ghost's caress. Dwayne's grip was causing an ache. There was nothing I could do to stop the tremors that consumed my frame.

“That's it, she's getting it now. 'Destroy the soul, destroy the man.' Isn't that what big brother said to you? Well, it works both ways sweetness. You shouldn't have passed out.”

I whimpered and squeezed my eyes shut. He'd taken my soul from my body.

Dwayne chuckled and shoved off of me.

“I don't know kiddo, I really thought you'd make this harder on me. Now, I really am disappointed in you. Didn't I raise you better than this, or are you really a worthless piece of shit?”

I sobbed.

Dwayne snapped to attention as a rock smashed against the wall next to his head.

“What the...” Dwayne trailed off, “Come!”

With that the ooze that had been holding me hostage disappeared. Dwayne and his minions took off in the direction the rock had traveled from.

I ran to my brother's aid. He was dangling from a hook that had pierced him between his shoulder blades. The back drop to my brother's swinging body was a labyrinth of stalactites and stalagmites. They filled the cave and gave way to the illusion that we were housed in the venomous jaw of a dragon. There was water nearby. It caused the air to “whoosh” and blow by as it pushed through the bowels of the limestone lair.

Josh moaned.

“How can I help you,” I cried.

“Down? You can't. I'm the only one who truly has no power here. We're too close to Hell. Demons have no power in Heaven, and vice versa. You and Dwayne aren't technically dead, so anything Dwayne can do, you can do to him. Lisa too, but as she suffered when she was living, so too will she suffer here. Were she closer to Home, this wouldn't be an issue. She doesn't belong here, and neither do you.”

“Josh...I don't know what to do...”

“Get the frick out of here is what we're going to do,” exclaimed a beloved voice behind me.

I gasped as a sob nearly rocked me off my feet.

“Josh, if I turn around is she going to disappear,” I said my lower lip trembling. Tears were welling in my eyes, as I gazed upon my brother's shimmering expression.

“If she's here, she was sent.”

“I wasn't so much sent, as I was finally given permission,” said Amber.

As I turned around, I nearly fell to my knees at the sight of my best friend standing with her arms crossed and a dazzling on her face.

Her hair was in braids, and there was now phosphorescence radiating around her. She could have been a Valkyrie or Athena. Statuesque and fragile all at once, I was awestruck. Amber walked toward me as my feet seemed to be rooted to the spot. Ever the ballerina, she moved with a graceful glide. Before I could catch my breath, we were hugging and I was sobbing against her shoulder.

“We don't have much time Rose, and I have missed you too,” Amber said lifting my head to wipe my tears away.

“I have so much to say to you...”
“No, you don't. I know what I was to you, and you know what you were to me. There are no regrets between us Rose, none. Come on, I know where he's keeping Lisa. We have to get out of here before she's lost forever.”

“But Josh...”

“I will be fine, you've got to get out of here. Dwayne's coming back.”

Before I could respond, Amber was leading me through a tight crevice we had to crawl through.

“Why can't we ever just fly,” I muttered once we were out in open space again.

“You really want Dwayne flying around like a bat? Cause that's what would be going on if we could fly,” said Amber.

“I guess not, but seriously, I always thought I'd be able to fly.”

“Really Rose, this is what you have on your mind right now, flying or your lack there of? We have a maniac hot on our heels and you're worried about whether or not you're going to be able to fly when you die?”

“Like it hasn't occurred to you once,” I snapped back.

Both Amber and I grinned as we settled into our old routine. Me - making light of our dire circumstances, and she - doing her best to pretend she was irritated by this.

“So now what,” I said as we came to massive waterfall.

The water was rushing with Class 5 force. If we were to take a step, Amber and I would be swept away in a tumble of whirlpools and racing waves. There were jagged rocks peaking through the white water, and the length of the drop was indistinguishable through the thick mist of the falls and our dimming light.

“We jump,” said Amber as she grabbed my hand and commenced to the free fall.

We were weightless, and the drop seemed to go on for forever. Somewhere in my mind I knew I was supposed to be terrified, but all I could do was chuckle. Time and gravity ceased to exist within the free fall. It reminded me of the Bugs Bunny cartoons where he was careening to earth from a push off a cliff. All I needed was to shift to a lounging position and pull a carrot out of my pocket. But just as I was about to relax, we disappeared beneath the pool's surface in a cannonball punch of rockets and water.

Amber's laughter reverberated through the echoing cavern.

“Who needs to fly when we can do that?!”

“Now who's distracted from the task at hand,” I said with a grin. “Remember there is a maniac right behind us?”

Amber opened her mouth to reply, but stopped as we both heard a faint cry from just beyond the shoreline of the pool.

I turned to Amber, “Lisa.”

With that we ran out of the water only to succumb to utter and devastating darkness. The ground crackled as though we were walking on broken glass.

“Do you think Dwayne is already there,” I asked to fill the stoic silence.

“Can't you feel him? He's not very far behind us.”

“Why doesn't he just “poof” in front of us? I mean we are capable of exceptional acts at this point, aren't we?”

“Sort of. I can probably get away with more than you, seeing as how I actually died. Since you and Dwayne are technically alive you can do things within the spiritual realm, but not much more than sense where others are and what makes them tick. That's why its so important for you to stop letting Dwayne get the best of you.”

“And how am I supposed to do that Am? The man scares the shit out of me!”

“Because you let him! You know full well that there is an anger and rage inside you that matches his, and you know its because of him that it is housed in you! I can feel it Rose – the hatred and loathing – if you don't purge them, you're never going to see me in the after life. That kind of rage stays in Hell where it was birthed.”

“Are you saying I'm like him?”

“Until you let them go, yeah, you are, but honestly Rose – you're going to need that wrath to get the drop on Dwayne, and he knows this which is why he's using parlor tricks to get in your head.”

“Parlor tricks, really? My brother swinging like slaughtered cattle on a meat hook is a parlor trick? And what about those oozing shadow things?”

“Those are help from Hell. The shades and shadows are attracted to fear and anger – that's what they feed on. You could control them as well as Dwayne does. As for your brother, I'm not sure how that happened, or why.”

“He said that he has no power here – he's too close to Hell.”

“Ah, that makes sense. Its not much farther to Lisa. She's in a bad way Rose. Suicides have a rough transition in the afterlife. Stop here for a second, and really listen to what I have to say. Lisa didn't mean to do what she did – she was sick. Between my murder and everything that happened prior to it, Lisa didn't stand a chance. There was nothing you could have done to save her, and she doesn't deserve your anger. I know you're furious with her. But there was nothing that either of you could have done to change what happened that day. Nothing.”

“Am, I don't know how to forgive her for that moment. I was already plagued by your murder, and then to see her so deliberate...I can't get that final image out of my brain. She left me with two perfect pictures of blood and carnage. I doubt I will ever be rid of them.”

“Rose do you love her?”

“Of course! How can you ask that!? That's why this hurts so bad! I lost you both, and I don't know how to hurdle the mountain of never seeing you again! That I'm with you now is wonderful, but I know its only a fleeting moment. When this is over I'm going to lose the both of you all over again. You get to return with Lisa – I get to wake up alone. So you tell me, how would you feel if you were me right now?”

“Bat shit crazy. But I think we both know that I wouldn't last long with out you. You think that you were the weakest of our trio, but Rose you were always the strongest...”

“I am beyond sick of hearing that! 'oh Rose, you're so strong, blah, blah, blah.' Fuck! Why do I have to be the one who gets left behind?! Why am I the one who has to deal with all this utter nonsense and pick up the pieces of me that keep shattering?!”

Amber sat silently while I raved, when I noticed she was simply looking at me with an eyebrow raised my voice faded away.

“You down with the hissy fit? Because I will tell you why you're the survivor – If you were a comic book character, you'd be Jean Grey a.k.a Phoenix. Your soul was born to rise from the ashes. Deal with it.”

Lisa's cries were getting louder as Amber and I made our way through the dark.

“We need to turn here,” said Amber.

“How do you know?”

“Can't you sense her? As for the turn, you should be able to feel that out as well.”

For a moment I cleared my mind, but all I could see or feel was Dwayne's cold and calloused hands around my neck. The vice around my throat was accompanied by a chill that became more and more frigid with every step I took.

“All I can feel is Dwayne, and I am so cold.”

“Dwayne is not far behind us, and the Lisa is just around the corner,” said Amber.

As we turned, we came to a clearing lit by three oil burning lamps. Lisa was shackled to a damp rock wall. Her head was buried in her chest, which heaved as she sobbed. Her hair was damp and matted around her head. When our footsteps registered, Lisa tensed and readied herself for an assault.

“Lisa, nothing that happened to me was in any way your fault,” said Amber as she crouched next to our tortured friend.

Lisa looked up – her expression incredulous.

“How....why....Leave me alone! I deserve to be punished!! Everything I have ever touched has turned to shit! I'm cursed,” she said with a broken whisper, “I deserve to be here.”

Lisa turned away from Amber and wept into her shoulder. I couldn't stand to see her this way. Her face puckered with tears and etched with a pain I could never comprehend. I knelt beside her and tucked her hair behind her ear. Lisa closed her eyes to block my gaze as I lifted her chin. With my palm pressed against her cheek, I began to speak.

“Lisa, please look at me.” When she refused, I continued to talk. “I know you're thinking about those last minutes, and how they affected...hurt me...but I've got to tell you none of that matters. Yes, it hurt. And yes, I couldn't have been more pissed at you, but Lisa, none of that matters. I love you. You were – are – my dearest friend. Without you I would never have had the courage to talk to boys. Without you I would never have dared to skydive. If I'd have never met you, my life would have been empty and boring. Its because of you that I am brave. Its because of you that I leap before looking, and I wouldn't trade any of that to erase you from my mind. You're imbedded in my heart just as deeply as Amber. Now, we don't have much time....”

“Hold that thought stepchild, because I'm already here and am I ever pissed,” said Dwayne.

Amber and I jumped to our feet and stood before Lisa.

A tsunami of the black ooze rushed over Amber and I. It wrapped and swirled around Lisa until her cries were nothing more than a muffled hum. The ooze tightened and coiled around Lisa. I could sense that she was giving up and letting herself fade away. A repeat of the recent past – Me standing by her side helpless. This time I refused to give into the impotence of idly keeping watch while she disappeared entirely.

A rush of indignant rage flowed through my veins and I punched the black ooze with the force of Thor's hammer.

“Enough,” I bellowed. “Let her be!”

The ebony tar boiled to a searing shade of molten lava, and then it exploded into nothingness. All that remained was Lisa, who was staring up at me with a look of utter astonishment.

Grinning, Amber turned to me, “Told ya so. The fire in your belly is exactly what we need today.”

Emboldened, I lifted my chin and straitened my stance.

Dwayne chuckled, “Don't get cocky girl, you will never beat me. I will have your friends, and I will have your family. One by one I will snatch them, and your enduring Hell will be watching what I do to them for an eternity.”

“You'll never take me. The young girl that you abused and terrified died two days ago. She watched her life crumble to dust because of two gunshot blasts to the head. The parts parts of me that cowered before your feet and trembled under the onslaught of bellows have all but disappeared.”

Dwayne snorted. “Captivating speech, but stupid girl.”

In an instant I was on the ground pressing a palm to my burning cheek. Dwayne had slapped me with enough force to send me reeling to the damp rock floor. As I struggled to find my footing, Dwayne picked me up by the hair on my head. The roots were singing with pain as he twisted my dark curls around his fist.

Nose to nose, Dwayne growled, “Hear me now girl, you will die before I let you upset my plans. Do you understand me,” he said pulling even harder so that my neck was contorting under the pressure of his tugs. “You will never be rid of me.”

He snapped his fingers and a red hot brand appeared in his free hand. Dwayne pushed me to my knees, and twisted my hair until I could feel the roots ripping away – scalp and all. The brand was under my left eye. The heat was such that my skin was beginning to blister and it hadn't yet touched my skin. Dwayne didn't speak. His eyes screamed and roared into mine as he pressed the brand upon my flesh. It sizzled, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out in agony. With his mark permanently etched upon my skin, Dwayne smiled and shoved me away. I skidded into the wall next to Lisa. Something in her eyes ignited to life as she looked upon my scaring cheek. Lisa began to twist in her chains.

In a flash of wind and smoke, Dwayne appeared behind Amber. I jumped to my feet, but I was too late. Before Amber could utter a shriek, they were gone. Lisa growled from her stoop on the ground. She was pulling against her chains. Every muscle was strained as she did her best to break free. The rock began to give way to her heroic efforts. With a liberated scream, Lisa snapped the chains away from the rock. As Lisa came to her feet, her shackles disappeared and a light had returned to her eyes.

“So are we going to go get that asshole, or what? He's got Amber, we can't stay here all day lolly-gagging around,” she said with her hands on her hips.

Footsteps splashed as they sprinted toward Lisa and I. I turned to see my brother racing toward us.

“Lisa, glad to see you up and about. Rose, we have to get moving. Dwayne's next move is not pretty. He's taken her to a Mayan Temple. If he sacrifices her there – as I suspect he's going to do – there will be no stopping him. You need to know this, but I've held back because Dwayne is strongly tied to your mind. He is going to have all he needs to end you the second you hear what I have to tell you. We will have to act fast. Rose, the only way you can absolutely kill Dwayne is to snuff out his eternal flame.”

“What the heck is this dude talking about,” asked Lisa as she tilted her head like a befuddled puppy.

I shook my head, “I haven't a clue. What are you saying Josh? And why can't I do the things Dwayne keeps doing. He appears and disappears with smoke, he snaps his fingers and things appear in his hands – If I am supposed to be able to do whatever he can do, why can't I do it?”

“I am really unsure as to where Dwayne's magic is coming from, because that's all it is. He doesn't have more or less power than you – he is simply making use of someone else's abilities. Your problem is you keep giving into fear...”

“I am sorry do you not see the hand print on my cheek from his slap, and do you not notice the nice scar that is currently swelling to the point that it is hard for me to see clearly out of my eye? I think I have a right to be fearful, and I can't help it if that is my reaction to him. Maybe it wouldn't be if he'd stop with the sadistic bullshit, but as he just snatched Amber, I'm afraid that won't be happening anytime soon. So cut me some fricking slack, for the love of God!”

Josh and Lisa shared a look over contraposto stances and crossed arms.

“Rose, are you done whining, cause I'm pretty sure we've got to get a move on.”

“Seriously Lisa, don't give me any shit right now, okay? Just seconds ago you were chained to a flipping wall crying to yourself.”

“Yeah, and now I'm free, yet we can't say the same for you can we? You're still failing to see the big picture.”

Josh cleared his throat, “Sorry girls, but I got interrupt before you two start up where you left off, bickering for no apparent reason...”

Lisa laughed, and I smiled at the wheezy, husky sound. “But Josh, that's our thing,” Lisa said with a wink and a smile.

“It is, but seriously? I'm not seeing the big picture?! Raise your fucking hand if you have a fucking brand on your face.” I paused a moment, and raised my hand in the air. “That's right. Just me. I have the fucking brand on my face. Which how is that by the way? How come I could smell flesh burning? Aren't I supposed to made of smoke and air?”

“You are. Dwayne has literally left his mark upon your soul now. I am not sure what the ramifications of this latest development are, but we'll deal with that at a later date.”

I ran a frustrated hand through my hair, “I really love how all these rules get explained to me at their leisure. I'm sick of the guesstimation game, tell me now or don't tell me at all. You're driving me insane. Trust me, even without all the dramatics, I got it, I know just how vast this picture is. Now you were saying something about our special sparks?”

Josh tilted his head, “What...oh, eternal flames, yeah, every spirit is alive with a flame, whether its good or evil, it is there and it is burning. If it is taken from said spirit, the angel or demon who did so captures the power of the soul and adds it to theirs. I had hoped that he wouldn't figure this out, but such is life.”

“How did you get lose,” I asked, “I thought you had no power here?”

He grinned and rubbed the back of his neck, “Yeah, about that. I may have fibbed a bit.”

“What do you mean, 'a bit?'”

“Well, I could have broke free of Dwayne anytime I wanted, but I knew if I did I'd never find you. I let myself get captured to wait for Dwayne to bring you to the cave. He took his time, but eventually you showed up and you needed to see what was at stake. I'm glad that last bit worked, because we'd have been screwed if it hadn't.”

“When you get back Home, please tell your boss that I hate being anyone's pawn. So Dwayne burst away in a puff of smoke, I am assuming that if he can do this, you can too. And I am also going to assume you could have done this from the beginning.”

Again Josh grinned and rubbed the back of his neck, “Yeah, but you needed time to come to terms with what was happening, and that wouldn't have been achieved very quickly if we were just popping up here and there all willy-nilly. Know what I mean?”

I scowled, and crossed my arms, “Oh I get it, but can we knock that shit off now?”

“Yeah,” said Lisa chiming in, “Can you just take us to Amber, as you pointed out ,we don't have much time.”

“Seeing as how I will be carrying you both, I'm going to need to build up a bit of momentum,” Josh said as he backed up 30 paces. Once satisfied with his position, Josh charged Lisa and I. As he came at us full force, his arms wrapped around our waists and we galloped into a vortex of sorts.

What I could see and focus on reminded me of the Star Trek episodes with Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock. Black nothingness and white pinstripes that moved with intermittent flashes of light. We were en route in a Fun House barrel spin through the universe. Before I could get a lock on my bearings, our Warp Speed ride came to brain crushing halt.

Lisa, Josh, and I were standing on the edge of the world – or at least that's what it seemed. A canopy of luscious tropical jungle as far as the horizon in every direction. We were standing on a stepped pyramid that emerged from a forest of evergreen grass. Every thing about the landscape seemed other worldly. The breeze carried with it the cries of howling monkeys, the cawing of parrots, and a young woman's terrified screams.

Across from the limestone pyramid, a temple climbing toward the stars appeared to be saturated in the crimson glow of the setting sun. Amber bound in a web of scaffolding and fraying twine. With the Stele eye of the temple as her back drop, Amber was the hub of a wheel - her arms and legs the spokes.

I turned Josh, glaring. “You totally didn't stick the landing here Brother! Why are we over here, when we need to be over there,” I shouted as I pointed toward Amber's taut body.

“If we'd landed there,” Josh said with air quotes, “Dwayne would have gotten the drop on us.”

“Maybe, if it'd been my plan at all,” Dwayne said, “But seeing as how I seem to be getting more intelligent by the second, it was a sure bet that you'd spirit the Rose opposite of where you knew I'd land, so here we are and ain't this a gas.”

Dwayne's face was ablaze with an arrogance and cock sureness that ignited such a rage in me it was a wonder I didn't burst into flames. My jaw was set and locked. Our eyes never left each others gaze, and then Dwayne winked. At this my teeth were bared and I was growling low in my throat. In the blood red haze of the setting sun, Dwayne was set in my sights and the kill shot was locked. He was mine. Distorted pictures scattered throughout my mind caught in a cyclone of wrath and revenge. Every night that I had cried myself to sleep, and every moment I froze with terror at the pounding of his footsteps – all of these memories acted as nitroglycerin to my already volatile psyche.

Lisa and I shared a look, without having to say a word, we understood the plan. At my move she was going to race to Amber's aid. I would keep Dwayne otherwise occupied until Amber was free, or my soul was decimated.

Josh hit the ground in shock as I shoved him out of my way as I charged my sneering stepfather. We tangled, and rolled down the backside of the stepped pyramid. The wild flowers and grass were crushed in our wake. The rocks and divots acted as bruising speed bumps that incurred our winces when we tumbled over them.

Many times Dwayne tried to disappear, but I had a hold of his core and he mine. We were conjoined in a hellish dance. But I wasn't afraid. Something within me had finally snapped. It was primal – instinctive, and it wanted blood. His blood. When we hit bottom I was straddling Dwayne, and I hadn't lost my grip on his flaming core. But with the force of our impact, he'd lost his hold on mine.

Keeping one hand locked within his chest, I jumped to my feet. Dwayne was weakening, but the She-Beast was not going to be appeased with a quick end to this man. He was going to suffer as I had suffered. With one hand still locked on the dimming ember of his eternal flame, I lifted him off his feet. I slammed his flickering ethereal ooze against a near-by tree, and then I gave his core a bit of a squeeze.

“Do you know how many nights I lay in bed with the same battered expression you're now wearing? Too many. You never shied from telling me how much of a worthless piece of shit I am – was – but I am here to tell you sir, you are the worthless piece of shit. You are a waste of a life, nothing. You're a meal for maggots and worms. When I end you – you're going to be nothing but a small speck of dust on the tapestry that is my soul. You will no longer have the power to cloud my eyes, or cause a numbing ache in the center of my chest. As sure as your body and soul die, so will the control you've always commanded over me.”

“You really think you're going to be rid of me so easily? The brand under your eye maybe changing, but daughter you'll never forget me. When you're happy and life is a floating bubble on the breeze – I'll be the prick that pops it. When you're down and you're desperate for anyone to love you – I'll be the whisper in your ear that lists all the reasons why you'll never be loved. So go ahead, snuff me out, but don't think for a minute that you've purged your system of me. I am nothing else, if I am not the cancer that plagues you.”

I lowered my head – not out of shame or defeat – but because my anger dissipated to an unwavering pity for this fragmented spirit. All of the curses and bile ridden speeches weren't for meant for me. They were lamentations of his self-loathing. I looked at the fragile glowing coal in the palm of my hand, and my heart swelled with a love for this man that I'd denied for years. He was no longer a menacing entity, but a broken boy who'd never made peace with the demons in his past. I would be doing him a disservice if I let him live. The scale of his self destruction would be epic. So it was with tears and a humbled absolution that I said my last words to Dwayne.

“You're right Dwayne, I will never be rid of you. But I won't think of the monster you've become, I will remember the man that I grew to love more than I could ever tell you. I will remember your laughter, and the way your eyes sparkled as you did. I will remember how for a brief space of time you were the safe haven I ran to when I needed to feel protected and shielded from those who wanted to cause me harm. There was a love and a goodness in you Dwayne, and that's what I will carry with me for the rest of my days – not your anger.”

I pressed my free hand to his damp cheek, and crushed the dying ember with the other. Dwayne faded away like the remnants of a bad dream. I was emerging from a dark fog, but at peace because I was awake and alive.

A throat cleared beside me. I remained kneeling next to the spot where Dwayne had been, but looked up to see Josh glowing with pride.

“You never cease to amaze me. The one constant in my guardianship of you, is that just when I think you're not going to get it, or you're going to give up – you just go balls to the wall and soar beyond my expectations,” he said shaking his head in wonder.

“Sis, you are amazing.”

I nodded my thanks, still too overwhelmed to speak. I rocked back on my heels and looked for Amber and Lisa.

“Yeah, about the girls – they're waiting for you over on the temple.”

They waved as I gazed in their direction.

My head fell to my chest and I kicked the grass at my feet.

“I don't want to lose them again,” I said unwilling to look at Josh.

“They're never really going to be absolutely gone...”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah...I know, I'll carry them with me – blah, blah, blah. But its not the same. One day I will wake up, and I will no longer remember the exact pitch of their laughter. Then the next, I won't be able to recall the exact shade of their eyes. Not long after that they'll seem like the subjects of an abstract painting I've seen in a museum. Their faces – the impressions they've left behind will become lost to me, and then what? Proof of their existence will be lost to me forever. I don't think I can live with that.”

“Do you honestly think you'll forget them? I can guarantee you that you won't,” said Josh.

Josh looked at the position of the sun, moon, and stars.

“Listen, you don't have much time, so I would suggest you get your whining ass over there and tell them everything you wanted to say, but didn't.”

I closed my eyes, and put a clear picture of the temple in my mind. In the space of a breath, I was seated on the limestone edge and dangling my feet seated between the two of them. For the moment we were content with the silence of simply enjoying each others presence. The sun had disappeared under the horizon, and the moon was shining above us – a pearl among the twinkling stars.

“We get to hang out until the sun comes up, but then Lisa and I have to go,” Amber said.

“I figured as much,” I mumbled.

“Well at least we get this much Rose,” said Lisa as she put an arm around my shoulders.

“Yeah, well at least you two will have each other,” I said with a pained scowl.

Amber put an arm around my shoulders as well.

“If you think we like this any more than you do, you're crazy – but this is just the way its going to be for awhile...”

I released a long, disgusted sigh.

“Rose, c'mon, look around you. How awesome is this? We're on the edge of the world, just the three of us. We've battled, adventured, and won. How many people can say that,” asked Lisa.

I shrugged.

Lisa hopped to her feet, “Snap out of it Rose! This is it! This moment is all we have! Stop sulking and make the best of what precious time we have together!”

My eyes were wide as I looked up at her.

“Yeah, I know, funny coming from me, the Mistress of Ill Content, but I've changed Rose. I get it now. Don't you?”

My lower lip trembled, “I don't know how to say goodbye.”

Lisa was immediately seated on her perch next to me with an arm around my shoulders.

“Neither do we,” whispered Amber.

Once again we were silent. Our histories together swirled and twirled around us like dandelion seeds floating on summer breeze. The boys, the laughter, the tears, the fights, the dancing, but most of all the love. We loved each other with every fiber of our beings and beyond. Together we were stronger, and apart we were lost pieces to a puzzle. Josh was right. I was never going to forget them. They were a part of me. Imbedded in my bones, and stitched to every cellular wall – Amber and Lisa were never going to disappear from me.

We never did speak. It was unnecessary. For Lisa I'd braved Hell and my devil. Amber rushed to our aid, not even Heaven could stop her. There was nothing we wouldn't do for one another – nothing we wouldn't face to ensure that we were all okay in the end. Bonds like this aren't made; they're forged and ours would never be broken.

For hours we listened to the songs of the jungle. The leaves rustled with a calm breeze, and creatures scurrying for a resting place. Cicadas and tree frogs filled the night with their shrill falsettos. Bats fluttered spasmodically throughout the jungle's canopy filling their bellies with gnats and flies. Too soon day was dawning. The bats were replaced with a rainbow of birds, and it was their happy song that now greeted the sun. We held on as long as we could, but our time was up. Lisa, Amber, and Josh sparkled until they exploded with radiant light. And then they were nothing more than fireflies soaring within the sun's rays.

I wanted to pull at my hair and weep, but there was a weight forcing itself in my lungs. The jungle was disappearing from sight, and there was a piercing ringing in my ears. Then the world went black.

My eyes fluttered open, and there was a blurred face lingering over my mouth. Then there were shouts and cries in Spanish. I sat up, and swayed under the singing pain pounding in my skull. Pressing my hand to the back of my head that was pulsating wildly, I felt a large bump. Disoriented, I looked around. I was in the jungles of Semuc Champey, and if I wasn't mistaken, sitting on the spot where Dwayne had rushed me.

“We heard an awful scream, when we noticed you were no longer with our group. We rushed in the direction of the wail, and found you lying here unconscious. I am a doctor in Barcelona, I felt it best that we didn't move you. Only moments ago you stopped breathing and your heart stopped; that's when I began CPR. Now that you are awake, I think you'll be just fine.”

The doctor squinted and then leaned closer to my face.

“Was that there before? You'd think I would have noticed...”

“What? What are you talking about?”

He ran his thumb over the skin just under my left eye.

“You have the most intricately designed tattoo of a burning phoenix. Its really quite exquisite.”

“Could I ask you to bother the senorita over there if she has a mirror?”

He spoke to the girl in Spanish, and soon after produced a compact. I opened it and gazed in the small circular mirror in wonder.

Dwayne's brand had evolved from a horrid mash of seared flesh to a mark of beauty unlike anything I'd ever seen. It was a firebrand of resplendent peace and perseverance. A totem and kindred reminder that I was never more than what I was meant to be.

I smiled up at the concerned Spaniard, and said, “I believe Good Doctor that you are right.”

He tilted his chin in confusion.

“You are right, I'm going to be just fine.”

All Material is under Copyright to Nellie Rose Daft May 2011

The Final and Editted Version of my last post.

2011-05-09T13:53:00.000-07:00

It was a subtle – almost inaudible noise – but it registered in my conscious mind as I lay sleeping. The soft “click” was the opening of my front door. My roommate must of returned home. The time read: 3a.m. No, it wouldn't be her. Not at this hour. Light and calculated steps whispered down the hallway. Those steps stopped just outside my door. There was an intake of breath, and I held mine. I opened one eye and curled deeper into my covers. Another click, but this wasn't a door opening. This particular click was the cocking of a gun. I wanted to scream, or melt into my pillows. But I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't speak – All I could do was watch as the barrel of a shotgun appeared from the corner of my door. A blink later there was a man standing in my doorway, aiming for my head. It was my roommate's boyfriend. Our eyes met, and then he pulled the trigger with a smile.

With the echo of the shot still reverberating in my head, I sat up in bed gasping for air. It was a dream! It was only a dream...but I could smell his cologne. There was also the business of a small stream of smoke billowing in the doorway. This was no dream. This was a vision. It had to be, but for whom?

The time was now 3:15. I lay staring at the ceiling trying to discount everything I had just witnessed and experienced. I didn't want to believe that something like this could happen – most especially to me. Was this a message? Did I need to stop telling my best friend and roommate that her current boyfriend is an asshole? Or do I need to warn her that he is a psycho killer? Would she believe me? Would she listen?

It was too much. Sleep never found me again, I was too frightened.

…..................................................................................

“Well Rose, don't you look chipper this afternoon,” said my roommate Amber as I walked in our apartment after work.

“I had a bad dream last night, and I couldn't fall back asleep after.”

Amber cocked her head, and squinted as she gazed at me.

“What aren't you telling me? We've been friends for years, I know when something is bugging you. And it certainly isn't a bad dream.”

I sighed, and turned away for a moment.

“I had the weirdest experience of my life last night Am, and please just keep an open mind. So I was in a deep sleep when I thought I heard the front door open – but here's how it was weird. Even though I was still sleeping in bed, it was like I was wide awake. Everything that was happening in the dream – to me – seemed to really be happening. I heard footsteps coming down the hallway, they stopped outside the door, and then your boyfriend was standing in my doorway with a rifle pointed at my head.”

“You had a dream about Jack?”

I put a hand to stop her questions, “Please let me finish, and then you can interrogate me.”

“Jack was standing there, wearing denim shorts without a shirt or shoes, and then he pulled the trigger. This is when I really woke up, but Am, I could smell his cologne and there was smoke in the air.”

“Wow, I wouldn't have been able to sleep after that either. What do you think it all means? I mean, do you think it was just a dream, or what?”

“I don't know, I mean obviously, if wasn't just a dream – that message wouldn't be for me, it was Jack. It would be a message for you.”

Am turned away and gazed at her shuffling feet, “I know. He and I broke up yesterday – for good this time,” she said gazing directly into my eyes. “I stayed with my parents last night.”

“Should we worry about his going mad, or did things end as well as they possibly can in that type of situation?”

She sighed, “It ended as well as can be expected. But on a brighter note, are you ready for next week? I am so excited to see Lisa again after all these years,” Amber said with a clap.

I smiled, “Yeah, its just too bad I can't refund my flight to Michigan, so that I can hang out with you two the whole time. Although, it'll probably be best if you two hang out first, you know to smooth things over for me with her.”

Amber and I shared a look. She shook her head, as I lowered mine.

“Rose, you really need to forgive yourself for that time in your life. Lisa was ready to party and for that scene – You were in the midst of your stepdad's psychological abuse. You can't help that you ran away from Tennessee just as she was moving down there.”

“Yeah, but I should have told her before she moved down...”

“Seriously Rose! Didn't you say you tried to tell her, but she told you she didn't want to hear it because Dwayne was her friend too and she didn't want to get in the middle of your “spat”?”

“Well, yeah, but....”

“No buts! Its done, I will talk to her, and if she still has an issue with you after that, well...screw her. She didn't see your face when you saw Dwayne for the first time in months. She didn't have to listen to the horror in your voice or see the pain in your eyes, I did, and I will be damned if I let her give you shit for the torture you suffered from that man!”

Amber's love was tenacious. She would do anything for those that she loved, and I never took that for granted. She was the best of friends, and more than that, a soul mate. She was one who – I knew from the moment that we met – would be in my life for the rest of it. Because of this, there was nothing I wouldn't do for her.

“What's that smile for,” I asked as Amber gazed at her cellphone.

She looked up with sparkling eyes, “John just sent me a text. It looks its just going to be me and him for the camping trip.”

I laughed, “Well, isn't life working out perfectly for you in that area – how long have you been crushing on him for now? A year?”

She giggled, “Something like that. If things stay like this, 2006 is going to be my best year yet!”

….......................................Two weeks later......................................................

Lisa answered on the second ring.

“Hey girl, what’s up?”

“Do you have Mom Peck’s number, by chance?”

“Why, what’s wrong?” Lisa gasped, “Amber hasn’t been home has she,” and before I could respond, Lisa went into meltdown mode. “Oh my God,” she sobbed, and then she proceeded to give in to hysterical cries of gibberish.

“Lisa…Lisa…Lisa! I need you to calm down right now! I am barely keeping it together here, I need you to focus! I can’t handle this shit right now, I need to speak to Glenda, and if you can’t help me I am hanging up, do you hear me?!”

“Yes,” she gasped for breath, “yes, I hear you. I don’t have their numbers, but we’re on the same network. Let me call our service provider, and see if they will transfer, or give me their number. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Alright, I will call you right back.”

Five minutes passed like five years. By the time Lisa finally called back, I looked down at my feet to make sure I hadn’t developed roots.

“Am I good, or am I good,” Lisa said quite please with herself.

“Did you get a hold of her?”

“Sort of.”

I sighed.

“Wait, before you get pissy with me, listen. I called the operator, and asked if they could please transfer me to Glenda Peck, or to give me her number. Well they wouldn’t do it. So I started balling on the phone, and I am talking wails and sobs. The woman became so frustrated with me that she got a hold of her manager, and they called Glenda and asked if she would take my phone call. She did, and she wants you to call her immediately. Here’s her number.”

As I wrote down the digits, I said, “Lisa, whatever would I do without your dramatic episodes?”

“Lead a very boring life,” she laughed, and then very quietly she said, “Rose, I’m really scared. If anything happened to Amber, it’s all my fault, and I will not be able to live with myself.”

“Lisa, I swear to God, don’t start thinking about that. She’s fine. She’s just lost, and we’re going to find her cold and wet. And if, IF,” I stressed, “anything did happen to her. It was not your fault, and don’t you ever say any different.”

“I love you Rose, please don’t leave me out of this. Keep me posted, please.”

“I love you too Lisa, and I promise I will not keep you out of the loop. I will talk to you later.”

My heart was drowning in my stomach as I dialed Amber’s mother. This call was going to leave a mark.

“Rose? Is this you?”

“Yeah Mom, it’s me.”

She sighed, “What is going on? Why did Lisa, of all people call me? Why is this the first we’ve talked? Have you heard from Amber? Has she been home? Has she gone to work? What the heck is going on girl?”

“Lisa called, because I don't have your number and I didn’t think to call your service provider. No, I haven’t heard from her, she hasn’t been home, and she hasn’t been to work.”

“Oh God. She’s gone Rose, I just know my daughter is dead. I can feel it….”

“Stop it! Amber’s fine Mom, she’s fine! We’re going to find her, and she might be hurt, but that’s it! We can’t go into this believing the worst has happened.”

I could hear Amber’s Dad in the background yelling the same phrases at her that I was.

“I can’t help it Rose. Something is wrong, and I can’t shake that the worst has happened. When is the last time you saw her?”

“When she dropped me off at work Tuesday morning.”

“Was John with her?”

“No.”

“I hate that she went on that trip Rose, I hate it. She sprung it on us, at the last second, and expected us not to be the least bit put off by it. And of course she asked for a few dollars too, for dinner, it was all I could do to give it to her.”

She continued, “We didn’t get to meet this John, and she couldn’t definitively tell us where in the forest she was going….I am beside myself Rose, absolutely beside myself.”

“I tried filing a missing person’s report, but they wouldn’t let me because I am not family.”

“Dad’s taking care of that now. Are you at work? We don’t have a key, and it sounds like we’re going to have to meet an officer at your apartment later this afternoon. And if you’re not there we’ll swing by your office and pick up the key.”

“I’m pretty sure as soon as I explain to my boss what is going on, she’ll give me the afternoon off, so I will be at the apartment to let you both in. What time do you think you’ll be there?”

“The officer said he would be to the apartment sometime after 4:30, so Dad and I will be there at 4. Thank you for being here Rose, I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll find her.”

As I hung up, I was glad I was in a dark room alone. My brain was scrambled and my nerves were fried.

“Rose? What are you doing sitting here in the dark? Why aren’t you at your desk,” asked my boss, Maude.

When I looked up from the computer screen, Maude’s expression changed from one of chastisement to concern.

“Is everything alright?”

I shook my head, “No, my roommate is missing, and I need to meet her parents at our apartment. An officer is coming to speak to us.”

She covered her mouth and gasped behind her hand, “Then what are you doing sitting here sweetie, this job will survive without you for an afternoon, or however long you need for that matter. You have more important places to be right now.”

“Thank you,” I said as I got up from my chair.

Maude squeezed my shoulder as I walked by, “My prayers are with you, and call if you need anything.”

Walking to the bus stop felt like I was trekking across the Ural Mountains – On the other side of the world isolated and snow capped. My conversations with Lisa and Mom Peck left me drained and wretched.

In the past I had jokingly told Amber that I’d be fine if I were an island unto myself. But after only a few days absence, I didn’t know if I was capable of withstanding the constant state of emptiness that came from Amber's missing presence in my life.

I can’t remember the specific month when she and I first met, but I know a person could still smell snow in the air the minute they walked out the door. The little hairs of my nose turned to irritating icicles upon inhaling as I stepped out onto the front steps of my mom's single wide trailer. It was about six-thirty in the morning, a horrible time to make a seventh grader walk to the bus. Every day at the precise moment I would turn to make sure the door was locked, a skinny girl would bound down a slight hill between the trailers across the street. Every day for a week we walked on opposite sides of the road, side-glancing at one another, but never saying a word. We would turn left at the corner, still trotting on opposing sides of the lane. When she walked up the steps to a brown and beige double-wide at the next corner, the skinny one would peak over her shoulder at me before knocking on the door.

One day the morning began like every other. Me, checking the door, by pulling roughly on the handle to slam the door against the frame five or six times; the skinny girl bounding down the hill to step in time with me as we ventured down the street. I can’t remember the date, but that morning marked a fateful spot in history, the skinny girl spoke.

“I’m Amber, I see you every morning. Would you like to walk with me?”

Taken aback, I hesitated before replying, “Sure.”

I stepped off the sidewalk to cross over, but she was sprinting towards me, shouting, “No don’t, I’ll come to you.”

Out of breath she continued, “I moved here a couple of weeks ago. My mom and dad just separated. We were living in this condo in town near the Seven-Eleven, but my dad stays there now. I’ve never lived in a trailer before, it’s kind of neat. Do you know this girl named Lisa? She lives across from me; we ride with Donna to school. Do you know her, Donna that is? Did you just move here too? I don’t recall seeing you other than on the way to wherever it is that you go in the morning. Well, this is Donna’s. It was nice talking to you,” Amber said walking up the steps, just before knocking she turned back to me, “Hey, what's your name? How rude, I almost forgot to ask,” she said with a wide white grin.

“Rose,” I said smiling back in spite of myself.

“Will I see you tomorrow then, same time, same place,” Amber asked, her voice soft and vulnerable now.

“You bet,” I said waving her off.

Releasing a breath watching her walk through Donna’s door, I shook my head chuckling. We had only walked a block together, and after trying to keep up with her monologue, I was exhausted. From the minute she crossed the street until she stepped up to Donna’s door, Amber hadn’t shut up once, not even to catch her breath between sentences. And my life hadn’t been quiet since, til now.

These past few days I discovered that a world without Amber in it is inconsolably silent. Her laughter twinkled like pixie dust, and her compassionate concern was a warm, soft blanket on a gloomy Sunday morning. Half my life was lived with her in it. It wasn’t within my powers of comprehension to envision a life without her near by.

In 13 years of friendship we'd hardly gone a day without talking. There was only one spurt through out our relationship that went without any communication, and it was the longest year of our lives. She'd broken up with my cousin, and he called me sobbing over his heartache. He'd always been a brother to me, and when she broke his heart I couldn't talk to her. And she respected this. We both knew that if we spoke to one another before I was ready, our friendship would never have survived. When we reconnected, it was as though we'd never been apart. The two of us picked right up where we had left off.

Our paths were always similar. The parallel between our first meeting and our relationship to one another was extraordinary. We were always walking on the same street, at the same time. This made us more daring and bold, because we knew we were never alone.

But if Mom Peck's intuition was correct, Amber was now in a place that I couldn't follow. My soul cried out for my friend. I longed for any sign that she was somewhere in this world, somewhere I could find her. There was only silence resounding.

Before I went to the apartment to wait for Amber's parents, I stopped off at the Kwik-Mart for cat food. I spent the remainder of the afternoon lost in thoughts of sadness and sorrow. To counter the heavy weight of apprehension, I was also filled with a nervous energy that wouldn't let me remain still. Once the cats were fed, I went about the apartment dusting walls, doing dishes, and vacuuming the spotless carpet. If it hadn't of seemed sacrilegious, I would have cleaned Amber's room.

Soon after Mom and Dad Peck arrived, the officer knocked on our door. He asked us a few mundane questions, such as: “When did we last see her? Where was she going? Who was she with? Etc, Etc.” We'd been over those questions so many times that it felt similar to a root canal when answering them. Once the officer left, I packed an over night bag and left with Amber's parents to spend the night in their RV. Dad Peck had organized a search party, and they were leaving first thing in the morning. I was given the option to hang back at the RV park with Mom Peck, but I wouldn't hear of it. There was no way I was going to remain on the side-lines any longer. I needed to feel like I was contributing somehow, and hiking through the Ocala National Forest was the way to do it.

…...............................................................................................................

“Why aren’t they talking to you,” I asked Dad Peck as we watched the detectives wandering about the dirt road where we'd found Amber's vehicle the following morning.

He grimaced, “Because all they know right now is that a man and woman’s bodies were discovered this morning. Both with gun shot wounds. The man has been identified by his family, and they know that he is John. As they have never met Amber, they couldn’t identify her. But because they know that she was last seen with him, they assume that the woman is our Amber.”

I glared at the officers around me, “So they’re just going to ignore us?! What’s the fricking hold up?! And how did John's family find them?!”

Dad looked at me with a small twinkle in his eyes, apparently my anger amused him. “When the officer came to John’s sister to get a time line of Amber’s where-abouts, this alerted the family that John may be missing too. They know the area, and have been camping here for years, so they set out about 30 minutes before we did…and you know the rest.”

“So we’re just supposed to stand here and let all these people treat us like we’re invisible! This is ridiculous!”

I was going to continue, but a woman with inappropriate boots spoke up. She was wearing black leather boots with a mid size heel – no one would ever wear those to go hiking, let alone a search and rescue.

“Hello, my name is Nancy, and I work with Marion County Sheriff’s office, would you care to take a walk with me?” It was posed as a question, but from her demeanor it was more of a demand. Dad Peck and I shared a look, and we both locked our jaws as we nodded. He and I followed Nancy across the smooth and sandy stretch of road, to the side street that the helicopter was using as a landing strip.

The two of us didn’t say a word – we waited for Nancy to speak.

“I work with Marion County not as an officer of the law, but as a counselor. I have been working with families of victims for over 20 years now. Because of my presence I am sure you’ve figured out, the worst thing that can happen to a family has happened. The detectives are working diligently to secure the scene, and gather all the evidence they can so that you will be able to identify what we are sure are Amber’s remains,” Nancy paused to let her words sink in.

Dad’s arm, in a reflexive spasm, gripped my waist to keep his legs from giving out. He was trembling, but his expression betrayed none of this. Only I could feel the grief overtaking his frame. And I knew why. Amber was his baby girl, but also his equal. She stood up to him when no one else dared, and for that she earned his unending respect. I was sure Dad was recalling the memory of a 15 year old Amber standing before him defiant and trembling.

She stood toe-to-toe with him her face flushed and wet with tears, roaring that she was no longer going to live in fear. Amber was not going to tolerate his bullying or his scare tactics. And if he couldn’t change how he dealt with her, then she was going to cut him out of her life completely. She told him that he’d be dead to her. I was present for this exchange and I watched, amazed and proud that the girl before me was my best friend. She was so strong, so fearless. And as Dad Peck wrapped his arms around his daughter for what became the first real embrace between them, he wept - for Amber had tamed the beast that had haunted her sleep for years. Amber had survived her father's wrath, and to me, this made her invincible. And I was fairly certain, Dad Peck felt this way too.

Knowing that her life had ended in such a violent manner defied our sense of logic. To those that knew her, Amber was the one who could survive anything. She was a fighter. She didn’t know how to back down. That this was the end of her time on this planet was incomprehensible. I witnessed the disbelief and sorrow take control of the once stoic and resilient man, and it devastated me more than Nancy's words ever could.

Dad Peck gazed at me, his eyes wet with all that he could not express. As I met this soulful gaze, I lost the last remnants of the girl I had been before this moment. In those first torturous seconds of comprehension, I lost my identity. The guilt of knowing that I couldn’t save her, and the regret of not getting to tell her just how much she meant to me was more than I could bear. The weight of Dad’s arm around my waist, and the warmth emanating from him registered on nerves that no longer felt as though they were a part of me. I was only aware of his touch, because I could see his arm around my waist.

“Rose?”

Shaking my head, I looked up to see Dad Peck looking at me intently.

“I’m sorry, what?”
“Nancy just offered to have one of the officers take you back to the RV park.”

I shook my head, “No, I’m staying here. I’m not going anywhere until we know…well, until we know.”

Dad nodded, “I thought as much, but I felt we should run it by you all the same.”

Nancy rubbed my arm, “Are you sure you don’t want one of the officers to give you a ride away from here? It’s going to be a long day.”

Her transition lenses were shading her eyes, but I could decipher the expression from her tone of voice. She was concerned that this would all be too much for me, and that the best place for me right now was to hide somewhere on a couch in a doped stupor. There was no way I was leaving, and no amount of passive aggressive prompting was going to push me away.

“My place is here, I’m not going anywhere.”

Dad Peck and I went our separate ways for the remainder of the afternoon. He stood by his truck and occasionally spoke to an officer or detective – begging for whatever information they were willing to give him. As for me, I sat on a stump staring at the trail leading to Amber's body.

The longer I sat staring, the more reality seemed to be slipping away from me. The tall grass seemed to be swaying in slow motion and it looked like a field of computer generated tendrils of honey blond blades. Every grain of sand crawled and popped under my feet. I shook my head hoping to clear the madness, but then the clouds opened and what appeared to be the sun's rays meandered about the sky like befuddled fireflies. Sanity was fast becoming a thing of the past, because a bauble of light was making its way toward me like the Good Witch to Dorothy in her first minutes in Oz.

An apparition of a young man floated to the ground before me. He stood surrounded by a radiant glow. His deep molasses eyes burned with a fire that stoked the dying embers around my heart. The young man's black hair appeared to be speckled with constellations as it twinkled and sparkled with the breeze blowing through the long strands.

“Please follow me, you're needed elsewhere,” the young man said as he held out his hand.

“You're out of your damn mind if you think I'm going anywhere with you! Firstly, I don't believe ghosts! Secondly, if you're a messenger from God – I want no part of it. He was wrong for what He did here today. Amber didn't deserve this. In the words of Johnny Paycheck, “take your job, and shove it,” I said folding my arms.

Again the young man held out his hand, “Please follow me, you're needed elsewhere.”

“Are you deaf? I'm not going anywhere. Not for anyone, least of all some boy who just left his bubble.”

Not to be deterred, the young man bore into my eyes with an emblazoned gaze, “It is imperative that you leave this place now, you're needed elsewhere.”

“I will not move,” I roared.

“Rose! No one is asking you to move, what's the matter,” asked Dad Peck with concern in his eyes.

My head lifted with a jerk. All around me the world had righted itself. I was alone, sitting a stump near the trail leading to Amber's body. The young man was gone, and with him the last bit of warmth from my soul. A chill was now cursing my bones, but I looked at Dad Peck with a soggy smile, “Sorry, I was yelling at a wasp. I hate those things.”

Dad nodded not buying what I was selling, but he left it alone.

“I'm going to be in the Semi-Trailer for a bit. They've come to let me identify the body,” he said turning to walk away.

“I'm coming with you,” I said stepping in time with him.

“Rose, I think its best if you wait outside. They only need one person to identify her.”

“Sorry Pops, but nothing short of the hand of God is keeping me out of that room. You may think it crass or morbid, but I don't care. I need to see with my own eyes that she's really gone, or I will never move on.”

Dad Peck nodded, and led the way.

Looks were traded and heads were shook at my appearance in the conference room, but I ignored them. I took a seat next to Dad Peck and we sat across from the man I could only assume was John's father.

“Before we get to the worst of business, let me start by saying how deeply sorry I am for you loss. There is nothing more tragic than a viable, young life taken well before its time,” said the Sheriff of Marion County, “We know from ballistics that Amber and John were killed by rounds fired from an AK-47. John sustained wounds that would have been lethal, the shot to his head was unnecessary. Amber was killed at close range by a shot to her head. Sorry to be so forward and blunt, but we have found that the more concise we are with the details, the better off the family of the victims are.” He hung his head briefly to collect his thoughts and words. The sheriff then handed a piece of paper to Dad Peck and then John's father.

“Take all the time you need,” he said and then gestured for the two men to flip over the piece of paper.

It was a photo. Amber was laying on her stomach with her head cocked to one side. She was on the shore line of a small pond. She could have been sleeping if it weren't for the small gash on her temple. Because it had rained two days prior to her being found, all of Amber's blood had washed away. She was wearing her favorite jeans, denim jacket, and her gray Victoria's Secret tank-top. Her long blond hair was pulled up in a pony tail, and her eyes were closed. I couldn't stop staring at her peaceful expression. There was nothing I wanted more than to see this photograph come to life. I wanted to see her breathe, smile, and laugh like this were the biggest prank ever pulled – but this didn't happen.

Her friend John was lying at her feet in a horizontal line across her vertical. His eyes were open and covered with a congealed film. He was in more of a fetal position, and one could see clearly that he had taken more bullets than Amber. This was when I fell to pieces.

John was a soldier – a Marine. He had been trained for combat, and that training seemed ever present in the positioning of their bodies. He had died trying to save her. I closed my eyes, and watched the scene play on the backs of my eyelids.

At the first shot fired – they would have stopped on the trail unsure and tentative to move. The next probably grazed them both, and here is where John would have stepped up. He more than likely pushed Amber to the ground as he took the brunt of firestorm hailing down upon them. John then fell at Amber's feet.

I swallowed the roar billowing in my gut as I imagined Amber's last moments on this Earth. She would have known incredible terror and madness. She would have known her friend was dying at her feet, and she would have heard the gunman approach. She may have even looked upon his face before he pulled the trigger, thus ending her life. This scene was seared upon my brain, etched in my heart, and branded on my soul. She didn't deserve to die that way, and I would never forgive the hand that designed this sordid mess.

…..................................................................................................................

“Rose, I am so happy you decided to come down and stay with me awhile. Things have been rough since.....I can't even imagine what you've gone through these last few weeks,” Lisa said with a somber shake of her head.

14 days had passed since my best friend was murdered, and I had thought of nothing more than Amber and Lisa. The loss of Amber had left a crater the size of the moon in my life. She was my phantom limb, and every time I felt her near I attempted to reach out to no avail. But Lisa, I was in a panic over her well being. She had revealed over the recent weekend with Amber and I that she was Manic Depressive Bi-Polar. In the past Lisa had attempted to take her life, and knowing her the way I did – I knew those dark thoughts were once again pressing on her mind. My coming to Nashville Tennessee was as much about self preservation, as it was to take care of my fragile friend. I couldn't lose another so soon.

After the memorial service for Amber I decided to ride with Lisa back to Tennessee. For whatever reason, I was drawn to her side. We spent a few days tip-toeing around each other, but by the end of the week Lisa and I had developed a routine. A routine that involved never speaking about what had just happened. If Amber's name was ever mentioned by me, Lisa would turn away cringing and she'd immediately change the subject. I stopped trying to talk about it. I figured when she was ready, Lisa would start the conversation.

“Did they really get the guy that did it,” asked Lisa, “And it really wasn't Jack?”

I nodded, “Yeah, even without his confession they had enough evidence to tie him to the scene. And yes, it really wasn't Jack. When the detectives questioned me, I told them that if Jack's body wasn't lying next to Amber's, then he had nothing to do with her death. He'd of never let anyone else but him spend an eternity with her. If the kid who'd picked up the killer hadn't of come forward, we never would have got the guy. Every thing about this situation – aside from Am's murder – is pretty fricking miraculous.”

Lisa looked away with tears in her eyes, “It's my fault,” she said with a wet whisper.

“I don't care what anyone says...its my fault she's dead. If I had never come down to visit, she wouldn't have postponed her trip, and then she would never have been there....”

“Damn it Lisa,” I shouted, “Shut up!! I don't want to hear another word!! Do you have any idea how lucky we are that we had that day – the three of us together?!! You and Amber reconnecting after 7 years of silence just days before she died is a damn miracle, and I won't hear another word about it!!”

“Rose,” Lisa said with a sob, “I just miss her so much, and I feel like I am responsible for it.”

I sat by her side, and wrapped my arm around her shoulders. With my head resting upon hers, I closed my eyes to hold back my tears.

“So do I, but that's the plight of the living – we feel guilty because we're still alive. I miss her too, more than I could ever say.”

“She was so pretty that day,” Lisa whispered.

“What day,” I asked.

“That last day – when we went to ride the Sling-Shot in Orlando.”

I swallowed a sob, “Yeah, she was kind of amazing in that moment.”

For a brief second Amber was alive again as Lisa and I reminisced. Amber's hair was in piggy-braids that day, and her face was never without a smile. In fact, all day long the three of us had never stopped smiling. At 26 we felt as though we were 15 again. Nothing could touch us and the world was ours for the taking – that was the magic between us. But riding the Sling-Shot Amber had been transcendent.

The Sling-Shot was like bungee jumping, only not. Instead of jumping off of something to swing and flip through the air – on this ride one was tossed up over 400 ft in the air to swing and flip about. While Lisa and I had been enjoying our ride, Amber had scored a ticket from the group of Georgia Bulldogs that she'd been flirting with. Some guys had been in line with us from the start, and they were down attending a football game. As Lisa and I returned to Amber on Jell-O legs, she shot us a grin brighter than the Vegas Strip.
“What's this,” I said with a wink.
“Well, these fine Southern Gentlemen have been kind enough to pay my way on the ride,” Amber said glowing with pride. This was a first for her. She had never been the prettiest girl, but what she lacked in looks she made up for in personality. When she was excited, so was everyone around her. Her glee was always contagious, but she had never flirted her way into a purchase from a stranger. This was her final coup.

Lisa and I ran to a monitor to watch as Amber was getting strapped in. We stood shoulder to shoulder, and watched as our friend took flight. Amber's entire frame was wracked with tremors. I had never seen her so scared. She had a white-knuckled grip on her shoulder harness, and closed her eyes to take in a deep breath. And then they were off. There was no sound, but her screams could be heard from the ground. Every word out of her mouth was, “Fuck!” Then the fear was gone, and she became a 5 foot, 95lb Amazon. Her face was awash with a fire that bellowed she was a warrior. And then her expression changed once again. The free falls and the rockets up were becoming more subdued, and this was where Amber glowed. She was positively incandescent. She pressed her hand to her heart, and covered her lips with the other. Amber was crying, and her tears were luminescent dew drops shining in her eyes. With a sob, she said, “That was beautiful.” Tremulous and tender, she shone like a goddess for that small measure of time. Amber was right, I had never seen anything more beautiful than that moment.

“I hate myself for not buying that DVD,” Lisa growled.

“Same here, but we had no idea that was going to be the last thing we did together. But at least we have the memory.”

“I guess...hey...do you want to go for a walk? I've got to move. I am getting too keyed up to sit,” Lisa said with a grimace.
“A walk sounds fabulous.”

“Alright, I will meet you outside. I've to pee, and grab some smokes.”

I smiled, “Okie dokie.”

Walking out the sliding glass patio door, I inhaled deeply – relishing the fresh Tennessee air. After a few minutes of basking in the metropolitan skyline, I turned to see what was keeping Lisa. She locked the deadbolt to the main door of her apartment, and I watched my reflection scowl with confusion on the glass before my nose. Before I could think to move, Lisa was standing before me and locked the door.

I pounded on the glass, “Lisa!! What are you doing?! Let me in!”

She shook her head, and dropped the 2x4 on the sliding door's track to further barricade herself in. And then I saw it. That unmistakeable shape of a handgun. The gray metal mocked me from its perch in the back pocket of Lisa's cut-off shorts.

My fists were frantic now as I beat the glass door, all the while screaming, “Stop!! Don't you do this to me!! Don't you dare!! Lisa!!! Lisa!! You bitch!! Don't you leave me this way!!! This is fucked up!!!”

Lisa snapped to a stop from her pacing.

“Fucked up?! Fucked up?! This whole situation is fucked!! It was fucked when you left me here on my own 7 years ago!! It was fucked when my husband dumped me!! It was fucked when the pills didn't work last time I tried!!! And it was completely Fucked when Amber was murdered!! I told you, I don't care what you say, its my fault she's dead!! Mine!! I fucked it up!! Fucked up,” Lisa screamed, “I'll show you fucked up!!!”

In one blink, Lisa inserted the barrel of the gun in her mouth. With the second blink - she pulled the trigger and fell to the floor in a haze of smoke, brains, and blood.

My fists were covered in blood as I pounded on the thick panes of glass, screaming, wailing, and sobbing Lisa's name. As I slid to my knees on the concrete square that was Lisa's patio, my hands rubbed the glass on the way down causing an awful stuttered screech. In one shot, the tiny bits of life that I had been clutching in a vice grip were decimated. I was devastated and utterly alone. In 14 days I lost two-thirds of the greatest parts of me. I was bold because Lisa dared me to try. I was strong because Amber lifted me higher than anyone I'd ever known, and now they were gone. Curling into a ball on the cold ground, I wept until my ribs ached from the strength of my sobs. I didn't want to live. I didn't want to exist in a place where I couldn't call them, or laugh with them. From the power of three, to the loneliness of one – I was lost.

Through the sheen of my tears, I didn't notice them at first. But the same baubles of light I had seen on the day we found Amber were meandering in the reflection. Once again, one of those baubles of firefly light honed in on me. The same starlit young man appeared behind me. Only this time he didn't hold out his hand. He merely uttered, “Watch.”

Shadows and shades were moving about the living room of Lisa's apartment. They were encroaching upon Lisa's body – ensnaring her in a tar like web. They moved as one, and as they did Lisa's body remained but her soul struggled in the confines of the oozing net. I saw it, and it saw me.

“Rose,” Lisa's soul cried, “Help me! I'm sorry!! Don't let them take me!! Rose!! Rose!!!”

I turned to the starlit young man frantic for answers, “What's happening?! Why won't you stop this?! Help her,” I shouted as I shifted my gaze back to the happenings in the apartment.

Lisa's cries were incoherent and primal now as she struggled in the binds. Once again I was paralyzed and helpless. Once again I couldn't save her. As I was about to turn away, a flash of flame exploded in the room. There he stood. The man who had haunted my sleep and terrorized my dreams. My stepfather Dwayne. His dirty blonde hair was matted with blood, and his face was bruised. None of this was any concern to me – it was his eyes – They were burning with wrath and hate. That crimson stare raped my shattered gaze.

“How is this happening,” I whispered, “Last I heard he was in prison, not dead. How can he do this? Is this really happening?”

The starlight young man nodded his head, “When I asked for your hand before, he was the reason why...you could have stopped this, but you refused to move. You're right, Dwayne is in prison, but he was beaten into a coma after he started a fight with a better man than he. Until he dies or awakens – his spirit is free to rage on as it sees fit. You and your mother were the best parts of him, but because you've never made peace with your time spent with him – until you do make peace, you're meant to suffer further.”

With a sinister wink and a rotted smile, Dwayne faded away with the shadows and shades. And with him, Lisa.

My head hung in despair and shame, and my chin resting on my chest, I softly asked, “Does he have Amber too?”

At once there was a warmth in me that I've never experienced. It started with the flesh, and stopped in the depths of my heart. I glanced in the sliding glass door, the starlit young man had his hand on my shoulder.

His face was very much like my own. We had the same impish eyes and the same petulant scowl.

“Who are you,” I asked in a daze.

“I've always been with you,” he replied, “and I came before you.”

“Josh? Are you saying you're my brother...or rather the spirit of my brother.”

A smile was his only reply. It was the smile my father always wore when he wanted me to stop asking what he deemed silly questions. This was the child born in the winter of 1978 – the child who was an angel before he ever got to take his first breath. My mother and father's only son – my brother.

“You made that head pop out my wall when I was 3, didn't you,” I said forgetting the horrors I had witnessed only moments before.

Josh grinned, “I have no idea what you're saying to me right now.”

I smiled in return, but as quickly as it appeared on my lips – it vanished in the same fashion.

“I survived Dwayne, because you have always been with me,” I said releasing an incredulous breath.

“Well you did most of the work, but I did steer you some of the way.”

My lips trembled and I repeated, “Does he have Amber too?”

Josh shook his head.

“I may have interjected more than I am allowed with Amber, which is why Dwayne came here today. Like most souls taken so shockingly and suddenly, she was a bit disoriented when she left her body. Amber is feisty one though,” Josh said with an entertained shake of the head. “She got one look at the shadows and shades as they came for her,” Josh chuckled, “Next thing you know she's readying for battle. It was about that time that I dropped a bomb of light on the ink blots, and Amber got away. The girl's got moxie, but she didn't stand a chance on her own. I tried to get you to budge to distract the dark blobs...Look, don't get me wrong, I understand, but seriously, Sis, when an angel is holding out their hand and telling you that you're needed elsewhere, well they kind of mean it, so in the words of our father, get off of your dead ass next time.”

“The way you talk! Can angels say “ass?” I mean, isn't that kind of taboo in your realm or whatever?”

“It is when in the “realm” or what-have-you, but down here,” Josh shrugged, “as long as we don't take the Lord's name in vain its cool. Although some of the words that come out of your mouth I wouldn't say to Lucifer himself. But we're getting off point here Sis, you have some business to attend to. I'm allowed to guide you to where you need to go, and basically cover your ass if-when the shit hits the fan, but that's it for a Guardian. Dwayne is something you're going to have to conquer yourself, and as Lisa's soul is at stake as well, I'm going to bet you're going to come with me now, right,” he said holding out his hand.

….....................................................................................

“So when you said follow you, I expected to you know fly off into the sunset, kind of like Lois Lane and Superman. This business with the shady cab and dodgy airport is the complete opposite of what I had in mind,” I said to the empty air in the seat beside me. I couldn't see Josh, but I knew he was there.

“Do you want to get kicked off the plane for suspicious behavior?! Stop talking to yourself! If you want to communicate with me in public, write it down!”

I glanced out the window and watched Nashville fade away under the heavy cloud cover. Josh had put me on a plane to Antigua, Guatemala. We left a private airport that seemed to be reserved for quick escapes and drug smuggling. The plane was small and pieced together with scraps of metal, bolts, screws, and the occasional strip of duct tape. Under normal circumstances I would have medicated myself into an induced coma, but as I was traveling with a guardian angel, I left well enough alone. After a few minutes the stewardess returned with a pen and a pad of paper.

“Am I a fugitive on the run,” I wrote.

“No, a note was left at the front office for the authorities in your hand. It explained what you saw, what events transpired before the incident, and that with everything that had just happened with Amber Peck in Ocala, Florida, you were leaving the country indefinitely to get your head on strait. And I left an email address for them if they needed to question you further. As for Lisa's family, you sent her mother and sister very eloquent letters discussing how this act had been a breaking point for you, but not to worry you would return when you had collected your thoughts.”

“What about our family,” I wrote.

“The same, Mom, Dad and our sister have a letter explaining your break down – and that you'll be back when you can. Everyone has the same email, and I will make sure you have a moment to check it. I don't expect that this is going to take long – now that you understand what's going on.”

“How am I going to do this? I'm not a comic book character, I have no super powers. Hell, I've never even been in a fight. How am I supposed to defeat the man who chased me from our mother? I am terrified brother.”

“You should be terrified. Dwayne is evil – with every understanding of the word. He will do everything in his power to capitalize on your fear of him. Maybe I was foolish to say that you know what is at stake. Do you Rose? Do you know just exactly what's at stake here?”

“Lisa's soul, right?”

“(sigh) Yes, but so is yours, and every one you know. If Dwayne wins this battle, all is lost. With your demise comes the end of any happiness for those that knew and loved the 3 of you. The tragedy of losing the 3 of you so close together would be so devastating that Lucifer's numbers would increase drastically and Dwayne would be his prized bounty hunter. No one would ever be free of that man, not even me.”

My eyes closed, and my chest tightened with pressure that I wasn't prepared for.

“This is too big Josh. I am only one person. I can't do this.”

“You have a strength inside you – that is astounding. But you've never had to tap into it on your own. Someone has always been there to urge you on. That's why I was put into active duty so to speak. I was never supposed appear before you. My job has always been to move or inspire you. You maybe angry with Him, but God hasn't abandoned you – not in the way you believe.”

A tear took a swan dive from the corner of my eye.

“Why am I going to Antigua?”

“Nice transition (smiley face), there is a cave that is about a days journey away. As cliché as it may seem, in the bowels of this dank place is Dwayne's lair and it is there that you must face him.”

The click of the pen as the tip disappeared into its plastic housing echoed throughout the cabin. It was late now, and everyone on the plane had succumbed to sleep. I pulled the complimentary blanket over my shoulders, and curled into the window of the plane. The blanket reeked of must and mildew, but I paid it no mind. There was a light blinking over the wing that hypnotized with every green flash. An aching emptiness was taking a hold of me, and there seemed to be nothing I could do to relinquish its grip. Amber's murder had brought with it a numbing chill – but Lisa's suicide – it brought with it the end of everything that I had been. There was no joy in my eyes. There was no song in my heart. I was a husk – a shell of my former being. I barely had the energy to close my eyes, and I was expected to succeed where only fools dared to tread. Nothing was going to ready me for tomorrow, so I shut my eyes and fell into a disjointed sleep.

Images of blood, bullets, and screams furrowed my brow. The silent tears as my mother was roared at by Dwayne. The cowering fear as Dwayne turned his rage on me. His demonic blue eyes. His ever snaring smile. The malice causing the friction and tension in his flexing muscles. Amber's blood. Lisa's blood. My mother's bruised neck. All the nights I spent panicked under the covers in my bedroom waiting for Dwayne to finally make good on his word and kill me in my sleep. These moments moved through my mind in a flip-book strobe of raving madness. But I couldn't wake. I lay in my cushioned seat, buckled in and ready for the next wave of nightmares. The ebb and flow of hate rolled over me until we landed in Antigua.

It wasn't until I was checked into the Jungle Party Hostel that Josh appeared once more.

“Okay, you need to go to the front desk and set up a day trip to Semuc Champey. You'll be with a group, so this maybe difficult, but you will have to separate from everyone before leaving the cave.”

I continued fussing with the sheets and blankets on the top bunk, which was where I was going to be sleeping.

“What if I can't,” I said.
“You can and will. Remember what Yoda said? 'Try not, Do. Or do not, there is no try.'”

“Did you seriously just drop an Empire Strikes Back reference on me,” I laughed.

“Uh, no, but I can if that's what a guy's got to do to get your attention,” said a very British voice behind me.

I turned to see a tall, beach-bummed blonde gentleman standing behind me. He had moved into the room with all the silent stealth of a trained ninja. The door hadn't creaked for him, nor had the bottom bunk beside me when he dropped his back-packing knapsack on the flimsy mattress. And while I thought I had been conversing with Josh, this young traveler had put up a clothing rack loaded with his wet laundry. He had eyes the color of Caribbean, and they sparkled like the water on a sunny summer day.

My cheeks were warm and red with a blush, “Uh, I guess I should inform you that I have never let go of my imaginary friend. And we were just in the midst of a heated debate,” I said with a small grin.

He laughed, “Well everyone's got their vices. Hi, I'm Jason, pleasure to meet you,” he said holding out his hand.

“Rose. That's quite a spread you've got there,” I said gesturing to his clothing rack, “In all my travels, I don't think I've come across someone as organized.”

Jason smiled, “Its a money saver, so its worth the weight in my pack,” he said with a wink.

“So where are you from? I detect a States accent.”

“You are correct sir, I'm from all over actually. In fact I'd say I am currently without a State, because I can't go back to two of the States I was just in.”

“Are you on the run,” Jason asked intrigued, “you really don't look like the type of girl that'd be hiding from the law.”

“Well...Two weeks ago my best friend was murdered in Florida, and just yesterday, our best friend ate her gun in Tennessee. I was living in Florida at the time of the murder, and well I was staying with my friend when she decided to take her life. I know that is way too personal after only five minutes of casual chat, but...whatever...I am beyond common etiquette at this point.”

He nodded, “That is a heavy load of bollocks, and I can't say that I blame you. I was about to leave for a drink, you care to join me?”

“Absolutely. I just have to stop off at the front desk before we head out. I have to set up a day trip.”

“No worries, I've got to find a shirt that's clean and dry.”

We walked in silence for a few minutes soaking up the cobblestones and vibrant colors painting the quirky town. Antigua was in a valley and was surrounded by mountainous volcanoes. The tallest, Agua, was inactive, but the one south of our hostel was called Pacaya, and it had erupted a week before our arrival. Not far from where we were staying, Jason and I found a bar that reminded him of the “pubs back home in merry ol' London.”

“So tell me, does anyone know where in the world you are, or did you just run away when the shit hit the fan?”

“I ran away, but can you blame me? I feel marked,” I admitted stirring my rum and coke with a thin, black straw.

“Marked? Like for death?”

“Yeah. I mean, two head shots in two weeks? I feel like I should be wearing a Kevlar helmet right now, or that I should be locked away from everyone so they don't meet the same fate as my two friends. I am either marked for death, or cursed, either way, your odds of survival lessen every second you sit next in this chair beside me.”

“I have always been a man who loved living dangerously, I will take my chances thank you very much.”

I chuckled, “Thank you for taking me out. I needed a break from all the seriousness life has bestowed upon me.”

“In other words you really needed to get pissed drunk?”

“Yes! Exactly! What can't be dealt with at the bottom of liquor bottle? Nothing, that's what.”

Jason laughed, and clinked his glass against mine, “Cheers, I will drink to that.”

“I don't mean to be presumptuous, but I think there is a book you need to read...Well a couple actually...if you haven't already.”

“Lay 'em on me,” I said.

“One, the Alchemist by Paulo Cuehlo. And the other is Hell's Angels....”

“Ahhh, Doc Thompson. Hell's Angels - “The Edge, there is no honest way to explain it, for the only ones who really know where it is have gone over.””

“Brilliant! You are seriously one of the coolest girls I've had the pleasure of meeting. You've read Thompson...fucking brilliant.”

“Yeah, well I get around, Literary speaking, of course,” I said with a laugh. “I've actually read both of them, but my question for you, is why do you think I need to read them at this moment in my life?”

All Material is under Copyright to Nellie Rose Daft May 2011

Awake My Soul

2011-04-28T13:27:00.000-07:00

This term I have a mythology course, and the main project of the course is to write a Heroes Journey that puts us (the author) as the hero on said journey. Well once I found out there were no length restrictions, a damn burst. As writing goes, its against the rules to share something that is unfinished, but I've never been one to follow rules - so here is a tease:

It was a subtle – an almost inaudible noise – but it registered in my conscious mind as I lay sleeping. I opened one eye and curled deeper into my covers. That soft “click” was the opening of my front door. My roommate must of returned home. The time read: 3a.m. No, it wouldn't be her. Not at this hour. Light and calculated steps whispered down the hallway. Those steps stopped just outside my door. There was an intake of breath, and I held mine. Another click, but this wasn't a door opening. This particular click was the cocking of a gun. I wanted to scream, or melt into my pillows. But I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't speak – All I could do was watch as the barrel of a shotgun appeared from the corner of my door. A blink later there was a man standing in my doorway, aiming for my head. It was my roommate's boyfriend. Our eyes met, and then he pulled the trigger with a smile.

The time was now 3:15. I lay staring at the ceiling trying to discount everything I had just witnessed and experienced. I didn't want to believe that something like this could happen – most especially to me. Was this a message for me? Do I need to stop convincing my best friend and roommate that her current boyfriend is an asshole? Or do I need to warn her that he is a psycho killer? Would she believe me? Would she listen?

Probably not – I wouldn't believe me. And this...this was insane! It was too much. It happened to me and I barely believed it, there was no way I could convince her that what I was saying was a message from beyond.

Sleep never found me again, I was too frightened.

…..................................................................................

“Well Rose, don't you look chipper this afternoon,” said my roommate Amber as I walked in our apartment after work.

“I had a bad dream last night, and I couldn't fall back asleep after.”

Amber cocked her head, and squinted as she gazed at me.

“What aren't you telling me? Rose, we've been friends for years, I know when something is bugging you. And it certainly isn't a bad dream.”

I sighed, and turned away for a moment.

“I had the weirdest experience of my life last night Am, and please just keep an open mind. So I was in a deep sleep when I thought I heard the front door open – but here's how it was weird. Even though I was still sleeping in bed, it was like I was wide awake. Everything that was happening in the dream – to me – seemed to really be happening. I heard footsteps coming down the hallway, they stopped outside the door, and the your boyfriend was standing in my doorway with a rifle pointed at my head.”

“You had a dream about Jack?”

I put a hand to stop her questions, “Please let me finish, and then you can interrogate me.”

“Wow, I wouldn't have been able to sleep after that either. What do you think it all means? I mean, do you think it was just a dream, or what?”

“I don't know, I mean obviously, if wasn't just a dream – that message wouldn't be for me, it was Jack. It would be a message for you.”

Am turned away and gazed at her shuffling feet, “I know. He and I broke up yesterday – for good this time,” she said gazing directly into my eyes. “I stayed with my parents last night.”

“Should we worry about his going mad, or did things end as well as they possibly can in that type of situation?”

She sighed, “It ended as well as can be expected. But on a brighter note, are you ready for next week? I am so excited to see Lisa again after all these years,” Amber said with a clap.

Amber and I shared a look. She shook her head, as I lowered mine.

“Yeah, but I should have told her before she moved down...”

“Seriously Rose! Didn't you say you tried to tell her, but she told you she didn't want to hear it because Dwayne was her friend too and she didn't want to get in the middle of your “spat”?”

“Well, yeah, but....”

“What's that smile for,” I asked as Amber gazed at her cellphone.

She looked up with sparkling eyes, “John just sent me a text. It looks its just going to be me and him for the camping trip.”

I laughed, “Well, isn't life working out perfectly for you in that area – how long have you been crushing on him for now? A year?”

She giggled, “Something like that. If things stay like this, 2006 is going to be my best year yet!”

One week later......

Lisa answered on the second ring.

“Hey girl, what’s up?”

“Do you have Mom Peck’s number, by chance?”

“Why, what’s wrong?” Lisa gasped, “Amber hasn’t been home has she,” and before I could respond, Lisa went strait into meltdown mode. “Oh my God,” she sobbed, and then she proceeded to give in to hysterical cries of gibberish.

“Okay.”

“Alright, I will call you right back.”

Five minutes passed like five years. By the time Lisa finally called back, I looked down at my feet to make sure I hadn’t developed roots.

“Am I good, or am I good,” Lisa said quite please with herself.

“Did you get a hold of her?”

“Sort of.”

I sighed.

As I wrote down the digits, I said, “Lisa, whatever would I do without your dramatic episodes?”

“I love you Rose, please don’t leave me out of this. Keep me posted, please.”

“I love you too Lisa, and I promise I will not keep you out of the loop. I will talk to you later.”

My heart was drowning in my stomach as I dialed Amber’s mother. This call was going to leave a mark on my soul.

“Rose? Is this you?”

“Yeah Mom, it’s me.”

“Lisa called, because I don't have your number and I didn’t think to call your service provider. No, I haven’t heard from her, she hasn’t been home, and she hasn’t been to work.”

“Oh God. She’s gone Rose, I just know my daughter is dead. I can feel it….”

“Stop it! Amber’s fine Mom, she’s fine! We’re going to find her, and she might be hurt, but that’s it! We can’t go into this believing the worst has happened.”

I could hear Amber’s Dad in the background yelling the same phrases at her that I was.

“I can’t help it Rose. Something is wrong, and I can’t shake that the worst has happened. When is the last time you saw her?”

“When she dropped me off at work Tuesday morning.”

“Was John with her?”

“No.”

She continued, “We didn’t get to meet this John, and she couldn’t definitively tell us where in the forest she was going….I am beside myself Rose, absolutely beside myself.”

“I tried filing a missing person’s report, but they wouldn’t let me because I am not family.”

“The officer said he would be to the apartment sometime after 4:30, so Dad and I will be there at 4. Thank you for being here Rose, I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t here.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll find her.”

As I hung up, I was glad I was in a dark room alone. My brain was scrambled and nerves were fried.

“Rose? What are you doing sitting here in the dark? Why aren’t you at your desk,” asked my boss, Maude.

When I looked up from the computer screen, Maude’s expression changed from one of chastisement to concern.

“Is everything alright?”

I shook my head, “No, my roommate is missing, and I need to meet her parents at our apartment. An officer is coming to speak to us.”

“Thank you,” I said as I got up from my chair.

Maude squeezed my shoulder as I walked by, “My prayers are with you, and call if you need anything.”

Walking to the bus stop felt like I was trekking across the Ural Mountains, cold and isolated. My conversations with Lisa and Mom Peck left me drained and wretched.

I can’t remember the specific month when Amber and I first met, but I know a person could still smell snow in the air the minute they walked out the door. The little hairs of my nose turned to irritating icicles upon inhaling as I stepped out onto the front steps of my mom's single wide trailer. It was about six-thirty in the morning, a horrible time to make a seventh grader walk to the bus. Every morning at the precise moment I would turn to make sure the door was locked, a skinny girl would come bounding down a slight hill between the trailers across the street. Every day for a week we walked on opposite sides of the road, side-glancing at one another, but never saying a word. We would turn left at the corner, still trotting on opposing sides of the lane. When she walked up the steps to a brown and beige double-wide at the next corner, the skinny one would peak over her shoulder at me before knocking on the door.

One day the morning began like every other. Me, checking the door, by pulling roughly on the handle to slam the door against the frame five or six times; the skinny girl bounding down the hill to step in time with me as we ventured down the street. I can’t remember the date, but one morning marked a fateful spot in history, the skinny girl spoke.

“I’m Amber, I see you every morning. Would you like to walk with me?”

Taken aback, I hesitated before replying, “Sure.”

I stepped off the sidewalk to cross over, but she was sprinting towards me, shouting, “No don’t, I’ll come to you.”

“Rose,” I said smiling back in spite of myself.

“Will I see you tomorrow then, same time, same place,” Amber asked, her voice soft and vulnerable now.

“You bet,” I said waving her off.

Releasing a breath watching her walk through Donna’s door, I shook my head chuckling. We had only walked a block together, and after trying to keep up with her monologue, I was exhausted. From the minute she crossed the street, until she stepped up to Donna’s door, Amber hadn’t shut up once, not even to catch her breath between sentences. And my life hadn’t been quiet since, until now.

…...............................................................................................................

“Why aren’t they talking to you,” I asked Dad Peck as we watched the detectives wandering about the dirt road where we'd found Amber's vehicle the following morning.

I glared at the officers around me, “So they’re just going to ignore us?! What’s the fricking hold up?! And how did John's family find them?!”

“So we’re just supposed to stand here and let all these people treat us like we’re invisible! This is ridiculous!”

I was going to continue, but a woman with inappropriate boots spoke up. She was wearing black leather boots with a mid size heal – no one would ever wear those to go hiking, let alone a search and rescue hike.

The two of us didn’t say a word – we waited for Nancy to speak.

She stood before him with a face flushed and wet with tears, roaring that she was no longer going to live in fear. She was not going to tolerate his bullying or his scare tactics. And if he couldn’t change how he dealt with her, then she was going to cut him out of her life completely. She told him that he’d be dead to her. I was present for this exchange and I watched, amazed and proud that the girl before me was my best friend. She was so strong, so fearless. And as Dad Peck wrapped his arms around his daughter for what became the first real embrace between them, he wept - for Amber had tamed the beast that had haunted her sleep for years. Amber had survived her father's wrath, and to me, this made her invincible. And I was fairly certain, Dad Peck felt this way too.

“Rose?”

Shaking my head, I looked up to see Dad Peck looking at me intently.

“I’m sorry, what?”
“Nancy just offered to have one of the officers take you back to the RV park.”

I shook my head, “No, I’m staying here. I’m not going anywhere until we know…well, until we know.”

Dad nodded, “I thought as much, but I thought we should run it by you all the same.”

Nancy rubbed my arm, “Are you sure you don’t want one of the officers to give you a ride away from here? It’s going to be a long day.”

“My place is here, I’m not going anywhere.”

Dad Peck and I went are separate ways for the remainder of the afternoon. He stood by his truck and occasionally spoke to an officer or detective – begging for whatever information they were willing to give him. As for me, I sat on a stump staring at the trail leading to Amber's body.

“Please follow me, you're needed elsewhere,” the young man said as he held out his hand.

Again the young man held out his hand, “Please follow me, you're needed elsewhere.”

“Are you deaf? I'm not going anywhere. Not for anyone, not even God .”

Not to be deterred, the young man bore into my eyes with an emblazoned gaze, “It is imperative that you leave this place now, you're needed elsewhere.”

“I will not move,” I roared.

“Rose! No one is asking you to move, what's the matter,” asked Dad Peck with concern in his eyes.

Dad nodded not buying what I was selling, but he left it alone.

“I'm going to be in the Semi-Trailer for a bit. They've come to let me identify the body,” he said turning to walk away.

“I'm coming with you,” I said stepping in time with him.

“Rose, I think its best if you wait outside. They only need one person to identify her.”

Dad Peck nodded, and led the way.

“Before we get to the worst of business, let me start by saying how deeply sorry I am for you loss. There is nothing more tragic than a viable, young life taken well before its time,” said the Sheriff of Marion County, “We know from ballistics that Amber and John were killed by rounds fired from an AK-47. John sustained wounds that would have been lethal, the shot to his head was....well...unnecessary. Amber was killed at close range by a shot to her head. Sorry to be so forward and blunt, but we have found that the more concise we are with the details, the better off the family of the victims are.” He hung his head briefly to collect his thoughts and words. The sheriff then handed a piece of paper to Dad Peck and then John's father.

“Take all the time you need,” he said and then gestured for the two men to flip over the piece of paper.

…..................................................................................................................

14 days had passed since my best friend was murdered, and I had thought of nothing more than Amber and Lisa. The loss of Amber had left a crater the size of the moon in my life. She was my phantom limb, and every time I felt her near I attempted to reach out to no avail. But Lisa, I was in a panic over her well being. She had revealed over her recent weekend with Amber and I that she was Manic Depressive Bi-Polar. In the past Lisa had attempted to take her life, and knowing her the way I did – I knew those dark thoughts were once again pressing on her mind. My coming to Nashville Tennessee was as much about self preservation, as it was to take care of my fragile friend. I couldn't lose another so soon.

“Did they really get the guy that did it,” asked Lisa, “And it really wasn't Jack?”

Lisa looked away with tears in her eyes, “It's my fault,” she said with a wet whisper.

“I don't care what anyone says...its my fault she's dead. If I had never come down to visit, she wouldn't have postponed her trip, and then she would never have been there....”

“God Damn it Lisa,” I shouted, “Shut up!! I don't want to hear another word!! Do you have any idea how lucky we are that we had that day – the three of us together?!! You and Amber reconnecting after 7 years of silence just days before she died is a God Damn miracle, and I won't hear another word about it!!”

“Rose,” Lisa said with a sob, “I just miss her so much, and I feel like I am responsible for it.”

I sat by her side, and wrapped my arm around her shoulders. With my head resting upon hers, I closed my eyes to hold back my tears.

“So do I, but that's the plight of the living – we feel guilty because we're still alive. I miss her too, more than I could ever say.”

“She was so pretty that day,” Lisa whispered.

“What day,” I asked.

“That last day – when we went to ride the Sling-Shot in Orlando.”

I swallowed a sob, “Yeah, she was kind of amazing in that moment.”

There was a monitor to watch from that Lisa and I ran to, as Amber was getting strapped in. Lisa and I stood shoulder to shoulder, and watched as our friend took flight. Amber's entire frame was wracked with tremors. I had never seen her so scared. She had a white-knuckled grip on her shoulder harness, and closed her eyes to take in a deep breath. And then they were off. There was no sound, but her screams could be heard from the ground. Every word out of her mouth was, “Fuck!” Then the fear was gone, and she became a 5 foot, 95lb Amazon. Her face was awash with a fire that bellowed she was a warrior. And then her expression changed once again. The free falls and the rockets up were becoming more subdued, and this was where Amber glowed. She positively radiated peace. She pressed her hand to her heart, and covered her lips with the other. There were tears in her eyes, and they were luminescent dew drops shining in her eyes. With a sob, she said, “That was beautiful.” Tremulous and tender, she shone like a goddess for that small measure of time. Amber was right, I had never seen anything more beautiful than that moment.

“I hate myself for not buying that DVD,” Lisa growled.

“Same here, but we had no idea that was going to be the last thing we did together. But at least we have the memory.”

“I guess...hey...do you want to go for a walk? I've got to move. I am getting too keyed up to sit,” Lisa said with a grimace.
“A walk sounds fabulous.”

“Alright, I will meet you outside. I've to pee, and grab some smokes.”

I smiled, “Okie Dokie Smokie.”

I pounded on the glass, “Lisa!! What are you doing?! Let me in!”

Lisa snapped to a stop from her pacing.

In one blink, Lisa inserted the barrel of the gun in her mouth. With the second blink - she pulled the trigger and fell to the floor in a haze of smoke, brains, and blood.

“Rose,” Lisa's soul cried, “Help me! I'm sorry!! Don't let them take me!! Rose!! Rose!!!”

I turned to the starlit young man frantic for answers, “What's happening?! Why won't you stop this?! Help her,” I shouted as I shifted my gaze back to the happenings in the apartment.

“How is this happening,” I whispered, “Last I heard he was in prison, not dead. How can he do this? Is this really happening?”

With a sinister wink and a rotted smile, Dwayne faded away with the shadows and shades. And with him, Lisa.

My head hung in despair and shame, and my chin resting on my chest, I softly asked, “Does he have Amber too?”

At once there was a warmth on my shoulder that I've never experienced. It started with the flesh, and stopped in the depths of my heart. I glanced in the sliding glass door, the starlit young man had his hand on my shoulder.

His eyes were very much like my own. His face, the same impish eyes and the same petulant scowl.

“Who are you,” I asked in a daze.

“I've always been with you,” he replied, “and I came before you.”

“Josh? Are you saying you're my brother...or rather the spirit of my brother.”

“You made that head pop out my wall when I was 3, didn't you,” I said forgetting the horrors I had witnessed only moments before.

Josh grinned, “I have no idea what you're saying to me right now.”

I smiled in return, but as quickly as it appeared on my lips – it vanished in the same fashion.

“I survived Dwayne, because you have always been with me,” I said releasing an incredulous breath.

“Well you did most of the work, but I did steer you most of the way.”

My lips trembled and I repeated, “Does he have Amber too?”

Josh shook his head.

“The way you talk! Can angels say “ass?” I mean, isn't that kind of taboo in your realm or whatever?”

“It is when in the “realm” or “what-have-you,” but down here,” Josh shrugged, “as long as we don't take the Lord's name in vain its cool. Although some of the words that come out of your mouth – I wouldn't say to Lucifer himself. But we're getting off point here Sis, you have some business to attend to. I'm allowed to guide you to where you need to go, and basically cover your ass if-when the shit hits the fan, but that's it for a Guardian. Dwayne is something you're going to have to conquer yourself, and as Lisa's soul is at stake as well, I'm going to bet you're going to come with me now, right,” he said holding out his hand.

….....................................................................................

“Do you want to get kicked off the plane for suspicious behavior?! Stop talking to yourself! If you want to communicate with me in public, write it down!”

“Am I a fugitive on the run,” I wrote.

“What about our family,” I wrote.

“Lisa's soul, right?”

My eyes closed, and my chest tightened with pressure that I wasn't prepared for.

“This is too big Josh. I am only one person. I can't do this.”

“You have a strength inside you – that is astounding. There is a courage in you that rivals Achilles or Hector – but you've never had to tap into it on your own. Someone has always been there to urge you on. That's why I was put into active duty so to speak. I was never supposed appear before you. My job has always been to move or inspire you. You maybe angry with Him, but God hasn't abandoned you – not in the way you believe.”

A tear took a swan dive from the corner of my eye.

“Why am I going to Antigua?”

It wasn't until I was checked into the Jungle Party Hostel that Josh appeared once more.

“Okay, you need to go to the front desk and set up a day trip to the Lanquin Caves and Semuc Champey. I don't think its possible to do one without the other. You'll be with a group, so this maybe difficult, but you will have to separate from everyone before leaving the cave.”

I continued fussing with the sheets and blankets on the top bunk, which was where I was going to be sleeping.

“What if I can't?”
“You can and will. Remember what Yoda said? 'Try not, Do. Or do not, there is no try.'”

I turned to Josh with a dropped jaw.

“Did you seriously just drop an Empire Strikes Back reference on me,” I laughed.

“Uh, no, but I can if that's what a guy's got to do to get your attention,” said a very British voice behind me.

I turned to see a tall, beach-bummed blonde gentleman standing behind me. He had moved into the room with all the silent stealth of a trained ninja. The door hadn't creaked for him, nor had his bottom bunk beside me as he had dropped his back-packing knapsack on the flimsy mattress. And while I thought I had been conversing with Josh, this young traveler had put up a clothing rack loaded with his wet laundry. He had eyes the color of Caribbean, and they sparkled like the water on a sunny summer day.

He laughed, “Well everyone's got their vices. Hi, I'm Jason, pleasure to meet you,” he said holding out his hand.

“Rose. That's quite a spread you've got there,” I said gesturing to his clothing rack, “In all my travels, I don't think I've come across someone as organized.”

Jason smiled, “Its a money saver, so its worth the weight in my pack,” he said with a wink.

“So where are you from? I detect a States accent.”

“You are correct sir, I'm from all over actually. In fact I'd say I am currently without a State, because I can't go back to two of the States I was just in.”

“Are you on the run,” Jason asked intrigued, “you really don't look like the type of girl that'd be hiding from the law.”

“Well...Two weeks ago my best friend was murdered in Florida, and just yesterday, our best friend just ate her gun in Tennessee. I was living in Florida at the time of the murder, and well I was just staying with my friend when she decided to take her life. I know that is way too personal after only five minutes of casual chat, but...whatever...I am beyond common etiquette at this point.”

He nodded, “That is a heavy load of crap, and I can't say that I blame you. I was about to leave for a drink, you care to join me?”

“Absolutely. I just have to stop off at the front desk before we head out. I have to set up a day trip.”

“No worries, I've got to find a shirt that's clean and dry.”

“So tell me, does anyone know where in the world you are, or did you just run away when the shit hit the fan?”

“I ran away, but can you blame me? I feel marked,” I admitted stirring my rum and coke with a thin, black straw.

“Marked? Like for death?”

“I have always been a man who loved living dangerously, I will take my chances thank you very much.”

I chuckled, “Thank you for taking me out. I needed a break from all the seriousness life has bestowed upon me.”

“In other words you really needed to get your drink on?”

“Yes! Exactly! What can't be dealt with at the bottom of liquor bottle? Nothing, that's what.”

Jason laughed, and clinked his glass against mine, “Cheers, I will drink to that.”

“I don't mean to be presumptuous, but I think there is a book you need to read...Well a couple actually...if you haven't already.”

“Lay 'em on me,” I said.

“One, the Alchemist by Paulo Cuehlo. And the other is Hell's Angels....”

“Ahhh, Doc Thompson. Hell's Angels - “The Edge, there is no honest way to explain it, for the only ones who really know where it is have gone over.””

“Brilliant! You are seriously one of the coolest girls I've had the pleasure of meeting. You've read Thompson...fucking brilliant.”

“Flattery will get you every where with me, sir. You keep this up, you'll get my clothes off for sure,” I said focusing on the wet napkin under my glass.

Jason chuckled, “Good to know, but that's not what this is about. Sometimes a person needs to be reminded by a stranger that they have all the potential in the world, and that it would be a waste to throw it away or believe that they are nothing more than fodder for fire.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, and squeezed his hand, “Thank you. You will never know what your words have meant to me.”

He held my hand in his as I attempted to pull mine away, “Now that that's out of the way, let's get back to the business of getting your clothes off,” Jason took notice of my empty glass, “Rum and Coke, right?”

Despite our heavy flirting throughout the remainder of our evening, Jason and I both slept alone. As I readied myself in the morning, Jason met me in the common area with a cup of aromatic coffee.

“That my hair would look spectacular sprawled out on your naked chest, or that I have an amazing tongue...you said so many things, refresh my memory.”

“You're incorrigible,” he laughed, “I said you have an amazing tongue, really? I don't recall kissing you,” he said utterly confused.

“It was after I tied triple knots in that cherry stem.”

“Ah, yes...but no, I was talking about the serious stuff that I can not recall now thanks to the memory of the stem.”

….................................................................................

I settled into my seat in the air conditioned mini-van and waited for take off. Soon the van was full, and we began our journey to Semuc Champey. There were conversations in Spanish, Hebrew, and German all around me but all I could hear were the words before me on the page echoing in my head. The Shepard boy Santiago, and his journey offered lessons for any adventure in life. Recognize the signs, listen to the language of the world, trust/talk to your heart, but ultimately never give up. There was still an hour of travel time left when I finished the book, once again the story transcended the page. Cuehlo's words always moved and inspired me, and they always came to me at the exact moment when I need the message imbued in the book. I asked the girl beside me if she had a pen and piece of paper I could borrow. She ripped a sheet from her notebook and handed me a pencil. I nodded my thanks and started to write to my brother. It'd been awhile since he made an appearance.

“Have I lost you” I wrote.

“No, I am still here. You had quite the evening.”

“Yeah, it was serious, yet still flirty and fun. Tell me were you prompting Jason to say those things to me.”

“Actually no, he did that all on his own. Good man.”

“He really was. Can I ask, is he one that will stick around in my life, or was this a chance meeting?”

“Your time together is going to stay with you for forever, but the two of you have different paths to take and they don't cross again.”

“Josh, is it wrong that I haven't thought of Amber or Lisa in the past few hours?”

An unmistakeable warmth was enveloping my heart, and I knew that even though I couldn't see him, Josh's hand was on my shoulder.

“Let me ask you a question – Do you think that Amber and Lisa would want you to mourn them every second of every day, or do you think they'd want you to enjoy what time you have on this Earth?”

“They'd more than likely want me to do a bit of both,” I said with a soggy smile, “We were all friends for a reason, we're all kind selflessly self-centered,” I wrote.

“That sounds contradictory.”

“It is, but its true. We would do anything for anyone, but we wanted recognition too.”

“Are you ready? It won't be long now before you're there. You'll see Semuc Champey today, and then Lanquin Cave the following morning.”

“None of this seems real to me, so I guess I am as ready as I will every be,” I wrote.

“Well Sis, it is very real, and it is happening to you, so be ready for what tomorrow brings. The closer you are to the cave, the more you'll understand what I am warning you against.”

…...................................................................................

The thought of having to face him and ultimately defeat his sinister urge was beyond comprehension. I hadn't seen him in 10 years, but the wounds he'd inflicted upon my soul were still fresh. He never laid a hand on me. I was never kicked, shoved, or bull whipped – but it felt like I had. His roars and bellows still echo in my mind. I can still recall the venom dripping from his snarl as he cursed me. His eyes – black holes that swallowed me in their vacuum of hate – taunted and plagued me even now. Since I'd been out from under his thumb, I'd done everything I could think of to escape those eyes. But they always found me.

Soon the group and I were ushered to a couple of junkyard trucks. We piled into the back and did our best to avoid searing our skin on the hot skillet that was the bed of the truck. As we drove down the gravel road hitting every pot hole and divot, I was struck my the lush beauty of the Guatemalan countryside. We were surrounded by rolling hills spotted with grazing cattle and spotted with twisted green foliage. It was teetering on the edge of a primal wildness and a tamed serenity. Rickety shacks popped up here and there. They were over brimming with poverty, but also a joy that glowed about the people in a heavenly halo. Most of them had less than nothing, but their smiles revealed a deeper richness that many will never know.

“Josh, talk to me please,” I wrote.

“I told you the closer we got, the worse you were going to feel.”

“Well knowing that and experiencing it are two totally separate things.”

“(sigh) I know, and I wish this wasn't happening to you at all – but there was nothing I could do to stop this from transpiring. If I could have saved you from this task, I would have.”

“I know I have to have this battle as you call it, but honestly, what is it going to solve if he is in a coma somewhere? Won't he just sprout back up like a weed?”

“You know that urban myth that if you die in your dream, you die in reality?”

“Yeah.”

“Its not really a myth in this instance. Destroy the soul, destroy the man.”

I swallowed a moan. “I have to kill him?”

“Or be killed.”

In a fit of terror and rage, I crushed the paper cup into a ball and tossed it as far as the wind would carry it.

Those sitting near me spoke amongst themselves in Spanish. They were a group of traveling musicians from Spain. Three men and one woman. The woman was a spectacular specimen of the female form. Her hair was a deep black with crimson flecks, and her eyes were the color of the Mediterranean Sea. She was petite and svelte, but instead of parading around like Narcissus – she wore a shy and humble smile. Her merry band of men were attentive and protective of her, but still cut loose as boys usually do. Though the three men were never far from her side, one was more possessive than the others and from the way she looked at him – he was her man. At first the group had looked upon me with fair regard, but now as I was trembling and mumbling to myself – I was falling from favor. The man with the dreadlocks pulled back in a pony tale spoke to me in English.

“Miss, are you okay?”

“Not really. I am not used to the food down here. My stomach is really starting to kill me,” I lied.

“Do you want me to tell the driver to turn around and take you back to the hostel,” he said with a sympathetic smile.

I shook my head, “That is nice of you to offer, but I will be alright. I will just hang back by the truck instead of swim. The altitude and fresh air is starting to help.”

He nodded, “Okay, but if you start to feel worse, come find me and I will get one of the drivers.”

“Thank you,” I said with a smile.

“He is here. Run.”

With a ricocheting pop, and a cloud of smoke Dwayne appeared before me. He rushed me at with a roar and snarl. Then the world went black.

"One must still have chaos in one's self...."

2010-12-27T07:05:00.000-08:00

"...in order to give birth to dancing stars." F. Nietzsche.

The credits roll into an ambiguous ending...and for once I smile. For me, the film could not have ended any other way. It was an allegory of Artistic Ecstasy. I was committed and the embers were stoked to flame. And so the conversation began...

“I get the premise of dying for one's art, or the battle with one's self to rise to the next level...but this notion of not knowing what was the nightmare or the reality...this aspect, I don't quite see the point,” T.

“But that is the point. How do you completely transcend your/their expectations with your art, if you don't lose yourself to point that you no longer recognize your surroundings? How can you kill the voices, doubt, and fear – if you're not crawling out of your skin, and essentially loosing your mind,” me. (I'm not quoting T. and I verbatim – I meant to say the latter, and I paraphrased the former.)

The movie is Black Swan, but I am not here to offer a critique of the film or Natalie Portman's (brilliant) performance. The focus is on the thoughts and feelings thus inspired by the film...or the conversation if you will.

The strobe of scenes flickering between drug induced paranoia and foggy blurbs of reality were the foreshadowing moments leading up to the main character's tango with nirvana. To achieve an ecstatic frenzy that equivocates a shaman's divination of the spirit one has to go into the darkness and battle the demons of one's soul. When the fear and loathing are conquered one is ready to ascend. It is a manic cycle of soaring to the greatest of heights, only after crashing to the floor of the deepest abyss.

Ecstasy as defined is: (greek ~ ecstasis ~ a being put out of its place) A state of being overpowered by emotion, as by joy/grief/passion.

Under the seduction of the Muse one looses touch with the immediate world around them. Its falling in the rabbit hole, charging through the looking glass, or a technicolor dream coat. The senses are heightened and a metamorphosis is taking place. The world stays the same, but as you are changing, so does your perception of it. Thus everything and nothing is real. Its a Passion Play in the most basic sense. Rapture/Death/Resurrection and they engage you in a harmonious climax.

Enduring the rapture one experiences an abandoned gasp as it leaves the lips, a radiating gaze, and a fire that consumes one heart/soul/mind. There is a level of leaving one's body and soaring to another plane of cosmic consciousness that is at once both emboldening and utterly terrifying. But in order to reach such heights a piece of you must die, and a pound of flesh must be acquired in payment. This experience gives birth to the perfect word, note, or stroke.

The empty canvas becomes someone's Starry Night – the blank page A Tempest or a Moonlit Sonata – Strings are picked, stroked, plucked until the notes transport one All Along the Watch Tower to Europa.

Once one has has looked into the face of God there is no question that the world will never look the same again. Art is Divination. It gives the soul a voice. It is the reflection of the heart. It is the picture of a beautiful mind. To be bestowed with the gift of creative expression is to flit on the edge of madness. Some lose their footing and become lost in the free fall, while others remain giving birth to dancing stars.

Darren Aronofsky's Black Swan was less about ballerinas and Swan Lake, and more about the agony/ecstasy of letting go. The over the shoulder shots gave the viewer a first hand account of the plight of an artist. It was in a word – perfect.

A Little Purging to Take the Edge Off

2010-12-10T06:48:00.000-08:00

Amber's Poem:

"As I struggle to comprehend, I lose my footing as I come around the bend.

Echoes and shimmers of a life passing me by, a fleeting pulse beyond the corner of my eye.

I miss the wide wonder featured on your face; its absence has left me lost and without faith. Overwhelmed with regret; I long for your dancing silhouette.

I’m holding on to your laughter as though it’s the only thing to save me from drowning. I try to recall the very pitch of every word you ever uttered, but all I can hear is silence resounding.

Each memory I have with you, a soft prism of light reflected in the morning dew. Any picture of you is a precious moment of time to hold on to.

Forever in my heart, and always on my mind, there you’ll stay and there you’ll be Amber Marie." ~NRD2006~

I've been doing my best to not let the upcoming "anniversary" get the better of me as it has in years past.....BUT, that is easier said than done.

What happens at this time of year is my brain starts to go into a rehashing mode, and the devil is in the details. I spend countless hours recalling where I was, what was happening, the sights, the sounds - all in an overwhelming web of timelines, should haves, and what ifs.

Most of what I am about to write has been told, and retold - my hope here is that by getting this all off my chest now, I can move forward and enjoy the small moments of this holiday season without becoming ensnared by grief.

December 22, 2005:

Am and I received an email from Lisa after 6 or 7 years of silence. We screamed, we laughed, we cried - Plans were made to see each other over New Years.

December 24, 2005:

Am gave me the greatest gift, and once again revealed how awesome a human being and friend she was. She let me use her vehicle over Xmas to see my mom in Ft Myers - and all I had to do was make sure she had gas in the Jimmy when she got it back.

January 1, 2006:

The best day ever. Lisa, Amber, and I were magically and fantastically reawakened as Trio we'd been in our youth. We'd grown, but our bound remained unbroken.

January 2, 2006:

The last time I saw Am alive. Her hair was pulled up in a twisted knot, and her eyes were puffy with sleep as she drove me to work in her flannel pajamas.

"Thanks for letting me deposit the rent in your account, and we have so much to talk about when I get back from my camping trip. We'll get groceries, dinner, and talk - how does that sound?"

"Great, thanks for the ride, I'll see you Wednesday. Have fun with John," I said.

She waved from her Jimmy as I walked toward the Transportation and Parking Complex at the University of Florida - that was it. I never saw her again. Its kind of poetic now that I think about it, her taillights fading as she drove away into the sunrise...

January 3-6, 2006:

These days were spent cataloging the contents of her room. I would stand in her doorway, ever respectful of her space, and look for any sign that she'd been home. The clothes basket was still on her bed, her papers were still strewn about her desk, the shades were closed, the bed was made. I found myself going so far as to look for extra creases in the bed - anything to give me proof of life, but all of this was to no avail. The 4th and the 5th were also two of the heaviest rainfalls we'd had in Gainesville/Ocala in awhile. (The 4th was the day Amber was murdered unbeknownst to everyone)

January 7, 2006:

One of the most gorgeous, sunny days I can ever remember. There were no clouds in the sky, and there was hardly a chill in the air. A perfect day for a hike in the Ocala National Forest. And this is what Davie, Dad Peck, and I did. A few of Dad Peck's friends from the RV park he was living in at the time joined us as well in our search for Amber. Davie had found coordinates and locked them in his GPS, and off we went. Dad Peck had found Amber's Jimmy the night before, so as we pulled up to where he'd found it only to see that it was empty - we became concerned. Dad P stayed behind with a walkie to wait for the Sheriff, and Davie and I forged ahead of everyone. We were on a mission - find Am - no more, no less. The trail was over grown and rugged, Davie couldn't help but smile when he thought of his little sister hiking this trail.

"It'd have been so much fun to have experienced this with her," he'd say. We were about 1/3 of the way in when Dad P called Davie and I back. There was something in his voice - something frantic...edgy...Davie and I looked at each other, and we ran back to the truck. We made it back in half the time, but our footsteps fell short when Dad P's Ford Truck came into view - it was no longer alone.

Davie sprinted to his father's side, and I slowed to a crawl as I took in the scene before me. There were 4 or 5 Patrol Units parked on either side of Dad's truck, as well as 2 or 3 unmarked Sedans. Yellow "Caution" tape had been hung across the south end of the dirt road, and was holding a news van at bay. Uniformed officers, and suits were scattered about the dirt and grass dodging around like ants under magnifying glass. Our gazes were avoided, and conversations stopped if Dad, Davie or I seemed too close for comfort - but bits and pieces were gathered.

"a male" "a female" "bullet casings" "blood" But no one spoke to us for hours. Through all of this I remained unflinchingly optimistic...Amber was hurt, that was all, I refused to believe otherwise.

I made my way to Dad's side, and his eyes (which never changed after this day) were almost my undoing. They were wet, and riddled with pain. We wrapped our arms around each other's waists, and again the magnitude of the moment encompassed me. He was a thin man, but a strong man. Dad Peck was stoic and impenetrable when his mind was made. But as I came into contact with his body, there was a tremble and a shake that coursed through his frame with every breath he took.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a woman in a deputy's jacket that was shadowing our every move. She was immediately out of place for me. Her boots were high heeled - dressy. She didn't belong on a rescue mission - she belonged behind a desk.

"David, and David - You're Amber's father and brother, correct? And you must be Nellie, her roommate." (Oh that phrase!!! That phrase which I came to loathe. The one that reduced me to a minuscule anecdote in Amber's life.) With our proper introductions and handshakes aside, we were asked to take a walk with Nancy.

"I am not a deputy, but I work with the Sheriff's Department," she said, "I mainly work with victims...I'm a grief counselor. And I know things have not been said to you about what's happening now...so let me begin with this. John Parker's(Amber's friend) remains have been identified...his father, sister, and cousin discovered him this morning...as they have never met Amber, they couldn't positively ID the young woman's remains." Nancy paused for a moment to let this information sink in. "Once the scene has been cleared, David," she said looking at Dad Peck, "we'll need you to identify the young woman, that we are positive is your missing Amber."

To say this moment changed my life, is an epic understatement. Her words caused a cellular breakdown within me. I was shot out of the rabbit hole like a cannonball, and shattered through the looking glass all at once. Nothing was the same, and absolutely nothing made sense.

"How could this possibly be? The sky is blue, the sun is a brilliant ball of light..." I couldn't believe that Am was dead, because there was no way the world could look that joyful when I was in that much pain. It was inconceivable.

I was switched off, I couldn't even say I was numb, because even that would have been a feeling. A dreadful weight burrowed its way to my chest, latched on to my heart and pissed on my soul. I couldn't breathe...and all I could think was, "how am I going to tell Amanda? How???" She and Amber had been friends since they were 5, and we were all 26. 21 years they were friends - sisters. Its impossible to explain how that felt - still feels - to have to give someone such gut wrenching, heart breaking news - it was more than a pound of flesh that was taken from me, it was rips and shreds of my soul. Those invisible pieces of myself were never returned, and in those months after I didn't care if I ever got them back. I became a waif, and a shallow empty husk - I had no use for spirit of any kind.

Present Day:

It will be five years that Am's been gone when January 4th rolls in. This year I don't feel the pressing heaviness I have in the past, but I find myself flitting along like a strobing stick figure in a flip book. No matter how I try to burst from the page, I can't seem to escape the sights and sounds that altered the course of my life forever. The phoenix fire has gotten tiresome - the cycle of flames to ash - for once I would like to remain whole long enough to get my bearings.

But such is life....

From Days Gone By

2010-12-06T20:18:00.000-08:00

clove smoke rings

That jive sign, nickel and dime, always on my mind -

finger the keys, treat me like a melody-

for the want, this desperate plea, give me what I need -

a melancholy jaunt, amber haze, nicotine maze -

immersed in the strain, the trumpet's cry, evoking a sigh -

reminiscent of a kiss in the rain, lost in the play, watching my man walk away -

every night it’s the same, rattle of bourbon on the rocks, a single tear drops.

This delights the little devil in me

2010-12-03T06:56:00.000-08:00

http://newsfeed.time.com/2010/12/03/kentucky-creates-900-new-jobs-by-building-noahs-ark/

Times are tough all over. Words like 'recession' and 'depression' roll off the tongue casually with disdain and quiet fear. Then, just when the world seems a grey as John Steinbeck's dust bowl, the governor of Kentucky steps in with all the flair and drama of "The Great and Powerful" Oz. His Technicolor creation of 900 jobs is pretty amazing....I would even go so far as to say confounding. And I love it.

An Ark? Really? I wonder, did Morgan Freeman put this bird in the governor's ear? How does one propose this idea without coming off a little bat-shit crazy? I would have loved to have taken that conference call.

"Hey, I have an idea to give this community 900 jobs....its a bit out there, but just hear me out. Let's build an Ark, you know, to scale like Evan and Noah."

*insert crickets chirping here*

"Hello, you there....Look, I get it. This sounds a bit melodramatic, but c'mon...what better way to serve both the hopes and fears of the public. Those whose cup is half empty will help build this Ark to ensure themselves a seat when the flood hits. Those whose cup is half full will help build this thing to instill a bit of glad tiding and cheer to the sullen masses. Wave your Louisville Sluggers folks, this is a home-run."

*insert gulp of The Fear here*

"And why stop with just an ark? Let's go all the way. A Biblical Theme Park, has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? If we build it, they will come, right?"

Kudos to him for pulling this off almost under everyone's radar. Think of how spectacular this could be.....

Surf the Tide as a 20 ft tall replica of Chuck Heston's Moses parts the Red Sea.

Dodge the smoldering hailstorm of fire and brimstone as we twist and turn through the corkscrew of a falling Tower of Babel.

Scream with orgasmic delight from our bungee cords as we free Fall From Grace on the appropriately named Lucifer's Drop.

Hunt the World's first Zombie with interactive gun-play(i.e. laser beamed AK-47's) in Lazarus's Tomb.

Seriously, I could do this all day....I for one, will be buying a ticket to ride come opening day.

Because I love it, and I like to share.

2010-11-23T06:08:00.000-08:00

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

********************MY TURN*****************************

No, I am not going to attempt to get my "poet" on - who could follow this. It's brilliant. The words breathe, and the breath is sweet.

"Do not go gentle into that good night."
Resist - Take up your shield and grab your sword.

"Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
Declare war - Live.

Dead Girl Walking

2010-11-22T11:38:00.000-08:00

I am not going to lie. I love Zombies. I love the genre of films, comic books, and et. al. There is something to be said for seeing our species reduced to its most basic and primal form. Eat. Live or Die.

Upon reading the series "The Walking Dead," and now watching it on Sunday nights on AMC, the question becomes, "who are the real monsters, the zombies, or those left to survive in their wake?"

"What would I do?" "How far would I go to ensure my family's survival and safety?" "How much of my humanity and compassion am I willing to lose?"

The characters are living in our timeline....they were reliant upon their cellphones, video games, laptops, and the ease with which anything can be accessed. But then they awoke one morning to a world where the dead walks - and we are little more than blood bags that provide them with nourishment. The world is without power. Electricity and running water are no longer operating. There is no internet. There are no televisions. No instant communication.

In order to survive, one must be cunning, nomadic, alert, and willing to do things that were once thought impossible.

I am not talking about going to bathroom without a toilet or paper. Nor am I talking about having to bleed, gut, and quarter a deer. I am talking about stealing, cheating, killing, and pushing the very limits of what is humane in order to keep my family and myself safe.

Would I come into your dwelling place and take what supplies I needed without batting an eye? Even if it meant, your infant and aging mother went without?

Yes. I would take it. If I had to do this with force, I would do it.

Would I be willing to share?

Maybe. But there is the issue of trust...It's like Tyler Durden says, "On a long enough timeline, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero." Why waste time with constipated pleasantries and veiled violence? Eventually, it will come down to you and yours or me and mine...why prolong the inevitable?

If my family joined a group, it would only be because there was something to gain from the alliance. But what happens when food is scarce and moral is low? The group suffers. Or what if a member of the group is too high strung? What if this person after a matter of hours reveals they are more depraved and corrupt than you could possibly imagine?

Only the strong survive, and the weak are exploited. Fear is heady and powerful weapon, and when used to bend wills with an iron fist - no one gets out alive. Dictators are overthrown. There are heavy causalities on both sides, one group leaves with less and another with more. Long story short - Stay with those you know, love, and trust - F@*K everybody else.

It sounds awful, callous, and heartless - but its honest.

The subject seems silly and contrite - but it is fodder for my think cap. I like postulating what lengths I'd be willing to go for the ones I love. I would kill, steal, cheat and lose everything decent about myself, if that's what it took to keep them safe. To the depths of my bones I know that if put in this "kill or be killed" situation - I would be an unscrupulous version of myself, and there would be no limit to my tenaciousness.

"The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places." Ernest Hemingway.

Addendum:
Because I am the type of girl that is overly critical and a bit of a perfectionist - I felt that I hadn't quite gotten this right. Because were this really post-zombie-apocalypse I wouldn't be the only one with a gun and a crazed will to live.

Am I arrogant in my thinking that I would be a quicker draw than my opponent?
Abso-fricking-lutely.
Call it blind arrogance or cocksure confidence, but if put into this level of stress, if one is not insanely sure of their aptitude to win every battle, then they're ensuring their death. Was Doc Holiday the fastest draw, or was he merely more presumptuous than his rival?
*Wink* "Say when..."

If its apparent that everyone holding a gun are as equally high strung, and just crazy enough to think they'll survive any situation - its the element of surprise that wins this fight.
Hunter S. Thompson was a force to be reckoned with, but had he not roared in the face of the opposition - he'd have never gotten very far. His renowned swagger - mimicked by both Johnny Depp and Bill Murray - was the result of a back injury and was a source of constant pain. But you never knew it. This heavily exaggerated gate would have been mocked or exploited as weakness, and Hunter beat the bullies to the punch. He was vicious, barked louder, was aggressive, and dangled precariously on the edge of reason and madness.
It is this controlled lunacy that would prove to be most beneficial in any skirmish.
The man controlled the chaos simply by creating it in the first place. Furious imagination is a lethal cocktail and more valuable than bullets.

To be honest, I could speak for years on this topic - It goes back to my need to constantly re-evaluate. I do not ever want to find myself in a situation where someone is getting the drop on me, which is why I generally prepare myself for the most ludicrous scenarios. This way I never fall victim to the element of surprise.

Life is funny sometimes....

2010-10-29T07:45:00.000-07:00

Something extraordinary has happened...is happening.

When Amber was murdered, I lost more of myself than I ever cared to admit. Before I was impulsive, the first to find humor in any situation, carefree with occasional moments of melancholy....to be honest I was an overall joy to be around. And then my life and resolve was shattered with the crack of an Ak-47.

It's been close to five years now, and for four of those years I was a shell of my former self.

My smiles were false. I didn't want to leave the safe sanctity of my bed. The world was dark and full of dread. All the lighthearted optimism had disappeared from my spirit, and I never thought I'd live to experience the warmth of the sun on my skin again. Even with weekly therapy sessions since the murder occurred, I wasn't able to keep from sinking into a dismal abyss of depression and grief.

Then my therapist suggested I try painting. I never believed that splashing around on a blank canvas would move me, but it has. In the past year I have finished 7 paintings, and with that magical number I have begun to recognize the face that greets me in the mirror every morning.

The painting featured on this blog accomplished amazing feats regarding my psyche, my spirit, and my heart. It began with canary yellow, representing joy/light/me. Then I added fuchsia and orange to give the appearance of a sunrise or sunset. Before it was completely dry, I brushed lavender hearts in various sizes that were open ended - for no other reason other than at this point I was the Tin Man asking the wizard to replace the one I'd lost. From here I splashed black and crimson as representatives of blood/murder/grief - all of which were literal and figurative. In the literal sense, it was Amber's blood, her murder my grief. Figuratively, I was murdered, the blood of my heart and soul had been shed, and I was grieving the loss of myself as much as my friend. Through the darkness came the light of the yellows, fuchsia, pink, turquoise battling/struggling to bring peace to the canvas -at which point something with in me burst.

I was the canvas and it was me. The dance, the rush, the cosmic pull of the divine - the ecstasy of release/creation was an experience unlike anything I'd ever known. Tears fell from my eyes, and laughter leapt from my lips. The painting was finished, and I had reawakened my soul. The phoenix had risen from the ashes, and the flower had once again bloomed. I had returned to my body, and this left me awe struck.

After the initial shock had left my system, and I was alone in my bed I did something I hadn't truly done in years - I prayed.

I spoke to God, and lay my freshly restored soul at His feet. As I uttered the words, "I love those I hate," the chains were stripped from my heart and I could breathe again. Those words were not just said, they were felt and they were true. The rage and the fury that had been holding me hostage disappeared with a gasp of breath.

That night I was moved, and I have been running free ever since.

Moments Lost in Time

2010-07-12T10:37:00.000-07:00

Gone are the afternoons spent rocking with you on the old, creaking porch swing beside the shore of Higgins Lake.

But the porcelain sails are set, it is time to embark on this journey through memories of you and our special place.

As the gull calls from the turquoise sky, I can hear your laughter ringing through the trees.

Twinkling, the lake dances with the morning sun; I am spurred on by your boundless glee.

The soft caress of a northern breeze - the tender touch of your hand.

The scent of pine wafting through the air – your sweetest perfume, so simple and so grand.

Twinkling, fireflies swirl and twirl with intermittent blips of light; their presence announcing that the evening is nigh.

As the moon begins to rise over the lake in an amethyst hue, I remember our farewell and goodbye.

But here I sit, and here I’ll stay with memories that will never fade way.

Gone, gone, gone are you, on the banks of Higgins Lake my heart does lay.

Rise up this morning, smile with the rising sun...

2010-05-24T09:02:00.000-07:00

It's not that I don't love hanging out with my niece, Amber, but doing so comes with a heavy load. I am beyond blessed to be a part of her life, and even more so when she says, "Hold me Noolie." The love I have for this little girl is boundless, but when we part I am always saddened. Not because I'm not sure when I will see her again - No, it's because as soon as I am alone with my thoughts they turn to Lil Amber's namesake.

I'm only Aunt Nellie, because Auntie Am is no longer with us. And when I think of the joy and adoration Big Am would have had for this precious little girl, it breaks my heart. No one would have been filled with more wonder than Auntie Am. She was the biggest kid I ever met, and it's why she is still so beloved. Her excitement and passion for living would have been a beautiful sight to see as she shared it with Amanda's little girl. No one would have loved her more.

Whenever Lil Am giggles, or gazes at me with her twinkling almond eyes there is a clear picture in my mind as to how Big Am would have glowed in response. My niece is her mother's and father's child in every way - it is her impish sparkle though, that keeps her namesake very much alive in our hearts.

And it is that cherished life that I miss so dearly when I dote upon the precious little one.

Portraits from an Artist as Young Woman

2010-05-06T09:23:00.000-07:00

On May 4th I had some ink done. I'd been nervous about the concept, and wasn't sure I'd actually go through with it. But I am glad I did.

I don't think I will ever be able to ever tell the tattoo artist just what his brilliant work means to me. These girls are obviously not my children, so this was not a "happy occasion" portrait. It is a memorial.

I'm not one for emotional outpourings in public, or in private for that matter. So as I was getting this tattoo done, I purposely steered the conversation from talking about why I chose to have two girls tattooed to my forearm. I wanted the experience to be lighthearted and fun, and I didn't want to weep until I was alone. I knew if I began speaking about their tragic ends, it would have altered the mood, and there fore would have altered the stunning artistry from the man who is sure to become a master of his craft.

(Amber - upper right. Lisa - bottom left.)

In January of 2006, Amber was shot in the head with an AK-47. Then in August of 2007, Lisa took her life in a very violent fashion similar to Amber's death. I'm blunt about their deaths, because I need it to be understood that these horrific images haunt my mind constantly in a very Quentin Tarantino and Stanley Kubrick Fashion. I've seen the Hollywood version of their deaths everyday since they have occurred. And now, if/when I am plagued by the violence, I have the perfect weapon for a counter-attack - A permanent picture of the greatest friends I have ever known smiling at me.

The man who inked my arm captured the essence and carefree spirit of my friends perfectly, and he'll more than likely never know how deeply moved I am by this. He created a beautiful representation of probably the most magical time of my life. Amber and Lisa are forever caught in a moment when we were at our best, and when our friendship was all that mattered to the three of us.

I could never thank him enough for the gift he has given me. In by etching on my arm two friends that will remain young forever, I too, will remain forever young with them.

Ethnography Project Lebowski Style

2010-05-06T09:06:00.000-07:00

Achievers
The Introduction

In 1998 a Coen Brothers’ film was released to little or no acclaim. It was the follow up to the Oscar winning, Fargo, and the brothers had thought they had another hit. But it wasn’t until this movie was released to video that it found its audience. The movie of which I speak, is the Big Lebowski. Like a slow-burn, fans of this movie began to spread far and wide. It was watched it religiously, and quoted fervently for anyone to hear. Mid-night viewings began to occur nationwide to a cult fan base. Then, in 2002 the First Annual Lebowski Fest was held in Kentucky, and festivals have been held coast-to-coast ever since that fateful night. The founders of Lebowski Fest have even knighted the die-hard and obsessive fans “Achievers,” and it is a banner that is proudly flown.

While t-shirts, bumper-stickers, and posters announce fellow members boisterously – the following still operates as an almost secret society. Clandestine meetings are held in random cities, and only those that have been added to a mailing list are told of the where-a-bouts. It is true that the website and movie are open to the public, but not just anyone dons the label, Achiever. No, it is a special breed of unique that takes their love of the movie to the next level. And it is amongst this sub-culture that my ethnography takes place.

Section I

For this study I held formal interviews with four people. The first informant is a friend of a friend. We conducted our interview via email, and our contact was brief and to the point. He is an older gentleman by the name of Dan Kauppi, and he lives in Northern Michigan. Over Christmas he held a Big Lebowski themed bowling party that myself and my friend were unable to attend, and it is for this reason I wanted to interview him. My next informant is John Daft. He is a 50+ GM Retiree, and he is also my father. Growing up he shared his love of irreverent humor with me and my sister, and if it weren’t for him I wouldn’t know or appreciate the Coen Brothers today. Upon my first viewing of the movie, the Big Lebowski, my cousin (who had watched it with me) turned to me and said, “Hey Nell, your dad is the Dude.” And a truer statement has never been said. Traci Wightman, an administrator of policy for the State of Michigan, is my next informant. She is currently working full time for the State, as well as, working full time on her Masters Degree from Western Michigan. Her introduction to the Big Lebowski came in March of 2008, when she attended a Lebowski Fest held in Chicago with me. From that pivotal night she has been hooked ever since, and considers herself an avid fan. My last informant chose to remain anonymous. They are currently working part-time and enrolled in college full time. This informant is an Achiever, and has deep abiding love for all things Lebowski.

Time and Place

Interviews:

1. Dan Kauppi – conducted via email February 20, 2010.

2. John Daft – conducted at Geeks to Go, LLC (office) March 24, 2010.

3. Traci Wightman – conducted at Traci’s home on April 1, 2010.

4. Anonymous “Maude” – conducted at Geeks to Go, LLC April 19, 2010.

Ceremonies/Rituals:

Lebowski Fest 2008 – attended opening night of festivities held on March 7 in Chicago IL, at the Portage Theater.

Lebowski Characters:

1. Jeffery “The Dude” Lebowski – The movie’s protagonist. He loves bowling, Bob Dylan, Creedence Clearwater Revival, the occasional acid flashback, and his rug.

2. Walter Sobchak – The yin to the Dude’s yang. He loves bowling, heavy artillery, Judaism, and connecting every aspect of his life back to his fallen buddies in Vietnam.

3. Donny – The Dude and Walter’s sidekick. An avid bowler and surfer who never truly grasps what is happening around him.

4. The Stranger – The movie’s narrator.

5. Maude Lebowski – The Dude’s lady friend, and the daughter of the other Jeffery Lebowski, the millionaire.

6. Caucasian – The term the Dude uses in place of White Russian, which is his drink of choice.

Summation

On March 7th 2008, my friend Traci and I headed to Chicago to attend the Lebowski Fest. This was a red letter year, as it was the 10th anniversary of the release of the movie. We were only going to the opening night, which includes performances from a few local bands, libations, and finally the movie itself. Opening night is held at a local theater with limited seating. It is also a venue where alcohol can be served. The following night the festival is held at a local bowling alley. Once again alcohol is huge part of the evening’s festivities, and generally speaking, every one that attends is in character. There are contests and prizes for best costume, most “Dude” like, most creative, etc. Also, trivia contests and bowling contests are a big part of the night. Depending on the amount of people that attend the 2 nights of the festival, the founders may hold another bowling party over the course of the weekend to keep every one happy and pleased.

Any time alcohol plays a huge role in a gathering of over a hundred conflicts usually arise. But in all that I’ve read, and what I have witnessed this rule does not apply to the Achievers. Everyone that is present is joyful, and there is an apparent camaraderie between all attendees. They have a shared commonality – they love the movie, and what it represents – Friendship. Fast friends are made while waiting line for the bathroom. People from all walks of life and dress discuss where they’re from, when they became a fan of the movie, and whether or not they’ve attended a festival before. Those people that are in costume/character never seem to be annoyed by quotes shouted their way, or the constant photo opps with random strangers. All of this interaction occurs without a drama or delay with Caucasian or Heineken in hand. Everyone in attendance is a fan, and is there out a profound adoration for this movie. This also includes the bands.

In doing research about this sub-culture, I found that many bands and sports teams like to have this movie on rotation on their tour buses. Drinking games are played, quotes are randomly shouted by all, and once again the camaraderie is boundless. Band/Team mates are in close proximity at all hours of the day, and their success depends on how they interact as a unified whole. This movie bonds people with its humor, and the close-nit ties between the movie’s central characters. When the bands are asked to attend/play at the festivals, the founders are hardly ever turned away. The bands show up in costume, and play most of the songs from the movie’s soundtrack. And because they love the movie, the Achievers love them.

There were two bands that played at the festival I attended. The opening act was has a local following in Chicago, but found fans nationwide after appearing on stage in costume. Because they played songs from the soundtrack, their set was more like an interactive sing-a-long. The main act, however, found itself in a unique position. They were another local band, but the difference between the two groups was that they were a cover band. Meaning, they made a name for themselves as mimicking a particular group, and only played that group’s work. A band like this would never be the main act for any other venue except for the Lebowski Fest. The Dude’s favorite band in the movie is Creedence Clearwater Revival, and this was the band’s shtick. As soon as they took the stage one would have thought the Beatles or Elvis had just arrived in the building with roaring applause they received. Then after the bands have left the stage, and the curtain once again rises, a hush falls over the crowd.

It’s at this time the movie begins, and this is the reason everyone is there. This is why there is so much love in the room – for this silly, simple movie about a man, a rug that really tied the room together, and his friends. During the course of my interviews, Traci made a comparison to the Rocky Horror Picture Show. While I have not attended one of the mid-night viewings of this cult classic, I have watched the DVD special with the fan participation track. And I have to say Traci’s observation was correct, both fans have a certain way of watching the film. Quotes are shouted along, and certain characters have a particular phrase roared at them. Wu, the carpet pisser, for instance is “Whoooed” when ever he appears on screen. Some songs are sung loudly and proudly as they appear in the film. And when the Dude has a dance number in one of his dream sequences, some people dance along with him in the aisle.

As I stated earlier, I was only in attendance for the opening ceremony, so any commentary on the goings on for the bowling party would only be hearsay. But I can only assume that the rest of the festivities are as joyful and bonding as opening night. Some months after the Lebowski Fest, I was in Remus, MI for the Wheatland Music Festival, and met up with a fellow Achiever. I was wearing my “Achiever” shirt, when a woman noticed me, and with a point and giggle she walked over. “Oh my God, I love that movie! And my husband and I were just at the Lebowski Fest in Chicago!” Normally, I hate small talk with people I’ve never met before, and I avoid it all costs. But because of this movie, and the obvious connection with this woman, we talked for almost a half hour. As it turns out, I had my picture taken with her husband who was dressed like the Dude.

This chance meeting culminates the spirit of the film – It is the humor and adventure that bonds the characters of the film, and it is the love of those characters that bonds the fans. What I deduced from my interviews is that while the central focus of the film is the relationship between the Dude and Walter, it is also their uniqueness that resonates so strongly with people. Every character in the film is an unprecedented individual, and it is that individuality that the fans strive for and love. Each informant had a specific view of the film, but where they all co-mingled was in their distinctive eccentricities. Their brand of humor and the way in which they communicated their opinions played out like the Coen Brothers’ ingenious script. Dan Kauppi had a rigid idiosyncrasy, in that he will never say anything but an original statement. He’s not a fan of the quotes, and finds it sad that some people use another’s talent to appear clever. John Daft, for intents and purposes, is The Dude. Traci Wightman revels in the exclusiveness that comes with being a fan of this film. And the same can be said of my informant that chose to remain anonymous.

Achievers - whether Blue Collar or White Collar - enjoy the spoils of belonging to an outlandish sub-culture. To be a fan of this movie is to be privy to an exclusive point of view. This view entails a dark and exotic brand of humor, the Kahlua, if you will. Next we add Vodka, or the clear celebration of one’s unique quirks. To top it off we stir in a dollop of Half and Half, which adds the enigmatic and creamy sensation of coming home. Here we have a White Russian, or Caucasian. This beverage is an acquired taste. And, like the movie, once one becomes a fan of the flavor there is no turning back. It’s the drink of choice, and the connoisseur finds camaraderie with those who share the same taste.

Interview with John “The Dude” Daft 3/24/10

Question One: Would you say that you a Coen Brothers fan, or a Big Lebowski Fan?

"Don’t you have to be both? I know I am, and that’s what makes sense."

Question Two: Have you ever referred to yourself as an “Achiever?” (an achiever is the name of the founders of Lebowski Fest attached to themselves and those people that attend the fests.)

"I am an Achiever as I have achieved my goal, I’ve retired. And now I hold down my lazy boy perfectly, which is my number one priority. You know I sit back with my Wally Ball Hanger (Harvey Wall Banger) or my Hawaiian High Ball, it’s always 5 o’clock somewhere. I am an Achiever."

Question Three: There is a company on Wall Street that hires or denies applicants on the basis of whether or not they recognize a Lebowskiism. Have you ever found yourself doing the same, using the movie as a way of separating/integrating yourself w/ one group or another?

"No, if they talk to me later, cool, if not whatever. That deer – in – the – head – light – look never hurt anyone."

Question Four: Do you sometimes find yourself inserting quotes into casual conversation? Is it kind of a bummer, when the quote is lost or wasted on the person(s) you’re talking to? And on the flip side, how is it if they respond with a quote of their own?

"I threw it, they caught it, great…it would be kind of scary though…some one on my wave length."

Question Five: What is it about this movie that you think resonates so strongly with people?

"The relatability to the characters, and the humor, and the story. And I can relate to the story, all of the above, it’s funny. I always watch it when it’s on."

Question Six: Do you have a favorite line/scene?

"When the Dude is in his tub chillaxing, and then these dudes in black unitards come in and beat the shit out of him (laughs) he can’t even take a bath. (laughs) His Calgon couldn’t even take him away. (laughs)"

Question Seven: Have you attended a Lebowski Fest, or started one of your own?

"No, however, it is a goal of mine. And my kid, you, did buy me a t-shirt from one. And that’s the closet I got, if any one but me finds the irony in that…"

Shattering the Bell Jar

2010-04-09T10:22:00.000-07:00

I was in my early twenties when I began to hear rumblings about this poet -- this amazing spirit that I needed to read about, and so I purchased Sylvia Plath’s, The Bell Jar. Reading the novel was an effort in futility. Every sentence on the page seemed to be a flashback to my teens, when the only words my moody friend had say about life was that it “sucked.” This confidant of mine, from the moment that we met at the age of thirteen, was a thrill ride of ups and downs. One minute she was skipping with joy, and the next she was threatening to end her “tragic” life. Because of those memories, I had a hard time empathizing with the central character in Sylvia’s novel. In fact, I couldn’t relate to her style at all. Some years after I had read The Bell Jar, my previously mentioned friend succeeded in taking her life. Her larger than life personality and her thrill of adventure were no match for the dark shadow of manic depression. My friend’s death was violent and tragic, and it reaffirmed my enmity to those that feel that feel suicide is the only way to make a point. Sylvia was wrong; there is no art in dying.

Sylvia Plath. Mary Wollstonecraft. Virginia Woolf. Anne Sexton. What do these women have in common other than writing? They all took their own lives, and they were present during the infancy of feminism. During a time when it was socially unacceptable to break from society’s norms regarding a woman’s place within it, these women found surviving an impossible feat. In his article Suicide Among Artists, Steven Stack states, “Artists are at a greater risk of suicide, because of their higher prevalence to mental illness” (1). Women of their caliber were thought of as unstable, or mad. Their astute passion and creativity brought about their demise, and begged the question – If one is inspired and a woman, does this mean death and destruction?

Clarissa Pinkola Estes sheds some light on how passionate and creative women survive in her book, Women Who Run with the Wolves. She explains that when a woman is brilliantly talented and adherent to the image her culture expects her to uphold – she develops a dual nature as the woman is in constant conflict with her self. Where one side is hot, the other is cold. A by product of this characteristic is “sneaking.” A woman will sneak certain portions of her personality to appease the people or society surrounding her. Estes refers to this as a “shadow life.” A shadow life occurs when the writer stops writing, or the mother stops mothering. These can have both positive and negative connotations. If the mother/wife is in a bad marriage, and the sneaking leads to her liberation, then by all means she should pursue her freedom. But if the artist ceases to create because it’s what her husband or society expects of her, then she is not doing her soul justice. She will, in a sense, explode under the pressure of trying to be something she’s not (256).

Sylvia Plath is a case of a woman who exploded under the pressure of her double life. She was a mother/wife and poet/novelist. Nothing seemed to commingle within her; the artist and the wife/mother never reconciled. Like my friend, Sylvia suffered manic bouts of depression for much of her life. This is prevalent in her Collected Poems, most especially through, Lady Lazarus (244).

The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.
The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.

Her message and intent is clear. She wants to die, and by the poem’s finish Sylvia wants the reader to know that she knows that no one is going to do anything about it. This poem and others like it are cries for help. She was sending distress signals and flares for anyone to help save her life, and ultimately no one heeded that call. This woman was ill, not pontificating for the suffrage of women.

Long before Sylvia was a married mother and poet, she was a troubled and creative girl. Communicating her pain on the page was her coping mechanism. A “tortured artist” is just that – tortured in life and spirit. Sylvia had suffered most of her life for reasons unknown, and the same goes for my friend. She was labeled an “emotional” girl at the age of two. And for no apparent reason other than a genetic disposition, she spent the majority of her life pining to die. There aren’t any poems to chronicle my friend’s plight; her story merely parallels the life of the lady poet. It’s been 30 years since Sylvia’s suicide, and women are still throwing themselves against the sword. But none of this is to win an argument or prove a point. Whether poet or construction worker they are women to be pitied, not revered.

Women worth reverence are those women who battled and beat the odds. One such woman was Sarah Bernhardt. Mme. Bernhardt was vibrant and alive during the French and German war. As Paris was under siege, she nursed wounded soldiers and helped where ever she could. She was a sculptor, painter, and world renowned actress. Beloved as she was by her fellow Parisians, Sarah was also a beloved mother. Mme. Bernhardt loved, lived, and created passionately. This passion consumed her very being, but it didn’t destroy her. She suffered bouts of melancholy and depression, but instead of succumbing to the weight, Sarah fought and clawed her back from shadowy depths. “Life is short, even for those that live a long time. Nothing kills except death, and anyone who wishes to defend herself against calumny can do so just by living,” said Bernhardt in regard to the constant criticism of her lifestyle (356). Suicide was perhaps an option at one time or another, but she didn’t give up.

Another woman who never relinquished her hold on life was the Nicaraguan poet/novelist Gioconda Belli. Under constant pressure from a corrupt government, Gioconda used her prestigious poet status as the perfect cover for her Sandinista alter ego. She lost lovers to divorce, execution and exile, and all while raising four children. As the masses were soaking up her poetry and prose, she was risking her life to free her country from dictatorships and fraudulent regimes. In her memoir, The Country Under My Skin, Gioconda states, “I lead two different lives, in two very different worlds which coexist within myself” (367). Going back to Estes description of a shadow life, one can surmise that Gioconda was more than successful in raging against the odds and defying the expectation of her culture’s demand of feminine submission. Gioconda endured hardships and unimaginable heartache, but suicide was never an alternative to surviving.

Suicide, no matter the circumstance, is the greatest of selfish acts. It has been defined as a victimless crime, as it a crime that is “committed” against one’s self. And in the spirit of Romanticism, suicide can be the fashionable, or the “vogue” thing to do. Let’s go back to the victimless crime. When Sylvia Plath gassed herself with the kitchen stove, her children were in the apartment. She barricaded herself in the kitchen, and did her best to keep the gas from leaking. Growing up with the knowledge that their mother died while they were left unattended in the other room would have a profound affect on their psyche, would it not? Wouldn’t those children then be victims for the rest of their lives? A victim is one who suffers an injustice at the hand of another – Sylvia Plath’s children, from the moment of her death, joined the ranks of the wounded. As for entertaining the notion that suicide is a fad or a craze, there is nothing mystical or chic about it. A starlet’s naked body stretched gaunt and pale in a bath crimsoned by her life’s blood should not represent a romantic image, nor should it exist as the embodiment of a strong, feminine icon.

As a woman, I have only sentiments of pity for Sylvia Plath and those women who have pursued the avenue of killing one’s self. But my compassion stops when suicide is coupled with ideologies. Feminism is the radical notion that a woman is deserving of the same rights as men. Mary Wollstonecraft, Virginia Woolf, Anne Sexton, as well as Sylvia Plath were at the forefront of the movement. Their artistic works are hauntingly eloquent, but it is the manner with which they died that leaves their words empty and shallow. Suicide is a weak and selfish death, which contradicts the strength of their inscribed convictions. I don’t love my friend any less, but any respect I had for her as woman diminished when she pulled the trigger. There in lies the rub, how can I tender my respect when actions speak louder than words?

Works Cited
Belli, Gioconda. The Country Under My Skin. New York: Anchor Books, 2003. Print.
Bernhardt, Sarah. My Double Life. Trans. Victoria Tietze. Albany, NY: New York U, 1999. Print.
Estes, Clarissa Pinkola. Women Who Run With the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype. New York: Ballatine Books, 1992. Print.
Plath, Sylvia. The Collected Poems. Ed. Ted Hughes. New York: HaperCollins, 1981. Print.
Stack, Steven. “Suicide Among Artists.” The Journal of Social Psychology. 137.n1 (1997): 129(2). Academic OneFile. Web. 20 Oct. 2009.

Climb Every Mountain

2010-04-09T10:17:00.000-07:00

The air is tight and cold, making each breath a chore. Every muscle is screeching with pain as they work to keep up with the demands of my body and mind. I’ve begun my ascent from the depths of the black abyss. I can’t look ahead, nor can I look back. Poised on the steep and jagged rock face, I can only concentrate on the cracks and crevices before me. The fear of falling is monumental, but I mustn’t focus on it. My survival depends on my willpower to rise above it.
According to the U.S Army’s Survival Manual, the first rule of survival is the will to live (1). When faced with dire circumstances, the tenacious inability to give up is the most important item in a person’s survival gear. Loneliness, fatigue, hunger and thirst are the antithesis of a strong will, and every inch relinquished to them is a nail pounded into one’s coffin. To give into to these stressors is detrimental to the well-being of a climber, and to do so would be the choice between life and death. The same could be said for one who suffers from depression.

Webster’s definition of “depression,” can be characterized in one of two ways: One, a depression is the angular distance of a celestial object below the horizon. Two, depression is a state of feeling sad with moments of: inactivity, difficulty with thinking and sleeping, and an increased or decreased appetite (Depression). When looking at the first half of the definition, let’s think of the “celestial object” as a person’s soul. The force of gravity pushes it under the horizon, and into the physical depression. As a result, the celestial body is distressed. This hinders any focus for what lies ahead. When the atmosphere compresses, the soul sinks deeper into the depression. Air is not flowing, which stalls movement. Now the first section of the definition sounds almost identical to what a person with depression goes through. Being one that has climbed a mountain, and has suffered from depression since the sudden, traumatic deaths of my two best friends – I can attest that no matter how it’s defined, a depression is not a desired state to be in. It is a mental struggle that leaves physical stress on the spirit and body. This is no different than what is encountered by a mountain climber.

Muscle fatigue, shortness of breath, and disorientation, are experienced by climbers at high altitudes. The only difference with someone who is suffering from depression is their placement in regard to the Earth’s poles; the climber being north, and the depressed being south. Each is toiling to reach the summit of a higher peak. Both are doing their best work to clutch and pull their weight to the top. As the climber and the depressed continue upward, they are at the mercy of their environments. A climber is always threatened by the weather, an avalanche, animals, and malfunctions with their gear. Someone who is depressed is affected by the weather, their overwhelming emotional state, and holidays.
During the holidays a depressed person is more attuned to their dismal stagnation. Even when they’re surrounded by family and merriment, the despondency one suffers is as isolating as a mountain top. The first Christmas after the deaths of my two best friends was the worst holiday I’ve ever known. While watching TV, I became overwhelmed by a Hallmark commercial. Before the flashing images of a loving family sitting around an ornately decorated tree could fade out, I turned the television off. And then I cried. I wept and moaned into my pillow for those loved ones that had vanished from my life. As the sobs subsided, I was left weak and nauseous. It was as though I’d run my body through the gauntlet, but the tears were necessary. In those instances of sadness, one has to let go, or they’ll lose their grip.

To mislay ones grip while climbing is a matter of life and death. “Even as I curse the vain folly of bringing death so close, I long for the adventure, for the lightening flashes of self-possession…,” says R.R Reno in his article, A Descent in the Dark (8). From the moment they began their ascent, the depressed and climber have spurned death nearer to the pass. This is a quest like no other. Only one who has climbed to such heights knows the ecstatic joy that comes from defying the laws of gravity. Overcoming depression is akin to reaching the summit of the highest mountain under the darkness of night. And I know what it is to be in such a state. In those periods of time, all I crave is to remain curled in the fetal position. I pray for the world fall away, or to let me disappear. Then somewhere between my hopelessness and grief, the calls of greener pastures and happier meadows are too strong to ignore. Each sluggish step out of the dark is a personal triumph. Every increase in altitude is an awesome act of courage and faith in my abilities. To climb out of depression is an adventure in self-preservation, and the most masterful craft a person can hope to obtain.

Conquering depression is as rewarding as it is challenging, and is the greatest achievement one can strive for. When all hope seems lost, even the slightest amount of resolve will save an individual from the defeat of death. Rising from the ashes of murk and shadow, to soar with the sun, rouses a feeling unlike any other. It takes endurance. Strength of character is required, and stubborn determination is needed to succeed. One simply doesn’t wake up at the top of a mountain; a person has to fight to reach such great heights. At any moment the climb can be encumbered with an avalanche of negative emotion, or paralyzing fear. But it is the will to survive that casts these dangers to the psyche aside. As the last hoist is heaved and the final breathless step is taken, there is no greater reward than the sight of the world below.

A patch-work quilt of beige and kelly-green lay on the ground below the summit. The clouds meander about at the level of my eye, and the sun is close enough to touch. Assessing the horizon before me I know there is no way but down. The landscape is a winding maze of peaks and valleys, but this is not a troublesome revelation. I have scaled a mountain of melancholy, and armed with this knowledge I am poised to triumph over any crag that assaults my path.

Works Cited
“Depression.” Webster’s New College World Dictionary. 4th ed. 2002. Print.
Reno, R.R. “A Descent in the Dark. (mountain climbing).” Commentary 126.4 (Nov 2008): 24-33. General OneFile. Web. 29 Sept. 2009
United States. Department of Defense. US Army Survival Manual: FM 21-76. Washington: US Department of Defense, 2003. Print.

What's Up Doc?

2010-04-09T10:11:00.000-07:00

The laughter is at once both obnoxious and mocking. What was to fill a room with jubilant exertion is now a charcoal grey object of condescension. The stationary rubber belt stutters with a disdainful snit at the push of a button. Another scornful snicker and this loathsome treadmill’s welcome will be worn thin.

It is a worn out welcome indeed. The desire to be thin and in shape has turned into a manic practice in the United States. One hears the words “obese” or “fat” and there is a mad dash to the nearest sporting goods store for the latest in weight loss equipment. The treadmill -- the most convenient and logical choice -- is purchased. Once it’s nestled in its new room, the games begin. It’s there to kick-start a body’s metabolism and boost moral within a person’s psyche. But for those that lose more interest than weight, the treadmill becomes a symbol of mockery and failure. The frantic battle of flub and chub versus svelte machine is reminiscent of the classic Warner Brother’s cartoons starring a rabbit and a hunter who speaks with a lisp.

Elmer Fudd is Warner Brother’s champion of failed endeavors and speech impediments. No matter how he tries, Elmer is continually outwitted and maliciously teased by Bugs Bunny. It is the nature of their existence to play against one another. Where Elmer is floppy and awkward, Bugs is quick and graceful. Elmer is the yin to Bug’s yang, and so it goes for me and my treadmill. Exercise is no longer an option. This has become a war. It is a battle of wits, not survival of the fittest.

At the sounding alarm of dawn, one must be ready for battle. Every morning it’s the same old routine; keep as quiet as a whisper and walk on tip-toes. “Shush, we’re avoiding treadmill,” is the thought as one peaks around the corner on their way to the basement to start the laundry. Each small step is taken as though crossing a room filled with landmines. Midway, there’s the sensation of no longer traveling alone. A glance to left, another to the right, and yet another over the shoulder; there’s nothing there. Just shrug it off, and keep going. Then there’s a tap on the shoulder, with a glance toward the tap, BAM! Foiled again! The treadmill, in the spirit of chomping carrots and “What’s up doc,” has planted itself in the line of fire once more. It can’t wink. The treadmill can’t kiss a person on the cheek any more than it can gaily skip away, but it feels like it did just that.
Of course the treadmill had never moved from its spot in the room, but I couldn’t escape the image of that silly rabbit hopping away with a good laugh. The very sight of that immobile machine filled my heart with humiliated shame. And, as the treadmill continued to taunt me from its corner of the room, the guilt of my avoidance was no more escapable than a Wascally Wabbit in the woods.
The guilt of owning a machine that collects more dust than it does lost pounds is unavoidable. No matter how a person might try to justify their inactivity to themselves, the recollection of a befuddled Fudd always comes to mind. Bugs Bunny never ceased to serve as Elmer’s irritating adversary, and a rarely used treadmill does the same. A person can’t relax in front of the TV because they know that in the other room the treadmill is there mocking them. Every bite of dinner comes with dash of judgment and a pinch of self-loathing if desert isn’t followed by a brisk walk on the machine.

Feeling inadequate and defeated is synonymous with lackadaisical exercise habits. I know that I would fair better if I just gave in and jumped on the treadmill. It’s as simple as that. All that needs to be done is to lace up my shoes and press “Start.” But just as Elmer never gave up on his quixotic pursuit of the rabbit, I can’t seem to give up on my diversion in laziness.
Typically one isn’t terminally lazy; they’re just focusing all their energy in the wrong place. The treadmill didn’t waltz into their life with the intention of their self-deprecation. It was purchased for the pursuit of a healthier lifestyle. But the mission for a leaner, healthier body is just as elusive and side-stepping as Bugs Bunny. Elmer never failed to miss when he had Bugs in his sights and this is always the case with me. I will find anything to distract me or shift my attention from exercising; this includes writing an analogy involving a treadmill and a cartoon.

Likening the treadmill to Bugs Bunny shifted my frustration with my lack of success in getting into shape toward the machine instead of me. It’s easier to look at the treadmill with distrust and animosity than it is to look in the mirror with the same expression. The business of weight loss is serious stuff, but every now and then a person has to lighten their load or they’re never going to move. Anger and self-loathing are not motivators for me; they are the equivalent of concrete blocks chained to my ankles. I needed to brighten the mood and laugh. So instead of yielding my fate to that of flat a punch-line, I chose to include myself in the body of the joke. Thus, the inanimate treadmill became a two dimensional bunny, and a nemesis was born.

In terms of a relationship, this unassuming machine has become the Bugs Bunny to my Elmer Fudd. It’s true they are sworn enemies, but the running theme between Elmer and Bugs is that they never give up on one another. I may always resent the treadmill’s presence, but I still take comfort that its there. Besides, if the treadmill didn’t challenge and annoy the dickens out of me, it wouldn’t really be doing its job. Would it?

Language and what have you

2010-04-09T10:06:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it’s silent. There are a thousand words expressed with the folding of one’s arms, the slanted arch of the eyebrow, and the crossing of one’s legs. A smile, a tear, a gasp, a sigh, a wink, a stuttering blink – Language, it’s not always words spoken; it’s also the mannerisms and posture of those that are communicating. A cat, for instance, with a purr or a hiss announces its contentment or fear. Language is also constantly evolving. It is a global phenomenon that spans cultures and species, and as the world changes so does the way the world communicates.

Language isn’t exclusive to humans; it is expressed by all creatures great and small. Primates, for example, are capable of learning and using sign language. Dogs and horses learn commands through training. Parrots mimic spoken words, and my cousin’s parakeet was even taught to speak his name on command. These are all instances of animals understanding the human language, but they also have their own communication style. A dog will wag its tail in happiness and/or excitement, and they will growl or bark to incite fear. A horse will snort and shuffle from hoof to hoof when it’s nervous, or nay when they’re ready to move. Birds chirp and sing to attract mates, and so on and so on. Plants, as well as water molecules, also seem to have an understanding of language and the emotions within the spoken word. Amit Goswami, PH. D. appeared in the movie, “What the Bleep Do We Know,” and discussed an experiment done with water. Bottles of water were taped with the words: Love, hate, happiness, and sadness. What scientists discovered as the bottles were spoken to with the corresponding emotion was that the shape of the molecules changed according to how they were spoken to. Following this suit are the flora and fauna species of the world. Plants appear to flourish when kind words/tones are expressed towards them. All these instances of “speech” suggest that while it is the human language being spoken; it is also apparent that there is a “universal” language that is understood by all living things.

In the United States language has changed as technology continues to evolve at warp speed, and too, Pop Culture pervades everyday living/speech. The US is a melting pot of irreverent references and peoples. Music, Movies, Television, and the Internet seem to flood the horizon with a constantly moving ticker-tape of new slang. WTF, LOL, OMG – are examples of abbreviated speech. Instead of formulating sentences people now speak in code. An example of a television show changing how we speak is Matt Groening’s, “The Simpsons.” Merriam-Webster’s dictionary in 1993 added Homer’s catch phrase, “D’oh,” to its archives. A once nonsensical expression is now considered an interjection and is “used to express sudden recognition of a foolish blunder or an ironic turn of events.” As The Simpsons has broken every record for longest running show, it will continue to influence language in the States.

Another influencing factor that coincides with Pop Culture is the number of ethnicities living within the US borders. Hispanic phrases and the African Vernacular have inundated language due in part to the Rap and Hip-Hop music scene, and also films. Filmmakers such as Quentin Tarantino, John Singleton, Spike Lee, and Tyler Perry reveal to audiences of every color/race a way of speaking they may have never heard before. Hispanic filmmakers Pedro Almodovar, Robby Rodriguez, and Guillermo del Toro have done the same for the Spanish speaking communities. These directors as well as Kevin Costner, who directed Dances With Wolves. This film and the movie Windtalkers are celluloid illustrations of Native American languages. These filmmakers show that the US does encourage the use of minority languages within its borders.

The encouragement of using minority languages seems a bit obvious as the United States of America is a Nation of immigrants, founded by immigrants. This fact implies that there is no earthly reason to ever suggest to any minority to ignore their heritage or culture. If an Irish-American wants to continue to use Gaelic when they speak then so be it, and the same goes for a Portuguese speaking family from Brazil. Yes, the majority of Americans speak English, but this country prides it’s self on its freedom of speech. That being said, if a man/woman/child wants to speak their native tongue, no one in this country has the right to tell them that they can not do so. This is also the reason why English should never be implemented as this nation’s official language. An official language discourages freedom of speech. If one is being told what and how to speak, than that same person is now excluded from this country’s first inalienable right. And once one is a citizen of the US, whether they are a minority or majority, they are entitled to this right.

Silent, loud and proud, English, Spanish, or Primate – Language is a universal form of communication that excludes no one thing. It is an entity that matures and expands within and because of the culture it is a part of. Space, facial expressions, eye contact, raised hunches, canine hisses, a laugh, a tear, a hug, a warm “hello,” a harsh “good-bye” – not one species on the planet is without a form of language or communication. Language is a creator, and without it everything is nothing.

An Odyssey in Owl Creek

2010-04-09T10:00:00.000-07:00

The guard stands watch as the condemned man dangles from the noose wound around his neck. He closes his eyes to shut out the world around him. The gallows, the soldiers – they are no longer his concern. The man thinks only of his wife. But as the sergeant steps aside, the man’s thoughts turn to desperate delusions of grandeur. In his mind he escapes the clutches of the hangman’s noose. Our anti-hero’s hands are bound and he is struggling to free himself as he floats downstream. He is fired upon, and survives. A canon ball is no match for him, and neither is whirl pool for that matter. Safe and sound on shore the man suffers an “uncanny revelation” (910). His home land is no longer welcoming, but is a wild forest that smolders with rubies and glows with emeralds. At last this wayfarer finds himself before his home. There his wife stands bathed in an iridescent, white light, and he is struck by her blinding beauty. Then, as he takes a step to embrace this loving and peaceful vision, the man suffocates and dies. Why would these sudden moments of inexplicable valor be important? Because for a soldier it is far better to die in the midst of triumph over their enemy, than it is to die a mislead fool.
In the short story, An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge, by Ambrose Bierce, Peyton Farquhar is the man described above. And though he was unable to join the “gallant service of the Confederate Army” (904), he was “a civilian who was at heart a solider” (904). It was by no accident that he found himself at the bridge commandeered by Union soldiers. Peyton was set-up. He was fed a line by a Yankee spy, and his need to serve his fellow countrymen got the better of him. Taking his erroneous information with him, Peyton left for the bridge intending to set it on fire. One may or may not agree with his choice of sides, and one may disagree with his cause. Yes, he was a slave owner fighting for his right to continue to rob a people of their civil rights, but first and foremost he was a man fighting for his home and his family. And after all, “all is fair in love and war” (906).
In love and war there is no greater tale than Homer’s Odyssey. Set in Ancient Greece just after the Trojan War, Odysseus is the star of the epic poem. He is the Achaean soldier who developed the Trojan Horse that brought about the defeat of Troy. Aside from his compatriot Achilles, he is one of the greatest heroes in literary history. And like Peyton, his journey begins with his desire to return home. Odysseus’s voyage also takes him to such places as the Underworld, and when Peyton arrives on the shore his passage through the dark prism of the forest could very well pose as his trek through Hell. While The Odyssey spans decades, and An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge lasts only seconds, the message is the same – Hope and courage will guide you home.
Under the threat of constant adversity both heroes could have given up and succumbed to despair, but neither relinquished their hold on the faith that they would once again be reunited with their loved ones. Penelope, Odysseus’s virtuous woman, is the beacon of hope driving him back to his native soil. Peyton’s nameless Southern Belle is the equivalent of Penelope, as explained in these quotes from the text, “His wife looking fresh, cool, and sweet […] an attitude of matchless grace and dignity” (911). She is a constant in his thoughts, “He closed his eyes in order to fix his thoughts upon his wife and children” (904). Her radiant and pure presence navigates Peyton toward his final destination. Peyton’s wife is also his triumph. Despite the gallows, noose around his neck, and the stoic sentinels keeping watch over him – Peyton’s eternal optimism doesn’t waver, because he has the love of woman, and that is something worth fighting for.
But unlike Odysseus’s Odyssey, Peyton’s battle and triumph were never a reality. His journey took place in the seconds before his death, and occurred only in his mind. Part III begins with the statement, “[...] he lost consciousness and was one already dead” (907). In those unconscious moments before his demise – Peyton’s mind, refusing to accept its fate, conjures an elaborate ruse to overshadow the actual event. And what makes this relevant is that throughout history, both figuratively and literally, it is the death of the warrior that fills one with pride. Peyton could have died as the fool that fell unknowingly into a Yankee trap, but in his last minutes he is redeemed with an epic mirage that offered him a happy ending. The ugliness of his hanging is shattered “with a smile of ineffable joy” (911), and that is all anyone can ask for – The honorable death of a triumphant warrior.

I have a confession...

2010-04-08T13:05:00.001-07:00

...to make. While I was in Florida, visiting with Amber's Family, I looked at a file that many would find...disturbing to say the least.

But before I continue, let me give you a little back history about me. When it comes to death, I need evidential proof. I am a born and raised Irish Catholic, and as someone passes away there is a wake, followed by an open casket mass. In other words, there is a body, and I see it. However unsightly some mind find this, it's what I know, it's what I am used to.

Now, when Amber was murdered all I had to go on was Dad Peck's and the Detective's word. I do realize that neither person is likely to lie about a murder, but this never appeased my mind. For four years there has been a part of me that has still be waiting for Amber to show up at my door to go grocery shopping. It's irrational, and illogical, but alas, it is what has been tripping me up and leaving me in a constant cycle of, "what the hell is happening to me?"

So while I was in Florida, I asked Mom Peck if I could look at the file that I knew contained pictures of a very violent nature. She, of course, balked at the very idea of this. "Why would you want to do that Nellie, why would you want to put yourself through that?" My answer, "Because I need to. I know it sounds horrific and awful. But I can't continue to swim in circles any longer, I'm going to drown if I don't do something drastic." Mom Peck, "Aren't you afraid you're going to have nightmares?" Me, "They couldn't be any worse than what they are now."

My heart was racing, and the bile was burning in my throat as I opened the file to the crime scene photos. Tears were on the verge of spilling, and my hands were trembling, but I didn't look away. There she was in color, the girl I loved, my friend, my best friend. I won't describe what I saw, only that it wasn't as bad or terrifying as I thought it was going to be. But it did what it needed to do, I was no longer mourning a stranger in an article I read on line, I was mourning Amber. Seeing those photos also eased my mind about her killer. Not only is he a coward, but he is a liar. And that's all I have to say about that.

Since I have been home, I have been walking around with this secret. It has affected my sleep, meaning, I hardly get any now. I'm not suffering from nightmares -- I am going through what most everyone else did when they first heard of Amber's death. Every moment up until looking at those images has been a waking nightmare. None of it was real to me, but it is now. I can say that I am actively moving forward, instead of trotting on a treadmill, and getting no where.

Many may never understand my actions, but all I can say is I did what I had to do in order to survive.

Llik

2009-11-19T13:25:00.000-08:00

This painting started out as a therapy project, suggested by...you guessed it, my therapist. I'd been having some trouble reconciling a few issues regarding a certain person who will forever remain nameless, and this was the result.

I became intrigued by Jackson Pollock and his method of painting in my World Civilizations course. He would secure his canvas to the floor and then walk around it dripping, dropping, splashing, and sploshing the paint where he deemed necessary. Pollock also incorporated dirt, dust, nails, glass, cigarette butts into his paintings. Native American Sand Paintings were his inspiration for doing so. It was their belief that through the process of painting and the texture, this could cure whatever was ailing a person and/or their spirit.

What you can't see from this photo is that there are particles of dirt and ground pine cone in my painting. They weren't added for the sake of adding them. January of 2006 my best friend was murdered in the Ocala National Forest. When the family was allowed to hike back to the site, after it had been wiped of all traces of violence, I found a pine cone on the ground where my friend's body had been discovered. I've kept it all these years...why...I'll never know, but through the process of the painting I felt compelled to toss those small granules on to the canvas. They were representative of the one I had loved and lost - violently and tragically.

Violence. Passion. Depravity. Love. Captivity. Sorrow.

As they existed within me, so they were purged onto the canvas.

I am the bread and the knife, the goblet and the wine, but I am not a Pirate....circa 2006

2009-11-18T12:50:00.000-08:00

There is no way I will ever be a pirate. The first bit of the subject line is from the former Poet Laurette of the US, Sweet Billy Collins...the pirate part was all me.

HOLA Mis Amigos!!!! Let me bring you up to speed, it has been a long couple of days....

From Caye Caulker, almost paradise, we arrived in Placencia which is undoubtibly PARADISE....it looks just like the Corona commercials, I was miles away from ordinary and I have a nice magenta burn to prove it. Well, the magenta part has receeded to a deep shade of brown...to quote Lisa, I am soooooo hot right now, its not even funny. hahahahaha I haven't been this tan since I was a kid living up at Higgins Lake, but I digress, I was talking about Placencia...okay, Lisa and I spoiled ourselves rotten, and yes Kevin we are dropping a shit load of money...but its still cheaper than anywhere else in the world, so fuck it, we only live once. Placencia was a great couple of days of nothing but sand and surf, until I looked at our car and noticed our front right tire was totally and completely flat. To the rim it be, arrrgh....so that turned life in to a stress level of high altitudes....Garifuna John, a dark man with Bob Marley dreads and a FUCK attitude helped us out. Watching and listening to him try to change our tire, when all we asked for was a jack, was quite possibly the most nerve wracking 45 minutes I have ever spent, again a kid on a bike saved the day...so it was all good. But my ulcer was on fire and so were my legs, standing in the hot sun with a long black skirt is no way to treat your skin when it is the color purple. I fell asleep on my stomach at the hottest part of the day and fried. This always happens to me, always....

Fast foward to the border of Honduras.....Lisa and I paid for a charter to what we thought was a city in Honduras, but hahaha God loves to fck with me, I must crack him up. Picture the look on my face as our guide gestures at our bags and tells us in spanish to get out and wait on the side of the road for some bus that will pick us up. It is pouring down rain, Lisa and I don't have covers for our packs, and we've just paid to enter Honduras to be abandoned and tossed aside like a couple of rags, and what's more is that we paid this man to treat us this way!!!!!!! Plus, we had spoiled ourselves, every where we'd been for the last week every body spoke English, and now we were slammed back to reality with a sounding slap against the proverbial brick wall. We had entered Hell as far as I was concerned...the Chicken bus showed up about 20 mins later, we got on, after a few minutes of trying to figure out where it would take us, Puerto Cortes and then from there we would have to catch a shuttle to San Pedro Sula, dock for the night and then take a bus to La Ceiba, and then finally take the ferry from La Ceiba to Utila....but the bus ride to Puerto Cortes was oh like 3 hours, and then in the rain and the dark we get on the bus to San Pedro, this was after Lisa finally realized we weren't in San Pedro. Because I have the luck of the Irish, we would of course be dropped in the worst section of San Pedro in the dark of night, which is 8 pm down here, and stupidly Lisa and I would take the first room we came to without looking at it first. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, NEVER UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE DO THIS MORONIC THING!!!!!!!!!!!!! NEVER I SAY, NEVER!!!!!!!! We slept with the light on to keep the cockroaches away, our toilet had no seat, the shower was a pipe coming out of the wall, the walls were cement blocks painted school bus yellow, and we got to listen to people hocking lougies in their shower all night. Doesn't that sound like it was worth the four bucks we paid to sleep here for the night...but hey the perks of the place were my thighs of steel from squating over the no seat toilet. what a pretty picture I just painted...

We had to wait four hours for the bus to La Ceiba, Lisa and I were up and out that joint at a quarter to six. So I've been nervous about Scuba Diving...I have this totally irrational claustorphobic fear going on about the mask and the air sucking that is involved in this aquatic sport when trying to avoid the flippers and fins of the deep, so of course the movie that played in the waiting room was Jaws 2 where the opening scene is two people scuba diving who happen to get ripped to pieces by a great big shark (sigh) I love life. But moving on, we arrived in La Ceiba with no worries, we got our tickets to the Utila Princess, no problem. But the princess turned into warty flipping frog the minute I stepped aboard....this boat, if you could call it that, was a glorified raft. The thing was chalked full of people, and after thirty seconds on the sea, terror and nausea took total control of our defenses and proceeded to keep a tight grip for the next hour and some minutes.

The Caribbean was laughing at our little pissant boat, it tossed our sorry souls about its belly with deep roaring rumbles. In the grand scheme of things we were but a tiny pea in an infinite bowl of aquamarine broth. I sat in my seat back braced to the mesh wall, so of course I was soaked from the crashing waves. My stomach was in knots as I clutched my scarf to my nose to keep the vomit fumes from making me its next victim. The other hand had a death grip to the back of my seat, the white knuckle hold did not relinquish until we were docked. By the end of this jaunt, I had tears streaming from my eyes, and my lip was bleeding as I had been biting it to keep from screaming for my mommy and daddy. The boat never stopped trying to buck its riders off its back, the motion was constant and reminiscent of a jalopy plane flying through a sky of turbulence. Again I was in Hell...had the dock not been piled with horse and dog shit, I would have kissed it.

Nell Vs The Volcan Pacaya circa 2006

2009-11-18T12:48:00.000-08:00

To date this has been my greatest adventure. Our tour bus was a rickety old jallopy of a machine. The kid started it, and before it was even in gear the damn thing stalled, which had me convinced we´d never make it to the volcano. There were no shocks to speak of, and it was dragging pieces as we made our ascent to La Pacaya National Park. The roads were intolerable in this death machine. It crunched, creaked, and jostled its passengers from their seats many a time, but Lisa true to form slept throught the entire ride. The organ grinding drive did nothing to stall her need for beauty rest.

We began our two hour climb with all the arrogance of youth. Our group was compiled of Lisa, myself, Traci, and an Italian couple in their late 50's named Alejandro and Christina. Five minutes into this deal, Lisa and I were ready to call it quits. Lisa kept exclaiming,¨"It's strait up! I didn´t think we´d have to climb strait up the whole time!" If I hadn´t of been gasping for breath and trying to decipher if I was having a heart attack or not, I would have calmly asked what the fuck she thought climbing was if it WASN´T strait up.

Our Italian friends were minutes ahead of Lisa and I, and Traci and our guide Auturo were minutes behind us. My hamstrings were screaming, "Stop, for the love of God make this Stop!!!" But I kept trucking on baby-step after baby-step, and we really weren´t doing so bad because we kept catching up to the group that left about ten or fifteen minutes ahead of ours. And they were all young and abled bodies as well. Still it was rather defeating to have our Italian friends stop and wait for Lisa and I at the resting points, only to leave before we did, and the cycle went on and on like that for two hours. Also another constant aggrivation were the constant horse taxis tempting us with a smooth ride to the top. They polluted the path with pile after pile of horse shit, and mocked our flushed faces with naying flashes of horse lips and teeth. But Lisa and I did not give in, and neither did Traci.

Lisa and I reached the first summit of Lava flow elated and exuberant. We were almost there. Did I mention that this was an active volcano, whose last eruption was seven days ago? Ooops....anyways....Blackened lava spread out for miles before us. The magma was still flowing beneath the crusty surface in firey red orange streams, and the outer shell was hot enough to engulf a log in less than 15 seconds flat. The hills and mountains were the most vibrant shade of green I´ve ever seen. Cattle and horses were grazing in sporatic clumps, and life to the emerald and onyx landscape. My million dollar shot, and the photograph that gave me a much needed second wind was that of two horses making whoopie in a valley not that far below us. Yes, folks that´s right I risked my neck to get a picture of one horse humping another horse for all it was worth. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA...as you all know, this made my day. After the guffaws and giggles subsided, I started to feel uneasy and a little freaked out. Lisa and I were alone. There was no one but the two us around. Our Italian friends and the other group we had caught up with were no where in sight. Through the billowing mirage of steam I could see people so far away they were almost ants. But somehow they had manuvered around or over the Lava.

Lisa and I were almost ready to take our chances with a fuck all attitude across the coals. About this time another group of gringos came up behind us. Their guide and some men in the hills were hollering "Halt, don´t do it," as some of the manly men were going to head on over with Lisa and I. Traci and Auturo showed up right at this particular moment, so we followed our guide for the first time. He lead us down a path that was only fit for hobbits, I was hunched over for at least five minutes. We came through the clearing to see we had about a 100 meter climb up a steep slope of volcanic ash. I flat footed my way up the ashy inferno three steps, and then stop to gain footing. Lisa took two steps only to slide three steps back. She was yelling at anyone who cared to respond, "somebody throw me rope!"

Finally we had arrived at the base of our volcano. We were at eye level with the clouds and as close to the portal of Hell as we humans are allowed. Again Lisa and I were moved beyond the need to fill the silence with insignifigant, trifle words. The awe struck eyes, and wide grins were back in business. Victory was ours and the view was spectacular from no matter where we stood. Surrounded by the greenest of green mountain peaks, I couldn´t get enough. We were so close to the sun as the clouds roamed across the sky we could almost reach out and touch them.

A guy made it up with his friends, looked around, and said, "Welcome to Mordor." I never wanted to leave, I wanted to wait and see if the golden eagles that carried Sam and Frodo away were going to make a camio appearance.

But our Italian friends were in a hurry, so Auturo, Lisa and I made our way down. This was by far the best part of the climb. One had to glide down the slope with only our balance and the soles of our shoes. We swoosed without skis, surfed without boards. Lisa and I skidded down on black clouds of ash. Lisa had just made it to the bottom and was emptying her shoes of stones when Auturo slid by me with a comb borrowed by the Fonz. When he slicked back his hair with a lime green comb riding the same black cloud of dustand ash, I swear I heard a "Haaaay," coming from somewhere.

Tune in next time for my tales of waterfalls and caves just outside of Coban, Guatemala.

Don't Attempt to be led by some one who doesn't read maps circa 2006

2009-11-18T12:46:00.000-08:00

All I wanted to do yesterday was climb a hill so that I could get a picture of a Cross that over looks all of Antigua. That's it, that's all. When Lisa and i dropped off our laundry, I found a map that I thought would be a great idea, instead of winging it like I usually do. I felt very sure of myself. leading my troup, I knew right where it was and it was going to be a cake walk. WRONG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This Cross became the ever elusive pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, a grand romping snipe hunt that did nothing but start the fuse to my very short and violent temper. I could see the hill, I could see people looking down on me from the hill, I could see very clearly from my vantage point the said Cross, and I swear in the name of all that is sacred and holy, it was laughing at and mocking my plight. The What Would Jesus Do moment had long since passed, and I hated that two people were following me blindly, like they were just along for the ride. I now began to understand why Kevin was such a jerk face in Paris, there is nothing worse than having a lost puppy sniffing at your heals and begging for direction......NOTHING. But this wasn't just one it was two, and they'd been at my side for two weeks now, the ony moments I've had to myself are when I am taking a crap, but even then Lisa still chooses this time to talk to me from outside the door. So forgive my crewdness, but I am just trying to set my mood for you. I was suffocating....and here's the best part of my story, right as I was getting to a slow boil, I dropped my camera, and the piece that keeps the battery snug in its cave busted off. Every one should be proud of me...I didn't smash the camera into a million pieces. I closed my eyes, put it in my purse, and then threw my hands up in the air, "That's it, I f-king give up, don't follow me, seriously just get the flip off my back, I'm done." But they didn't leave....they just kept on, I would turn around and say, "I'm not going anywhere, leave me be." And behind me they just stayed....Oy Vey!!!!!!!!

I found a really cool Ruin/plaza in my fit, and when I sat on a bench, Lisa sat next to me and said, "Do you know where we are?" I bit my lip, closed my eyes and very politely stated, "I f-ing told you I wasn't leading anymore, we're in Antigua, and all I need in this world is to have five f-ing minutes to myself, you may go now."

She got mad, but oh well, I'm over it, and by the way so is she.....I got out the map I picked up from the laundry, and looked over it, it was a piece of flaming shite, I don't know what I saw in the damn thing, but it was a miracle that we didn{t end up in Zimbobwae. I got out my lonely planet map of Antigua I ripped from the book, and low and behold I found out where I was, where I was going, and where I had been. God Bless Lonely Planet!!!!

We have to take a Tourist Police guided tour to the cross, so thank the heavens I did't get us there, we very well could have been raped and pillaged.

We are loving the hostel life. And we're making friends from all over the world. Its great. They are currently filming a movie right on our street, its called Looking for Palladin...so that's awesome. But I must say that I am an old, stick in the mud Maid. I followed along with our group of three from France, one from Isreal, Lisa and Traci. We went to Frida's which was supposed to have dancing, and what not, but we walked into a cluster f-k and I was immediatly turned off. It was the same old seen from the states, too many chicks, too many jocks, and no dancing, no out of the ordinary scene which I need to feel complete. Five minutes into the deal I said, "I'm bored and I'm out." I'm sorry but I totally understand that there are people from all walks of life and all over the world, and each has a their story...I just can't have fun in a place that reminds me of the Silver Dollar, so screw it, I left. I'd rather read a good book than be bored out of my skull waiting in a room of strangers for something to happen. That kind of thing makes me edgy, and ready to start a riot for the sheer need for something grander than winks and flirts.

Mundo Perido circa 2006

2009-11-18T12:45:00.000-08:00

Picture this, Tikal national park, Guatemala 03/08/06

The heat is unbearable as the sun beats down on all below it. From somewhere in the vast jungle, a bellow sounds off with the might of Steven Speilberg´s T-rex, you can´t see the creature but Dios Mio, you know its there, and its pissed off. The heat and the fear disappear as you make the final step to the top of Mundo Perido (the Lost World). Your legs have the consistency of jello, your heart is beating out of your chest, but all is forgiven for the view is beyond your powers of comprehension.

The very tip of Temple IV is peaking through the canopy of emerald green trees. Its grey carved face is preening for the sun, and the audience from around the world who came to pay homage. No words are spoken, you are awed and humbled, and quite frankly, you just feel blessed to have been given the opportunity to see this sight....

04/08/06 Canopy Tour, Tikal National Park, Guatemala

Cables are strung from tree to tree, platforms are built for you to climb to the very tops of these same trees. You are given two guides, Alberto and Felix. You are equipped with a harness that encases your shoulders and legs, and two gloves, one of which is doubled so that you can grip the cable to break when necessary.

The pulley is placed and you are now dangling like a worm on a hook, before you can chicken out, there is a push at your back, and you hear "Vamanos!" In that instance you are soaring through the trees like Tarzan, to the next platform which is across the road. Your body zips along the cable scaring the people who happen to catch a glimpse of your speeding form many meters above their heads.

To say that I´ve just had the time of my life in Tikal, is a gross understatement....

A Paper I Wrote that I'm Rather Fond Of

2009-11-18T12:26:00.000-08:00

Not so Anonymous Alcoholics

“Get your papers here! Get your papers here! The Top Story today: 6 teachers from Haslett, Michigan have a rowdy summer night. Everybody was drinking and feeling alright – Get your papers here! Read all about the disorderly antics of adults gone wild!”

The photos in the paper reveal a sordid night. There’s an intoxicated woman on the floor, and her skin is all a mess. Two men hover above her with markers in hand, and who is that masked marauder catching it all on film? It’s a scene the reader would expect from an online journal at a frat house. But whoa – wait a tick – that inebriated chic is getting marked up by alleged pillars of the community! Those “dudes” are teachers, and they’re totally wasted! Sure, the images of men drawing on a passed out woman could have a surly and sinister feel to them, but this behavior isn’t anything new. It’s been in the spot light for centuries. If having a good time is wrong, then what can be done to make it right?

Were the Ancient Greeks wrong for worshipping a god of wine, I think not. Dionysus is the god who loved to party with the fruit of the vine. He also awarded the world the philosophical question – What is living, if one doesn’t love a good ol’ fashioned night of drunken debauchery? Twirling and spinning followers in togas, all of them dancing, and doing their best to not spill their cup of wine. That was well over a thousand years ago, and we’re still having toga parties today. There’s nothing like it. Everyone is the hero of the moment when participating in keg stands. Who cares if they are dropped on their face amidst laughter and spouting beer; it’s so much fun! Parties are also a great place to meet new people! Two strangers meet in the hallway while standing in line to pee. Their bladders, all but forgotten, they commence to finalizing a one night stand. It’s such a wonderful feeling to wake up the morning after to gaze into the eyes of a man/woman, and search for any sign of familiarity through the fog of a killer hangover. Sheepish grins meet bashful gazes as they search for their missing pants. For a few moments the two commoners hold court as king and queen in a living room of snickering subjects. Isn’t this the life? If only it could be this way forever!

For the privileged few it can be. All we have to do is watch TV to learn how it’s done. According to The Journal of Studies on Alcohol, between the hours of 7 and 11pm approximately 43% of situation comedies and dramatic series show characters consuming alcohol (Mathios 1). Here we can see show after show promenading alcohol as the ultimate pheromone to attract a potential mate. Anyone can be the man that gets the girl, or the girl that gets the guy! All we have to do is find the right ratio of alcohol to self-esteem. Not sure as to how much is too much? Try Nick at Nite, there are plenty of reruns to choose from than can help us get on our way. There we will rediscover Cheers, Roseanne, All in the Family, and The Simpsons. Those quirky characters make it look so easy. The more they drink, the more they cut loose and lose their inhibitions. The pot-of-gold is not waiting at the end of a rainbow, but at the bottom of an empty bottle! What are we waiting for?! Let’s run to the liquor store or bar of choice now; there are plenty of clerks standing by to serve all our alcohol consumption needs.

Bar tenders, bar maids, and beer wenches, oh MY! Pull up a stool, and sit a spell. Mad at the boss? Is the old ball and chain rattling and nagging? Take a peep from the perch – this is our flock. We’re not alone! Jack, Johnny, Jim, and Jameson – heck, even the Captain is here – and they’re all waiting for us! Mix them, blend them, shake them, stir them, or pour them over ice. If the top shelf isn’t our cup o’ tea, by all means, we’ll have a stein of whatever’s on tap. Why stop at one – have two, or even three!

Don’t fret over this overwhelming desire to consume copious amounts of alcohol; it isn’t our fault. The enticements are sublimated in commercials, magazines, and they’re even waving from Billboards as we drive on by! In David Jernigan’s article, Intoxicating Brands: Alcohol Advertising and Youth, he states that alcohol companies spent over 8 billion dollars between 2001 and 2007 for product advertisements on prime-time TV, major magazines, and heavily populated locations (1). How can we resist posters, which stand over 20ft in the air, with scantily clad women serving up ice cold libations on a silver platter? And then there are the commercials on TV. Everyone seems to have a gee-gosh-golly-great time surrounded by friends and a table full of alcohol. Look at them! They’re all so popular! Wouldn’t it been fun to dance they way they do in the commercials? Let’s revel in the mix with a Mojito in hand, and we won’t stop ‘til we get enough! Or we could be daring and adventurous. All it takes is a leg up with Captain Morgan posing the question, “got a little Captain in you” (Garfield 1)? Stop hesitating and hop off the wagon! Time is of the essence.

This is our time to shine! So what if we’re over thirty, and our job is setting an example for impressionable, young minds? Don’t worry about the newspapers demanding our job, or the newscasters depicting us as villains! The urge to party is only natural in a society that spotlights the glamour permeating about the amber ale. Adults aren’t the only ones watching TV, reading magazines, and riding in cars – so are the kids. If we’re caught with our pants down, or we’re wearing nothing but a wasted smile, don’t sweat it. Remember Otis Campbell on the Andy Griffith Show, Norm from Cheers, and Barney Grumble from the Simpson’s? They’re proof that the town drunk has been lovably accepted for years. If they’re not wrong, neither are we!

Works Cited

Garfield, Bob. “Captain Morgan Spot Gets ‘Responsibility’ Message Just Right.” Advertising Age. 14 July 2008. Web. 3 Nov. 2009.

Jernigan, David. “Intoxicating Brands: Alcohol Advertising and Youth.” Multinational Monitor. July-Aug. 2008. Web. 20 Oct. 2009.

Mathios, Alan, Rosemary Avery, Carol Bisogni, and James Shannon. “Alcohol Portrayl on Prime-Time Television: Manifest and Latent Messages.” Journal of Studies on Alcohol. 59.n3 (May 1998): 305(6). Web. 20 Oct. 2009.