Great-ish Expectations

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Here it is ursurping peanut butter's traditional role with jelly:

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Happy, healthy eating!  

“Honey!  Honey, wake up!”

Darkness.  Blurry vision, “Wha?  What time is it?”

“There’s a noise downstairs!”  my wife is whispering.

I’m still half-asleep, “I broke the flower pot on accident just now.  That must have woken you up.” I yawn, “I’m sorry.”

“What are you…?!” she’s getting a little frustrated now, but not even that can trump her worry at this moment, “Honey!  No!  Something happened downstairs!”

I’m getting adjusted to the darkness now.  I shift and turn around to face her, getting a little frustrated myself.  The moonlight is pouring into our room through the window.  Her face is lit up like a ghost right now.  She looks genuinely worried.

“Now wha…” I’m cut off as I hear a small bang coming from downstairs.  Her face tenses up in fear.

“Stay here” I tell her as I get out of bed and walk silently toward the door, “Don’t do anything unless you can absolutely tell that something bad has happened.”

She nods.  I grope the hallway as I leave the room.  It’s significantly darker here.  It’ll only get darker in the staircase.

“Good God it’s cold!” I whisper to myself as I make my way down the hall.  I immediately regret not putting on my robe.  Though I guess surprising a burglar or serial killer in your robe wouldn’t exactly present the intimidating shock you would want in that moment.  Though being in just your boxers probably won’t either.  I sigh to myself as I realize the futility of my thoughts, “Just get to the end of the hall.”

I reach the staircase.  It is darkness within darkness.  I didn’t think it could get any darker than it already was.

“This is a bad idea” I say to myself through gritted teeth.  I slide my hand along the wall and drag my feet forward across the rug as I try to find the banister and the first step.  My foot finds the step down first and of course I lose my balance.  Before I can fall forward, though, my hand finds the banister.  As my hand connects with it, the sudden weight added to it from my body stumbling upon it creates a slight, quick metallic bang that turns my blood into ice.

“Crap!” I say under my breath in frustration.  I say a lot more words inside my head that prove to be quite berating.  I listen close.  The darkness doesn’t make a sound.  Perhaps the noise was just in my head.  Perhaps this whole situation is just in my head.  I should probably just turn around and go back to bed.  Tell my wife there’s nothing wrong.  Go back to sleep.  Go to work in the morning.  I have never looked so forward to going to work as I did just then.  Anything that would take me out of this moment right now in the dark and put me in a secure, predictable, LIGHTED environment (even if it were a Wednesday).  I should just turn back around and go back to sleep next to my wife.

“And maybe not wake up the next morning.” I say to myself as I envision my wife and I greeting the morning light with our throats cut.  I have to do this, “Don’t wimp out now, dude.” I try to encourage myself.

“Just keep moving.  That’s the trick.  Get momentum.”  I start playing the “I Dream of Genie” theme song in my head to lighten the mood.  I trudge forward one pained step down at a time.  My eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness, but seeing detail in the blackness made me all the more nervous.  

I planned what my next moves would be as I walked down.  I would reach the landing…and then what?  Turn on a light?  The nearest light switch was the one at the bottom of the stairs that turned on the stairwell light (which didn’t work, of course).  After that was the series of switches at the other end of the living room next to the kitchen.  Okay, so turning on the lights would be like step 3 or 4 once I got downstairs.  I freaked out for a second as I imagined crossing my living room to be more like crossing Mordor, “My gosh, how stupid.” I whisper.  Of course calling one frightening thought stupid just opens your mind up to imagine more and more realistic terrors:  first the Terminator standing in my living room, then a rapid Rottweiler, a dope addict, etc.

“Get…a…grip.”  I whisper as I place my foot on the last stair.  I decide that I will crouch and tiptoe my way to the lightsw…

“Wait a sec!” I mouth.  I’ve got absolutely nothing to defend myself with.  I stand frozen at the base of the staircase for a few seconds as I debate what I should do.  One voice tells me to just keep moving forward because there’s probably nothing down here and I need to get this over with so I could get back to sleep and be ready for work in the morning.  The other voice tells me that that’s fool’s talk:  I won’t be going to work in the morning if my head is bashed in.  I’m half-resolved to go back upstairs and grab my baseball bat from the closet.  I try to convince myself that the added firmness of the bat in my hands, plus seeing my wife again would give me courage.

I twist my torso to make my way back up again.  But then it hits me:  I don’t want to turn my back on this scene.  Already with my shoulders just halfway facing the entrance into the living room and I feel vulnerable.  My exposed back feels freezing…almost breathed on.  And suppose I did make it back upstairs safe.  I’d have to go through that whole misery of having to come back down here.  And my wife wouldn’t give me courage:  she’d either be back asleep (making me feel alone and expendable) or wide-awake and terrified (making me feel scared and helpless).  Going back upstairs is only going to delay how long the fear will last.  The bat isn’t worth it.  I fully face the living room again and crouch.  I place my left foot gently and quietly on the landing.

I resolve that step 1 down here needs to be to tiptoe my way to the umbrella stand located next to the front door (about halfway to the light switches).  I’ll grab an umbrella (not the most ideal of bludgeoning devices, but suitable enough in a squeeze) and then head to the switches and light the living room and kitchen up. 

Fortunately my frequent delaying has given my eyes time to adjust to the darkness some more.  I saw no perceivable threat…thus far, “Great” I whisper, “I just took a good thing and used it against me.” I’m more terrified than ever.  And with that I make my way slowly toward the umbrella stand.

I start theorizing about the bang I heard when I was upstairs.  “What the heck could have made that noise?” I question myself.  It sounded a bit muffled.  Don’t think it was glass or anything like that.  I realize that I’m audibly humming the “I Dream of Genie” theme song and cut it out quick.  I listen closely, but it doesn’t appear as if anything has noticed (or letting on that they’ve noticed), “Probably just the cat.” I think to myself.  An unfamiliar voice whispers to me, “You don’t own a cat.” I freeze.  Was that me or someone else?

Absolute silence.  Absolute stillness.  Enough of this.  I walk resolutely (though silently) to the umbrella stand and make to grab one of the handles.  I can feel eyes on me.  I pull one out swiftly but silently.  Though my heart is beating louder than I can hear my thoughts, I can tell that I picked out my favorite umbrella. 

“Would be a shame to ruin this.” I think to myself.  I decide to put it back into the stand and reach for another handle.  As I pull it out I can tell that this one is my wife’s and I’s “junk umbrella”:  the fallback.  The unreliable one.  The one we feel bad about making the other use, but not bad enough to take the better one on a rainy day.  “Perfect.” I think with a smirk.

I slide the umbrella out of the stand and hold it in front of me like a sword.  An instant later it opens up.  I freak out over the suddenness of it all and throw the umbrella in front of me (picturing the assailant there) while flailing hysterically in the dark.  I run (stumbling) to the light switches and flip all the switches on.  Everything is suddenly bathed in light.

My eyes are closed.  I open them up.

“Wha…?!”  I’m alone in the living room.  I run into the kitchen and check there.  Nothing out of the usual.  I run all over the bottom floor flinging open cabinets and closets and checking every possible dark corner.  Nothing.  Then the thought hit me…

“Upstairs!” I say aloud. 

I bound up the stair (I actually trip and fall halfway up, but am able to scramble the rest of the way relatively quickly).  As soon as I reach the hallway I feel for the light switch on the wall and flick it on.  The hall becomes lit up in 80 Watts of pure glory.  Nothing there though.  I beam into the master bedroom.

“Nothing there?” my wife says hopefully.  Instead of answering her I turn on the light.  The lack of another presence in the room makes me more frantic.  I ignore my wife’s pleading with me for information and check the room.  Then the master bathroom.  Then under the bed.

“Did anybody come in here?!”  I scream manically.

“No, of course not!”  she says with a face that looks both pained and confused, “You would have heard me scream.”

“Good point.” I say as I leave to investigate the guest room.  I turn on the light in there to reveal only more nothing.  I double-check every possible inch, but in the end I find that my wife and I are the only people in the house. 

I stand in the bedroom in front of my wife, a look of relief and exhaustion scrawled across my face, “House is secure.”

“Okay…” my wife says, relieved.

An exhausting silence passes between us.

“Wanna come back to bed?” she asks me sweetly.

I feel as though I won’t ever be able to sleep again, “Not really.  Want to go downstairs and watch some TV for a while?”

“Sure.” She says with an understanding smile.

We put our robes on and make our way downstairs.  I decide that I won’t be able to go to sleep the rest of the night, so I go to the kitchen and fix myself a sandwich.

“Honey, ya hungry?” I call to my wife who is looking for a throw blanket that will cover the two of us.

“Can ya get me a bowl of ice cream?” she asks with a mischievous smile.

“Good choice.” I say as I put on the finishing touches to my sandwich.

A few minutes later I make my way to the couch with my sandwich in one hand and my wife’s chocolate ice cream in the other.  My wife is already waiting for me on the couch, looking up at me, a subtle smile on her face as she prepares to throw the blanket over our laps as soon as I sit down.  As I sit down she neatly lays the blanket over my lap and scoots close to me.  While I’m settling in she grabs my sandwich and takes a monster bite out of it.

“Hey!” I say in mock anger.

She has a giant mustard-soaked smile on her face.  I kiss her and use my napkin to wipe her face off.

“It’s good!” she says as she goes for another bite. 

“I know it’s good!” I say as I take the sandwich away from her and hand her the bowl of ice cream.  She giggles and rests her head contently on my shoulder.

“Hmm…”

“Yes?” I ask.

“Is it me, or…?”

“What?”

“Well, usually when I lean my head on your shoulder the TV doesn’t seem so…slanted.”

I look at the TV.  It was quite slanted.  I look at the entertainment center supporting it and notice that the section holding the TV had started to dislodge and the TV was leaning to the left as a result of it.

“That explains the noise I guess.” I say with much relief in my voice.

The entertainment unit buckles some more and breaks under the TV’s weight.  My wife and I give a surprised yelp as the TV falls from the unit and hits the ground.  

The fly skirted along the countertop, investigating every crack in the tile and grouting for even the smallest microcosm of food.  The cat looked on from the stool situated next to the counter, tail flicking back and forth.

“We meet again, it seems…” says the cat

The fly, not too startled, puts aside his hunt and stares into the cats eyes, “No”, it says in its squeaky voice, “We have never met.  You, however, knew my father.”

“Ah, he was a quick one indeed!” replied the cat, “You move just like him.”

“He taught me the best way to navigate these dwellings:  where and when to look for food, how to dodge the giants, the importance of holding one’s breath in the event of being sprayed and most importantly:  keep moving.”

The cat jumps up onto the counter and sits about a foot away from the fly.  The fly doesn’t move.

“You did not move that time.  I wonder…are you frightened?”

“I stand still to show you precisely how UNFRIGHTENED I am of you.”

“You obviously know who I am, if you knew that I was acquainted with your father…”

“Yes!  You are the feared guardian of this domain!  You are the killer of my people!”

“Quite!  In all my years of service here, I have never let a fly escape.  That is…”

“Until you encountered my father!  Not once, but thrice did he face off with you!”

“Yes, indeed!  I was overly confident in my abilities my first two encounters with him…sloppy.” The cat said, bowing his head in shame.

“But, my father escaped you three times!”

“Did he?”  The cat said with a feline smirk.

“Wha…wha…?”  The fly was visibly perturbed at this response.

“When I saw you just now…when I thought that you were your father, I felt that old sting of shame again.  Thought I had been too cocky again at our last meeting.  But upon finding out who you REALLY are:  his son!  HA!  I knew I had no reason to be ashamed:  for I reasoned that you are here in memory of your father.  Indeed, perhaps to…avenge him…” the cat said these last words with pouting lips and feigned despair and understanding.

“That last encounter…” the fly was reasoning the events with what the cat had been inferring.

“Yes?” the cat urged.

“You wounded him.”

“O yes, quite badly, I should think.”

“Yes…quite.”  The fly seemed to be hyperventilating over this new news, “We…we…I never thought that you…”

“I needed to make an example of him.  I needed you all to know that I will not be made a fool of.  I am the master here:  not a fly!”  the cat held his back up straight and proper, squaring his shoulders.

“He died in pain…” the fly started to cry.

“I should imagine so.  My only regret from my action was that I was not there to see him draw his last pained breath.  But I gain renewed satisfaction now in seeing the pain in your face in remembering what torturous hells he went through because of me.  Nay, in the realization that I had, in fact, orchestrated it to be thus!”  the cat threw his head back and laughed.

“You have no honor!”  screamed the fly.

“What is honor to a fly?!  You who sneak around stealing food and drink?!  What right have you to honor?!”  the cat was literally upset at the fly’s impudence.

“My father was a good creature!  He shared his scavengings with all who was in need!  You!  You sit on a treasure trove of supplies and would rather watch it rot away than see it used by anyone other than you!”

“I guard my keep!” said the cat leaning in close to the fly’s face, “And soon, you will learn the sting of your unfortunate bravery!”

The cat lunges at the fly, but the fly out-maneuvers him and the cat slides into the sink, splashing soapy water onto the countertop and a good deal on the surrounding floor.

“Ahhhh!  Like your father, indeed!” hissed the cat as he jumps out of the sink and onto the counter.

“And just like the coward you are:  attacking an opponent in surprise while talking!”  said the fly, hovering and landing on the door of a cabinet.  At this the cat became enraged and lunged at the cabinet. The fly dodges him once again and the cat winds up smacking his heard hard against the door handle of the cabinet and falls back onto the countertop.

“Ooooo, you ARE good!” says the cat as it shakes off the sudden dizziness in his head, “Indeed better than your father!”

“You will not twist my emotions!  You will not exasperate me with your insults!”

The cat crouches forward.  Now the fly is on the stool.  He rests upon it as if it were his throne.

“HOW DARE YOU!”  roars the cat as it lunges full force at the stool. 

The fly motions to hover up above the cat’s lunge.  The cat anticipates this and aims his trajectory higher to intercept his opponent.  The fly, however, instead dodges left as the cat leaps from the counter.  The cat twists his body in midair to swipe the fly, but misses by mere millimeters.  The cat flies across the kitchen and hits the garbage can hard, knocking it down and scattering its contents on both the kitchen floor and the sliding glass window located behind it. 

“Damn it, Ralphie!” screams a man as he storms into the kitchen.  “That’s it!  Enough is enough with this STUPID cat!”  the man marches across the room and grabs the cat by its scruff and marches to the sliding glass door. 

“What are you doing?!” demands the cat as he’s hoisted into the air.

The man unlocks the sliding glass door and opens it, revealing a cold, rainy day.

“Are you crazy?!” yells the cat, “You can’t do this to me!”

The man brings the arm holding the car backwards in a bowling swing, “Three strikes, cat!  I gave you three!  No more!” He begins to swing his arm forward.

The cat is flailing, “Noooo!!!  You can’t let the flies win!  You need me!”

The man releases the cat in his upswing, arching the cat into a puddle of mud in the lawn not too far from the door, “You are officially an outdoor cat now!”.

The man slams the door shut as the cat tries to run back into the house.  He sits there looking pathetically into the kitchen which was once his kingdom, rain falling atop his head.  The fly lands in front of his face on the kitchen-side of the glass.  Though the glass is too thick for them to hear one another, rest assured that the insults and threats that they flung at one another just then struck deeper than audible words could ever measure.

The stars glint in the open sky as I navigate the coast in the dark.  They’re beautiful.   They are just the way I remember them.  Nothing lasts forever, nothing is static except the stars…and maybe the thing I’m looking for.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath.  The same sea smell.  That didn’t change either.  All these years I’ve been looking for something foundational in my life.  Something that wouldn’t change.  I’ve looked for it in my parents, my friends, jobs…all these things that people put so much weight in.  But they all change.  Nothing ever remains static from childhood (heck not even me).  But this has endured.  This scene.  This coast.  I imagine that it will endure even long after I have changed again…long after I am gone.

The water brushes up against my feet.

“WOAH!  COLD!”  That was surprising.

A flash of childhood.  I remember that icy surprise from back then.  I remember that feeling the last time I was here….when I came to bury it.

I had completely forgotten about that.  Even after I had promised myself to never forget.  Not even my promises to myself are foundational.

“Ha!”  A bitter laugh.  No need to beat myself up about it now.  Guess circumstances lined themselves up to bring me back here.  Something kept my promise to myself despite my forgetting it.

I had come back home for my father’s funeral.  We hadn’t spoken since my divorce.  He had really liked my ex and resented my not working to keep the relationship together.   He could never understand though.  I just…

*sigh* Where’s my flashlight?

My uncle (my dad’s younger brother) came up to me during the wake.  I figured he wanted to console me (or maybe even be consoled himself).  I really wasn’t feeling it.

I wasn’t sad.  I wasn’t happy that my dad had died.  There was no overwhelming emotion in either direction (well, there was guilt for not feeling sad).  Oddly enough, though, he had not come for that…

“Hey, kid, it’s been a while.”  He had a warm smile on his face.

“Yeah, I suppose so.  How ya been?”  This was kinda awkward.  I hadn’t talked to this man in years.

“Eh, not so much…”  A look of embarrassment crossed his face, “ Well, Denise is pregnant.  Ha!  That’s exciting!”

My younger cousin, Denise.  Wow.  The first one of us to be having a kid.

“Wow that’s great!  Is she here?  How far along is she?”  I feigned excitement for my uncle’s sake.  Denise and I were never close.

“She’s got a few months left with the little guy inside her.  It’ll be a boy.  They’re planning on naming him after me.  Silly, eh?”

I give a sort of crooked smile, “Understandable, I guess.”

“Ha! Don’t go kissin’ my butt, son:  you’ve been absent far too long to make it count for anything!”

Wow…how embarrassing.

“I’m sorry bout that.  Too funny to resist saying.”  His warm smile came back, “I love ya, ya little turd.”

I give him an ear-to-ear grin.  That was his nickname to me.  When I was a kid he’d said I earned it for being the only male any of his brothers and sisters had had:  the abuse had to fall on somebody.  Funny family. 

“But no, Denise couldn’t show up.  Her and her husband are closing the deal on a house today in Nebraska.  Can ya believe it?!  Nebraska!  She said they wanted the kid to grow up in a wide open space with fresh air.  It’s a cute house they got.  Guess I can’t fault them for making that choice.  I just wish it weren’t so far away…”

I nod in understanding.

“Your dad always loved you.”

Well that came out of nowhere.

“Even though he died pissed at you he loved you very much.  He wanted you to know that.”

“So he was still angry with me, huh?”  That was slightly disappointing.

“Those last few minutes he probably let it go.  Bit superfluous to go into the wide beyond carrying unresolved emotions.  Can ya imagine being angry at someone for all eternity?  That scares the crap outta me…”

Hadn’t ever thought about that before.

“‘Be careful not to hide your garbage where you hide your treasures’- those were his last words before he slipped away.”  My uncle didn’t seem sad or nervous.  He seemed to be at ease in relaying all this to me.

“I wish I coulda made him happy.  I jus…he wanted something that couldn’t be done.”

“It’s a hard thing he wanted from ya.  He always figured you and Lucy were in a pride war with one another.  A war of attrition.  You’re both strong willed.  A strength and a weakness.”

I bow my head.  I hadn’t been prepared to hear my ex’s name be mentioned.  Man, that hurt.

“You’re father always hoped that you would be the one to swallow your pride first and patch things up.  It broke him in half though when you were the one that pushed for the divorce.  When you didn’t work for peace, but rather became the arbiter of escalation.”

I was getting pissed at this point, “The old man just didn’t get it.”  I didn’t want to get angry here.  My uncle picked up the vibe.

“I remember the last time your father was angry with you.  It was when you were a kid.  Ya did something ta really piss him off. Can’t for the life of me remember what though…”

I laugh, “The ‘Freddy incident’!  Wow!  I hadn’t thought of that in a LONG time!  Yeah he was REALLY pissed about that one!”

My uncle gave me the “remind me” look.

“First year of middle school.  I was pretty shy.  You remember how I was back then.”

My uncle smiles and nods, “A little turd.”

I laugh, “Exactly!  Anyway, Freddy was a year ahead of me.  Thought he was God or something.  Real punk.  Had this thing about picking on me.”

“Now, I’m starting to remember!”  My uncle’s forehead wrinkled up as he raised his eyebrows in remembrance.

“Yeah.  Anyway, One day I came home with a black eye.  My wallet was gone too.  Dad asked me what was wrong.  Mom was away at some conference or another so I had no shield to block out his intensity.  I told him that Freddy punched me in the face and took my wallet.  ‘AND?!’ was his response.  I had none.  He stormed off to the kitchen and didn’t talk to me again until after dinner.”

“Your mother was a saint.  He needed her so much.”

“Yeah…anyway, he told me I had to confront Freddy the next day.  Said I couldn’t just let that go.  Said it didn’t matter if I came home tomorrow with a broken nose, I had to resolve the issue.  I had to show that I cared.”  This was harder to get through than I had expected.  I was surprised to find lots of unresolved emotions.

“Oh, goodness, I remember what happened next.”  My uncle said covering his eyes.

“You remember what my dad told you.” I said with a bit of harshness.

“Well, you tell me what happened then.”

“The next day I followed Freddy the entire day.  I made sure that he didn’t get an opportunity to sneak up on me.  In the lunchroom I remember him glaring at me from across the cafeteria and giving me this really wicked grin.”  I had to stop for a second.

“The night before I had gone down to the beach.  To that cave on the coast that dad had showed mom and me.  It was full of these rocks.  I had filled my book bag with them...”

“They closed that beach a while back…” my uncle interrupted , “Some idiot teens were camping in one of the caves along the coast and drowned in the high tide.  They were found deep in the cave.  Must have gotten stoned back there and just…never thought to get out of there before it filled with water.  They have that whole beach cordoned off.  ‘safety hazard’.”

“What crap!”

“County couldn’t afford another lawsuit like the one it faced after the drowning…”.

“I remember the bag being heavy” I continued, “The seams of the shoulder straps were exposed and I was terrified the entire day that the whole thing would rip apart.  After school let out I walked out slower than usual.  I WANTED Freddy to grab me from behind.  As I approached the flag pole I heard, ‘Surprise!’ and felt my bag being pulled backward.  The plan had worked.  He was going to say more, but the velocity of his pull plus the weight of my bag created an enormous push back that he wasn’t prepared for.  We were both slung off our feet.  Me and my bag wound up landing on top of Freddy’s chest as he hit the ground.  I stood up quickly to turn around and start laughing at his face, but when I turned around…”  I noticed I was breathing harder.

“You don’t have to…” interjected my uncle.

“Freddy wasn’t moving.  One of the teachers saw Freddy grab me and had hurried out to help me, but when she saw this she immediately called for one of the janitors to call an ambulance and then lugged my bag off of Freddy to see if she could do anything.  I remember blood coming out of his nose…”

“Freddy turned out ok though” added my uncle. “He had a few broken ribs and a concussion, but he sure straightened his life out after that.  I remember keeping an eye out for him after that time.  All the way till he went to college.”

“That night I faced dad’s rage.” I continued, “That was the first time I had ever gotten a beating.  A REAL beating.  I remember he sent me to my room and told me to stay in there until he could figure out some sort of punishment.  I felt betrayed.”

My uncle frowned.

“I had only done the best with what he told me to do.  And my best just wasn’t good enough.  I hated him for that.  The next day was Saturday.  I got up early to sneak down stairs to see if I could find any clues for what my punishment would be.  I saw an empty box marked ‘Goodwill’ sitting on the table.  I thought, ‘I’ll be damned if I’m gonna lose all my stuff because I did what he told me to do.’.  I went back upstairs, grabbed this small wooden box dad had given me (he told me he built it himself when he was in high school) and filled it with my treasures.”

“What’d ya put in it?”

“…Hell, I can’t even remember.  Only…” I twisted my face as I recalled, “…When I came downstairs with the box, I noticed my wallet on top of the TV in the living room.  I quickly grabbed it and shoved it into the box and (as quietly as I could) ran out the house.”

“Well…where did you hide the box?”

“I figured that the old man was pretty angry.  Angry enough to check any place near the house or maybe even the neighborhood.  So I took it to the only place I could think of as being both safe and hidden yet memorable to me.  I took it to the cave on the beach.”

“Quite a journey on foot.” My uncle said, twisting his mouth.

“Yeah’, I smiled, “it seemed to have taken forever.  But I got it there.  Buried it.  Promised myself  after this whole thing blew over that I would come back there and get my stuff back.  I was so angry…”.

“Hard to remember things when you’re angry.  Especially when you’re so young.”

“Yeah…I can’t remember the last time I even thought about that box.”

My uncle and I share a moment just staring into each other’s eyes.

“Guess it’s safe to get my treasures now.”  I said with a smirk.

My uncle laughed bitterly.

I waited till late at night to come out here.  Long after I figured the deputies would bother patrolling this section of the beach.  I came here by memory.  Can’t believe I had forgotten my own promise to myself.  The little boy inside of me was seething.

“I’m sorry” I whisper to myself as I trudge along to the spot of the cave.

And there it was.  A stony, white archway surrounding an infinite blackness.  I had never seen the cave at night.

“I must be crazy.  How the hell am I supposed to find it?!”

“Scardy cat!” my inner child yelled out me.

“…Fine.”  Was my only retort as I turned on my flashlight and stepped into the mouth of darkness.      

The cave still smelled the same:  dank yet fresh.  It’s one of those complicated scents that only nature can pull off successfully. 

“I didn’t go too far from the entrance to bury it…” I whisper.

I scan the area with my flashlight and notice jutting out of the ground near the left wall of the cave a rock shaped like a shark fin.

“Unbelievable!”  I blurt.  A flash of memory came over me:  I figured the shark fin rock would be a good marker.  I remember the little boy finding the rock and yelling, “Perfect!”.

I walk over to the marker and crouch before it.  Now what?  I didn’t bring a shovel with me.

“You’re not going to need a shovel.”  Said a voice behind me.

“Damn!”  The jig was up.  I’m guessing it’ll be a relatively small fine, “Sorry, officer.” I say as I stand up and turn around.

Laughter.  I shine my light into the entrance of the cave and find my uncle standing there, “You didn’t bury it too deeply.  It’s just a few rocks that can be moved by hand.”

“How…”

“Get to work, turd!”

I turn around and start tossing rocks aside.  After about a foot or so of rocks I notice plastic and a bright yellow nylon rope wrapped around the plastic.  I also notice that the hole is being supported by a few wooden buttresses.  I grab the rope and pull.  After a few tugs I’m able to bring up the plastic-wrapped box.  I place it onto the ground next to me.

“I don’t remember doing that.” I say in reference to the plastic and the rope.  My uncle hands me a pocket knife to cut the rope and plastic sheet.

“Wanna tell me how you know so much?” I ask not really expecting an answer.  He offers none.

After a few minutes I’m able to cut my way through all the layers of plastic.

“Thar she blows” I say out of the corner of my mouth.  My uncle chuckles.

I open the box, “Let’s see:  my baseball glove!  That’s where ya went!  Comic books (nice), sunglasses, these CDs would have been nice to have taken to college with me, a few of my favorite t-shirts (guess I had a thing for tie die, eh?), a fossilized tooth (I forgot that I was into paleontology at one point) baseball cards, a video game (yeeeesh!  I remember LOVING this game), a couple VHS (‘Land Before Time’…really?) eh…the wallet…”.

I open the wallet up.  Inside are an old picture of my parents, a library card, a few quarters…not much.

“Wonder if I had any bills in here?” I say as I open up the pocket, “What the…”

Inside the pocket is a folded piece of paper, “A note?”

I open it up and shine the light on it:

“Dear son,

                 I couldn’t sleep the night I beat you.  I stared at your doorway for hours in utter horror of what I had done.  Not just the beating, but what I had convinced you to do.  I was so ashamed of myself.  I still am in many regards.

I did not instill in you the manliness that I had aspired you to attain:  one that was tough, but soft.  In my hastiness to see a completed product I left you an open-endedness in dealing with Freddy that nearly killed him and most certainly calloused your heart.  When I beat you I thought I would break that.  Head it off at the pass.  But instead I made it stronger.  I enabled you to accept and even promote the escalation of bad things, rather than the restoration of peace and order.  I taught you to hang onto your pride and bury it, (Save it like a treasure!), rather than let it go like the trash that it is.  I am so sorry for setting you on that course so long ago.

I followed you to the beach that day you buried this box.  I made sure you didn’t see me.  After you left the cave I went in it to see what you had done with the box.  I knew then that you would never trust me ever again while I was still alive, and decided that I only had one real action I could take that would set you right in the future.  I went to the local hardware store and got the tools necessary to preserve this box in this cave for a long time.  I always hoped though it would not be my death that would bring you back to the box.

I had the highest hopes for your marriage to Lucy.  Thought that would set you right.  What a fool I am!  How could you be a good husband when I never taught you how to be a good man?!  Your marriage became subject to the style of escalation that I had taught you to embrace and was destroyed. 

I did what I could to make you go back to her, but I knew you wouldn’t trust me.  Son, believe me:  as angry as I was at you for leaving her, I was more angry at myself.  That anger was tethered to that old resentment I had made against myself way back when you were still just a scared boy.  I am so sorry.  

I am getting ready to leave this earth and we have not spoken since your divorce.  I am angry at you, of course.  I have treasured that anger against you and myself like it were the most valuable thing in the world.  As if it would vindicate me.  I realize now that it will not. 

Look around you, son.  What do you see?  A landscape that will far-surpass both our lifetimes.  An image of eternity.  An image of your soul.  I will not carry my treasured garbage into eternity with me.  I leave it here where it belongs.  I pray that this act frees you.  That my love would displace anger from your heart.  I love you.  Do not confuse your garbage as treasure.  Do not hide it in eternity to torture you forever.  Recognize what is truly valuable.  I love you.

-Dad”

“He came back here year after year to check on this site.”  I looked up from the letter into my uncle’s eyes. “To make sure that you would be able to find it.  That it would look the exact way you left it so that you could find it on your own.”

I couldn’t help it:  I started crying.

“Your father was a hard man.  He loved you…it’s just…raising a boy into a man that you hope to be better than yourself is a task that is above mere human strength.  That’s what he learned toward the end.  That’s what he needed you to know.  He needed you to see something that was stronger than his resolve:  he needed to show you his weakness.  That he messed up.  That he needed your forgiveness…”

“I’M SORRY, DAD!  O, GOD, I FORGIVE YOU!”  I’m losing all control.

“He knew you would.  I don’t think he could have died if he didn’t trust in that.”

“How did you know about all this?”  I ask, wiping away tears from my face.

“He brought me out here with him a month ago.  He showed me the cave.  Told me he was dying.  Had me help him lift that box out of the hole and unwrap it and help him put that note inside.  He was so weak toward the end.  So drained.  Made me promise him that I would help you get back to this place.”  He looked tired, “What are you going to do?”

“Thank you so much.  I’ll make sure to be less of a stranger.”  I give my uncle a hug as I walk out of the cave.  The sun was starting to rise red over the water.

“A new day.”

I pull out my cell phone.  I recall the number I wanted to dial.  There are a few rings before the phone is picked up.

“Hello?” answers a groggy voice on the other end.

“Hello, Lucy.  I’m so sorry for what I’ve done…”

I continue walking down the beach talking, leaving the garbage I had treasured so much behind.

He was a sad, nervous little lion.  A lion without a pride. 

His name was Ronald.

Ronald weighed about 50 pounds less than your average lion on the Serengeti.  He also had a smaller mouth.  His pelt was also green.

Ronald was always the outsider of his father’s pride.

Unlike the other lions of the Serengeti, Ronald had to wear glasses.  He was completely blind without them. 

Eventually Ronald just accepted the fact that he was different.  He started clipping his nails.  He also became a vegetarian.  This angered his father to no end.  And this is why he is now without a pride.

We see Ronald now laying in the middle of a field by himself.  He’s listening to The Shins on his MP3 player while reading a battered copy of “The Hound of the Baskervilles” (Ronald also read…something most lions don’t bother taking up and something his father told him was a complete waste of time).  As calm as he now seems, however, he hasn’t quite adjusted to being alone yet (not that anyone ever spent time with him while he was associated with the pride, but it was still reassuring to have them a few yards away).

Over the past five days, Ronald had just been living off of grass (this being the Serengeti there really is no option for a vegetarian who can’t walk for more than 15 minutes without getting extremely fatigued (yes, this was yet another one of Ronald’s maladies)). 

Ronald takes off his glasses and starts to sob…loudly.

“What am I supposed to do with myself!?” Ronald yells wildly to the sky in his nasally voice.  Of course the sky just stares back at him in its brilliant blue and says nothing.

A bird lands in front of him.  Had he been any other lion, this would have been a call to snack time, however, this being Ronald…

“Oh goodness-  another one!  Listen can you make this quick?”  Ronald has had just about enough for one day (and it was only 8:15 in the morning).

“Aren’t you hungry?” the little bird said cocking its head a bit.

Ronald sighs.  He pretends to be engrossed by his book.

“Don’t I look tasty?” The little bird teases, winking at him.

Ronald grunts.  He pulls the book closer to his face.

“I’ve been baking in the sun all day and marinating myself in a broth of butter, sliced tomatoes and onions and various exotic spices.  See?”  The little bird shakes his feathers wildly and the juice from the marinade flies all over the place, landing on Ronald’s book and paws and forehead.  “Smells good right?”

Ronald is resisting the urge to cry.

“You know”, says the bird, “There is a large contingent of vegetarians that consider poultry to be ok to eat.  You could say I’m a living, bleeding delicious vegetable…”

“I highly doubt that.” Ronald growled.

“You keep eating grass and you’re going to turn into a tree!  A small, lion tree!” 

“I should be so lucky.”

The bird flies atop Ronald’s head, pecks him between the eyes and flies off.

“Wuss!” It shouts behind it as it flies off toward his friends to tell them of the event.

Ronald is rubbing the area in between his eyes, “Well, that wasn’t as bad as yesterday.  At least he didn’t break my glasses.  Perhaps things are looking up for me…”.  With that Ronald continues reading his book.

A few hours later a herd of gazelle walk up to Ronald.  He does not notice them because:

A)    His eyes are focused on his book

B)    His ears are engaged listening to The Shins

C)    He has been without his decongestant since his break with the pride and his nose was incredibly stuffy (yes, Ronald also had allergies)

“Ahem” the lead buck was trying to get Ronald’s attention.  This was quite out of the ordinary for a gazelle to do, of course, but then again, Ronald wasn’t ordinary.

Ronald was singing softly to himself as he read:

“ …Don't ask for his opinion
They ought to drown him in holy water’ 
Will you remember my reply 
When your high horse dies?...”

The gazelle walks in closer, “Ahem!”.

“…See no one is wise enough to turn the ancient boat around…”

The gazelle finally walks in real close, steps on Ronald’s book with his front left hoof, and puts his face in Ronald’s, “AHEM!”

“…as no surpriiiAHHHHHHHH!!!!”

Ronald was a rather nervous lion.  This gazelle was rather aware of that.

“You have been laying in this field, or rather, OUR field, for the past five days now!” the gazelle growled into Ronald’s face.

“Sorry, YOUR field?” Ronald was quite confused.  He had also been reading a lot of Marx as of late and found the idea of property ownership to be quite beneath him and was rather surprised that this gazelle (this symbol of a perfect union with nature-in Ronald’s eyes anyway) thought so highly of his exclusive rights to that field.

“YES!  OUR FIELD!”

Ronald was still confused.

“You see, lion, how it works is:  we eat the grass and roam about the land.  You lions eat us and roam about the land.  YOU do not roam!”

“What’s your point?”  Ronald was very confused at this point.

“Knowing how truly harmless you were, I would have no qualm just eating around you.  However, my kids are terrified and have not eaten since you decided to take up permanent residency here!”

“Well, I’m truly sorry about that.”

“What’s worse”, the gazelle was truly on a roll now, “is that one day they will no longer be afraid of you…”

“That’s not so bad…”

“YEAH!?  What happens when they will no longer be afraid of lions?!  They’ll get eaten without even giving the slightest bit of flight!  Poof!  There goes my bloodline!”

“Well…”

“And you are green, after all!  What if my children are grazing and accidentally mistake you for a tuft of grass?!  Knowing you you wouldn’t even move even if you were being eaten alive!  My children will become carnivores because of your laziness!”

“Bu…”

“Will you PLEASE leave!”

“But I can’t walk very far without getting extremely tired!”

The gazelle gave Ronald an incredulous look.  One of utter disgust and embarrassment for the creature before him.  Ronald had enough.

“I’ll just get started walking then…”

As he trudged slowly away, Ronald reconsidered his earlier sentiment that things may be looking up for him.  It was just at this moment that his MP3 player died.

“O no!”  Ronald roared as he came to the sobering realization that his mother took away all his batteries upon his leaving the pride (“That’ll show you!  Probably that silly music that turned you into a green, meatless lump to begin with!” she had said).

This wasn’t Ronald’s week.

Three days later (after many intervening times of resting, of course), Ronald came upon a small cave.  He was relieved to get out of the sun.  Upon entering the cave he came upon a patch of cucumbers.

“How delightful!” Ronald mused.

“Is that…is that…” said a voice in the darkness.

“Eh?” Ronald pondered as he was getting ready to scarf down one of the cucumbers.

“MY SON!”  cried the voice.

“Dad?”

“Yes!  It’s me!  Finally!”

“Dad!...you sound awfully different.  More cheery.  Come out of the darkness so I can see you.”

“You’re head’s right above me, son.”

“Eh?”

“Down here!”

Ronald looks down.  Nothing there but a cucumber.  Ronald is confused.

“Eh?”

“It’s finally time I told you your true origin.”   The cucumber said.

“True…origin?”  Ronald remained confused.

“You are a cucumber!”  Exclaimed the cucumber joyfully.

“Wha…that’s impossible!”

“Is it?  Think about it, son:  green skin, an aversion to meat and violence, a hard time getting around... what else could you be!?”

“I thought I was a lion with a bunch of maladies!”

“That’s silly!  You’re just a cucumber that looks an awful lot like a lion!  It could be the next stage in our evolution!  How exciting!  We all have you to look forward to in cucumber-dom!”

“How’d I wind up with a bunch of lions then?”

“Well, think about it:  I can’t rightly chase after you with no legs!  And you were a wee sprout when you scampered off, so you couldn’t understand me telling you not to go!  Think how horrible that was for your mother and me!”

Ronald looked on in bewildered silence.

“I guess, you looked so much like one of them that the lions just assumed you were a lion and took you in.  No wonder they rejected you though:  no one ever accepts an orphan.”

“How’d you know I’ve been rejected?”

“Er…um…cucumbers are psychic!  It helps in getting to know someone.  Takes away from the awkwardity of having to make simple chit-chat with someone just to know a little about them.”

“Is ‘awkwardity’ a word?”  Ronald said, getting a little off-track (Ronald also had ADD).

“We also have the ability to make up new words when the opportunity arises.  Quite handy.”

“well that’s pretty neat!  I think I shall enjoy being a cucumber!”  Things were looking up for Ronald.

“It’s what you were born to be!  Let me introduce you to the family!  This is my wife (your mother), Greta.  Say ‘Hi’ dear.”

“Elloo!” Cried out Ronald’s mother in a voice that was similar to his father’s, only higher in pitch, “Give us a kiss then!”

Ronald leaned over and kissed the cucumber square on what he perceived to be her face.  He thought he heard stifled giggling at that point.

“Quiet, children!  Er…Ronald these two jokesters are your brothers:  Angus and..er…Claude…yeah…Claude!”

“Hey!”  Say Angus and Claude nearly simultaneously in rather low grunting voices.

“OH!  Finally I feel like I belong!  I always knew I’d find my place in this world!  I love you all so much!”

At that uproarious laughter erupted.  Laughter so loud that it bounced off the walls of the cave rather violently.

“Wha…did I say something wrong?”

Out of the darkness six hyenas walked out toward Ronald, bawled over with laughter.

“I can’t believe that worked!”  cried one of them.

“Wha…wha…?”  Ronald was confused.

“You were talking to vegetables!”  cried another.

“Bu…bu…”

“Yes?”  Inquired all six.

“Were you…were you…?”  Ronald is starting to panic.

The hyenas nod in unison.

“Than I’m not really a…a…?”

“Cucumber?”  offered one of the hyenas.

Ronald nods.

Laughter ensues once again.

“But what about my fur?!  And all my other similarities to cucumbers?!”

“You’re just a weird lion with some sort of pigment discoloration!  Or maybe one of your brothers died your hair while you were asleep one night!  Or perhaps you just don’t bathe and that’s fungus!”  Offered some of the hyenas between bouts of laughter.

Ronald left the cave feeling…well…not the greatest.  He decided at that point that the Serengeti just wasn’t for him.  After many many months (indeed years) of travel, Ronald finally wound up in New York City.  He lives in a small apartment in the Village and makes a handsome living drawing surreal (often humorous) comics for The Times…though he has never understood why his scathing exposes on life in the Serengeti are never taken seriously and are always relegated to the comics page.  He has a coffee addiction and has finally managed to wash away the dye in his fur.

I put down my coffee cup on the glass top coffee table situated in front of me.  As I stared up from it I looked into the eyes of my host and realize with a slight shock a surge of disappointment in them.

“Ahem.” My host stares down.  I follow his eyes and see that he is staring at the coffee cup.  What could be the problem?

It’s one of those ornate pieces of china.  A real piece of art.  As is the table.  The ceramic coaster it had been brought to me on was quite…

“O goodness!”  I notice I had laid the coffee cup upon the bare glass top of the table rather than on its coaster…which was barely an inch away from where I had landed it. 

“So sorry!” I say as I hastily place the cup onto its rightful place atop the coaster.  “Sometimes I wonder where my mind goes…”

“Quite all right, my boy!  Just considering my wife is all!  She spends literally days at various stores and shops and bizarres and what have you hunting these various knickknacks down and hiring various craftsmen (after hours of negotiating price, of course) to repair and restore them!  Don’t know where she finds the energy to do such things.”  He motions around the room.  It was, indeed, full of varied knickknacks ranging from elegant to exotic.  All of which, of course, were in pristine condition.

“Well I suppose everyone must have a hobby- a passion as it were.”

“Indeed!  It seems to be her method of expression.  Anyway, she can be rather vehement when she notices one of her pieces being treated in a less-than-respectable manner.  Hence my worry over the coffee cup.”

“Once again I’m very sorry for that sir!”

“No, no, no!  You misunderstand me, my lad!  I was more concerned for your safety when I was pointing out your faux pa.”  He gives me a wink.  He cares to preserve my dignity in the event his wife should walk in to collect our dishes.  What a caring host.

“Thank you, sir.” 

“Ah, well, you’ve just arrived from a rather long journey and it would be quite rude to have you berated by my wife for a simple…“cultural” misunderstanding.”

“Well, wait a moment, we use coasters where I come from too!  It’s just that I slipped up is all!  I’m a bit nervous:  this being my first trip down.”

“I’m so sorry, my lad!  Didn’t mean to give offense!  Here I am trying to preserve your dignity and what happens?!  I presume myself into insulting you!  And after inviting you here!  I’m so sorry!”

“No please, sir, it’s quite okay.”  This Victorian way of communication is exhausting, “Truth be told I’m having a bit of a hard time remembering which words to use…and this clothing is a bit uncomfortable….”  Goodness was it uncomfortable.  And the air in the house was so stuffy and warm!

“Ah, yes, you must excuse our protocol.  Certainly it would be quite a thing to adapt to.  I’d invite you to undress, but…well…”

“No, I understand…I can bare it.”  For a while, anyway.  I might be cutting my trip short…much shorter than originally intended.  None of my friends who had been down warned me about this…though they did always tend to visit the less-populated regions with the “less-strict” inhibitions concerning clothing.  Now I understood why.  Goodness this clothing is horrible!

An awkward silence ensues.

“Would you like to try a cigar?”

“What’s that, exactly?”  I had to be careful about what I allowed myself to intake.   The coffee I had earlier was harmless enough, though the Danish that came with it was right out.  I don’t even see how they could eat such things!

“Well, it’s dried up tobacco leaves formed into a sort of cylinder by hand.  One lights one end and breaths in through the other.  Quite a pleasant and relaxing experience.  A good apparatus for breaking the ice!”

“Seems harmless enough” Silly, but harmless, “Yes, I’d love to try a…what did you call it again?”

“Cigar.”  My host said with delight

“Ah, yes, ‘cigar’.  I’d love to try one!  I’m here for the whole experience after all!”

My host pulled out a small, wooden box (pristinely shined and crafted, of course) from a shelf (likewise of the highest quality and craftsmanship) next to him and opened it up in front of me.  In the box were a row of these rather large (in comparison to the box) brown cylinders.

“Just like you said they would look.”

My host smiled.  I stared at the row of cigars for a while before he told me that the proper protocol at this point was to simply take one.

“Thank you, sir!  Didn’t want to slip up again.”

“Quite alright”, he said as he grabbed one for himself and placed the box back upon the shelf, “There I go assuming you knew what to do.  Completely my fault.”

“Now what?” I ask.

He snaps off one end of his cigar with this rather ornate, bejeweled, hand-held guillotine.

“This end will go in your mouth.” He hands me the contraption.  I examine it a while.

“Fascinating device, sir!”.  He smiles as I snip off one end of the cigar and hand the device back to him.

Next, he pulls out from his jacket pocket yet another hand-held, bejeweled device.  With this device he lights a small fire at the other end of his cigar.  As he does this he takes puffs from the snipped side.  He hands me the device.

“Did you see what I did there?”

“Yes, sir, I should be able to replicate the procedure.”  I take a closer look at the device.  Though it is quite sophisticated-looking, in reality it worked rather primitively:  the fire is created through an interaction between friction and a flammable substance.  I make a note on my log.

“Quite rare those are!  Quite new too!  The very cusp of a new era of technology!”  I smile at him as I attempt to simulate his method of lighting the cigar.  I suck in and immediately start coughing violently.

“Xuuuoh-vo-va-xi!”  I let slip.  After regaining my composure I find that my eye has boiled over with snot and that there is a horrid taste in my intake valve.  I still did manage to hang onto the cigar though.

“Excuse me!”, I cough again, “I do not think that my absorbital glands will allow me to ingest more into my system.”

“I’m so sorry!”

“No, please don’t apologize!  You were merely being hospitable! “ 

Damn fool nearly killed me!  O well, trips like these are always associated with a degree of danger.  That’s one of the features that make them so appealing.  I hand him the cigar and he places it on what he calls an “ash tray” (yet another ornate decoration) to allow it to smolder.

“Perhaps your body would be more receptive to cognac?”

“Excuse me?”

“Cognac.  It’s a brandy.  An alcoholic substance you drink.  Quite lovely, really.”  He had an heir of hope about him about this particular suggestion.

“Thank you for your kindness, sir, but at this point I do believe that I’ve pushed my system to the limit enough for one day.  Perhaps another time.”  He looked disappointed, but I could not risk my safety here for proper etiquette. 

“Shall we get down to business?” I say to bolster his spirits (I knew by his cerebral output that he had been wanting to get to this since I first sat down, but felt restrained by protocol.  Silly custom).

“Oh only if you don’t mind!” he said blubbering but obviously excited.

“Not at all!”

“Well, like you said rather accurately earlier, everyone has to have a hobby.  Me and the gentlemen at the local billiard room have a sort of custom from one month to the next to ‘outdo’ one another in whatever rare form of artifact they can get ahold of and present to the group.  One week Gerald (he’s a colonel stationed in the horn of Africa) brought back a spear from a fortified city that no Westerner had ever entered before!  Thomas (he’s a captain in Her Majesty’s Navy) brought back the shell of a giant mollusk from an uncharted island in the Atlantic!  Alexander (a high-ranking bureaucrat in the East India Company) once brought back a crown from one of the palaces of the Raj…”

And so on.  One object after another brought back from foreign lands by his friends.

“…And me.  Well, I’m an astronomer.  Not much need in that career for traveling abroad.  All I’ve ever brought to our meetings are whatever knickknacks my wife can come up with.  They are routinely laughed at, ‘The consequence of not having a real occupation’, Alexander likes to quip.  It’s what I love though, astronomy!”

“It’s foolish of them to demoralize you like that.  What you do will have significant impact for your kind in the future.  As you said earlier, you are on ‘…the cusp of a new wave of technology’.  If only you knew how radical a future you are to have.  Your occupation will prove most important.  And you are playing a vital role in laying the foundations for both its maturation and legitimization.  It is quite important indeed.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.  And, after all, it is how you were able to find and initiate contact with me.”  He smiled as I settled more deeply into the leather chair.

“Thank you.”

“I’m only telling the truth.”

He smiles and gets back on point, “Well, just for once I’d like to show up and present them with something that would completely baffle them!  Just floor them!”

I nod, “I think I have something that will help you in that regard.”  I reach into my jacket pocket and continue, “Where I’m from it’s rather common place.  Just a ‘knickknack’ as you would call it.  Here though…well, there’s nothing like it here.”  I fish out of my pocket what appears to my guest to be a colorful, smooth stone half the size the palm of his hand.  He knows it is not terrestrial simply because of its colors (they are not what one would find on this planet)- they exist in a strata of vision that is incomprehendable for humans, so it appears to fade into and out of view in their eyes in a series of rather flamboyant colors.

“My word!  That is quite a thing!”

“It is a stone from one of our beaches.” I said, lying.

“Is it steaming?”

“It’s called ‘radiation’.  Your sciences do not quite grasp the idea of radioactivity yet- some manifestation of it are harmful, some not so much.  This is of the later variety.”

He grabs it out of my hand greedily.

“You must promise me though that you won’t expose it too much to the public view.”

“O yes, of course!  Thank you so much!  This will really knock the boys out tonight!”

“I’m sure it will.   Well, sir, as much as I’d hate to admit this, I really should be going:  I find that the coffee from earlier and that cigar really aren’t agreeing with me and I should probably seek some sort of medical attention back home.  I’m sorry I can’t join you for dinner like we planned.”

“Oh, it’s quite all right, of course!”  He did not care now that he had his prize.  “Will you be dropping in sometime in the near future?”

Not while you’re still alive, primitive, “Sometime in the future, yes.  If that would be permissible?”

“Why certainly, sir!  Always a pleasure to host guests!”  He focuses his attention to groping the object in his hands- trying to figure out its exact size and shape and texture, which will be impossible for him to do given his (and other humans) inherent inability to do so.

“I can see myself out.”

“Yes, yes, of course.  Have a good trip home!  Sorry for the sudden illness!”

Such a considerate host.  I smile and make my way out the room and down the hall to the front door.  I smile at his wife as I pass her by the stairs.  She scowls (I suspect she figures I ill-treated one of her beloved knickknacks).  I walk out the door and slam it hard behind me (much to her vocal chagrin).

The object I gave my host is a rather volatile, yet relatively stable, energy-encapsulating device.  We use it to power our technology (for example:  it gives our vehicles the energy needed to achieve the thrust necessary to attain light speed without the need to carry a large, cumbersome storage tank of explosive liquid).  If ill treated, it has the tendency to explode.  Luckily for my host and his kind, however, they currently do not possess the tools necessary to ill-treat it. 

It is a sort of yard stick I have left them.  A proxy with which to measure their progress in comparison to our own.  One day they will find a way to experiment on it and be able to cognitively grasp what sort of device it actually is.  And that will be the day they will prove to be a threat to our reign.  And the ensuing explosion will be a retaliatory strike taken on our part for their failure to follow proper etiquette and protocol with things that are outside their scope of understanding. 

One fell turn deserves another I suppose…

Slapped down again

Just my luck

Nothing changes

Buck in my rut

...and yet

The sky remains blue

The birds still flew

The grass soaks in dew

Bugs and lizards still...do what they do

...Perhaps my pessimism isn't true

You know what:  SCREW THAT!

I'm so tired of hearing that crap!

Everyone shows me their life map

And point out that they were where I'm now at

...but I know I'm not like them:  I'm life's door mat

"For once sympathize with me!

You're so cruel:  can't You see?

All of Your works are picking on me!

They go on while I'm left stranded on bended knee

...all I want is just to be free"

Just to be free...

Do I mean flee?

Just drop all I am with...glee?

Could that be the key?

...Abandon it all in a single spree

And yet...

The sky darkens...

The birds fall...

The grass burns...

Bugs and lizards die...unreknown

...But they all come back despite it all

I will remain

I cannot see, but it is plain:

One disappointment cannot mean eternal rain

I will not always be in pain

All my living has not been lived in vain

...my hope proceeds from and is beyond the plans of my brain

And because of that

...There's so much to hope for

Wishing you and your's a debt (and carobonite) -free Christmas and new years.  

Ho-ho-ho-ho... 

Dear Zack,

Stop asking for stuff.  I've already given it to you.  Start using it.

-The Designer

Dear Zack,

You are afraid of being humiliated.  I'm afraid the only way for you to progress forward is to step into that possibility of being humiliated...of being criticized.  And I don't mean in that way that you always do:  through self-depriciating humor and feigned stupidity.  Those only cover your real fears.

You feel like you are not good enough...yet.  There is no yet:  you aren't good enough.  You will never be at that point of a guarantee before an action (a victory before a battle).  Nothing you have will be strong enough to shield you away from the humility I want to use to make you into a better man.  That fear you feel is only the part of you that knows it will be destroyed upon contact with my challenge to you.  It is useless for the purpose I have planned for you.

 Metal is only made stronger AFTER it is passed through the fire and beaten.  I cannot change you while you are just standing outside the furnace experiencing its radiating heat:  I must plunge you into the flames.  You must accept my challenge.

End of analysis,

Your Designer