Right. Have a nice day.
You too.
Here we are, half a block and Im home. Bartenders hear all kinds of stories … .Im sure. Never see him again. Even if suspicious. Flimsy story. Easy to check. No connection. Thats probably it. Nothing to do with a guilty conscience. Pressure. Feeling of accomplishment. Need to tell someone. Ego. Thats what it is. All ego. Bragging not confessing. Priests cant tell. Dont even know whos talking. Cant see. Could tell a priest and be safe. Insane. Cant trust them. Trust a politician for gods sake. Water. Oh, that tastes good. Dont think I was ever that dry. Dont feel like working. Still a little restless. Not like before though. Guess the walk took the edge off. Starting to feel a little weird … deflated I guess. Im okay. Dont know what to do now. Feel like something. Maybe a movie. No, that doesnt sound inviting. Nothing to think about. Or plan. Yeah, I guess thats it. Its sort of over. Dont feel like its over. Something unfinished … lacking. Really feel at loose ends. Oh god, cant even think of turning that on. Dont know what in the hell to do with myself. Okay, lets look at this. Couple of months my energy was focused on Barnard and now thats all over. But no closure. Yeah, that simple, no closure. Its over … hes over … The entire situation is history. There is nothing more to be done. Hes not around anymore. No need to ever think of him. He will not antagonize anyone anymore. Thats a good thing. Very good thing. A lot of vets are going to be happy when they find out. Would like to invite them all to dinner and tell them. See their faces. The huge smiles. Listen to the jokes. The cheers. All the Barnard stories … and then the son of a bitch did this … and that … Yeah … satisfaction. Thats missing. Need closure to have it. You work so hard to achieve something, then you succeed and its like theres no reason to live. As if they gave me a watch and retired me. People live and retire. My life is not without purpose now that this … this … situation is over. Thats insane. Remain anonymous. Funeral parlors filled with people. But who would notice? Lot of strangers. Family doesnt know co-workers. Keep head down. Talk to no one. Could wear a big mustache. And wig. Who would—thats nuts. Absolutely no connection. Wig and mustache. Madness. Too easy to check places that rent those things. Theatrical supplies. Its food poisoning. What could be more suspicious than buying a wig and mustache? Just go and look at the dearly departed. Dont sign the book. The book of the dead. Dead. Thats right. Barnard is dead! Hes not a dearly departed. He is not a deceased. No demise. He is not out to lunch. He is dead! Dead in the water. Very simple. Barnard is dead. No euphemism. Oh I am glad that youre dead you rascal you. Need to see him dead in his box. Oh poor Barnard, I knew him well Horatio. Yes, a light dinner and a visit to the motel of last resorts. Not a short term vacation. Death is so permanent. Dead. Its all over. Done with. Over and done with. Thats all there is there aint no more. Except for the dearly surviving. Its okay Crip, dont cry ol fella. My mother had four more children after me, Eenie, Meanie, Minie and Jack. Jack? What happened to Moe? She didnt want no Moe. Better keep Crip away from the cemetery. It will be fine. Nothing to worry about. Just go for a few minutes and leave. Can always eat later. Not hungry. Gut feels empty, but not hungry. Really not so bad. Feeling sluggish again. Ass dragging. Really at loose ends. Damn, this is ridiculous. Could always have a cup of coffee. Maybe stop off and get some ice cream. Something. Damn. Dont know what I want. Hell with it. Just go. Its not foolish. Arsonists always show up at their fires. Love them. I dont love Barnard and I am not an arsonist. Time to get going. Come on, lets go.
Beautiful night. Balmy breeze. Good night for a convertible. Open windows fine. Feels great. Hope theres no problem parking. Didnt think of that. May be a lot of people going there from work. We/ll see. Must be parking within walking distance. Thats possible. Might be like last child leaving home and the mother feels lost. Unfocused. Could very well be. Not that I feel so terrible. Just sort of adrift. Really had something to focus on … for months. Now only work. Antsy. Feel like flooring it and barreling through the night. Sense of speed with windows open. Noise. Feel the wind on my face. Better park here. Only half a block away, and who knows if theres anything closer. Well, here goes … Nice trees. That oak looks very old … Whoa, gut really bubbling. Like its trying to stop me. Maybe I am making a mistake. Who knows. Parking lots rilled. Cant all be for him. Still plenty Im sure. Here goes … Jesus, it feels like a mortuary. BARNARD … Room C. This way … Like I thought, a lot of people. Just go in. Look solemn. Head bowed. Look no one in the eye. Dont have to mingle. Dont stay still too long. Someone will come over. No familiar faces. Or voices. Over the phone? Dont think so. Quiet anyway. Slowly toward the front. Not a bad casket. Shiny anyway. Stuffy in here. Its cool but I feel warm. Dont have to stay too long. Its okay. Feel alright. Not too bad actually. Quiet. No hysteria. No one there. Should go take a look. There he is. Dead. Give me a D E A D Dead! Its really him, Barnard. And hes no more. Deceased. Departed. Go to big Tipi in sky. Doesnt look too good. Knock, knock, any body home? Youre a real dead beat now Barnie. Guess I should move so someone else can look atim. Just one more minute. He may wink at me. May all be a joke. He may suddenly jump up and start singing, ‘Heaven, Im in heaven’ … If youre in Heaven somethings wrong. Its all a cheat. The deck is marked, the game is crooked. Better move. People may be looking. Drift over there out of the way. Can still see him. Make sure he doesnt try to get away. You have to stay put Barnie, its not Halloween. There you are. You are really dead. Put them all together they spell DEAD, a word that means the world to me. Im not breathing but air keeps coming in … and going out. Should move soon. Someone wi—
Did you know Harry long?
Huh … (Harry? What????) Oh. (Harry) A few years. From the office.
Ive been his neighbor for 10 years. Fine man. Wonderful family man. Really a beautiful family. So tragic.
Yes. (hows ol Crip) Terrible; Im not sure I know exactly what happened. Ive been on vacation.
Oh, I see. Really tragic. So sudden. Came home from work, sick, a couple of days ago with food poisoning. And suddenly he was dead. So tragic.
You never know, do you?
No, you certainly do not. In the best of health one minute, and the next …
When its your time theres no avoiding it.
Never had a sick day in his life. Never missed a days work. Then out of nowhere his life is snuffed out.
Theres just no way of figuring these things.
So true—Oh excuse me, theres Maxwell. I need to speak to him. Pleasure.
Indeed.
Yes, indeedy deedy do. A modern day tragedy. The price we pay to maintain our civilization. The pace of life is much too fast. Food is grown fast, prepared fast, eaten fast, and periodically theres a bit of neglect in the mix and the first thing you know someone has food poisoning. Hear about that sort of thing all too often. Yes indeed. Something should really be done about it. Inspect those places more often, more thoroughly. God only knows how long they have dead meat hanging around. Gets into the grain of the wood, the sinks, floors, walls, pots, pans are covered with bacteria. Perfect environment for disease. I tell you it is criminal how these conditions are allowed to exist. I bet thousands die each year from these forms of contamination, but you dont hear about it. They keep it all hushed up. Thats the way big business is. All they care about is their bottom line. We are mere chattel to them, just consumers. But if they keep killing us off like this there wont be any consumers left. We should all write to our Congresspeople, letters to the editor, TV, radio, deluge them with letters, let them know we are aware of what is happening and we wont tolerate it any longer, we demand that steps be taken to ensure that we can stop in for a simple lunch and survive the food. Look at this man, cut down in the prime of life by someones negligence. Look at the survivors, the wife and children, and his dear dog, Crip, who even now has already gone days without food and will soon be as dearly departed as his master. This is not a game, yet you are taking a chance when you eat lunch. Perhaps we all need to go back to the old lunch pail and thermos. May not be chic, but it would be safer. It is ab
solutely—Ahh, that air feels good. There definitely was something dead about the air in there. No pun intended. Oppressive atmosphere. But he is dead. Gone the way of all flesh. Oh, I feel so much better now. It is not all a fantasy, it is as real as death can get. Hes dead. Maybe the next guy will be as rotten, but this one isnt going to screw anyone any more. God, I have such a powerful sense of accomplishment. Ive accomplished a lot as an engineer. Problems to solve. Staying focused. But this was so different. This was so much more real, so tangible. There was nothing theoretical about this. The problem was concrete as were the actions and the result. Engineering problems are interesting, fascinating, challenging, doing things that had never been done before. No small thing. No indeed. But this … this has been done so many times before it is beyond calculation. There was Adam and Eve, and there was Cain and Abel. Thats a long time ago and weve been doing it ever since. I have joined an ancient fraternity. I have killed a man. With my ingenuity, knowledge, courage, and my very own hands I have killed a man. I did not push a button, or spray impersonal bullets over an area, I, in fact, bit the bullet and addressed the problem head on and personally killed a man. I did not dispatch him, nor did I terminate him, eliminate him, I very simply killed him face to face. No euphemism, no second hand death. Just as I stand here and look myself in the eye in this mirror, I looked at him and did what was necessary to end his life. I killed the son of a bitch. Of course I did not look into his eyes as he was dying and tell him I was taking his life, but I dont have to get wrapped up in that, it is enough to know that he is dead and will not visit his. evil upon anyone ever again. Never again! Hes still laying there in that box. He will never leave it. A true sense of permanency. Everyone goes home. No one checks up on him. He/ll be there in the morning looking as he did today. Guess they touch up his makeup. Could go back tomorrow and see. Might not be a good idea. Someone might realize I was there today. That one guy did talk to me. Forget it. All of it. Suddenly feel exhausted. Hungry. Make a sandwich or something.
And now he once again sleeps the sleep of the innocent. A gentle smile on his face and a body free of tension, twisting and turning. When he awakens it will, be a new day. What it will bring is unknown to him at this moment. The day will bring with it exactly one day of living and he will do as he will with it. It is all up to him.
Ohhh, feel exhausted … doesnt seem very early … bright … slept all night … whats the time … lets see wow … slept almost nine hours, should be bouncing up and around … no sense … nine hours, shouldnt feel so sluggish … better get to the bathroom … eyes dont want to stay open … watch where Im peeing anyway … god, cant stop yawning … lights attacking my eyes … crazy, nuts, want to go back to bed. Should I? Got something? Pick up a bug? Just shower. Always works. Ohhh, all I do is yawn. What the hell. Cant drown in the shower. I hope. May yawn myself to death. Can die in the shower. Keep yawning and slip. Crack my head. Dumb way to die. Maybe some food and coffee will do it. Something has to. Cant make it like this … weak and hollow. Can hardly get my clothes on. Going to get lockjaw from yawning. Cant really be this tired. Not going back to bed. Dont care. Coffee will help. And food. Couldnt even make instant coffee, if I had any. Walk to the deli will help … Dont know. Just the thought is overwhelming. Well, not going to fix anything here. Obviously. Damn, eyes are tearing from yawning. Drive to the deli. Oh god, feel like a fool driving those couple of blocks. Obscene. Yeah, not going to get there any other way. Dont get there I dont eat. Need to eat. Can feel it. That may be all thats wrong. Sun spots or something. I dont know. Sometimes you wake up like this. Graving need for food. Feel so disconnected. Separated sort of. Felt so solid … so … whole last night. Dont, get it. Ten hours ago I felt light … capable. The thought of moving is unbearable. Lifting a foot, moving a leg, then putting the foot down then going through the same things over and over my god its impossible. Cant do it. Feel like I weigh a ton. Too much weight to move. Have to drive. Maybe park around the corner. Driving will wake me up. Better. Damn, better stop yawning while driving. Could pile into someone and not even know it. Only two blocks. Thats where most accidents happen, they say. Couple blocks from home. Nobody will know I drove from home. Dont know where I live. Even so, I could be coming from somewhere else. Keep my eyes open. And alert. Just dont yawn. Stay al—terrific, just a few feet away. Ahh, made it. Didnt yawn once. Lets hope its stopped. Dont want to yawn in the waitresses face. Thats ugly. Truly gauche. Oh god, out of nowhere. Guess I/ll just have to keep rubbing my eyes or nose or something. Keep my head down. Oh god, it wont stop. Its like being back in school. Everyone looking at you when you yawn and that damn Mizz Bubblehead or whatever her name was, ‘If you tried sleeping at night maybe you would not be yawning in every ones face.’ God, everyones face. Sat in the back of the room. Practically wrapped my arms around my head. What a bitch. Wonder why she hated me? Always singling me out for some damn thing. Nothing actually. Just liked to pick on me. Make me stand in front of the class. Recite something. She knew I hated to do that. She did it on purpose. Liked to see the pain in my eyes. Yeah. Thats why she made me stand next to her desk to recite. Everyone looking at me. Some of the guys, especially John and Wilson, would make faces and try to get me to laugh. Almost wet my pants once. Some friends. Did it every time. Couldnt seem to avoid looking at one of them. Different sides of the room. Could feel my face twisting in knots trying not to laugh and recite. Mizz Bubblehead looking at me, tapping her finger on the desk. Just staring. Could feel those eyes burning right through me. And the girls … oh god. Whispering behind their hands … giggling … and Sally Landry .sitting in the front row, right in front of me, and she was getting boobs. All were really, but she had these … boobs … I could feel the sweat rolling down my back and sides and I had to recite or read some dumb poem for Bubblehead and I/d lose my place looking at Sallys boobs and feeling weird all over oh god, why in the hell am I remembering this nonsense. Just nod my head, mumble, rub my eyes and nose, cover my face with my handkerchief, dont know whats happening, keep smiling, always smiling then they dont ask whats wrong, god thats annoying, if youre not smiling they want to know whats wrong, just keep smiling, but cant around Mizz Bubblehead, or while looking at Sally Landrys boobs. Especially Sallys boobs. Forgot all about my face then. Dont think I yawned while watching her walk across the room. Werent very big, but they were definitely boobs. Funny how these things change—krist, the handkerchief, shes looking right at me, lousy thing to do to someone while theyre eating, yawn, they look up from their food and see your wide, gaping mouth, your tongue and all that funny looking stuff under your tongue (at least its not like that black flappy stuff dogs have), your cavities, your fillings, all those funny little things hanging down in the back, oh god, thats beyond gauche, just cant do that to some one. Maybe I was on alert when I watched Sally, thats why I didnt yawn. Yeah, it is funny the changes, youre a little kid and other kids make fun of you by saying you go out with girls. Do not. Do so. Do not. Not. Not. Then in no time at all instead of being a sissy if youre seen talking to a girl, youre a sissy if you dont. Guess thats kind of how the world is, cant win. Maybe, break even. Sallys boobs fascinated me. Wanted to just stare at them and see if I could see them growing. Dont think I made any connection with boobs and anything else. Just wanted to spend all my time staring at them. Lets see if that food will work. Wake me up. Stop yawning. O krist, no good. Guess I/ll have to keep thinking of Sallys boobs on the way home so I wont yawn. Wonder what brought that up? When the hell was the last time I thought of Sally or her boobs? Not that they were really boobs yet. A year or so later they were. Dont seem to remember them particularly then. They all had them by then. No time for yawning in those days. Haha, we all became athletes, first base, second base. Closest I came to being a ball player. Took me long enough to learn to play that form of baseball. Cant say I was very proficient. Who knows how many were. We all lied to each other, or at least took liberties with the truth. Wonder if they wonder about all that? Well, home and no mish
aps. Sallys boobs got me through breakfast. What now. God, this is dreadful. Unbearable inertia. Shouldnt have plopped on the couch. May never get up. If Sallys budding boobs helped maybe something more mature will help. Hell, who am I going to call? Dont even feel like picking up the phone. Make a date for tonight or the weekend and who knows how in the hell I/ll feel? Get stuck spending a night with someone youre bored with. Dont have to spend the night. But thats always expected. Even if they dont want to, or cant, they get upset if you dont want to. So you have to play the game and suppose its not a game, they just say, Lets go. Your place or mine? Terrific. What do I do, yawn in their face? Or ask them if they can shrink their boobs for a while? One way ticket to the asylum. Why bother, its all so pointless. You go to bed, make love for a few hours, get up in the morning and youre still faced with the first day of the rest of your life. What good is a diversion? Postponing the inevitable. Suppose I could work for a while. Why? Even if I could get up how in the hell do I walk all the way to my office, turn on the machine, review my work, see what has to be done, look—impossible. Got to breakfast. Thats it. Maybe for the week. Dont have to eat every day. The thought of eating is nauseating. Howd I get to breakfast? Oh god, my bodys feeling heavier and heavier. Dragging me down. Everything feels so black. What the hell is happening? Cant be happening again. Cant feel like that. I got past that. Life cant do that to me again. I wont let it. I wont tolerate it. Just put on the television. No need to get strangled by all this. Television. See what? A bunch a buildings get blown up. People blasted. Some asshole in uniform yelling, GO GO GO!!!! God, what drivel. Eliminate the violence, the special effect, the noise, and all you have are opening and closing credits. Yeah, sure. No, thanks. Last thing I need is a fuzzy feelgood movie. If ol Shep got ripped apart and eaten by a mountain lion I/d feel good. No point in the boob tube. Ahhh, the way they toss them around its depressing. As if the boobs have a life of their own and some inane broads only reason for living is to shake them in your face. No wonder this country is going down the tubes. Average set is on 6 hours a day. Country of idiots. Its not a moral degeneration. A case of becoming amoral. Immorality is tangible. Its a definite mind set. It is a tangible perception of life and the actions needed to beat life at its own game. Immorality is not wishy washy. It is not fuzzy feelgoody. Fundamentalists have a very definite agenda they pursue and it is tangible. Concrete. The boob tube softens the suckers up for them. They dont know it. They sit and get consumed by this mediocrity and swear to god theyre having fun ah, the hell with it. Its pointless. Yeah, sure, watch a Dodger game. Sit through hours of heart pounding excitement just to find out they lost, again. Now thats really an exercise in futility. Once every 5 minutes or so somebody throws a ball and someone else tries to hit it with a club. Oh how exciting. Now they both walk around in circles, bang their shoes, scratch their balls, adjust their hats, look around, shrug, shake, wiggle, then go through the entire scenario again … and again … and again … ad infinitum, ad nauseum. Well, at least they get to sit in the sun for hours, then spend a few more hours in traffic after the game is over. Whooppeee. A marble championship would be a lot more fun. Wonder if they still have them? Probably. Somewhere. Kids enjoy them. Maybe one of the last things they get to enjoy as kids. Not long before theyre thrown into the competition of the world. Dont just go to school and do your best. Must excel. Should excel at everything. But at least one thing anyway. They dont tell you what a horror story life is. How futile. Meaningless. Make money. God, nothings easier than making money. Then what? It crushes you. Life just gets heavier and heavier and envelopes you in its tentacles until it has squeezed all life from you but you dont die. You linger. Deeper and deeper into darkness. Grotesque delirium. Constant derision. Sunlight mocks you. Moonlight mocks you. Flowers, mockingbirds, trees, shadows mock you. Street lights are on. To guide or mock? They push back the darkness, yet it is always there waiting to crush you. The sun shatters the darkness but the sun gives up in despair. The darkness always rebounds and returns to block out the light of the sun, to send it down, down, out of sight, whimpering before the black night. The darkness always follows, falls, descends. Always. We get our moment in the sun. But only a moment. Feeling energized by it, ignited, illumined, radiant, lighted, see our path so clearly, no questions, no doubts, so clearly and so definitively marked it is almost unnecessary to watch where you place each foot, they simply go where they need to go, moving you forward deeper into the light, the single purpose of the, light, light the bringer of life and then you know … Yes! You know. This is the life you were created for. This is the reason you bother to breathe in and out. It all makes sense. No, the mysteries of life are not solved. They are unimportant. Merely toys to be played with, then cast away or passed on as is done with childrens toys. Yet we know the children are playing with toys. We believe we are concerning ourselves with the most important questions life presents. Ahhh, the mysteries. You can study the mysteries, discuss them, analyze them, debate them, belittle them, canonize them, or … or you can live life. Ahh, why bother even thinking about it? You have your moment of sublime purpose, appointment. Receive the blessing of Sanction and experience your entire being being bathed in light. The supreme and exquisite joy of not having to drag the body around, of moving it from here to there. Rather, it seeming to simply move itself where it needs to go, where it can best serve the needs of life. Yet life eventually casts you aside as if it were a corporation. Go. Leave. Never darken this door again. You are no longer needed or wanted. How does this happen? Why does this happen? Its as if I didnt have that time in the light. The heavy, impenetrable darkness starting to crush me again in the wink of an eye. Oh god, feels like my shoulders are wrapped around my hips. Feel so twisted and curled. How did I end up back here? At least I do have the gun now. I do have the ability to break this chain. There is that. I do not have to be a victim. I do not have to be abused by life. I can take that one assertive step that we all have a right to take. What they say is immaterial. I can certainly do it if I so choose. It is my life. Not theirs. What do I care about their stupid laws? They can control my life, but not my death. That is my choice. Yes, so true, knowing I have that choice, and right, and, of course, the means whenever I choose, takes away that sense of urgency. There is no enforced waiting period. Everything is in my hands. To be or not to be. It is a question I can answer whenever I choose. It is all up to me. Perhaps I can sleep. I think so. Feel weary. And so, so tired. Worn out. I could just stretch my legs out and sleep here. No. Wouldnt work. Wake up in the middle of the night, unable to go back to sleep. Thats unbearable. Have to cut a hole in the darkness to breathe. I can force myself up now, now that I know I can do whatever I choose, when I choose. It is all up to me. Well, we/ll see what the morrow brings.