The Dark: Chapter Four

Kelly leans over and shouts something in your ear. The music's as loud as a bitch though and so all you hear are the words "think" and "hot".
You give Kelly a puzzled look that lets her know that you’re stuck somewhere between lost and really lost.
Sighing, Kelly leans over again. This time her lips brush against your ear.
"I said 'I think she's hot!'"
Kelly points in the direction of the drinks table.
Your eyes follow the length of her arm to where she is pointing. Standing next to the drinks table is none other than Fifi Payton. Tall, big breasted and beautiful.
Who also happens to be a lesbian.
People have waited for her coming out party for ages but she seems pretty determined to hold it off for as long as possible.
Well, she is sleeping with the captain of the football team. That must have some privileges, right? And it’s not like Reggie Stafford really minds. Fifi is easily the hottest chick in school. It's only more points to Reggie for hitting that.
"You do know that it’s rude to point don’t you?"
"Not if the person knows that you’re watching them." Kelly says cockily.
If Fifi is aware of an audience, however, she isn’t letting on. Holding a cup of something yellow with a few flecks of blue in it, she appears to be completely engrossed in the music. Her eyes are closed, her body slowly swaying to the thump-thump of the beat.
"She doesn’t exactly look like she knows you’re watching." you point out.
Kelly just smiles.
"Oh, she does."
You sigh. Kelly has obviously made up her mind. No matter what may, she was going to get lucky tonight.
You both watch Fifi in silence for a bit. You can understand where Kelly is coming from. Fifi is like a spell, a magical force you can’t get away from.
"Fifi's the one who invited me, you know."
Kelly says this sedately. You glance over at her. The girl is whipped.
And although you honestly doubt the truth of Kelly's admission, you still decide to play along.
"Then go over there and talk to her." you say.
Adjusting the Yankees hat sitting on top of her head, Kelly tells you that she just might.
"Go for it." you say and give her a little shove to drive the point home.
Kelly flashes you a quick smile and then sucking in some air, struts across the room.
"Get me another drink while you’re over there, will you?" You shout after her. She doesn’t hear you though and you don’t really expect her to.
Go Kelly, you think and take a sip of your beer.
You watch as Kelly approaches her swaying goddess. It takes a moment but Kelly manages to get Fifi's attention. You see Fifi's features light up when she realizes who it is. She throws her arms around Kelly and gives her a lengthy hug.
They are soon engaged in an animated conversation and it’s not long before you start to think that maybe Kelly had been telling the truth about Fifi inviting her after all.
You turn away; try not to make it look so obvious that you have nothing better to do than watch Kelly set her ball into motion. You can’t help it though and soon you find your eyes back on the couple.
With a stray glance, Kelly catches your eye. Then getting Fifi's ear, you watch as she points in your direction. After a moment Fifi nods and then collecting a couple of fresh drinks they walk over to where you are.
Kelly pulls you in for a hug.
"Be nice." She tells you and gives you a warning pinch just in case you didn’t get it.
You give her a grimace that lets her know that you got it loud and clear.
Then all smiles again, Kelly asks Fifi if you two have met before.
Fifi shakes her head saying that she's seen you around but doesn’t think that you’ve actually ever met.
"Well in that case...” Kelly goes on two introduce the two of you.
"Pleasure." Fifi says, beaming over at you.
You smile briefly.
"I'm sure it is."
The smile on Fifi's face fades considerably. Shooting you a warning look, Kelly makes a move to kick start a conversation. One that after only about thirty seconds you realize does not interest you. Your mind begins to wander. So do your eyes.
After a moment they lock onto a red jacket.
You know he's going to come over even before he takes a single step. Working the room, he steadily moves towards the three of you. Kelly and Fifi don’t notice him until he's no more than a foot away.
"Hey."
Fifi flips her hair out of her face, over her shoulder. Only slightly glancing over at the new arrival.
"Hey Reggie...what are you doing here?"
"I was going to ask you the same thing."
Fifi turns and gives Reggie her full attention for the first time. Looks him up and down as if she she's trying to decide on something.
"I'm talking."
She cocks her head to the side.
"Your turn."
Reggie smirks. Glances over at you and Kelly.
"With them? How much have you had to drink, Phee?"
You’re used to such slights and so you just ignore it. Kelly, however, was part of the in-crowd once and so still finds it hard to swallow such insults which she thinks are reserved only for the likes of you. Not that she would ever say that to your face
Kelly speaks up to say something but Fifi grabs her arm and digs her nails into it, quickly cutting Kelly short.
Raising her cup Fifi waves it in front of Reggie's face.
"Obviously not enough to leave with you, Regg. Now beat it."
Reggie shrugs, his smirk seeming to say something like "You'll be back".
"Suit yourself," he says, turning to leave.
"All I'm trying to do is do you a favor." He throws over his shoulder
"Save you some embarrassment."
With a swagger that makes you want to break your bottle on back of his head, Reggie saunters off.
"You okay?" The question is directed at you.
You nod.
"I'll live."
"You?" Fifi asks Kelly.
"I will be as soon as you get your nails out of my fucking arm." Kelly breathes through clenched teeth.
"Oh my God, sorry!" Fifi exclaims letting go of Kelly's arm.
"Baby, are you okay?"
Baby? You think. Okay...
"I'll be fine. Just never, ever do that again." Kelly says rubbing her arm. The nail marks look nasty. Like they were about thirty seconds away from breaking skin. That must hurt like a bitch, you say to yourself.
"How about we go outside?" Fifi offers.
"I’ve got a car. Some wicked tunes too."
Kelly looks at you pleadingly. This is her chance.
Sighing, you tell the two of them to go ahead.
"What about you?" Fifi asks.
"I'll be fine." You tell her.
"I'll just...drink some more beer or something."
"You can do that in the car." Fifi insists.
"Now come on."
You shrug in resignation.
"Okay."
Turning, you give Kelly a look that says ' at least you can’t say that I didn’t try'.
Rolling her eyes, Kelly let's Fifi take her by the hand.
"Let's get out of here." Fifi says and pulling Kelly by the hand, heads for the door.

The Dark: Chapter Three

Its your senior year in high school. A few months before graduation. The night of Spencer's party. You're not popular but you've still been invited. Well, sort of. You find a flyer plastered to your locker. Bright pink, it is hard to miss. After reading it you start to crumple it up. So what if it's going to be "The wickedest shit this side of hell", its not like you're going to feel welcome there. They'll probably just shut the door in your face anyway.
Something, however, stops you from throwing it away. You don't know what, maybe it was fate and so instead of tossing it in the trash can like you know you should have, you uncrumple it, smooth it out on the thigh of jeans, fold it nicely and stuff it in your pocket.
When you get home you go straight to your room. Do your homework. Try to forget about the flyer that is burning a hole in your pocket. Its a losing battle, however, and so after reading the same line about fifty times you pull out the flyer. Smooth it out on your desk.
"The wickedest shit this side of hell!!!" it proclaims. Something about that riles you. Makes you want to turn up just so that you can dare them to shut the door in your face.
And what if they do? you ask yourself. What then?
You try not to think about. Try to force the stupid notion of going for some stupid party out of your stupid head.
Crumpling the flyer you toss it in the general direction of the wastepaper basket without really aiming. It bricks. you're not really surprised.
Swiveling in your seat you plan to crack the books in earnest when the sound of your name barrels up the stairs and slams into the bedroom door. Getting up you walk over to the door and jerk it open.
"Whaaaat?"
"Phooone!"
Shit, it's probably Kelly, you think. You already have some idea of what she is going to say and have no desire to hear it.
"Tell who ever it is I'm not home!"
"Its Kelly. She says its pretty urgent!" is the prompt reply.
You roll your eyes. "Urgent" to kelly is a night out without a new outfit. she probably wants to come over and get that white Yankee fitted she has bugging you about. But whatever.
You tell your mom that you'll take it.
Swiping the handset from where it sits on the small table in the corridor you put it to your ear.
"Have you heard about Spencer's party?" Kelly asks without preamble.
"And hello to you to." you say.
"Shut up and answer the damn question."
You walk back into your room and shut the door behind you. Briefly catch a glimpse of the bright pink ball sitting next to the wastepaper basket.
You lie.
"No." you say and sit down on the edge of your bed.
"You're kidding me, right?"
"No."
"God, you're such a spaz." Kelly says,
"Anyway, we sooo like have to go."
"We're not invited." you point out, even if it isn't necessarily true.
"I am." Kelly counters, who seems to have an answer for just about everything,
"And I'm taking you with me."
You sigh. Tell Kelly that you're doing homework. That you have an assignment thats already two days late, that-
"Shut up." Kelly says cutting your feeble explanation short.
"I'm coming over, you're dressing up and we're going for that fucking party. Kapeesh?"
You know there's no wriggling your way out of this one and so you reluctantly agree. Resign yourself to the inevitable.
Fucking Kelly, man, you think. The queen bitch of the strong arm.
As you hang up the phone, you try to shake the queer feeling that you have. Like something is about to go seriously and horribley wrong. Its just nerves, you tell yourself. It's just your mind trying to play tricks on you.
You toss the phone onto your bed. Walk over to your closet.
Trying to ignore the tremor in you hands, you look for something to wear

The Dark: Chapter Two

"Don't look at me. Just don’t look at me. Just look right through me like you always do. Get someone else to answer your stupid question."
But she does look at you. Her gaze piercing like she can see right into the depths of your soul. You sink lower into your seat.
"How about you," she says. gazes down at her class register. After a moment, however, she frowns, she cant seem to match your face with a name.
With a dismissive wave of her hand she gives up.
"You, sitting behind Miss Tanner. Would you like to give us an explanation for this phenomenon?"
Several heads swivel in your direction. Your face starts to feel hot. Your mouth suddenly dry.
The entire hall is suddenly quiet. everyone is waiting for you to answer. To hear what the class weirdo has to say.
You mutter your answer. The hall is so quiet that it carries easily.
"No? You don’t even want to try?"
You catch a few people snickering. Not openly but one of those hand over mouth numbers. Beads of sweat pop up on your forehead like a rash of pimples.
Dr. Stevens seems rather amused.
"What's your name?" She asks. Crosses her arms in fashion that let's you know that the lecture was not going anywhere until you answered her question.
There are more snickers. These ones more open. you are turning into a freak show.
Dr. Stevens holds up a hand. Tells them to let you answer.
Trying your best to ignore the snickering and the sweat running down your back, you manage to.
Opening a file, Dr. Stevens begins to rummage through some papers. After a moment she finds what she is looking for and straightens up. She reads out your name and then a percentage: %93. Your paper was the most impressive she had read in years. Which, to her, seems quite odd seeing as you have just been placed on academic probation. You did write this paper, didn’t you?
She waits for a few moments but then realizing that you’re not going to give her a forthright answer, Dr. Stevens flips through the term paper. Finding the place that she's interested in, she begins to read from it. first one paragraph, then another. She doesn’t stop until she reaches the bottom of the page.
"I couldn’t have written it better myself." She says looking up from the paper. And according to her, you have already answered her question. And then some.
The queer looks you are getting make you sink even further into your seat.
Dr. Stevens gives the paper to someone in the front row. Tells them to pass it to you. She wants to see you once the lecture is over.
You glance at your watch. That was in about half an hour.
When the paper finally lands on your desk it is fairly crumpled and a number of cruel comments have been scribbled in the margins by the people whose hands it has passed through.
You peer at it. The hand writing is definitely yours but you have no recollection what so ever of writing it.
Catching the person sitting next to you peering over your shoulder in an attempt to look at your paper, you crumple it into a ball and let it fall to the floor.
The paper scares you.
Because, to you, the paper asks more questions than it answers.
One thing was for certain, however, he was becoming stronger. Bolder. There was no way to control him.
You think of what he did to Jason. No, what you did to Jason.
You have to stop it, you realize. But to do that you have to go back to the beginning. To where it all began. And that's what scares you more than anything. Even more than knowing what it is capable of. Because when all is said and done, going back will only lead you to one place. To the place where you would have to come face to face with your worst enemy, your worst fear...yourself.

The Dark: A Short Story

Prologue


There is a place I sometimes go
Where the river of time does not- can not flow
Where there is no yesterday, today or tomorrow
but only the present-
Only now.


There is a place where I sometimes stroll
A place void of all presence but my own
A place where my angels and demons no longer battle for control
for my demons are the lords of the domain.

Where is this place?
This place where I lose myself
Where I find myself
Where I feel free to be the creature I fear to be anywhere else.

This place is a space deep within-
Deep within myself
But not only a place but an entity
An animal, A savage
A living breathing thing that lives to feed on my weakness
Swallowing it whole
filling the hole that it creates

So this place, this entity
this...this savage
what does it call itself?
If it does indeed call itself anything.

You know it well
Do not pretend as if you don't

It calls itself...

The Dark.




ONE


The blood on your hands frightens you. Its as red as a beacon. It seems to scream "I did it! I did this to him! It was me!"
You close your eyes. Try to block out the memory of Jason's screams, his pathetic pleading as you plunged in the knife again and again.
You start to shake. you're going into shock you know you are. but you also know, however, that you cant allow yourself to. The course of events that have been set into motion; that you have set into motion will soon lead someone to the small cottage that you now stand in. You had to make sure that when that happened you wouldn't be there. Nor could the body. You had to get rid of it- and fast.
Steadying yourself, you force yourself to take a step towards him.Careful not to tread in the river of blood that acts as your guide.
You tip toe around the bed. You're barefooted and so when the heel of you foot catches the bank of Jason's blood you slip. almost fall but catch yourself with flaying arms before you splay face first into it.
A few more steps and he comes into view. His face is unrecognizable. Swollen and coated in a layer of blood. You had pounded his face in pretty good. The butt of the knife acting as your bludgeon. The two gaping holes that had been his eyes are aimed at the ceiling. As if in his last moments Jason had prayed to the God he had always claimed didn't exist.
The bludgeoning had come before you had taken out his eyes. before you had taken the sharp end of the knife to him.
Your still perfectly functioning eyes avoid Jason's empty sockets. veer down to the remains of jason's stomach. You had opened him up like he was a can of sardines. Pulling at his insides like you had been tugging on a rope. You had done it while he had still had breath left in him. so that he would feel it.You had wanted him to hurt, to scream out, to beg for mercy. He had done all three.You had made sure of that.
Your eyes move again
Jason's legs, you notice, are splayed out in utterly impossible directions. the stumps where his feet are meant to be still oozing blood. The main source of the crimson river that surrounds you.
As you take in the scene you retch. Double over and retch again. After a second, you vomit all over your feet and jeans.
catching your breath, you straighten up.
The sour stench of you vomit mingles with that of Jason's exposed stomach acids and you wrinkle your nose in disgust. You wipe your mouth on the sleeve of you shirt. wipe your forehead with the back of your hand. A single bead of sweat trickles uncomfortably down the small of your back.
The sound of the moving second hand of the clock that sits a few feet away explodes in your head like a hammer against an anvil. The seconds are passing, The Dark no longer keeping them at bay, no longer blocking their passage for you.
I can't do this. you tell yourself. I cant fix this...I cant.
But you must, you know you must and as you spot the axe lying abandoned a few feet away, its tip kissed with blood, you know what you have to do.

One. Two. Twenty-Six.

It's been one year, two months & twenty-six days since i killed my father. Motivation- revenge, for all the years of neglect. For turning up one morning (it was hot & dusty, i remember that much) expecting me to be his buddy.
I stabbed him. 13 times. Not that day, no, the anger didnt come until much later. Months later. It may have even been a year later. But it did come. Suddenly like an ejaculation youre not yet ready for- without any warning.
When he invited me over dinner, i had already decided that i was going to do it. I didnt know how but i remember that even then a knife had seemed particularly inviting. I had always thought that if i ever had to kill someone, that would be the way to do it. It made things personal. & as sure as blood runs red, this was definitely personal.
I waited until he was in the shower. He told me to keep an eye on the rice for him. I was thirsty for blood & jumped at the oppotunity to be in the kitchen amongst all those knives.
I found the perfect blade. The perfect length. The perfect shape. I remember thinking to myself that, "if there really is a god, he must be the devil."
I didnt have to wait long. He was a man. & a practical one at that. He got in, did his business & got out.
He passed me on his way to the bedroom. My eyes following him every step of the way. I'm sure that if he had taken the time to look in my direction, he would have known instantly that i had murder on the brain.
The door closed softly behind him. I waited a moment & then removing my hand from where it rested beneath the cushion in my lap, the handle of the knife already plastered to my fingers, i got up..

What More Can I Say?

“Welcome back to E! News. Before the break we told you that we had the latest installment in the scandal that has rocked the entertainment world to the very core; Hip Hop’s most powerful couple in trouble after just a few months of marriage.
It was just over two weeks ago when stripper and mother of two, Sabrina ‘Lollipop’ Lockwood came out and announced that her second born, four year old Castor was hers and ‘Jigga man’s’ lovechild and had been conceived in a Brooklyn apartment bedroom nearly five years ago.
DNA tests confirmed this early last week, confirming that not only was this boy Mr. Carter’s son but also that Mr. Carter had in fact cheated on then girlfriend, now scorned wife, Beyonce Knowles.
Now in the latest twist, witnesses have claimed that Mrs. Carter, as of this morning, is no longer a resident of their Upper East Side penthouse…”

Looking up from the medical form clipped to the board sitted on her lap, the young woman sitted in the virtually deserted waiting area turned her gaze towards the 17 inch talking box perched in one corner of the room.

“…neither Jay-Z’s nor Beyonce’s people have confirmed this apparent change of address but someone close to them who has requested to remain anonymous has said that ‘This is not true. Bee is exactly where she is supposed to be. They are trying their best to work it out…”

The waif of a smile settled onto the young woman’s perfectly glossed lips; as if to say “uh-huh, yeah…right.”
“Good job Diana.” She muttered, her voice dripping sarcasm as she continued to stare up at the screen. Diana was her publicist. Obviously trying to do some recon.
There was the slight jingle of jewelry and the soft touch of a hand on her shoulder. The young woman shifted her attention, just barely, from the tv to the person sitted next to her.
They had known each other for years. Had grown from girls into women together. They knew each other better than they knew anyone else on the planet. They were more than just friends, they were sisters.
“Are you okay?”
The concern in Kelly’s voice was obvious.
The young woman cleared her throat.
“I’m fine.”
She knew Kelly would know it was a lie even as she said it but something inside her needed her to appear strong. Like everything was okay. Like nothing that was going on around her had her fazed. It had always been like that. Bee had always been the strong one. Or had always appeared to be.
Standing up, Kelly told her that she would be right back. With the jingle of jewelry hanging from her wrists, from her neck, from her ears and from her ankles, and the clop-clop-clop of her super high Manolo heels, Kelly walked over to the reception desk.
“Excuse me,”
The girl sitted behind the desk, who couldn’t have blown out more than 17 candles continued to stare up at the screen as if Kelly wasn’t even there. Kelly reluctantly followed her gaze.

“…I’ve been running the numbers Sal and for the fifth day in a row Jay-Z’s now infamous “What more can I say?” apology has taken the crown for most Youtubed video. And for those of you who haven’t watched it yet (what the heck are you doing?), here’s a quick look…”

Flash!
A sea of reporters clutching cameras, notebooks and tape recorders foaming before a podium behind which, accompanied by some of his closest friends including the ever egocentric Mr. West, stands the man of the hour. Three piece pinstriped suit and somber expression. Bending his six foot four inch frame over the bank of microphones, he is talking.
“I will not make excuses or try to deny the current allegations. They are indeed true. It was a mistake I regret ever making and I am truly sorry. To everyone who I’ve hurt and most of all to my wife, I am sorry and will do everything in my power to make this right. I really don’t know what more I can say...”
‘What more can he say indeed, Catt. For the apology in its entirety, you can log onto-‘

“EXCUSE ME.”
This time the receptionist reluctantly turned to look at Kelly. It was quite obvious she did not appreciate being interrupted.
“Do you mind changing the channel? My friend’s having a hard time concentrating on filling out her forms with that garbage on.”
The girl looked past Kelly to the woman sitted in the stylishly furnished waiting area, clipboard in lap, pen in hand but both obviously forgotten. Even with a Yankee fitted, baggy hoodie and baggy sweats it was obvious who she was.
Sympathizing, the girl grabbed a remote from under a pile of paperwork, pointed it at the tv and with a click switched off Kelly’s best friend’s life and replaced it with 10 grown men in shorts chasing after a ball, trying to put it through a hoop.
Kelly thanked the girl and went back to her place next to her best friend.
“You didn’t have to do that.” Bee said as Kelly sat back down.
“Of course I did. Now let me have a look at that form.”
Bee resisted at first but after some insistence, she finally gave up the clipboard. She seemed nervous as Kelly looked it over.
“Honey,” Kelly started, looking up from the clipboard, “You can’t use a false name on these forms.”
“But I don’t want the press to find about this.”
Bee’s voice was a near whisper. She was obviously worried that the receptionist would overhear their conversation.
“It’s a medical facility Bee, they can only release your records to immediate family and/or by court order. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Everyone has their price Kelly. How much do you think someone would be able to buy off that receptionist? You saw how hungrily she was watching that screen.”
Kelly sighed.
“I have to honest Bee, I think its mistake that we’re even here. I’m not sure you should do this.”
“I thought you had my back.” Bee said. This time her voice was a whisper.
“I do.” Kelly tried to assure her, “I just think you might be rushing into this. You’re reacting Bee. This is your child we’re talking about here. This is a big deal.”
Bee shook her head.
“I can’t have this baby, Row. I just can’t.”
She was near tears.
Kelly put a hand over one of Bee’s.
“You’re angry with him, I get that. So am I. so is the entire world. But your child doesn’t deserve to receive the brunt of that anger Bee. Your baby hasn’t done anything wrong. Don’t punish for something HE did.”
Bee seemed to mull on this for a moment or two. Then removing her hand from under Kelly’s and taking back the clipboard, she continued to fill out the medical form.
Kelly sighed.
“Bee…”
“I’ve made my decision. You can either be on board with this or you can leave.”
Kelly watched Bee for a number of seconds then making a decision of her own, she stood up.
Bee looked up from the forms, scoffing.
“You’re actually leaving?” She couldn’t believe it, she had been calling Kelly’s bluff.
“It’s not like you’ve left me much of a choice Bee…leave with me.” Kelly said making one last ditch attempt.
For a split second Bee seemed to consider this but then,
“I’ll need someone to come and pick me up Are you a friend enough to do that?”
Knowing a lost cause when she saw one Kelly shook her head.
“No Bee. Find someone else.”
And with that Kelly turned on her heels and without looking back, walked out of the office.
The girl behind the desk waited a full sixty seconds before picking up the phone. She had USWeekly on speed dial.

December 4th

Ma always told me, from the moment that I could sit up by myself and probably even before that, that I was born special. Born to be different and that no matter what happened in life, good or bad or ugly, I was to never forget that one fact.
She told me that she had known it from the moment she had laid eyes on me. From the second she had held me in her arms. I was destined for greatness. As sure as night follows day. And for the longest time, I believed her…





“Yo Bitches,”
The tap-tap-tapping of the keyboard ceased as Samuel turned away from the laptop and looked over his shoulder. His expression perfectly mirrored his feelings about his appointed name.
“I thought I told you not to call me that.”
He was reed thin, boasted an afro that spiked out at least six inches in every direction and a bass that made most bitches, sorry ladies, shiver at the knees.
They called him Bitches (his boys, not the bi-*ahem* ladies) because he loved ‘dem bitches. And boy did the bitches love him.
“You still answered didn’t you?” that was Reckless. He had a tendency to break things. That and for getting on Bitches’ nerves. He took pride in it even. Thought it fun.
“Fuck you.” Bitches barked, he wasn’t in the mood to put up with Reckless’ shit. Not then. He had enough on his mind as it was.
“No fuck you, man.” Reckless shot back. “Where…are...the bitches?”
“They’ll be here.” Bitches muttered through gritted teeth though he was wondering the same damn thing.
“Yeah, that’s what you said an hour ago.” Spat Blackberry, not looking up from his, yes you guessed it, blackberry.
“Why don’t you guys leave the poor guy alone?” Carter interjected, coming to Bitches’ rescue. “It’s not his fault they’re not yet here.”
Carter was stretched out on the couch, lightly wagging his feet to Jay-Z’s “Reasonable Doubt”
“Thank you Carter.”
“You’re very welcome Samuel.” Carter answered, stretching out an arm and tapping some ash into the small tray on the coffee table. “You shouldn’t let these guys push you around. If the girls come, they come. And if they don’t…well then they don’t. It’s really not that big a deal.”
Carter uncrossed and re-crossed his legs, taking a hit of that high end variety Ntinda-Kisaasi reefer.
Through, he held it out to Blackberry who was closest to him but who briskly waved it off saying that it would mess up his concentration. He was writing the Great African Novel, you see- on his blackberry.
Shrugging, Carter took another hit then passed it to Reckless who took it gladly.
It was December 4th, Carter’s birthday and the boys, wanting to do something different had all agreed to hire Carter a couple of strippers. Bitches, claiming that he had all the right connects, had set it up for nine. It was now coming to eleven and the boys were clearly getting agitated.
“I told you Bitches would fuck it up.” Reckless exhaled, his voice a mild croak, just managing to avoid a coughing fit.
“I didn’t fuck it up,” Bitches blurted out defensively.
“Then where are they?” Blackberry asked. They were ganging up on him like they always did. And that annoyed the hell out of him.
As if in answer to Blackberry’s question, bitches’ phone, resting next to the laptop suddenly came to life.
“That’s them.” Bitches mouthed, holding up his phone.
He took the call and after a few moments of “Uh-huh’s” and “Okay’s” he hung up, walked out of the room, into the kitchen and out the back door.
Reckless, Blackberry and Carter all exchanged bewildered glances. What the hell was Bitches up to?
After what couldn’t have been more than 45 seconds, Bitches walked back into the room with two pairs of high-heels in toe.
“Gentlemen,” Bitches announced, full with arm gestures, he was obviously relieved that the paid entertainment had finally arrived, “Nicolette and Sabrina. Ladies, Blackberry, Reckless and the birthday boy.”
Reckless scrunched his face into an expression of obvious skepticism. They sure didn’t look like strippers. Sure they were hot in an “I met this girl in church” kind of way but t-shirt and jeans didn’t exactly scream sex siren.
“Hey guys, sorry we’re late.” Said the one who was supposed to be Nicolette, “Sabrina had a surprise DOD meeting.”
“DOD?” Reckless asked.
“Daughters Of Destiny.” Blackberry said finally looking up from his beloved phone. “Watoto church. Don’t ask me how I know something like that. I just do.”
Sabrina lightly blushed.
“Um, is there somewhere where we can change? Obviously we’re not going to do this dressed the way we are.” Still Nicolette, she seemed to be their spokeswoman.
“Yeah,” Carter said, “Bitches show them where.”
Both girls turned to look at Bitches.
“Bitches?” Sabrina asked. “They call you bitches?”
“Yeah, I don’t like it any more than you do, trust me.”
“Are you kidding me?” Sabrina said, “I think its friggin’ awesome. Blackberry, Reckless and Bitches? You guys are crazy.”
“Yeah, I guess we are.” Bitches said indulgently and showed the girls to one of the bedrooms.
He walked back out a couple of moments later, a CD in hand.
“What’s that?” Carter asked.
“Their music,” Bitches answered, “I wonder what’s on it.”
“Stripper music, obviously.” Reckless at it again.
“By the way,” Reckless continued, “How legit are they?”
“What do you mean?” Bitches asked not quite getting the question.
“I mean, do they fuck?”
Reckless put special emphasis on the last word, almost whispering it in reverence.
Bitches’ phone picked the perfect time to ring and he quickly answered it to avoid answering Reckless’ question.
He hung up a moment later.
“Showtime.” He said, stuck the CD into the laptop and pressed play.
Moments later a juggernaut of a hip hop beat came typhooning through the speakers, the door to the bedroom opened and the girls, completely transformed, strut into the room.
It didn’t take long for the guys to admit that the girls were worth every single shilling they were going to pay them. All 300,000 of them.
“Best…birthday…ever.” Carter thought as Nicolette dipped impossibly low and seductively crawled into his lap.
“So what do they call you when it’s not your birthday?” Nicolette asked as she ground against him. She had already dropped her panties and carter swore he could feel her wetness through his jeans.
“God,” Carter answered trying his best to sound unfazed. “But you’re pretty good at what you do so I’m going to let you call me Shawn.”
Nicolette laughed.
“Thanks…Shawn. And just for that I’m going to give you a little than your money’s worth. Happy Birthday.”
And leaning over, Nicolette (which obviously wasn’t her real name as Shawn would later find out) gave him a kiss.

Interlude

So this is supposed to be an interlude of some sort. Although I’m not quite sure what I’m supposed to be interluding exactly since nothing that has come before this has anything to do with what is going to follow…if that makes any sense at all. And in case it doesn’t…just pretend that it does.
* A slight pause to gather my thoughts*
Okay, you know what? How about we call this a prelude…an introduction, if you will. Because for all intensive purposes, that’s exactly what it is.
To what? A little idea that has been rolling around my noggin for a ‘lil bit. I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to make it work (and to be quite honest- I still don’t) but after Streetsider said that I needed to mix it up a little I thought, “to hell with it. If it sucks…well, I cant be fly all the time.” So Streetsider, consider this an ode to you…the whole friggin’ thing. And questions later about why I didn’t make it to last Thursday’s BHH.
Now, to this lil idea that I’ve got. No anyone who listens to an ounce of hip hop would have to agree with me that Jay-Z’s “retirement album” (who really believed that anyway?) “The Black Album” is up to date, one of his finest. Of course it comes nowhere near his hungry debut “Reasonable Doubt” or the hard knocking “Hard Knock Life Vol. 2” but it is the album that made me, and a whole lot of other Hov fans that I know, fall in love with his music. It’s the first Jay-Z album I listened to all the way through and at the end was able to say, “Damn. That was a good album.” And in light of the recent release of “The Blue Print 3”, in all honesty, it was his last truly good album.
So this is what I have set out to do. To take this album so ingrained in my mind and all of its greatness and throw my own twist on it. A rendition or reinterpretation if you will.
I believe this is one of those things that can either turn out incredibly good or truly, exceptionally bad. Here’s to it being the former.
And so without further ado, I present to you…The Black Album.

Track Listing (Table Of Contents)

1. Interlude

2. December 4th

3. What More Can I Say

4. Encore

5. Change Clothes

6. Dirt Off Your Shoulder

7. Threat

8. Moment Of Clarity

9. 99 Problems

10. Public Service Announcement

11. Justify My Thug

12. Lucifer

13. Allure

14. My 1st Song

What Kelly Rowland Said

I’m falling in love with my ex and there’s nothing I can do about it. I don’t really think there’s anything I really want to do about it. And that’s even assuming I ever stopped loving her in the first place. Which, if truth be told, I don’t think I ever did. What I did do however, is put my feelings on a top shelf somewhere. Somewhere high up, where I needed some kind of industrial ladder just to get to them.
Behind pretty distractions and a consuming job and friends who weren’t really friends but only people I could get drunk with. And for sometime it worked. I was oblivious to her existence. She hardly crossed my mind.
And then we started talking again. Started having those long conversations again. Started sending messages back and forth again.
And in the beginning, I was understandably cautious. I couldn’t help but wonder just what it was she was up to.
That old familiarity was beginning to creep back in and I wasn’t sure I liked it.
But I played along all the same. Just to see where it would go. But not only that. But because I missed her just as much as I suspected she missed me.
And then I saw her again and it was great. And in that moment, it all came crashing down.



In love with my ex- Kelly Rowland

Give Me Something to Believe In

So over the last couple of days I have been trying to gather as much information as I can on the much talked about Pay It Forward Foundation Uganda. And over the last couple of days I haven’t been able to come up with that much apart from a page on Wordpress and another on Blogger. and that’s after googling it.
Someone please get me some concrete info! Something more than just a mission statement. I want to get involved!
But (and this is realistically speaking) before I can do that I need to see something practical. Something I can bank on. I have the seeds of a great idea burning a whole in the bottom of my left pocket but I need something more than a mere ideal to plant it in.
So please, please, please; Baz, Rhino, anybody…hit me up and let me know what beez going down!

Much Appreciated.


Listening to:
“One”- U2

Someone Get Him Something to Drink, He’s Thinking Again!

We haven’t exactly talked about it. About what it means…us sleeping together. I’m kind of reluctant to broach the subject because I don’t want her to think I expect anything because of it. And the truth is, I don’t. It was sex. With my ex girlfriend. Not “just” sex because it has never been “just sex” with her. It has always been special. By virtue of the fact that it took a pretty long time to happen. A pretty long time by today’s standards anyway. And by the time it did happen I was so emotionally invested that I couldn’t help it from being special.
And so where does that leave me? Leave us, really. I have no illusions. I know there’s no getting back together. Not yet. The timing’s not right. Won’t be for sometime yet and the fact is, right now, I don’t want to get back together. Let’s keep it casual. Like how we were before we started dating. That was the original agreement, wasn’t it?
Sure it was. But who’s to say that agreement even still stands?
Well, you know Lloyd, you could always just ask her.
Yeah, I could, but why risk breaking the tentative balance we have managed to achieve? I like the way things are right now. The frills without the head or the heartache. Plus, I feel like I’ve found my best friend again.
Sure you have, but you have to ask yourself sailor, how far can you paddle out to sea without rocking the boat?
Hmmm, that’s a pretty good question…




We had one of our long conversations today. You know, the ones where you talk about everything under the sun and nothing worth mentioning all at the same time.
The reception’s pretty bad where I am so I had to move around quite a bit to find a clear signal. I must have hung up and called back four or five times. But still, it was well worth it. I thought so anyway.
We talked and teased. Her telling me about her Friday night. Me telling her about mine. Hers obviously more eventful of the two. Another clear exhibition of alcohol induced behavior.
“Maybe you need to stop drinking.” I suggested after she had completed her tale.
“It might do you some good.”
“I know.” She had replied,
“I’m on my last days, trust me. I’m going to quit soon.”
“I hope so.”
Before hanging up for the last time I reminded her that as of the day before, we had known each other for one year. Or as I phrased it, “yesterday was exactly one year since we first met.”
She laughed.
“You’re such a stalker, you know that? How do you even remember that?”
I told her. We had been going through the pictures of that night together a few days earlier and I couldn’t help but notice the date on them.
"You know me and my attention to details.” I told her.
“Even if…that’s still freaky…ish.”
“Whatever.” I said dismissively.
“Anyway, I think its time for me to go. Got an early morning tomorrow.”
“Okay then, good night.”
“Good night.”

Call summary: 3:54

Wait, (double take) did she just say love?

“Did u even feel de slightest love 4 me Lloyd? I hv bin wonderin wat exactly it is dat u feel 4 me coz u hv bn distant eva since we left GULU. Nway nice tym n pliz take care.”

-Robinah (via text message)

4:47 pm

***

I got it on the bus. On my way back to Gulu. I had to smile. Love? Was she serious? I mean come on. It was just sex. Better for her than it was for me, I’m guessing. She was talking like a sixteen year old girl. And you have to understand, she wasn’t a sixteen year old girl. Not even close. This is a grown ass woman we’re talking about. A government job chick even. And yeah, I know government job chicks have feelings too. I wont argue with you on that but after one week? No wait, that’s not even close to the truth. Try two days on for size. Two days and she was already getting all girlfriendy on me and stuff.

And that really wouldn’t have been a problem, I might have even been able to go along with it but for the fact that I just didn’t have the capacity to fall for someone like her. Someone like her meaning someone other than my ex girlfriend. Given any amount of time. I’m fighting to get her back you see. Even if subtly. No matter what my friends may say or think about it, she’s the one I want to be with.

And so you see Robinah, honey, you didn’t have a chance. Never bank on a man who fucks you on the very first night. Because the fact is, he wont respect you in the morning.

So consider this a lesson learned sweet heart. And for what its worth, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t be that man. I really am. You’re just not her.

Now, for those of you out there who are wondering how I can be in love with one person and fucking someone else, let’s just say that its…complicated. Meaning that I really don’t think its worth the energy and in this case the ink to explain it to you. I can say this though, no one excites me the way that she does. No one can make my blood boil or my heart pump the way that she can. No one intrigues me, makes me laugh, messes with my head or makes me want to be a better man better than she does.

And maybe, just maybe, possibly, if I looked hard enough I could find someone who tops her in all of that. But the fact is, I don’t see any sense in searching for another, quite possibly lesser version of her when she’s standing there right in front of me. It doesn’t make any sense.

And so in conclusion, Samantha, (and yes, I know, you don’t have to say it but you’re just going to bear with me on this), baby its you.

***

“I appreciate yo honesty, hv a nice life”

-Robinah (via text message)

8:40pm

Playlist much?



1. Lesson Learned- Alicia Keys ft. John Mayor

2. I think that she knows- Justin Timberlake

3. Regrets-Jay-z

4. S.E.X. Nickelback

5. Leave out all the rest- Linkin Park

6. Youre a jerk- The new boys

7. Best I ever had- Drake

8. Number 1- R Kelly & Keri Hilson

9. Senorita- Justin Timberlake

10. Thinking of you- Katy perry

11. Intruder Alert- Lupe Fiasco

12. Hero/ Heroine- Boys like girls

13. Better than me- Hinder

The Ex-Perience

As I lay there, one eye on the television, one eye on her, I was quickly reminded of all her little nuances. In her voice, in her face and in the most miniscule of her gestures.


We were both stretched out on her old zebra print blanket, talking as if nothing had ever happened. Like it was3, 4, 5 months ago. Like there had been no move, no tears, no break up. It was like I had miraculously stepped through a wrinkle in time. A wrinkle to a better time. It made me wonder. Put a wary smile on my face. A few butterflies in my stomach as well.

Was this really happening?

I had expected it to be awkward. Even if just a little bit. And I wasn’t wrong in thinking so. The last time we had see each other it had been awkward galore.

But for some reason, this time, it hadn’t been. And for several minutes there, that had made me rather wary. A bit on the cautious side. But as my inebriation levels continued to climb (courtesy of our good friend Uganda Waragi) I became a whole lot less wary and a whole lot more receptive to the “positive vibes” (whatever the hell that means) that were coming my way…








The sex was hot. Unexpected…and so unprotected.

No glove, no love? Never even heard of it.

I fucked her with my socks on and my boxers around my ankles. What? Don’t look at me like that. I was in a bit of a hurry okay? And plus, you must have some sort of idea of how difficult it is to maneuver out of your clothes while maintaining as much lip-lip contact as possible.

I must have managed to slip them off at some point though, because I remember afterwards (estimated time being the average length of an episode of America’s Best Dance Crew…and no, that’s not as long as you may think), the knock on the door that sent us both scrambling around looking for our clothes. Socks, boxers and panties included.

And don’t worry sweetheart, I did the sensible thing and pulled out with a couple of seconds to spare. So rest easy, I’m not going to make a baby mamma out of you just yet!

Thankfully, it was a false alarm. The knock at the door that is.

By the time we were what is generally considered as “decent”, whoever it was was gone.

She assumed it was the lady who walks around the hostel selling clothes (she had already bought a cute little sweater while I was there) and so leaving the door slightly open so that some air could “circulate” (she didn’t want to announce to everyone that walked in that we had just had sex) she climbed back onto the bed.

Lying back down next to me, she picked up the remote. She had that cheeky smile of hers.

“So…what episode were we on?”

Day- It Doesn’t Really Matter: The End of Common Sense…Lonely

She told me that she was lonely. That it had been something she hadn’t been willing to admit but had finally, painfully, come to terms with.
Her friends were no longer her friends, home was well…home and she felt like she no longer had anyone she could really talk to. To share stuff with.

I let that sink in.

She was lonely...it wasn’t just me.

I blinked. Licked my lips.

“So what if she’s lonely?” A part of me flared up (let’s call him Common Sense).

“What? Do you think that makes you two peas in a pod or something? Hardly. All it means, Lloyd, is that she feels lonely. Don’t read words you can’t see.”

I sighed. Away from the phone. Counted to three. Then counted to five.

“Maybe it’s just a phase.” She added a moment later.

I shrugged. She was trying to console herself. I couldn’t really blame her. God knew she was one step ahead of me.

I (sigh)…was still in denial…semi anyway. I was still telling myself that I was too busy to feel lonely. Even though it was a load of crock and I knew it. But whatever gets you through the night, right?

“I’m praying for you, you know.” It was the only thing not damning that I could think of to say.

But why did that sound so damn familiar? Oh yeah, it’s because she had told me the same thing a couple of months back when things had still been unbearably hard. When the ink had still been wet on the page.

“By the way,” I added “I pray a lot these days.”

For a while we talked about the mundane. Or rather, I talked and she listened. Which put me off a little bit. I had called to hear her voice. To listen to her talk. The sound of my own voice droning on and on and on got sort of boring after a little while and more than a little annoying.

But what could I do? I needed the connection. Craved for it and by George, I was going to hold on until I felt I was satiated.

Well, as it turns out, by the time we said our goodnights, I wasn’t. And I have the inkling that maybe I’ll never be. And that sort of scares me. For obvious reasons. The least of which being that she’s over 350km away and it wouldn’t do any good to get attached to having to hear the sound of her voice every day. Or every other day…or whatever…says Common Sense anyway. But who listens to Common Sense these days anyway? Certainly not me.

“So what are you saying?” Common Sense asks me. He has that tone he gets whenever he thinks I’m about to do something stupid.

“That you’re going to allow yourself to get attached?”

I pause before answering. I know the answer already but make as if I’m reasoning it out. Like common sense would want me to.

“As much as she’ll let me.” I admit a moment later.

“ well, good luck with that.” Common sense tells me. He seems disappointed in me. Ashamed even…I should know better.

“You know where to find me when you get tired of playing such foolishness…right between Peace of Mind and Self Preservation. Ciao.”

I watch him walk away. Right out the door.

“Well it’s just us.” I say, turning to my friends Hopeless Romantic, Hopelessly Hopeful and Hopeless Enough. (Once again, thank you Mr. Wentz)

“Let’s go get stupid.”





Listening to: Glass Ceiling- JC

Sunday Afternoon...Basking

I found God today. It was the most amazing thing. He was everywhere. In Everything. I couldnt hide from him. And for the first time in a long time, I didnt want to.

I had peace. It was like I had not a worry in the world. And the worries I did have, it was like all of a sudden, they didnt really matter. It was like God was patting me on the back and saying, "Hey, its really not that serious man. Ive got it taken care of." and for the first time in a long time, I believed him.

The praise and worship was...phenomenal. the songs rolled off my tongue like I had known them forever and for then some. I felt free. I danced. I had this goofy grin on my face I couldnt get rid of and for the first time in a long time, I couldnt have cared less.

I found God today. It was the most amazing thing. He was everywhere. In everything. And for the first time in a long time, I basked in the fullness of his Glory.

To Let These Tears Fall

From the moment I had arrived I had been on the move. There was no time to relax, no time to slow down, because to relax would be to give myself a chance to think about what had happened and whether I knew it or not I did not want to be given that chance. Looking back, I guess a part of me knew that to keep moving, to stay kinetic would keep me from falling apart. and I couldn’t afford to do that. I mean, after all, what would people think? and so in my quest to keep it together I took countless pictures, toting my camera like it was some sort of life support. I became an observer. That way I could remain objective. Look at things with a photographers detachment, with artistic interest, shelving my emotions.
And when I wasn’t doing that I was doing what I could to help with the funeral plans. We had two days to pull it off and there was so much to do. And although my role was a minor one I tricked myself into believing it was integral and threw everything I had into it.
To keep moving was to keep it together.
Anything that needed typing was mine to handle. I was in charge of the program. It was my baby, it took up most if not all of my attention. It kept me from hanging, it kept me from idling; it kept me from falling apart.
To keep moving was to keep it together.


Monday Morning

The call came at around 7:30. It was my uncle Roger. He wanted to know how far I had come along with the program.
"Only a few more details need to be filled in," I assured him
"I'll be home by eight."
"Be prompt." He warned me and told me to call him as soon as I arrived at the house. We had to go over the program together before meeting with the presiding bishop who would give it his final okay.
Setting down the phone I took a sip of my coffee. It was exceptionally strong but still wasn’t having quite the affect I hoped for. I needed an extra kick to get me through the day. I hadn’t slept properly since the night my mom had called me with the news and it was starting to catch up with me.
Just get the old man in the ground, I told myself, and everything will be just fine.
Finishing the last of my bread and throwing back what was left of my coffee like it was a shot of whiskey, scalding my tongue in the process, I stood up.
I had told Uncle Roger 8 O'clock and here it was already quarter to. Grabbing my backpack, I swung it over my shoulder.
I marched out of the hotel, leaving the key to my room at the front desk.
To keep moving was to keep it together.




It was hot, I was tired and I felt more detached from the entire thing than I ever thought possible. I felt like a stranger on the outside looking in. And in a way, I was. Clutching my bottle of water, sitting at a safe distance, I watched the service with a clinical coldness that surprised me.
The programs had not been enough and I had had to dash back to town on two separate occasions to photocopy more. A third time had been required of me but I had refused saying that by the time I got back the service would be over and there would be no need for them.
I sat there in the same clothes I had worn the day before, three coats of dust covering my skin. The initial plan had been to finish the programs in time to get back and shower and change before the service but I hadn’t been quite that lucky. Now all the rooms were locked and the keys were with my mom who just happened to be sitted in the same tent as the president whose security made it damn near impossible to get the keys to me.
It was managed somehow and I found myself climbing out of the shower just as the president was standing up to speak.
Purple shirt, black trousers and black chucks turned brown from dust and I was finally forced to slow down. To not only observe but to participate, to finally come to terms with what we were all doing there.
He's gone Lloyd. See it, accept it and move on.
Picking up a discarded program I flipped through it.
It was time to put the old man in the ground. Standing up I hurried to join the procession making its way to the grave site
No time to take pictures now, I mused silently.
I was right in the thick of things. No longer playing the observer but now among the observed.
That's not to say however, that I didn’t notice things. I noticed almost everything. The pile of soil sitting demurely to one side of the open grave. Some parts of it the color of ground coffee, others the color of milk chocolate and others an earthy shade of red. Its pungent smell tickling my nose even from several meters away.
I noticed the crowd of people milling about me. The collective sense of loss that bound us together almost tangible. I could taste it on my tongue, feel it in the pit of my stomach. It stroked at my beard, whispered in my ear, ran an intimate finger from my chest to my navel making me shiver.
Tapping me on the shoulder my aunt handed me a reef of flowers, telling me to set them down near the pile of soil. I didn’t think twice. Pushing my way through the crowd, I did as I was instructed.
Standing up straight, the sun hitting me square in the face, I looked about me. Found myself staring into the faces of people I'd known my entire life and loved more than words can say; and others who I had never seen before that day. But all of them had one thing in common, we all did- the man who we were about to put in the ground. and that made us, all of us, of one spirit. Of one accord.
The bishop was saying something. He had his bible open but from what I could tell, he was not reading from it. His words, however, went in one ear and out the other. I was in a different place. I was being drawn into myself.
A sob broke from somewhere to my right. I felt my stomach tighten. Clenching my jaws I closed my eyes. But only for a moment. When I opened them again I felt tears in them.
Another sob and then another erupted around me. The coffin was now being lowered into the hole in the ground. I suddenly felt cold. Lots of tiny goose bumps erupting beneath the arms of my shirt.
To keep moving is to keep it together, I reminded myself.
Sure it is Lloyd. But look around,
I did.
Where are you going to go? All roads lead to the very spot you’re standing in right now. Get a clue.
As if to drive the point home, a tormented wail tore through the crowd like a rip tide, breaking the dam and people began to weep openly. without any inhibitation.
The tears stung at my eyes but I still tried to hold them back, dabbing lightly at my eyes with my hankie. After a moment I blew my nose, it was starting to run.
What the hell is this? I asked myself.
The sensation was new to me. It was one thing to get teary eyed at a sad scene in a movie but this? This was something else.
And still I tried to hold it back.
Sucking it in, I blinked away the tears and looked around. My cousin Eva was doubled over weeping freely, an aunt and an uncle supporting her, keeping her from falling. Bongo stood as rigid as a statue, a pair of shades covering his eyes, his expression unreadable.
The younger ones looked lost. As if they didn’t know how to feel or how to react. Their eyes wide with stunned incomprehension.
Bowing my head I stared at my shoes, analyzing the streaks of dirt that covered them and the layer of dust that had powdered them from heel to toe. Tried to distract myself.
Just let it go Lloyd. Why are you trying to fight this?
The voice was almost audible. I heard it in my ears. I was one step closer.
Because to let these tears fall is a sign of weakness, I insisted.
Is that what you really think?
It wasn’t but I had to come up with something.
But that something wasn’t going to be enough and I knew it. The more I tried to push, to keep my grief at bay, the more determined it seemed to manifest itself, to see the light of day.
I knew it was a losing battle. I knew it was time to let it go.
Thud.
The coffin was finally in the ground. I felt my stomach tighten. A sob crawling up the walls of my trachea and sitting at the back of my throat, making it hard to breathe.
Hugging myself, I leaned slightly forwards; my face involuntarily contorting itself into a grimace. Dislodging itself from the back of my throat, a single sob rolled down my tongue and broke as it passed my lips.
My body shook as the tears streamed down my face. My chest heaved, my nose ran, my stomach ached but I didn’t care. My Auntie Vilma, who had been standing next to me, wrapped one arm around my shoulder and another around my waist and that was all it took. In that second I stopped fighting. In that second I finally allowed myself to cry.

The Garden

The tubes were gone.
From his nose, mouth and arm. The catheter was still there but that was to be expected.
He was eating on his own again.
Well, at least without the help of some plastic tubing. Even if his diet did consist of only water, soup and porridge.
As I walked into the room, nudging the door with the tips of my fingers, then holding it open for my mom, I found Aunt Betty patting him down with a towel. She was stimulating his muscles. "Physio-therapy" they called it.
With each light pat came from him what I can best describe as a cross between a moan and a loud gravelly sigh.
Pat..."Aaaah."
Pat..."Aaaah."
Pat..."Aaaah."
Each time was like a needle in the arm and the feeling you get when the nurse misses the vein and has to try and find it again, again and again.
Unsettling as it was, I forced myself to watch, my eyes traveling from his haggard, unshaven face with the sunken eyes to his swollen, bed sored feet.
"So this is what he has become." I announced to myself.
"A wraith of the man, of the pillar that had been a presence in my life since the day I was born."
It was hard to believe and I guess that is partly why I stayed away for so long. Because I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted to believe that he would be okay, that everything would be just fine and I was afraid that seeing him like that, shrunken and dilapidated as he was, would crush all my hopes of conjuring up the miracle in my mind that I knew he deserved.
But no matter, I was there now and not only because I had to, but because I wanted to. Because deep down I knew that this was the end for him and I felt I needed to say goodbye.
Coming back to myself, back to the room, I found my mom standing at my grandfather's bedside. She had a hand on his shoulder and was talking to him, her voice raised, her words pronounced clearly so that he could hear her.
He answered her lucidly, telling her how uncomfortable he was. He was tired of lying flat on his back. He wanted to sit up.
"With no support." he had insisted.
They tried propping him up with a couple of pillows but he still complained that he was feeling uncomfortable.
My uncle Charles walking into the room, greeted us then went on to ask us what was going on. He was my grandfather's eldest son and in the eventuality of his death would take over as head of family. He therefore automatically took charge of the situation.
Suggesting a wheelchair, he sent one of the orderlies to go and get one. He then went ahead to order us to hold my grandfather up right until the wheel chair arrived.
When it did arrive, it took four of us, my uncle included to maneuver him into the wheel chair.
After positioning him as best as she could, covering his legs with first a leso and then a blanket, propping his back with a pillow, my mom asked my grandfather how that was.
"Better," he kept repeating,
"Much better."
"Good." She breathed. Then turning to me,
"It's a beautiful day out, why don’t you take him for a little walk? I'm sure he would enjoy it."
I turned to look at my uncle Charles, as if asking permission.
"I think it's a great idea." He allowed, nodding his head and pulling at his beard.
"I'll go with you. Come on, let's go."
With my uncle Charles at the helm and I beside him, we wheeled my grandfather out of the room, down the hall and into the sunlight.

The garden was beautiful.
Flush with reds and blues and yellows; fragrant from an expanse of well kept and much loved flower beds.
It was around midday and the sun was high in the sky and although it was neither too hot nor too bright my uncle and I thought it wise to station my grandfather as well as ourselves beneath the shade of a large tree that hard obviously seen the better part of a century.
Breathing in the fresh air I watched my grandfather. Wondering what kind of affect the change of environment was having on him.
"Ask him." My uncle blurted out suddenly as if reading my mind.
Walking over to him, I stared down at my grandfather so that my face filled his vision.
"How are you doing Grandpa?"
"Lloyd..." He said in recognition, trying to point up at me. His voice was akin to throwing gravel into a running garbage disposal; his breathing labored.
"Yes, it's Lloyd, Grandpa." I tried again, "How are you doing?"
"Nice...very nice- out here."
The effort of talking obviously tired him.
My Grandfather had always been an eloquent talker and it pained me to see him reduced to such few words
"Yes, it is nice," Uncle Charles offered,
"Very nice."
Several members of the staff came over and said hello, asking us how my grandfather was doing.
"He's much better, thank you." Uncle Charles would answer almost automatically to anyone who asked. After engaging in a few minutes of polite small talk, the members of staff wished us well, wished "Mzze" a quick recovery and went about their way.
"I want to go home." my grandfather announced abruptly. His voice was clear, some of the gravel like quality momentarily lost. It sounded so full of despair that I literally felt a shiver run down my spine. I'm still convinced up to this day that he was talking to neither me nor my uncle but to someone neither of us could see- he was ready to go.
My uncle making light of it, however, threw a smile in my direction. I however, couldn’t return it.
"You’re going to go home very soon Mzze."
He said.
"Any day now. You must be tired of this place."
"Yes...yes- very tired." My grandfather agreed emphatically.
Uncle Charles chuckled.
"Yes, very tired."
The same orderly who had brought us the wheel chair now came walking towards us across the grounds, cup in hand, a small plastic spoon protruding from it.
"Yes," my uncle said as the orderly approached.
"Very good. He must be thirsty. Give him something to drink."
Uncle Charles pointed at my grandfather as he said this.
Nodding, the orderly squatted at my grandfather's side. He then went ahead to spoon some water into my grandfather’s mouth.
Each spoon produced the same sound as each pat of the towel had done earlier.
Slurp..."Aaaah."
Slurp..."Aaaah."
Slurp..."Aaaah."
When my grandfather refused to drink anymore the orderly stood up and suggested that maybe we take Mzze back inside.
Uncle Charles seeing no reason to refute medical advice even if it was really nothing more than common sense readily agreed.
We wheeled him back inside.
The anti-septic smell and white plaster cleanliness of the hospital seeming even more oppressive after the brightness, splendor and flourish of the garden.
We took him back to his room and with the help of a couple of nurses placed him between the sheets of his freshly made bed. The room had been cleaned and wiped down while we had been outside.
He was asleep within seconds. I could tell the outing had been good for him however, as short as it had been. The lines in his face seemed a little less defined, his body a little more relaxed, his breathing a little less labored. It brought a small smile to my lips. even if a sad one.
One of the nurses, telling me that my grandfather needed his rest, tried to usher me out of the room. Everyone else was in the adjoining ward the hospital had let the family use as a visitor's room.
Telling her to give me a moment, I went and stood at my grandfather's side. The nurse hovered somewhere behind me, making sure I didn’t disturb her patient but I really didn’t mind.
Placing a hand gingerly on my grandfather's arm I said a silent prayer. Then telling him I would see him soon, I walked out of the room; my head bowed, sneakers squeaking quietly against the linoleum, hands in my pocket.





That was the last time I saw my grandfather alive; he passed away the very next day.
I miss him and so does everyone who's life he touched.

Today/ He Was (In Rememberance)

Today…

Today I wear his name on my back.
Today I let my hair down.
Today I wear a rubber band on my wrist even though I don’t think I will need one.

Today I sleep through my alarm.
Today I walk in late.
Today my mood foul.
Today my mood is up.
Today my mood is down.

Today I don’t eat lunch.
Today I walk to the pool.
Today I meet JB.
Today I’m consumed by doubt…

Today I miss him.
Today I hurt.
Today I swear never to forget.
To never neglect.
Today I wear his name on my heart.


…He Was

He was seventy-nine when he died.
I am a part of the proof of his existence that he left behind.
I am a third generation.
A grand son.

I worked with him.
Walked with him.
Worked for him.
Did anything he asked.

We had long conversations.
He told me stories.
He advised me.
Was stern with me.
Told me off…but always in love.

He had a wonderful laugh. Hearty. From the belly.
His smile always reached his eyes.

He was wise.
He knew things.
He loved to read.
He loved the Lord.

He was, is and always will be a model of the man I aspire to be.
He is my hero and I miss him.

***

It’s been one year. One year to the day. One year since I received that phone call. One year since I listened to my mom’s tear soaked voice at two o’clock in the morning as she told me that he was gone. That his heart had finally given up and that God had finally called him home.
Has it really been that long?
I absently pull at a strand of hair easily longer than half the length of my forearm- It has. The proof was right there, pinced between the pointer and the index of my right hand.
I sit back in my chair. Scratch at my beard. Remember my mother’s words.
“He was so proud of you.”
We were sitting beneath his favourite tree. The Gulu sun warming our skin. It was a few days after I had moved back home. My mother and I had some things to discuss. Like what was happening to me. This was two, three months back maybe.
I watched as she bent over and plucked at some grass. Her gaze was far off.
“So, so proud.”
She turned back to face me. Her eyes beseeching. She wanted to see what affect her words were having on me.
I never could pretend with her.
Her mouth turned downwards.
“but this boy sitting in front of me right now- yes Lloyd, boy, and don’t you think for one moment that you’re anything but because you’re not, not even close- this boy sitting in front of me, he wouldn’t have been. Not one bit. And don’t you look away from me Lloyd, because we both know it’s the truth.”
My mother’s words had stung. But she was right- it was the truth and we both knew it.
I swallowed. There was nothing I could say. There was nothing to say. I let her words sink in. I felt her eyes watch me as I let the words sink in. and as they wade past the shallows, mingling with my particularly dark shade of melanin and then proceeded to gnaw through flesh, bone and finally marrow I felt a sob, small, almost insignificant, claw itself up my throat…
I couldn’t shake her words.
He had been proud of me. Heaping on one praise on top of the other. I had been his golden boy. Not anymore though. And that was the harsh reality of it. And that scared me. What had happened to me? Swallowing, I made my decision right there and then to do better. To make him proud. To honour his memory the best way I could. With all that I am. And not doing it half way either. His memory deserved better than that. Better than what I had given him.
I looked up and met my mother’s eyes. Her gaze was intense but this time I did not look away.
“I know.”
My voice was a whisper. My voice was a croak. Putting a fist up to my mouth, I cleared my throat.
“I know.” I said again.
Her expression softened. I watched as she pulled up another bouquet of grass, a thick clump of soil attaching itself to it. Bits of soil sprinkled her feet but she continued as if she didn’t notice them. She threw the clump of soil with its crew cut of grass in the general direction of the gate. She waited to see where it landed before wiping her hands on the thighs of her jeans.
“I know you will.”
She had that far away look again.
After a moment she stretched out a hand and patted me on the knee.
“I know you will.”

Day 37: Or is it (The end) Thirty-Eight [?]

It’s at times like these that I realise just how much I miss her. But not only that, but also how much I need her. It’s at times like these, when I stand aside from myself that I examine the person that Ive become without her…
It’s been thirty-seven days. Thirty- seven days (or is it thirty-eight?) since I sat up in my bed one morning and told myself that; enough is enough. You are no longer allowed to mourn over her. To mourn over us. You are going to get up, get out and make a conscious effort to flush her from your system, you hear?
And for the most part I succeeded. Twenty something odd days in and I was making moves. Moves, of course, with the intention of moving whichever girl it happened to be that night to a room with thick curtains, a bed and a locked door.
One morning not too long after this though (day 29 if I remember correctly), hung over and in dire need of a third bottle of water, I asked myself what the hell I was doing. I had climbed out of one pit only to fall into another. And no one had to tell me that the first pit was a whole lot better than the second. Hell, the first pit wasn’t really a pit at all, if I’m to be quite honest.
I loved her, plain and simple. And I was doing all of this in an attempt to hide that. Not to change it, mind you. Because instinctively I knew that was a pretty tall order. Because barring an act of God, there was no chance of that happening. Its still something I cant explain. Maybe it has something to do with that tattoo I got. The one that said eternity…in Chinese.
Flip it around in your mind a couple of time and you might be apt to believe that maybe, just maybe, whether consciously or not, whether intentional or not, she branded me…for eternity. I distinctly remember my cousin Derrick saying as much anyway. And no I’m not about to make some harlequin reference to the song “Tattoo” by Jordin Sparks so squash that from your mind like as soon as immediately. And wipe that smile off your face as well. Because I am completely aware just how stupid and irrational that sounds. Like 21st century voodoo. Stick a needle in me and I’m yours forever. A load of crap right? Well, it’s either that or what some Mills & Boon reading, sixteen year old sobby little girl would have no problem calling “true love”. Now that’s a scary thought. Especially for this twenty-three year old guy who has always prided himself on his innate knack for playing the field. I mean, what would the guys think? And so I settled for talking trash with the best of them. Walking trash as well. Cos’ these days it’s a requirement that you back up your claims with action just so anyone will take you seriously.
But now, thirty-seven days in (or is it thirty-eight?) and the act is wearing pretty thin. This is not me. It never was. I was the quiet messy haired kid who sat in the back of the class and listened to metal while writing bad “I feel so alone” poetry.
And so where does that leave me?
Not quite between the Devil and the deep blue sea but certainly close enough to taste the salt on the breeze.
And so after much thought and much deliberation and after such agony…I choose love.

Day Thirty-What?: Slippage

I didn’t know her name. I didn’t ask and she didn’t give it to me. The only thing I remember for certain is that she had a nose ring, a little black dress and a killer body…
The bed was soaked. I touched the small pool slowly seeping through the mattress with the tips of my fingers and put my hand up to my nose. My face screwed itself into a grimace- piss. Suddenly what she had told me made perfect sense.
“I had a bad dream,” she had mumbled, “I’m really sorry. I’ll clean it up. I promise.”
I kicked off the blanket. Fuck. My phone was dead and I had no idea what time it was. I pinched the bridge of my nose, closed my eyes. After a moment, I opened them again. Billy hadn’t been lying, the place was a mess. But that wasn’t my problem, it was a hotel room. Let the fucking cleaning lady deal with it.
As I dragged myself to the foot of the bed, I realised that one side of my boxers (the one closest to sleeping beauty over there) was sopping wet. Fuck. Tugging at her foot I told her she had to get up. Take a shower. Get the fuck out of there. Muttering something about her mother, she got up and stumbled towards the bathroom. I hadn’t only been drunk, she had a great body. Standing up as slowly as possible, so as not to subject myself to a bout of dizziness, I slipped off my boxers and followed her into the bathroom. She was already in the shower. When I slid back the frosted glass panel she turned to look at me. She had a strange look on her face. I ran my hand through my hair. Tried to smile. It must have worked because she smiled back. Even if a tad reluctantly. Seeing this as my green light, I climbed into the shower.


Pulling my hair back into a pony tail I looked over at her- Black bra, white panties. She was slipping on her little black dress. It was light out and the curtains were thin and so this was my first really good look at her. She wasn’t the prettiest but there was something attractive about her. As if sensing my gaze on her, she turned. She had that look on her face again. This time I didn’t try to smile.
“I’m still around for a bit,” I told her, “so you go on ahead. And oh, I hope you have a little transport money, ‘cos I don’t have any on me.”
She looked at me for a second, shook her head. “Its okay.”
Slipping on her heels and without another word, she left.

Day 29: Slut? Her? No Way!

“She’s a slut you know.”
I looked over my shoulder. Over to where I had left her.
The girl in question was talking to her friend. The tall one with the amazing legs. I felt my face scrunch itself into a weird expression. She didn’t look like a slut.
Catching my eye, she waved. She was smiling. Forcing a smile of my own, I waved back. Unable to maintain my pseudo-happy expression however, I turned back to Sharon.
“Are you sure?”
“You don’t want to be seen talking to her, Lloyd.”
I sighed. “And why not Sharon?”
She took a sip of her Alvaro. Pear.
“For the obvious reason that whoever sees you talking to her will think that you’ve fucked her. You haven’t, have you?”
“No. Why? Is she sick?”
Sharon shrugged.
“She could be.”
I laughed.
“You sound just like Auntie Helen who thinks that every girl apart from her daughters and beloved nieces has AIDS.”
It was Sharon’s turn to laugh.
“She told you that?”
I took a sip of my Krest. No drinking on weeknights I had told myself. I wonder how long that will last.
“Yup. Some night when I was trying to bum cash off of her so I could go out.”
I looked up at the screen. Arsenal was still down 2-1. Standard had scored two goals in the first three minutes. My only hope was that this second half would be a whole lot better than the first.
“So where did you meet your new girlfriend?” Sharon asked me, pulling me back into her favourite past time- gossip.
“Herm’s. And girlfriend? Hardly. But then again, I did drop her home on Saturday night…”
She looked puzzled.
“I thought you were with Bongo on Saturday night.”
“I was.”
I took a sip of my painfully non-alcoholic beverage.
Most of the time anyway.




For the second time that night I asked my cousin for his keys. It was after three. Closer to four.
“Her?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the honey skinned girl in the super short shorts and the high high heels and top that showed off her perfect stomach and canary studded navel.
“Mmm-hmm.”
He raised an eye brow.”
“Two girls in one night, Lloyd? Maybe you should slow down.”
“I didn’t fuck the first one and I’m only dropping this one home.” I blurted out a little defensively.
Sighing, my cousin pulled out his keys and handed them over.
“Fine. But you come right back. Awinyu? No detours.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I assured him, “and thanx.”
Catching her eye, I jerked my head in the direction of the exit. It was time to drop this lil birdy home.





One soda and two Arsenal goals later and it was time to go. Almost everyone was filing out of the bar but I decided to let the crowd first dissipate before I followed suit.
I felt a hand slip into one of mine. Turning, I found lil miss birdy staring up at me. A slightly irritated look on her face.
“Where have you been?” her tone mirrored he expression perfectly.
“I’ve been right here. I told you I would be inside didn’t I?”
She shook her head. Her tresses of hair shaking with it.
“No. You told me you would be right back.”
I scratched my head, something I tend to do when I’m being a little more than a little less than sincere.
“Sorry.”
She stared at me for a few beats without saying anything. I’m guessing to gauge whether I was really sorry or if I was just jerking her chain. I don’t mean to brag but I have to say, I’m a pretty good actor.
“Okay…now come on, I want you to meet my friend. She was asking about you. She thinks you’re cute.”
“Really?”
Maybe there was a light at the end of this tunnel after all.
“Yeah, but don’t get your hopes up. I told her that you were strictly off limits.
My face fell but I did my best to cover it up.
Asking myself what I had gotten myself into, I reluctantly let myself be dragged away.

Day 27: Dancing with the DeViL with Two Left Feet

"Distractions are a blessing. Especially the pretty ones."-Day 21


I came in her mouth. It didn’t take very long. Beer has a tendency to do that to me. It caught both of us off guard.
Grabbing the disposable cup that lay on its side on the floor of the car, she spat into it. Then cracking a window, she threw it out.
Neither of us had any condoms and so I had had to do with the next best thing: getting sucked off in the backseat of my cousin's car.
I had known her for all of 21 hours.


Regress (to Sth); To return to an earlier or less advanced form or state.

• Regression; The process of regressing. e.g regression to an earlier stage of emotional development.

I remember writing once, that, "It's funny how we always become the things we most despise. "I’ve traveled down that road before, got lost along it. and i can tell you, its not the best of feelings...I don’t want to do it again. And yet with each passing moment, with every minute that passes, I feel myself being sucked back it.

"You cant change who you are..."

Maybe they were right all along. Maybe this is just who I am...

The tents came down today. And with them my self respect. I did a lot of things I’m not proud of this weekend. Hurt a lot of people. Took advantage of others.

She called me a playa. Told me that I had hurt her. And yet I STILL managed to get her into the backseat of that car. and after what was done was done, we went back inside and I completely ignored her. Pretended as if nothing had happened. Made sure i put as much space between her and myself as i could. And THEN proceeded to make moves with someone else completely.

My frame of mind at the time? Just because she sucked me off doesn’t mean i owe her anything. I'm single. I'm free. So what if I enjoy myself at the expense of someone else? And its not like she's an angel. She's made quite a name for herself. Did i tell you about the one where she gave some random guy head from underneath the table?

And so I worked the room. Including the gorgeous one with the infectious smile whose name i didn’t quite get and who came out of nowhere and started shaking that shit like it was going out town.I enjoyed myself. I really did. It would be hard for me to say that I didn’t.But as i sit here i cant help but wonder, at what cost? Is being "distracted" really worth destroying all the progress I have made?"Who says it was progress?" some people might ask. (and ronnie, dear boy, you know i'm talking about you)

"As far as I'M concerned, THIS, what i'm seeing right NOW is progress. Get your head right bruh."

And yet its not. Progress was being able to fall in love. Progress was being able to care about someone else besides myself. Progress was being willing to sacrifice anything and everything to hold onto that love...not this...this is not progress. This is driving backwards into a concrete wall. And who in their right mind drives backwards into a concrete wall? And so, with that in mind, hold on bub, because i intend to turn this bitch back around. and this time...i'm going to get it right.

Day 21: Welcome to the order of the tortured artist

I woke up this morning longing for you.Why this particular morning? I really couldnt tell you. All i know is that as i lay there, the sun pouring in through the paper thin curtains, every fibre in my body craved for you. Craved to touch you, craved to taste you, craved to smell you, (sigh) craved to love you...And then came the knock on the door accompanied by a voice calling my name and in that instant, it all disappeared.



Distractions.We all need them. without them i think we would all run mad. I know thats whats keeping me from going insane. from pulling my hair out. From staying in bed all day. Distractions are a blessing. Especially the pretty ones. But that being said, sometimes i loathe them. Not often but often enough. They keep me from feeling...from feeling real...from feeling anything at all. and yet its when i'm feeling down, when i'm feeling shaken, when i'm feeling overwhelmed that i do my best writing. When things become so much that i need to bleed it out. From heart...to wrist...to pen.
"Depressed is when you write best." someone once told me. and they were right. and so, unwittingly, i came up with a system. Everytime i wanted to write something worth while, something worth reading, i would closet myself away. strip myself bare, debase myself, go hunting for shadows, captured and caged slivers of darkness; picking at scabs, slitting open old wounds, ripping off plasters and letting myself bleed...

Welcome to the order of the tortured artist.



Why torture yourself? I think, as i stare out the window. the curtains are so thin that theres no need to open them. They waver, like a mirage, at the slightest hint of a breeze. I can hear the wind rustle through the trees and watch as a single leaf, old, past its prime, is torn from its mother, from the nest of its brothers and drifts lazily, alone, to the ground.The sound of CNN; business news, can be heard from the following room. The scrape of plates as the table is set for breakfast.
Why torture myslef? I repeat, slipping on my slippers.
because it makes for some pretty good reading.
I smile but its small, ironic.
But not only that,the smile disappears,
I dont want to forget.
I dont want to forget apples or vanilla body spray or cherry flavoured chapstick. Or sensual massages in the sitting room or getting drunk off ours asses and making out in public.
I dont want to forget the first time she said she loved me and i didnt know what to say or sleeping on her floor because it was alot more comfortable than sleeping on her nightmare of a bed.
I dont want to forget chasing her around the living room, completely unaware of how naked we were or making love right after showering defeating the whole purpose of showering in the first place.
I want to remember the good times: new years eve, my birthday, the day we first met...AND the not so ggod times: January 3rd, valentines day and every fight, every argument, everytime i made her cry and everytime she made me want to die.
even if its torture...even if it hurts. and not because i'm presumptuous enough to consider myself some sort of artist. (although one day i hope that i will be able to) but because they are a part of me. They are my scars. they are my legacy. but most of all...they make me...me.

Day 19: Weddings, Swagger & Facebook

It seems to me like everyone is getting married. Or talking about getting married. Or talking about THINKING about getting married. It really makes no difference to me. Ive heard the word marriage so many times these past few months that in my mind its right up there with "swagger" & "facebook" for the award for most used word of the year.
I mean, have you looked around you recently? Its like the wedding ring has suddenly become the must have accessory of the season. & i have to admit, its making me a little nauseous. A little green in the face. A little sick to the stomach too. & not only with disgust but with a little envy as well.
You see, it wasnt too long ago when i thought i had found the person i would like to settle down with. Build a home with. Have kids & grow old with. But as it has often been said throughout history, things just didnt turn out to be as simple as i would have liked them to be.
& so now i pout. Wavering between whether i should do something about it or whether i should just let sleeping dogs lie. Say sayonara, goodbye. Better luck next time. Trying to decide whether the effort & the pounds & the piles & the mounds of heartache are worth the outcome. Or if the outcome will even be the one i so desperately desire.
I mean, lets be honest here, when it comes to such things, there are no such things as garauntees. Especially in this case where there are such things as family pressure & an ex boyfriend &, i love her to death but her quite unnerving tendency to never tell you whats really going on. & i only mention this now because the last time we were together, a week ago actually, (wow, why does it feel so much longer than that?) i had the distinct feeling there was something she wasnt telling me. I suppose i could just come right out & ask her but for some reason that seems base. Like i would be prying when i really have no right to be. But at the same time i know that if i wait for HER to say something i'll be waiting a pretty long time...but wait, maybe theres another option. Maybe i'm wrong. Maybe there is no secret shes keeping. Maybe there is no missing puzzle piece. Maybe i'm making this way more complicated than it really needs to be. So many maybe's. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But then...maybe not.
Much good stirring up the cauldron has done me. Now i have to try & fall asleep with all these maybe's & conspiracies & "what hasnt she told me's?" swirling around my head. My only hope is that the rain will do something to nullify their effect.

& to that effect,

goodnight.

Day 17: Homecoming Song for the Weary of Heart

Once again I'm bus bound. Destination? It doesnt matter. All that matters is that its away from here.Its barely nine in the morning but the sun is already high and its pretty obvious that the day is going to be a hot one.The chair i'm sitting in is an old one. the kind you sink into. It almost feels as if its saying, "Come here and let me give you a hug."Its a pretty nice feeling. A great feeling actually. Have things become so bad that i need to illicit affection from a chair?
I read my book again last night. The unpublished, quite finished piece of literature that has been sitting at the bottom of the proverbial drawer for quite sometime now. It hit me like a hammer. The memories recorded in it assaulting my senses with the ferociousness bordering frightening. Frightening because of the clarity it brought. Of who I was, who i became and who I am now. And all of the steps, big and small, that came in between.
I didnt finish reading it until it was after three. After climbing out of the shower and drying myself down, i remember staring at myself in the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot and i looked exhausted. And i was. More emotionally than anything else. The book had drained me.
And so with bloodshot eyes and a back breaking from a heavy heart (thank you Mr. Wentz) I fell into bed and fell asleep.



It feels good to be home. To be in a place that I can call my own. My room, my bed, my table, my chair. Ive missed being able to closet myself in the privacy of my own space. Not having to worry about if the music is too loud or if I'm in the way. I finally have some peace. and THAT feels good. And for some reason, it makes me feel hopeful. Not only having my space but having people i know that love me around me. within shouting distance. I admit, it can be stifling at times and I needed the reprieve. But being back...has put a smile on my face. a smile that has seldom been real for quite some time. Partly, because it is home but mostly because the angst of the past two weeks is now 350 km away.

Good bye storm clouds...hello sunshine

If Apologies Were Edible, This Would be a Banquet/ To Whom it May Concern II

I wish it had never come to this. To writing you this letter. It could have easily been avoided but seeing you that night; blue top, blue jeans (Yes, i do remember) something took a hold of me. Part alcohol, part lonliness, part you were looking so pretty. And thats why i told you we needed to talk.
With my arms around your waist, i said some things. some things that i probably shouldnt have. some things that were a little more than less than true. And for that i'm sorry. More than i can adequately express and more than you will probably ever believe. But I am. And not only for that but for sunday morning as well. For getting you out of bed, making you travel across town and for walking your heart right into a trap.
I dont have any excuses for what i did. It was wrong. More than that, it was heartless. Knowing everything that i do. Knowing how you feel. Knowing how it feels to have your heart broken and knowing that that was all that I could offer you.
I dont expect you to forgive me. I dont deserve to be forgiven. but i do hope that with time, your heart will mend and that as the fault lines become less visible, that you'll be able to forgive me.

I am truly sorry,

Lloyd

Day 14: This Valium Makes Me Feel Like I'm on This Song

I'm feeling rather melancholy today. Ever since i saw her actually.
She looked amazing. Almost like a dream i could touch. Sitting down next to her i remember asking myself, had she always been this beautiful. But all in all, seeing her wasnt the same. Too much had happened. Too many things had been said. Too many things had NOT been said...too many miles had come between us.
Seeing her was bitter sweet. Sweet pain. My heart needed it but couldnt take it at the same time.
Add that on top of what had happened that morning with she who shall not be named & i was in pretty bad shape. But as always, i put on my best face. Buried everything deep down in a multi-combination safe. It wasnt until after she had left, after i got back home, after i popped a couple of those valiums that it all began to catch up with me. It was progressive. Starting with a trickle, flowing into a stream & then roaring into a water fall.
I popped a couple more, thinking being doped up would probably help. Mixed in a little weed, a little liquor as well, but it only made things worse.
My cousin said i should talk about it. Offered me a willing ear. I love him for that. Especially with the friction that has been between us. He also said i needed to talk to she who shall not be named. Apologise for what i did- fucking with her brain. No, it was worse than that, i fucked with her heart. I dredged up all those feelings she had worked so hard to bury, gave her false hope & hung her with it. I feel terrible about it. Hell, thats one hell of an understatement, its eating me alive. & the funny thing is, a year ago i wouldnt have blinked twice. Wouldnt have felt anything at all. & thats what your love did for me Sandra. & yes, i just used your name & for the next few lines, i'm talking to you.
You made me human again. Gave me back my soul. & the truth is, without you i feel lost. I dont want to go back to being that person again & as short of a time it has been, i already feel myself being pulled back in. you were my anchor. and thats one of the things that is making letting you go so damn hard.
to be quite honest, i dont know how to switch gears after saying all of that. the release has been nice. and i do think it has helped. of course i havnt said everything thats on mind, that would take a pretty long time. but for the time being, i think i'll be just fine.

"Right side of my brain" by the dream