Dinner With Mr. Cole: Part II

Wait, are ninjas from China or Japan? Dormitan wondered to himself as he was led through a sea of tables occupied by people on blind dates and first dates and dates in an attempt to try and figure things out as well as people attending business dinners brokering big business deals and dinner parties for anniversaries and birthdays and job promotions by a six foot three inch tall, kimonoed Asian woman with a thick mane of blonde bleached dreadlocks that stopped somewhere between her waist and her knees. Sure, Dormitan could have asked Miss Blondie Dread over there who seemed to almost float across the room in front of him where (she would certainly know) but something told Dormitan that she might not take kindly to the question. Dormitan’s suspicions, of course, probably had something to do with the fact that she was almost a full head taller than him and although it is not at all my intention to make Dormitan out to look like a willy-nilly, the fact is, she intimidated the shit out of him.
“Is he already here?” Dormitan decided to ask instead as he unbuttoned his/Brian’s suit jacket and shoved his hands into his/Brian’s trouser pockets.
It was charcoal grey, the suit, pinstriped and looked as if it had been made for him, fitting his slender frame perfectly. I could get used to this. Dormitan had thought as he had stood in front of his full length mirror checking himself out.
I would totally let myself buy me a drink if I offered to buy me one. Dormitan had then mused a few minutes later as he had flagged down a boda-boda, climbing on, careful not to scuff up his freshly polished shoes.
“I’m going to Ninja.” He had told the boda-boda guy. “Do you know it? It’s in Kololo just after Phase 2.”
The piki-piki transporter dude thought about it for a moment and then,
“Yes, I know it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, yes I know it. We go?”
Dormitan plucked at the gap between his two front teeth with his thumb like he did every time he was thinking for a moment or two and then,
“We go.”
“Who? Mr. Bryce?” Miss Asian Big Foot threw over her shoulder. Although that is not entirely fair because although big, large, long feet are usually equated with tallness it’s not always the truth. So in an attempt not to stereotype maybe I’ll just stick with Blondie Dread.
She had a extremely strong Gaelic accent, Miss Blondie Dread did which gave Dormitan a moment of pause before he could answer.
“Yeah, Mr. Bryce. Has he arrived yet?”
Her snake like dreads writhed as she shook her head.
“Not yet.” Blondie Dread answered.
“Ah, here you go.” She added a moment later stopping before an empty table. In true Japanese fashion it was about three feet off the ground and instead of chairs the table was surrounded by cushions. It was the only table like that in the room.
Dormitan began plucking at his gap.
“Um, I’m all for the full Japanese dining experience but why are we the only people with a table like this?”
“Mr. Bryce requested for it. He’s all about authenticity you know.”
Dormitan rolled his eyes. Groupie…
“So I’ve heard.”
“Excuse me?”
Dormitan shook his head.
“Nothing.”
Suddenly, the suit seemed kind of impractical. Really impractical. Crap.
“Sir, is there anything I can get for you while you wait?”
More plucking.
“Um, yes actually. Do you guys have Sake?”
“This is a Japanese restaurant Sir.”
“Ok but--”
With an audible sigh,
“Yes, we have Sake…sir.”
Pause. Was it just him or was Blondie Dread being a little rude? A little condescending too. Dormitan thought about it for a hot second…she was, she was being rather rude.
Just let it go man, its not worth getting into. Dormitan told himself.
“Um…ok, can I have some of that then?”
“How would you like it?”
“How do you have it?”
“We have it in single servings and then in pitchers.”
Pluck, pluck, pluck, pluck, pluck.
“Bring me a pitcher…please.”
“Yes sir.”
Taking what looked like to be a lot of effort, Snobby Dread took a slight bow and backed away from the table.
After she was a sufficient distance away, Dormitan hitched up his trousers and rounding the table, sat down.

Dinner With Mr. Cole: Part I

I

At twenty-seven years old Dormitan Cole had only ever owned one suit. It was a dark green, double breasted number that looked like it had been plucked off of the costumes rack of a 1970’s blaxploitation flick. It was the same one he had worn for his high school leaver’s party as well as for every other formal occasion he had been forced to attend ever since. It didn’t matter that the trousers were now two sizes too small and that the collar of the jacket was now faded and frayed from age, Dormitan Cole didn’t believe in suits, he believed that they were for monkeys and for the uninspired and so seeing himself as more than a mere primate as well as a rather inspired human being, Dormitan Cole had made an oath to himself that he would never under any circumstance indulge himself in the purchase of a suit. Ever. On the 15th of June of this year however, Mr. Cole was seriously considering breaking this very oath. Dormitan, you see, had earned himself, through a rather well written yarn about a boy and his guitar that he had sent to a rather prestigious stateside literary publication five months prior, a dinner with his favorite living author, D.C. Bryce. D.C. Bryce was an Ugandan born writer who had moved to the United States in his late twenties to pursue an MFA in creative writing at Syracuse University. During his time at Syracuse D.C. Bryce had completed and published his first novel Ssshhh, Can You Hear Them Screaming? Which was an instant success, not only garnering him a number of accolades but also a New York Times Bestsellers ranking. D.C. then went ahead to write five more books, each one more successful than the last, each one earning him a plethora of award nominations. He didn’t always win of course, because no one could ever always win, but being nominated still had its merits, right?
What it all boiled down to though, was that D.C. Bryce was the writer that Dormitan had always wanted to be and so to have the chance to break bread with his hero, to get a chance to pick his brain was more than amazing, it was a dream come true. This dream though, unfortunately for Dormitan, did not include him wearing a ten year old green suit that looked liked something Superfly might have worn.
At first, Dormitan had thought that the suit would suit the occasion just fine (pardon the pun) but as he stood in front of the mirror staring himself down he suddenly realized that he had grossly miscalculated. What the hell had he been thinking? Of course, if given the choice Dormitan would have been more than happy to wear his customary jeans and t-shirt but again, unfortunately for him, the dinner was supposed to be somewhere nice, some trendy Japanese restaurant where Reebok Classics and ratty Old Navy t-shirts were heavily frowned upon. He doubted he would have even been allowed to make it through the front door.
Ok, so now what? What now? What now? Dormitan thought as he slipped out off the suit jacket and struggled out of its trousers. Where on earth could he get a suit at such short notice? The dinner was only two hours away, it was a Saturday evening and most of the shops were closed and even if they weren’t he didn’t have the kind of money it would take to buy a brand new one. Or a second hand one, or even to rent one.
Ok, so lemme think, lemme think, lemme see…
Standing akimbo in his boxers and his just-as-tattered-as-the-suit blue button down, Dormitan ran through is options…there really weren’t that many.
Dormitan, then walking to his bed, ran his hands across the landscape of the mattress until he found his phone.
Ok, so now who to call? Who can I call? Who can I call…?
Dormitan thought about it for a moment and then Bang! He had it…Brian. Brian had like a gazillion Indian made, cheap as dirt but still designer looking suits, he would definitely be able to help Dormitan out. Hopefully. Because even though he was Dormitan’s best friend, Brian was still kind of an asshole.
Dialing Brian’s number, Dormitan put the phone up to his ear.
Brian picked up after the fourth ring.
“Who dis’ who be callin’ my phone?” Brian shouted into the phone sounding a little short of breath.
“Dude, you watch way too much Californication, you really need to stop with that. Anyway, I need to borrow a suit, can you hook a brutha up?”
“When do you need it?”
“Like right now.”
“Aight cool…Come on…through.”
“You sure? You sound like you might be--”
“Yeah…yeah I’m sure.”
“Cool. I’ll be there in a sec.”
Hanging up the phone Dormitan tossed it onto the bed, walked out of his bedroom and crossing the small hallway walked into the room opposite where he found Brian balls deep inside some chick who, after a perfunctory once over, Dormitan realized wasn’t his girlfriend. Brian had a bottle of Bond 7 in one hand and the right breast of the female he was jockeying in the other.
“Help yourself.” Brian wheezed, still pumping away, using the Bond 7 to point at his closet.
Dormitan nodded in the direction of the girl.
“Who’s that?”
Brian, without missing a beat,
“Does it matter?”
Dormitan could see the girl’s face from where he was standing and let his gaze linger. She was pretty with brown tinted hair cropped to a little less than an inch long. Her eyes were glazed over and her liner had run as if she had been crying.
“Guess not.” Dormitan shrugged. “Just make sure you send her home with some food in her belly man.”
“Yes sir.”
Brian said, mock saluting.
Shaking his head Dormitan turned away from Brian and his glaze eyed meal for the evening and turning towards Brian’s closet stopped worrying about what Girl X was going to have for dinner and once again returned to worrying about what he was going to wear to his.

Scribd Version of "Til I Overdose" A Collection of Short Stories by yours Truly

Hey, so I know I put up a Media Fire download link for Til I Overdose but it all honesty I think that A scribd version would be alot more digestable and so I decided to make a Scribd version of it. still downloable and stuff but yeah...so here it is,

Til I Overdose: A Collection of Short Stories

http://www.scribd.com/doc/99303092/Til-i-Overdose

Enjoy.

Til I Overdose...A Small Collection of Short Stories...

Hey, It's been a while...if I'm to be quite honest I'm going through a really bad bout of writer's block and so that got me thinking. Why not throw some of my stories together (most of which have appeared on this blog, but no matter) PDF the bitch and upload it...and so that's exactly what I did. And so here is "Til I Overdose"...

http://www.mediafire.com/?0uyppatg96d1ty9

One...Week Earlier: Of Blood, of Salt and of Water

Collin stood in front of the bathroom mirror, shirtless, staring himself down. He was gaunt, the bulk and muscle that had once filled out his tall frame now nothing more than a distant memory. He wouldn't be throwing himself into a rugby scrum any time soon, that was for sure. And as much as he had watched his body steadily deteriorate over the past few weeks, the horror of just how ravaged his body had become dug at Collin's eye sockets as if trying to rip out his eye balls. His ribs jutted out from his sides like the hand and foot holds of a climber's and his collar bones stuck out like the handle bars of a child's bicycle. Sores had opened up all over his chest as well as on his abdomen, his back and his arms. He was in constant, agonizing pain but had adamantly refused to take anything for it (a brief addiction and a long fight back from it had made sure of that) and so Collin trudged through it, teeth grit, breath heavy, as best as he could. But as much pain as Collin was in, he knew that it was nothing compared to the agony that Helena was going through. Her..."sickness", as they had decided to call it was a lot further along than his was. It was obvious to both of them that Helena didn't have that much time left. And as far along as her symptoms had progressed, the only thing that Collin could really do was to make sure that he made her as comfortable as possible. And even that...



After rubbing down his skin, careful of the sores, with an ointment that was meant to help with the itching, the scabbing and what seemed like the liters of yellow pus, Collin filled a basin with about an inch or so of cold water, grabbed a clean wash cloth and headed back to the bedroom. Helena was propped up by a pillow and croaked a pallid "For a second I thought you got lost in there." , trying on a timid smile as Collin walked up and sat down on the edge of the bed beside her.



"I think I almost did." Collin said as he set the basin down between his slippered feet. Then dipping the wash cloth in the water, Collin let it soak for a moment then wrung it out.



Halfing the wash cloth Collin gently began with Helena's forehead, moved to her cheeks and then to her neck. A small sigh escaped from Helena's lips every time the cool cloth touched her fevered skin.



A grim smile kissed Collin's lips; at least it was helping, even if just a little bit.



When Collin reached the curve of Helena's breasts though, Helena stopped him.



"What?" he wondered, "What is it?"



Then, forcing a toothy grin,



"It's not like I haven't touched them before."



A flicker of a smile but then it was gone.



"I need to talk to you about something."



Collin frowned. Took the wash cloth and dipping it in the basin wrung it out again.



"Uh...OK. What about?"



Collin began on Helena's arm. Once again Helena stopped him.



"Put the wash cloth down Collin, we need to talk."



Dropping the wash cloth in the basin, Collin dried his hands on the thighs of his jeans then gingerly took Helena's. The frown was back.



"What's going on?"



Helena's breath came out slow...and gravelly. in...out...in...out...in...



"I'm dying Collin-"



"Dont' say that."



"We both know it's the truth-"



"You're going to get through this."



"We made this decision knowing how this was going to end Collin."



Silence. Sigh. Deep sigh. Fuck. She was right...they had.



"Look at me Collin,"



he did,



"Does it really look like I'm going to make it through this to you?"



Collin cupped Helena's face with one hand.



"You look beautiful to me."



Helena placed a hand on top of his. The ghost of a smile lingering on her lips.



"You're sweet...but you're lying..."



Again, silence.



"I need you to do something for me Collin. And it's going to be hard..."



Collin removed his hand,



"No,"



Stood up,



"No,"



Took a two step retreat from the bed while shaking his head,



"No. I'm not going to do that Helena. I won't."



Helena sighed.



"You need to."



"I love you."



"Which is why you need to."



Collin began to pace. Helena let him.



"What you're asking me to do-"



"We talked about this."



"I didn't think you were serious."



"I'm in pain Collin, I can't go on like this. Please."



Collin stopped pacing. His breath coming out as heavy and ragged as Helena's. His shoulders slumped.



"How?"



"With the pillow."



"It'll hurt."



"Not for long."



"Why not pills?"



"I want the pillow."



Collin sighed. Took a step towards the bed. Then another. Then another. Sat down on the edge. Took one of Helena's hands in both of his.



"I love you Helena...so much."



"I love you too baby. More than you could possibly know."



Leaning over her, Collin kissed Helena on the lips.



"Breathe into me." Helena whispered once Collin had broken the it.



Collin nodded.



Taking a deep breath, he blew into her mouth. Not stopping until he had completely emptied his lungs into hers.



Now her last breath would be his.



As Collin drew back Helena was nodding. She was ready. Tears in both their eyes, Helena's of blood, Collin's of salt and of water, Collin grabbed the pillow lying next to Helena's head.



Saying a silent goodbye, Collin then covered Helena's head with the pillow and using both his hands, held it down.

PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

By L.A. Lutara

The room reeked of disease, of decay and of the last fetid breaths of the dying. It reeked of skin ripped from muscle, of muscle shorn from bone. Sweet and sickening the smell tickled his nostrils, constricted his throat, tore at his eyes making them tear…

It smelled of flesh, this room; burnt and burning, rotten and rotting…human…

Collin hid his nose in the cleft of his arm. Smelt Sulphur on skin. Smelt infection. Smelt the ebb of his very existence. And as much as the smell terrified him, in the end, ultimately, it was preferable to the stench that clung onto and dug its knarled fingers into the throat of air around him.

The room was dim, the curtains drawn. Not a ray of sun; no, no light of any kind had pierced Collin’s retinas for as far back as his crumbling mind could remember. His eyes, however, had grown accustomed to the darkness. Had come to crave it even. They traversed the room. Four walls…a chest of drawers…beer bottles, coke bottles, medicine bottles… a king sized bed…

Collin’s eyes focused on the bed. A vicious and vampirous swarm of flies and mosquitoes were buzzing around it. Around her. Never quite touching down on the mass of rot the bed cradled but seeming to keep guard. Staking death’s territory. Warning: No Life Beyond This Point.

Sweat broke out on Collin’s forehead. The air was muggy and stale and the room was like an oven. And yet he shivered. An indefinable cold seeping into his bones. Rendering them arthritic and painful to move. Was it fear, this internal frost that gripped his limbs? No, it couldn’t be. Collin had accepted his fate, they had accepted their fate. The both of them, together. To love each other was to kill each other. If they wanted to live, one of them would have to leave…

Collin wiped his forehead with the heel of his palm. His cheeks on the shoulders of his shirt. Steeling himself, he took a step towards the bed. Then another. Then another. The buzzing of the insects seemed to pause, leaving the dense air silent. The cloud almost seeming to part before him as his knees bumped the side of the bed. Turning, Collin sat down. Reached a hand out towards Helena, or at least what had once been Helena but then thought the better of it.

She’s gone. Collin told himself. She’s gone…

And then the guilt hit.

If only he had gone. If only he had gotten up and left. Because no matter how much Helena would have cried or cursed or lashed out, it would have been better than this. Anything would have been better than this. At least she would have been alive. At least she would have been breathing. At least she still would have had a chance had happiness, even if not with him. Collin’s selfishness had killed her. His unwillingness to leave had left her a rotting hunk of meat.

A sob broke through the silence and thick tears forced themselves from the corners of Collin’s eyes. Their descent was slow leaving slug like trails down his cheeks and Collin waited a moment before he wiped them away with the finger tips of his hands. Blood. He was crying blood. One of the very last things that had happened to Helena before she had died.

Collin sighed. His ragged breath coming out a rattle. This was it. Next were the ears, then the mouth, then the nose. His body would slowly and painfully bleed itself dry using every orifice in his body to rid itself of life. His already lesioned skin would then begin to peel, falling off in slops, exposing raw muscle. And then finally, too weak and into much pain to move, his heart would seize and he would die.

Slowly, Collin lifted his legs and stretched out on the bed. Laid his head down on the pillow.

Breath in…breath out…breath in…breath out…breath in…breath out…

Making a decision Collin reached a hand behind his head and under the pillow. Carefully and deftly feeling around he pulled out a razor blade. Peered at it in the murky darkness. Helena had said that if he had to he could. That she would not resent him for it.

Breath in…breath out…breath in…breath out…

Collin raised his other hand in front of his face.

Breath in…breath out…

Then just as carefully and just as deftly as he had pulled out the razor blade from under the pillow, Collin dug the blade into the flesh of his wrist and made a deep and neat vertical incision, cleanly severing the radial artery of his right arm. Then switching the razor blade from one hand to the other, Collin made an identical slash severing his right wrist’s twin. Then, blood tripping down both arms, Collin slowly lowered them allowing them to come to rest at his sides. Looking up at the ceiling Collin took another deep breath…and waited.

For Everything A Reason...Pt. 9: The Reason (Series Finale)

I threw back the covers. Jumped out of bed. Stumbled, still half drunk on sleep across the room to my desk where my phone was charging. It was gargling its spacey sequence of bells and whistles and as I pulled out the charging pin, I pressed the 'answer' button and put the phone up to my ear.
It was Sharon.
“Hello?”
“Why aren't you answering your phone?”
But it wasn't Sharon. At least it didn't sound like her.
I pulled the phone from my ear and checked the caller ID. It said Sharon all right. I furrowed my eye brows in confusion. Lifted the phone back up to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Sharon’s in the hospital. She's been trying to call you-- we've been trying to call you for almost two hours. Why the hell aren't you answering your phone? The woman pregnant with your children tries to call you in the middle of the night and it doesn't occur to you that there might be something wrong?”
And then click-- everything slid into place, made absolute sense...shit.
“What’s happened? Is she okay? Are the babies OK? Where are you?”
It was Sharon's sister Beverly on the phone. The one who had given me hell since day one. The one who had always, always suspected from the very beginning that I was up to no good. The one who had tried to come onto me that one time when I had run into her at some wigged out house party while Sharon had been tucked in safe and sound at home. Nothing had happened though so I hadn't seen any reason to mention the little incident to Sharon...but Beverly had, putting her own spin on it too. It took me forever and a day to convince Sharon that I didn't do anything. Needless to say, I didn't like the chick.
“We're at Hale, ward 3H. You better hurry. And I swear, I swear to God that if she loses those babies Ben, it’s going to be on you.”
“Beverly, what happened?”
“She woke up bleeding, tried to call you, couldn't get through to you and so she called me. Rachel and I picked her up and brought her here.”
Rachel was her live in girlfriend...don't ask 'cause I don't know...
I let what Beverly said sink in.
“I'll be there soon.”
I hung up and in a whirlwind of movement pulled on a pair of jeans, threw on a shirt and grabbed a jacket. I was more than a hundred steps from the house before I realized that I was still in my slippers. Dashing back I slid my feet into a pair of African sandals. Dashed back out.
Covering my ear with my phone I called my midnight boda guy, Joze.
He picked up on the fourth ring.
“Wanji?”
“Are you working?”
“Yes boss.”
“Where are you?”
“At the stage.”
“You come down towards home, I'm coming.”
“Okay boss, let me come.”
I heard the motorcycle engine roar to life in the back ground and then beep-beep-beep the connection was cut and he was gone. Stuffing my phone into my pocket, I quickened my pace.


***

I hate hospitals. Try my best to avoid them as much as humanly possible. But then I’ve never really met anyone who actually does like them. Not even doctors. Heck, most especially not doctors.
How anybody can stand the antiseptic smell that clung relentlessly to your clothes and the stench of sickness and decay that the antiseptic was supposed to mask that mercilessly dug its way up your nose, sliding down your throat, nauseating you and bubbling bile in your stomach I don’t know.
Yeah, I most definitely hated hospitals.
Jumping off the boda, I walked across the parking lot, up the ramp leading up to the entrance, through the automatic doors and up to the reception desk.
I tapped on the counter,
“Excuse me,”
The receptionist looked up from her computer, registered my presence, her eyes widening in recognition.
“Ben.”
I forced a grim smile.
“Flavia.”
I had forgotten that she was working nights.
“What happened, Ben? You never called me back. Wait, lemme guess, you lost your phone and my number along with it, right?”
I sucked in some air; I didn't have time for this. I needed to get up to Sharon, to the babies. And they weren’t just “the babies” anymore. We had decided to name them Blake and Blair. Blake for the boy and Blair for the girl.
What if they weren't okay? What if Sharon lost them?
Up to that point I hadn't allowed myself to think about it. The possibilities scared me. But even more than the possibilities, the fact that I secretly hoped that she did lose the babies. That she would bleed them out and would be left hollowed out, void and empty. And me wishing for that horrified me. What kind of person hoped for something like that? Was I really that selfish and callous? And the sad thing is; deep, deep down I knew the answer was “Yes.”.
“Where's Ward 3H?”
Silence...and then,
“You're seriously not going to talk to me?”
I let out an exasperated sigh. Tried to keep calm.
“I'm kind of in a hurry Flavia. Can we talk about this later?”
Flavia eyed me and I could tell that in that moment that if she had a gun she would have shot me dead. Executioner style. One in the back in the head, rolled me over and then two in the heart just to make sure.
Flavia let out a sigh of resignation.
“Take the elevator to the third floor. Once you're out, turn right and go all the way to the end of the hall. It's on your right.”
I turned to go.
“Is she your girlfriend?”
I stopped. Turned back to face her.
“What?”
“The girl in 3H,” Flavia said, “is she your girlfriend?”
I stared at her.
“It's a small hospital Ben.”
I blinked. Blinked again. Swallowed. Set my jaw.
“Good night Flavia.” I said and without another look, walked over to the bank of elevators.

***

Ding! The elevator doors slid back in on themselves and I stepped out of the elevator, right foot first. As per Flavia’s directions I turned right and walked down the hall. The smell of bleach and antiseptic was stronger up here. Probably because more people died up here. Clamping my hand over my nose and my mouth I sneezed once, twice, three times. Pulled out my hankie, wiped my hand, wiped my nose.
The corridor was deserted. Florescent light tubes lined the ceiling making the corridor stark and white and ugly. As I continued to walk, sniffling every moment or so I read the plaques on the doors; D...E...F...G...H...
I stopped in front of the door. Took a deep breath, sneezed, wiped my nose and shoved my hankie into my back pocket.
The handle was one of those flat types that you pushed down on. And no, not one of those ornate ones that you see sometimes either. It was plain and ugly. Much like the rest of the hospital. Sticking out a shaky hand, I gripped it.
Another deep breath and pushing down on the handle I opened the door.
Five sets of eyes turned to look at me as I stood in the doorway holding open the door. Beverly, who looked none too happy to see me, Rachel whose expression mirrored her girlfriend's, Sharon's other sister Christine, some guy that I didn't know...and Patricia. Patricia who I hadn't seen in months. Patricia who had ended her friendship with Sharon the moment she found out that her and I were dating. Patricia who when she had found out that Sharon and I had split had invited me over to her new place in a text saying, “Just moved, super lonely, come over and let's get crazy.”
What the hell was she doing there?
I had obviously walked in on a conversation but none of them said anything now.
I looked around the room. It was a small one. With three beds. Each one separated by cheap looking, aqua colored curtains which at the moment were pulled back. Two of the three beds were patientless and the five visitors had made themselves quite at home on them. Spreading out themselves, their bags, jackets, shawls and other stuff.
I glanced over at the one occupied bed. Sharon was in it and she appeared to be sleeping. She didn't look well. An ashy pallor coated her skin, her mouth was turned downwards and her eyebrows were furrowed.
I nodded in her direction,
“How is she?”
I made sure to moderate my volume so as not to wake her.
Everyone exchanged glances.
“Let me talk to you outside.”
Beverly said standing up. She brushed past me, “Come on.”
I did a quick examination of the others to see if I could get a clue as to what was going on but all I got was a wall of poker faces.
This is bad, I told myself. Very, very bad.
I turned; let the door close behind me. Walked over to Beverly who was waiting a few paces down the hall.
“What's going on?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest.
For once, Beverly seemed to be at a loss for words. She swallowed, paced a little, stopped, rubbed her hands on the thighs of her jeans--
“Just spit it out Beverly.”
She stood up straight. Licked her lips.
“Fine.”
Her voice was stone.
“Sharon lost the babies. We got to her too late.” Her voice cracked. “She doesn't know.”
Involuntarily, my hands went up to my face and cupped my nose and mouth. I could hear my breath coming ragged. My legs felt like jelly. I leaned my back against the wall.
“If you had picked up your phone, the babies may have had a chance.”
I was so far gone inside myself that I barely registered what she said.
“And Sharon doesn't know?”
Beverly gave me a small shove.
“Did you hear me Ben?” Her voice was rising. “This is your fault. She tried to call you for half an hour while trying to stop the bleeding herself. In which time she could have been here and those babies would still be alive and my sister would not be lying in that bed in there,”
Beverly pointed towards the room,
“half bled to death.”
Still in shock, still trying to process, combined with the fact that it was almost 3 o'clock in the morning and I was tired as fuck, I was not in the mood to argue with her. So instead and with much effort I stood up straight and said,
“I need to see her.”
Beverly grabbed my arm.
“No you don't. And you won’t.”
She gripped my arm even harder, moving closer to me. “What you're going to do Ben, is turn around and leave and let me deal with this.”
I’ve never wanted to hit a woman so much in my life.
I swallowed. Unclenched my fists that had somehow clenched themselves without me noticing. I decided to try and be diplomatic.
“Beverly, come on. She's my--”
“Your what?” Beverly interrupted. “Your what Ben? Tell me, what is she to you exactly? A human incubator? An expired sex slave maybe?”
I felt my hands slowly begin to clench themselves again.
“Because that's exactly how you treated her.”
Beverly gave me a leery smile.
“You want to hit me don't you? You do, I can see it,”
She jutted out her chin.
“Go ahead, do it. I dare you.”
I glared at her. She glared back...I was the first to give.
Wrenching my arm from her grip, I pushed past her, went down the hall, banged through the door leading to the stairs, took them all the way down to the reception and skulked out of the hospital.

***

“And so you just left?”
I could tell that my mother didn’t want to believe that.
I shook my head.
“What else could I do? I wasn’t about to get into a fist fight with her.”
The sky had cleared. It was still chilly but there was no sign of rain and so my mother and I had stayed in the hotel garden.
“I think you still should have tried.”
I took a sip of my third vodka and tonic. I was starting to feel the punch and hoped to God that I would be able to walk straight when it was time to go. Tipsy was one state I didn’t want my mom to see me in.
Maybe I should get some water, I pondered to myself. But instead of giving it any serious thought I said,
“I did try to call her though. Day and night for about three days. Finally I just decided to go over. I practically had to fight my way through the door, Beverly and Rachel were taking turns playing watch dog. And with good reason to. When I finally got to her I found out that Beverly had managed to convince Sharon that the night she had the miscarriage Beverly had finally managed to get through to me, I had said that I would come but then never did. And seeing as Sharon had already put partial blame on me for the miscarriage, it was not that far of a stretch for her to believe that I had not turned up at all.”
My mother poured the last of the tea into her cup from the small aluminum kettle, tore open a small sachet of sugar, poured it in and stirred.
“How did she look?”
She took a sip of her tea. Added another sachet of sugar.
“Not good. She looked like she had aged by about five years. And she was sad. Like unbelievably so.”
“I can only imagine. Did she believe you when you told her that you had gone to the hospital? And that Beverly had blatantly refused you to see her? Even though she really had no such right.”
I shrugged.
“Right then? Maybe. I don’t know. And even if she did, Sharon was in no condition to go at it with her sister. She did call me sometime after wards though, to apologize for her sister’s behavior. So at some point I guess she did.”
“Have you seen her since?”
I set my jaw. Lowered my gaze. Took a sip of my drink. The answer to that question was something I was kind of ashamed of.
“No.” I said shaking my head.
“But I do try to call her from time to time. Find out how she’s doing.”
My mother nodded. She got it. Got why I would not want to go out of my way to see Sharon. With everything that had gone on between us, it was bound to be hard.
“How is she?”
I took a moment to think about that.
“Coping.” I said thoughtfully. “As best she can I guess.”
I could feel my mother’s eyes probing as she asked,
“And how about you? How are you doing?”
I took a sip of my drink.
“Me? I’m fine.”
My mother pointed.
“That nice looking ring on your finger seems to think that you’re lying.”
I looked down at my hand. So it was back to the ring then. Things had come full circle.
“I wear it as a reminder.” I told her.
Well you’ve told her everything else, I reasoned with myself, you might as well tell her this.
“And now you know what of.”
My mother nodded. Didn’t say anything for a moment. It was a lot to digest, I know. She took a couple of small sips from her cup, and then setting the cup down on its saucer she pushed it away from her. She glanced at her watch.
“It’s getting late Ben, how about you walk me to my room?”
My smile was faint. That was my cue.
“Yeah, sure.”
We got up from the table.
“Wait, what about the bill?”
My mother waved away my question.
“They’ll add it to my room bill. Now come on.”
Walking over to me my mother took me by the hand. It had been ages since she had done that. She gave my hand a squeeze. It was her way of saying that she got it, she was sorry and that everything would be okay. She knew that no amount of words could say it better than that. Giving her hand a squeeze of my own that said,
“Thank you, I love you and that you’re the best Mom in the world.” I walked her back to her room.

THE END

For Everything a Reason...Pt. 8: One More to Go (Draft)

I stared at the ultrasound. Tried my best to process what my eyes were seeing. What the ultrasound operator lady was pointing out for me to see. Twins. We were going to have twins...shit.

I felt Sharon's squeeze of the hand and managed to tear my eyes away from the screen. I looked down at her half sitting, half half reclining on the examination table.

“You okay?”

I nodded. But I wasn't. Not that I was going to tell her that though. Because looking down at her it was obvious that she was more than just OK, she was ecstatic. Hell, she could barely hide her smile. Sharon had always wanted twins. Had talked about it on a number of occasions. A boy and a girl. Maybe Blake and Blair or Kanye and Kenya or--

“Would you guys like to know the sexes of the twins?”

The woman working the ultrasound asked.

Sharon gave an almost imperceptible nod. Of course she did but she would let me decide. And that was the thing, did I? I thought about it for a moment.

Well, it would make for easier planning.

Easier planning my ass, a part of me grumbled. It's fucking twins man. Not one but two babies. Everything that you thought you were going to have to endure, you now have to endure times two. It's not too late to back you know...

“Hey...hey.”

Sharon squeezed my hand again. Her expression was one of concern.

“I know its a lot. If you would rather not know--”

I shook my head.

“No, no. I want to know,”

Turned to the operator lady who was patiently waiting.

“Tell us, we want to know.”

“Are you sure?”

We both nodded our ascent.

“OK then. Just give me a moment,” the operator said while moving the ultrasound probe across the gelled surface of Sharon's stomach and watching the screen.

“Ah, there you go.” she said and paused with her roving. She then pointed at the images on the screen.

“Looks like you've got yourself one of each. A boy and a girl. Congratulations.”

I looked down at Sharon. She was beaming. One of each. Just like she wanted.



***


A little more than two months had passed and I still hadn't told anybody. Nobody particularly close to me anyway. Certainly not family. I was still figuring out how to. Our family has produced more love children than I care to count and I wasn't sure I had the stones to drop the bomb of knowledge of yet another one. Plus Sharon had asked me not to. Not until she had garnered up the courage to tell her people first. Or the courage to see the pregnancy through to the end. Because although she said abortion was not an option, I know she had at least thought about it.

Sharon had left the announcing until the last moment, when her baby bump had started to show. Then she had no choice. People were bound to notice, if they hadn't already. I had wanted to be there for that conversation but she had insisted that she could handle it. We weren't together and so it would be kind of weird if I was there.

“Even if we're not, I'm still going to be a part of this baby's life. My presence there would go a long way to show that I'm a 100% dedicated to that.”

And for a moment Sharon had looked like she was considering it but then blink-blink breathe and her resolve had hardened again.

“No, Ive got this.”

Personally I think that she partly refused because though my presence would show my intentions to “do the right thing” it would also serve as a reminder of the car wreck that was our engagement. No, she would handle it herself. And so she had. Said that people at home were more disappointed than angry, with her anyway, but just plain angry at me. And why hadn't I turned up? I was claiming I was going to be there for the Sharon and the baby and yet I didn't even have the balls to be there when Sharon was telling her family? I sure had a funny way of showing my dedication.

I gave Sharon my best “I told you so” look but had said nothing.

But I had tried to be as consistent as I could. Making doctor's appointments and showing up for check ups and the such like (thank God for insurance). And although it was highly unlikely that Sharon and I would ever get back together (undeniable sparks and all), we had managed to strike up an at least amiable friendship. And that was after a lot of pushing on my side. A lot of apologies as well. It had taken forever for Sharon to even accept the help that she not only needed but deserved. But like they say “Persistence pays” and after what seemed like ages it finally felt like we were on the same page.



***


Sharon and I walked out of the hospital and into the chill. The clouds were promising rain and the wind nipped at my ears. Sharon reached for my hand. I let her take it. She was a hand holder, always had been. Even before we had started dating. She had said as much herself. So me letting her take it wasn't sending out mixed signals...was it? At least I didn't think it was. We walked across the parking lot towards the special hire taxis.

“Thanx for coming today. It means a lot.”

She squeezed my hand. I squeezed back.

“You don't have to thank me.”

“Yes I do. You don't have to be doing this. A lot of guys wouldn't be.”

“But I am. And that's not about to change. So you better get used to it 'cause I'm in this for the long haul.”

Sharon smiled. Was silent for a moment and then,

“Do you want to go grab a cup of coffee or something? Hang out for a bit?”

“I thought you weren't supposed to drink coffee.”

“'Or something' then.”

I smiled. Apologetically.

“I cant. I have a meeting to get to. Rain check though?”

Sharon nodded. Slipped her hand out from mine.

“Yeah, sure. I was stupid to think--”

“How about dinner tonight? We'll go somewhere nice, talk.”

A faint smile kissed her lips.

“I would like that.”

“I'll call you?”

“Yeah.”

And with that I bargained for her a 'specio', gave the man the money, gave Sharon a hug, one more “I'll call you” and watched, hands in pocket, as the taxi drove away.

Everything For A Reason...Pt. 7

“So she didn't take the pill?”

I shook my head. Did something funny with my mouth. Crossed my arms across my chest.

“Nope.”

Shrugged,

“But I can't really blame her though.”

I Ran my ring finger around the rim of my glass. Vodka and tonic.

My mother and I had migrated to the garden of her hotel after our waitress (if I can even call her that, it wasn't that type of restaurant) told us that if were weren't going to order anything else we would have to give up the table. My mother wasn't in the mood to cause and neither was I, and so we had left.

My mother shrugged as well.

“I guess so.”

My mother was drinking African tea with spices. She wasn't much of a drinker, in fact she never drank anything stronger than wine and even that on rare occasions and even though it was already past five by this time had looked at me with a queer look when I had ordered my drink. Had said nothing though. She was a firm believer in letting people live their lives and her son was no exception. Which meant that I had gotten myself into quite a number of scrapes over the years. She was always there to bail me out though. With a kind word in one hand and a how could you be so stupid slap in the other.

My mother glanced up at the sky; it was being moody. Mumbling and threatening bad things but I much preferred the nip and the wind to the stuffiness of the hotel lounge. My mother had her cuppa and a shawl wrapped around her shoulders so she was fine but I told her that whenever she felt the weather turned too nasty we could go inside.

She shook her head.

“No, I'm good for now. So...when did you find out that she was--”

“Pregnant?” I interrupted. “A few weeks. Maybe a month, maybe more. I was in Arua at the time, you remember?”

My mother nodded.

“So yeah, it was around that time. She kept on calling me and asking me when I was going to come back, that we needed to talk. I didn't realize at the time how urgent it was but I made a weekend trip down at some point and we had dinner.”

“Where?”

“Is that really important Mom?”

“Just...just indulge me Ben.”

I shrugged.

“Fine. At her place.”

“You didn't--”

“No Mom.” I interrupted before my mother could say it. Took a sip of my drink. “I didn't. We just talked...”




***



I set down my plate. Sat back in the couch. The black leather one that I thought I would never sit in again.

“That was, that was delicious.”

And it had been. It was just the two of us but Sharon had cooked a feast. Had insisted on me having two helpings. I. Was. Full.

“Are you sure you don't want any more?”

I waved away her offer.

“No, no, no, no, no. If I ate anymore I probably wont be able to fit into my shoes. But thanx. A doggy bag maybe? You know how us bachelor's be.”

Sharon smiled, if only briefly.

“How's Richard by the way?”

“You know him, busy still not getting laid.”

The smile began to creep back across Sharon's lips.

“And how about you, are you getting laid?”

She meant it as a joke but it came out as anything but. It was still too soon and both of us knew it. Most. Awkward. Silence. Ever.

Sharon cleared her throat.

“Wine?”

“Please.”

Picking up my twice scraped clean plate, Sharon headed to the kitchen. She was back a moment or two later with a glass of red wine in one hand and a glass of water in the other. She handed me the wine.

“What? You're not having any?”

Sharon shook her head. Took a sip of her water.

“I'm off liquor for a while.”

I coaxed a laugh out of myself. One of those nervous, vain attempt at trying to keep my mounting panic at bay kind of laugh.

“Why? Are you pregnant or something?”

I had meant it as a joke but it had come out as anything but.

“Actually Ben, I am.”

New. Most. Awkward. Silence. Ever.

Leaning forwards, I carefully placed my glass of wine on the small side table. Leaned back again.

“Are you sure?”

Sharon's head jerked back as if she had been punched.

“How could you even say that? You know Ive only slept with you.”

“No, no, no. I didn't mean it like that. I didn't mean it like 'are you sure that it's mine?' I meant it like 'are you sure that you're pregnant at all'.”

Sharon took a moment to digest this. She closed her eyes then opened them.

“I am. I went to my doctor and everything. It's for real.”

My breath began to come in short and shallow bursts. She was pregnant. She was fucking pregnant. For a moment, for a split second I wanted to lash out at her. I told her, I told her, I told her to take the fucking pill. Her with her “whatever happens, happens.” bullshit. Now see what had happened...but I didn't. Took a moment to imagine what she must be going through. It was a pretty messed up situation.

“But I'm not expecting you to do anything.” Sharon said, cutting into my thoughts.

“I abdicate you from any and all responsibility.”

My voice was low when I said,

“That's not your decision to make.”

“You don't have to pretend to be the good guy Ben. I know you want nothing to do with me. I'm giving you a way out. Take it.”

I scoffed.

“You think I'm trying to be the good guy Sharon? Because I'm not. And you know what? You're right, you're absolutely right, I don't want anything to do with you but there is no way I'm going to walk away from that child. And if you think I'm going to do so willingly, you've got another thing coming.”

By this time I was perched on the edge of the couch and my voice was just a few decibels below shouting.

“You. Broke. Up. With. Me. Then you fucked me. On the floor. Like I was nothing more than a common whore.”

Sharon had moved from her seat and was standing above me. She was fuming. More than a little intimidating. I stood up. Matched her height and then some. Looked down at her.

“Why are you surprised Sharon? You were acting like one after all.”

There was a pause. Neither of us said a thing. Glared at each other. I couldn't even hear us breathing. It was like time had simply stopped. Suddenly I regretted what I had said. Was about to try and take it back when,

Slap!

Time began to move again.

Reason... Pt.6: With No Plan B (Rough Draft)

Reason... Pt.6: With No Plan B (Rough Draft)
by
L.A. Lutara

“...I'm not going to do it.”

I kneaded my forehead with the finger tips of my left hand.

“Sharon, listen-”

“I'm not.”

She sounded adamant. I had never heard her this adamant before. About anything. Not even with her no sex with no ring rule. This was serious.

“I told you what happened the last time. I'm not going to put myself through that again.”

I rolled onto my side. I didn't feel all that good. My head was pounding, my mouth was dry, my throat felt raw, my joints were aching and every inch of my skin was dripping with sweat. I felt like I had malaria. Fucking vodka man. I knew I had too much.

The 750ml bottle was empty by the time Richard had gotten home and I was babbling like an idiot. Not that I remember. Richard told me later, much later, when I told him about Sharon and everything that was going on. He had helped me with my jelly feet to my room and made sure that I fell onto my sturdy mattress and not face down on the floor. I was unconscious in moments. Didn't wake up until the following morning, the sun shining in my face, the sickening mixture of bile and vomit rising in my throat. Eyes snapping open I rolled over, hung my head over the edge of the bed and purged my stomach as best my body could. Lucky for the floor there was a red basin between it and a steady stream hot and steaming vomit.

Richard man, he was that type of room mate.

Once my stomach had stopped feeling like it was being wrung by a pair of herculean hands I rolled back over I wiped my mouth, my face and patted around for my phone. Finding it, squinting. I scrolled through my dialed numbers for Sharon's, found it, pressed call and put the phone up to my ear. Did some minute calculations as I waited for her to pick up. 7:00pm to 9:30ish am...that made about 14 ½ hours...I sighed. Relief, muscles relaxed, flick sweat from brow...she still had plenty of time.

Sharon picked up on like the sixth or seventh ring.

“Hello?”

Her voice was hoarse, she sounded tired...she must have been crying. I tried to soften my voice as much as possible without coming off as pillow talky.

“Hey...”

Pause. I cleared my throat. My voice had come out a croak. Too much vodka, too much puking and not enough water.

“How was your night?”

I almost heard her hold back a scoff as she said,

“Ive had better Ben...what do you want?”

“I...I...” I shook my head; didn't know how to say it without coming off like a complete asshole.

Please, that's never stopped you before...

I cleared my throat again and told her. I wanted her to take a morning after pill. She still had a good 58hours or so on the clock before it officially turned into a “situation”.

My ass hole alert went off but I kept on going.

If she didn't have any, I could stop by a pharmacy and bring some over. What say she?

“Fuck you Ben. I'm not going to do it.”

And the truth was there was nothing that I could do or say that could convince her otherwise.

Did I even remember what happened the last time?

Before we had opted for the injection, we had tried the infamous morning after pill. Once, when in the peak of passion, with an empty box of protector condoms peeking out from underneath the bed, I had gone in raw. Had tried to pull out but Sharon had clung onto me saying,

“No. I want you to come inside me. I want your seed inside of me.”

She had hooked her legs around me and raised her hips ensuring that I didn't go anywhere. We had gone out and gotten the pills the following morning. She had ended up in bed for two days afterwards. Vomiting, spitting and with one hell of a fever. The drugs, apparently, didn't agree with her...

And I wanted to put her through that again? Hell to the no.

“Whatever happens, happens.”

I let out a long and worried sigh. Rubbed at my eyes. I had to get her to take that pill. I was not going to go with 'Whatever happens, happens.' Hell to the fucking no.

“Sharon-”

“Ben. I've made my decision. It's my body and I'm not going to subject it to that. Now, if you have nothing else to say, I'm going to hang up now.”

She said nothing for a moment or three. She was waiting for me to say something. Sorry maybe? I don't know, but in any case, I kept my trap shut.

Sharon sighed. She must have realized that I wasn't going to say anything.

“Good bye Ben.”

And she hung up.

I stared at my phone for a moment or two. Let what had just happened sink in. Then leaning over the side of the bed, I puked again.

Reason... Pt.5: The Walk (Rough Draft)

I don't think Ive ever had a more shameful walk of shame. Before or since. And trust me when I say that Ive made plenty of them. Hands stuffed into my pockets, laptop bag strap slung over one shoulder falling snugly across my chest. Every single time. As long as I can remember.

Home was halfway across town but my feet didn't seem deterred, placing one in front of the other. Taxi's hooted at me, boda bodas zipped past me shouting “Boss, we go.” or “Ssebo, tu kende.” or something of the sort but I insistently ignored them all in favor of scuffing and muddying up my favorite pair of sneakers in the name of “clearing my head”.

As I put one foot in front of the other, lost in thought, I pulled out my right hand from my pocket and put fingers up to nostril. Sniffed. An odd thing to do at such a time I know, but what can I say?

They still smelled of her, my fingers that is, my middle and my index if you want to get specific; my skin that grainy, dried sweat uncomfortable that served as a constant reminder that I would probably regret spreading my jelly all over her bread that one last time. Why? Well, because it was depressing and angry and weird and at some point she even cried. And oh yeah, did I mention weird? I mean, we ended up doing things that we would have never thought of doing when we were together. The kind of things that would have made it hard for me to look her in the eye afterwards. Sticking things in places that had no business being stuck with anything. Whether it was an act of desperation on her part or a savage release of my sexual inhibitions on mine, I'll never know. All I know is that when she had asked me whether I wanted to be treated like a porn star, the truth was I had. And so she did, treat me like as well as act like one.

Deep breath...nerves calmed...mind blown. And as far as acts of desperation go, it almost worked too...almost. But almost has never won first place and so I had gotten up, dressed up and left her lying there, knees and elbows rug burned wondering whether everything she had just done, everything she had allowed me to do to her had been for naught. And if not for naught, then what for? Because I think that even then she must have realized that there was no going back, no amount of kinkiness was going to pull the veil back down over the pretension of our entire relationship.

An hour and a half later and I was home.

I had worn ankle socks on high tops and so some how the sock of my right foot had slid halfway down the length of my foot causing my sneaker to abrade my ankle. Painful shit. By the time I got home I was limping.

Hobbling into the house, I stripped down and climbed into the shower. Water had never felt so good. Soap never so heavenly. I scrubbed myself and switched between scalding hot and icy cold enough times to leave my skin numb and tingly. To the point that rubbing myself down with my stiff towel actually hurt.

Boxers...vest...vodka...ice. Glass in one hand, I set down the half empty bottle Smirnoff triple distilled on the coffee table and plopped down in front of the TV.

Richard wasn't home yet, thank God. I really didn't feel like talking. And God knows that when Richard got home he would want to. He was that type of room mate. Hopefully I would be too far faded by that time to give a damn.

Scrambling for the DVD remote I pressed play; Entourage was in. The first season from the looks of it. I had watched it so many times that I could literally act out every episode line for line by myself.

And so I zoned out.

Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes and then...as the closing credits began to roll...

Shit.

My jaw became slack. I clutched my glass extra tight so that I wouldn't drop it.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

I counted back three months. 92 days or whatever. Where had we been? What had we been doing? Had she gotten the injection yet? Or were we still going through those packets of threes by the box full?

I threw back my drink. Emptied my glass. Which probably wasn't a very productive thing for me to do considering the task at hand.

And which injection is this, you ask? You kid...right? Come on you know, the one that makes baby making baby free.

Snap...snap...snap...Depo-Provera. Yeah, that's it. Depo-Fucking-Provera.

But wait, even if her 12 weeks were up, didn't it take over a year for a woman to regain full fertility?

I tried to think. Tried to remember but my mind was a blank.

Shit.

Leaning forwards, I grabbed the bottle of vodka and poured myself another drink. This one stiff. I held up the glass as if I was making a toast.

“So here's to hoping I didn't just make myself a baby daddy.” I mumbled to myself and setting down the glass, I upended the bottle.

Reason... Pt.4: Swim Good

Reasons... Pt.4: Swim Good
L.A. Lutara


I struggled for an answer. I knew what I wanted to say but to say that would be even more heartless than what I was already doing.
But what was the greater evil, I asked myself, sparing her feelings, if only a little bit, by denying myself the peace of mind that being honest would bring or to laying it all out on the table and praying to God that there would be someone nearby to pick up the pieces?
Using honesty as a guise for selfishness, I steeled myself and decided to tell it how it was.
“I don't love you anymore...” I said almost wistfully. “If I ever loved you at all.” I added almost as an after thought. An unnecessary after thought, I thought afterwards. A mean after thought. A cold and callous after thought...but an after thought none the less.
Sharon said nothing. She had never been the teary type but I could see the tears begin to well up in the corner of her eyes.
Oddly, I felt the familiar sting in the corner of my eyes as well. It was like I could hear the hairline cracks in her heart begin to crag their way across its surface and as unbelievable as it may seem, I empathized with her. Knowing that I was literally breaking her heart made my heart break. But not as much as what she said next.
“But you asked me to marry you. You bought me a ring. You bought you a ring. You're wearing it right now. Doesn't that mean anything to you?”
It did. Or it had. At the time. I was horny and you weren't going to let me hit that unless I promised to marry you. Yeah, you were that type of girl. And so in the heat of the moment, with my balls on fire and my penis pressing all hard against my jeans, I said that I would marry you. And the thing is, I've never been that type of guy before but that night, with our bodies pressed together on the very carpet that I'm rubbing my stockinged feet against right now, you turned me into that type of guy. And so after that I was forced to lie. Everyday. And I thought that if I lied long enough that maybe, just maybe that it would become real. And for a while it did. But you can only lie to yourself for so long...
But I wasn't going to say that. That would be too much. That would have destroyed her. That would have made her hate me. And so I said nothing.
“Was there someone else?”
I had been avoiding her gaze. She was too painful to look at. But when she asked this I looked up. My eyes said everything that she needed to know.
“Was it Samantha?”
I Swallowed. Gulped. My eye brows involuntarily kneading themselves into an expression of consternation.
It had been Samantha. I had never gotten over her. Sharon had known about her even when we had started dating. Had known that Samantha had been to me 'the one who got away'. Had even been willing to give me the time and space to deal with whatever I felt I had to deal with. But instead of dealing with it, I had simply cheated on her.
I nodded. But she had already known this. What she didn't know was,
“When did it start?”
I looked her up and down. She looked as if she was on the verge of breaking. Like the slightest tap would smash her into a million tiny pieces.
I know I had decided to lay all the cards out on the table but this? This was not what I had expected.
“It's not important.” I said softly. “It doesn't matter.”
“Well it does to me!”
Sharon's voice was shrill. A near shout. Coarse. Damn near hysterical. Taking a deep breath she swallowed, taking a moment to get herself back under control.
“It does to me...now, when did it start?”
She wasn't going to let up. She would keep on asking until I told her.
I let out a resigned sigh.
“Her birthday. Two months ago.”
Sharon let out a bark of a laugh.
“Did you at least fuck her right?”
I stared. I had never heard Sharon actually say the word 'fuck' before.
“Did you make her come?”
I was starting to worry.
“Did she wet the bed?”
Something was really wrong.
“Or did you fuck her on the couch like the first time you fucked me? After you said you would marry me.”
Sharon...didn't...talk like...this...
I heard the sound of couch leather rubbing against nylon. Sharon was moving closer to me on the couch. She ran a hand up my thigh. Down then up again.
“Did she do this?”
She got her other hand and started doing the same to my other thigh.
“Does that feel good baby?” Her voice was becoming huskier, she was lending it a seductive lilt I had never heard her use before. She reached for my zipper.
My hands shooting out, I grabbed her wrists. Hard.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Isn't that what you want baby? To be treated like a porn star?”
I would be lying to you if I said that I wasn't turned on.
Somehow managing to wriggle her wrists free from my grip she again went for my zipper. And this time, as much as I hated myself for it even then, I let her...
When it was all over (after both times) we lay on the carpet of her living room; sweaty, out of breath and without a condom or wrapper in sight.

Reason... Pt.3: Prelude to A January Heart

“And so you dumped her. Just like that.”

I sighed. Shook my head. We were still at the restaurant. Plates had been cleared, the table wiped down and more beverages purchased. My mother had insisted that we were not going anywhere until I had finished my story.

“No Mom. Not 'just like that'.”

“Then how? Did you like take her out to dinner, buy her a bouquet of flowers, got a Mexican string quartet to play her favorite song and then drop the bomb on her?”

“No Mom.”

“Wait, you didn't do it in a text message did you? Because I swear Ben if you did-”

“No Mom!”

“Then how?”

“Well if you let me, I just might get around to telling you.”

That managed to shut her up.

My mother sat back in her chair.

“OK then,” she said gesturing with her hand, “you may proceed.”

“Thank you, gosh.” I took a sip from my replenished bottle of soda. A Krest bitter lemon this time though. Fantas were only for mealtimes and children below thirteen.

“Anyway, so after work that day I gave her a call and asked if I could drop in, there was something I needed to talk to her about...”

***

I could practically hear her breath catch in her throat. Even over the phone. It was a moment before she said anything.

“People only say that when it's something bad Ben. It's not something bad is it?”

Pause.

“What time do you think you'll be home?”

“Why don't we meet somewhere for a drink? SOHO maybe, it's nearby work. Or if not that then maybe Bike Mike's. Or-”

“Let's just meet at your place, OK?.”

Pause.

“OK then. I'll be home around 7.”

“Cool. Then I'll see you then?”

“Sure...I love you Ben.”

Beat...beat...beat...

“I'll see you later.”

Call Duration: 00:1:38

***

She asked me whether I wanted any juice. Was I hungry? There was some Uganda Waragi if I wanted any.

I said no to being hungry but said that a drink would be nice. Some juice with some Uganda wa maybe?

She nodded.

“Coming right up.” She said doing a little curtsy and disappearing into the kitchen.
I made myself at home. I had always liked her place. The African art, bright colors, potted plants and eccentric post modern paper weights and vases gave it a traditional cum western fusion that was shocking as at the same time attractive. I especially loved the black leather chairs arranged in the shape of a horse shoe. I had always wanted a set for myself but had never really gotten around to it. We had talked about how when we moved into together we would toss my old ratty ones and stay with hers. Sitting down I ran my hand along the grain on the leather. I was going to miss this place. Hmmph. But what about her? Were you going to miss her?

Before I could consider the question Sharon walked back into the room with a tray. On which sat two tall glasses of what looked to be passion fruit juice and a plate with biscuits. She placed the tray on a nearby side table and handed me my glass.

“Thanx.” I said taking it.

She took one for herself and sat next to me. Not right next to me but nearby.

“So,” she started after taking a sip from her glass, “What is this thing that you wanted to talk to me about?”

I took a sip from mine. Almost blanched.

“Wow, you were really generous with how much you poured into this thing, weren't you?”

“You seem tense. I thought maybe you needed some loosening up. Was I wrong?”

I took another sip.

“No, no...I just didn't expect it to be that strong, that's all. How was your day?”

“What are you doing here Ben? You're doing that thing where you're skirting the issue. How about we just right to it, huh. Might make things easier for both of us.”

I took another sip. Then another. Then a gulp. I was really hoping that it would work fast. I was nervous as shit.

I could feel Sharon's eyes on me. She was watching me. I'm sure she could tell how nervous I was feeling. Well of course she did, she had spiked my drink pretty strong. Had said so herself that she thought I looked like I needed it...

“You need a second?”

“No, I'm good.”

I set down my glass. I was appalled to see that I had just about drained the whole thing, save for a few drops.

“More?”

I shook my head.

“We wouldn't want me getting piss poor drunk would we now?”

Sharon shrugged.

“It might help.”

I though about it for a moment and then,

“No. it wouldn't be a good idea. Anyway, I guess I should just get down to why I'm here.”

“Yeah, you should.”

I took a deep breath.
“OK. The truth is, I don't think we're going to work out.”

I think Sharon had probably expected but it still must have come as a shock to her. She looked like she had been slapped in the face.

She said nothing for a moment. Took a sip of her drink. Then another. Then a gulp. Once the glass was empty she set it down next to its husband and then looking at me asked me,

“Why?”

Reason... Pt.2: There Will be Tears (Edited)

Reasons... Pt.2: There Will be Tears
by L.A. Lutara

I reached under my pillow for my phone. It took me a moment or two but after some feeling around I managed to latch onto it, pulling it out. Pressing the menu button, although I could have very well pressed any other, I lit up the phone's face, in turn partially illuminating my own. It was 3:59AM. I blinked, watched as the numbers blinked in reply and it became four. Letting my hand fall, it landed on the small patch of mattress next to me with a light pat. 45 minutes. I had managed 45 minutes, bringing my grand total for the past four nights to a whopping 3 ½ hours.

Sleep had been playing hide-and-go-seek with me you see. Slipping behind curtains, crawling under beds, climbing inside closets and piling under musty blankets. And every time I clamped onto her shoulder, or tugged at her foot or grabbed onto the tail of her blouse she always somehow managed to get away, as if evaporating into thin air. After four nights of this I simply stopped trying, staring zombie eyed like death warmed over at the ceiling as I waited out another night...night number five...

And you know what the funny thing was, for all of her unwanted attention, Sharon was completely oblivious to what was going on. Sure, she noticed how easily agitated I had become, which was quite a change seeing as I was usually the pretty cool headed one. But here's the thing about that, my perpetual agitation had nothing to do with my lack of sleep and everything to do with her. We had crossed the three month marker a week or so before and as if on cue, the magic of the honeymoon period was beginning to wear off.

All the little things that I used to find cute and if not that then at the very least tolerable were beginning to irritate the hell out of me. Like that little wink of hers that she clearly thought was seductive cum conspiratorial and that even at the very best of times I had found a little suspect now just made me want to smack her. And not in a kinky way either but in a; I-would-probably-break-her-nose-if-I-put-enough-weight-behind-it kind of way. But you can breathe easy mate, I only thought about that shit, never once acted upon it, Momma taught me much better than that. Even if I did think about it more than I probably should have.

And that's even before mentioning her constantly clutching, clingy, touchy-feely neediness. She always had to be touching me. Holding my hand, gripping my thigh, running a finger along the length of my neck...in the beginning it had been really charming, she was just really affectionate but now...now I slept on one side of the bed and she slept on the other. And it was a pretty big bed too. I could stretch my arm all the way out and still have a few inches to spare before touching skin.

Sharon's breath came calm and easy and evenly. She was facing me and the light of the security bulb right outside the window seeped through the curtain and cascaded down onto part of her face. She was smiling. A lips slightly parted, slightly turned up at the corners kind of smile. She was pretty when she smiled. She was pretty when she didn't. Her being pretty had never been a problem.

It must be quite the dream, I mused to myself. But everyone has to wake up sometime., continued my train of thought. All dreams must come to an end. Just like all good things and misplaced affections. And misplaced, I was beginning to realize is what my affections had been. All this time. Although to be honest “All this time” was really nothing more than three months. Three months and a few days if you really want to get technical. Surely not enough time to get to know someone. And now that I had, gotten to know that someone in question that is,. or at the very least just beginning to; I suddenly realized that I didn't even like her. Much less loved her.

My breath escaped from my lungs with a slight wheeze...

Fuck.

I suddenly felt cold.

Then what the hell did that leave me with? Leave us with...?

Once again I turned my eyes to the ceiling.

With getting out...

I sniffled. The room hadn't been swept or mopped in quite a few days and had become quite stuffy.

It'll kill her. You know that right?

Yeah, I know. How could I not know that?

Well, you can be pretty clueless at times.

Yes, I know that as well. But not right now. Not about this.

Hmmph. So when are you going to do the deed?

Scratch...scratch...scratch...

Tomorrow...I'll do it tomorrow.

Like tomorrow-tomorrow or like later today tomorrow?

Like later today tomorrow.

Then you better try and catch some zzzzz'z man. You're gonna need all the energy you can get. Because whether you like it or not...there will be tears...

For Everything a Reason...

“Why do you still wear that thing?”

I blinked. Looked down at my hand, at the finger between my middle and my pinky; examined the 'thing' to which my mother was referring to.

It was made of stainless steel and was inset with a small stone. The stone was fake of course but somehow it still managed to add something...extra to it.

'It', as you may have guessed by now was a ring, and I wore it on my right hand.

Looking up from the ring I reached for my half empty bottle of Fanta orange and took a sip.

“I'm surprised it's taken you this long to ask.” I said after setting the bottle back down on the table. “You've been eyeing it ever since we walked in.”

My mother sat back in her chair. Pushed away her barely touched plate of avocado rice (she had wanted pilao but the restaurant didn't have any and so the avocado rice was the best that they could do) with the finger tips of one hand and reached for her bottle of water with the other.
She allowed herself a slight shrug.

“That doesn't really answer my question Ben.”

Unscrewing the top, she put the bottle up to her lips; took a long, deep swallow.

“What are you holding onto? You left her.”

Holding up my hand with the ring in question, I aimed for casual and tilted my head slightly to one side.

“It looks good doesn't it?”

Another sip of water.

“It looks expensive.” My mother answered noncommittally. “And how much did you pay for them anyway? For yours and for hers?”

I shrugged. Assumed a noncommittal tone of my own.

“Enough.”

“Enough for what?”

“Enough to make it feel real.”

Something about this must have amused her because just then my mother smiled. Even though the smile lasted no longer than a second or two. After that, her mouth set itself into something closer to disdain.

“It wasn't, you know. Real.”

I shook my head.

“You're wrong. You weren't there Mom...I loved her.”

Scoffing my mother picked up her fork and began scraping her plate, piling the rice on top of each other, forming a small mountain in the center of the plate.

“No, you didn't. You were lonely and she made you feel special. That's not love.”

She stopped. Pointed the four pronged plastic fork at me.

“You know what real love is...and you let it slip right through your fingers.”

I nodded my head. I suddenly got it. Or at the very least thought I had.

“So that is what all of this is about? I can't believe it. You still haven't forgiven me for messing things up with your picture perfect daughter-in-law, have you?”

My mother leaned forward in her chair.

“Don't use that tone with me Ben. This is about you not letting go and me trying to understand why.

She waved her hand in a slight flourish.

“Would you mind explaining it to me?”

I sighed. Looked down at my empty plate. Empty save for a few rogue strands of cabbage and a small pool of brownish soup. I had eaten chips and liver. A pretty safe bet in any fast food joint and had wolfed it down in what had seemed like two minutes flat.

“Well?”

I looked up from the plate, met my mother's gaze. It was not until much later that my mother told me that my expression had looked haunted. Like I had looked death square in the face. And in a way, I had.

“What Ben? What is it?”

I let out another sigh. Swallowed, cleared my throat and swallowed again. Averted my eyes.
“There was a baby.”

My mother leaned further forward.

“What?”

I cleared my throat again, this time speaking up.

“There was a baby Mom. Sharon was pregnant. And she had decided...we had decided to keep it. You were going to be a grand mother.”

My mother took a moment to process this.

“You said 'going to be'. What...what happened?”

I ventured a look at my Mom. I was surprised to find that she looked as shell shocked as I felt. How I had been feeling for the past few months. I think she was finally starting to get it.

“The doctor said it was the stress. She was having a hard time dealing with the break up. She wasn't eating, was constantly in tears...there was just so much going on...the baby couldn't take it.”

“You broke up with her when she was pregnant!?” My Mom was incredulous. She was also pissed.

“No, no, no.” I said quickly. “she didn't find out she was pregnant until after we broke up. When I broke it off I had no idea.”

This seemed to pacify her a bit. I could tell she had been about to go ape shit over the fact that her only son who she had raised single handedly had dumped his fiancé when he knew she was pregnant, possibly even because she was pregnant. She had been ready to tear me a new one.

“Tell me what happened.” She demanded, if a bit plaintively. “I want to know everything.”

I nodded.

“Ok...I guess it's time you knew the whole story anyway.”

I reached for my bottle of Fanta. Upended what was left of it and setting the empty bottle back down on the table I cleared my throat and began.

Cath...

Note: So it's back to that emo story telling I seem to be so fond of. I havnt written anything like this in a while. Its based on the song "Cath..." by Death Cab for Cutie which is where I got the title of the story from.
I've been wanting to write this story for a long time but it never seemed the right time or the right mood. Woke up this morning and as soon as I played the song the words just started pouring out of me, through my finger tips and across the keyboard. I literally just finsihed this like 5 minutes ago so there are bound to be mistakes but I hope you enjoy it none the less...

CATH...

"You can do this, you can do this, you can do this." Catherine muttered to herself, twisting her mother's embroidered handkerchief between tightly fisted hands.

It was the only thing of her mother's that had survived the separation, the funeral and the children's homes.

Cath, as almost everyone called her, felt her breath catch in her throat. She was going to panic...but she shouldn't panic...no, she couldn't panic...yes, panicking would be bad...frack! she didn't want to panic...but she couldn't breathe. It was like when you were a kid and you fall and hurt yourself and there's that moment between the initial yelp and when you blast out a full alarm. That moment when your breath is a huge glob of paper mache lodged in your larynx and you can't swallow it and you can't spit it out and for those few precious moments you're scared shitless because your wondering if you're going to survive the next 30 seconds...

yeah, it was like that. Only it wasn't. She hadn't fallen off her bike, or sliced open her palm on a broken beer bottle, or let Patrick set her hair on fire (all things by the way, that had happened in her wild and bucking days. No, not her Cosmo.com Sex Position of the day "Bucking Bronco" days, no, those had come much later) but was standing in front of a full length mirror in a hand me down wedding dress wondering just how the hell she had gotten there.

"With no condom, no birth control and a pundit of a preacher for a future father-in-law who believed more in 'saving face' than he did in 'saving grace' or even in 'doing the right thing' is how."

Something about that thought, probably the perfect mixture of incensed disbelief and cold arcane horror, Cath thought much later, unlocked her chest and the glob of paper mache came shooting out past her pursed lips...and she could breathe again. Thank God.

Cath stared at herself in the mirror. They hadn't been lying, she did look pretty. If a bit shell shocked, all wide eyes and lower lip trembling. A lot of the little money that they had been able to scrape together at the last moment had gone into the hair and make up. For her and the bridesmaids. Not her bridesmaids, no. Future mother-in-law had picked them out for her. Had actually picked them out for her. According to her, Josiah's mother that is, all of Catherine's friends (She was the only one who called Cath by her full name) were knocked up little whores with soup for brains. No, she was going to pick out for Catherine some respectable girls. Girls like the one her son should be marrying. Cath tasted bile.

"This isn't exactly what I wanted either lady."...but it is what it is.

Swallowing, Cath looked down at the dress she was wearing...and let out a sigh. The dress looked exactly like what it was, like a dress that belonged to someone else. This was going to be its 3rd trip down the isle. The first two had been with the same woman, Josiah's older sister Annie. Two different men though. They had to let out the dress a little at the stomach for Cath though. Make the baby bump a bit less obvious. Saving face and all of that.

There was a knock on the door. Cath turned. The door opened a foot or two and Helen, Mrs. Future Mother-in-Law stuck her head around the corner.

“Are you ready? It's just about time.”

Cath wordlessly nodded.

She must have seen the doe-in-the-headlights look Cath had on her face because opening the door further, Helen walked into the small office that had served as their dressing room her heels clip-clopping across the wood. She stopped in front of Cath. She was a small woman. Five foot three even when in heels. She took Cath's hands in her small doll like ones. He expression was sympathetic.

“It'll be fine.” she said. Took one hand and placed it over Cath's stomach where the life of her 3rd grandchild was silently growing.

“It'll be fine.”

She held Cath's gaze and again said,

“It'll be fine.”

Satisfied, Helen let her hands fall to her sides.

“Now come on. We wouldn't want Josiah to think that you weren't coming, would we?”

Again listless, Cath silently shook her head.

And so steeling herself as best she could, Cath took a deep breath and put her best heel forward.

Clop.

I Was Told They'd Be Cake Pt. 4

I punch his fist with my face. Kick one of his cheap pleather moccasins with my stomach. Give his hands a heavy shove with my shoulder and watch as in slow motion; with a quiet finesse, with limbs splayed, I break the concrete floor’s fall with a cold smack of cheek against cement.

Teeth chomp down on tongue and tongue begins to cry crimson, flooding my mouth with Ribena colored tears.

I spit. Saliva and blood. Put my hands beneath me to push myself up off the ground. And then, as if someone has just pressed the unmute button on the remote for the party’s ginormous TV set, a rush of sounds assault my ears.
The one sound that perks my ears up like a dog’s however, is that of my name being shouted. Over and over again. I turn my head in the direction the shouting is coming from and my vision is suddenly filled with blue and white stripes.

Oh shit.

It seems as if Flounder isn’t such a small fish after all.

Once again, as if in slow motion, I watch, as not-so-small-flounder draws back his leg, like a football striker readying himself for a goal scoring kick. My head in this case, being the football.

I let my hands slide out from underneath me and, as the saying goes, hit the deck.

But the kick never comes. Because out of the blue not-so-small-flounder is side swiped and tackled to the ground. It takes me a second to realize by whom. But when I do I’m not at all surprised. Who else could it have been but Richie? The bloody bastard. Always got your back.

And then I’m surrounded. Hands gripping me, lifting me to my feet, half carrying, half dragging me towards the stairs. I’m too dazed to fight or shout or argue and just try my best to put my feet under me so that I don’t appear too much of a doddering fool. As we hit the stairs I manage to and shove away the hands that are gripping me.

The hands leave me and my friends allow me to begin the journey down without too much coddling.

“Dude, what the fuck was that about?”

That’s Collin.

“I poured gin and tonic down his girlfriend’s blouse.” I say, dabbing at my tongue with the neck of my tee.

“What the fuck man?”

That’s Jude.

“Why?”

And Moses.

“Because she’s a snootynosedjudgmentalbitch.”

We hit the first landing.

My friends exchange glances.

“Muthafucka you’re high.”

“Not anymore fuckwad, that asshole punched me in the face.”

Just then there’s the thundering of footsteps on the stairs above us. We all stop and turn. I feel myself tense, preparing myself for a second assault. But there’s no reason to worry, it’s just Richie. A little worse for wear maybe but Richie nonetheless.

Richie is sweaty and a little out of breath. A little frazzled. A complete 180 from his usual cool demeanor.


When he sees us he stops.

“Dude, you fucked up.”

That’s meant for me of course.

“What happened?”

Richie aims an index finger upwards while rubbing at his left eye.

“We’re banned from the party, for starters.”

Moses gestures.

“What happened to your eye?”

“Brian’s little friend punched me in the eye.” Richie answers still rubbing at it. “I mean, who punches you in the fucking eye?”

I let out a dog yelp of a laugh. I can’t help it. It’s kind of funny.

“Dude, and you’re laughing?” Richie shakes his head. “You’re not serious.”

“He’s still high.” Collin remarks.

“I’m not high.” I throw back defensively.

“Guys, guys, guys…”

That’s Jude.

“Since we obviously can’t go back up can we at least head back down? It’s just one, we should find some where else to go.”

“Any ideas?”

Collin suggests Mr. Slims or The Punch Bowl. It doesn’t really matter which one though. They’re right next to each other and both are about a 3-minute walk from our current position. Sure we had a history of tabletop dancing at both places but hey, whatever right?

“Fine. Then let’s go.” Richie says and ushers us down the rest of the stairs and out into the parking lot.

Cake Pt. 3 (rough draft)

Purple Pumps smiles at something I say. I’m not really sure what though- nothing seems to be making much sense right now. Words seem to tumble one over the other fighting to get past my lips, entire sentences spooning themselves into misconstrued meanings that still somehow manage to elicit if not a full out laugh then at least a halfhearted one. Though to be honest, I suspect that she’s laughing more at how stupid I’m making myself look rather than at what I’m actually saying.

But whatever gets the job done right?

“You’re funny.” She says. I think. I can’t really hear what’s she’s saying with all the muffleness that’s going on with my ears but I do try my best to read her lips. A skill I picked up quite sometime ago. I’ve been partying for a pretty long time now you see. Tools of the trade and all of that. But even that is an up hill battle with all the funny shit that’s going on with my eyes.

Would someone please turn off those fucking strobe lights? What is this? A techno club…?

Shit, I must have said that out loud. Purple Pumps is looking at me funny.

“What do you mean you’re glad you didn’t shit on me?”

Wait, that’s what I said? Wait…what?

“No, no, no. I said ‘I’m glad I didn’t spit on you.’”

From her expression I can tell that doesn’t make much of a difference. Both are the expelling of a not so nice bodily fluid after all. Or rather bodily fluid and semi-fluid. “Semi” being most of the time anyway. There are those bombs that you drop sometimes that feel like you’re trying to force a fuckin’ bowling ball out of your ass. And don’t play dumb; you know the ones I’m talking about it.

I can tell that I’m losing her. I need to say something quick. Think, think, think…

“The cake, have you tried any?”

Purple Pumps shakes her head.

“No. I don’t do drugs.”

Oh…so she was one of those…wait for it…snootynosedjudgmentalbitches.

“Excuse me?”

Shit…I have to stop doing that. I rub my forehead with the index, middle and ring fingers of my left hand. My thumb massaging my temple.

I should let it go, I really should but…

“I said ‘you’re one of those snooty nosed judgmental bitches who pretends to be all holy and uppity and shit but sucks dick whenever she thinks no one is looking.’ Well guess what honey, people are always watching so FUCK YOU!”

I turn to walk away but think of something. Pulling at the front of her top I pour my drink down it, throw the empty cup over her shoulder and then walk away.

I know I’m going to pay for that, boy am I ever but the only thing on my mind is “BITCH. I. AM. BOSSSS.” That and, “I sure hope there’s still some cake left.”

And with that I make my way towards the drinks, the cake and what I’m sure is a shit load of trouble.

Cake Pt.2 (Rough Draft)

I pour myself another drink. Two fingers of Gilbey’s. No lime. No ice. Straight up. Down it in one gulp. Pour myself another. This time though, my hand hovers above the one and a half liter bottle of Coke. I consider adding a little mixer. That would be the wise thing to do, I tell myself. The prudent thing to do. And so I do. Not a lot but just enough blunten the bite.

Taking a sip I glance in the direction of the cake. Roselyn is still keeping guard. She corners my gaze before I can turn away. Raises her cup. “Salut.” She mouths. She’s joshing me. I can tell. I Play along however and raise mine in reply. “Salut.” I mouth back. I take a sip. Turn away. Head towards the ledge over looking the parking lot.

The party is on the roof of a shopping cum office cum residential complex. The floor just below the roof housing the offices of Transmission Magazine, a local independent publication. The True Voice of the Nation. Or so they claim. With so many “voices” out there, who can tell?

The first wave hits me just as I’m peering over the edge wondering whether if I spat straight down just as someone was passing whether I would be able to hit them right on the head.

I smile at the thought and decide to give a try. What did I have to lose? Leaning over the edge, I wait for someone to pass. Collect as much spit as I can so that when someone did pass I would be more than ready.

I wait. And Wait. And Wait. I pull out my phone. It’s been more than fifteen minutes. I’m about to give up and go and make a pass at the cake pan when I see a couple heading in my direction. The girl in purple pumps, black jeans and a purple top speckled with silver sequins that hung off one shoulder revealing the strap of a bright turquoise bra. The guy; moccasins, jeans and a blue and white striped button down. The guy has an arm around the girl’s waist as if to say, “Back up homies, this one is mine.”

10 feet.

I take a sip of my drink. Give my saliva a bit more volume. Swirl it around my mouth. Lean over and take aim.

Five.

I’m just about to fire my projectile when there’s a hand on my shoulder. It grips me and pulls me back from my unwittingly precarious position.

It’s Richie. One of the dudes I came with. Builds websites, plays tennis and is built like a rugby player. He spins me around.

“Dude, What are you doing? I know we said it would be funny if one of us fell over but Homie!”
“I was fine.” I say shrugging off his hand. Glance back over the ledge but the couple are already gone.

Shit.

For a second I want to blame Richie but he didn’t know. He thought I was going to throw myself over. I couldn’t blame him for thinking that he was saving me from an untimely demise, could I now?

“Dude maybe you should slow down.”

That was Richie for you. No matter how wasted he got, no matter how high, no matter the situation, you could always rely on him being the sober brother. The brother that took care of all the other brothers. The brother that made sure that all the other brothers got home alright and didn’t end up lying unconscious in some ditch somewhere.

I pretend as if I didn’t hear him.

“More cake. Get me some? Roselyn is guarding that thing like a lady spider guards her young.”

“I thought spiders eat their young.”

‘”Ah. Whatever. You know what I mean. Just get me some cake.”

Richie smiles. It is brief and is gone as quickly as it appears.

“As much as I think I shouldn’t, I’ll try…but I’m not making promises.”

Richie is already mid turn when he stops.

“And dude, get away from the ledge.”

I take two big steps back.

“Better?”

“Not really but whatever.”

Richie walks off. Hopefully, in search of cake.

Cake Pt. 1 (Happy New Year & all of that)

I woke up on the floor. A few feet away from the quickly growing pile of garbage. My head resting on an empty box of red wine. A half empty bottle of White Mischief Vodka nestled between my thighs. For safekeeping I guess.

Someone was standing over me, shaking me. Saying something over and over again. Something that may or may not have been my name. He could have been shouting though. I don’t know. Whatever the case he somehow managed to get my attention. Or was it a she? I vaguely remember thinking that she had really nice boobs.

Squeeze, squeeze, suck, suck. Hehe.

I giggled.

“Brian!”

My head snapped in the direction from which my name had come.

My forehead wrinkled in confusion. That was a dude’s voice. But that didn’t make any sense. Wait. I tried my best to concentrate really hard…and after a second, it may have even been thirty, I got it.

There were two of them. Butch and boobs. Balls and bras. Brawn and well…you get it.

“Dude, you need to get up.”

That was Balls.

“But I like it here. It’s nice and warm.”

“Come on.”

Balls grabbed my arm and tried to lug me to my feet but no matter how hard he tried I just wouldn’t budge.

And so he let go.

“I give up. The guy will get up when he wants.”

“Do you think he’ll be okay?”

That was Boobs. I think. I was already starting to drift off again.

“He’ll be fine.”

“Have you ever heard of someone overdosing on weed before?”

That was a pretty good question. Had he?

I was unconscious before Balls could answer.




“Just one piece.” Said the pretty girl with the pretty curls as I bent over the pan.

“Why just one?” I asked. It’s not like I didn’t know what was in it. I mean, the mission after all, was to get as fucked up as possible. And I was pretty certain that meant taking more than just one piece of the “Special Cake” or “Batch of Brownies” or whatever the hell it was.

I intended to take seven.

“One is more than enough,” Roselyn insisted, “Trust me.”

I looked from her back down at the pan. The cake was neatly cut into small bite size rectangles about 3 inches by 2. Shrugging, I took a piece. It was soft and spongy to the touch and started crumbling almost immediately. Not wasting any time I took a bite. Chowed down on the shit like my life depended on it.

Fuck it was good.

Soft and chocolaty with just a hint of it’s special ingredient. If I had any doubts about the rumors before, after that first bite, they were all laid to rest.

It would have been even better with a glass of milk but having to make do with what was available, I took a sip of my Vodka Tonic.

“Salut.” I said holding up my half eaten piece of cake as if for a toast.

“Salut.” Roselyn repeated, holding up her small disposable cup.

“You’re not going to take one with me?”

Roselyn shook her head.

“I’ve already had my one…I’m good.”

“Suit yourself.” I shrugged.

And the rest of the cake went down the hatch.

Hash Tag, Slice Number One.