Fiction: Red Lobster's Tuesday Night Special

Alan and Mary were sitting off to one side on a bench by the bus stop. A tow truck had showed up and was ready to take them and their car to the garage but the police had not yet given access to the scene. They were still measuring the position of the various vehicles involved in the accident and interviewing people.

Alan put his arm around his wife. "How ya doin'?"

Mary slightly turned to her husband. "I'm okay." She sighed. "I can't imagine how that other family is doing." The two of them turned to look into the middle of the intersection. Police cars with flashing lights were everywhere. Two fire rescue units were off to one side and an ambulance was parked in the middle of a group of vehicles that were turned and twisted in various positions. Two firemen with some odd equipment were walking around a compact car or what was left of a compact car in what they assumed was an attempt to get the occupants out.

"What did the police say?" asked Mary. Alan had gone to inquire about when they would be allowed to leave and chatted with one of the policemen for several minutes.

"He said they would need about another 10 minutes," said Alan.

"What about the girl?"

"I'm afraid she didn't make it. They say she would have died instantly." Alan paused reflecting on what had happened. "Just a two second difference and it could have been us."

"Yeah." The two of them sat in silence for a moment mulling over that point.

"The cops said that the wife is in critical condition. The SUV hit the backdoor dead-on but part of it did hit the front. The woman was riding in the front passenger seat."

The two of them sat again in silence. They both had the realization that they had come close, oh so close, to having died. It is an amazing moment when one comes face to face to one's own mortality, that one is reminded their time on Earth is limited. There is always the possibility; there is always the risk of seeing that time cut short by unforeseen circumstances.

"I spoke with the garage," said Alan. His wife said nothing. She continued to stare at the firemen working on the twisted wreckage in the intersection. "They said they can give us a loaner until our car is fixed." Alan paused looking around at the scene. "It may take a week but until they actually see the car, they're not sure of just how bad the damage is."

A policeman who was standing with a group of rescue workers came over to Alan and Mary. "Mr. Black?"

"Yes?" said Alan.

"You can go ahead with having your car towed. We have everything we need at this time so you and your wife can leave."

"Thank you," Alan said squeezing his wife's shoulders. He looked up at the cop. "Is there any word on how the woman is doing?"

The policeman hesitated. "Well... We just got word that she succumbed to her injuries."

"Oh my God," Mary exclaimed. "That poor man. He's lost both his daughter and his wife."

"Thank you officer," said Alan. The policeman looked somewhat uncomfortable but took Alan's thank you as his signal to leave. He turned and walked back to the other side of the intersection.

Alan stood up and held out his hand to Mary. "Let's go home." Mary took his hand. "I think our tow truck is parked on the other side of the street." Alan and Mary walked off hand in hand in search of the truck.

*****************************

Marty had decided the three of them should celebrate. Barbara had applied to university and not only had she been accepted, her grades had led to a scholarship. For the Olson's this was welcome news. Marty did not make a lot of money and sometimes things were tight, but he and his wife were determined that Barbara should have the opportunity neither one of them had had. June had been working part-time to help raise enough money for Barbara's university education but now, with a scholarship, things would be that much easier for them to ensure their daughter got her chance at a future which was more financially secure.

Tuesday evenings, Red Lobster had a special on so Marty thought to take his ladies out for a celebratory dinner. They had all driven off in the family's Honda Civic to get out to the restaurant on Route 5. The highway was four lanes with a double line splitting the two sides of road. At Hoffmeyer Road, there was a traffic light and the Red Lobster was in the second plaza on the right. They figured things would be busy since it was Tuesday but the restaurant usually was fairly quick in getting people seated so they shouldn't have to wait too long.

Carmen had completed her shift as a sales clerk at Lowe's and was heading out to meet some friends for a girls' night out. Dad was kind enough to lend her his black Ford Explorer. It was a bit of a monster in compared with her Yaris, but if she was going to be the designated driver for this escapade, a little extra room would be more than welcome.

Stop number one was Cheryl's place. She had her own small apartment in a complex just off of Hoffmeyer Road so Carmen decided to pick up Hoffmeyer and follow it across town. The only problem was making sure Cheryl was going to be on-time and at home. Cheryl too worked but occasionally her boss had been making her stay late because somebody on the evening shift was off sick with the flu and they were having a hard time re-arranging the schedules of the other employees to compensate. Carmen had phoned Cheryl's place earlier and left a message that she was leaving and would pick her up in twenty minutes. Carmen was expecting Cheryl to phone back and was holding her cell waiting for the ring.

Carmen punched the scan button on the radio and searched for something decent to listen to. Nothing. Darn, she should have brought her own case of CDs. Dad didn't have any CDs and besides, his taste in music wasn't exactly the best. Carmen glanced at the phone. Nothing. Okay, let's punch scan again.

The Ford Explorer came up Hoffmeyer and pulled out into the left lane. A number of people were turning into the various plazas and it was better to just stay out of their way. Carmen glanced at her cell phone again. She had a text message. What? I thought Cheryl was going to phone. Don't tell me she's going to be late because of work.

Carmen punched a couple of buttons trying to get to the text message function. She looked down at the phone; she looked up at the traffic. She looked again and realised she had accidentally hit the wrong key. Exit, exit, exit. Start over. She looked down again and punched in the right sequence of keys. She looked up and traffic was moving nicely. Her lane was completely clear; no problems up ahead. Carmen looked down and started reading the message. What? Cheryl is not only late but is asking if she can invite a friend from work to come with them? Who's that? Don't tell me, not that idiot who talks constantly from the lingerie department. Oh my God, she just wouldn't shut up the last time she came out with them.

Witnesses later recounted how the Ford Explorer came up Hoffmeyer Road doing about 55 mph in the left hand lane. The light had turned red and traffic had started to flow in either direction on Route 5 crossing Hoffmeyer. The Explorer passed seven cars stopped in the right hand lane at the red light then drove straight into the intersection.

At that precise moment, the Honda Civic carrying Marty, June and Barbara Olsen was on Route 5 going through the intersection at Hoffmeyer Road heading in the direction of the Red Lobster. The Explorer hit the smaller car broadside. Police would later report that the driver of the Explorer had not braked at all. In other words, her foot was on the accelerator at the exact moment of the crash and the assumption was that she was looking down reading a text message.

The larger vehicle pushed the right side of the car in instantly killing Barbara in the back seat and critically injuring June in the front. The Civic was pushed into the other lane of traffic against the front section of a Honda Accord travelling in the same direction. This partially spun the Accord halting its forward movement. The car behind it ploughed into the end of the Accord and the next three cars all smashed one after another into the end of the car in front of it. The car following the Olsen's Honda Civic tried to turn but clipped the rear end of the Explorer. That driver lost control of his car and then crashed into the first of the seven cars the Explorer had driven by.

All told, the incident took about 10 seconds before all vehicles which had been moving had come to a full stop. Barbara Olsen was dead. June Olsen would die in hospital. Carmen was saved by her shoulder harness and the air bag. Eight cars had to be towed from the scene.

Carmen was charged with two counts of vehicular manslaughter and was facing six years in jail. Marty Olsen visited the graves of his wife and daughter every day for two months before seeking counselling to deal with the loss of his family. The university scholarship was awarded to the next name on the list.

2011-09-30

Site Map - William Quincy Belle

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Fiction: Lloyd Kills A Pizza

Wally finished cleaning up the slushie machine. If there wasn't anything interesting on the little portable TV kept by the cash register, he would occupy himself by doing various odd jobs around the store. It got pretty boring after ten o'clock in the evening on a week night. By that time, the high school kids were usually at home and anybody coming in was probably doing shift-work some place.

Wally looked at the clock. It was just after 11. Hmmm, should he dump the pot of coffee? Ah, why not wait until eleven thirty. You never can tell if some late night trucker may pass through on his way to who knows where and would need some caffeine to go along with a sugar fix, the sure-fire night-time recipe for staying awake. Besides, Wally's shift was over at midnight and come to think of it, Burt would probably want some coffee when he came in to take over. Of course, he'd probably want to make a fresh pot. Oh well, let's leave it up to him.

Wally looked over at his school books. Somehow doing algebra problems didn't seem very appealing. He was in his last year of high school and was planning to head off to university next year but so far, his grade point average was pretty good so he wasn't too worried about getting in. He walked over to the magazine rack and looked over the selection. National Enquirer? Nah, too dumb. Time? Well, just a tad too heavy for this late at night. People? Hmmm, why not? That seemed mindless enough. He fished out a copy and went back to the counter and began to idly thumb through the pages. Maybe there were pics of some hot chicks.

Lloyd, felon, ne'er-do-well and drug dealer extraordinaire had taken half a tab of Ecstasy a few hours back and was slightly stoned. However he had also smoked a joint and man, that shit was good. Unfortunately, he was now as hungry as hell and he noted that he was low, very low on funds. What to do? He was supposed to furnish some junior pinheads with some goodies for an up-coming weekend party, but they weren't due to show up until after midnight. Maybe he could go out and score a snack to tide him over.

Lloyd put on his jacket, stuffed a baggie of tabs into the inside pocket then as a safety measure, got out his gun from his duffel bag. He didn't always walk around with it, but he thought that if he was carrying product, he should probably also carry some back-up. A couple of years ago, some yahoos recognised him and stole his stash off of him after threatening to beat him up. Ever since then, he decided that if he was going to continue in this line of work, he would be better off coming to the table with his own "muscle". The piece cost him but what was the price of peace of mind?

Lloyd walked across the parking lot of the motel and started down the side of the main road. There had to be something along here. A couple of cars drove by. Lloyd looked away to avoid staring directly into the headlights. He crossed in front of a pizza outlet and thought that a pepperoni and mushroom would be nice. Hmmm, unfortunately he didn't quite have enough money. He would have to be content with something a little less expensive. Damn, it was always the money. If he had enough of that, all of his other problems would nicely fall into place. Isn't that always how things go?

Down the road a bit, Lloyd saw the word convenience on a sign. Ah, now how convenient was that? He started walking a little brisker now that his goal was in sight. He walked up to the front, pulled open the door and took a pace inside. He stopped sizing the place up. He realized the entire store was empty except for some high school kid behind the counter watching some miniature TV. Hmmm, this presented an idea. Just how much money would such a store have on site? It was towards the end of the evening, supposedly the end of the shift so this would probably be the time when one would find the most amount of money in the till.

Wally had glanced briefly in Lloyd's direction when he came in the door but turned back to his mag engrossed by pics of the new up-coming starlets of Hollywood. He was so engrossed, he didn't quite get what the stranger at the counter said. Wally looked away from the hot babe and turned to the stranger. "May I help you?"

Wally looked at the man. He remained silent. Wally then realized he was holding his hand out and Wally hadn't seen this. He turned and looked. The man had a gun. What the hell?

"Give me the money," said Lloyd. Wally had frozen not sure of what to do.

"What?" Wally was now staring at the gun.

"Give me the money," said Lloyd. "Open the till and hand it over." Lloyd hadn't planned this but seeing that the place was empty and there was only this punk high school kid to deal with, it somehow seemed to be too easy to pass up. However this kid somehow didn't seem to be getting the message. I've got the gun; you do what I say; no questions asked.

Wally was slightly stunned by all this. It seemed completely surreal. Don't people get held up in the movies and on television? What to do? Just give up and hand over the cash? Fight this guy? But he had a gun. Brother, what a predicament. I'm not going to complain about a boring evening again.

Wally's cell phone started to ring. It was at the end of the counter off to one side. Last week, Wally had played around with the various rings and found something which resembled a space age siren of some sort. It was bizarre but very loud. Just the thing he needed when he tended to leave his phone lying around and he ended up not being able to find it.

The noise distracted Lloyd. His concentration was so focused on Wally; the ring caught him completely by surprise and startled him. He turned his head and sought out the source of the noise not even thinking that it was merely a cell phone. That seemed to be Wally's opening. He reached out and grabbed the gun trying to wrestle it out of Lloyd's hand. Even though Lloyd had been taken aback by the ring, he was still holding onto the gun fairly tightly and quickly his attention came back to the matter at hand. Wally was twisting the gun to the right so Lloyd pulled back trying to get the end of it out of Wally's hand. This pulled Wally slightly forward and over the counter. Lloyd then twisted the gun to the left and there was a loud bang. Lloyd froze. Wally froze. The entire struggle came to a dead halt as both of them tried to grasp what had just taken place.

Lloyd looked down and could see a growing red stain on the lower part of Wally's shirt. Wally had let go of the gun. He sort of groaned as he exhaled. He reached down to hold his hand over his stomach for a moment then brought it up to look at the blood on it. Wally stepped back and looked directly at Lloyd. He put his hand back on his stomach and with his back flush up against the wall, he slowly slide down until he was sitting on the floor. "Oh," said Wally. He stared ahead somewhat glassy eyed. He was going into shock.

Lloyd came around the counter and looked at Wally briefly. He then went to the till and punched the keys until he got the tray to open. He pocketed his gun then used both hands to gather up all of the bills and change. Stuffing everything into his pockets, Lloyd turned around and stepped over Wally. He took a last look at him and said, "Stupid fuck." He left the store and headed back down the street from where he came.

Wally sat on the floor for the next forty minutes by himself. At the twenty-five minute mark, a customer drove in and filled his car up. He paid by credit card at the pump and never came in the store. He did notice that nobody was at the counter at that particular moment but what business was it of his? Burt came in to relieve Wally at fifteen minutes to midnight and found him behind the counter in a pool of blood. At the moment Burt phoned 911, Wally had already been dead for ten minutes. He had bled out sitting on the floor.

Lloyd stopped at the pizza parlour and picked up his favourite, pepperoni and mushroom. It had cost only $9.95 which left a little more than forty dollars from his take at the store. Hmmm, Lloyd would have sworn there would have been more money in the till than that but said to himself philosophically that beggars can't be choosers.

Lloyd was back in his motel room watching some movie on TV and working on the last slice of pizza when the police kicked in his door. Three cops burst into the room with revolvers drawn when Lloyd was holding the pizza slice with both hands up to his mouth. Wisely, Lloyd didn't resist. With a murder being reported, nobody was going to take the slightest chance with any suspect and the three cops would have been asking Lloyd their questions after not before.

Two of them cuffed Lloyd and bundled him into a cruiser while the third did a quick search of the room and turned up the gun. Thanks to a witness across the street from the store, the police were able to quickly zero in on the motel. Two cops stood just outside the motel door looking at Lloyd sitting in the back of the police car.

"Fifty bucks," said the first cop. "That's all he got."

"What a moron," said the second. "Hell, if you're going to shoot somebody, do it for a million bucks, not for fifty. Christ, he'll be lucky if he ever sees the light of day again." The store's video tapes recorded the entire shooting. Lloyd's attorney had nothing to argue other than to try and seek clemency.

2011-09-29

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Fiction: Michael Takes The Plunge

Craig was in shipping dealing with today's paperwork. All of the in-coming and out-going packages for the entire building were routed through his department and there was always a ton of forms to be filled out and cross-checked. This wasn't even talking about the computer work to be done. Not every service was totally automated and Craig commented that society was a long way from being completely paperless. Whatever the case, it certainly needed human intervention to ensure the whole shebang ran on time and without a hitch. No matter how close Craig got to getting it all in order by the end of the day, tomorrow would invariably come with a shitload of new work to do.

Out of the corner of his eye, Craig saw the new office gopher Johnny come running in from a side door that came from the lobby. He was going full tilt so there must be something really, really important on his mind.

"Craig! Craig!" said Johnny. He came bounding up to the work bench where Craig was sorting through a number of courier packages that had come to the building. Puffing away like crazy, Johnny couldn't seem to catch his breath enough to continue talking.

Craig looked at the boy for a moment before turning back to his packages. Advertising, suite 705. Craig picked up the box and placed it in a bin off to one side. Glancing at the clock he realised Fred should be back in 10 minutes so he could get that package and any other he came up with for the seventh floor. Angie in advertising was expecting something important today so maybe this was it. "So, Johnny, what's up?" Craig idly looked at the next package.

"Somebody jumped." Johnny managed to get two words out but was still gasping for air not having quite wound down from his run.

Craig had picked up the next package and was staring at the label. He furrowed his brow. "What?" Hmmm, this package is going to the ninth floor, accounting. Let's see, isn't it Grace who takes care of their stuff? Craig shoved the box into a different bin.

"Somebody jumped!" Johnny was slowing down and getting his wind. "Some guy named Michael Franks jumped out of a window on the 48th floor. He fell onto the plaza behind the building."

Craig stopped what he was doing. He gazed in front of him as he tried to process what Johnny had just said. Michael Franks? Wait, don't I know him? Isn't he one of the managers in the investment firm at the top of the building? The company had four or five stories of offices with more than a hundred people dealing with pension funds management. Franks had recently been interviewed in one of the newspapers about his thoughts on the current financial situation in Europe and how it may impact investment opportunities in North America. Craig sort of knew him by sight but had never said hello to the man.

Craig turned and looked at Johnny. "What? Where is this?"

"Out back. In the plaza. Somebody has already phoned the cops but there is no point in phoning for an ambulance. This guy is dead. Like really dead. Hell, he is more splattered than dead." Johnny had a bit of a congratulatory smile thinking that what he said sounded a little funny. Ha, more splattered than dead.

Craig started walking across the open area in front of his workbench and headed to the hallway. "Let's go see this."

"You may want to think about going for a look. I glanced at it, at the guy from a distance and it does not look good."

Craig pulled open the door and started down the hallway which led through the building to the back stairwell. While the lobby had doors leading out to the back plaza, this service hallway led to the emergency doors located to the one side. Normally it was only used for fire drills but Craig and the others in the loading dock used it to exit into the Plaza for a break. Craig had been bugging the others for months now to stop leaving their goddamn cigarette butts all around the door. Okay, if he could quit, everybody could quit. But in quitting, he realised just how filthy the habit is and how much of a mess he himself had been leaving all over the place every time he just threw his butt down on the ground.

Johnny followed Craig but was somewhat agitated. "Christ, have you ever seen a jumper before?"

"No," said Craig. "Maybe on TV."

"Believe me, this isn't anything like TV. I've never seen anybody on the ground after such a high fall. Talk about gro-fucking-tesque." Craig was walking forcefully and taking big strides. Johnny followed but occasionally had to run a bit in order to keep up with his boss.

The two of them arrived at the end of the hall. Off to their right were the fire escape stairs coming down from the upper floors. Craig pushed the bar across one of the three doors and it opened into the sunshine. Craig walked outside with Johnny following on his heels. The light was blinding at first. The sun was at an angle and shining directly into Craig's face and he couldn't see anything. He held his hand to his forehead to provide some shade from the sunshine.

Slowly Craig's vision adjusted. He realised a crowd had gathered in the plaza standing in a semicircle in front of him about thirty or so feet away. There was a buzz in the air as he heard multiple voices all talking at the same time. What had happened? Craig slowly realised there was something on the ground in front of him about eight to ten feet away. He looked but what was he looking at? There was a red liquid creating a stain around it. There were bits of, well, stuff but what was that? Craig's eyes were getting better able to see in the sunlight.

"God, what a mess," said Johnny.

Craig had completely forgotten Johnny had been following him. A mess? What had Johnny said before? Franks had jumped? Slowly the realisation sank in for Craig. He was looking at a human body or what was left of a human body. What did Johnny say? Franks had jumped from what, the 48th floor? The 48th floor? Good lord! Craig stared. This thing in front of him was a human body or what's left of a human body after falling 48 stories right onto a concrete sidewalk.

Craig looked. It wasn't a body. It wasn't flesh. It looked like... what? Goo? Some bloody pulpy substance? All of a sudden this wave of revulsion overcame Craig. He turned, leaned over and threw up. His stomach emptied its contents out onto the sidewalk beside him. He coughed. The bile burned his throat and left a terrible taste in his mouth. Johnny had place his hand in the middle of Craig's back. "Are you all right?"

Still bent over, Craig spit. He coughed then spit again. "Oh my fuckin' God." Craig didn't look at the body again. He couldn't. It was too horrible. He stood upright then started to walk off to one side moving into the smattering of people by the lobby doors. Several sirens grew louder. That would be the police and the paramedics. Craig reached into his pocket and found a tissue. He wiped his mouth.

Craig kept his head bowed and focused on the sidewalk ahead of him. He tried not to think about what he had just seen. He shuddered. Yes, he visibly shuddered. The image kept coming back to him. It was burned into his skull. He had seen animals run over by cars. Once he had seen a raccoon run over by who knows how many cars and the entire body had been pulverised into some bloody pulp with fur which no longer resembled a raccoon in any way. That was odd and certainly not nice to look at. But this? This was a human being!

******************

Michael Franks looked out his 48th floor office window. It was a beautiful day. It was wonderful to look out over the city sitting, as it were, on top of the world. He looked out over the hustle and bustle of the little people as the lord and master of his domain. Lord and master, well, that seemed a little ironic. So much of what he did, his wheeling and dealing, his success in manipulating the markets, depended so much on what everybody else in the world did. We were all interconnected. His success came from other people. Maybe not directly, but in general, from the rest of the world, those little people.

The financial crisis of 2008 had killed him, well, his business. The ridin' high days were gone and he was merely holding on by the skin of his teeth. In the good ol' days, anybody, yes anybody, even a complete idiot could make money. Nowadays with the world rearranged by the downfall of Wall Street, the bail-out of the system by the federal government and then the downturn of Japan after its catastrophe and imminent failure of Europe, his success had turned into a nightmare of fingers-crossed negotiations that had left him at the mercy of a board and shareholders who were more than displeased with his performance. Could anybody have done any better? How many like him had long ago packed up their bags and left unable to cope with the stress of the new down turned world order.

On top of it all, his personal life was in the crapper. After 23 years of marriage, his wife had decided she had had enough of his bullshit and asked for a divorce. Okay, maybe he wasn't the most attentive husband in the world but he thought his wife had done well by her marriage to him. So what if he had occasionally taken advantage of a few extra-marital flings. A man's got to do what a man's got to do. Although getting sued for child support by that 23 year old secretary might have been the straw that broke the camel's back. His wife didn't particularly like that one too much. No, the five hundred dollar vase flung at his head which missed and smashed against the wall was probably an excellent indication that this time; his shenanigans had gone too far.

Michael was tired, just tired. It had not just been a long week; it had been a long couple of years. The pressure just kept racking up more and more and there didn't seem to be any way of arriving at a satisfactory point where the whole mess was going to right itself and get back on the right track. In fact, it looked more like this was just going to continue to get worse and worse. Robert Morgan, the vice-president of the west coast operations had let it slip than next month; the board of directors was going to bring in an outside accounting firm to do an audit of Michael's operation. Even though he had kept the company afloat in what were troubling financial times, the shareholders were screaming bloody murder over what they considered to be poor dividends. Christ, with the headlines going on and on about how Apple had turned into the richest company in the world, everybody was asking themselves why they had bought stock in anything other than Apple and why wasn't Michael Franks as good as Steve Jobs. God, when it comes to money, you can never satisfy the public. They're all a bunch a blood-thirsty piranhas.

Michael glanced at his calendar. He had a doctor's appointment later this afternoon at 5pm. At his last check-up a month ago, the doctor was very suspicious and had a bunch of tests run. He wasn't going to commit himself, but he was thinking Michael had prostate cancer. That one had hit Franks hard, very hard. For a long time he hadn't considered his own mortality and now, here was the strong likelihood he was going to get a countdown to his own demise. Yes, we were all going to go sooner or later but somehow not knowing when made sure your focus was turned to living not to dying. Now that he had this little tidbit of news, he had been feeling overwhelmingly tired. What exactly was the point?

He got up from his desk and walked over to the window. He cranked it opened and listened to the buzz of the city. There was a certain roar. You could no longer distinguish the individual car horns or voices or other noises; it just all blended together in this background roar of the city. Michael leaned out of the window and looked around then looked down. The plaza below looked empty, just a couple of specks. He stepped up onto the window sill. He had to duck as he was taller than the vertical opening. He stuck his head out and looked around. It was a beautiful day and it was a great view of the city. Michael Franks sighed then stepped out into space.

48 stories are equal to approximately 480 feet. An object falling from that height will take just under six seconds to reach the ground. At the moment of impact, the object will be travelling almost 95 mph or 138 feet per second.

During Michael Frank's last six seconds of life, he had a feeling of peace. He was flying. It was surreal. He remembered that the movies portrayed people as having their lives flash before their eyes but for some reason he was just sitting back and enjoying the ride. Yes, he was flying.

After exiting the window, Michael slowly tumbled several times. When he hit the ground, he was almost face down. While front part of his body hit the cement first and decelerated instantaneously, the rest of his body and his internal organs continued downward impacting one on top of the other then spreading outward from the central impact zone. One accident investigator commented that the human body is mostly made up of water and that such a fall could, in some ways, be compared to dropping a water balloon on the ground. You didn't count the broken bones; you counted the bones which were not broken. One bystander reported that officials had used a shovel to scoop up parts of the body to be put in plastic bags. The paramedics had arrived with a stretcher but it turned out to be completely useless.

Later that afternoon, the doctor wondered why Michael had missed his appointment. The tests had come back and yes, Michael did have prostate cancer. The doctor was not looking forward to telling him that in his opinion, this was in an advanced stage and was inoperable; any treatment like chemotherapy would be ineffective, merely delaying the inevitable.

2011-09-28

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Fiction: A Guest at the Roach Motel

So it wasn't the high point of my career, if you could call what I had up to that point a career. But it was mine. I worked and I paid the rent. I was independent even if that independence didn't include a house in the suburbs, a car and a white picket fence. Okay, it was only a single room. I had a sink, hot plate and a bar frig plus a single bed. Not exactly the Ritz. No, it was something which would have fit right into a Bukowski novel. Those were the days of feelin' sorry for myself, hidin' from the world and boozin', oh the boozin'.

I was living an upside down life working in a hotel parking cars on the midnight shift. I worked from 12am to 8am and since it was difficult to find anybody else to work those hours and I didn't have anything better to do, my boss let me work seven days a week. This meant I slept during the day, usually from 1 or 2 pm until 10pm or so. With the liquor store opening up at 10am, I had enough time to grab breakfast at McDonalds and do a little grocery shopping before picking up a bottle of vino for my daily race to unconsciousness.

One day I come home right after work which means to say it's only around 8:20am or so. I unlock the front door of the rooming house and step onto this small landing which has stairs going to the lower level and stairs going up to the 2nd and 3rd floor. There's a guy passed out on the stairs going up to my floor. Oh crap, not this guy again. Mr. X is what? a druggie? an alkie? I've had to step around him several times and once he was stretched out across the stairs so I literally had to step over him. I don't like this. Yes I'm living in a run-down flea-bitten rooming house which may technically make me a rubby but I am also a snobbish rubby looking down on the rest of the lowlifes infesting this place. Geesh, can't this guy fuckin' pass out in his own goddamn room?

I get up to my fortress of solitude and settle in for some food and drink. As I step across the threshold, I hear a squeak. That's odd; I had never heard that before. I step back on the floor thinking it may be a floorboard. Nope, no squeak. I get out a can of chilli con carne which technically is my dinner. Yes, it's eight thirty in the morning but my day started yesterday at 11pm when I got up. People have dinner when they get home from work and I'm getting home from work.

I'm standing by the sink working a can opener on a little counter area to one side. I hear the squeak again. What the hell is that? I move slightly. I bounce up and down. Silence. I finish opening the can. I dump the contents into a sauce pan and start the process of warming my meal on the hot plate. I yank a bottle of wine out of the cupboard and uncork it. Okay, there's no cork; it's a screw top. Many of our finer wines use a screw top I'll have you know. Glancing at the label I see it's April, my favourite month.

I hear a squeak. What? I bounce up and down. I shift my position. I bounce up and down again. I don't hear anything and I can't make the squeak happen again. Where the dickens is that coming from? I turn on my record player, queue up an album and put on my headphones. Sitting on the floor, I proceed to eat dinner, listen to music and digging out a magazine, glance at a few articles.

I finish eating and put my things in the sink. I grab myself a roll of toilet paper and a can of Lysol then head off to visit the bathroom.

If there is one aspect to a rooming house I hate with a passion, it's sharing the bathroom. Not everybody has my standard of cleanliness. I take a deep breath; I open the door and go in prepared for the worst. Oh fuck. How can anybody do this? The last person has actually left shit on the seat. How the fuck do they do that? Are they squatting over the toilet and miss? Gee-sus H. K. Rist, I can never have an emergency and run to the bathroom. No, I must go prepared to clean the fucking place up before I dare to touch anything, sit on anything or stand anywhere in my bare feet. If there is one thing inspiring me to work and save my money, it's the thought of being able to afford a place with my own private bathroom. The rest of you can go shit in, over or on any other goddamn toilet in the world except mine!!!

Once back in my room, I set about washing the dishes. I hear the squeak again but this time I realise it's coming from near the window. I look over to the potential source wondering what it could be. I see something I hadn't considered before.

Over the years, I have had problems from time to time with cockroaches: I always keep my open boxes of cereal in the refrigerator. Sorry, even the finest of establishments can become a target for these pesky little critters which are probably capable of surviving a direct nuclear strike. Mom, as both a joke and wanting to be practical, had given me a couple of roach motels for my birthday. Hmmm, or were they roach hotels? Whatever! I had seen a couple of insects in my room so after many months of keeping my birthday gift under wraps, I decided to lay them out in a couple of corners.

For some time I had checked them periodically but had never caught anything. I decide to look again. I get down on my hands and knees to stick my head in the corner so I can look inside the box and... oh my gawd, there's a mouse in there! For at least a month, I had thought my eyes had been deceiving me. On occasion, I would think I saw something move out of the corner of my eye but I was never sure and I never saw the phenomenon repeat itself. I was thinking I was seeing things but I was suspicious there may have been a mouse running through my room. Guess what? There was a mouse running through my room only now, it made the mistake of trying to run through the roach motel and had gotten itself stuck in the glue. Oh brother, now what?

I pick up the box, the roach motel, and place it on the counter so I can look into the one end. Yep, there's a mouse. Now just what the heck am I going to do about it? In looking back at this moment years later, I'm not sure why I thought this, but I got the idea of freeing the mouse and putting him outside the building. Am I a humanitarian or what? PETA would be proud of me.

However, extracting the mouse from the sticky box turns into a bit of a challenge. But once I had the mouse out of the box, I discover something I had not anticipated: the mouse's paws are completely stuck together with glue. The little devil can't move. He's so gummed up, he can't separate his paws to do anything. But hey, you're a genius. Let's just get those paws unstuck.

Thinking about what may remove glue, I hit upon the idea of using rubbing alcohol to dissolve the glue. I get out a Q-tip, dip it in the rubbing alcohol and set to work swabbing down the front paws of the mouse. Is the poor little tyke freaked out by all this? I'm surprised he hasn't crapped his drawers.

Now picture me; picture this great do-gooder extraordinaire attempting to unglue the paws of a little grey mouse so I can release him back into the wild to mouse again or whatever you call what mice do. Am I an idiot or what?

After fiddling with the soaked Q-tip for several minutes, it slowly dawns on me that rubbing alcohol is doing absolutely nothing to remove the glue. This glue is so goddamn sticky, I'm wondering if anything would budge it. No wonder cockroaches get stuck in those stupid motels. Shit, if I got this crap on my hands, I wonder just what I would have to do to get it off.

Okay, I'm stuck. Ha, ha. I'm stuck. Get it? All right Mr. Comedian, now what the fuck are you going to do? I'm getting frustrated because I am failing to achieve my designated goal of Settin' My Mouse Free! I'm thinking of other cleaning products but keep coming back to the rubbing alcohol. Hell, if it won't get the glue off, what's next? A blow torch? Well doctor, it looks like we'll have to amputate.

I sit down on the bed to think. I look at my little grey mouse laid out on the counter front paws glued together and back paws glued together. I realise I can't stick him outside like that because he can't move. He'll be an easy meal for a cat or he'll just starve to death since he's no longer able to fend for himself. Okay, or herself. Whatever. What else to try?

I arrive at the only option left: I'll going to have to put the mouse out of its misery. I'm going to have to kill it. Now, just how the heck am I going to do that without making a mess? How am I going to do it period? Wring its neck? Stab it to death with a fork? Chop off its head? Do I have a bread knife or will a number two paring knife do the trick?

Since I'm going to have to dispose of the body - Don't all killers? - I get the brilliant idea of putting the mouse in a baggie and then killing it in the baggie. Ta-da! Now I have the perfect murder with easy body removal. But how to kill it? Club it with a hammer? I don't have a hammer. Bash it with my toaster? No wait, I don't have a toaster. Frying pan? Sauce pan? A stack of six hardcover books? I got it! A garbage can.

I take my little friend outside and go to the garbage area beside the building. I set the baggie containing the mouse down on the cement sidewalk. I want a hard surface. I pick up a metal garbage can but I realise that the bottom of the can is not necessarily flat therefore I have to hit the mouse with the bottom edge of the can where the metal is rigid and not flexible. It's the right thing to do. It's humane. I can't get the glue off so it would cruel to just leave the mouse out. Okay, any other last minute rationalisations, justifications, excuses I want to spout off to assuage my guilty conscious? Bam. Strike one. Mousey doesn't look too good. A little blood? Tongue hanging out? Strike two, strike three and why not number four for good measure.

I put down the garbage pail and lift up the lid. I pick up the edge of the baggie and toss the now dead mouse in the can then put the lid back. The incriminating evidence is now safely tucked out of sight and Mr. Killer Elite can now get on with the rest of his day, er, night. Will I ever discover the correct method for removing the glue from inside a roach motel? Practice doesn't necessarily make perfect. Mom had given me two roach motels. Not two weeks after this incident, I discover another mouse trapped in the second motel. This time, however, my practical side immediately takes over from my humanitarian side and I completely skip the Q-tip dipped in rubbing alcohol step and go directly to the rigid edge of the garbage can bashing the brains out of the mouse in a baggie. Since those were the only two roach motels I had and I never bought any others, I don't know if there were any other rodents running around my room although I can't say I ever again saw anything out of the corner of my eye. I guess Mom and Pop were childless.

I've moved on in life. I no longer live à la Bukowski and have never again owned a roach motel. I have found the need to bash mice to death has gone with that lifestyle. Nevertheless, I can now say I have some experience in an area your normal person may not be acquainted with. And that's a sobering thought.

2011-09-27

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Fiction: Allison is dead tired

Bobby had been listening to the police scanner but it was dispatch who alerted to him to the accident. Greg had radioed it in saying he was going to be tied up out on the highway near the main interchange not with an accident as such but because he was a witness. Bobby was just stopping for a coffee so he thought to pick up an extra one as it sounded like Greg was going to be a while.

After leaving the coffee shop, Bobby took the on-ramp west and headed down the highway. By the time he got to the scene there were several police cars in either direction closing the lanes closest the center guardrails. A fire rescue unit was on scene and an ambulance sat with its lights flashing as two paramedics were getting a stretcher out of the back. He took his time following the flow of traffic through the reduced lanes then turned in to park in front of Greg's truck which was ahead of the other emergency vehicles.

"Hey Greg, what's happening?" said Bobby. He handed his colleague the cup of coffee.

"Oh man, did this lady get creamed but good." Greg took a sip of the coffee. "Thanks man."

The two of them stood watching the emergency workers busily moving around the vehicle. Greg said, "I was following this car, not too close, when all of a sudden it veers left into the center guard rail. It clips it at an angle then starts scrappin' it; the side of the car flush up against the metal. There are sparks flyin' everywhere. Eventually it comes to a stop." Greg paused having taken another sip of coffee. "I pulled in ahead of it then jump out to see if the person is all right. The car motor is racing like crazy. It's dark out so I can't see very well with the headlights and all. I run around to the passenger side of the car and then I see a truck wheel has smashed right through the front window on the driver's side. I opened the door to help and thought I was going to puke."

Bobby said, "Fuck man." The two of them stood there for a moment.

"I reached in and turned off the motor which was just screamin'," said Greg. He idly looked around him at the traffic. People had been forced to slow down, funnelled from five lanes into three lanes. This gave them all an opportunity to gawk at the accident although in the darkness there really wasn't much to see. If you did look carefully, you would get a chance to see the truck tire embedded in the car. Considering how odd that would be, how long would it take for anybody to process this image and realise exactly what had happened?

"Dead as a door nail," said Greg. "She didn't stand a chance." Bobby stared at Greg expectantly waiting for him to go on with his story. Greg took another sipped then continued but a little more agitated. "Gee-sus H K-rist. It could have been me. I was right behind the woman. Just a second or two later and that tire would have been coming through my windshield. Fuck me. It's just chance that I'm not getting cut out of my truck."

Bobby looked back at the car. What were the odds? How many times does anybody see a truck wheel embedded in the front windshield of a car? What a crazy thing to have happened. "I wonder where the truck is."

"Who knows?" Greg replied. "I've heard of cases where the truck driver keeps going without the slightest idea that he's lost a wheel. Considering a trailer has multiple wheels on the back just how many wheels could you lose before you noticed something wrong? Hell, it's dark out. How would you see anything?"

A policeman came out of the darkness up to the two of them. "Greg?"

"Yep," said Greg.

"I think we've got everything we need for our report. Nothing else to add. If there's any sort of follow up, we have your number. "

Greg looked from the policeman to the car. "Okay. I'll take off. Thanks."

The cop turned around and walked back to wherever he had come from. Bobby was staring at the car. "It's funny that the car veered to the left. If it had gone right, it would have smashed into the other four lanes of traffic."

Greg nodded. "Yeah. Pure luck all around. It could have been, I guess, much worse."

******************************

Barry picked up his trailer that afternoon. Unbeknown to him, the mechanic had not done a proper job in re-installing the back wheel on the trailer. A lack of maintenance had led to rougher than normal surfaces and while his torque wrench showed the nuts to be tight, their holding power was half of what they should have been. In not having achieved the proper clamping force, the nuts vibrated loose. At a certain point, the nuts gave way and the wheel came off the back axle of the tractor trailer. The truck at that moment was going 70 mph and the wheel rolled forward at the same speed veering slowly out of the lane onto shoulder by the guard rail. After 50 yards, it hit a small obstruction on the asphalt which launched the wheel into the air. The 245 pound object arced over the center guard rail and came down in the far left hand lane of the opposite side of the highway.

Allison was driving home after a dinner with friends. It was dark, traffic was busy but moving along nicely. In her lane, the far left lane she was managing a good 69 mph. By keeping just under 70, she figured there was less of a likelihood of the police wanting to stop her for speeding. She was idly pressing the scan button on her radio looking for something good to listen to.

At precisely 9:42pm, the 245 pound tire moving approximately 65 mph came down on the front windshield of the car moving 69 mph in the opposite direction. The combined speeds added up to the force of over 130 mph. The tire slammed through the windshield and while the dashboard and the roof provided some resistance, the forward motion pushed the bulk of the rubber object into the car hitting the young woman square in the chest. It broke the entire rib cage compressing the thoracic cavity and pushing the lungs and the heart to the back against the seat. The upper portion of the tread pushed under the chin snapping the head back and breaking the neck. A muscle spasm caused the right hand to push the console gear shift from D to neutral and the right foot to jam down the accelerator and become partially wedged behind the brake pedal.

The still moving car veered left onto the shoulder then ran into the center guard rail, the grinding of the metal against metal throwing off sparks. With the transmission disengaged, the car quickly came to a stop due to the friction of the guard rail. The motor was revving flat out, the accelerator being pushed to the floor.

Barry drove on for another hundred miles before stopping at a rest area.

2011-09-26

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Danny Wilson: Mary's Prayer

Everything is wonderful
Being here is heavenly
Every single day, she says
Everything is free

I used to be so careless
As if I couldn't care less
Did I have to make mistakes?
When I was Mary's prayer

Suddenly the heavens rolled
Suddenly the rain came down
Suddenly was washed away
The Mary that I knew

So when you find somebody who gives
Think of me and celebrate
I made such a big mistake
When I was Mary's Prayer

CHORUS:
So if I say save me save me
Be the light in my eyes
And if I say ten Hail Mary's
Leave a light on heaven for me

Blessed is the one who shares
The power and your beauty, Mary
Blessed is the millionaire
Who shares your wedding day

So when you find somebody to give
Think of me and celebrate
I made such a big mistake
When I was Mary's Prayer

CHORUS

CHORUS

If you want the fruit to fall
You have to give the tree a shake
But if you shake the tree too hard,
The bough is gonna break

And if I can't reach the top of the tree
Mary you can hold me up there
What I wouldn't give to be
When I was Mary's prayer

CHORUS

CHORUS

Save me, save me
Be the light in my eyes
What I wouldn't give to be
When I was Mary's prayer
What I wouldn't give to be
When I was Mary's prayer
What I wouldn't give to be (save me)
When I was Mary's prayer

References

Wikipedia: Meet Danny Wilson
Meet Danny Wilson was the debut album from the Scottish pop group Danny Wilson. It became a significant hit in America, on the strength of the hit single, "Mary's Prayer."

The song "Mary's Prayer" is featured in the 1998 film There's Something About Mary and is listed on the movie soundtrack.

Wikipedia: Danny Wilson (band)
Danny Wilson were a New Wave group formed in Dundee, Scotland [in 1984] ... [The name Danny Wilson is] taken from the 1952 Frank Sinatra film, Meet Danny Wilson.

[In 1987] they released the album, Meet Danny Wilson; the lead single, "Mary's Prayer" was initially unsuccessful in the United Kingdom, but it eventually became a Top 30 hit on the U.S. Billboard Hot 100 chart later that year. Buoyed by this success it was re-released in 1988, and reached number 3 in the UK Singles Chart. The band released its second and final album, Bebop Moptop the following year, including the hit single "The Second Summer Of Love", which reached number 23. They broke up in 1991.

2011-09-25

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Bon Jovi: It's My Life

This ain't a song for the brokenhearted
No silent prayer for the faith departed
And I ain't gonna be just a face in the crowd
You're gonna hear my voice when I shout it out loud

It's my life
It's now or never
I ain't gonna live forever
I just wanna live while I'm alive

(It's my life)
My heart is like an open highway
Like Frankie said, "I did it my way"
I just wanna live while I'm alive
'Cause it's my life

This is for the ones who stood their ground
For Tommy and Gina who never backed down
Tomorrow's getting harder, make no mistake
Luck ain't even lucky, gotta make your own breaks

It's my life
And it's now or never
I ain't gonna live forever
I just wanna live while I'm alive

(It's my life)
My heart is like an open highway
Like Frankie said, "I did it my way"
I just wanna live while I'm alive
'Cause it's my life

You better stand tall
When they're calling you out
Don't bend, don't break
Baby, don't back down

It's my life
It's now or never
'Cause I ain't gonna live forever
I just wanna live while I'm alive

(It's my life)
My heart is like an open highway
Like Frankie said, "I did it my way"
I just wanna live while I'm alive

(It's my life)
And it's now or never
I ain't gonna live forever
I just wanna live while I'm alive

(It's my life)
My heart is like an open highway
Like Frankie said, "I did it my way"
I just wanna live while I'm alive
'Cause it's my life!

References

Uploaded by BonJoviVEVO on Jun 16, 2009

Wikipedia: It's My Life (Bon Jovi song)
"It's My Life" is Bon Jovi's first single from the album Crush. It was released on May 23, 2000. It was written by Jon Bon Jovi, Richie Sambora, and Max Martin. The song hit #1 across several countries (although it only reached #33 in the US). However, it has the distinction of being the only song from a band once classified as 1980s hair metal to reach the top 40 in the 21st century, a testament to how the song managed to introduce the band to a new, younger fanbase. The song is arguably their biggest post-1980s hit single and has been performed live at almost all shows since its release.

Wikipedia: Crush (Bon Jovi album)
Crush is Bon Jovi's seventh studio album, released on June 13, 2000. It was their first studio album since These Days in 1995.

Wikipedia: Bon Jovi
Bon Jovi is an American hard rock band from Sayreville, New Jersey. Formed in 1983, Bon Jovi consists of lead singer and namesake Jon Bon Jovi (John Francis Bongiovi, Jr.), guitarist Richie Sambora, keyboardist David Bryan, drummer Tico Torres, as well as current bassist Hugh McDonald.

... it's now or never, I ain't gonna live forever...

2011-09-??

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Fiction: Macchiato and Toffee meet Squirrely

I had gotten out both collars, leashes and coats and spent a few moments on my knees getting the kids suited up for their nightly walk. Toffee was being her usual energetic self refusing to stay still long enough so I could get her coat pulled over her head. What a minx. Macchiato would usually first move his head out of the way when I approached him with the coat, well sweater, but once I got it over his head, he would patiently allow me to get it pulled into place. Good dog.... please don't bite me.

I had already been out for a jog so I knew it was quite brisk and I wanted to make sure all of us were dressed warmly enough for our nightly constitutional. Just before opening the door, I thought to put on my tuque. Oh, oh. I realised it was soaked. I had worn it for my jog and yes, I did work up a bit of a sweat and didn't think about my hard work leaving it drenched. Ugh, now what? I had showered after my jog and did I now want to put on my sweaty old tuque? Hmmm, now here was an idea: I put it on inside out. That way I could get the dry side against my head and the wet side out so it could dry. God am I brilliant.

I looked at myself in the mirror. Oh boy, now don't I look like a fashion statement. The inside seam of the tuque was running from front to back on the top of my head and there right on top of my head was the label. I paused for a sec thinking I looked like a bit of an idiot - who wears their tuque inside out? - but thinking that it was dark out, who was going to see me? Somehow this seemed like a practical solution to keeping my head warm but not having to wear the sweaty side against my skin. No? Well, it made sense at the time.

I got the kids out the door and we took the elevator down to the lobby. We went by the concierge desk and fortunately the area was empty. Good, nobody was going to see my inside out tuque. I held onto the two leashes with one hand and held the doors open with the other letting the dogs pass me and go outside. We turned left and headed around the block for our customary round.

As per usual, I had a pocket stuffed with a half a dozen baggies. Over the years, I had the picking up after two Lhasa Apsos down to something of a science. I had long ago noted that both of them usually went more than once during our walks so I always counted the total necessary based on two dogs times multiple times each. While dogs are dogs, I had become very conscious of their individual personalities. Macchiato was male and inquisitive with other animals but very leery about human beings and would even snap at strangers. Toffee was female and leery about other animals but very, very friendly with human beings. Go figure.

Another difference between the two of them was that Macchiato would go at the drop of a hat, but Toffee wanted to mull it over during our walk before committing to anything. - Gee, does a work of art take time? - Macchiato without any hesitation started a crouch almost as soon as we exited the building and I reached into a pocket to pull out a baggie. Thank God I had small dogs. I had watched others in the park out walking some monster like a German Sheppard and noted those people carrying grocery bags for their clean-ups. Good lord!

I picked up after Macch and held the sealed end of the baggie between my pinkie and third finger. There would be more as we continued. I still held both leashes but Toffee had some length to play with. As I turned, I noticed she was at the curb with her head over the side smelling something in the gutter. I took a step and leaned over. God, it was a dead squirrel. I yanked the leash back to pull Toffee away from it. It looked like a car had run right over the head of the animal and squashed it like a pancake. Eew. I guess that at some point somebody kicked the carcass to the curb.

I backed away to continue our walk but then Macch wanted a sniff. Okay guys, let's move along and let Mr Squirrel continue his nap. A tug on the leashes got the attention of the two dogs redirected to the walk and back to heading down the sidewalk.

Things were uneventful for the most part. Other people passed us. Oh, look at the cute doggies. Other dogs out for walks strained at their leashes. Macch, being Mr. Macho Male, would occasionally get aggressive and I would have to pull him away from the other dog. I thought it was funny how he'd get aggressive with dogs who were what? twenty times bigger than him? Look Macch, I think your head might just fit in that dog's mouth. Ha, ha. Read: You idiot, how about picking a fight with somebody your own size?

We arrived at the opposite side of the building where there was a corner patch of lawn. For some reason, this was Toffee's favourite spot for doing her business. As I said, Macch would just go but Toffee spent a fair bit of time running around before she would do anything. This was her open area to do just that.

Being in the downtown, only a half a block from a main thoroughfare, I saw a fair number of people. At one end of the spectrum, there were club goers dressed up for a night on the town and at the other end, the homeless and the colourful including the "hippyish" or the young trying live off the land, the land of city begging. It was this latter group I tended to be wary of, steering clear of the gauntlet of outstretched hands asking me to contribute to the latest personal relief fund. For the most part, when I was walking the dogs, these people didn't bother to beg from me. I guess with me out walking two dogs I didn't look like much of a mark.

Out of the blue one night, a gentleman, and I use that term loosely, stopped by the dogs.

"Hey Lhasa Apso. How cute."

I looked the guy up and down and immediately thought to myself I was dealing with a street person. However the guy was talking a mile a minute which then gave me the idea he was high. "My neighbours when I was a kid had these dogs and they were just charming. I really loved them. I like dogs. Are these your dogs? They're cute. You must like them. I like dogs. Hey, I've got some biscuits. These are dog biscuits. Can I give them a biscuit? I think they'd like them. I know that other dogs like them. These are made with natural ingredients. They have peanut butter."

Hel-lo. Are we high on life? Or maybe something else inhaled or swallowed? Now when the guy brought up the dog biscuits, I got a little apprehensive. First of all, I didn't know what the biscuits were made of. Do you accept food from strangers? But more importantly, I was trying to follow a careful regime when it came to feeding the dogs. In other words, I was trying to avoid snacks or well, just crap. I had taken the two of them into the vet's a few times to have their teeth checked which had led to them getting their teeth cleaned and even having a couple of bad ones yanked out. Geesh, how much plaque does a dog get? Apparently quite a bit. As a consequence, shelling out a few hundred dollars to have your dog taken care of makes you think twice about following a course of action which may be contributing to their bad health. Yes you love your kids but if you really loved them, would you be feeding them crap?

I protested and explained that both dogs were following a specific diet so no, I didn't want him to give the dogs a biscuit. "Are you sure? They're good biscuits. I know other dogs like them. They're made out of peanut butter. These biscuits are supposed to be good for them." This guy just blathered on nonstop. Did he ever come up for air?

Finally I just came out and flatly said that I didn't want him to give the dogs any of his biscuits. I tugged at the leashes to move the dogs along starting to back away from this, ah, gentleman. He stopped talking and looked at me. Suddenly a light came on somewhere and he "got it"; he understood where I was coming from. He then said to me, "Hey, you think I'm crazy? I'm not the one wearing his hat inside out."

I led the dogs away and continued to go down the block to go back inside the apartment building. I hadn't really understood this last thing the guy had said to me until I reached up to adjust my tuque and I felt the label on top of my head. Oh, oh, then I remembered. I had my tuque on inside out. I mulled over this last statement from my street person. The more I thought about it, the more I realised he wasn't high or crazy as I may have thought. No, he zeroed right in on my hat, my tuque, and the oddity of me wearing it inside out. Yes, the more I thought about it, the funnier it all seemed. There I was being all judgemental about this guy and I'm the one walking around with my hat inside out like a complete idiot. Oh gawd, this was hilarious.

It's been years since this happened to me. Every once in a while, I remember this incident and yours truly on his high horse being Mr. Superior Class, Mr. High and Mighty and not being quite as accepting or friendly with a total stranger as maybe I should have been. Who was he? A homeless person? Somebody high on drugs? I didn't know then and I don't know now but I come back to his discerning observation which completely encapsulated my initial condemnation of him. I'm laughing out loud as I write this. "Hey, you think I'm crazy? I'm not the one wearing his hat inside out."

2011-09-23

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Fiction: Ken Falls For Barbie

Gary patiently wound his way through the tourist traffic. While this wasn't technically gridlock by any stretch of the imagination, this did require a certain attitude to not go nuts following the gawkers who drove at 10 mph or less so that they could take in all the sights. Of course, when you live in Niagara Falls and have seen it over and over again, it was easy enough to forget what it may be like for somebody who's in town to visit the area for possibly the first time and maybe for the only time of their life.

Finally Gary arrived to the circular driveway of the Niagara Parks Police headquartered in the middle of Victoria Park. It was quite a beautiful spot for the 1926 building. Looking straight across the river at the American Falls, it was surrounded by a wide open expanse of lawns accented by several flowering gardens. You were surrounded by the sound of the Falls itself; the distant roar of the cascading waters adding to the wonderment of the moment. It was picture postcard perfect.

There weren't many cars around so Gary had little trouble getting parked. The police always had a number of spots close to the building reserved for police business and believe me, during the summer at the height of the season, it was necessary to keep spots reserved. There were so many visitors it was hard to move in the park as driver after driver hunted down the smallest spot where they could hopefully tuck their car away without getting a ticket. Thank goodness the Niagara Parks Commission instituted a bus system called the People Mover. All parking along the roads in the park itself was stopped which turned two lanes into four lanes. Now visitors were obliged to park in specially designated parking lots and to use the bus service to get from the lots to the Falls itself. This certainly reduced congestion.

Locking the car door, Gary started up the steps to the building. People were visible everywhere in the park and numerous people were strolling through the gardens beside the police headquarters. It was a gorgeous day.

Once inside the building, Gary went down the corridor until he came to the main counter where the public would talk with the constable who was on duty. Bill was sitting at a desk in the office area on the other side of the counter typing away at a computer terminal.

"Bill," said Gary standing at the counter. "Good afternoon."

"Hey doc, how ya doin'?" replied Bill. "Just give me a sec. I've got to finish this sentence."

"Take your time."

Gary was a local dentist. Bill or Billy back then, had been a patient along with his entire family for the past fifteen years. The Duggans had moved to the Falls when Billy, now Bill, was 15 years old so that his father could start in the pulp and paper industry out in Thorold. Bill finished high school then went on to college for law enforcement and police training. He had been with the Parks Police for the past four years. Gary had been in the Falls for several decades and as a dental professional, had gotten to know just about everybody in town including everybody connected with the police. In the past decade or so, he had become more interested in forensic sciences and on occasion had done some work for the local force. Niagara Falls was a popular spot for those who wanted to commit suicide and sometimes those suicides were messy. This meant calling in a forensic expert to identify the body using dental records.

Bill got up from his desk and came around to the counter. "Good to see you." Bill stuck out his hand and smiled. He was respectful of the older gentleman but had a certain camaraderie with him.

Gary shook Bill's hand. "I was in the area and thought I would drop around and see how the force is doing. According to the paper, you've had a busy weekend."

Bill chuckled. "Yeah, it turned into a double whammy this year. With July 1st falling on the Friday then July 4th falling on the Monday, it was go, go, go for an extra long weekend. I still haven't figured out who's nuttier, the Canadians on Canada Day or the Americans on Independence Day. Whatever the case, we had a work cut out for us. The park was just jammed."

"I can imagine," said Gary. "I, for one, opted to stay away from the area. Heck, even in town it was difficult getting around. My wife and I went out to the mall on Saturday and it was quite busy."

"Surprisingly enough, we managed to get through the entire weekend, probably the busiest of the year, without incident." The telephone rang. Bill walked back to his desk and picked it up. "Hello?" He listened a bit then said, "Yes, sir. I phoned local services first thing this morning and they said they were sending a counsellor around the hotel. I gave all the particulars to the supervisor in charge." Bill hung up and walked back to the counter. "You missed a good story last night."

"Oh?"

"Well, it's a good story but a tragic one. I guess our incident free weekend had to come to a screeching halt."

"What happened?"

Bill chuckled. "An American couple, Barbie and Ken and no, I'm not making those names up, were in town for their honeymoon."

*****************************

At some time or another, both Barbie and Ken had been ribbed about the similarity between their names and the famous dolls from Mattel Toys. However, when the two of them decided to get married, it was like somebody had opened the floodgates and they were inundated with references to this couple. As Ken jokingly liked to say, "It was pretty funny for the first two thousand, five hundred and eighty-three times." Everybody wants to be funny; everybody likes to crack a joke and be witty. Unfortunately, it never seemed to occur to any of these would-be pranksters that maybe, just maybe, they were not the first person to point out to Barbie and Ken that their names were just like the two dolls. Ha, ha. Gawd, I had never heard that before. Aren't you funny. Not.

Barbie and Ken had debated back and forth where to have their honeymoon, but in the end, Ken broke the deadlock by saying that his parents had taken him to Niagara Falls when he was six years old and he really wanted to go back to the same place where he stood in an old photograph in a family album. With that decision out of the way, Ken booked them into the honeymoon suite at the Hilton Casino Hotel and they agreed that any gambling they did during their stay would be limited to no more than twenty dollars each per day. Ken laughed retelling a newspaper article he had once read where some newlyweds gambled all their money away on their honeymoon and had to phone their parents to get enough money to get home. That didn't seem to be a promising start to a marriage so why not set some ground rules about having fun. Besides, there was a lot to do in Niagara Falls besides sitting in a casino shoving coins into a one armed bandit, right?

During the long weekend, the newlyweds managed to pack in quite a bit of activity both in and out of the bedroom. As with any natural wonder, the town had its fair share of questionable attractions which had sprung up around the Falls in an attempt to wrest as many dollars as possible from the tourists. However our couple had decided early on to focus on things relating to the Falls and its parklands rather than going to neon-lit attractions like the Elvis Museum or the House of Frankenstein. The Maid of the Mist boat ride, the Journey Behind The Falls series of tunnels and platforms behind the Canadian Falls, Victoria Park itself and Dufferin Islands, all provided Barbie and Ken with a memorable start to their life together. They even took a day to make the leisurely drive north along the Niagara Parkway to the picturesque little town of Niagara-on-the-Lake taking in along the way the Butterfly Conservatory, the whirlpool and Aero Car, and Brock's Monument.

On the final night of their stay, the couple did the town right by having a glorious dinner, followed by a nightclub show then topped off with a pass through one of the casinos for a few drinks and a couple of turns at both the machines and the tables. Lady Luck was continuing to smile upon them as Barbie in playing the slots walked away with a jackpot of a hundred dollars. The two of them were laughing at their good fortune and Ken insisted that they leave immediately. After a win like that, the only inevitable outcome if they stayed would be to merely feed all their winnings back into the casino and proceed to lose even more. This was a sign from the gods to take their fortune and get out while the getting was good.

Barbie and Ken decided to end the evening on a high note by taking a last look at Niagara Falls. It was late and dark out but Ken knew that the illumination of the Falls lasted until midnight. Strolling with their arms around one another, they enjoyed the fairy tale enchantment of the waters lit up by coloured spotlights, the roar of the cascades and the occasional wash of mist. It was a memorable moment.

"God, I gotta go," said Ken.

"What?" Barbie replied. "Why didn't you make a visit when we were at the casino?"

Ken chuckled. "I didn't have to go then." He pulled his wife a little tighter and kissed the side of her head. "You know me. Liquids just pass through me like crazy. The fastest kidneys in the West!"

"I wonder if there's anything open. It is kind of late."

"Listen, I'm just going to hop over the fence and hide behind that tree."

"What? Are you crazy? What about the gorge?" Barbie looked at her husband like he had just lost his mind.

Ken laughed. "Hey, I'm not suicidal. And I'm not nuts. This area isn't flush up against the gorge. Look there are trees on the other side of the barrier." The fence or barrier was made out of cemented stone. While it was meant to mark the limit of where it was safe to walk, it was also decorative; no chain link fences beside one of the Seven Wonders of the World.

Barbie could see trees on the other side of the barrier. She leaned over and sure enough, there was a patch of ground with a couple of small trees. Ken let go of his wife and putting one hand on the top of the barrier jumped up on top of it and down on the other side. "Ta-da!" he said.

Barbie said, "Be careful." Was she being overly cautious? In the semi-darkness she could see a patch of land, like a point sticking out towards the gorge. She looked left and right and had the impression the barrier was placed where it was in order to follow the road. It seemed like whoever built it just wanted to avoid putting something on this point of land. "Pssst!" hissed Barbie.

"What?" said Ken.

"Here's comes somebody." said Barbie. Ken ducked down out of sight as another couple strolled by. Barbie waited for about ten seconds and said, "Okay they're gone." After a couple of seconds, she realised that Ken hadn't said anything. She leaned over the barrier. "Ken?" For a moment, she wasn't quite sure what she was looking at. It was semi-dark and her eyes needed a moment to adjust to the level of light. Ken wasn't standing where she last saw him. Where did he go? There were two small trees and had he walked in behind either one of them?

Barbie's eyes fell upon the groove in between the two trees. It was a slanted as though the rain over the years had dug out a trough in the shape of a V which became more pronounced as it moved away from the barrier. She suddenly realised that she was looking at the upper body of Ken. He had slide down this incline and the lower half of his body was over the edge. He was madly failing his arms in an attempt to grab a hold of something, anything. Unfortunately, there was nothing but rock and some dirt. Barbie watched as Ken continued to disappear over the edge. At the precise moment when Ken's chest went over the edge, Barbie heard him distinctly say, "Oh shit." Then he was gone.

Barbie remained leaning over the barrier for a moment staring at the edge of the incline where her husband had just disappeared. What had just happened? Where had Ken gone? Her brain was frozen not quite comprehending what she had seen and what it all meant. As she tried to sort this out in her head, a cold chill came up from her gut and spread upwards through her chest to her head. Was it an adrenaline rush? The realisation that her husband had not just slipped but fallen into the gorge began to take on the aspect of a horror show. What started out as apprehension about Ken going over the barrier was turning into full-blown fright.

Barbie looked to her left then to her right. There didn't seem to be anybody close by. She started yelling "Help!" at the top of her lungs.

*****************************

"I was on duty last night when the call came in," said Bill. Gary had stood there in rapt attention as Bill told the story. It was a tragedy but it was also a comedy. Niagara Falls was one of the more popular spots in the world for those who wanted to commit suicide but there were also numerous stories of tourists who did something which flew in the face of common sense and once in a while, they inadvertently killed themselves.

"I don't think we managed to recover the body until 4am. It turned out that this Ken guy slipped off an edge which juts out somewhat into the gorge. When he fell, he had a clear fall of about a hundred and fifty feet onto the rocks. It seems that he fell head first and the coroner said his neck was snapped immediately."

"Whoa," said Gary.

"Oh God, what a mess though. Half the guy's head was bashed in like a melon falling on the floor. When we finally did get the body back up, we wanted the woman to identify her husband but we had to make sure we covered up the one side of the head. Thank God he hadn't fallen on his face. I have no idea what we have done then."

"Where's the woman now?" asked Gary.

"As far as I know, she's back at her hotel. Some relatives were coming up to meet her but wouldn't be able to get here until late tonight. The chief asked for a counsellor to be sent over to talk with the woman. Brother, can you imagine? On your honeymoon? They had only been married five days. Five days!"

"It's unbelievable," said Gary. "What a tragedy but then again, when will people learn?"

"Yeah, so sad," said Bill. He then smiled. "Just imagine though that your last words for posterity are 'Oh shit!' It is really sad but when I heard the interviewing officer tell me about the talking with the woman to get her story, well, I couldn't help chuckling."

Gary smiled. "It does have a comedic slant to it. Then again, there are a number of tragedies which do have a funny aspect to them. It makes me think of those Darwin Award stories where somebody kills themselves by doing something which seems stupid but in a rather obvious way. What the heck was the person thinking?" Gary glanced at his wristwatch. "Oops, I've got to get home."

Bill looked over at the clock on the wall. "Yeah, I'm going to be finishing up shortly myself."

Gary reached across the counter and shook hands with Bill. "Good to see you, Bill. Give my regards to Lucy."

"You too, doc. Take care of yourself."

Gary walked out into the beautiful day; beautiful to some people, sad for others. He wondered what was for dinner tonight as he walked towards his car.

2011-09-22

Site Map - William Quincy Belle

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Fiction: Mary Groans Then Dies

Jake got off the elevator and walked down the hall. Holding onto his computer case with one hand, he partially unzipped the front pocket of the case and fished around for his keys. Normally he would have had his keys already out but somebody was coming out of the building when he arrived at the front door and he walked right in. So much for security.

He fumbled around with the key ring and got the right key into the lock. Home sweet home. It was a twelve hour reprieve from work and he had the whole evening ahead of him to do whatever he wanted. Step number one, however, was a little housekeeping. He had realized this morning he needed to get rid of his garbage. It was starting to smell a bit.

Jake set down his case and immediately pulled out the trash container from under the sink. He opened the top, yanked up the plastic liner then picked up a tie and sealed the bag shut. He then headed out the door to go down the hall to the garbage chute. There was a tiny room beside the elevator with a trap door in the wall. You opened it and stuffed in your garbage bag and that bag magically disappeared into the bowels of the building, Jake guessed into some dumpster which was picked up by city services. Out of sight, out of mind.

Just as Jake heard his bag slide down the chute, he also heard the elevator door open. Jake looked into the hall and saw what he thought was the back of Terry.

"Terry?" Jake called in the direction of the man going up the hall.

The man stopped and turned around. "Oh, hi Jake."

"I was wondering if you had any news of Mary. Is she all right?"

"She's dead." Terry said.

"What?"

"I phoned the hospital late this afternoon and managed to talk with the doctor in charge. She apparently had another stroke. I think this is about the third since she moved into the building, well, since I've been here. When the ambulance got her to the hospital this morning, they thought she was in stable condition but early this afternoon, her heart stopped beating and they couldn't revive her."

Jake looked solemn. "That's too bad. I wonder if there would have been anything else to do for her."

"I doubt it," Terry said. "Mary's health was certainly not very good. I would have thought she might have been better to go into some sort of home where they had 24 hour nursing care. I just don't think she had the financial means to do something like that. She has a daughter but she lives in another province and I've never seen her."

"Gosh, I feel kind of dumb. I should have realized that something was wrong last night."

Terry shrugged. "Who would have known? This was the second time I had to phone for an ambulance. It's only because I've run into her several times that I knew anything about her condition or her situation. I think it's a problem for those people living alone who may not have any family or any close family who check up on the person on a regular basis. If any of us fell down, how long would we lie there until somebody noticed?"

"I know my father who had some heart problems got himself hooked up with a telephone service called, if I remember correctly, Life Line." said Jake. "You apparently had to push a button every 12 hours and if you failed to do so, the service would check up on you, first by phoning you then by sending emergency services if there was no answer."

"Yeah, that would have been something," said Terry. "Unfortunately, in these circumstances, Mary only had her neighbours but in an apartment building, once you shut your door, you are pretty much on your own. You have little or no contact with your neighbours."

Jake nodded.

"I have heard of people actually dying in their apartments and nobody knows. It's not until somebody reports a stink that maybe the super goes in only to find the person has died weeks before."

*************************

Jake looked at the clock. He was on time but he still couldn't dawdle. He checked his computer case: computer, check; reading glasses, check; subway pass was in his pocket, check. He picked up his keys from the table and headed to the door. A last look around to make sure all the lights were out then he pulled open the door. He stepped into the hall and shut the door. He fumbled with the keys trying to get the apartment door key.

He froze. What was that? Was it a groan? Was it the same sound he had heard the night before? The previous evening he had come home after the movies around 9:30pm and when he walked by the door of his neighbour, some old woman called Mary, he thought he had heard a groan coming from the apartment. He had stopped in front of her door straining to hear anything but it was silent. After he had opened his own door he thought he had heard the noise again but after going over to the door and putting his ear to it, he didn't hear anything else. Had it been a groan? Had it been the sound of something else? The leg of a chair being pulled across the floor? It was dead silent so then he couldn't be sure of what he had heard and he didn't really know if there was anything to be concerned about. After all, in an apartment building you pretty much minded your own business. After six months in his apartment, Jake didn't know anybody in the building but only knew a few people by sight. He might have nodded to them periodically but he had never spoken with anybody and struck up any sort of conversation.

Jake locked the door then went to the door of Mary's apartment. He stood there a moment listening. There it was again. Yes, that certainly sounded like a moan. Hmmm, what to do? Get the super?

All of a sudden the next door down the hall opened and a woman came out carrying a bag of garbage. "Excuse me," said Jake. The woman stopped then turned to look at him. "Do you know the woman in this apartment?"

"No," the woman replied.

"I think I've heard some groaning in the apartment and I wonder if she's all right."

The woman looked like she was about to say something. She hesitated then turned and headed back down the hall to the garbage chute. Another door opened. It was time for everybody to head off to work. A man stepped out in the hall and started playing with his key ring to lock the door.

"Excuse me," said Jake loud enough to be heard down the hall. The man looked up at Jake. "Do you know the woman who lives in this apartment?"

The man had finished locking his door and started walking down the hall towards Jake. "Yes. It's Mary. Is there anything wrong?"

"I think I've heard some moans coming from the apartment but wasn't sure. I may have heard something last night around nine thirty when I got home."

"Oh no," said the man. He now sounded concerned. "I wonder if she's had some sort of seizure again."

"Sorry?"

"Mary had a seizure about two years ago and she apparently spent the entire afternoon alone before anybody discovered her. She lives alone and her only relative doesn't live in town and visits very, very seldom." The man walked up to the door and knocked. "Mary?" He knocked again. "Mary? Are you all right?" He waited trying to listen for any sound.

All of a sudden Jake and man clearly heard a moan come from behind the door. "Oh crap," said the man. "You say that you heard something last night?"

"Yes," said Jake.

"Jesus. She must have been on the floor all night." The man knocked again then turned to Jake. "Sorry, I'm Terry."

"Jake."

Terry knocked and said loudly, "Mary? Mary? Can you hear me?" Terry stood quietly. Jake inhaled and held his breath. The two of them waited. Silence.

The first door down the hall opened and the same woman came out in the hall. Terry looked up and immediately started towards her. "Excuse me. We have a bit of an emergency."

"Yes," said the woman looking expectantly at Terry.

"I need to get into this woman's apartment." Terry pointed back towards Mary's door. "I think there's a medical problem. If I can go onto your balcony, I can climb over the railing and hopefully get in." Jake listened to this and then speculated about the dangers involved. After all, they were on the fourth floor of the building.

"Sure. Come on in." The woman held the door open and Terry disappeared into the apartment. Jake stood in the hall be himself wondering what to do. Was there anything he could do? Running into Terry was probably a godsend; Jake didn't have to go hunt up the super while saying that he thought he heard something in Mary's apartment. This Terry seemed to know Mary and all about her health problems.

Jake heard a new noise in Mary's apartment. Obviously Terry had managed to get over onto Mary's balcony and gotten inside. That was lucky. Balcony doors did have a lock so Mary could have kept this door locked and then what would have Terry done? Go find the super?

Mary's door opened up. Terry looked out at Jake. "She's had another spell, maybe a stroke." Jake could partially see a pair of legs on the floor of the kitchenette behind Terry. "I'm going to phone for an ambulance. Thanks very much for mentioning this to me." Terry left the door and went back into the kitchen. The door was off balance and slowly swung shut leaving Jake in the hall by himself.

Jake stood there for a moment. He heard a mumbled voice behind the door probably talking on the telephone. Finally Jake walked down the hall to the elevator. He punched the button and heard the whirring of machinery. It took about ten seconds then the door to the elevator slid open and Jake stepped in. He hit the ground floor button and the door shut.

Jake walked the four blocks to the subway to get to work downtown. Just as he was about to enter the station, an ambulance with its siren blaring came around the corner and headed up the street in the direction of his apartment building. Jake paused for a moment and thought about Mary spending the whole night on the floor incapacitated, just moaning once in a while. Maybe someday Jake would have to do what his own father had done: subscribe to some sort of monitoring service like Life Line to make sure that somebody could keep tabs on him in case he had some sort of health emergency. Family and friends were nice but this sort of thing needed something more than occasional visits.

2011-09-21

Site Map - William Quincy Belle

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