Like any other day...

If I had known, I probly would not have endulged in the guilty pleasure to begin with.  It was sposed to be only a simple passing of time.  Now, Ive got this responsibility on my hands.  I dont know whether to pretend like it never happened or accept it onto my life as fate.  I mean, Ive always had this gut-feeling that if I kept it up, someday Id find myself in this situation.  So, I guess I cant claim ignorance.  What did I expect, really?

What about when my friends find out?  How am I going to explain it, then?  They are never going to be able to look at me the same.  I spoke with my Reverend.  I spoke with my therapist.  Besides these two of my confidants, I have not shared my situation, at all, with any other.  The fineprint on the back states that if I dont come forward to claim ownership within a year, it will be deemed null and void.  So, Im contemplating to just sit on it and eventually I'll be able to pretend like it never happened.

But for now, it is very real and very embarrassing.  I mean, why does anyone buy these things if not to win, or at least imagine winning something.  I was bored and had a couple extra bux in my pocket.  I never really wanted this to happen.  I was satisfied with only daydreaming about it.  Daydreams of my daughters university tuition.  Daydreams of helping some of my friends into detox and rehab.  Daydreams of helping my mother and ex-wife with their bills and debts.

In reality, Im not so brave.  In reality, this has scared the shit out of me.  Ive tucked this cursed scratch and win lottery ticket between the pages of a book I havent opened in years.  In reality, if I were so brave, I would've torn it to pieces and tossed it in the trash.  In reality, I dont know how Im ever gonna trust anybody while Im holding onto this.  This is just to much for me to comprehend.

Emergency Escape Plans

We shared our afternoon at the ocean.  Shimmering sunshine sparkled and danced like pixies on blue green water.  We built a firepit and pretended we were on a desert island with no one else but us.  We made friends with an otter.  We played hide and seek in the tall grass until we were out of breath and collapsed for a nap together under a bush.

When we woke up, we ate our picnic lunch I had prepared for us.  Peanut butter and banana sandwiches, peaches and halva for dessert.  A beer to wash it all down.  We sat like a couple of monkeys cuddled close. She picked thistles off my jacket while I brushed burrs from her hair.   As we smoked a bowl together, we made energency escape plans, just in case we ever had to grow up.

As we watched the sunset catch fire to the horizion, she reached into her backpack and carefully pulled out a sheet of paper.  Torn and frayed along the edges, the drawing on it was faded and smudged.  But, the portrait was unmistakably recognizable.  Without a doubt, this was a picture of me.  She placed the sketch of myself onto my lap.  "I feel you should know that I drew this when I was 11.", she said.

Sailors Warning

I had a dream early this morning.  Natural and honest.  Without fear, at all.  You were here and we were together, sharing faith and hope and love.  Plaid shirt and leather jacket, still with pajama bottoms.  We hadn't bothered to shower, yet.  To-go cups from the neighborhood coffee shop.  We sat on my bed and played with treasures we found at the ocean.  We made designs, we played sinarios, we took pictures.  I kissed your bare shoulders.  Freckles like scattered pebbles along the shore, waves of wild hair splashed my face. 


Just open up a little bit more

Without shame

The next morning, I deleted fone numbers and blocked social network connections.  The last thing I want is any trace of evidence to come back on me.  Done.  I have given clear instruction to my close friends and workmates, to slap me across my face if I ever utter her name again, or speak of anything to do with her at all.  

This machete is the only witness, now.  Its cuts are unique and leave scars deeper than others, I know.  Eventually, someone is going to discover this and start asking questions. Even with blood dripping from my blade, I will never admit I ever knew of her existance.

However, I will never forget that night at the hotel.  I will remember it as one of my finest moments.  A mercy killing.  A brave gesture of compassion.  I will never confess in search of glory.  Im not a hero.  

Death by text at The Fancy Hotel.

Its been 3days since I did it.  It was brutal.  Insults like filthy blood sprayed everywhere. Spit was flying.  Tears were rolling.  The reality of screams cracked through fantasy like a judges gavel.  Let the guilty verdict fall on me.  Id do it, again with no remorse, just the same.

I kicked in the front door of the hotel, swinging my machete to protect my personal space.  As people came close, attempting to defuse and restrain me, I was not to be entertained with even the thought of it.  I had been tempering and sharpening this blade for about a year.  I forged it from metal of the sword that cut me and forked my tongue when I was a young child.  So, it sliced through living flesh as though it were phantom.

I could hear men yelling and women gasping tears as I passed the elevator and headed towards the stairs.  The 9th floor?  Sure, sounds 'bout right.  I dont know why I chose the 9th floor.  I figured it to be divine guidance becuz I heard her voice as soon as I stepped into the hall. Such a beautiful laugh, like bells and chiming harmonies.  Talking and chatting, her story fluttered down the hall like a wandering pixie.

If I was ever sure, it was in those moments.  This is not the first time I have heard her romantic candor being conveyed to another, besides myself.  Once apon a time, I told her I was in love with her.  I figured from the beginning, she didnt really want to know.  But, I told her, anyway.  Selfish, I know.  Careless.  Eventually, the destined day would come and any hostages would have to die along with one of us.

My Darling, she really could be such a wonderful woman.  I offered.  I even put the knife to my chest for her.  She said she would.  But, she never finished anything she ever started.  However, I should not have asked her to fix my mistake.  Once again, months had passed since she vowed to twist the blade deeply secure into the middle of the suffering pain and make the ultimate cut.    Instead, she dragged it with her to this hotel room.  Hanged by a thread over the balcony, it swung between a tease and a threat.  

I huffed and I puffed and I blew open the hotelroom door.  I charged like a bullet with a mission towards the balcony.  Again, swinging my machete, it came down on the metal railing with a striking spark and severed that thread.  She was behind me in the room, already nursing a flesh wound her company had received in the confusion of my sudden entry. While I watched it fall 9storeys and then splatter on the sidewalk below like a grape tomato, the display of  her loving attention for her company  was confirmation that it was, in fact, finally dead.  If it ever was alive, I think not.

As I turned to clamly walk out, I set fire to the curtains.  The bed sheets, towels, fuckin lampshades.  Even the god damn bible in the nightstand drawer.  It all caught aflame so easily.  A blaze set for ashes was raging just behind me already as I left the building.  I waited around the corner long enuff to make sure they both made it out.  I blew my nose on the murder scene as though tossing a rose onto its coffin.  Although, no need for a funeral.  I will not be returning for memorial.

Memory Lane, aka Commercial Drive

I went for a walk through East Van.  Sunshine beamed down from the blue sky and cut the crisp autumn air.  Trees were changing into their fall colors all around me.  Birds were chirping and visiting and fluttering in and out of the sun and tree-shade above me.  I looked up and saw dancing freckles on the cheeks of the warmest sparkling smile.

Our initials are still clearly etched on a square of sidewalk between The Movie Theater and Dollar Grocer.

I ordered a small americano from JJBean and walked up the hill to our old house.  I made SO much music in that front window.  I listened to the song we made together for the art gallery.  I have it on my ipod.  Sitar and flute.

I stood outside Havana Restaurant and lit a cigarette while watching the comings and goings of the kitchen, the hustle and bustle of the bar.  I crossed the street and finished my cigarette outside Bkiram.

It felt like my life.  Natural.  A continuous reality.  Looking into the past to gain some sense of the future.  I walked along these same streets a few days before and my focus left my imagination cloudy and vague.  However, during this stroll, everything felt so clear.  My imagination busted wide open and I thought I saw blonde pixies peeking up from behind shrubs, again.

In the beginning...

I went to The Templeton on Granville St.  After my meal, I stood half a block up the street where she first warned me.

I walked home along Thurlow St and crossed Barclay St.  I stopped and stood at the pay phone where I first saw her cry.

I went and got wasted drunk @ The Cambie, where she had introduced herself to me.  I sat @ the table where she first kissed me.

I walked up and down Commercial Drive and ate gelato.  I bought a gala apple from dollar grocer and picked a little bouquet of wild flowers.

It feels like some other life.  A parallel reality.  Some kind of weird dream.  A time when I could still pretend.