10 years and 3 months ago I did the last line of cocaine in my life.

6 years prior to that was the promise of a fun night and an expectation that I could forget my problems. I was in college, had no real responsibility, a lot of weight from the death of a close friend, and a family that was too spread out. That night was everything I thought it would be and even the first couple of years were good… stay up all night, drink lots, laugh, party and solve the world's problems.

The later years were a left turn over the tracks and a drive through the shitty part of town. The nights got shorter and the days turned into 72+ hour, sleep when you're dead, craziness. No pill was too much and no party was too far. “More” quickly turned into “Not Enough”. For those that don't have the experience with this, it's a feeling of total helplessness. The cocaine starts to change the way you think, the way you act, the things you value… and you never even know it.

In moments when you sober up, you start slipping in and out of feeling like your life is empty and you need to change, but your brain won't let you get out. Those last few months of life on drugs were the lowest of the low… surviving on credit cards and my job may as well just paid me in cocaine since that what it was all going to. I spent many mornings watching the sun rise, usually driving somewhere to get more. Trust me… the only people that are up selling drugs at 7am on a Tuesday, are pretty fucking nasty.

When I see this picture, that's what I think of… sitting in my car at 7am, looking out into the world with a empty stare. I can't see the Truth of what is really going on because the windshield has a haze of lies covering it. On the corner, my true friends are watching me stare out, but all they can make out is part of what used to be me. The rest of the car is unkept and covered in dust and dirt, like my life. They wonder where I'm going, but doubt they'll ever see me again.

10 years and 3 months ago I did the last line of cocaine in my life.

This here story is a mystery/thriller…

Just met this woman, first date; Wednesday night. Met her at Nordstroms so she could tag along as I underwear & shoe shopped; told her if she behaved, she could pick out one of the pairs of both.

Despite her horrid taste in both underwear & shoes our vibing was solid. Laughing, teasing, playful touching ensued. Sexual tension tighter than a snare drum.

Total time we hung out was like, 2 hours. After coffee at the Nordstroms cafe, we said our goodbyes and all was silky smooth. Until…

…I got home and thought, “Hey, let me send her a follow up Facebook message saying how much I enjoyed our time together and how I looked forward to seeing her again.” Here’s the message…

“Hey Daishiki,

Tonight was um… magical, wonderful and delightful.

I really, really, really like you. Do you like me? I hope so.

Aren’t you totally anticipating me tearing that ass up between the sheets?

You would be the first woman this 29 year old man has ravished so you’ll totally have to hand-hold me through the whole process. I learned how to program and build computers really fast so I trust I can learn how to ring your bells fast too. If you’re not comfortable in your expertise, just let me know and before you come over to my moms house to pick me up, I’ll take the bus over to Barnes & Noble & load up on Sexy Time Manuals.

We can take our time and learn on the fly.

Because I knew from your personal ad in the City Weekly that you would be the woman I would want to marry, I went out and got a tattoo to celebrate my undying devotion to you (rad pic posted below).

{Due to my not being able to put a pic inside this post, a word picture will have to suffice: It’s of two unicorns, one blue, the other white, with wings. The white one is getting pounded from behind by the blue one who has a lit cigarette dangling from his horsey teeth.}

You can’t see it, but below the tattoo, it says…

“Daishiki & Mariano, togethurer forever.”

Idiot tattoo artist misspelled “Together” and I didn’t know it until I got home and showed mom. I’m in the middle of writing a scathing note to him. Would complain to his face but I’m only on Lesson 2 of my Kung Fu training videos and I’m not sure I know enough yet to teach him a lesson if he tells me to go eff myself.

But I learn fast so hey, judgment day may come sooner than later.

Anyways, my snoopy brother’s trying to steal a peek of what I’m writing here on the top bunk bed and it’s time for me to clean my retainer and feed my fish so I’m going to say good night and maybe this is crazy but I’m also gonna go out on a limb and say…

“I Love You.” Do you love me too? Hope so.
Mariano “Magic Juan” Franco

—————————————————-

This was last Wednesday and she still hasn’t called or written back. It seems like she’s hit some stroke of bad luck because it seems like Facebook has shut her account down AND the phone company has disconnected her phone number. I hope my one chance at true love isn’t ruined over the stupid heads at FB and Verizon messing up her accounts.

I can’t let Daishiki go at a time when it appears to me that she’s met her soul mate. What if some over-bearing ex-boyfriend found out about us and is trying to sabotage our life? Should I forget about Sweet D (Stage Name, theater, I presume) & her six adorable kids from 7 dads… or should I just keep the hope alive that she’ll find me some day?

These are the thoughts that kept racing through my mind. And then, it happened.

I’m walking across the street and look into the car just pulling up to the intersection and what do I see? SWEET D. And she’s with some guy.

I yell out, “OH. MY. GOD. HONEY, it’s me, Mariano! Heavenly Father of the latter day saints has brought you back into my life!!!”

This is when she gets a look of sheer, panicked, terror on her face. She goes flat. And white as Betty White.

She’s looking at me but talking. I can’t hear anything she’s saying because the windows are closed but I can only imagine, she’s saying something like, “Jesus IS real. He has re-united me with my one true love. The man who promised me he would tear my ass up between the sheets.”

Well, obviously the guy with her must have been some jealous ex-boyfriend because next thing you know, dude puts the pedal to medal and SMASHES right into me flipping me up and over the car.

Well, you know how some people say “Within every adversity, there’s the seed of an equivalent or greater benefit.” The seed of benefit paid off right here. You see, I’m kinda retarded or so people say, and this is where my “Retard Strength” must have kicked in and helped me almost completely shrug off being plowed into by an SUV.

Yeah, my face got a little scraped when I face planted directly into the pavement, but everything else was just a little sore.

And guess what?

Mohamed was looking out for me. He put some kinda hex on the guy driving the car that made him plow right into a telephone pole and DIE on impact because from what eye witnesses say, they saw this maniac run me over, careen sharply left to avoid an on coming car and barrel directly into a telephone pole.

All the while laughing and chomping on a corn dog.

Upon the 35 mph impact, the driver was mid-bite and the corn dog stick was plunged into the man’s mouth and lodged in the man’s brain when his hand and face met with the air bag. Dead on arrival. Karma one, asshole zero.

Being that the car wasn’t traveling all that fast my smoospsy poo only ended up with minor whiplash. When I walked up and opened the door, she was kind of in shock at being only feet from the Douche ba…, I mean friend, all folded up dead.

Well, of course I went in to give her kiss but she vehemently waived me off citing that no one should touch her but the paramedics. My baby is smart. I told her so, and said I was delighted beyond measure that the universe had brought us back together.

She asked to “Shut Up” because my voice was grating on her “injured brain”, not because she was being mean. I respected her wishes and just oogled her luscious melon breasts while waiting for the paramedics to show up, which they did, shortly.

As we were both whisked away in separate vehicles I trusted that I’d be able to visit her in the hospital that day but it turns out that in her sheer brilliance she knew that her condition could be better treated at the hospital I wasn’t going to and DEMANDED that the paramedics take her there.

This left me back at square one. No way to get in touch with Sweet D. My soul was crushed into little bits as small as those crumbs on the bottom of a potato chip bag that had the watermelon roll onto it in the car.

Well, it turns out the SUV that was used as a blunt trauma instrument was a company vehicle owned by a little bidniz named BP Oil. Conveniently while I lay in the hospital recovering from my sprained and slightly shattered pelvis, a lawyer by the name Saul just happened to be in the hospital and stop by my room to chat. He asked me what put me in the hospital and after I told him the story of my smoopsy poo being kidnapped, being runned over and being separated from my soul mate again, he told me that someone should be held accountable for all of this suffering imposed upon me.

Saul said there was no dollar amount that could be placed on my “trampled retarded soul or body”. He said there was only one way to make sure that these kidnapping assholes at BP Oil would never get away with a stunt like this again. Sue their ass.

I told him I didn’t actually think it was BP’s fault but he told me that I was wrong. He said their faulty hiring process and management led to this wild animal being placed behind the wheel of a death machine, a death machine that kills more people every year than “the dope, a.k.a drugs” do.

I couldn’t argue with that kinda logic and neither could the jury.

And the Buddha came to my rescue again because this law suit got all kinds of press coverage which made it easy for Sweet D to find me. When we saw each other again during the trial she threw herself onto me and smothered me with kisses.

BP settled for what Saul said would be enough money to last me a lifetime which I’m guessing is a lot. I don’t know how much it was because I just put all the settlement in the name of my bride to be, the woman of dreams, Daishiki. It was explained to me that with my being kinda retarded and all, this would be for the best.

She bought us a REALLY nice home. It’s so nice in fact that it’s got two homes on the property. I and Daishiki stay in what’s referred to as the guest home and other home, Daishiki turned into her office.

She and her kids work a lot and entertain clients all the time at her office. She ends up sleeping at the office pretty much every night of the week and I don’t mind because I don’t want to interfere with her career and I’ve never really been all that comfortable around “business people”. “Business travel” also keeps her away most of the year which can put a strain on a relationship but once again, I fully support her in her pursuit of her dream to be a dancer/actress/singer.

She has to rehearse a lot at home so there’s always male co-star’s coming over. When I first heard sounds like shrieking, moaning, and furniture moving around, coming from the office, I got kinda nervous. When I called and asked her assistant what was going on, she said that Sweet D and her co-stars where working on a “wrestling” scene, which totally explained everything.

She was inspired by Hillary Swank’s performance in “Million Dollar Baby” and wants to break into show biz and start out being type cast as “Ultra-Athletic Chick” and move on from there.

Well, I guess the good guys do win after all, eh. I get to be married to a super hot, super caring woman and live in a really cool bedroom and Mr. corn dog munchin’ BP Oil muthafucka gets to be dead. The universe works in mysterious yet awesome ways wouldn’t you say?

We thought a few drinks wouldn't matter. We've done it lot's of time.

We weren't very far away. Now, she's dead.

I don't drink or get high anymore.

When I see Cacie in my dreams, we cry and apologize to each other. It doesn't help much.

It's not you.
It's me.

Raquelina

I met Raquelina a couple of years ago. She liked going by Rack (obvious reasons). We developed a friendship (she was a friend of a friend) but frankly she was boring because she always talked about herself. She’s a writer, a good one and I really liked her work but she would just go on and on and on…zzzzzzzzz. Very much an energy sapper too.

Funny story she had told me (sad but funny)- one of her artist friends had an open marriage arrangement with new husband. They could screw whomever they chose to, etc. Well, he fell in love with someone, and that was that for her friend. So this friend runs off broken hearted and goes to SF to pursue her art full time and become an angry feminist bohemian. But it’s too competitive for good looking straight men in SF, so she’s basically been unhappy and somewhat unhinged there for the past few years; bad skin, eating disorders, etc. It’s a sad story but Rack told me this as she laughed, so of course I think of it as funny. But it’s not.

Rack always wanted me to introduce her to my artist friends (she’s a groupie chick), single or “somewhat” married. She kept bugging the crap out of me because I wouldn’t. Too high maintenance and as I said, an energy sapper. However, she did/does enjoy her boy toys. I think she’s in her mid-forties but likes guys in their late 20s, the cougar thing. That’s fine but she complains about them being idiots and not having the mental capacity to engage her, etc. Whatever. I dreaded the thought of introducing her to any guy because she’d bug and bore the shit out of them then they’d be pissed at me.

There are some people like her who are best avoided, she seems to like conflict too. Best avoided. Like tequila…I’m not a good drinker of that anyore. I used to be but not any more.

I think her alter ego needed breaks from her, which is why she’s quiet these days. I think she’s depressed but she won’t admit it, and I’ve not the energy to ask. Sadly, neither does her only friend, the one who lives in San Francisco.

I secretly loved days like this. I loved the cold air, the reddish gold leaves that crunched under my feet as I walked. It was a perfect fall day for me. At least it was perfect here, in this short moment.
I had found the car after we had moved here, this dreary little town in northern Maine. I hated moving, hated leaving my friends, and everything I had ever known. Since I was only a teen, my opinion didn’t count. Money, opportunity, that’s what counted.
The car was in the back of the garden, near the alley. It was nearly overgrown, with trees around it, and plants growing up to the door handles. I knew it would be towed eventually, my mother thought it was abominable, and my father thought it was junk. I thought it was a haven in a world that I knew nothing about.
I didn’t know much about cars either, but I knew it was dry inside, and that it was there. Maybe someday I would try to figure out what was wrong with it, but for today I would simply enjoy it.
The inside had a slightly musty odor, probably from sitting here abandoned for so long. The windows were so dirty you could barely see through them. I could hide here for hours, imagining another world. One where I could drive this old car, and go anywhere I wanted. One where I didn’t have to worry about new schools, or making new friends. A world where my parents weren’t already planning for my college, or my future. Sitting here in this old, beaten, slightly smelly car I could have the future I wanted.
I sat, imagining this future and a half dozen others for hours, listening to the crickets chirping outside as darkness slowly moved in. Soon I would see the light come on in the backyard, and a flashlight soon after that. The lights would be accompanied by voices calling for me to come in, to come out of the darkness. Then I would have to return to their world, but for this moment, sitting here in this old battered junker, this was my world, and I would enjoy it for as long as I could.

What fun! Thank you. Here goes …

“Grandma, what a riveting picture! Is that you in there?”

The elderly woman smiled at her teen-aged granddaughter, grateful for moments like this when they shared and connected without texting and instant messaging. She looked back at the picture and wondered how to respond – I'm not actually in it, she thought, I AM it.

I'm the reflection in the glass, a representation of what can be, life in action, all that's possible for those willing to venture out.

I'm the clear streaks on the windshield, jolts of clarity in amongst life's mistings and splatters.

I'm the autumn leaves in the wiper, fully lived, caught in time, accumulated collections of purpose fulfilled and graceful exits.

I'm also the wiper, reluctant to let go of all that I was, still filled with the purpose of wiping life's spray when it clouds my vision or obscures my path.

And I'm the beautiful young girl, frozen in time, still filled with hope, with longing, even a dream or two. My spirit has never felt the aging process as my body has. In this way, I'm eternally youthful in spite of evidence to the contrary.

The elderly woman, eyes welling with tears, looked up at her grand-daughter ~ her beautiful grand-daughter, looking at her expectantly, with love, and patience. “Yes,” she whispered, 'yes – that is me in there.”

Looking forward to it!

Rest in peace, rabid raccoon.

Thanks Megan. I'm on a “be very, very concise” kick. Am just coming off of a 4 word resume bender so this was a perfect exercise in minimalism.

Admittedly, I originally read this as “rabbit raccoon.” I even googled it. Rabid. GOT IT. #imadumbass

I had sent him all my words, an advance party to prepare the way. Email warning shots. And text message tattoos. I had sent word bomb after word bomb, and driven through the night. I had stopped at the side of the road, rested my weary eyes and eased my weary body as best I could. I had telecommunicated all he should be prepared to see, and to witness, and to communicate in return. And I had ignored the known fact that his receptors had never really been keenly tuned, even when he had pretended to want to hear.

I had ignored the warnings of the frosted trees, the sliding roads, the silent hills. My brown eyes were such flawed scopes of this reality, were so incapable of measuring the distance in any real terms. The shushing tires were accurate, the yearning was not. I had forgotten the un-crossable miles between my soft lips and his bunkered ears – the no-go-zones so extensive, the mine fields so copiously seeded.

And now here I sat. Nail scrapes clearing my vision only slightly. Raising just enough fog to see what he had never had the ability or the willingness or the courage to say. Scales in front of my eyes falling away to reveal only a man-shaped hole where love and hope used to be. He didn’t move. And neither did I. We just sat, and stared until the openings I had create frosted over, and he was finally gone

What a fucking nightmare. He doesn't get to just walk in and throw his money around like I'm a fucking whore that he can buy. I didn't come all the way out here into the middle of bumfuck nowhere just to have him follow me. And what's that about, anyway? What kind of shit punches someone in the face and then chases after her, all “Come back, I need you to come home”? For what? To punch in the face again? Jesus.

I am not one of those women. I know those women. I come from a long line of those women, but I am not one of them.

God damn it, he makes me angry. And if he bleeds out before they find him, then so be it.

Are you listening to me? Hey, are you listening? I think I'm going to stop up here for gas and a coffee.

On. The. Floor.

Thanks. And all very much true. (guess that spoils the ending… I don't die)

Well here it is. My very own car, or van if you want to be totally accurate about it. I really wanted a car, but daddy said it was going to be the van or nothing. And I don't want nothing any more, so I guess I'll take it.

It's kinda dirty; the people who owned it didn't take good care of it. It's leaking oil and the tires are almost bald, but you can't beat free.

Those leaves stuck under the wipers aren't from around here. Daddy said he had to go all the way across the county to get this van. My cousin Emmett drove him there, and they were gone a pretty long time. I was already asleep when daddy got back so this morning is the first time I get to see it.

I'm not too crazy about the color, but I guess they'll be painting it anyway. And maybe Bobby at the tire shop in town can get us a good deal on some newer tires. Still used, just better than what's on there now.

Daddy says there's a stereo but he hasn't figured out how to work it yet. Something about a code that has to be put in, but if anybody can make it work it'll be him. He deals with different cars all the time.

The first thing we'll have to do though is to give it a good cleaning. That, and figure out what to do with the bodies.

I love October. It's a “Remember the Titans” kind of day. This old car and the crisp air make me feel like I'm back there, in the '60s just waiting for a riot to break out. To stand up for my self. To make a difference, make history. You know that part of Virginia still feels that way in October? It feels like old books, warm coffee and anticipation all stuffed in my backpack. My chucks can't stay put and make me want to jump, dance, run – DO something. BE something. When people we're standing in line for hours for the newest phone or sitting at their computers ALONE to meet people. I'm too young to know any other kind of world, but I dream. For simplicity.

Last FridayI got in the car for my 2 1/2 hour drive to my weekend retreat in Michigan. About 5 minutes after getting in the car, the apocalypse began… unbelievable winds and rains seemed to converge on my car from the 4 corners of the sky. I’m not actually sure the sky has corners, but it sounds better than just “Holy Shniznitz!!!”

A normal person would have stopped the car and waited for the storm to pass before continuing on, but if you’ve been reading my blog, you’ve probably already deduced that while I may be many things… normal just isn’t one of them. Besides, I figured I could outrun the thing, or it would outrun me, either way, I would be fine…. right?!?

Well, the storm decided that it would be fun to follow me the whole drive… like that poor kid in the cartoon with the dark rain cloud dumping on him wherever he goes… yeah… that was me. The storm hooked itself to my car and we were both in for a wild ride! There were trees falling across the road in front of me (not branches, mind you… entire trees), construction materials flying all over the place like bright orange confetti and lightning crashing within 100 yard of my car in all directions. It was like being in some warped video game that I could not afford to lose… swerve here, dodge there, duck quick… WAIT… my car can’t duck!!!

Finally, I made it to Michigan (apparently, I kick butt at driving games) just in time for the bonus round. “What could the bonus round possibly be?” you might be asking yourself. Why… a 10 foot wall of flames crossing the road, of course… what else?!?! A tree had fallen across some wires and was hanging precariously over the road, engulfed in flames, ready to snap at any time. The only options were to go back or attempt drive under the giant flaming foliage. Since I’m not completely insane (despite what you may be thinking at this point), I opted to double back, take another road and avoid the bonus round entirely.

I made it safely to my destination after 3 hours of scary driving, only to learn that for those normal people (the ones who stayed in one place… likely the basement) the storm only lasted about 15-20 minutes total. Um… oops!

I spent the weekend without power, except for the occasional fan and ability to flush the toilet provided by a small generator, and I managed to return home without incident. However, all week the storm clouds have been building, waiting, and occasionally storming… wreaking havoc with my internet, but holding back the good stuff.

Wednesday night, I got in my car to drive my daughter to cheerleading (that’s her in the picture by the way) and the storm gods had their chance! We only got about 5 minutes away from home before the sky unleashed it’s fury on me yet again. This time there wasn’t as much wind, but there was flooding and tornado sirens going off in the midst of the “driving” rain (funny… that expression has a whole new meaning for me now). But, I managed to make it through level 2 of the stormy driving game and arrived home safely… again… only to find the power out… again.

This whole time, my internet has been sketchy at best, my blog disappeared entirely for several hours and I’ve been a little afraid to plug my PC into an electrical outlet for fear a storm surge will blow the whole setup. Yeah, the surge protector comes with a warranty and they might buy me a new computer, but will it re-enter the accounting, re-photograph my kids and re-write my blog?!?! I think not!!!

So another week has gone by with me stuck in the hamster wheel… but this time I had to dodge lightning bolts while running, running, running. I’ve barely gotten anything done… unless you count my creating new sensless words to yell at the computer and my heroic driving abilities. Makes me kinda want to hide in a cave all of next week!

I can smell the oil…a greasy, coated smell lining my sinuses, and the metal is begging to be touched…it is hypnotic under my caress. Other scents begin to worm their way in under the grease, specifically the pungent scent of decaying leaves discarded by trees too tired and disinterested to hold them, so they collect against the windshield as if to remind me of the tired thoughts I cannot purge, refugees hanging onto my soul. They are thoughts that were once a whirlwind, but now only circle between my heart and my head like a lazy merry go round, abandoned to the grey of the day, and forfiting all romance.

Decayed, tired…this is me. Discarded and isolated, no longer dramatic at 21, only silent. I don't ever remember ever feeling anything else…it seems I've always been locked in a box with only my thoughts. I manifest that now as I sit here, in this box. It will smell like the leaves…damp, decaying…soggy. I lift my gaze through the rain streaked glass; what a nice stand in for the tears I cannot cry, I muse, as I absent mindedly caress the metal. A sigh escapes me.
I put down the gun and turn the key.

Thanks, Megan. I'm glad you enjoyed it.