Shy as silk, whisper soft
Walks as silent as on moss,
And never wonders why.
Oft forgotten, seldom loved,
Glides in moonlight solitary
And smiles to herself.
She and I are one you see,
I the sunlight, she the dark,
Entwined at dawn and dusk.
And when the mortal coil collapses,
When starlight winks out and dies,
And soul liberates itself and flies;
Eternal dusk will find us both,
Ever mingling, light and dark,
Waxing, waning, bringing balance.
To the half heart I carry within,
Will be added its darker twin,
And I will rest.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Song of Sorrow and of Joy
She cried and as her tears rained down,
Song rose within her heart.
For as her pain was hers to bear,
It was, by far, the lesser part.
But who am I to forgo fate,
That bends and twists us in its wake.
Great sadness gives its way to light,
That rushes in to fill its place.
And for the pain of sadness borne,
On tearstained cheeks of palest rose,
Is victory most surely won,
Within the joyous heart and soul.
And blessed is she, who understands,
The nature of this gift of heaven.
To those who deepest mourning know,
Is happiness unmeasured given.
-Stacey Rittel-
-2008-
Song rose within her heart.
For as her pain was hers to bear,
It was, by far, the lesser part.
But who am I to forgo fate,
That bends and twists us in its wake.
Great sadness gives its way to light,
That rushes in to fill its place.
And for the pain of sadness borne,
On tearstained cheeks of palest rose,
Is victory most surely won,
Within the joyous heart and soul.
And blessed is she, who understands,
The nature of this gift of heaven.
To those who deepest mourning know,
Is happiness unmeasured given.
-Stacey Rittel-
-2008-
The Awakening
Staring at the ceiling through my eyelids
Imagining a better place than this,
Pretending not to feel you move inside me;
Wishing that my body did not exist.
For so long now I have been sleeping,
Moving through my life while in a dream
But I’m awake now and I’ve been thinking,
There has to be more to life than this.
Maybe I’d be better off still sleeping,
Living in my “dream within a dream”
Then, my love, you’d be worth keeping
My ignorance would be your bliss.
But I’m awake now, and I’ve been thinking
That life will be easier without you.
I’ve got to quiet down the screaming,
Can’t be scared to open my eyes to see you.
I am sorry you don’t understand me,
My pain always was your greatest joy.
Without you, my heart is healing quickly,
The old scars healing anew.
Because once awake I felt my mind scream
In horror at falling so far;
And once awake I could hear my heart cry,
Emptied of love through reopened scars.
And now that I’m awake I’m leaving,
Perhaps then you will wake up too.
I won’t be sorry when your heart sighs,
You know you let me down too.
-S.E. Rittel-
-2008-
Imagining a better place than this,
Pretending not to feel you move inside me;
Wishing that my body did not exist.
For so long now I have been sleeping,
Moving through my life while in a dream
But I’m awake now and I’ve been thinking,
There has to be more to life than this.
Maybe I’d be better off still sleeping,
Living in my “dream within a dream”
Then, my love, you’d be worth keeping
My ignorance would be your bliss.
But I’m awake now, and I’ve been thinking
That life will be easier without you.
I’ve got to quiet down the screaming,
Can’t be scared to open my eyes to see you.
I am sorry you don’t understand me,
My pain always was your greatest joy.
Without you, my heart is healing quickly,
The old scars healing anew.
Because once awake I felt my mind scream
In horror at falling so far;
And once awake I could hear my heart cry,
Emptied of love through reopened scars.
And now that I’m awake I’m leaving,
Perhaps then you will wake up too.
I won’t be sorry when your heart sighs,
You know you let me down too.
-S.E. Rittel-
-2008-
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
The Day I Died
The sun played tag with the shadows in the copse. He shone in it, golden hair and golden skin lying in the soft grass. Eyes I knew were hazel were hidden behind closed eyelids. Long, unnaturally dark lashes swept down over his perfectly sculpted cheekbones. Full lips lay parted slightly and the softest of snores purred from his mouth. His long legs twitched while he dreamed. I stared down at his naked body and decided that I loved him. Thinking that, I slid a knife into his chest and held on till he stopped thrashing. I cleaned the knife on his discarded shirt and left the grove as quietly as I’d come.
It was harder this time. I always did the job, but each time was the worst and I knew my time was coming. Every shadow was an unseen hand with a knife at my back, every sound a competitor. But today not even a car interrupted my solitude. My paranoia, always finely honed to keep me alive, was one day going to make me insane, if somebody didn’t kill me first. I slid onto the scooter I had left just off the road in the woods and started back to my hotel. Voices in my head warred. Logic dictated that I was just tired, worn out from job on top of job. Fear screamed that I was already dead, and simply waiting for the blow. My nerves hummed and my pulse pounded as I pulled up to the hotel I’d chosen to stay at; a sunny, waterfront resort with a view of the ocean from my room. I remembered because the perky, blonde with the big tits at the front desk had mentioned it three times as I’d checked in.
I still hadn’t seen the ocean, even through a week of stalking my prey. I’d only seen him. Bathing in his villa; the attention to the details of his designer clothes; dancing with a pretty dark-haired girl he met out drinking; screwing her in the alley behind the nightclub. The sight, scent, taste of him filled me like a passionate lover. Now he was gone, leaving a void in my stomach that the next job would fill. It was always like this. It had to be.
I swiped my key and entered the room, glancing at the table where the next envelope would be waiting. No job, just flowers, a bouquet of chrysanthemums and daisies. Any other time I would have liked them. Today they were the harbingers of bad luck.
I walked over to the bed, just in case. There was just a coverlet that had not yet been turned down. I turned on my phone, checked for messages. Nothing. No one had missed me over the last week while I had been incommunicado. No one ever missed me. I’d never missed anyone. Not a target, not the family I didn’t have, not a single friend made or lost. Mostly, I was good with that. But now, as the panic began to return, I thought about the average life span of a professional killer. I’d outlived anyone I’d ever known. Outlived all the greatest, the most renown…no surprise really, being known was never top of the “ways to survive” list. I was old for my field, but still fast, strong, crafty.
Then again, somewhere along the way, 30 had melted into 40 and I’d forgotten to keep track of the years anymore. Maybe that was part of the problem. I’d stopped paying attention. It was always the job, always the target. I couldn’t remember the last time I had gotten laid. Couldn’t think of the last meal I’d tasted, or the last shot of booze that had burned its way to my gut. There was nothing. More than that, there was the realization that I had nothing to remember. I lived for death. I’d caused it more times than I would ever be able to count and it had filled me. But it didn’t fill me for long, and lately, I was ready for the next hit before I was done with the last.
I sat on the couch and stared at the malevolent display of flowers mocking me from the coffee table. They were dead too, smiling and happy and bright. They were dead and didn’t even know it. I jumped up from the settee and paced the room, always keeping those damned flowers in my line of sight. What did they mean staring back at me? I racked my brain trying to think of anyone I knew who had use a floral calling card, but no self-respecting pro left calling cards anymore. No self-respecting, cold-blooded killer broke into a sweat at an arrangement of mums either. I hefted the vase in one hand and checked it for devices. Nothing. Just to be sure, I heaved the bouquet, crystal vase and all, out the door to the rocks below the deck.
Outside, the air smelled like salt and kelp. I leaned out the door and looked around. Rocks, ocean, driftwood, no sign of any human interference. I sniffed again. I could swear I smelled gunpowder and sulfur. That would be the end for me. A quick flash from the business end of a gun and it would be sulfur for eternity. That’s what my old man told me and I’m sure he was right. Not much reason for me to die.
No more jobs. What does an old dog like me do without a job? There is no happy retirement for an old junkie like me. We don’t lie down and catch rays, drinking martinis and eating the early bird special at some family diner. What difference does it make to keep on when life has long-since passed you by? I dialed a number memorized long ago. Two rings and it switches to voice mail. I leave a message to call back and hang up. My shirt’s damp from sweat and I stink of it. Never been scared before, not like this. I pull the t-shirt over my head and strip down. Everything will be okay, just need to wash the stink of fear off me. It’s like a disease, fear, and if you let it get in your skin it worms its way straight to your heart.
I rinse off under ice cold water. Try to shake this feeling of doom, but I can’t quite make my neck air lay flat. I wrap a towel around my waist and look in the mirror. I see a familiar expression staring back at me. I’ve seen it countless times before the kill, my target beginning to sense that something is wrong, something bad is coming. They are always right. Self-fulfilling prophecy in that look. Never thought I’d see it on my face.
Finally, I hear it. That sound that gives us all away, no matter how quiet we try to be. The click of a hammer outside the bathroom door. I listen for more, watch under the door for movement. Nothing, just the sound of my own shallow breathing as I wait. Don’t feel much like waiting anymore. I reach for the gun I hid under the cabinet. There’s a scrape along the wall outside the door, soft, barely caught it.
I throw the door open and take in the whole room in a glance as I drop to my knees and slide back and against the wall, leaving my towel behind. No one is in the room. I check the closets, all my safeguards. They’re still just as I left them. Finally, I make my way to the oceanside deck. No signs of life but the birds fishing just offshore. The voices start chattering again as I try to keep calm. Where is he? What am I doing naked out on the deck? The sweat starts again, beading down my back and legs. No one’s here.
Voices getting louder in my head, can’t think straight. Can’t teach an old dog; just biding time; need a fix. Ain’t no way I’m gonna let some upstart do me, make me a rung on his corporate ladder. Never was much room for a girl like me. Maybe it’s for the best. The old man always said females were too high strung for it. Maybe he was right. Nothing left for a woman who was never a girl anyway. No June Cleaver bull for me. I get to go my way, just like I lived, and they can all damn themselves. No one takes me out. Gun is loaded, might as well use it one last time.
Hurts more than I thought. I hear ‘em knocking, can’t see a damned thing and my legs are gone already. Hear him whisper in the phone. Trouble. Man down. The voices go quiet and I hear him as the trembling stops and breathing gets hard. Shit. Everybody has a time to go. Wish I had taken one last hit.
It was harder this time. I always did the job, but each time was the worst and I knew my time was coming. Every shadow was an unseen hand with a knife at my back, every sound a competitor. But today not even a car interrupted my solitude. My paranoia, always finely honed to keep me alive, was one day going to make me insane, if somebody didn’t kill me first. I slid onto the scooter I had left just off the road in the woods and started back to my hotel. Voices in my head warred. Logic dictated that I was just tired, worn out from job on top of job. Fear screamed that I was already dead, and simply waiting for the blow. My nerves hummed and my pulse pounded as I pulled up to the hotel I’d chosen to stay at; a sunny, waterfront resort with a view of the ocean from my room. I remembered because the perky, blonde with the big tits at the front desk had mentioned it three times as I’d checked in.
I still hadn’t seen the ocean, even through a week of stalking my prey. I’d only seen him. Bathing in his villa; the attention to the details of his designer clothes; dancing with a pretty dark-haired girl he met out drinking; screwing her in the alley behind the nightclub. The sight, scent, taste of him filled me like a passionate lover. Now he was gone, leaving a void in my stomach that the next job would fill. It was always like this. It had to be.
I swiped my key and entered the room, glancing at the table where the next envelope would be waiting. No job, just flowers, a bouquet of chrysanthemums and daisies. Any other time I would have liked them. Today they were the harbingers of bad luck.
I walked over to the bed, just in case. There was just a coverlet that had not yet been turned down. I turned on my phone, checked for messages. Nothing. No one had missed me over the last week while I had been incommunicado. No one ever missed me. I’d never missed anyone. Not a target, not the family I didn’t have, not a single friend made or lost. Mostly, I was good with that. But now, as the panic began to return, I thought about the average life span of a professional killer. I’d outlived anyone I’d ever known. Outlived all the greatest, the most renown…no surprise really, being known was never top of the “ways to survive” list. I was old for my field, but still fast, strong, crafty.
Then again, somewhere along the way, 30 had melted into 40 and I’d forgotten to keep track of the years anymore. Maybe that was part of the problem. I’d stopped paying attention. It was always the job, always the target. I couldn’t remember the last time I had gotten laid. Couldn’t think of the last meal I’d tasted, or the last shot of booze that had burned its way to my gut. There was nothing. More than that, there was the realization that I had nothing to remember. I lived for death. I’d caused it more times than I would ever be able to count and it had filled me. But it didn’t fill me for long, and lately, I was ready for the next hit before I was done with the last.
I sat on the couch and stared at the malevolent display of flowers mocking me from the coffee table. They were dead too, smiling and happy and bright. They were dead and didn’t even know it. I jumped up from the settee and paced the room, always keeping those damned flowers in my line of sight. What did they mean staring back at me? I racked my brain trying to think of anyone I knew who had use a floral calling card, but no self-respecting pro left calling cards anymore. No self-respecting, cold-blooded killer broke into a sweat at an arrangement of mums either. I hefted the vase in one hand and checked it for devices. Nothing. Just to be sure, I heaved the bouquet, crystal vase and all, out the door to the rocks below the deck.
Outside, the air smelled like salt and kelp. I leaned out the door and looked around. Rocks, ocean, driftwood, no sign of any human interference. I sniffed again. I could swear I smelled gunpowder and sulfur. That would be the end for me. A quick flash from the business end of a gun and it would be sulfur for eternity. That’s what my old man told me and I’m sure he was right. Not much reason for me to die.
No more jobs. What does an old dog like me do without a job? There is no happy retirement for an old junkie like me. We don’t lie down and catch rays, drinking martinis and eating the early bird special at some family diner. What difference does it make to keep on when life has long-since passed you by? I dialed a number memorized long ago. Two rings and it switches to voice mail. I leave a message to call back and hang up. My shirt’s damp from sweat and I stink of it. Never been scared before, not like this. I pull the t-shirt over my head and strip down. Everything will be okay, just need to wash the stink of fear off me. It’s like a disease, fear, and if you let it get in your skin it worms its way straight to your heart.
I rinse off under ice cold water. Try to shake this feeling of doom, but I can’t quite make my neck air lay flat. I wrap a towel around my waist and look in the mirror. I see a familiar expression staring back at me. I’ve seen it countless times before the kill, my target beginning to sense that something is wrong, something bad is coming. They are always right. Self-fulfilling prophecy in that look. Never thought I’d see it on my face.
Finally, I hear it. That sound that gives us all away, no matter how quiet we try to be. The click of a hammer outside the bathroom door. I listen for more, watch under the door for movement. Nothing, just the sound of my own shallow breathing as I wait. Don’t feel much like waiting anymore. I reach for the gun I hid under the cabinet. There’s a scrape along the wall outside the door, soft, barely caught it.
I throw the door open and take in the whole room in a glance as I drop to my knees and slide back and against the wall, leaving my towel behind. No one is in the room. I check the closets, all my safeguards. They’re still just as I left them. Finally, I make my way to the oceanside deck. No signs of life but the birds fishing just offshore. The voices start chattering again as I try to keep calm. Where is he? What am I doing naked out on the deck? The sweat starts again, beading down my back and legs. No one’s here.
Voices getting louder in my head, can’t think straight. Can’t teach an old dog; just biding time; need a fix. Ain’t no way I’m gonna let some upstart do me, make me a rung on his corporate ladder. Never was much room for a girl like me. Maybe it’s for the best. The old man always said females were too high strung for it. Maybe he was right. Nothing left for a woman who was never a girl anyway. No June Cleaver bull for me. I get to go my way, just like I lived, and they can all damn themselves. No one takes me out. Gun is loaded, might as well use it one last time.
Hurts more than I thought. I hear ‘em knocking, can’t see a damned thing and my legs are gone already. Hear him whisper in the phone. Trouble. Man down. The voices go quiet and I hear him as the trembling stops and breathing gets hard. Shit. Everybody has a time to go. Wish I had taken one last hit.
Cheater
Grunting, Max hiked his pants up over his thighs and slid the belt to, cinching in the slight belly he had developed over the past few years. Happy fat his wife had called it, a sign that he was content with married life.
He stood over the bed and watched the sleeping form tangled in the sheets, her breathing slow and even. Leaning over, he stroked her hair and tugged the coverlet over her pale shoulder, so soft and white it barely contrasted with the hospital white of the bed sheets, especially in the dim light the moon cast across the bed. He made his way to the bathroom, stumbling once over some dark heap on the floor, likely his own suitcase. Muttering curses under his breath he turned the faucet on, washed his face without waiting for the water to get warm, and combed his hair, artfully hiding thinning spots where his hairline was beginning to recede. Once fairly satisfied with his efforts, he groped around the room gathering his things as best he could in the shadow obscured hotel room, and walked out, gently closing the door behind him.
Max hit the call button for the elevator and considered for a moment taking the stairs. Maybe he could work off a little of the pudge he had put on, he used to be quite fit after all. Before he could decide the elevator dinged its arrival and he hefted his satchel to his right shoulder, gripping the roll on with his left hand and stepping into the yawning opening of the car, the slow and sleepy movement reminding him of the lateness of the hour. Glancing at his watch, he leaned against the back wall and closed his eyes, waiting for the elevator to jerk to a stop on the first floor. The metal jaws of the lift gaped once more and the lobby received its late night visitor with barely a nod, the only other inhabitants being a night watchman who looked up only briefly from his mystery novel, and a janitor, polishing the marble entryway with an impossibly quiet behemoth of a machine. Max slipped out through the revolving door and hailed a cab, marveling at the contrast between the sleepy hotel and the busy street.
“Airport.” Max looked at his watch again. After going through security, he would still have hours to just sit, even if they switched him to the first flight out. The truth was Max just couldn’t stay. It was a bad idea to go back to the room with Rhonda, but after six months of flirting at work, and who knows how many drinks with dinner, he simply forgot to care. Rhonda, with long legs and short skirts, who paid attention to Max, though he was ten years her senior. He had fantasized about tonight countless times, but he never thought it would come to fruition. Just the memory gave him a physical jolt. She had been all too eager to undress for him, and he had lost any remaining reticence after the whiskey hit. Suddenly his stomach spasmed, as the full impact of what he had done began to wash over him. Could he lie to Jeanie? He sure couldn’t tell her the truth. She would leave him, taking the kids and half his hard earned assets. Pushing the thought down into the pit of his wrenched gut, he looked out the window at the passing street lights until he could feel the sweat cooling on his skin, and the pain and fear subsiding within him. It was over now anyway, and he was going home.
Jeanie Patterson sat at the pretty, tile top table in the gleaming breakfast nook of the designer kitchen, in her lovely, perfectly manicured house in the suburbs. In the living room, the grandfather clock chimed the one o’clock hour. Jean sat, staring down blindly at the grainy photographs and letter she had pulled out of the fax machine just after nine o’clock that morning. The letter had served as a cover sheet for the fax, and read
Jean,
You think you know your husband. You don’t. But I bet you both will pay to keep this from reaching the officers’ desks.
The letter was unsigned; bore the heading of Markettech, the company Max had been with for the past twenty years. Hesitantly Jean turned the page over and set it on the table hands shaking with anxiety. Pages two and three the fax contained needed no titles or text. Each photo, though grey toned and coarse, spoke volumes. The pictures she could not bring herself to see pieced together a story of sex and unfaithfulness. The clock bonged out its mellow chime for the two o’clock hour, and after looking down again at the pictures of her husband’s grainy and undeniably nude body she carefully stood, and retrieving a file folder from her small white filing cabinet, labeled it menopause information. She slipped the fax into the folder and filed it in alphabetical order, and turned away from the cabinet to get steaks out of the freezer to defrost for dinner.
It had been many weeks since Max had been home from his business trip gone awry. He had settled into daily grind and all but forgotten his affair. At the office, his dealings with Rhonda were brief and uneventful. At home, his wife was oblivious and consumed with her latest charity project. Glad that he had avoided any fallout from his indiscretion, he climbed into his Jetta and started his commute home, pleased with his recent acquisitions and with life in general. Once he was on the freeway and packed tightly into the rush hour pack, he speed dialed home.
“Jean, need anything for dinner?” As well as being pleased with his newfound energy at work, he had been making more effort at home, calling in when he was going to be late, offering to help out around the house, and generally taking more interest in all things domestic. “Well, I’ll stop at the store then, and pick up some wine.” He slid the cell phone back in its holster and cranked up the tunes. Jean must be happy…prime rib and garlic mashed potatoes. His favorite.
Jean carefully set the table and lit a pair of tall beeswax candles she had made in a craft class. She chopped vegetables, tore salad and made the place settings as pretty as she ever had…set for two. She heard the door from the garage open and shut, and looked up to see her husband beaming in the doorway.
“Good Lord Jean, what did I do right?” He handed her the bottle of pinot noir and shrugged off his suit coat. “I’ll be right back, got to get more comfortable. He walked away pulling off his tie and kicking his shoes into the corner by the door on his way past. Jean stood still and listened to the sound of him from the back of the house. Then with a sigh, she pulled the cork from the expensive bottle of wine and checking one more time for her husband’s whereabouts slipped an oh so slightly rancid smelling white powder from the utensil drawer and poured as much as she dared into the bottle. She wiped the lip and gently swirled the bottle till the powder disappeared and placed the bottle and two glasses on the table next to the fragrant, steaming prime rib dinner.
Max finally came back into the kitchen, smelling of a fresh dose of cologne. He had taken extra time to shave, and was wearing the sweater his wife had given him for Christmas.
“What’s the sad face for hon?” He asked as he sat and poured the wine, sitting and spearing a slice of the succulent meat to his plate. Jean merely smiled sadly and walked to the filing cabinet in the corner, searching for something in one of the drawers. He tossed back the glass of wine and poured another, waiting to eat till she sat. She found the file she was looking for and sat down with it in her lap.
Max cleared his throat and took a swig from his glass. His face had gone quite red and beads of sweat dampened his forehead. He blinked and shook his head, tried clearing his throat. He tried, but could not speak. As he stared at his wife, trying to comprehend, she smiled. She pushed the plate back from his seat and replaced it with the open file. He looked at the pictures in horror, fully understanding what was happening to him now. Jean looked into his bulging eyes, face red, blue tinged lips parting and closing as he worked desperately to breathe.
“I know you, after all.” Jean said as stood up from the table. His eyes rolled wildly as she stood, picked her coat up from the chair at the end of the table, and left, never looking back.
He stood over the bed and watched the sleeping form tangled in the sheets, her breathing slow and even. Leaning over, he stroked her hair and tugged the coverlet over her pale shoulder, so soft and white it barely contrasted with the hospital white of the bed sheets, especially in the dim light the moon cast across the bed. He made his way to the bathroom, stumbling once over some dark heap on the floor, likely his own suitcase. Muttering curses under his breath he turned the faucet on, washed his face without waiting for the water to get warm, and combed his hair, artfully hiding thinning spots where his hairline was beginning to recede. Once fairly satisfied with his efforts, he groped around the room gathering his things as best he could in the shadow obscured hotel room, and walked out, gently closing the door behind him.
Max hit the call button for the elevator and considered for a moment taking the stairs. Maybe he could work off a little of the pudge he had put on, he used to be quite fit after all. Before he could decide the elevator dinged its arrival and he hefted his satchel to his right shoulder, gripping the roll on with his left hand and stepping into the yawning opening of the car, the slow and sleepy movement reminding him of the lateness of the hour. Glancing at his watch, he leaned against the back wall and closed his eyes, waiting for the elevator to jerk to a stop on the first floor. The metal jaws of the lift gaped once more and the lobby received its late night visitor with barely a nod, the only other inhabitants being a night watchman who looked up only briefly from his mystery novel, and a janitor, polishing the marble entryway with an impossibly quiet behemoth of a machine. Max slipped out through the revolving door and hailed a cab, marveling at the contrast between the sleepy hotel and the busy street.
“Airport.” Max looked at his watch again. After going through security, he would still have hours to just sit, even if they switched him to the first flight out. The truth was Max just couldn’t stay. It was a bad idea to go back to the room with Rhonda, but after six months of flirting at work, and who knows how many drinks with dinner, he simply forgot to care. Rhonda, with long legs and short skirts, who paid attention to Max, though he was ten years her senior. He had fantasized about tonight countless times, but he never thought it would come to fruition. Just the memory gave him a physical jolt. She had been all too eager to undress for him, and he had lost any remaining reticence after the whiskey hit. Suddenly his stomach spasmed, as the full impact of what he had done began to wash over him. Could he lie to Jeanie? He sure couldn’t tell her the truth. She would leave him, taking the kids and half his hard earned assets. Pushing the thought down into the pit of his wrenched gut, he looked out the window at the passing street lights until he could feel the sweat cooling on his skin, and the pain and fear subsiding within him. It was over now anyway, and he was going home.
Jeanie Patterson sat at the pretty, tile top table in the gleaming breakfast nook of the designer kitchen, in her lovely, perfectly manicured house in the suburbs. In the living room, the grandfather clock chimed the one o’clock hour. Jean sat, staring down blindly at the grainy photographs and letter she had pulled out of the fax machine just after nine o’clock that morning. The letter had served as a cover sheet for the fax, and read
Jean,
You think you know your husband. You don’t. But I bet you both will pay to keep this from reaching the officers’ desks.
The letter was unsigned; bore the heading of Markettech, the company Max had been with for the past twenty years. Hesitantly Jean turned the page over and set it on the table hands shaking with anxiety. Pages two and three the fax contained needed no titles or text. Each photo, though grey toned and coarse, spoke volumes. The pictures she could not bring herself to see pieced together a story of sex and unfaithfulness. The clock bonged out its mellow chime for the two o’clock hour, and after looking down again at the pictures of her husband’s grainy and undeniably nude body she carefully stood, and retrieving a file folder from her small white filing cabinet, labeled it menopause information. She slipped the fax into the folder and filed it in alphabetical order, and turned away from the cabinet to get steaks out of the freezer to defrost for dinner.
It had been many weeks since Max had been home from his business trip gone awry. He had settled into daily grind and all but forgotten his affair. At the office, his dealings with Rhonda were brief and uneventful. At home, his wife was oblivious and consumed with her latest charity project. Glad that he had avoided any fallout from his indiscretion, he climbed into his Jetta and started his commute home, pleased with his recent acquisitions and with life in general. Once he was on the freeway and packed tightly into the rush hour pack, he speed dialed home.
“Jean, need anything for dinner?” As well as being pleased with his newfound energy at work, he had been making more effort at home, calling in when he was going to be late, offering to help out around the house, and generally taking more interest in all things domestic. “Well, I’ll stop at the store then, and pick up some wine.” He slid the cell phone back in its holster and cranked up the tunes. Jean must be happy…prime rib and garlic mashed potatoes. His favorite.
Jean carefully set the table and lit a pair of tall beeswax candles she had made in a craft class. She chopped vegetables, tore salad and made the place settings as pretty as she ever had…set for two. She heard the door from the garage open and shut, and looked up to see her husband beaming in the doorway.
“Good Lord Jean, what did I do right?” He handed her the bottle of pinot noir and shrugged off his suit coat. “I’ll be right back, got to get more comfortable. He walked away pulling off his tie and kicking his shoes into the corner by the door on his way past. Jean stood still and listened to the sound of him from the back of the house. Then with a sigh, she pulled the cork from the expensive bottle of wine and checking one more time for her husband’s whereabouts slipped an oh so slightly rancid smelling white powder from the utensil drawer and poured as much as she dared into the bottle. She wiped the lip and gently swirled the bottle till the powder disappeared and placed the bottle and two glasses on the table next to the fragrant, steaming prime rib dinner.
Max finally came back into the kitchen, smelling of a fresh dose of cologne. He had taken extra time to shave, and was wearing the sweater his wife had given him for Christmas.
“What’s the sad face for hon?” He asked as he sat and poured the wine, sitting and spearing a slice of the succulent meat to his plate. Jean merely smiled sadly and walked to the filing cabinet in the corner, searching for something in one of the drawers. He tossed back the glass of wine and poured another, waiting to eat till she sat. She found the file she was looking for and sat down with it in her lap.
Max cleared his throat and took a swig from his glass. His face had gone quite red and beads of sweat dampened his forehead. He blinked and shook his head, tried clearing his throat. He tried, but could not speak. As he stared at his wife, trying to comprehend, she smiled. She pushed the plate back from his seat and replaced it with the open file. He looked at the pictures in horror, fully understanding what was happening to him now. Jean looked into his bulging eyes, face red, blue tinged lips parting and closing as he worked desperately to breathe.
“I know you, after all.” Jean said as stood up from the table. His eyes rolled wildly as she stood, picked her coat up from the chair at the end of the table, and left, never looking back.
The Practical Princess
Once there was a princess. She was graceful and lovely and sweet and all the beautiful things a princess should be. But the princess was sad. Animals and children followed her when she sang, peasants came to her for help and advice, and princes came from all the corners of the world to petition for her love. But the princess was still very, very sad. One day while speaking to her reflection in the mirror (something she did quite often, as she seldom found good advice elsewhere) she asked the pretty reflection girl,
"What will make me happy?"
The girl in the mirror looked back at her with a serious face.
"I try very hard to be whatever a princess should be. Why am I so sad?"
The mirror stared back at her without answering, which really did not surprise the princess, but still vexed her all the same. After an eternity (that lasted about 30 seconds) the princess had an idea. It was a very scary, exciting idea. The beautiful princess picked up a pair of scissors and began to cut the long locks of hair around her face. When she had cut it so short the shears could not cut any more, she moved back on her head till all her lovely hair was gone. Then she picked up a razor and removed the uneven remnants.
When she finally looked back into the mirror, she was surprised at what she saw. Staring back at her was a beautiful princess.
"Hmmm, not what I was expecting." She thought it would make her sad that she was not really any different, but instead, she felt something heavy in her heart grow light. For the first time in ages her reflection smiled at her. Satisfied that she had done a good thing, she went about her daily toiletries and headed out into the countryside to lend her assistance to her people as she did everyday.
First, she encountered a woman who often needed her help with her daily chores.
"Oh My Goodness! What happened to you?" The woman gasped in shock.
"I cut it off." The princess replied.
"Why?" The woman pressed.
"I needed to feel like just me, not a princess for a while. Do you like it?" The princess smiled at her.
"Well, no" The woman said, with a startled look on her face. "You don't look like a princess anymore. What will you do?"
"Well, I can still help you with your chores; just think of me as a friend instead of your princess." The princess felt that light happy feeling in her heart and smiled.
"Oh, I don't think so." The woman replied, a little angry. "I can't be seen with you like this, people might whisper." And she turned away, leaving the princess and hurrying off before someone saw them together. The princess felt the happy feeling fade, but continued on, she still had many people to help before her day was over.
Next, she came across a man who often needed her to help him take care of his animals.
"Good morning sir, may I help you clean out your stalls and brush your beautiful horses today?" She smiled brightly, as she was always glad of the man's company, for he was a gentle person who loved his animals as his own children.
"Eh? Who is that?" The man came closer to better see her. "What happened to you?" He exclaimed, backing up a bit. "You're not sick are you? You had better go home, I don't need your help." The man walked briskly away without waiting for the princess to reply.
She was feeling very sad now, and decided it was best to just go home and hide until she was presentable again. When she reached her palace, a handsome prince was waiting for her at the front gate.
"Princess?" He asked, sounding bewildered. "What happened to you?" I rode across three countries to marry the most beautiful princess in all the land, but you are not what I was expecting at all." He looked at her sternly. "I wish you had not wasted my time, perhaps the princess two countries over is still needing a husband. It would be closer to my own home anyway. He climbed up on his horse and rode off without letting the very discouraged princess say a single word in her defense.
The princess began to cry, and being a very proper princess under normal circumstances, went to hide in her room until she was done. As she sat in her bedroom not looking in the mirror, there was a knock at her door. She pretended not to hear it. The knock sounded again, this time quite firm and insistent.
"Who, who is it?" The princess asked, trying to sound like a proper princess should and not show that she was crying quite hard a moment before.
"Only me." Said the voice through the door. It was the son of the woman who had sent her away that very morning. She opened the door and let the child into her sitting room.
"Wow." The boy said, looking up at her. "Why did you cut your hair?"
"It made me happy." She answered, still trying to muffle her sniffles.
"Then why are you crying?" The little boy asked.
"No one likes me anymore." The princess began to cry softly. "They say I don't look like a princess anymore. They think I am ugly." The princess wept as the boy tilted his head to one side and thought for a moment.
"But you like it, right?" He asked after a moment of contemplation.
"I, I don't know." She replied. "I really thought i looked nice, and not at all special, just like everyone else. I thought people would see me as a friend, instead of a princess. But they don't want a real friend. They just wanted to say the princess was their friend, and I embarrassed them." She finally met her own eyes in, the mirror.
"You still look like a princess to me." The boy said, putting his little skinny arms around her neck. "And besides," he added, "sometimes you have to weed your garden." She looked down into his shining brown eyes. "Friends like that are like weeds, aren't they? They just crop up and steal the sunshine." The princess began to cry again, and laugh at the same time.
"Yes, yes they are." She looked down into his face. "So," she asked, "do you like my haircut?" Shed glanced up to see her mirror girl grinning back at her, blotchy-faced and beautiful.
"As a matter-of-fact,” he replied, "You are the most beautiful princess I have ever seen. He smiled as she sat on her stool and pulled him into her lap. "I was thinking..." He paused and she lifted an eyebrow at him. "Could you cut my hair please?" He snuggled in closer and rested his head on her shoulder, and they looked into the magic mirror together. "I think I need a change, don't you?"
The princess got out her clippers and shears and the boy watched his little boy in the mirror with glee as lock after lock of hair fell to the floor. When she was done, they sat together and stared at their reflections for an eternity (of about 10 seconds, won't try to kid you that he had an attention span worth mentioning).
"Wow kid, you look GOOD." The princess smiled at his reflection and watched as his eyes brightened, as though he had a light, happy feeling in his heart.
"I know." The boy in the mirror smiled back at her. They stayed in her room all that day, playing games, eating a picnic on the floor, and generally just enjoying the happy feeling they had. When the day was done, the princess took the boy home in her royal carriage, and all the people in town saw them climb out and walk to his front door.
"All the people know now that the princess is your friend." She told him before leaving him. "Does it make you happy?" He looked at the staring townsfolk and shrugged.
"I guess so." He answered looking bemused. "I kinda forgot you were the princess, I was having so much fun." He hugged her goodbye and went into the house. Before the door had shut all the way, the princess heard a woman's gasp and a little boy's giggle and smiled to herself, letting her heart fill up with the light, happy feeling they had shared all day. As she prepared for bed, she looked into her mirror one more time.
"Was it a good day overall?" She asked her reflection thoughtfully. As usual, she received no answer, only a smile and a wink that spoke volumes to her.
Yes, it had been a good day indeed.
"What will make me happy?"
The girl in the mirror looked back at her with a serious face.
"I try very hard to be whatever a princess should be. Why am I so sad?"
The mirror stared back at her without answering, which really did not surprise the princess, but still vexed her all the same. After an eternity (that lasted about 30 seconds) the princess had an idea. It was a very scary, exciting idea. The beautiful princess picked up a pair of scissors and began to cut the long locks of hair around her face. When she had cut it so short the shears could not cut any more, she moved back on her head till all her lovely hair was gone. Then she picked up a razor and removed the uneven remnants.
When she finally looked back into the mirror, she was surprised at what she saw. Staring back at her was a beautiful princess.
"Hmmm, not what I was expecting." She thought it would make her sad that she was not really any different, but instead, she felt something heavy in her heart grow light. For the first time in ages her reflection smiled at her. Satisfied that she had done a good thing, she went about her daily toiletries and headed out into the countryside to lend her assistance to her people as she did everyday.
First, she encountered a woman who often needed her help with her daily chores.
"Oh My Goodness! What happened to you?" The woman gasped in shock.
"I cut it off." The princess replied.
"Why?" The woman pressed.
"I needed to feel like just me, not a princess for a while. Do you like it?" The princess smiled at her.
"Well, no" The woman said, with a startled look on her face. "You don't look like a princess anymore. What will you do?"
"Well, I can still help you with your chores; just think of me as a friend instead of your princess." The princess felt that light happy feeling in her heart and smiled.
"Oh, I don't think so." The woman replied, a little angry. "I can't be seen with you like this, people might whisper." And she turned away, leaving the princess and hurrying off before someone saw them together. The princess felt the happy feeling fade, but continued on, she still had many people to help before her day was over.
Next, she came across a man who often needed her to help him take care of his animals.
"Good morning sir, may I help you clean out your stalls and brush your beautiful horses today?" She smiled brightly, as she was always glad of the man's company, for he was a gentle person who loved his animals as his own children.
"Eh? Who is that?" The man came closer to better see her. "What happened to you?" He exclaimed, backing up a bit. "You're not sick are you? You had better go home, I don't need your help." The man walked briskly away without waiting for the princess to reply.
She was feeling very sad now, and decided it was best to just go home and hide until she was presentable again. When she reached her palace, a handsome prince was waiting for her at the front gate.
"Princess?" He asked, sounding bewildered. "What happened to you?" I rode across three countries to marry the most beautiful princess in all the land, but you are not what I was expecting at all." He looked at her sternly. "I wish you had not wasted my time, perhaps the princess two countries over is still needing a husband. It would be closer to my own home anyway. He climbed up on his horse and rode off without letting the very discouraged princess say a single word in her defense.
The princess began to cry, and being a very proper princess under normal circumstances, went to hide in her room until she was done. As she sat in her bedroom not looking in the mirror, there was a knock at her door. She pretended not to hear it. The knock sounded again, this time quite firm and insistent.
"Who, who is it?" The princess asked, trying to sound like a proper princess should and not show that she was crying quite hard a moment before.
"Only me." Said the voice through the door. It was the son of the woman who had sent her away that very morning. She opened the door and let the child into her sitting room.
"Wow." The boy said, looking up at her. "Why did you cut your hair?"
"It made me happy." She answered, still trying to muffle her sniffles.
"Then why are you crying?" The little boy asked.
"No one likes me anymore." The princess began to cry softly. "They say I don't look like a princess anymore. They think I am ugly." The princess wept as the boy tilted his head to one side and thought for a moment.
"But you like it, right?" He asked after a moment of contemplation.
"I, I don't know." She replied. "I really thought i looked nice, and not at all special, just like everyone else. I thought people would see me as a friend, instead of a princess. But they don't want a real friend. They just wanted to say the princess was their friend, and I embarrassed them." She finally met her own eyes in, the mirror.
"You still look like a princess to me." The boy said, putting his little skinny arms around her neck. "And besides," he added, "sometimes you have to weed your garden." She looked down into his shining brown eyes. "Friends like that are like weeds, aren't they? They just crop up and steal the sunshine." The princess began to cry again, and laugh at the same time.
"Yes, yes they are." She looked down into his face. "So," she asked, "do you like my haircut?" Shed glanced up to see her mirror girl grinning back at her, blotchy-faced and beautiful.
"As a matter-of-fact,” he replied, "You are the most beautiful princess I have ever seen. He smiled as she sat on her stool and pulled him into her lap. "I was thinking..." He paused and she lifted an eyebrow at him. "Could you cut my hair please?" He snuggled in closer and rested his head on her shoulder, and they looked into the magic mirror together. "I think I need a change, don't you?"
The princess got out her clippers and shears and the boy watched his little boy in the mirror with glee as lock after lock of hair fell to the floor. When she was done, they sat together and stared at their reflections for an eternity (of about 10 seconds, won't try to kid you that he had an attention span worth mentioning).
"Wow kid, you look GOOD." The princess smiled at his reflection and watched as his eyes brightened, as though he had a light, happy feeling in his heart.
"I know." The boy in the mirror smiled back at her. They stayed in her room all that day, playing games, eating a picnic on the floor, and generally just enjoying the happy feeling they had. When the day was done, the princess took the boy home in her royal carriage, and all the people in town saw them climb out and walk to his front door.
"All the people know now that the princess is your friend." She told him before leaving him. "Does it make you happy?" He looked at the staring townsfolk and shrugged.
"I guess so." He answered looking bemused. "I kinda forgot you were the princess, I was having so much fun." He hugged her goodbye and went into the house. Before the door had shut all the way, the princess heard a woman's gasp and a little boy's giggle and smiled to herself, letting her heart fill up with the light, happy feeling they had shared all day. As she prepared for bed, she looked into her mirror one more time.
"Was it a good day overall?" She asked her reflection thoughtfully. As usual, she received no answer, only a smile and a wink that spoke volumes to her.
Yes, it had been a good day indeed.
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