A Painful Past

A Painful Past

It wraps like a weighted chain

Hooks sunk deep in

Ties the soul to the ground

Eyes blind they cannot see

Dashes hope of the future

Does not allow moving on

Unable to forgive or forget

Keeps pain and remembering

Feeds fears

Links made of anger

Clasp made of doubt

Welded together with anguish

And what ifs

And regret

It will come apart

Can be broken

With time

And renewal

Hope and

Love

5/17/15

J.M.Blondin

Frozen

Frozen

My God it is so fucking cold! My mouth hurts from shivering, my teeth are chattering, I am shaking so hard I can hardly draw a deep breath, shivering is deep cored and spasmodic. I am crouched here with my arms wrapped around my legs trying to hold what little heat I have left. My knees are drawn up and my back is against what passes for a wall; nothing more than a thin boards, no insulation, nothing but the wood between me and the outside. These flimsy walls are all that stands between me and the storm, the storm that brought down my plane in these God forsaken mountains.

/////

               I have to be somewhat glad for the snow because without it I would never have been able to walk away from the crash. I was able to pull up into a shallow dive just before I hit. The plane skidding on the snow banks bouncing and sliding, spinning at times like the aluminum saucers we used to ride as kids.  After shearing off both wings I shot like a rocket down the mountain, careening off trees and rocks. Half way along the trip the tail parted like a shot when it smashed into a very large pine tree. There goes my emergency locator beacon I thought. I caught glimpse of the fireball of burning fuel during the spins. By the time I stopped I had already skidded several hundred feet from the fire, I was partly buried in the snow.

               I sat there, still strapped in my seat, and mentally went over my body. I can wiggle my toes, move my feet. I can move my legs without pain, hips ok; taking a slow deep breath I feel a couple twinges but otherwise I am pain free. Shoulders, arms and fingers, all good, turning my head left to right, up and down, again no pain. Is it possible that I just crash-landed in the woods, on the side of a mountain sliding like a run-a-way bobsledder and I am un-hurt? I wiped the melting snow from my face then looking at my hand to see if there was any blood. With a shuddering deep breath I can see there is nothing but water thank God. I did not realize that I was holding my breath; I empty my lungs with a big sigh.

               So here I am, whipsawed into this situation by something going wrong with my metal bird and by this damn storm. My Cessna TTX has all the fuel is in the wings and they were liberated from the body by a few well-placed trees otherwise I would be charcoal right now.

               I could not get my seat belt to release no matter how hard I fought with it so I worked into my pocket for my knife. I have often said to people when they ask if I had a knife, “if I have pants on I have a knife”.

               It took a few minutes but I finally cut myself free and managed to climb out through what was left of the windshield. As soon as I stuck my head out above the snow and the wreckage the wind hit me. It was not blowing hard but within the shelter of the shattered fuselage I had some protection and did not feel it.

 I am dressed for a business meeting not for trekking on the side of a mountain in the winter. Dress shoes with light socks, nicely pressed black pants, white shirt with a blue tie, and a medium weight coat. Right now I am a little wet. Standing here on the stub of the right wing I feel like I am nude, the cold is cutting like the knife I just used to free myself. All that is left of my plane is a tear shaped hunk of battered and torn aluminum; both wings and the tail are gone. There is a large pine tree branch sticking out of the side not far from where I was sitting, its needles moving in the wind.       

               Trying to get my bearings I slowly turn around. The storm is higher up the mountain than where I am so there is little snow falling, my field of vision is only limited to the distance between me and the surrounding trees, about 50 feet. Down is that way I am thinking as I look at my watch. I have about 4 hours before dark. I cannot stay here and it will be a long time before anyone finds what is left of my red and white beauty, my Cessna.

               The fire has burnt itself out. There is little smoke rising only to be whisked away. “That’s not going to be helpful” I say aloud. Where there is smoke there is fire and now there is neither, I am on my own. Reaching for my cell phone I am delighted to find that it has remained locked within its leather shell so I pull it out hoping for a signal.     

               “Oh this is sweet,” I yell at the phone’s busted screen. Something had hit the phone smashing it nearly in two. Whatever it was destroyed the phone instead of imbedding into me. It saved my ass but may have cost me as well; I am really on my own now. I put the remains of the phone back into the sheaf. Why did I do that I think as I turn toward the short end of the wing.

               Jumping off the stub I sink into the snow to my hips, snow packed tightly from groin to the bottoms of my feet. I can feel the snow pushed up under my pant legs. The cold is numbing. Looking back over my shoulder I can almost reach the wing stub. Slamming myself back and forth I wiggle enough to reach the broken metal of the stub, I use it to help pull myself out, pull my foot up, push it back down packing snow under it. I do this repeatedly all the while pulling myself up.

               It takes a while but I am back on the fuselage, wet and very cold. Looking back at my watch I now have a little over three hours of light left. The first step has wasted a lot of time and I am now right back where I started.

               I climb over what is left of the cockpit to the other wing stub; this one is a little longer and is on the uphill side. Once at the end I can see the snow is not nearly as deep. My first attempt was on the wrong side, the downhill side where the bank was deepest.

               Instead of jumping off like the first time I climb down gently to find that the snow here is only a few inches deep. Sinking a bit my feet find hard ground and with a bit of a struggle I am finally moving away from the wreckage.

               I am still shivering uncontrollably. At least that has not stopped; when it does I will be dead. Walking seems to help warm me a little. It will soon be dark and now the wind has picked up some more causing the temperature to drop even further.  I am not sure that I will survive the night but I am sure as hell going to try. After all I just managed to crash a plane and walked away. What could be so hard about walking down a mountain?

Removing my tie I wrap it around my neck, as many times as I can then tuck the end in, this little bit of cloth seems to help. I have turned up both my coat and shirt collars as well.

               For the next hour I work my way down the mountain. There are places that I have to begin climbing up again just to get past areas that the snow is too deep but for the most part it is a downward journey.  My feet, I can no longer feel my feet. My skin feels like a shell, like chocolate on an ice cream bar. My clothes are frozen and rubbing my skin raw where I have to bend, like at the knees. My hands have long since become more clubs than hands. I cannot grip tree branches to stop my slips and falls and blessedly I cannot feel the pain associated with contact with the rocks and the frozen ground. Each time I fall it is harder to push myself back up. I want to just stop and rest. I can no longer see my watch. It is too high on my wrist under the frozen sleeve. I have no idea how much time I have left before dark. The sky has darkened with snow clouds so I can no longer tell where the sun is.

I can hear the wind and an occasional bird but my ears are nothing but frozen wings on my head. I reach up to check them and my right ear breaks off in my hand. I stand there looking at it, cupped in my useless fingers. I am dumbfounded but I feel no pain. I stand there for a long time trying to decide what to do with my ear and finally I let it drop knowing that I cannot put it back nor can I put it in my pocket. I do not touch my other ear for fear of breaking it off too.

               I felt like my bladder was going to explode but I did not want to empty it. I knew that the heat I will lose is not replaceable. After a while I had no choice but found that my fingers would no longer function and the zipper was something that I could not concur. I did what I had to do, the warmth spreading down my legs warming me for a moment but then that was replaced by intense cold as the urine freezes in my pants and on my legs. My pubic hairs freezing in place then pulling as I tried to move. Just one more thing to hurt I am thinking. I would smile but I am unable to make the skin on my face move anywhere near that shape.

               After a while I was walking on flat ground. There was not a lot of snow here; the wind had swept it mostly clean. When I came out of the tree line I saw the shack.  At first I was not sure what it was I was seeing. I had to break the ice from my eyelids to clear my vision. To me it looked like a five start resort sitting there at the edge of the other tree line perhaps two hundred feet away. The area was flat but it still took me a while to get across what I can only assume is a frozen pond. Shuffling like an old man was the fastest I could move.

               The door was closed with a gate latch and I was able to open it with my forearm by pushing down on it. I forced my frozen right hand into the small opening and pulled. Getting my arm and then my shoulder in I squeezed in. I could not shut the door using my hands so I grabbed the inside handle with my mouth and pulled it closed leaving skin on the frozen metal. I swear I hear my jaw creak when I opened my mouth.

               Blood from my torn lip was freezing on my coat in little droplets as I made my way into the darken interior of the one room shack. There is a table sitting lopsided, one leg missing. Two broken chairs piled against one wall, a potbelly stove in the middle of the room with its door open, empty shelves over what looked like what had been a sink, and counter top at one time.

               The windows were intact and closed although thickly coated in snow or maybe ice. There was no wood for the fire, no food or water, no blankets or anything to help me ward off the cold. I could break up the furniture but without something to start a fire with, filling the stove with wood would do me no good, too bad I had quit smoking so many years ago. I could hear the sound of the wind outside but in here it was still and just as cold as it is out there. I could no longer see my breath as I moved about with my slow clumsy steps searching.

/////

               I am still huddled with my back to the wall, probably frozen to that wall by now. I cannot move nor can I straighten my legs. My feet and legs are no more that lumps that I can see but no longer feel. My shivering has diminished to slight tremors. I am going to die here; frozen solid until spring crouched looking towards a door that will not open with my rescue. No one knows that I am here no one will find me.  

/////

               I can see Kimberly standing by the car waving good-bye, her beautiful red hair blowing in the wind as I circle and taxi out. I dip my wing to her when I pass over heading to my meeting. Blowing her a kiss, a kiss that she cannot see, I say aloud, “I will be back tomorrow my love!”

/////

 Kimberly, how long will you wait how long will you greave for me? “I love you Kim!” I shout only to realize that I have made barely a sound. My frozen voice not loud enough even for these walls hear me. My tears freeze as they land on my cheeks. She will only know that I have gone missing, not where I am, no one will ever know where I am. I cannot turn my head to see the inside of my wooden coffin and I no longer care. It is getting hard to breathe and again I do not care, I just want to go to sleep, I just want to rest.

/////

               Looking down I see myself crouched there by the wall. My skin is blue grey and there is icicles hanging from my nose. My eyes are open but frozen over, there is a tear frozen half way down my cheek. So this is what it is like after you die. I do not hurt, I am no longer cold. Slowly I float backwards away from my body, away from the cabin, away from the cold, away from the snow and ice, away.

5/1/2015

Water

Water

Water is pounding straight down on my head and running down my face. It is dripping off my eyelashes almost in slow motion. It drips from my nose and runs down my chin. I can feel it rivering down my back between my shoulder blades, down the crack of my ass and running off. It races down my chest as well, down my stomach and beyond.

She is standing before me with water running down her face as well; her hair is wet and plastered down with the water. The drips from her eyelids as she looks at me seemly in slow motion, like mine. As she blinks the water is thrown off her lashes only to be flooded again in the next instant. Her eyes are a stunning green and are incredibly intense. I can smell her skin and her need, I am standing tall just looking at her, my need, and my desire is self-evident.

Water runs over her cheeks and drips from her chin, it runs down flowing like quicksilver between her small breasts then continues to flow downward. I glance down following the water, I can see it running down her stomach, and some of it comes to rest in the small amount of trimmed pubic hair as little round droplets that reflect a rainbow of light.

Her skin glows from the warm water and need, glistening with the moisture. Looking back up I am drawn to her face. In this moment she is the most beautiful woman that I have ever seen. There is a small upward curve to her lips, a slight smile. Her smooth biceps are cradling her breast, her hands are in front of her cupped catching, and holding a small amount of water, some of it is leaking between her loosely locked fingers.

She slowly looks down my body then back up again her smile and her eyes are saying yes. Opening my arms wide I step towards her to pull her wet skin into my embrace. As my arms encircle her my fingers hit the wall shocking me back to reality as my arms close on wet air. With a sigh and a grunt of frustration, I turn and shut off the shower.

4/22/2015

Street Corner

……..and as I stand there on the street corner in my best jeans and button down shirt, secretly wiping sweat from my face and holding up my sign “I will fuck for food” I notice a nice looking woman walking towards me holding her own sign which I cannot yet read. She steps up in front of me holding her sign down at her side. She has a lovely smile and a very tight pair of jeans covering her sweet little ass, a silk blouse that fits her small breast very nicely. She looks down at her sign then holds it up, the back of it toward me. I can no longer see her face as she is behind the sign. As she slowly turns the sign she peeks past the edge with a wicked smile. Her sign reads, “I am food!”

4/16/15

Tender Boss

 Tender Boss

As I walked slowly past her door she looked up and smiled, then a frown crossed her face as she said, “You are not having a good morning are you?” I stopped, “No” was all that I could choke out without crying. “Come in here and sit down” she said “and close the door behind you”. I walked past her desk and took what had lately become my chair. It was not even 8 o’clock in the morning yet and my day started out badly.

               “Do you want to talk about it out just sit there and breathe?” I shook my head and with a shrug of my shoulders I leaned forward and stared at the floor. I tried to speak but words would not come out. Taking a deep ragged breath and trying again I said, “It was a really bad night, could not sleep and when I did all I dream about was what had happened. I know it was not my fault but still….” I let the end of the sentence drift off.  I knew she understood, if any one would she would; she might be my boss but she had also become my trusted friend.

               I knew that I had done everything that I could do, that there was nothing left to try. Still I felt somehow responsible for the loss. “I fed it, water it, and kept it warm,” I said to her while looking at the floor following the wavy pattern with my eyes. “I did not realize that I had become so attached to it.”

 “I know,” she said in that comforting voice, “sometimes you do that even when you know that it may not be a good thing.” She picked up her drink in one hand and swirled it just enough to make the ice clink together. She was sipping with two straws from an emerald green cup that bore the emblem of some team she liked.

 Her eyes were soft and kind while she looked at me. She had brought me in here before when she noticed that my day was going badly. She had once told me that, “I did not want you to be embarrassed by the others looking at you and knowing that you were suffering.” I sat there for a few more minutes, neither of us speaking. The only sounds were her moving her drink in a slow circle using the ice to keep it stirred.

               “Ok” I said as I got up, “I probably should get to work.” Drawing my shoulders back I straightened my back and turned towards the door. “Wait a second,” she said as she came around the end of the desk. She had tissues in her hand; she wiped the tears from my eyes and patted my cheeks. Then placing her hands on both sides of my head she squeezed a little smiling. “As much as my two humans have been mating, I did tell you that I got a new female right? I am sure we will have another one very soon and you are welcome to it once it has been weaned. I really do not want another mouth to feed.”

At that I could not help but smile; knowing that in about two years I would again have a small human all to myself. As I walked out the door she moved her heavy bulk behind the desk waving with all four hands, “try to have a better day today!” it was then that I noted that both sets of lips were of a different color. “I like it” I said as I waved vaguely towards her face. “What?” she said tilting her head a bit. “The different color on your lips, each side matching the color of your claws, looks nice.” She was smiling as I turned the corner and headed out for another day.

4/5/2015

It is Tuesday

It is Tuesday

It is late Tuesday afternoon; I know that only because the time flashed on the moving banner at the bank across the square. It has been raining since before midnight last night and I know this because I have been sitting on this park bench through it all. Rain use to be a soothing sound back when it was falling on the roof of my mountain home not all that long ago. I could sit for hours and listen to it, hear the water running down the small creek behind the house, and the one across the drive by the garden; small unless like today, it had been pouring for hours then both creeks would become a raging torrent as the water raced down the mountainsides.

               Unlike then the sounds that I now hear is the pounding of what rain gets through the trees onto the small piece of plastic I had found in the dumpster yesterday and am now using to keep my head dry. Instead of a soothing sound it is brittle sharp sound, a reminder that I no longer have a home, I am now one of the homeless.

               At least the rain is keeping the cops away. They are not raping on the wood or poking me in the ribs with their nightsticks to wake me yelling, “You cannot sleep here ya asshole!” in that I am the boss here tone that they use on us, then prodding me again and again with words and stick until I move off to find another place to rest.    

               Us, I never in a million years thought I would belong to this group, the group that I saw sleeping on the sidewalks, on the benches or under the highway over passes. Us, now that includes me sleeping wherever I can find a dry spot. Comfortable no longer matters when I am ready to sleep “I am so tired that I could sleep next to the highway”, wait, I have slept next to the highway, more than once.  It was a joke once but now is a reality.

               The worst part is the loneliness; sure I have companions in the others like me. We are homeless, penniless, and mostly lifeless just existing day to day. One cannot become friends here; we have only one common thing between us, hunger. Friendship does not happen here, they or I would take whatever we can to survive so even though we are somewhat together, we are not together. I have been here but a short time compared to some. We are the outcast of society and as I use to do, people walk by and do not even see us. I was once a man that mattered had a family, a job, and a place in the world. Now I am nothing but a bump on the sidewalk, something dark and sinister under a tree, someone who smells bad lying on a park bench, one of ‘those’ people.

               God I wish the rain would stop. My feet are soaked, what is left of my shoes are soaked as are my pants and most of my shirt. “At least my Goddamn head is dry,” I say to the rain while shifting the two-foot square piece of roof I have, shifting it causing the small puddle on top to run down my wrist, into my sleeve and down my side. It sends a new shiver through me.

               The drumming of the rain has all but put me asleep again. I jerk upright as my hands slip down allowing the rain to drum on my somewhat dry head. Rain running into my eyes from my hair burns, I have not had a bath in I cannot remember how long ago. Wait, it was the city fountain a few months ago I recall smiling, with that partial bottle of body wash I found along with a sandwich, I remember now, a chicken sandwich, and that sweet smelling body wash.  It made me smelled good for a while after that. I bet I left a ring around the pool as I did as a kid in the bathtub. I wonder who scrubbed that one out, not mom for sure.

               Changing position my thoughts go back to that bath. Granted it was well after dark but I had some kind of balls stripping like that and climbing into that cold water, God I thought those balls would freeze and drop off sinking to the bottom of the pool, never to be found again. Or maybe they would, maybe they would plug up the pump, imagine the look on the repairman’s face, look here Joe, balls, the damn pump is plugged up with balls!

                I used the fountain as a shower not giving a damn if I got caught or not. Hell if the cops caught me I would get to at least sleep where it was warm and maybe I’d even a meal out of it.

Smiling again at the memories, as I look around I notice some movement out there by the trees. It is too small to be a cop and they would not be out here anyways. They are sitting in the station house or a restaurant somewhere drinking hot coffee, probably eating some donuts, and bitching about the damn rain, what I wouldn’t give for a cup of hot coffee right about now.

               Looking closer I see a something that looks darker than the bushes there at the bottom near the base of that big tree. The rain has slacked off a bit and my curiosity is getting the better of me. Whatever it is, it has stopped moving but I can still tell where it is. Carefully folding my plastic and shoving it into my hip pocket I get up and move towards the trees, slowly. I am not sure what that darker patch is. It may be nothing but some old shopping bag or something; a plastic shopping bag would come in handy right now,

               Whatever the dark patch is it just moved again so I stop, watching as well as I can. My eyes are still stinging from the dirt and grease that washed out of my hair.  The city is strangely quiet at this moment; water dripping from the leaves is all that I hear. There is no wind; whatever it is it is not being blown around so it is moving by itself.

               I take a step closer and the spot does not move; another step and again the spot remains where it was. Getting down on my hands and knees I move a little more. I can feel the cold mud pressing through my thin pants and squishing between my fingers. As I raise my hand to move again there is a slight sucking sound which caused me to freeze. This close to the ground I can smell the mud, it is kind of a nice, earthly, reminds me of my gardens I use to have way back when.

               Moving a bit closer I can just make out what looks like fur, wet matted dirty fur. A cat or dog, maybe a raccoon, or possibly some injured animal. Sitting back on my hunches I wait. If it is an injured animal, trying to get to it will end up me being bit. That is not something out here on the street that you want. That is a slow painful death sentence out here.

               I sit and watch for a time waiting to see what happens. There is no movement in the darken area and I still cannot make out for sure what I am looking at.

               “Fuck it!” I say out loud and lean forward again moving towards the base of the tree. Pushing some lower bush branches out of the way with my head I am close enough now to make out a little black nose. It is a dog, a little dog I think. Slowly I push through the bushes and there in front of me huddles a little brown dog, soaking wet, as am I. His little beady eyes are watching me steadily but he has not bolted. “Hey buddy” I say softly, “how ya doing?”

               His little pink tongue flicks out and cleans his nose. He still has not made any move towards or away from me. I am close enough now to touch him but I wait. I do not want to get bit but even more I do not want him to run. “Hey little dude, you look cold and hungry. Boy do I know what that’s like.”

               Again the tongue flicks out. At first I thought that maybe he was growling but I realize it is just a whimper. Slowly I reach out towards him, mud dripping from my hand. I can see that he is tensing up but he is still crouched on the ground with his feet under him. I can smell wet dog as a slight breeze springs up causing more water to drip from the leaves above us.

               Slowly I reach until my hand is right in front of that little black nose, he is sniffing my hand, not moving, but his nose is working, “Yeah it smells like mud, and shit I am sure.” I say to the dog. Slowly I take the final step and touch his muzzle just above his nose, he does not move. Stroking it a little I tell him that it will be ok, I will not hurt him. 

               Slowly I move my hand up and scratch him between the ears, still he has not moved, and it seems that he has relaxed a little bit. “Hey buddy, I could use a friend right now, I bet you could too.”  He moves and I freeze but his is only lifting his rear up. He is little, about 10 pounds I’d say.

               Suddenly the dog gets up, looks at me, and then moves towards me pushing into my thighs. I continue to pet and talk to him as it starts to rain again, those large drops that say it will be a long night. The little brown dog pushes up on his hind legs sliding his nose under my coat. Leaning back I scoop him up into the warm folds and he snuggles in tightly against my shirt.

               Standing up I turn and go back to my bench all the while talking to the pup cuddled in the folds of the coat. I can feel the warmth of his little body, something I have not felt for a very long time. Pulling out the plastic sheet to cover my head again I pull the pup up so that he is also under the sheet, right below my neck. He smells like a wet dog, like dirt and neglect. I can relate to that smell.

               Looking down at him I say, “Well little man, what are we going to call you?” He is looking up to me with those little beady eyes blinking. “I know, you name is Lost and Found, I will call you Lost for short.” At that his little pink tongue licks my nose.

               As I settle back listening to the rain beat on my plastic sheet I sigh. I realize that the pup and I are not alone anymore and somehow the rain now is not so bad.

4/11/15