I couldn’t think straight when these things popped up. The twelve things daily that remind me of her, of that first time, seem to creep in and stunt my brain for a good hour a day. Honestly pick a feeling, a tone, a word used in the crux of a sentence, because the myriad of daily occurrences that invoke this feeling of wonder and tragedy. You could start with that song that I heard today. The song that seems to speak to a part of my soul I hide from the world. I avoid the country stations now just to stay away from it. I’ve deleted it from my I-pod, thrown out the CD. Somehow in all its infinite wisdom Windows Media Player decided that I needed to here “The Dance” today. It reminded me of that long lingering kiss the couple at the register shared, seemingly oblivious to the world around them. How I envied the endless joy found in that gaze. A brain flash later and I remembered the other day I was curled up on the couch and had this comfortable feeling wash over me. A feeling a peace quickly shattered by the same memory the electrons are feeding into the forefront now. The beginning of my hearts own epic tragedy.
As much as I’d like to fight it I feel overwhelmed by the power it holds. I kick and scream at the keeper of records up there but I remember. The kiss, the embrace, and the endless sublime I felt during that time. Holding her, as cliché as it seems and the song says, I held everything. I held my own fears and joys in projected onto someone else; pure ecstatic hope that only comes with youth and nativity. It was a only a few moments but it meant so much.
For years now I have dwelt on it, never fully understanding why its crater on the surface of my soul is so great. It was nothing, a kiss, a simple touch that would forever change the course and understanding of my inner monologue. I was sitting in the hot tub of my Dad’s house staring at the desire of the last six years of my life, who happened to have a boy friend. Ashley was the moon, unopposed in an unexplored world where other lights only twinkled in the background. Her dark brown hair with that little hint of red was now slicked down from the water, still contrasting her light olive skin and those eyes. Eyes that swirled hazel and green that could make the most devout repent for sinful thoughts. I’d spent so many years looking at them I knew her mood just from the color.
I was just back from a high school football championship and undefeated season, the returning victorious, cocky, and sarcastic, on top of the world. In tip toe physical shape, sandy brown hair, and recently the prospect of some of the best looking girls in school, I felt a little more playful then usual. But despite my recent success I knew I was treading a little heavy given the situation.
It wasn’t always this way but almost always this complicated. A game had ensued over our tenure, one of tip toes, secrets, friendships, tensions. It was really our place and propinquity in life that lead to this possibility. Sitting next to one another twice daily, sharing the experience of the day and the emotional understanding of teenagers. “Matter of time,” everyone had always said, while I watched that time I wanted to covet go to others. I tried as hard as possible to hide my excitement at another chance at my dream and that this time I was more prepared then ever. I admired my own pre-game plan. An afternoon of flirting, getting a little too close once or twice, talking about last nights game, and the emotional conundrums of her present had culminated better then hoped. I had hoped for it laying the groundwork for something a week or two off, but as I sat locked in it I realized the possibility was here and now.
I averted the stare and gazed up at the stars while making some innocuous banter and looked at a clear December night. It was really only the happenstance of standing in the middle of a small space and following stars with my eyes but I had wandered over to her. Realizing I re-fixated on her eyes and I saw all I could yearn for. An unabashed come hither look that spoke volumes of longing and obsession. So I leaned forward eyes closed and sank under the bubbling water.
I chickened out plain and simple. I cursed myself for the coward I was. (Jesus, you had it all man. Right there! Right there! I wonder how long I can hold my breath? Should I just stay here at this point? Not like I’m going to do any better on the surface. Well she is still here. Maybe I can give it another shot. She has a boyfriend though, dumb ass. You’ve been down this road before and something never links up.)
I could make out her legs under the water through the fuzzy fog of bubbles. Hands at Her side I can could only imagine what she was thinking, I was going crazy. The enormity of the situation was making a drum circle out of my heartbeat but it was too late to turn back now. My proximity made retreat impossible without relegating myself, forever, as a friend. I had offered my heart up long ago without the option of getting it back. I was always advancing and retreating in turn, and I was sick of it.
Surfacing slowly I found my target again. Mindset to complete the task at hand I inched forward the last half pace to awaiting lips. I can’t tell anymore if I’m even in water. What day it is, where I go to school, who my parents are or if I have any family at all. Was there anything that was ever this euphoric or utterly resplendent? Just two sets of lips meeting, that’s all they were, sparked by years of being held apart. At the end of what seemed to encompass the entirety of life in its span and magnitude, it broke. Only for an instant as another encounter more forcibly returned to take its place. This was what heaven must be like. I realized, just then, that I had worked just as hard or harder as one would need to in order to secure a place beyond those gates.
The world and reckoning began to creep back to me but somehow that never took the feeling with it. A few more embraces, now sweet, now hungry, followed by unexpected air.
Slowly, “Scott, Scott, wait I can’t.” I thought the bottom of the world had fallen out in my gut when she said that. A vacuum was somehow connected instantaneously to my core. “You know I can’t. Not yet anyways.” She continued seemingly oblivious to the foundations of the Coliseum crumbling around us.
Forcing the same sly smile that had gotten me here I commanded a response to slip its way out. “Yeah, I know. Don’t worry bout’ it.”
That’s all I remember. Even now trying to put myself back there, the story just fades. Light creeps its way into night and I’m off in another day. I’m locked forever at that moment of resignation. Another defeat at the hands of the person I held most dear apart from family. That’s the end of this little tale. The power still sits there locked in the filing cabinets that all too often open on their own to taunt me. In the end this little moment really makes me cherish those times when we remember what it is we really want in life. For me Its that feeling like I stood on the moon looking at eternity stretched out in front of me, if only for a few seconds...
Monday, January 11, 2010
Little Black Box
The silver door handle was taunting me, just daring to be opened. It has chilled from the lack of contact throughout the day so that it tingles under my palm. Giving way slowly the bedroom opens, expanding to gargantuan proportions. When designing the room it seems Linear Perspective from the entry was a central theme. The bluish silver of the blanket hugging the bed frame, which was edged in wrought iron, lined up perfectly with the open balcony. The small cherry oak nightstands that were standing as sentinels to the serenity of the room seemed to sense my presence. The sparse work station that sits off to the left of the door looks like a good a start, the chair had nothing special about it, black, rolling, with a worn left armrest from hours of use. Scanning down the stacks of papers I notice on the right side, which ends abruptly, a desk side fan. No it wouldn’t be here. This modernist desk has no drawers.
A quick jot over to the balcony allows for a closer examination of the bed. The comforter is thick chenille. The weight presses down over the bed showing an unmade tangle of sheets below. White cotton poking out from underneath luring the senses like only the smell of freshly washed cotton can. The nightstands are not so watchful now relaxed back to rest on their similarly colored cousin, the floor. Poking my head under the bed for a quick glance I can see a marching line of shoes staring back. Running shoes, hiking shoes, Work boots, Cycling shoes, and a pair of out of place slippers sleeping soundly under the bed frame. No little black box but I’m getting closer, I must be. The room is open and bare and there aren’t many more places to look.
The closet, that’s it! The mirrored doors have been in on it the whole time, hiding their treasure while reflecting the hunger in my eyes. I fling the slider to the side exposing the darkened corner of the room; Suits one after the other, arranged by color, style, and season. Another row just below the top hold the shirts that are equally resplendent in there tightly knit community of tones. Far left a rolling stand holds tie’s easily accessible by the bearing seated at the bottom to allow a quick turn. A jewelry box holds watches, rings, couplings, and a Smith & Weston 40., standard for someone in this business. It’s odd that the first sign of a threat would be the marking point for my goal, perhaps a reminder to be wary before digging into secrets.
Bingo! The lock box stares right back at me from behind the jewelry. I can taste lemon from a lemon tree from outside in the air as I take in an extra breath to savor the moment. The locks pick at my side jumps into my hand and I begin to work the lock in rhythmic motion. I can feel the peacefulness of the room change with an extra wave of sunlight as it puffs up. The lock gives up its last bit of resistance as the lid slides open. Anticipation for this moment has made it almost impossible to stand for a second longer. My hand darts in, shuffling around stacks of euros’ and dollars, another pistol, a few clips, passports, and birth certificates, where is it? My hand touches a small metal object near the back, got it! A small key attached to a braided steel ring. Such a small thing to hold so much of a future in it, I can already see myself sitting on the ship now, relaxing deck side before the next phase of the adventure.
A quick jot over to the balcony allows for a closer examination of the bed. The comforter is thick chenille. The weight presses down over the bed showing an unmade tangle of sheets below. White cotton poking out from underneath luring the senses like only the smell of freshly washed cotton can. The nightstands are not so watchful now relaxed back to rest on their similarly colored cousin, the floor. Poking my head under the bed for a quick glance I can see a marching line of shoes staring back. Running shoes, hiking shoes, Work boots, Cycling shoes, and a pair of out of place slippers sleeping soundly under the bed frame. No little black box but I’m getting closer, I must be. The room is open and bare and there aren’t many more places to look.
The closet, that’s it! The mirrored doors have been in on it the whole time, hiding their treasure while reflecting the hunger in my eyes. I fling the slider to the side exposing the darkened corner of the room; Suits one after the other, arranged by color, style, and season. Another row just below the top hold the shirts that are equally resplendent in there tightly knit community of tones. Far left a rolling stand holds tie’s easily accessible by the bearing seated at the bottom to allow a quick turn. A jewelry box holds watches, rings, couplings, and a Smith & Weston 40., standard for someone in this business. It’s odd that the first sign of a threat would be the marking point for my goal, perhaps a reminder to be wary before digging into secrets.
Bingo! The lock box stares right back at me from behind the jewelry. I can taste lemon from a lemon tree from outside in the air as I take in an extra breath to savor the moment. The locks pick at my side jumps into my hand and I begin to work the lock in rhythmic motion. I can feel the peacefulness of the room change with an extra wave of sunlight as it puffs up. The lock gives up its last bit of resistance as the lid slides open. Anticipation for this moment has made it almost impossible to stand for a second longer. My hand darts in, shuffling around stacks of euros’ and dollars, another pistol, a few clips, passports, and birth certificates, where is it? My hand touches a small metal object near the back, got it! A small key attached to a braided steel ring. Such a small thing to hold so much of a future in it, I can already see myself sitting on the ship now, relaxing deck side before the next phase of the adventure.
License to Speak
Georgia? That’s an odd one. So far from home it sticks out like a sore thumb. Where did that mud on the bumper come from? It’s probably jus dirt from California. There’s no telling how long the red car has been here, could be a year or more. Just another Southerner; just like the East coaster, and Midwesterner, out to make it in the golden state of perpetual bliss and sunshine.
Driving down the highway my attention turns back to the matter at hand, this diatribe Kacey seems to be giving in the seat next to me. I wish I could tell you that I’m intensely listening to the story, hanging on every word, but I’m not. I know this one; it was the same last week, and the week before that. What is captivating my attention at this moment is a devious scheme to see how long she takes to realize I haven’t a clue as to the details of this particular situation. It isn’t as if I don’t care or that it doesn’t matter, no the real nucleus is an inability to resolve a character flaw in someone we love. At some point you come to the realization it doesn’t matter what you say. So why say it?
The flat landscape all around I once used to play in is dominated by new buildings on either side. Slowly rising out of the grasses and tiny hills they transform the solitude into a bustle of acceptable distractions. My vision jumps back and forth from a big box store to some housing to a shopping center. I’m admiring the landscape configurations, the offices with the faux columns trying to lend a classical aspect to an otherwise dull rectangular building, all much more intriguing than the conversation at hand. The height of modern commercial architecture pushes for beauty at no cost. Oh how Brunelleschi and Michelangelo must be proud. Beyond the human expanse I know nature still creeps at the edges.
“Are you even listening to me?” She says with an apparent frustration in her voice.
“Yeah no I got you” as say as I try to recover by scanning through the memory bank of every one of theses conversations looking for a coalescing response. “I can’t believe that they still have the two of you working together.”
“I know it seems like they just don’t understand the…” She’s still going and I’m already fading back out into the void.
A sudden wave of guilt begins to roll over me as I realize I’m the one who she is supposed to be able to say these things too. I mean I can drabble on endlessly about work or the newest book I’m reading. I talk about evenings spent with friends, proudly retelling the most mundane of events. Why can’t I sit here attentively attuned to a basic conversation? I love listening to a myriad of things she has to say, at all times of day, on any given topic, at a moments notice. We talk, we laugh, and we weigh the solidity of society on a regular basis. I owe it to her right? I owe it to listen as if I’d rather be no where else in the world, right? Ok, breath, just breath. I can do this one. Ignore the big rig out of your rearview and just focus on the task at hand.
“What do you think I should do?” She blurts out right in rhythm with the ease of any loaded question.
Uh oh, now where do I go? I know what she wants to hear, and I know what should be said. Do I take the leap and actually get into another devils advocate situation? I keep thinking of the old adage “the truth will set you free,” but I have a feeling whoever wrote that probably never dealt with someone who denies their responsibility in a conflict over and over again. Can I opt out with just agreeing?
“Um, I really don’t know.” Few cop-outs leave either party really satisfied but now I remember why I’m not listening; self preservation.
What’s that? Another vehicle from Georgia, only it’s a white SUV. What are the odds of two in one day?
Driving down the highway my attention turns back to the matter at hand, this diatribe Kacey seems to be giving in the seat next to me. I wish I could tell you that I’m intensely listening to the story, hanging on every word, but I’m not. I know this one; it was the same last week, and the week before that. What is captivating my attention at this moment is a devious scheme to see how long she takes to realize I haven’t a clue as to the details of this particular situation. It isn’t as if I don’t care or that it doesn’t matter, no the real nucleus is an inability to resolve a character flaw in someone we love. At some point you come to the realization it doesn’t matter what you say. So why say it?
The flat landscape all around I once used to play in is dominated by new buildings on either side. Slowly rising out of the grasses and tiny hills they transform the solitude into a bustle of acceptable distractions. My vision jumps back and forth from a big box store to some housing to a shopping center. I’m admiring the landscape configurations, the offices with the faux columns trying to lend a classical aspect to an otherwise dull rectangular building, all much more intriguing than the conversation at hand. The height of modern commercial architecture pushes for beauty at no cost. Oh how Brunelleschi and Michelangelo must be proud. Beyond the human expanse I know nature still creeps at the edges.
“Are you even listening to me?” She says with an apparent frustration in her voice.
“Yeah no I got you” as say as I try to recover by scanning through the memory bank of every one of theses conversations looking for a coalescing response. “I can’t believe that they still have the two of you working together.”
“I know it seems like they just don’t understand the…” She’s still going and I’m already fading back out into the void.
A sudden wave of guilt begins to roll over me as I realize I’m the one who she is supposed to be able to say these things too. I mean I can drabble on endlessly about work or the newest book I’m reading. I talk about evenings spent with friends, proudly retelling the most mundane of events. Why can’t I sit here attentively attuned to a basic conversation? I love listening to a myriad of things she has to say, at all times of day, on any given topic, at a moments notice. We talk, we laugh, and we weigh the solidity of society on a regular basis. I owe it to her right? I owe it to listen as if I’d rather be no where else in the world, right? Ok, breath, just breath. I can do this one. Ignore the big rig out of your rearview and just focus on the task at hand.
“What do you think I should do?” She blurts out right in rhythm with the ease of any loaded question.
Uh oh, now where do I go? I know what she wants to hear, and I know what should be said. Do I take the leap and actually get into another devils advocate situation? I keep thinking of the old adage “the truth will set you free,” but I have a feeling whoever wrote that probably never dealt with someone who denies their responsibility in a conflict over and over again. Can I opt out with just agreeing?
“Um, I really don’t know.” Few cop-outs leave either party really satisfied but now I remember why I’m not listening; self preservation.
What’s that? Another vehicle from Georgia, only it’s a white SUV. What are the odds of two in one day?
Level 3
Ordinary, there was nothing special about this day. A few altocumulus cloud bands were congregating off to the west but the blue still kept them in check. Playing among the white lines, the seagulls hopped from car to car threatening each in turn with the fate they left for statues in the parks: Roused now and then by a by passer returning to their transport to be on their way. If it had been any other day Amanda would have probably felt at peace on the top deck to the parking garage. A moments peace away from the hustle and bustle of the adjacent offices, but today, she knew was different. No one was willingly going to take the blame and rot away in prison for the sake of the other two conspirators. Today someone would die, and she had to choose.
Neither of them had seen it. Neither of them ever dared to look long and hard enough to see the inner turmoil of her mind. They had enough to worry about engaged in blackmail then if she was one hundred percent behind them or not. Four years of insider trading, altering numbers, and Ponzi schemes. And now the Security and Exchange Commission were hot on their heels. They needed her support, her advice, her reckoning. But with each need she realized more and more that they needed her. Far more then she needed either one of them. Of course she would require one of them. Two people were necessary to carry out what had to happen, just one of them though. The real question became, for her, which one? Which one presented the greatest return in this messy business? That was what was haunting her daily. Now she only a single hour left of seclusion on this rooftop to figure it all out. When the cars pulled up the calm she felt now would be gone and the time would come.
She ruffled out her dark burgundy skirt and thought for the first time today, well probably in the year, that maybe the Manolo Blahnik heels were not the best choice for this. Dareon had always liked these shoes, but then again, Dareon had always liked everything about her. He was without a doubt a terrific investor, and without his interest in Amanda he would probably never have been here. He was too eager for an adventure. He had hoped that if this deal worked out they could, I don’t know, somehow leave it all together. She had found that notion enticing but not enough. Dareon was nice, Dareon was sweet, Dareon was funny, but Dareon was a romantic. He was too into the idea of a family, summers at the lake house. He wanted kids; Amanda wanted no such things for her life. Except when she was around him, then it seemed to change. But he was controllable, very able in business, perfect to help her to the top. She could live with Dareon.
Isaac was a different kind of animal. Irrational, energetic, passionate, very passionate; when he wanted something he got it. Armani, Versace, it didn’t matter; they were all going to be his. The Security and Exchange Commission would have knocked down Isaac’s door long ago if his network of fake files and faux contacts hadn’t been so thick. Everyone beyond the three of them enjoyed blissful anonymity except from him and one or two Amanda had happened to bring in. While not directly working the deals Isaac made all the moves. He presented a challenge, an uncontrollable force to be reckoned with. Whether in the board room where he was directing full partners with puppet strings about their day, or the bedroom where he seemed to really come alive, he controlled the tempo. Amanda wasn’t sure she wanted to be controlled anymore but Isaac’s abilities would skyrocket her to her final goals.
It had been a difficult decision to make. Clearly each man had their advantages but in the end one would have to fall. It was sad really to see such a gem of a man fall this way but Amanda had to be strong.
The silver pick-up she had been waiting for pulled up the last of the ramps and pulled into a spot next to the blue Porsche waiting for its owner to exit the building. Dareon stepped out heavily on the concrete. You could see the weight of the circumstance was heavily burdened on broad shoulders. He hadn’t even taken the time to dress for work, standing there in blue jeans and a grey t-shirt. It would only serve to make it all more believable.
“Hey,” he said solemnly to the ground. He pulled a tan jacket out of the truck and began to walk over.
From over shoulder came a burst of sound, “Well here are the two faces I was hoping to see.” Resplendent as always Isaac walked forward and kissed Amanda on the cheek. She found the public display in front of another a bit much, but it could just as easily be interpreted as friendly so she shook it off.
“How’s it going Isaac, I just pulled up. I was hoping we could go over a few of the SEC’s Examiners notes here. I mean this wasn’t an SK-7 they sent in here.”
“I know. It was Gerald Kruger, so what? The guy has a reputation for finding everything, and I mean everything, but here there isn’t anything to find. I have them so wrapped up in paperwork it will be six months before Kruger realizes he is chasing a paper circle.” Isaac placed a reassuring hand onto Dareon’s shoulder. “He’d be lucky to hall me in for not properly disposing my batteries by the end of the year.”
“It still concerns us Isaac.” She put in to keep the conversation going. “Just how deep are we if he does somehow manage to come up with the right answers?”
Shrugging Isaac said “well in that case stripes have always looked good on your figure Mandy.”
“It’s not a joke.” Dareon blurted out. “You do realize we are looking at possibly consecutive 20 year sentences if something doesn’t break our way.”
If Isaac didn’t watch it he was going to lose Dareon. A quick turn of the keys and he would be off, leaving everything unfinished; or worse, as he was physically capable of choosing for her. She needed to calm the situation and quickly before it got out of her hands. A brush of Dareon’s arm, “we can work this out. The three of use are very capable of making sure this doesn’t go beyond what it is.”
An understanding and longing look crossed his face just then, reminding Amanda just how much she enjoyed their times together. Despite their closeness she knew what needed to be done. It hurt knowing that safe feeling she felt whenever he held her would be gone but one of them must fall. She wished she had not spent so much time in his comfort, it only made it harder.
“Look let’s just all relax and take a break from this non-sense.” Isaac popped open the trunk to his 911 and pulled out a six pack of beer. He handed two of them out deftly picking each in turn to make sure the right one went to the right person and Amanda knew the time had come. Dareon grabbed the nearest one, popped and swallowed. It was almost done, the deed at least. It took everything she had at that point to do the same with her own and wait for it all to be over with. Isaac opened his own and drank deeply. Everyone there needed the refreshment for their own ease. The calm that came before the storm lasted for a few short minutes as they sipped in silent understanding. Knowing what came next would hurt one of them more than the rest.
In that moment a sudden change came over Dareon’s face. Sadness deeper then she could ever explain. He understood what was taking place in that moment. He reached for her, hands out in a gesture that seemed to signify both longing and guilt. Did he understand? Did she? Amanda finally did, she knew exactly what time had come. The proper files had been neatly placed in the proper spot and everyone here now knew their role. The body would be moved to the desk and the container of pills neatly spilled out next to the name plate. As the light started to fade she wondered why she hadn’t realized it would hurt this much.
Neither of them had seen it. Neither of them ever dared to look long and hard enough to see the inner turmoil of her mind. They had enough to worry about engaged in blackmail then if she was one hundred percent behind them or not. Four years of insider trading, altering numbers, and Ponzi schemes. And now the Security and Exchange Commission were hot on their heels. They needed her support, her advice, her reckoning. But with each need she realized more and more that they needed her. Far more then she needed either one of them. Of course she would require one of them. Two people were necessary to carry out what had to happen, just one of them though. The real question became, for her, which one? Which one presented the greatest return in this messy business? That was what was haunting her daily. Now she only a single hour left of seclusion on this rooftop to figure it all out. When the cars pulled up the calm she felt now would be gone and the time would come.
She ruffled out her dark burgundy skirt and thought for the first time today, well probably in the year, that maybe the Manolo Blahnik heels were not the best choice for this. Dareon had always liked these shoes, but then again, Dareon had always liked everything about her. He was without a doubt a terrific investor, and without his interest in Amanda he would probably never have been here. He was too eager for an adventure. He had hoped that if this deal worked out they could, I don’t know, somehow leave it all together. She had found that notion enticing but not enough. Dareon was nice, Dareon was sweet, Dareon was funny, but Dareon was a romantic. He was too into the idea of a family, summers at the lake house. He wanted kids; Amanda wanted no such things for her life. Except when she was around him, then it seemed to change. But he was controllable, very able in business, perfect to help her to the top. She could live with Dareon.
Isaac was a different kind of animal. Irrational, energetic, passionate, very passionate; when he wanted something he got it. Armani, Versace, it didn’t matter; they were all going to be his. The Security and Exchange Commission would have knocked down Isaac’s door long ago if his network of fake files and faux contacts hadn’t been so thick. Everyone beyond the three of them enjoyed blissful anonymity except from him and one or two Amanda had happened to bring in. While not directly working the deals Isaac made all the moves. He presented a challenge, an uncontrollable force to be reckoned with. Whether in the board room where he was directing full partners with puppet strings about their day, or the bedroom where he seemed to really come alive, he controlled the tempo. Amanda wasn’t sure she wanted to be controlled anymore but Isaac’s abilities would skyrocket her to her final goals.
It had been a difficult decision to make. Clearly each man had their advantages but in the end one would have to fall. It was sad really to see such a gem of a man fall this way but Amanda had to be strong.
The silver pick-up she had been waiting for pulled up the last of the ramps and pulled into a spot next to the blue Porsche waiting for its owner to exit the building. Dareon stepped out heavily on the concrete. You could see the weight of the circumstance was heavily burdened on broad shoulders. He hadn’t even taken the time to dress for work, standing there in blue jeans and a grey t-shirt. It would only serve to make it all more believable.
“Hey,” he said solemnly to the ground. He pulled a tan jacket out of the truck and began to walk over.
From over shoulder came a burst of sound, “Well here are the two faces I was hoping to see.” Resplendent as always Isaac walked forward and kissed Amanda on the cheek. She found the public display in front of another a bit much, but it could just as easily be interpreted as friendly so she shook it off.
“How’s it going Isaac, I just pulled up. I was hoping we could go over a few of the SEC’s Examiners notes here. I mean this wasn’t an SK-7 they sent in here.”
“I know. It was Gerald Kruger, so what? The guy has a reputation for finding everything, and I mean everything, but here there isn’t anything to find. I have them so wrapped up in paperwork it will be six months before Kruger realizes he is chasing a paper circle.” Isaac placed a reassuring hand onto Dareon’s shoulder. “He’d be lucky to hall me in for not properly disposing my batteries by the end of the year.”
“It still concerns us Isaac.” She put in to keep the conversation going. “Just how deep are we if he does somehow manage to come up with the right answers?”
Shrugging Isaac said “well in that case stripes have always looked good on your figure Mandy.”
“It’s not a joke.” Dareon blurted out. “You do realize we are looking at possibly consecutive 20 year sentences if something doesn’t break our way.”
If Isaac didn’t watch it he was going to lose Dareon. A quick turn of the keys and he would be off, leaving everything unfinished; or worse, as he was physically capable of choosing for her. She needed to calm the situation and quickly before it got out of her hands. A brush of Dareon’s arm, “we can work this out. The three of use are very capable of making sure this doesn’t go beyond what it is.”
An understanding and longing look crossed his face just then, reminding Amanda just how much she enjoyed their times together. Despite their closeness she knew what needed to be done. It hurt knowing that safe feeling she felt whenever he held her would be gone but one of them must fall. She wished she had not spent so much time in his comfort, it only made it harder.
“Look let’s just all relax and take a break from this non-sense.” Isaac popped open the trunk to his 911 and pulled out a six pack of beer. He handed two of them out deftly picking each in turn to make sure the right one went to the right person and Amanda knew the time had come. Dareon grabbed the nearest one, popped and swallowed. It was almost done, the deed at least. It took everything she had at that point to do the same with her own and wait for it all to be over with. Isaac opened his own and drank deeply. Everyone there needed the refreshment for their own ease. The calm that came before the storm lasted for a few short minutes as they sipped in silent understanding. Knowing what came next would hurt one of them more than the rest.
In that moment a sudden change came over Dareon’s face. Sadness deeper then she could ever explain. He understood what was taking place in that moment. He reached for her, hands out in a gesture that seemed to signify both longing and guilt. Did he understand? Did she? Amanda finally did, she knew exactly what time had come. The proper files had been neatly placed in the proper spot and everyone here now knew their role. The body would be moved to the desk and the container of pills neatly spilled out next to the name plate. As the light started to fade she wondered why she hadn’t realized it would hurt this much.
Fixer
If it had been anyone else who had called at this hour more explanations would have been needed. What, when, why, who? A million answers were out there that had only one source to come from into the world. He had hoped when he first saw who was calling that this was a long awaited social call but reason told him that was too much to hope for. The pain in her voice told him this wasn’t going to be a heart warming reunion and the fog pressing in around the car wasn’t helping to ease his mind any. If it could just start to rain it might do. Something, anything to break the silence of the night would help.
The last time he’d heard that tone they had been six years ago in upstate New York at a little lake he’d found out about through some friends. His last summer at NYU gave him the luxury of one last vacation in youth. Like clockwork in the morning he would rise up, make coffee, and jump back into bed just to steal a few more minutes huddled up to her warm body. Lying in bed until 11a.m. wasn’t his usual style but he found himself cherishing these moments years later. It brought calm to an inner hurricane of thoughts and emotions that never seemed to crest the surface. It was when she wasn’t there that the storm broke through.
Finally a light drizzle broke the memory as the black Beemer hugged the road. It had been to many years to go back to that now. It was different, they were different. They had lives now, far apart from what they had planned. Kaitlyn had wanted him back then, him and the relaxing life of a screenplay writer. She was a film major with an undeniable talent for bringing poetry to the screen. He wished she had stopped there. Now it was a ranch, a child, a peaceful life in seclusion from the world that only a small town could provide. Just in the foothills beyond the bright city she settled down. Rolling grass fields encamped by hickories, maples, and oaks. New York’s part of the Appalachians was by far one of the most serene. An area only the wealthy could afford. When he’d heard his heart almost stopped.
That was his life. Work was something he always wanted to do on the side. His life was supposed to be kicking back by the lake, working when needed, lounging when not. Instead he was knee deep in rush. Rush, rush, rush. He knew that majoring in art history was a broad choice that would open up some unforeseen opportunities but he had no idea just how many would be handed to him. He started with a government job that awarded some unusual skills and opportunities but four years of the day to day, worrying about this and that had run its toll. In that type of work you were never at home much and always looking over your shoulder. No, he’d moved on to other pursuits. 2 years at Morgan Hart as a corporate liaison was much less risky but much faster paced. As a liaison you catered to the whims of CEO’s and the wealthy who all wanted to know where there millions were at all times, oh and the tiny request that you have whatever they want at a moments notice. “Not his job,” wasn’t in the cards. What they wanted he needed to get for them. Clients were sometimes literally just looking for someone to hang out with, share their suite at the Mets game. Saturday night wasn’t for friends or family, it was for clients. He was there to make sure they were comfortable.
It made sense really, he was always a fixer.
The last time he’d heard that tone they had been six years ago in upstate New York at a little lake he’d found out about through some friends. His last summer at NYU gave him the luxury of one last vacation in youth. Like clockwork in the morning he would rise up, make coffee, and jump back into bed just to steal a few more minutes huddled up to her warm body. Lying in bed until 11a.m. wasn’t his usual style but he found himself cherishing these moments years later. It brought calm to an inner hurricane of thoughts and emotions that never seemed to crest the surface. It was when she wasn’t there that the storm broke through.
Finally a light drizzle broke the memory as the black Beemer hugged the road. It had been to many years to go back to that now. It was different, they were different. They had lives now, far apart from what they had planned. Kaitlyn had wanted him back then, him and the relaxing life of a screenplay writer. She was a film major with an undeniable talent for bringing poetry to the screen. He wished she had stopped there. Now it was a ranch, a child, a peaceful life in seclusion from the world that only a small town could provide. Just in the foothills beyond the bright city she settled down. Rolling grass fields encamped by hickories, maples, and oaks. New York’s part of the Appalachians was by far one of the most serene. An area only the wealthy could afford. When he’d heard his heart almost stopped.
That was his life. Work was something he always wanted to do on the side. His life was supposed to be kicking back by the lake, working when needed, lounging when not. Instead he was knee deep in rush. Rush, rush, rush. He knew that majoring in art history was a broad choice that would open up some unforeseen opportunities but he had no idea just how many would be handed to him. He started with a government job that awarded some unusual skills and opportunities but four years of the day to day, worrying about this and that had run its toll. In that type of work you were never at home much and always looking over your shoulder. No, he’d moved on to other pursuits. 2 years at Morgan Hart as a corporate liaison was much less risky but much faster paced. As a liaison you catered to the whims of CEO’s and the wealthy who all wanted to know where there millions were at all times, oh and the tiny request that you have whatever they want at a moments notice. “Not his job,” wasn’t in the cards. What they wanted he needed to get for them. Clients were sometimes literally just looking for someone to hang out with, share their suite at the Mets game. Saturday night wasn’t for friends or family, it was for clients. He was there to make sure they were comfortable.
It made sense really, he was always a fixer.
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