Problems and Green Men...

Encouraging Word:You will show me the way of life, granting me the joy of your presence… Psalm 16:11 NLT

Happy 07 to you, rat racers. The holidays are officially over. Dieting can now commence. Well, okay, dieting is the wrong word. Let's just say I can now stop eating my weight in fudge because there is none around to tempt me.

I have a few pictures to share from a wild night at a watch night service, but as usual, my memory failed me, and I forgot my card reader. =( Resolutions for 07 consist of...remembering to pack my card reader, losing flab, talking to God more, writing more, using more creativity, and trying to be a more compassionate person. We'll see how all of that goes...

Meanwhile...I've got a problem at the Varghese Manor. I have exactly 6 days before India trip 07. This means my Mousse will be in a kennel for 24 days...I figure it's best to put her in there on Friday because I won't have time for her this weekend due to Ruby's wedding festivities, Landon's baby dedication, and PACKING. When I spent some QT with Mousse this weekend, I actually cried thinking of her all alone for that long. It's not like the kennel is a horrible place. They are actually quite respectable. But the point is...it's not home...and they're not me.

I haven't showed any signs of going on a long trip. Absolutely no packing has occurred as of yet. But my Mousse is very intuitive. She ALWAYS senses when I'm about to stick her in the kennel because she starts to have bouts of vomiting. It never fails. Last night, she puked up her dinner. She knows. I was extra nice to her....even let her sleep on my bed. Although that meant a sleepless night for me. That's okay...she deserves a little TLC.

Meanwhile...I thought I'd start my first post of 07 with a short story. A short story that I actually wrote. Unbelievable, I know...since I've had a creative freeze of sorts. I warn you...it's weird...and if you're left utterly confused, email me...I'll explain it to you!

Green Men
Beads of sweat formed over my brow as I climbed up the sixth flight of stairs. I had to stop for a breather, or I would never make it up the 7 remaining flights. It would be my luck that the last delivery of the day would be in this building at the precise moment that the elevator was being repaired.

I regained my composure and willed my way up the stairs as I thought about how much I hated this job. Working at Bentley’s Grocers wasn’t my notion of an ideal career move. But, I moved to San Francisco to get away from my past, my dysfunctional family, and Maggie. She used to be the love of my life until she decided that it was more fun sleeping with her boss than me. I hated to admit that getting over her was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Everywhere I went, I thought of the times I took her to the same spot. It became unbearable, so I packed up my stuff and moved to the other side of the country, hoping that the west coast would be kinder to me.

It’s not like a poet has a lot of career opportunities. So, when I saw the “Need Help” sign at Bentley’s, I thought I should weigh the situation carefully before walking past it. It was really easy for me to open that door and fill out the application. My only other alternative was eating a slice of cheese for dinner and curling up on a park bench to sleep.

Old man Bentley called me the “delivery boy.” It bugged me. I was 25-years-old. It was embarrassing having a job title with the word “boy” in it. I preferred to consider myself a “Market Transport Specialist.” When I mentioned it to Bentley, he stared at me square in the eyes and then laughed for 2 minutes straight.

I finally reached apartment 1210. I hated delivering to this loon. Mr. Hinkle was definitely not in his right mind. Every week I delivered the same bag of junk to him, which consisted of a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetoes, a pint of chocolate ice cream, 3 bottles of club soda, 4 rolls of Saran Wrap, and a package of hot links. Talk about poor dietary habits. Not to mention, how could a man use so much Saran Wrap in a week’s time? I decided I didn’t even want to know what he did with all of that Saran Wrap. But, Mr. Hinkle’s purchases weren’t the only strange thing about him. Instead of taking the goods and handing me the money, he spent 15 minutes of every visit me convincing me of the “green men.”

I’m not sure if they were aliens or monsters, but according to Hinkle, they were out to get him. They followed him, waited for him behind bushes, and were definitely trying to kill him. His doctor, who I’m quite convinced, was a psychiatrist, ordered him to stay home as much as possible in order to prevent an attack from the green men. This is why I got to visit Hinkle every Wednesday afternoon.

Worn out from climbing 12 flights, I knocked on the apartment door.
“Mr. Hinkle, it’s me, Mike with Bentley’s Grocers,” I announced in a completely unenthused tone.

“Are you alone, kid?” He asked.

I looked over my shoulder as I laughed to myself. “Yep, it’s just me, myself, and I.” The door cracked open a bit, and I could see Hinkle’s bulging eye looking through the crevice before opening the door a bit wider.

“I have to make sure those green guys didn’t follow you up,” he stated, as he grabbed the sack from me and stuffed a whopping one dollar tip into my hand.

“No, I didn’t notice any,” I said as I put the dollar in my pocket. “I guess you’re the only one who see them.”

“They’re sneaky guys,” he explained.

“Ahh, that must be it,” I said sarcastically.

“Say, kid, do you think you can walk with me across the street? I really want to get a copy of today’s paper.”

“Why don’t you just give me some change, and I’ll run over there and get you one,” I offered. The thought of climbing back up twelve flights of stairs seemed better than walking across the street with a loon.

“I really want to go outside. I haven’t been out since my last doctor’s visit, which was two weeks ago. I just want to breathe in some fresh air,” he pleaded.

“Listen, Mister. This really isn’t part of my job. I deliver groceries and that’s it.”

“Kid, if I walk out there alone, it might be the last time I walk out of this apartment. They might get me. Next thing you know, you’ll be reading it in the paper in the morning. Then you’ll feel guilty.”

I felt a tinge of sympathy for the guy and wondered what in the hell happened to this man that made him lose his marbles in such a way. He wasn’t old and senile. He was probably in his mid-to-late 40’s. He looked well kept and seemed to live a comfortable lifestyle from the looks of his apartment. Maybe he was just born nuts or maybe this is what living a lonely life did to your brain after a while.

“Okay, but let’s make it quick. I have one more delivery to make and then I’m going home.”

“Thank you, kid. I really appreciate this,” he said happily.

“Yah, yah, just hurry up,” I said unenthusiastically. Two minutes later he was back at the door, closing it behind him, turning the knob to make sure it was locked, and turning it again to double-check. “Uh, Mr. Hinkle, it’s locked,” I assured him.

We made our way down the twelve flights of stairs. Hinkle was basically running. It was hard for me to keep up with him. We got to the doorway of the building and he insisted I walk out first and check for any green men. I rolled my eyes, took a few quick glances around the perimeters of the building, and gave him the signal that the coast was clear. Slowly and very carefully he stepped out of the building. As we walked across the street, Hinkle stuck very close to me. It made me feel uncomfortable. People around us might think of our relationship to be a lot more than just customer and market transport specialist. I was relieved when we got to the news stand.

The man inside the stand was humming along to the blaring sounds of a sitar and a woman singing in a high-pitched, nasal voice. His eyes were closed and he was moving his turban covered head in a rhythmic sway.

“Hey, I need a paper,” Hinkle said rudely. The man’s eyes popped open as if he was interrupted from a deep meditative state. He glared at Hinkle for a moment.

“Did…you…hear…what…I …said?” Hinkle asked, as if the man was deaf and slightly dumb. “Do…you…understand…English?”

“Yes,” the man stated matter-of-factly. “I understand quite well. I may wear a turban and have an accent, but neither are signs of ignorance. Nor am I deaf, so you don’t have to talk so slowly.” The man was clearly irritated.

“Listen, smartass,” Hinkle said, “just give me the damn paper that I asked for.” I didn’t know why he was being such a prick to this guy. I wanted to run and leave him behind. Why was I standing there anyway? Who hired me to be Hinkle’s body guard? Why in the hell did I not just say no to this loon?

Turban Head was not one to put up with Hinkle’s blatant and deliberate rudeness. He didn’t feel that the loon’s dollar was worth this lack of respect. “I’m not going to sell you a paper,” he stated calmly. “There’s a newsstand down the road. Maybe you should try them.”

“I’m not walking down the damn street,” Hinkle yelled. “You’re going to give me that paper,” he screamed as he moved forward to grab one from behind the counter himself. I was in shock. How did this situation get so out of hand? I was almost waiting for my alarm clock to go off. This seemed like some sort of strange dream. But why in the hell would I be dreaming about this loon?

“Get off my counter,” Turban Head screamed. “I will call for the cops.” Hinkle got off the counter and turned away. I was relieved that he had finally come to his senses and given up this senseless argument. I started to walk away. I was so angry. I wanted to punch Hinkle in the face myself. I surely wasn’t going to walk his sorry ass home. Let the dumb green men get him. I didn’t care. He deserved it. I turned around a second later to tell him that he was now on his own.

That’s when I saw it. Hinkle reached into the inside of his jacket pocket and pulled out a shot gun, pointed it right at Turban Head, and shot it. Turban Head fell behind the counter with a cry. Everyone standing around stared in utter disbelief and shock. It was as if they were all frozen in this strange moment in time. I broke free from the trance and ran to Hinkle. I grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him around to face me.

“What in the hell did you just do?” I screamed. “You just killed that guy. Why? Whyyy?” Hinkle never responded. He just stared at me with a stoic expression. And then, I heard a horrifying sound. It was another shot. I let go of Hinkle and looked down at my gut, convinced that I would see blood pouring out of the seeping orifice created by the bullet that was released from the loon’s gun. But there was no blood and no orifice. When I looked up again, Hinkle had fallen to the ground. Behind him was Turban Head, holding a gun as blood oozed from his left shoulder.

I stood there in disbelief, swallowed deeply, blinked a few times, turned around, and walked away. I didn’t know how this happened. It was a normal day and a routine delivery. I walked up the street and felt as if I had no energy left to take another step. I wanted to sit somewhere…anywhere. I wanted to close my eyes and wake up and have all of the events of the past 20 minutes erased. I could hear the approaching sirens in the distance. And just as I turned around to watch for the flashing lights, I saw it.

It was a black car. It looked like an old model Cadillac. It was headed the same direction as me and moving rather slowly. I couldn’t help but stare at it, although a part of me wanted to run for some reason. Just as the car passed me, I noticed two men in the back seat. They were both looking at me through the passenger window. They had pale white faces. Their hair couldn’t be seen under their tall top hats which matched their suits. Both were a shade of bright green.