Dead Flies and Soggy Napkins

The fan blades barely turned, creating little more than a turnstile for a hundred flies awaiting their ticket to the grease and dust covered motor. Jerald looked at the sweating rocks glass before him. A curious puddle was forming around its base. The clear brown liquid within the glass, by contrast, remained as still as summer swamp.

“Drink up or leave.” The cigarette rash voice of Wanda, the bartender, broke the silence. She picked up a fly swatter and smashed a lazy fly, then after scooping the carcass onto the floor, returned the swatter to the bar.

Jerald raised his bloodshot eyes toward the woman. “Ya can’t make me drink, it’s illegal, I learned that in AA.”

“Well, ya ain’t gonna stay on that barstool all day neither.” Wanda wiped the perspiration from her lip. Her stained yellow fingers betrayed too many years of smoking.

“What’s it to ya? Not like people are knocking down the door to get in this place.” Jerald watched a fly crawl across the rim of the glass. The fly seemed to look up at Jerald before flying on to join the brethren celebrating the fan.

“It’s early now, but come sun down, all the bums will come in with their stolen dollar and beg a shot.”

“You give’m a shot? For a buck?” That’s not bad. Jerald stop that.

“Rot gut, not like that stuff ya got before ya.” Wanda raised the swatter again but the fly identified her approach and escaped to the ceiling.

Jerald looked at the drink in front of him. He hadn’t touched it, but minutes before he paid five dollars for the liquor and ice.

“Put another chunk of ice in it.”

“What and give you a towel to soak up the overflow, no dice. It had ice, it melted. Drink it or move on. You want something else?” Wanda wiped her hands on the hips of her tight blue jeans.

“Nope, nothing you can offer.” Promises, so many promises.

Wanda reached behind the counter and brought out a can of bug spray; sprayed at the ceiling, then waved her hand at the falling mist. “I’m let’n you sit there cause there ain’t nobody else in here, and you paid for that drink.” She lit a cigarette and at the same time swatted at a fly. “But, as soon as that evening crowd comes in, you either gotta start drink’n or move on. This here’s a business.”

“Yeah.”

Wanda picked up a television remote and pushed a button. “My soap opera’s on, you care?”

“Nope.”

Jerald didn’t listen to the sound, and he barely noticed the flickering screen. Wanda had leaned her back against the bar in order to see the television, thus faming Jerald’s drink in a sea of stretched white cloth. Jerald thought about his life, framed like the liquor, consumed by the alcohol. Why, Lord, why?

A stream from the sweating glass drifted toward Jerald. He pushed a cocktail napkin into its path to stop the flow. The napkin quickly turned from white to gray. Interesting, high life, became dull life.

Another person entered the bar and broke the monotony. Wanda sprang into action and nearly tripped trying to extinguish her cigarette and click the television to a news channel. She looked over at Jerald and gave him a ‘drink up’ sign.

Jerald pushed the drink to the back of the counter; two flies were nudged out of the way and seemed offended at the interruption. Then Jerald stood and walked toward the door.

“Leave’n?” Wanda called from the bar. She was armed with the fly swatter.

Jerald held up two fingers in a victory sign, and walked out onto the street. My life. One day at a time. Thank you Jesus.

A Promise

The radio blared the latest hit while Marsha lay on her back panting. Thank you Jesus, I never thought I could beat her. Seconds earlier she had crossed the finish line, a full stride ahead of her nearest competitor. Wow, the blood is pumping through my head, man that hurts. Then, without warning, an ice-pick-pain crossed in back of eyes and a veil of darkness covered her vision.

Somebody get that light out of my eyes. Bright lights blinded her when she suddenly became aware. Can’t anyone hear me? She tried to scream but the world was silent and her efforts did not intrude. Shadows passed the lights, I gotta get up and outa here. She wanted to get up and run – run like she had at the meet. But, something restrained her; try as she might she could not pull away. What’s this? She lowered her eyes, everything seemed in a fog.

Who’s there? A dark shadow appeared and held her chin. Then the shadow pushed her eyelid and brighter lights flashed in her eyes. Get that light out of my eyes. She wanted to scream again, but no sound came out.

Why can’t I scratch my nose? Her nose itched but she could not raise a hand to scratch; she tried to blow air upwardly but a tube in her mouth prevented any air flowing. She suddenly became aware of all of the tubes, everywhere.

A familiar face appeared over her. Mom! Help me mom. Her mother seemed to smooth Marsha’s hair, a hand passing before Marsha’s face.

Why mom? What’s happening? Why can’t I hear you? So many questions to ask but Marsha had trouble focusing on more than one thing.

Her mother stood, then another person in a white coat stood next to her mother and they seemed to be exchanging words. Are you talking about me? Talk to me. What’s going on? Then the person in the white coat left and Marsha once again began to concentrate on the white light above her.

Time passed, less important than it used to be, she had no clock, no measure of the minutes, hours, or weeks. Sheesh, I haven’t slept this much since whenever.

At some time she recognized the face of her associate pastor. Hey Jimmy, talk to me, it’s me Marsha. Then another time the senior pastor looked into her face. Reverend Samuels, finally someone with some sense, talk to me. Help me! It seemed to her that more strangers appeared before her than ever before. Various relatives also flashed before her, and then the parade slowed until it stopped. Why are all these people appearing before me, is this a dream?

When the parade of faces stopped she just thought about friends and relatives, about church and school, about her boyfriend Bob Bob, I’ll kill him when I get out of this; somehow this seems like one of his practical jokes. She thought about her job, trips to the grocery store, and her silly excursions to the mall. She thought about her little brother and what she could remember of her father – Cancer took him when she was very young. She recalled him telling her, “remember Jesus’ promise.” Mostly, she thought about God, and prayed that God would lead her out of whatever situation she was in. Oh, Jesus, maybe you can make me understand this. In her mind she began to sing, Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so. The old children’s hymn eased her mind.

A familiar face flashed in her vision. Mom, am I glad to see you. Her mother appeared to hug Marsha. Are those tears in your eyes? A man put his hand on her mother’s shoulder. Her mother kissed Marsha’s forehead then disappeared. Hey mister could you dim the light? The man in the white coat reached above her, and then he too departed. However, the lights began to dim.

She awoke suddenly on a grassy field surrounded by a mist. Standing in cooling air was Jesus, just the way she had pictured Him all of her life.

He reached out His hand. “Come to me child, for you are home.”

____________________________________

But God will redeem my soul from the power of the grave: for he shall receive me. PS 49:15 (KJV

This Could Be Interesting

My head pounded with the constant drumming, drumming which combined with fumes and soot to choke and gag me. I struggled to raise myself but something burned on my scalp, a cut or a scrape was my guess. I reached to touch my head but my jacket pulled at my arm. Whatever it was that was on my scalp found its way through my matted hair and dripped into my eyes.

The clerk told me the tux was a 40 long - he lied. The threads tore as my hand extended toward my head. Somewhere in the night, time had stopped, or perhaps it had raced forward – in the darkness I couldn’t really focus. My mind raced though events. The last thing I remembered was the beautiful woman I met at the opera, we had left together after the first encore. The ebony red head sat across from me saying those things only grownups say in uncomfortable situations. The coat had hampered me then too, as I tried to reach across the ornate table setting to touch her polished fingers. We were lost in the moment and the music – a solitary violin slicing the night.

The violin, yes the violin, I remember. Earlier, at the opera house, I had enjoyed the music. On the stage a master had stood playing the Strat. Oh, how inviting the notes seemed to be, with each careful stroke, the master had sent strings of beauty, horror, challenge and intrigue. Surely, no master of the violin could have been so proficient. But, he disappeared. What happened to the music? What happened to the beautiful woman? Where was the wine? Oh, the wine. It must have been the wine. My tongue felt like sandpaper. But, the wine, the acid taste lingered in my mouth.

My hands felt the platform around me, “cardboard.” Only a slight echo answered my call. I think I am on a box of sorts.

The drumming continued, and I tried to place the sound. “A piston, definitely, a piston.” Years of working in the ship yards had paid off, at least I could recognize the sound of an engine.

I finally managed to free myself from my tux jacket. In the darkness I searched the pockets and eventually reached into the jacket vest pocket, the secure feeling of the key to my Jag met my hand. At least they had not stolen the car. But, then what car thief needs a key any longer. I continued to feel inside the pocket, at last the silk flap revealed a book of matches. I remembered, I had picked them up off of the table in order to light a cigarette for the beautiful redhead. “Who was she anyway?” I tried to focus my mind. Beautiful women and wine, a volatile mixture.

I struck one of the matches against the surface of the booklet, and it exploded with flame, the same as it had the night before when it highlighted beauty. The new match however, only pierced the darkness, revealing an arc around me; more boxes, and a few cages - a monkey, maybe a dog, or other small animal. The match burned my fingers and I dropped it, the small cinder fell into the darkness. I counted to ten before it disappeared. It suddenly registered to me. I was on top of a stack of boxes. “Precious...,” I held my tongue as I cried into the darkness, my silver cross burned into my chest, glad I didn’t jump, I bet I am twenty feet up. I struck another match and peered over the side of the box. I couldn’t see the bottom.

Suddenly, the boxes shifted and I rolled to my side. Frantically, I grabbed a sharp cardboard edge. It finally added up, I was in the hold of a ship.

“So,” I managed to clear my throat, “this could be interesting.”

When Misty Walked With Jesus

She never heard them coming. Suddenly, hands ripped at her clothing and her feet were knocked from beneath her. When she fell she tried to catch herself but someone grabbed her arm as her chin bounced off of the curb and her teeth pierced her lip. Expletives showered down upon her like a spill from a steel furnace. Blood began to fill her throat; then all went black.
----
“She’s conscious, let’s clear the room, Shirley, get Dr. Simmons, stat.”

The hospital intercom call system barked, “Dr. Simmons, Dr. Simmons, room 325, stat.”

----

She opened her eyes and tried to focus on her surroundings. Suddenly, she realized that stiff strings were hanging from her face, and her body seemed restrained. A shape was bending over her and shining a light into her eyes. She felt no pain but had an odd sensation pulsing through her body. She closed her eyes again, but someone began shaking her. It was the shape, saying something to her, she couldn’t understand. Then the shape changed. The voice was deeper and sharp. She blinked, trying to get her eyes to register the sights around her.

“Misty, Misty, wake up.”

The words configured in her mind. Her name was being called.

“Misty, honey, it’s daddy, look at me sweetie.”

A new voice, familiar, on her left side.

“Put her glasses on her,” a female voice in the distance.

The person on her left started placing something on her face.

“They will have to rest on her nose; I can’t stretch them around the bandages. Glad we had this spare pair at the house.”

Suddenly, a rush of bile and blood entered her throat and she tried to cough but to no avail. Then all was silent.

____

“Code, get the crash cart! Let’s go people move, give me some room.” Simmons climbed onto the edge of the hospital bed and opened his patient’s mouth with his fingers. “Get me a trek kit!”

Minutes later oxygen was being pumped through a hole in her throat.

“Oxygen in bloodstream is increasing,” said a nurse at a monitoring station.

Dr. Simmons nodded, “good.” Then, he picked up a clipboard. “Let’s get her into surgery, call the floor, and tell them we’re coming. I need Dr. Allen too; he should be in the Trauma Center.”

“Yes, doctor.”

----

A week passed and she couldn’t wake up. She heard sounds, but couldn’t connect them. Sometimes she felt touches, but couldn’t figure where the touch originated. Mostly though, she slept. She sat at a table with Jesus, the apostles; she walked with Moses in the desert; she visited Ruth and her new husband; she stood on a hill with Elijah and watched the masses pass; and watched as David slew the giant. Finally, Jesus took her by the hand and led her to a balcony.

“It’s time to start for home, my daughter.”

----

One day a bright light interrupted her sleep. For the first time her eyes focused on a face, and she heard him speak.

“Okay, I’ve got brain activity, and eye flutter.” His voice was directed away from her.

Another voice chimed in. “I’ll call her mother.”

She could feel her body, there were pains, subdued, but pains; her mouth was dry and she tried to open it and it felt like her lips were splitting.

An excited voice shouted, “She’s active, we’ve got her back!”

A Dust Particle

It was night. Not a dark night, not a bright night; just night. Marion stared at the cold television set, picked up a cracker and chewed on the stale powder. The dim reflection of a street light bounced off of the gray television screen. “God why have you forsaken me?” She looked around the cluttered room, her own voice had startled her. She slumped lower into her single overstuffed chair. The chair was her friend, besides the old broken television, the ripped and torn chair was the only furniture left in her apartment – a metaphor for her empty and torn life.

She closed her eyes and tried to ignore gnawing hunger pains. If she had the will she could go to the soup kitchen, the mercy clinic, and all of the other help agencies her village provided, but that would mean leaving the chair, besides it was night, nothing special, just another night. A cooling breeze from a broken window blew through the clutter and a small picture flipped over. A previous tenant had been Catholic and in the clutter were remnants of their old trash.

“Nailed you to a cross too.” Marion toed the small card with a crucifix imprint. Her heart pained and she grasped at her breast. “God, just take me away, send me to hell I don’t care, it couldn’t be any worse.”

Marion laughed at herself, took a deep breath, then began laughing again. “I’m so funny, maybe I should crawl into that old television, let the world see me on the screen. ‘Oh, look,’ they would say, ‘Marion is a star.’ Right, a star, more like a spark, maybe an explosion, poof, and she’s gone. That’s what they’d say.” Marion snickered.

She threw her legs over the arm of the chair and tried to rest her head on the opposite arm. Her chair was uncomfortable but at least she wasn’t on the floor. She closed her eyes but reoccurring visions interrupted any possible rest. Days earlier some boys came in and took what little furniture she had; nobody called the police; nobody really cared. She gasped and shook her head violently, “No, no, no,” she cried. In her mind she could see the government people taking her daughter away. Then, her jumbled thoughts turned to the man who promised to take care of her. “Wonder what happened to him? I supposed his wife would be shocked if I showed up on his doorstep.” She laughed. “He probably wishes I was dead or gone away.” She held her hand up over the chair so that the faint light reflected off of her dirty fingers. “Maybe I will show up at his little lily white church and sit in a pew with his little lily white family, and say ‘hello, remember me, the woman your father said he loved more than anything else. Yes, yes,’ I would say, ‘it was a delightful love relationship, sort of an extra thingy, oh I didn’t mind being put out on the street when he was done with me, I bet he tells you too that a little adversity is good for the soul. Yes, isn’t that just like him? Oh, I see him coming down the isle, I’d better scoot cause I promised not to bother him any longer.’ Oh, they’d love that.”

Marion flipped her greasy hair over the arm of the chair. Her heart was beating rapidly. “Okay Jesus, you see what a sinner I am, not worth your forgiveness, blast me away; I am so far away from your mercy.”

“Marion,” a soft voice echoed in the room.

“Huh?”

A dust particle sparkled in the dim light. “I...love you.”
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