dust in the wind

The rain was coming down heavily as he stare out the window from the living room. The view is not much. Directly across the street is the newly renovated parking lot turned EMT Station. He looked at this so called “city”, a “city” that is trailing behind on every day trends but excelling on poverty. He wishes he was somewhere else, somewhere other than here.

His kitten keeps him company. The loud purrs indicate to him that the kitten has found happiness between these walls, where he has not. The phone rang. He took a moment to answer it. He couldn’t imagine who was calling. An image of this female raced through his mind as he hoped it was her. “Hello”, he said. A male voice responds, “Is Lazarus Higgins home? This is Paul with ATT”. Another bill collector wanting to devour whatever soul he has left. He hangs up and returns to the position by the window. The rain slows down, as the darkness envelopes around him.

He was feeling a little bit more depressed than usual this evening. The thought of attending that party tonight disgusted him. The thought of sitting with a group of individuals, celebrating the commitment of love made him sick to his stomach. He felt obligated to go because he already sent back the RSVP so there was no backing out now.

He was staring at a picture of his ex-girlfriend and himself taken at the amusement park. He remembered the love he felt and how “perfect” the relationship was. Well, it seemed perfect after overcoming a few obstacles. She was able to forgive him after finding him in bed with another woman. It was a simple mistake. She didn’t speak to him for a few days so he figured it was over. She then happened to show up in the middle of the night to find him with his head between another woman’s legs. He quickly remembered that she had not called because she was away for the weekend. She decided to come home early from her weekend getaway. Her forgiveness showed commitment to him and this is when he realized it was love. To strangers this picture was nothing, but to him, it told a fairy tale.

He tried to justify why the picture was still on the dresser, since they broke up months ago, but couldn’t.  The last straw for her was to find him once again with another woman. She used up all her forgiveness already. All he could think about is how much he still adored her. He took the picture from the frame and tucked it into his pocket.

The time was drawing nearer when he needed to meet up with his friends and attend this wedding shower. He did not know how he was going to pull this off, pretending to be happy for the couple. His thoughts then drifted to the time of his grandfather’s funeral where everyone was crying and going on about “how great of a guy” his grandfather was. This was a guy who said not a word to him and found joy in hopping around on one leg, tormenting him with his fake one and pulling on his ear. He would not say he was a “great guy”. However, he did figure that he had to join in and show some sort of emotion to be respectful. Luckily, his source of sadness came from this irritating perfume that made his eyes water. Such good timing. He was thinking of asking what the scent was just in case he had to attend another sad event. He didn’t care about the death and was only there to see if there were any single women there. The only luck he had was shedding a tear.

He was hesitant on attending this hand clapping, congratulations on your happiness, and wish you well party, because there was a girl he would have rather been with. This was his ex girlfriend, who he spoke with two weeks ago. She called to ask for some of her belongings back. He was certain that she wanted to rekindle what they had; and since then the obsession developed.

Her name was Rebecca. A beautiful Greek Woman. He happened to meet her when she was dating someone else. She was with that person for two years before he came along. He swept her off her feet. He did adore her, despite some of her annoying traits. He did not like the way she chewed her food or when she opened her mouth, but the sex was fantastic. She might not say that about him, but who cares. The sex certainly off set her annoying traits and he was able to tolerate and maintain a relationship with her. Who else would have put up with him.

His friends, Katie and Anthony, arrived with smiles. They were the ones who were always overjoyed for others and never showed any signs of anger. He found this odd. He distanced himself from any conversation with his friends, as his focus was on Rebecca. He has a talent for living in reality and fantasy simultaneously. This helps him get by. It was his turn to drive (reluctantly because of the gas prices) since they drove an hour to meet him. 

It was about a half hour ride to the VFW where the function was taken place. This gave him time to conjure up more obsessive thoughts and over indulge in his depression. But the time soon came when the Veteran building was in sight and the car had to stop.

 ACT 1 Lights camera action.

Introducing the star of the show, Lazarus Higgins. He is always the lead role in his mind and the extra in the real world.

He looked out the window as the anxiety set in. He had a history of having anxiety and panic attacks to the point where he felt the urge to cut out his own eyes while staring at himself in the mirror. He could not stand the reflection of himself. It was time for the signing of the card and giving up $20. He was known to be frugal or cheap. He did not like to spend money and always tried to finagle his way out of ever spending money. As he slowly reached in his pocket to grab the $20 he could only think of other ways to spend it; like on a blow job. This would help with the anxiety.

He was given the card and his mind was blank. What the hell would he write. His mind wandered about the last card he received from his ex. She told him how much she cared for him and missed him. This was obviously before the break up. She had gone to the Cape for a month to spend time with her family. She also noted how guilty she felt about going out while she was down there. She got the impression that he was upset when she went out. This was bullshit because he never made her feel guilty about anything. He knew she was crazy but so was he. He did use to hate it when she would obsess over her abs not being firm enough during sex. This was a mood breaker, but when she was in it, she was in it and she gave great head too.

He has the card in hand and needs to hand over the $20. “I wouldn’t put twenty in that card unless it was to fuck her”, not realizing he said this aloud. His friends looked at him and just ignored the comment. He has a tendency to make crazy and random comments so it was not uncommon. He hesitantly placed the $20 in the card and signed, “best of luck,  Laz”. It was so difficult to hand that over. It was a new, fresh, crisp bill just taken from the machine. It had that smell that all new bills have. The envelope was sealed and they all exited the car.

Here he goes, anxiety rising as he makes his strides towards the door. He knows the place is going to be full of happiness. Something he was not in the mood for. In fact, something he is typically never in the mood for. He silently enters the function. The place is consumed with people smile and laughing. The tops of the tables were hidden by gifts and food. The DJ was playing a slow song as couples swarmed on the dance floor to take this opportunity to dance close and feel the breath of one another. He just stood there, with a cynical looking smile on his face as the song played on and the groping continued.

It was time to greet the couple for whom this joyous occasion revolved around. The bride, not bad looking, was six months pregnant with twins. She was ready to explode. He had a fleeting thought of what it would be like to fuck her. He made this comment to Anthony, who once again, just ignored one of his insane comments.

The groom to be, was just your “average Joe”. Nothing spectacular about him. He figured that this “Joe” was just an ass to his lady. He would like to think that everyone was just as miserable as him.  But, he knew they were happy, not because he knew them, but because he could see it.

His eyes quickly became busy scanning the room for woman. There were plenty of attractive woman to choose from. He exchanged glances with some of them but their eyes shifted quickly away from him. His friends were exchanging their “congratulations”. He figured he needed to play along. “Congratulations”, he said in a monotone voice. “You’re a lucky guy”, he says, as he turns and smirks at the “bride to be”.

As he looked through the “bride to be” he noticed a familiar face. A face he has not seen since college. She was a beautiful girl. She had long, curly, brown hair, dark eyes, a slender figure that would never age. He was envisioning her, standing his room with nothing but black panties and one of his oxford shirts, with the top 4 buttons open. The fan is blowing the shirt, giving him just a peek of her breasts. He felt the erection in his pants. He needed to speak to her, see if she remembered him. He figured that speaking to her will keep his mind off Rebecca. He politely excused himself and went to grab a beer. He ordered a Samuel Adams, a beer that says, “I got taste”.

She may have good looks but she was such a “bitch.” Her name was Tara. Good Ole Tara. They had some good times together; taking long rides, sharing an interest in taking photos. She ended her relationship with him too. She thought he was becoming too “needy” just because he enjoyed being around her and talking to her. She couldn’t be bothered with his niceties after a while. Got bored of him.

He made his way towards her in a way that she could not escape his salutations. He just had to say hello. See what she has been up to. He executed his move and she hesitantly responded. There was a conversation about time that has passed. What they have each  been up to. He told her how he recently completed the Police Academy and was waiting on a position within the city. He thought this would be impressive to her. He noticed a slight movement and twitch in the lips and eyes, that to him, showed that she had no interest or questioned his career move. Sure he has made some mistakes in the past. Haven’t we all?

Tara was a teacher in a nearby town. She always had love for the kids. She didn’t speak much about what she was doing, only that this is what she was doing now. The conversation went numb like he was just hit with a shot of Novocain. He mentioned coffee and she politely told him that she would be in touch. Interestingly enough she did not have his information to get in touch with him. He called her a “bitch” under his breath as she swayed away. He stared intensely at her ass as she walked away. “That’s right. She is a bitch because your not interesting.” He said to himself.

He walked to the buffet table to grab some food when the romantic interlude was over. He filled up his plate with as much food as he thought was worth the $20 he out in the card. He was going to get his fill. He paid for it. He earned it for coming to this god forsaken event.

He returned to the table where his friends were. It was an odd mix of people sitting at the table. False conversation was going around the table. His mind was off in another place. He was thinking of Tara and the bride to be making a sandwich of him. Tara was walking towards him and he could have sworn she was flirting with him. Just as soon as she was waling his way, she turned and began to speak to other people.

A smell of Polo cologne rushed through the air. Memories of Rebecca stirred up again. No matter what, she will always be around. He thought of how she looked, stepping out from the shower, towel wrapped around her just right, with such an intoxicating smell. She would always smile at him, inviting him to take her. This fleeting thought left his mind and was again reminded of how shitty this party was. He excused himself from the table to take a leak. He wasn’t a rude person. He walked through the crowd, getting bits of conversation from each one he passed, They were laughing and having such a joyous time. He just wanted to get the fuck out of there.

The night grew longer and longer. There he was, without a positive thought and a good beer. He went outside to get some fresh air. Grab a cigarette. He didn’t smoke on a regular basis but it was a habit in it’s own form. A way to relieve himself.  He would always have a pack just for times like these.

There was nobody outside, nothing, except for the darkness. The darkness kept him sane. Made him feel calm. It was his place. A place where he could be free. Often times though this place did not offer such freedom but would stir up memories. He thought about the time when he was younger, seven or so. His mother was admitted in to the hospital for back surgery. She was in the hospital for 4 months due to complications. During this time, he and his sister were sent with different people to take care of them. He thought about the old couple, well old to him, being so young. They would often send him to bed without supper and the old man would reprimand him by putting his hands down his pants. The fucking pervert. His old lady knew what he was up to but she didn’t say a word.

This went on for months until he and his sister were moved to live with some woman he never met. Supposedly she was a friend of his mothers. She lived in the projects. He can still smell urine soaked hallways and carpeting in her apartment. He added to the smell of the of the place because he had a slight bed wetting problem. I’m not sure it would be called “bed wetting” because he slept on the floor in the kitchen. He probably slept there because his piss was easier to clean up. He would wake up ever morning at 6:00 AM to the sound of “dust in the wind” by Kansas. Every damn morning this song came on at the same time. It became torturous after a while. The lady would encourage him to get up, eat his dry cereal and send him off to school in his soiled underpants.

Eventually he returned home and none of this was mentioned. He was now just a young boy dealing with divorce and his mother’s abusive relationships, and to this day that song lay heavy on him as a constant reminder of hell.

He stood there puffing away. The wind blowing smoke back in his face. He reached in to his pocket and pulled out the picture of Rebecca. His happiness.  If, in fact, “obsession” could be considered happiness, than that is what it was. He inhaled his last puff. Dropped the butt to the ground. Dropped the picture to the ground and let out a deep sigh.

Act 11

Hospital curtains are drawn back.

Muffled sounds. Beeping, beeping, clanking, clicking along with people yelling and screaming. Bright lights shining down on my face. Feeling cold, but I know I’m not dead. I’m immobilized. . I try to move my arms. They won’t move. I can feel myself pulling, wiggling my fingers but nothing is happening. Same thing with my legs. I can wiggle the toes but can’t seem to shift around. I struggle to lift my eye lids. I glance around the room and notice where the noises are coming from. I realize that I’m in a hospital. I can see nurses and doctors shuffling about. I see shadows of other people outside the room. I hear people yelling, “calm down! Step back!”  A nurse comes into the room. She doesn’t say much, other than to ask if I’m in any pain. She has a look of disgust on her face. I’m not sure what to make of it but I’m not feeling scared. I tell her I’m fine. I ask her for water. She grabs a cup from the side table and puts it up to mouth. I ask her why I can’t move. She moves back the sheet and points to the strap that’s gripping my wrist to the side bar. I know now that this is the reason why I can’t move my legs. They are strapped down as well. I don’t bother asking any more questions. I close my eyes and drift off to the screaming that goes beyond the room.

Act 111

“order, order in this court room”

“Mr. Higgins do you understand what is happening here in this court today?”

I shrugged my shoulders and responded with, “I do.” I had nothing else to say. Nothing to offer anyone standing around. People were shouting out, wanting answers to things I had no answers for. I tuned it all out as was shuffled back.

One year later, here I sit in my new home, a 6 x 8 room. My new view is of the courtyard. Bars across the windows. Some light shines through. Sometimes I imagine I can feel the warmth but I know it’s not real. I have new roommates; different than the ones I used to have. Some of them seem a little bit rougher around the edges. I tend to keep my distance and mind my own business. It’s been better that way. I get hassled here and there, more so from my babysitters. They don’t seem to like me all that much. I figure that eventually they will get used to me and become bored of hitting me. Although I enjoy a good beating now and then as it makes me feel alive.

I spend most days just reading or staring at my walls that I plastered with different articles with headlines that read, “Jack and Jill: A Bloody Ceremony.” I’m still not sure what to make of all of it. I can’t explain it. I only know what I heard throughout the trial, seen on the news and read in papers. I don’t try to convince anyone that I’m innocent. How can I? Not only were there witness to the events, but everything in the media is always accurate.

It has been communicated, through testimonies, and reported that a “young man,” me, went into a rage and killed 5. The victims included; the bride to be, her groom, her two unborn twins and Tara Goodwin. Tara actually got shot accidentally as I tried to kill myself. So it was reported. Apparently I got my weapon from the trunk of the car. This would make sense because I did keep weapons there. I did have a license to carry. I mean, I did go through the academy. As it was described, I entered the hallway, did not say a word and just shot the couple, point blank in the head. Dropping them where they stood. I pointed the gun at myself and fired. The shot grazed the side of my head and hit Tara. She was not in a good position.

The articles go on and on, about the horror on that night. I’m not sure why I keep them. Maybe so that someday I will remember and start to feel some emotion around what happened. I don’t know why that would matter since I will die here.

I’m not lonely. Sometimes I miss it. Being out there. Missing my chances with Rebecca. She’ll come around soon. I continue to write her even though I haven’t heard back. I’m sure she is busy doing her own thing, getting settled. She must get the letters because they don’t get returned to me. She’ll get around to it.

I haven’t accomplished much within this year. But the one thing that I did accomplish was I learned how to play “Dust in the Wind” on Guitar. When it comes down to it we really are just all dust it the wind.