Monday, April 12, 2010

Under A Silver Moon




Author's note: Wanted to write some more but I really did not want to jump back into the vampire stuff just yet. Drifted over to the Writer's Digest website and found this prompt:

"You and a friend break into your neighborhood swim club late one night to go for an after-hours dip. While splashing around in the pool, you go into shock when a dead body floats to the top. Worse yet—it's someone you know. Write this scene."


The full moon shining above lighted the way as Katie and Zane walked the narrow path through the woods that paralleled the length of their neighborhood on the way to the pool house. The only sounds beside their footsteps were of lonely crickets still singing for a mate and small animals skittering through the underbrush.

As they walk beside each other, Katie is clearly uncomfortable about sneaking out of her house so late and nervous about the dark woods around them and seeing this Zane puts his arm around her. “We will be at the pool in a minute babe and it will just be us.”

Katie rewards him for easing her fears by leaning her head over and kissing him. The kiss is short but from the moonlight reflecting off her eyes he sees her silent promise of what awaits once they get to the pool.

The young couple had known each other since elementary school having grown up in the same neighborhood and been a part of the same social circles. Still though, they had never been more than friends until the summer before college. Something always seemed to push them apart, namely Zane’s father who never thought much of Katie or her family for some reason that he would never really speak about. During their senior class trip to the Bahamas though, Zane and Katie, away from their families, began to see something special in each other.

However, college loomed before them so those feelings were set aside and as the years passed they keeping in touch through letters and the occasional phone call. Relationships with other people, some serious, flared and then died as the college years passed but the two rediscovered each other by chance after returning home.

Zane easily climbed over the old wrought iron fence surrounding the pool house as Katie slipped around to the fence door where he lets her through. The pool water sparkled in the moonlight with the two staring at each other longingly before falling into each other’s arms. Their kiss was passionate and long with the couple eager to fulfill years of pent up desire and dreams about each other. As the young couple entered the chilly waters of the pool the full moon whose light had provided a sort of comfort during their walk slide behind a large bank of clouds with a deeper darkness enveloping the two.

Their world becomes the feel of each other’s skin, the taste of each other’s lips, and the sound of words spoken they had only imagined. Feeling the security of the darkness wrap around them their bodies find each other and the world they know shrinks even further to one of primal lust and the joy that they had at last found each other.

Their moment passes, the fever subsides and Zane and Katie become children again swimming and playing in the pool while the passing clouds allow the silver moon to reappear. The returning moonlight illuminates the area allowing Zane to see a dark shape floating in the short segment of the L-shaped pool. Zane cannot completely tell what the shape is gently bobbing in the water is but he has an instinctive foreboding.

“Katie, get behind me and turn around.” Zane said as Katie is suddenly nervous and clasps her arms tightly around her naked breasts.

“Zane, you’re scaring me,” she says as he lets her go and edges closer to the dark shape floating in the water. Zane finally gets close enough to realize it is a man floating face down, the splayed arms and lack of any movement confirming in Zane’s mind that the person is long dead.

“Katie,” he said in as calm a voice he could manage, “I need you get out the water and call the police from the phone mounted on the wall next the pump house.”

As Zane heard Katie begin to wade through the pool back toward the other end he flipped the body to see whom it was. Staring back at him with lifeless eyes was Zane’s own father. The scream that came out of Zane was instinctive, hearing his pure and utter sorrow Katie turned and rushed back to the man she now knew she loved.

As the couple embraced naked in the water seeking only comfort from each other next Zane’s dead father, a figure emerged from the shadows.

“I really hated to kill Edward although he was always able to sense something of my true nature,” a male voice said stepping out into the moonlight. “But despite my efforts all through your life Katie I knew there was nothing I could do to stop Zane from eventually soiling you beyond any usefulness. You two were simply meant for each other”

Both Zane and Katie are shocked to see her father stepping out of the shadows. Even more disturbing was the manic look on his face and the almost lyrical tone to his voice as if he could start singing at any minute. Knowing something was very wrong they held each other closer feeling a growing danger.

“My backers had such plans for you Katie my darling; it really is a shame that you are lost to us now. However, with a little more work on my part either one of your younger sisters will do nicely.” With that, Katie’s father throws the electrical disconnect hanging on the wall beside him that ran to the underwater pool lights. As the lever falls completing the circuit both Zane and Katie saw the broken lights and exposed wires under the water.

As the current raced through the pool and through Zane and Katie’s bodies they sink into the water still holding each other. Katie’s last thoughts before the final darkness engulfed her were terror filled as she saw her father step back into the shadows with his eyes seemingly glowing red.

The next day as police arrive after the discovery of the bodies everyone saw how distraught Katie’s father was at the sight of his lifeless daughter. Without any effort on his part the general census of the authorities present was that Zane’s father had discovered the lovers in the pool and in a fit of mindless rage thrown the switch since it was well know he had issues with his son seeing the girl.

“You two are all I have now.” Katie’s father says as friends lead him away from the pool with his two younger daughters by his side.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

What Fate Can Steal From Us


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New author's note: As I feared this story did become a comedy of ridiculous errors on my part requiring a bunch of hours just to correct my mistakes, and produce new one while trying to correct the old ones. I still would greatly appreciate all honest input. But I warn you this monster is now nearly 4000 words long.

For days my only connection with reality were the cheap nylon ropes that bound my hands to a hook above my head and that were steadily cutting into the flesh of my wrists. Broken strands that had flared out from the main weave of the rope felt like needles puncturing the raw flesh of my wrists. With my continued struggling the rope itself slowly cut deeper keeping the wounds raw and blood oozing down my arms. I preferred the alternating pain and numbness that expanded into unconsciousness compared to the nightmare I found myself unable to escape.
Dealing with the nightmare I was trapped in was one thing but worse was seeing my wife, tied up the same way on another post, changing before my eyes. The nature of those horrific changes lent a surreal aspect to my current reality that in my more lucid moments bound to the post had me questioning my sanity. The worse thing about all this was the guilt; I was the one that had put us in this position and as the memories incessantly looped through my delirious mind I found myself praying that the creatures would just kill me.
The beginning of all this was on the other side of the world during a patrol through an Afghan village on a hot June morning. The Special Forces A-Team I was a member of had been assured by the military intelligence types that our sector was secure and that our new mission would be more winning the hearts and minds of the villagers by working with and guarding the civilian aid staff bringing basic medical care for the people in our area. Since I was one of the team’s medics I especially got off on the idea of saving lives instead of taking them although I was more than able to do the latter when called on.
The big boys at headquarters had scheduled my team and the aid workers for a series of villages whose elders had been more reliable in supporting our efforts in the countryside. Our days traveling from village to village were fairly uneventful providing medical care to the people until they almost became routine. With the welcomes we were receiving as we entered a new village it became all too easy to believe everyone appreciated our efforts. The trouble was that while those we were helping could be depended on, others who felt they were not getting the same level of assistance became a danger our teams did not see.
The chieftain from a neighboring village was jealous with the amount of aid his old enemy was receiving and worked with the Taliban to setup and ambush to kill my Special Forces team and the civilian aid workers. Various intelligence sources knew about the animosity between the two village leaders and the relatives the chieftain had in the Taliban but the big brass was eager for a feel good story about our progress and ignored the danger.
The result was a brutal attack that killed or maimed everyone on my team, the aid workers, and killed half of the village we were trying to help. However it was as the last RPGs were fired I saw a little boy running towards me his dirty robes restricting his movements and in the distance a Taliban sniper taking aim on him that ruined me. I tried my best to get into a position to fire at the sniper but another Taliban fighter opened up forcing back under cover. While moving under fire I crawled behind the wheel of a burning humvee just in time to see the bullet explode from the boy’s chest and the sick grin on the fighter as he dove for cover once I opened up on him. What saved us all was the son of the village chieftain who was able to rally the surviving men and repel the Taliban. Somehow he saw fit to tell my superiors of my actions saving those I could, which earned me a big fat, bronze star and equally meaningless slaps on the back by scheming politicians. After the battle was over sitting in the dust and smelling the burning flesh of my dead teammates and the people we were trying to help I felt fate had somehow stolen my purpose in life leaving me only the burning desire to go home.
Initially the incompetence that allowed the disaster to happen was exposed with promises from the usual suspects that heads would roll because of it. However, weeks later after all the misjudgments were hidden and senior careers protected I arrived home a free man looking to restart my life. Since the powerful wanted to keep me silent after I learned the truth I asked for and received an immediate honorable discharge along with recommendations to several medical schools that would allow me to do what I really wanted with my life. After out-processing in Germany I flew directly home to North Carolina and into the arms of my wife, Jillian.
With the numerous recommendations from my superiors the medical school I wanted accepted me and were even allowing me to start classes as early as September. Before school began, Jillian and I desperately wanted to spend some time in a place that had been a source of so many happy memories for us growing up. As silly as it sounded our destination was Disney World with a full week and plenty of money to enjoy the parks. After that we had planned to return home where I was suppose to get ready for school but I convinced her to spend another week cruising the back roads of Florida. Jillian wanted to go home but the traveling allowed me to forget the face of that scared young boy and we continued to drive every back country road I could find and stopping at every seedy diner or country store that we came across.
It was at a run-down fish shack diner somewhere on the edge of the Everglades Jillian and I encountered Simon, his wife Alice, and the rest of his strange entourage. Simon and his entire group seemed completely out of place dressed in the finest designer clothes and carried themselves with an old world air that was sophisticated but friendly. Not long after we began talking I asked the man why they were traveling seemingly lost among the back roads of the Everglades but he assured me they were only exploring like Jillian and I were doing. The group of belligerent and filthy rednecks Jillian and I had encountered hours before at the last gas station before turning on this particular road were far closer to what we expected to met so far out in the wilderness.
As evening fell and a rare cool breeze blew through screened-in windows everyone ate and relaxed to the stories Simon told of his travels around the world. He seemed friendly enough but I could not place his accent, which was something I should have been able since part of my army training had been becoming fluent in three languages with exposure to many more. He showed a respectful amount of gentlemanly attention to Jillian leading me to guess he was of European origin and old money. Hours later after night had completely fallen Simon, his wife, and his six friends drove away in their SUV and I figured we would never see them again.
Jillian and I left the old diner not long after them and continued driving further into the Everglades. This part of the trip had taken so deep into the Everglades that the only hint of civilization was the ruins of an abandoned gas station. It was there we saw Simon’s vehicle on the side of the road, the hood raised and the doors open but no one around.
“Todd, we need to stop and find out what happened.” Jillian said clearly worried, while she had told me after leaving the diner that while some of the friends traveling with Simon and Alice had troubled her she had really enjoyed meeting the married couple.
My instincts were screaming for me to floor it and get the Hell away from the place but the way Jillian smiled at me eased my suspicions and I pulled up behind the SUV. Within seconds our windows were busted, I was pulled from the car like a rag doll and beaten by people I recognized as members of Simon's group. As I struggled to fight and stay conscious I caught a glimpse of Simon and Alice holding Jillian and laughing while three others of his group tied her up.
"Todd, help me!" I heard my wife scream still struggling against her captors. Jillian's scream diverted my attention enough for one of the people attacking me to land a major blow to my head that put me on the ground.
“Are you happy with the addition I picked for the clan my love?” I thought I heard Simon ask as I lay on the old gravel of the gas station parking lot. By the light of a full moon I had time enough to see Alice unbuttoning the blouse of my unconscious wife with Simon standing close by. After that, another blow to the head finally knocked me out and I did not wake up until I was in the old house tied to the post. My mind was full of questions and Simon was sitting in a chair nearby waiting to supply the answers.
“Good to see you back among the living Mr. Briggs” Simon said gleefully but with a manic glint in his eye that scared me more than anything ever had. “I suppose you want to know why we attacked you after such a friendly encounter back at the old diner. Well your wife has been picked for a rare honor but for her to receive it I’m afraid she will have to kill you.”
Simon went on to tell me and demonstrate that he was the leader of a small clan of vampires in search of a second wife for him. Despite being injured I had enough of my senses to think the man and his group were stark raving mad. That is until Alice and one of the junior members of his vampire clan, a creature named Lewis, dragged in a terrified college girl from another room in the old house. Much to my stunned disbelief I watched first Alice then Lewis expose their fangs and the rest of their barracuda-like teeth from hidden pockets in their gums, which were used to tear gaping wounds in the girl for them to feed. All that time Simon just sat and watched the life drain out the girl who was then cut up and the pieces tossed outside for the alligators to fed on.
I could tell that Jillian had been bitten the night we were attacked and drained of some of her blood. She was conscious but incoherent and deathly pale, her only acknowledgment of my presence was a weak smile that sent me into a fit of rage struggling against the ropes that held me. Simon in his sickly gleeful voice would explain to me that for her to be turned she would have to willingly accept blood from him or Alice since it was his intention for the three to life-bond.
Despite what Simon told me about the intended subject willingly choosing to be turned Jillian’s first exposure about a day later took the form of Alice cutting Simon’s arm and sucking his blood into her mouth. With the blood still in her mouth Alice approached Jillian tied to the post with her arms strung above her like me but sitting in a small chair. Alice took on this gaze much like that of a snake and straddled Jillian legs gently stroking her face and looking into her eyes. Jillian looked even worse than from the day before and offered little resistance as Alice continued to stare at her and now speak softly into her ears. It wasn't long before Jillian seemed lost and in some sort of trance and began to respond to Alice's touches.
“Jillian,” I screamed, “look at me, break away; don’t let her do this to you.” Jillian never even looked at me once. All I got was a sick laugh from Alice who looked at me with soulless, blood-red eyes and then turned back to Jillian and began kissing her passionately pushing Simon’s blood from her mouth into Jillian’s.
Over the course of three more days Alice fed Jillian the same way each day and the changes in her seemed too escalated as each hour passed. At times I could see Jillian sweating heavily and unconscious but she always had at least two members of Simon's clan attending her who would wipe her face with a wet cloth and force her to drink water. The vampire named Lewis was my attendant and he would hold a bottle of water up to my mouth for me to drink. During those times as I greedily gulped down all the water he would allow Lewis whispered in my ears about how Jillian would soon rip my throat open and drink my blood then pass it around to all the clan members. I developed a special hatred for Lewis during those times and I promised myself that if I ever got loose I would make sure the creature suffered severely before I finally put him down.
The last time I looked into Jillian's eyes and not only saw my wife but a fellow human being was when her fangs and the rest of her barracuda-like teeth first extended. It was clearly painful and her eyes were beseeching me to do something. Once they were exposed Jillian seemed to go limp and almost pass out, it was then I saw her blues eyes mutated into the blood-red kind I had seen Alice and Lewis have when they fed on the college girl. She quickly recovered and from the way she now stared at me I knew the human Jillian was gone, replaced with a creature that for my entire life I had believed was something only found in horror movies and comic books.
Simon stood in front of Jillian and untying her hands, she slowly rose from her seat and seemed deeply enchanted by Simon and saying it was a look of love would not be far off the mark. Alice moved beside both of them and unbuttoned the shirt Simon was wearing.
“Jillian, do you now willingly accept the gift of eternal life we so humbly offer to you?” Alice asked placing one of her hands on Jillian’s shoulder and the other on Simon's. “And more importantly do you willingly become part of our clan and second wife to Simon forsaking all aspects of your human life?”
I have often debated in my mind whether or not at that moment Jillian actually had any choice in the matter and sometimes even now I can convince myself she was under the influence of both Simon and Alice. But when she turned her head and looked at me again standing in front of Simon I knew Jillian was still somewhere inside that body and that when she nodded her head in acceptance it was my Jillian, not the creature she had become.
Somewhere deep down I knew this would happen just as Simon had first told me no matter how much I did not want to believe it. My army survival and escape training had kicked in days before when I noticed that attached to the post my hands were bound to was a worn piece of metal that probably had been used to brace up the wood. It offered enough of an edge to slowly cut the nylon ropes that had bound my arms to the hook above it. As Simon offered his chest to Jillian to seal their relationship I could feel the last few strands of the rope start to pop.
With everyone in Simon’s clan engrossed watching Jillian sucking on his chest no one noticed when the rope that held my bound my wrists finally popped. The final act in this vampire drama was still for Jillian to kill me and suck my blood, which would then be passed around the group. I had lost count of the days my arms had been tied above my head and the pain was intense as I crouched in shadows trying to shake the blood and feeling back into them.
I had barely a minute to recover before the the creature that had been my wife came my way with her fangs still extended, her eyes a brilliant red, and an utterly inhuman expression on her face. Running strictly on fear, anger, and more than a little madness I had my plan ready and my weapon picked out. With her less than a foot away I ignore the screaming pain in my arms, picked up a flat piece of metal that had been laying on the dirty floor and with a speed and strength I did not think I could possess I struck her in the head as hard as I could. As a human the blow would have killed her instantly but as a vampire I had my doubts. Still, she was unprepared for my attacked and I sent what Jillian had become flying across the room.
Simon had been more than a little careless imparting way to much information to someone trained to do a lot with very little letting it slip that everyone would enter a stupor during the ceremony giving me a small but real chance to escape after breaking loose of my ropes. Alice, clearly affected by whatever pulled the clan into a daze, came at me by off balance and slow that allowed me to strike her at the neck breaking bones and despite my rush I saw her fall to the floor with her head at a right angle to the rest of her body. Simon came next, also not at full strength, and instead of striking him like Jillian and Alice I changed my grip and plunged the thin but very hard piece of metal into his chest.
As seconds rolled by the creatures became more alert and were moving to stop me. Their mistake had been using old fashion gas lamps through the old house and after knocking a few over Simon’s talk about how vampires fear fire more than anything else was proven.
My final escape was provided by my crashing through the nearest loosely boarded up window and falling into the murky waters of the Everglades. This was the biggest guess of my entire escape, I knew we were still in the Everglades and had heard the water lapping against the pillars the old house rested upon but I had no idea how deep or how far out and away from the house the water went. God seems to have finally showed up in this mess because once I surfaced; standing up in the four-foot water right in front of me was a small boat with a rather large outboard motor with the entire Everglades stretching out before me.
Two other boats were tied to the rickety old pier attached to the house but figuring my escape would be short if I did not disable the other boats I quick yanked out the exposed spark plug wires on their motors. My motor started on the first pull and while listening to the inhuman screams still coming from the burning house I raced away into the darkness.
Someone had spotted me lying on the shoreline of the small mangrove island that my boat had finally come to rest upon after running out of gas. After escaping my captors and living on that island for several days fighting off bugs, snakes and alligators the grief in losing my wife and the likelihood that she had willingly chose Simon over me had driven me past the point of caring whether I lived or died. Despite my mental and physical state I was still surprised to recognize the belligerent rednecks that Jillian and I had last seen at a gas station right before our encounter with Simon and his clan which now seemed a lifetime ago.
I pleaded with the people to leave me alone and let some alligator make a meal out of me. They refused and it was then I began telling them my tale, which I figured they would take as the product of a hopelessly deranged mind. Even in my near death condition the stony and silent glances the group gave each other was something I noticed, apparently my insane tale was not as crazy to them as I might have thought.
After drinking the first fresh water I had for days, I passed out and awoke in a safe house somewhere in the Seminole reservation days later. It was there that I learned the truth about my rescuers. They were vampire hunters and had been looking for Simon’s clan for weeks only to lose track of them the night Jillian and I made the mistake of finding them ourselves. The group leader of the hunters, a man named Robby McBride, told me that his people had found the house Simon’s clan held us but they had long since fled the area.
A heavy dose of sedative added to the IV bottle hanging next my bed ended my immediate demands that they take me back to the house. As sleep took me though, I did hear Robby promise me they would after I had recuperated.
Weeks later, as promised, Robby’s truck pulled up to the edge of the burnt remains of the house that had been the place of such unbelievable terror. In the light of day the River of Grass, stretching off in the distance seemed tranquil and safe while the burnt shell of the structure still seemed sinister and foreboding like an uncooperative accomplice to a crime.
The fire from the lamps I had knocked over had brought down the roof and one of the walls but left the floor largely intact. Walking through the charred shell, I asked the question to the group if they found any bodies among the burnt remains hoping that I had at least brought one of the creatures in the clan down. Again, the stony and silent faces of the people I was coming to know answered for me. Robby then confirmed another piece of information Simon had bragged about when he explained to me their regenerative powers. Simon, Alice, and Jillian were all more than likely long recovered from the injuries I gave them.
After Robby finished I noticed a small metal box next the wooden post Jillian had been tied, something drew me to it and when I pried the top off inside was the gold wedding ring I had given Jillian on our wedding day. I knew this ring was a message from her confirming that she had willingly abandoned her humanity and me.
We drove away from that house soon after and while sitting in Robby’s truck with Jillian's wedding ring in my hand I realized fate had robbed me again but on a far more massive scale, this time taking my love and the life I had planned to make with her. All I had left now was my will for revenge and the desire to put down the monster my wife had become.

Sunday, April 4, 2010

Call the Bolshoi Ballet


Just because I really have no interest in hearing the assorted suburbanite moms discuss their trials and tribulations while Miss Wiggles and their daughters are practicing ballet I usually haul ass to the nearby library and cool my heels in some way. This time though their practice was open and I remembered to bring my video camera and get some of the action recorded. While this segment is not the best of their performance the instructor this year has done wonders with the girls and I expect they will be awesome for the recital in May.

The funny part about my aversion to staying at the dance studio has to do with the time Wiggles and I arrived extra early and while I was around the corner of the hallway waiting for her to finish changing into her outfit. During that brief time two moms came in, not seeing me, and continued with their discussion comparing the sexual performance and habits of their husbands. It was far more information than I ever wanted to know and I yelled loudly to Wiggles in the restroom to hurry up even though I was right outside the door. It should be easy to guess I increased the volume in my voice strictly to alert the two ladies of my presence and that I was hearing their conversation. Since I am now somewhat uncomfortable around the waiting moms I quickly turned Wiggles over to the instructor and got the Hell out of Dodge. Which is a real bummer since the deli next door has an awesome WiFi bandwidth which can be picked up inside the dance studio waiting area while the library blocks most videos feeds.

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

An insult to monkeys




I am quite sure now that often, very often, in matters concerning religion and politics a man's reasoning powers are not above the monkey's.
- Mark Twain in Eruption

There is a quote by Plato that I recently saw that says anyone who thinks he is too smart to engage in politics will be punished by being govern by those who are dumber. How can this ever humble country boy hope to have a rational argument with one of the most brilliant minds in human history. Except that here in South Carolina it appears that battle was lost long ago and the best hope, at least from my perspective, would be to hunker down and take cover from the shit that our wise and intelligent leaders are stirring up exponentially.

Waking up this afternoon I began cruising the internet to get some idea of what I events I might have missed the last several hours. Much to my expected regret I did not win millions in the lotto, an alien starship did not arrive in Earth orbit, and there is still nothing on the market to magically return hair to my balding head. However, on a much more expected note South Carolina politicians are once again doing their best to earn a segment on The Daily Show or provide fodder for the the last night comedians.

Bauer wants another constitutional convention

Lt. Gov. Andre Bauer, o
Bauer,Andrene of four Republicans running for governor, said he's spearheading a national effort to have a second constitutional convention to fight health care reform.
"This is a battle -- I can't think of a battle more important than stopping what's happening in Washington right now," Bauer said.

For those not familiar with South Carolina politics Bauer is thought of so poorly even in Republican circles that when there was talk of Governor Sandford as a possible Republican VP pick in the last election a certain amount of panic ensued when it was realized he could be running the state. The idea of someone like him taking part in any Constitutional convention should scare the living shit out of people.

Never fear though, the Appalachian Trailer walker himself is still courageously fighting all forms of evil taxes, even on cigarettes.
Sanford still wants tax cut with cigarette tax hike
Gov. Mark Sanford said today that a recently-enacted federal health insurance law will not change his position on raising the state cigarette tax.
Sanford has opposed any cigarette tax increase that did not include an equivalent tax cut. The Senate is likely to begin debating raising the tax by 50 cents per pack this week.Sanford,mark
At seven cents per pack, South Carolina's cigarette tax is the lowest in the nation.
The federal health care law is projected to cost the state $914 million by 2020, but Sanford said he would not support setting aside additional cigarette tax revenue to fund the mandated expanded coverage for low-income residents.
"We're still at the same spot we were," Sanford said. His office had previously said the governor would reevaluate his position due to the health care law.
Sanford's veto has been a key roadblock for lawmakers supporting a cigarette tax increase. A majority of lawmakers support raising the tax, but the House failed to gather the two-thirds support to overturn a 2008 veto.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

My Cosmic Karma Looney Tune






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Despite the seriously bogus school project involving the teaching of complex economic concepts to my daughter and the rest of her second grade class that I was not taught until high school she and I were having a good time rolling peanut butter balls in the kitchen Wednesday evening. This project has strained my otherwise laid back attitude because the local Conservative acolytes of free market capitalism are doing their best to indoctrinate the young before they might be exposed to any nasty socialistic ideas like there might be something more to life than squeezing the last possible cent of profit from selling the public more crap.

For the last couple of weeks Miss Wiggles was nearly overwhelmed with homework assignments involving such things as filing for a business license, coming up with a business model, and my favorite part of the project so far having to write and record some sort of commercial for her business. My son Darth Spoilboy was able to write some lyrics along with a perky melody, which we recorded on a simple tape player. Unbelievably Wiggles' teacher suggested in the instructions for the commercial that her students could do a video and burn it to a DVD since they had a big projector attached to the class computer. After reading that segment, I am sure some capitalistic computer geek will have a full-fledged, high production value commercial complete with pretty computer graphics this Friday when the parents come to see the class business exhibits.

After much discussion and research, Miss Wiggles and Dragonwife decided on doing a candy business, which was especially pleasing to me since I allowed an array of socialistic tinged thoughts of revenge to dance through my mind about leaving the capitalist pig teacher to deal with her class of sugar-hyped kids for the rest of the day after all the parents leave. That brings me to the sad and tragic events that I guess was the universe teaching be that such sinister thoughts can send my karmic balance sheet into the red.

My daughter and I jumped feet first last evening into the preparation of chocolate covered peanut butter balls long before Dragonwife made it home sending clouds of confectionery sugar into the air as we added it to the already mixed mound of creamy peanut butter smelling of a cup of high fat butter inside the food processor. After mixing thoroughly she and I spent about an hour rolling the goop into inch-wide balls then placing them on a baking sheet which then we then put inside the refrigerator. During this father/daughter time, which I admit was nice, an old Bugs Bunny cartoon somehow drifted to the forefront of my mind. It was the one where Elmer Fudd dresses up in body armor looking for all the world like cast offs from some Star Wars golden R2D2 droid singing "KILL THE WABBIT" to the tune of Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries.

Wiggles and I started singing the tune while rolling the peanut butter balls with both of us almost losing all semblance of sanity; so much that when Dragonwife walked in she thought Wiggles had followed me over the edge of sanity and into the silliness abyss. It's a long story but as far as my wife and in-laws are concerned, my sanity has always been in doubt and I revel in the near eternal question they ponder about what dumb thing I will do next.

For the rest of the night my mood, so elated even with the ridiculous project taking so much time, had me singing "Kill the Wabbit" and thinking about old Elmer coming upon some hole and gleefully stabbing his spear into the darkness hoping to nab old Bugs that I made myself take a step back and chill out. Still though I was flying high and actually eager to head on out to work a few hours later. Little did I know that the cosmic karmic bitch had laid a trap for me as I headed out of town that would derail me the rest of the night.

As I was driving past the last of the mega-churches on the way out a little bitty rabbit jumped out of the darkness at the last second and with an oak tree on one side of me and a passing car on the other I was not able to turn enough to avoid the small creature. In fact, the rabbit, caught in the headlights, jumped around enough in confusion to line perfectly up with my right front tire. The result was not quite a bump but more than the feeling of a soft squish as I passed over the creature.

Despite general opinion and some evidence to the contrary I am not some redneck who enjoys running over small animals in the road. Yes, I will eat such small and innocent creatures as Peter Rabbit, Steve the Squirrel, and Bambi but unlike some people I know I do not laugh when such traffic encounters happen and actually feel bad about them. For the rest of my drive to work I was totally bummed out feeling like some slime found on the surface of a dead pond. Yes, I did realize the irony that I was joyfully singing "KILL THE WABBIT, KILL THE WABBIT" just a few hours earlier.

Getting into work I found I had a sterilizer down with a note from the head surgical nurse on the night shift saying she needed it back up and openly wondered why I had not come in earlier. The fact that I am not on-call this week and that the sterilizer guy who is on call told the second shift general maintenance guy to wait for me is just something I did not even try to explain to the head nurse since she would not listen if I tried.

A few hours later and after moving other equipment all packed less than an inch away from the disabled sterilizer I get the nasty beast back up and running then smash the living shit out of right-hand pinky finger moving all the stuff back in place. Once again, my childhood fixations on my Looney Tune pals brought the image of Daffy Duck looking totally disgusted and muttering "You’re despicable" to a very satisfied looking Bugs Bunny standing off to the side munching a carrot. The head nurse who walked away without saying a word played the part of Bugs last night. Truth be told I figure I got off easy, see she was banned from ever wandering into labor and delivery again after being caught rubbing ranch dressing on one of the newborns. The foot-long sub roll and shredded lettuce beside the baby pretty much removed all doubt about her lack of basic humanity.

Of course after that the third-shift general maintenance dude calls on the radio needing help chasing down a set of clogged toilets resulting in us deploying a really nifty but smelly device that runs through the pipes cleaning out anything that might be blocking the flow resulting in an hour of brown liquid fun. After a shower, a new set of scrubs, I retreated into one of the cardiac operating rooms and listened to the Elvis channel on the satellite radio. During the first hour, the King sang old gospel tunes and interspersed between the songs were curious stories that Elvis had not been right in the head for many years before his death. While not a huge Elvis fan and with some basic knowledge that the King did have a few monkeys on his back all his life I was still shaken a little to learn far more than I wanted to know about his skewed view of the world. Nevertheless, I spent the rest of the night in that operating room relaxing to the music and hoping my karmic equation thrown out of balance by thinking commie inspired thoughts and running over the innocent bunny had returned to the plus side over my nightly tribulations.

I was extremely encouraged to that effect this morning as I sat in the cafeteria making love to my onion bagel heavily smothered in artery clogging cream cheese. The biggest thing on my mind during that time was the upcoming final exhibits for my daughter and her classmates of their business projects. The only bad thing is that after my karmic cartoon ride Wednesday night I figure I will now have to be on my best behavior and refrain from any snarky, socialistic comments to the gathered happy capitalists. I can tell Dragonwife to slap me across the back of the head if I should get that nasty gleam in my eye, a sure sign I am about to open my mouth. She always gets a kick whenever she has a pop me aside the head when I am about to do something stupid.

With that covered and as long as I avoid running over any small animals I think I should be okay.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

A Dog and Chicken Love Story

Some of my fondest memories while growing up very often involved family gatherings around the dinner table on a Sunday afternoon. These events were always at my grandparent’s house and the best ones drew in my mom, siblings, aunts and uncles, and their kids enjoying both my grandmother’s cooking and the simple pleasure of having everyone so close. The usual menu of simple Southern foods hardly ever changed during those countless Sunday gatherings but none of us cared. It was never about the food although to this day no one makes fried chicken or potato salad like my grandmother did and the sweet taste of her ice tea whose special technique in making it was lost with her passing is something I will always remember.
Those afternoons were more about the love and protection we felt in each other’s company. Being drawn together bumping elbows at my grandparent’s dinner table we instinctively knew it was safe to relax and set aside the demands and worries of daily life until Monday. These days the pace of modern life and the stress it creates leaves us little time for such respites.
Looking back at those Sunday afternoons I now believe our family gatherings satisfied a primal need to when the world was a far more actively hostile place with safety only found in numbers and around a roaring fire holding off the predators that lurked in the dark. It was not just the company and food that pulled us together, it was the stories told at that dinner table that after countless retellings kept us amazed and connected to events and people long past. One such story involved the strange love affair between Lulu the dog and a chicken.
The late 1940’s in Georgetown, South Carolina was a time of slow transition from a past still tightly tied to traditions and attitudes from the period after the Civil War to the era we live now. For the South, the Second World War had been the tipping point that began to break the cycle of poverty and ignorance that had seemed as immutable as the heat and humidity of a Southern summer.
It was the same for my grandparents, the war offered a way out of the life of a tobacco sharecropper that had bound both their families to poverty for generations around Marion, South Carolina. A bout with mumps as a child had left my grandfather completely deaf in one ear making him illegible for service during the war. However, opportunity to get away from the sharecropper life came in the form of a paper mill that had just opened down in Georgetown.
The change from working the tobacco fields to the production of paper brought a change in location but not a huge improvement in living standards. Instead of living in a rural cabin my grandparents, my toddler mom, and her new infant brother were living in a drafty house on the edge of Georgetown several blocks away from the paper mill. The pictures that survive of that house show a plain, unpainted structure raised about a foot or two off the ground resting on a foundation of brick columns spaced evenly underneath. A porch, covered by an extension of the roof, offered the only relief from the humid summer heat and in the back was a clothes line where items were hung to dry after largely being hand washed. Even with all this it was a vast improvement over what they had lived in before.
The transition from a rural environment to a largely urban existence required them to leave much of their old life behind. The garden they grew that supplied much in the way of their vegetables was no longer possible and just about all the animals that were a part of normal rural life had to be left behind.
There were two exceptions though, one was a small collection of chickens and a mixed breed mutt of a dog named Lulu. My grandparents kept the chickens for both the eggs they could produce and the when the time was right the stew they would be a part of once their egg laying days were over. The purpose for keeping Lulu had far more to do with practical reasons than for anything sentimental that might come to mind now. Lulu’s whole reason for being was to safeguard the chickens that roamed around my grandparent’s house scaring away any other dog or cat that might try to take away an important part of the family diet.
With the lifestyle today people have gotten use to and conveniences available now such a dreary and primitive existence is something they could never fathom. The mere mention of constructing something as simple and energy saving as a clothe line in most modern suburbs will send the members of the homeowners association scurrying like rats for the published neighborhood guidelines then the attorneys to force the removal of such an eyesore. I cannot imagine the near chaos that would ensue if someone dared to keep a few chickens around a suburban house in such an anal environment.
Still though in many ways, I believe people were generally happier and dealt with the struggles of life far better than many do today. I am separated from that life by several decades but I arrived on the scene far enough back to experience the echoes of what it was like. People just made do, did not complain, and looked for things that made life interesting. This is where the story Lulu and her adopted chicken usually started.
The way the story was told the strange affection between the dog and the chicken was first noticed late in the afternoon of a hot summer day as my grandmother and her best friend, Mrs. Wendell, were shelling butter beans on the porch. Down on the ground and underneath the house they heard the continuous chirping of what they thought was a lost baby chick. With plenty of breeding hens around and a more than ready rooster it was normal to have baby chicks all around the house. However, baby chicks usually stayed close to their mother hens and by instinct the chickens had long since drifted back into the protection of the small coop kept behind the house.
My grandmother came down from the porch and looked underneath the house to see Lulu laying down on her side in the cool shade with a baby chick resting in the crook of her neck. Wanting to get the chick back into the coop she reached for the bird only to have the normally placid dog growl menacingly at her, which was very strange behavior. After a couple tries, each with the same result, it was said my grandmother gave up and after fussing at the dog went back to shelling her beans expecting my grandfather to do something about it when he returned home after his shift.
My grandfather’s health during these years was not the best and he ignored the situation until his next off day. By this time it was clear that Lulu had adopted the small bird who followed her four-legged mother around the same way it would have the feathered kind. The best guess anyone over the years could figure was that some hen had laid an egg away from the coop and by sheer luck the egg had somehow stayed warm enough for the bird to develop and hatch. After hatching the newly born chick must have drawn the attention of Lulu and had imprinted her as its mother. Lulu, who had birthed many litters of pups over the years, was well versed in the maternal instinct and the connection was made.
The funny thing was that no one would have ever figured that the chicken would try to take up the behavior of its canine mother. As the months rolled by it was noticed that Lulu’s adoptive chicken had started chasing cars much in the same way as Lulu did. It was the same with squirrels, who it was said Lulu had a special hatred for and did her best to catch when they came close enough. The chicken would chase after them as well and if the story is to be believed one time actually jumped down from the porch onto one, grasping it with its claws until it was able to scramble away. This is where everyone, but mainly my grandfather who saw the incident, broke down laughing. Lulu’s chicken even hated the mailman and would peck at his feet as he walked up the steps of the porch. Lulu herself had long since been taught not to bother the mailman but was reported to have looked on in pride as her feathered daughter did her best to peck through his shoes.
The biggest astonishment and final tragedy came when a cat tried to get into the chicken coop one night. Lulu was already an old dog when my grandparents moved down to Georgetown and a couple of years went by after Lulu adopted the bird. Knowing Lulu’s time was drawing near no one could bring themselves to think about cooking her adoptive child although it never produced eggs like the other chickens that had been born around the same time. The two were never far from the other and always slept together under the house. However, one night the whole house was awaken to a huge commotion involving the chickens in the coop, Lulu barking, and the very irate squawking of a single angry chicken.
Once outside with a flashlight my grandfather spotted a cat cornered underneath a section of the house with Lulu barking and growling on one side and her chicken squawking and flapping around on the other. It was reported that the stray tomcat looked bewildered to have two such adversaries defending the coop and it unable to retreat. Still though a cornered animal is a dangerous thing and it lashed out one last time with its claws catching the chicken at the neck. Blood spurted everywhere but Lulu used the moment to grab hold of the cat in its jaws and did not stop shaking until it was a loose and bloody pulp. But it was too late for the chicken, her neck had been cut as cleanly as if a butcher knife had done it and was dead on the ground.
In this age such a strange story might end with a funeral of some sort for the brave fowl but the memory of the Depression was still too fresh and my grandparents would have been dumbstruck over such a foolish idea. Lulu’s chicken was cut up and stewing in a pot later that morning to be served as supper that night.
During the countless telling of this story over the years there was always a heavy pause as the family reminisced of how sad it was that Lulu had lost her final child in such a way. That did not stop them from sitting at the table that night and spreading her remains over the rice that my grandmother had cooked beside the steaming pot containing the confused bird. Maybe they should have had some sort of funeral over the chicken because for years my grandparents, my mom, her brother, and Mr. and Mrs. Wendell and their kids who had come over for supper that night all swore that the chicken tasted like dog. So much that they could not eat the meal and had to throw it away which was an unheard of thing during those years.
Lulu was the next casualty; she was devastated at the loss of her adoptive child and passed away quietly one night underneath the house a few weeks later. They buried her not far away in a stretch of woods that bordered the paper mill; her site was marked by a small wooden cross that my grandfather made.
My grandparents moved out of that house a few years later and into the one across town that I would know. That old house next the paper mill was eventually condemned, along with several others in the area, and torn down but the area itself stayed empty well into the 1970’s. It was after one of the first times I remember hearing the story that I asked if I could see the legendary dog’s grave. So on a cold winter morning one day my grandfather took me to the area and sure enough I saw the remains of an old cross still standing with “Lulu” carved into the wood.
As stories go, it is one of my favorites and if anyone wonders I believe every word of it. Not that it matters because it keeps me connected to those times and people who lived far fuller lives with much less than the tepid little souls now who cannot find satisfaction with so much.