Crime and Horror

    I'm shaking because something inside of me stopped spinning and started wobbling. Its a piece, an important piece thats near my head and floats in my gut. Supposed to be going left to right, up and down in a nice round ball. This spinning ball is what keeps me right. Keeps me standing up. But it seems to be bouncing around, real bad this time. Floating, thats the best word for it. That ball thats supposed to be spinning in a tight spot is floating around and I've got to do my best to take care of it. I keep wondering if maybe I can drown it, just fill up all that space that its floating in. Maybe then I'll stop wobbling and I can do right again. Do I really need that ball? But then I get scared thinking about what might happen without it. I get scared like I used to a long time ago sitting in our bed listening to sobs. I get scared when I lay down. When I start thinking about people that I have known and how far away they are now. I get scared a lot.

    It's so hot right now, the sun has gone down but the heat is always there. The closest I can get to cooling off during the day is getting in the shade which feels so good during these hot days. There are so many more hot days than warm days, just like there are so many more cold days than there are cool ones. Maybe its supposed to be that way so we really appreciate those cool and warm days. But I gotta say it would be nice if we could get a few more of them to appreciate. I like it when a breeze comes through on these real hot ones and I close my eyes. If all is working right then I can almost smell roses and the ocean through all the dirt and smoke that floats around everywhere. Sitting in the shade with my eyes closed smelling the roses and the ocean for just a second makes that day not so bad. 

    Now, the way I think about things is that when the sun goes down it seems like everything is in the shade and the breeze seems to pick up a bit, then night time should be just right for me. But not now, not during these days that are so hot they make the skin on my nose get red and sting. The wind at night seems to get even hotter and heavy, probably because its still hauling around all that smoke and dirt that was floating around during the day. All that heat coming from the cars and machines has to swirl around for a while before it disappears. I think if maybe people didn't have to drive so much or maybe weren't always going somewhere so fast then maybe we could get more warm and cool days. It seems like when we all get in a hurry and stop sitting and talking and resting and smelling the ocean and roses that it gets so much hotter and colder so much faster. I get scared sometimes that maybe we will just run out of those cool and warm days. I get scared that maybe one year the leaves won't change they will just fall off like somebody turned them off with a big switch. 

    The shaking and wobbling is as bad as it ever has been. The heat just keeps coming towards me. It comes off the street and falls off the sides of the buildings. The people in the buildings turn on their air conditioners and push all their hot air out on to me. What they are conditioning I don't really know, maybe they are getting rid of all that heat and dirt from the day. I sure am jealous of that air without the dirt and the heat. It seems like the ball inside me hasn't been right for a long time. I can only remember it being right in my memories, not in my memory. It's been so long since everything has been really clear. Although having spent so long trudging through the wobbling fog I have gotten used to it. Learned how to pull things together and make sense of the pieces that are not connected. 

    Years ago I had stopped it, the ball sat right for a time. My little girl was three and one day I came home to find her sitting on the couch smiling, her curly hair running down her cheeks. Next to her sat my wife, she had her elbows on her knees, tears running down her cheeks. My hands were shaking and my breath smelled bad. Her mother stood up and took my little girls hand as they began to walk out, the car had three bags in it. My little girl looked up at me and pulled on my jeans and asked "We are going daddy, aren't you coming?". After that all the drinks made my stomach knot and my head would ache, all I could feel was the tugging on my jeans. So I stopped and eventually my little girl came home and brought my wife with her. The smell of her hair as she squeezed me made my head spin. Her smell and taste made me think of roses and the ocean. For a long time I would come home after work and smile. Sometimes my wife and I would share a bottle of wine before we would go to sleep. My little girl was getting older and one day I came home to find her sitting on the couch, her curly hair running down her cheeks, she looked worried. Next to her sat my wife, tears running down her cheeks. They told me that we had almost half a year together but things got really bad really quick, she was so tired and hurt so much. Many nights she sobbed into her pillow as I would rub her hair with my shaking hands. I came home one night and things had started to wobble a few days before. I heard her sob that night, it was different than the sobs before. This was a deeper hurt, a hurt that was because of me. 

    I don't remember what people told me at the funeral and I don't remember what my little girl had to say about my dead wife. It was then that I began to get scared a lot. Things got fuzzy and I had a hard time doing things. That god damn ball inside started to shift and shake. One day I came home and my little girl sat on the couch once more, she said "I'm going daddy", she didn't want me to come. Her life was of books, teachers, and someone who she would share wine with before bed. That house had gotten empty and all that was left was me and my bottles. I spent nights staggering up the stairs smelling my wifes clothes remembering the ocean and the roses. One day a man came with an official letter, it was time for me to leave that house. The number my little girl had left me only gave a recording of her voice. I called at least twice a week for a long time and now call when the fear is to much to hold. Her voice sounds happy on the recording and I want her to come home and bring her mother. I never leave a message because I can't tell her that I have a home for her or that I can be part of anything because I spend so much time wobbling around the streets full of hot dirt and smoke. I just need to hear her mother in her voice and remember the curls running down her cheeks.

    The night is here and I see more and more people fill the street as the night gets darker. I sit on a bench with two men, one I know and the other I don't. One smells of drink the other smells of something worse. I cant be sure how long I have been here but I do know that my bottle is empty and I am starting to get scared as people fill the streets. The answer gnaws at me, it screams and yells throwing my insides around. The man I don't know has begun to moan and I cannot see his eyes. He reaches out toward a passing couple and the girl looks afraid, so does the boy. I hate the man I don't know as much as I hate the ball inside of me. I want to grab him and hold him under until the smell stops. The officials will be here soon pushing and prodding "Move along, Move along". I choose to leave on my own, the answer in my gut has chosen to get up and walk. The air smells of grilled meat down the avenue and I see beautiful girls nibbling at salads and sipping at glasses of wine as they sit outside for what I hope is a happy first date. My feet hurt and I need to stop for a moment. My hand rests on the gate of restaurant patio. I see people look away and one girl looks worried. A boy reaches for her hand. The front door swings open and a large boy dressed in all black wearing a stained white apron is walking toward me. He is angry. I am sick. "You need to leave. Now!" his voice reminds me of the officials, poking and prodding. I breath deep and move on, he stands by until I am well past the door. I have seen this boy before staggering down the same street, reeking of drink, girls scowl and some are afraid of his outbursts. 

    The streets are almost full now. I see my little girl on every corner, coming out of every door. I hope she is one of the ones locked arm in arm with a boy, both of the smiling enjoying the warmth of each others contentment. Maybe they will go home and he will rub her hair as she falls asleep, his hand steady. I am scared that she is one of those people wobbling towards another drink, like me.

    A man in a black jacket walks toward me. I can't see his eyes until they are close and I have already started talking. "I need to see my little girl. If you have some change for me it will help. She hasn't seen me in a long time and I am getting scared." The first time you ask for money your embarrassed and you feel weak. Soon enough you forget that you smell like shit and you don't care that your words all slur together. But this time was different. Instead of saying what I know will work the truth begins to pour out of my mouth. I start to shake and am babbling uncontrollably. The man in black stares into me and his eyes hurt to look at. The tears start to pour down my face and taste like the air smells when they hit my lips. My tears are coming in sobs and I am remember the night my wife died. The man in the black jacket puts his hand on my shoulder, its so heavy. The heavy hand moves to my neck and is met with his other. With each sob his grip tightens and until I cannot cry because of the pain. Where are all the people running from bar to bar? Why won't they stop this? I try to scream and his grip becomes tighter, all that emits is the muffled sound of wind rushing out of a stretched balloon. My vision begins to bleed and I feel my body being lifted off the ground. My shoulder pops as I hit the ground and my head falls into something metal. A large animal runs over my legs, it's claws tear through my pants and blood pours into my shoes. Tapestry skies fill the small voids left by the concrete towers. The deep blue reflection of clouds and moon look cold. His eyes are over me and I smell rot. The smell is terrifying. My stomach seizes and releases, something white comes out of my mouth and nose. The hands are on my neck again and the first time my head hits the metal behind me it does not register. The second time I hear a pop in the back of my neck. I'm so afraid. All I can think of is how I won't get to see the curls on her cheeks. The rot over whelms me and I forget how roses and the ocean smell.