Untitled — Ski Trip

Flakes fall while I enjoy my morning flakes. Her cakes call while I contemplate making hotcakes to oppose the frigid weather. Oh, how I wish I could embrace this opportunity to enjoy a little cabin fever but duty calls or dudee barks as the tail is leading her terrier’s head… The perks are great, but this monogamy thing has its pitfalls.

Scarf — check. Long Johns — check. Knit Toboggan — check. Sled Toboggan — X, and we are off. It is amazing to see this little rascal burrow through the mound of cloud dandruff like Punxsutawney Phil on Ground Hog’s Day. I wonder… if Sasha sees her load will it be a sign that the blizzard will end soon.


I always wanted to spend a quote end quote romantic weekend in a cabin at a Ski Resort… Surprisingly, in my magical mind — I omitted the snow and below zero wind chill. Never no mind, down the hill I travel for rations in honor of my hunting ancestors who would have been wise enough to pack one of those old school furs for the weekend.

Half way down the hill on my man mission and I am a walking stereotype… Lost with no map or phone because I told myself I have a natural sense of direction. Reality, I can’t see the forest, lodge, or ski lift for the tree’s… every noise I hear reminds me of that Werewolf movie Desiree made me watch! Is it possible that I could get taken out on my dream va…. Retract the last statement — I hear the elevator music belting out of the ski lodge speakers. Victory is mine.

Just as my mind drifts to the thought of being inside of the warm Convenient Store at the lodge, I am confronted with a line that is wrapped around the building. Frustrated by the line, I can’t help but kick up flakes like Charlie Brown without the fall. My balance was saved by the hardest football I have ever accidently kicked in the form of a Bowling Ball Bag. With what has to be the heaviest bowling ball I have ever kicked or at least it felt that way.

The adrenaline rush kicks in and in full “Captain Troglodyte Mode”, I pick the bag that was engulfed in the snow up and slam it against the concrete in a manner that made me feel like Bo Jackson breaking bats in his prime. As the ball shattered I found it necessary to stand over and stare down the bag that on a warm day would have probably broken my currently frozen toes….

Next, a quick unzip and I expect to see the inside sofa jaw breaker but to my surprise I find something that immediately has me wishing I had slipped and missed the kick.


Running Down the Mountain

I went from feeling like my feet were frozen to pushing my heart rate up high enough to break a weight room sweat. I’m not sure if it is the slope of the Mountain or the weight of this bag propelling me but it feels like I am Bolt-ing (pun intended) past the cars approaching the Ski Lodge.

At this point, I barely even notice the Flakes that were occupying my mind just minutes earlier… The exquisite décor of my cabin is being replaced by thoughts of a micro fiber seat. I have to move… and I have to move fast. Fortunately, I at least grabbed my wallet but forgot my phone. That may be for the best now because it gives me a little time off the grid. This is crazy! I feel like I clicked my hills and landed in Uz or Oz — you pick.

If I could ski half as good as I am dodging these branches, brush, and occasional boulders then it wouldn’t have hurt so much when I fell avoiding that frick’n deer that was casually chewing on the bush right next to the road! Stay calm… Relax. Do whatever it takes to finish running down this mountain and onto the next bus back into the city.


Remember that kid, in that movie, with the snotty noise running late trying to catch the bus to school?

Now, imagine him all grown up running sideways due to the kettle weight he’s gripping in his strong hand and you have just caught up to my side tracked mission. Fortunately, I learned to throw with my off hand in my “almost famous” baseball days… Allowing me to send a small block of ice crashing into the passenger side window of the Hound causing the driver to stop abruptly or angrily — I’ll find out soon.

I slide him double the normal price of admission, an apology and a desperate smile. The combination wins me the only open seat in the emergency exit row. I’m seated next to a man and his two children, doing my best to calm down and try and catch my breath. No time to celebrate — this journey has just begun and to be all the way honest, I have no idea what to do when this bus stops…

Never in my wildest dream would I expect to be tasked with the burden of carrying this bag.

I would be SMH’n the world seeking advice, if only I had my phone. Man, I can’t believe I forgot so much… and this is going to sound real crazy but… I completely forgot about Desiree laid up in the bed! When she wakes up to a kitchen full of pancake batter half mixed without the milk, finds my phone in the cabin, and no note — my face may be on a Wanted Poster by sunrise. I could use a life line quick, fast, and in a hurry.


At first, I felt some type of way about the gentleman with his two children burning a hole through me with a look of bewilderment. My inner-militant almost showed out before I paused, and realized how crazy I must have looked belting the bus with ice, pitching the driver frantically, and holding this bag with a Jeweler’sGrip. Nevertheless, after regaining my composure I needed a sounding board to help me organize my thoughts:

Me: (In my best intellectual at a Country Club happy hour voice…)

I hope I didn’t startle you. I was in a rush when I entered the bus.

Him: (While hugging his youngest child tightly…)

No. No. I just…. Figured you were in a rush.

We exchange pleasantries for a while until I felt comfortable enough to cash in my “Life Line.”

Me:

Hypothetically speaking…. What would you do if in the blink of an eye your day was turned upside down and you knew, you would have to make a decision that may…Well… change your life unexpectedly?

Him:

Well… son…. That’s a good hypothetical question, which I can relate to on a personal level. [Sotto] All that matters to me in this world are my children and the student’s in my classroom. I would be lying to you if I said that I had always been this selfless but for me… when I was at my darkest hour they kept me moving forward. You could say that… they gave my life meaning again after we lost their mother a few years back…. I’m not sure if that helps but that is the answer that came to mind and the reason we get away for Winter Breaks. So… if you are thinking about marrying her — you have a world of love to look forward to.

He gives the classic wink and a smile to cap off his lecture.

Me: (In my best Larry Bryant King Gumbal voice.)

Yes that helps a lot — thank you for taking the time to share.

Sadly though… as much as I appreciated our conversation, I wasn’t sure if it helped at all. This bag has literally thrown me completely out of my comfort zone.

We had a moment of silence before exchanging a firm hand shake as his family exited the bus several stops before the city. For a while their… I had allowed my mind to wander in the presence of newly familiar faces but as we were preparing to kick things back into gear I found my mind starkly focused on my dilemma and trying to get a feel for the lady who has replaced the family in my isle of the bus.


We were about half way between ski country and the metropolitan, when we started traversing a bumpy section of the road which made it impossible for me to recapture my disconnection from the day’s event in day-dreamland. I’m bouncing and fumbling the bag around in my hands — while the lady across from me is balancing the trip, along with her fancy Ski Equipment like a seasoned Earthquake survivor. She hasn’t made one single facial change which would indicate any discomfort. I bask in amazement at her achievement, along with the ruggedized cell phone case she sports on her waste.

Me:

Excuse me Ma’am. I left my phone at the lodge. Can I borrow your phone for a quick call? I would really appreciate it.

I might as well start the process of walking the plank with Desiree… sooner rather than later…

In reply, the lady offers me a kind smile and pulls out her phone to show me that it has completely depleted its charge which in a way was a relief. I may be able to parlay this coincidence in pursuit of an ounce of empathy from Desiree before she begins her retort.

We pass a couple more stops and the Bus is now probably at half capacity — a dramatic shift from the inner city subway fill I was welcomed to when I first assaulted the mirror. The background noise went from an inaudible medley, to distinguishable chatter from front to back. Sitting in the emergency row started to feel like a precursor to the emergency that was bound to catch up to me and this bag.

What to do?

Repeated in my head at the speed of life when the trance was broken by a few clear & concise words:

Lady Skier:

Is everything ok? You look troubled.

I paused for a moment but after being assaulted by the consistency of her gaze I felt obliged to spill the beans.

Me:

As much as I would like to say yes… in reality — no.

& next out of character:

I began to rattle off the Fish Tale that was engulfing my day. I even mention some concerns about my relationship with Desiree, concerns that I only realized about halfway between the time I started and Cotton Mouth had enough decency to play the Award ShowMusic on my monologue.

Lady Skier:

It sounds like quite the adventure has presented itself.

As she spoke I imagined the many adventures that she must have had skiing various Mountains. She has not told me anything about her experience skiing but when I look at the proud grip she assigns to her ski equipment coupled with the professional grade quality of her suit & boots. I would put good money on the fact that she probably has skied and skied well for many seasons. I couldn’t imagine skiing alone at her age, after sustaining a myriad of minor injuries on the Bunny Slopes!

Lady Skier:

What will you do next?

Me:

Well… [pause] The bag is my top priority but… I have to touch base with Desiree and change clothes before I get farther into this adventure.

Again, the lady gives me a glance that interrogates my personal constitution and confidence down to the second. I’ve been told that I am not always an easy person to read but she looks over me like a veteran transcriber.

Lady Skier:

Life would not be worth living without the occasional surprise. That’s why I love to Ski. The slopes like situations in life are never the same when you revisit them. Tell me more about Miss Desiree; she seems to be a pretty important lady.

Me:

[pause] She is the first woman in a long time that has… kept me on my toes. She is fearless which can often be a bad thing but even in the worst of times — leaves me with something to think about.

She gives me another warm smile (before she starts into a story from her past).

Lady Skier:

Thinking is good… I can tell that you are a thoughtful person based upon your decision to cling onto that bag. [sotto] When I was a young woman I meet a man who kept me on my toes too. He was a brave man who taught me the true meaning of courage. If it wasn’t for him — I would have never been able to start skiing, to stop worrying, and to take time to prioritize my life.

She looks me squarely in my eyes and offers another smile.

Lady Skier: (cont.)

We had two children together… Who, I don’t think I fully appreciated until he was gone.

She pauses to look out the window and points towards the mountain.

Lady Skier: (cont.)

I taught my grandchildren how to ski on this mountain. I have an opportunity to teach people how to participate in my favorite past time as a retiree… at the end of the day, from my experience things seem to work out in the end.

Another smile… and this time I reciprocate. I looked away unaware of the fact that my lack of response may have seemed rude. She had distracted me and I couldn’t help but wonder what her children looked like and what she saw in me to trust me with this information.

I was taken aback…

After listening to her… my Fish Tale story has me feeling like I have washed up on the proverbial shore like a tadpole or something.

My mind is traveling abstract fast…

I’m searching for angles & this adventure is… just beginning.


The smell of fresh pine was quickly replaced by the scents of the city… A familiar mix of gasoline, combustion, tobacco, urine and candy bar wrapper.

Home Bitter Home — or at least almost back to mission control…

After departing the bus and shaking out the dead leg I had awarded myself during an introspective trance, I knew I had to make some decisions … but before that I would need to lose the Snow Patrol Threads so I could regain my anonymity.

I have no idea who but I am sure that someone or body is clearly focused on retrieving this bag.

No time to waste…

The tongue freezing cold of my key is the only physical reminder of the mountains left by the time I reach my door with the lock that takes a little jiggle to turn. Upon entering, my good husbandry betrays me…

I set the programmable thermostat to forget that it was winter until only hours before Desiree and I were slated to return…. Desiree!!!

Me:

I still haven’t talked to Desiree! Oh, &@?/t!

[Along, with a host of other expletives]

After prepunishment, I am mentally prepared for the forthcoming assault. During the walk towards the computer to make a Voice over IP call I ponder what walking the green mile must have felt like. Then while dialing I realize this would be a good time to pause and consider the possible outcomes of this call before clicking the green button. I give myself 10 minutes to digest what maybe my last food for thought in a relationship and after careful examination the realization that; even if she does believe me…

Me:

The odds are not in my favor.

I have about a dice rolls chance of her caring enough about how I am handling things, to see those cakes again! That reminds me…

I am hungry.

The moment of truth arrives and on the thirteenth ring (yes I counted) she answers the line. Little did I know Desiree had been channeling her inner Sasha Fierce over the course of the first twelve rings.

Desiree:

Hello, Honey Boo Boo — how can I help you?

I sing and tap dance with my words like “Sammy Davis Fred Aster” doing my best to highlight the importance I had associated with the contents of the bag and the bravery I had shown in trying to protect her from the outcome. Nonetheless, Desiree is intuitive, “Scandal” crazed and an outspoken woman who currently has her fierceness turned up to 10 while her dog Sasha cosigns via barks in the background — Down to Davey Jones Locker for me, unless…

Me:

Baby, I love you & I will do anything to make it up to you!

This was the type of statement that I had routinely made fun of from other men… especially one of the main characters on her favorite show and as I uttered it, I finally understood the statement: You can never go home again.

Desiree responds with the confidence of a first round knockout inflictor… she sandwich’s her tirade with a momentary couple lines of concern about my dilemma and then promptly ask me for my credit card number so that she can secure passage back to the city, putting the top bun on the most humbling conversation of our relationship. My first grovel now officially complete. I realize that all that verbal song and dance I laid on her was true…

A sense of relief showers over me… Her fierceness has dropped down to a 9 and she is open to running up my credit card which should afford me a little leverage down the road.

Me:

I ramble off the numerical keys to my piggy bank, than add:

Be safe. Baby I love you.

Desiree pauses and I can almost feel the mountain breeze blistering against my cheeks.

Desiree:

You better!

…with fierceness back on 10.

I’m not surprised to see the message across my screen that says your call has been disconnected. In all actuality, the fact that she cares enough to hang up on me adds a ray of sunshine to the cold and aggressive nature of our conversation.

She will not be back for a few hours and under current circumstances I’m sure she will take a break to go shopping with the near field communication built into my phone. Fortunately, work has been good of late and I have a fairly low balance on my credit card.

The price we pay for….


In and out the shower fast, dressed like a pedestrian, and dead set on going to visit the one person who seems to always know what to do in any conceivable situation. My friend, advisor, and bar keep — Santiago

I decide a combination of various modes of transportation will be my most discreet option to make it to his Watering Hole during the after lunch rush downtown. I place the bag in a larger backpack to eliminate added eyes on such a valuable piece of the puzzle. I wear sunglasses and hat like a host of clichéd celebs ducking the paparazzi.

I’m not sure if it is my mind processing the gravity of events but as I switch from a city bicycle to enter the local train station — I feel like I keep running across some familiar faces from my bus ride. I can’t be sure but ducking through the back alley of the Bodega below Santiago’s bar should give me home field advantage if I am being followed.

I’m not two steps inside of the Watering Hole when I hear.

Santiago:

There he is… Ladies and Gentleman — the “Black Sonny Bono!”

The fact that Santiago always has a witty response amazes me! Here I am, randomly walking into the Watering Hole when I’m supposed to be miles away on a cold mountain impersonating a Winter Olympian… and without missing a beat, Santiago roast my chill off to a chorus of laughter before the door closes behind me.

I generally try to keep up with his banter with a younger brother’s enthusiasm but after missing my morning pancakes, along with escorting this bag through a handful of different means of transportation. I can only muster three words.

Me:

Need food badly.

After evaluating the disheveled look on my face Santiago subtly switches from the charismatic bar keep to a seasoned Bard who is preparing himself for all possible outcomes.

Santiago:

Ladies and Gentleman, duty calls… If you need any assistance in my absence my entire staff is at your disposal.

The Watering Hole only keeps between three and four people working the joint in the gap between lunch and happy hour. During this time period people pick up the slack where they’re needed. The kitchen is often in disarray unbeknownst to the mid-day boozers. By design patrons can never really tell how many people are in the kitchen of the Old Warehouse Style Pub adding to the mystic of the joint.

I excuse and pardon my way to my pseudo reserved seat by the service bar, while the uncharacteristic lush rush has the staff buzzing around the Hole. Nonetheless, Santiago slips in the back for several minutes before returning with a plate full of Mojo chicken, a hearty meal which I request from him when I bring dates to the establishment.

Eating was welcomed. I have been told that the body has a glucose dump when overwhelmed with deep thought and quandary.

If so, the plantains on the side were a revitalizing source which prepared me for the conversation I planned to have with Santiago when the crowd thinned a little…

Waitress:

Are you finished?

Me:

Yes Ma’am.

As soon as the plate is cleared the waitress slides over a cup of coffee and squeezes Santiago arm before entering the kitchen. Acknowledging the signal he wraps up his conversation and joins me on the lonely end of the bar.

Santiago:

My little sister will be in town next weekend. So… if you have messed things up with Desiree — I don’t want to hear about you trying to rebound.

He was joking but serious. Santi was an imperturbable guy across the board minus his little sister and as much as I have been tempted over the years — I wouldn’t approach that line without a bouquet of flowers and a love poem.

I respond to the comment with the first laugh I have been able to muster since stumbling across this bag and then on queue like a 1-800-hotline psychic.

Santiago:

What’s in the bag man?

I rattle off my adventure like I was dictating my biography in a speakeasy. Talking very softly, a symptom of my new found paranoia…

Santi listens deliberately making sure he allots time for me to collect my thoughts without interruption.

Me:

… & now I’m here. Appreciate the meal.

A congenial fist bump follows as Santi goes into his version of the “Thinking Man” pose leaning back on the bar stool with impressive balance considering the stools have no backs. I survey the room as the caffeine kicks my metabolism into high gear not particularly looking for anything when my eye catches a glimpse of the domed roof of the cathedral which is visible from the window on the opposite side of the bar. I always thought having a church ceiling visible from the inside of the Watering Hole was ironic but after finding this bag the site is comforting…

Santiago:

Only you … You have a random life my friend. [pause] Did I ever tell you about the Yoga Instructor I used to date before I moved up North?

He knows I have heard at least three version of every story he has on his tool belt.

Santiago: (cont.)

She once told me about a guy who attended her class on Thursday evenings. A guy she would never forget for a couple of reasons. First, he was a heavy set guy who never really committed to the poses… instead he would spend most of his time legging watching and after class would flirt with some of the ladies in attendance.

Santiago leans forward on his stool and puts his elbows on the bar for emphasis.

Santiago: (cont.)

Now… This wasn’t all that strange — lots of guys dabbled in it. I meet her doing the same thing my friend!

We exchange a second round of fist bumps and he throws his hands up like he was signaling a slow motion touchdown without the Beetlejuice shirt.

Santiago: (cont.)

The second thing is what really makes this guy stand out…. He loved puzzles and actually made a fortune off of them. He was working on a new puzzle when he began attending the class. A puzzle… he brought up to break the ice before showing off pictures of his car collection… He paid and tipped well, so she tolerated him. Until one day, she had to kick him out of the class abruptly when he started screaming out randomly about how he hated the puzzle while swinging his rolled up yoga mat like a baseball bat!

Santiago: (cont.)

That was the last time he attended the class my friend. Do you catch my drift?

I stare back at him with an incredulous look as I try my best to find the words in my vernacular that he is looking for. Sadly, I fail and cope out with a shoulder shrug and ….

Me:

No man. I can barely think straight.

Santiago: (interjects)

Exactly, that is the point. Some puzzles aren’t meant to be solved and if you think too hard about them you will only drive yourself crazy! Remember that guy while you think about what to do with that bag my friend.

Santiago is called away shortly after the story and I am left wondering if this guy in the Yoga class ever really existed! Never no mind, I get the message. I’m sure that he is worried about me along with all of the other people who have seen me dragging this bag through the snow.

Worried or not — I cannot pretend like this bag doesn’t exist.


I decide to embrace the sage advice of my friend and allow myself to relax a little on the way home. I can only accomplish so much and I’m pretty sure I will not be able to see all the angles surrounding this albatross — by way of Jansport — I have secularly clamped to my back and neck.

That said, I naturally lean low into the seat of the express train assuming that it will be fast enough to get me home in time to carry Desiree’s bags into the loft…

I should probably order food on the way home. A warm greeting will invite distraction from the day’s events.

Riding the Subway through the North side of town is always an adventure in and of itself. I have run across everything from singing Cowboy’s to chanting Indian’s in my years swiping my EasyPass. Today, I am greeted by a group of Millennials — three guys facing a couple seemingly uninterested young ladies — who wear the YOLO expression superciliously.

I digress back into a state of quandary when the alarm bell starts to ring; one of the dazed and confused generation nexter’s has decided yelling is the best way to woo the young ladies. Little does he know that it will not be long before karma has him eating those words at the whim of a quarrelsome woman dead set on completing the romantic circle of life! We generally tend to get what we give in one way or another — a lesson better learned than told.

As we reach the next stop… I welcome intermission from the squabble that was beginning to unfold between the youth. The introduction of new faces in our car seems to have quashed the flames of pubescent lust.

Speaking of new faces… I am not so surprisingly greeted by the site of a gentleman in my close proximity who seems to be a little worse for wear.

Gentleman:

Can you spare some change? I lost my transfer and need some help getting home…

My first thought:

Sure you do… if home is on Sailor Jerry’s vessel or Mr. Daniels estate!

Nonetheless, I am grateful for a change of direction on what was starting to feel like the most discombobulating day of my life so I comply with his request. My compliance is returned by wide eyes and an even wider grin from the old school trickster who has likely made his daily quota off me alone.

No matter, it is the thought that counts or in my case the lack of thinking about this bag that has me feeling thankful. I’m still not sure what I will do next but I am resolved that I’m not going to worry about it. Having thought that, I return a smile in the old timer’s direction and offer a congratulatory fist bump — for his conquest of my wallet — to which he congenially replies.


I’m out of the tunnel with little time to spare. In a clearer state of mind I should have grabbed a takeout order from the Watering Hole for Desiree to speed things up.

At this point, my best bet will be to grab Chinese outside of Lakeshore Park.

The streets are lightly salt & peppered with people. As the Sun ducks behind the tree’s and the wind chill reminds us it’s winter, I can almost jog the bike lane without fear of pummeling any passersby. I get to about an eight hundred meter dash from the restaurant when I’m forced to pump my breaks.


Two men in mustard colored suits seemingly appear out of nowhere and position themselves as a living obstruction. I pause and assume an aggressive position — low and focused — like a base runner contemplating a theft of second.

Who’s on first?

Runs through my head primarily because I cannot get a handle on this day and I’m almost to the point of arguing with the memories of all the people who have counseled me on this bag! And now, these guys who are dressed and built like a two man bobsled team are in my threatening space with Daft Punk Helmets on…

Mustard Suit 1: (roars)

Stop!

He had me at hello. The brief moment of indecision has lapsed and instinctively I make my way towards second. I throw a quick head fake and then hop the fence into Lakeshore Park. I know this park and grew up hiding and going to get it around these trees. If it was summer I could lose the Techno Vikings in the heavy foliage. Today, I am forced to sprint with an un-brassiered bag bouncing around my back like the opening scene of Baywatch.

The ball and chain is slowing me down.

These guys mean business and my only hope is to make my way to the Lake.

When I was young we used to slide on the frozen lake with any flat piece of plywood we could find. When we ran out of plywood we had a mischievous habit of snapping the handles off garbage can lids and using the remaining metal as a sled. I’m not sure where this will lead but I have come too far to lose this bag!

Me:

I got to find a sled.

With the added weight on my back I may be able to slide clear across the lake…

The cool runners are closing fast when I come across what has to be the only metal lidded garbage can left in the city. I grab the lid and snap off the handle like riding a bike. I’m close to the lake and preparing myself mentally for the leap of faith onto ice that may not be thick enough to support grown man and bag. Down one last hill and I’ll have enough momentum to give it a try… Just steps before my leap I am remembering my child hood form; take the sled in your strong hand and throw it and your body forward like a javelin onto the ice with caution to the wind. I’m ready.

By the time I get one foot off the ground the first jolt settles into every pore of my right arm. The resulting shock would have impressed Franklin Flying Kites on a rainy day. My first time being tazed but it only seems logical that the metal conduit is intensifying the effect. My body rolls lifeless down the remaining slope of the hill unevenly as the weight of the bag propels my motion. My head settles near the bank of the lake while my body is involuntarily dancing to the beat of the Direct Current strumming my nerves

Instead of admiring my dance moves, the Caribbean Storm Troopers peel the bag from my paralyzed body, as I watch the activity unable to resist akin to the old man who lost his marlin to the sea. They are inspecting the contents with the urgency of a CDC scientist. My thoughts are jumbled… I don’t know what will happen next. I can’t move.

Who are they? I’ve seen the contents. What will they….

Mustard Suit 2:

My train of thought is interrupted by one of the suits as his colleague starts to walk across the frozen lake — bag in hand — without a slip.

For your Troubles.

He tosses a satchel onto my chest. I blink in anticipation. The first movement I have felt since being zapped. The yellow of their suits soon disappears into the fog parked in the center of the lake. I stare defiantly until my eyes grow heavy.


I awake to a helping of humble pie drenched in self-loathing, brown snow and salvia. After stretching my neck and arms to the sky memory sends a jolt of curiosity to my half-baked body. My eyes scan the lake looking for a Yellow Submarine to match my assailants. I am cold and wet brandishing a weathered expression searching for a Dandelion in a Black Sea. It is officially dark outside and the lake resembles abyss under a sliver of the moon.

When my eyes abandon the search for any trace of what happened. I take a moment to think about how little I know about the gloved and helmeted men.

One guy was tall and the other guy was taller. Taller was fast, while tall was linebacker broad. Both in good shape and armed to tranquilize. Something in the helmet masked the voices — leaving the accents robotic.

I couldn’t really understand. The composite was not simpatico… The silence brought angst and my replay was distorted.

Dazed but not defeated…

I repeated to myself as I felt my way back to the trail path in the park. Satchel in tow with an uneven arrangement of items, I’ll rest at the street light next to the flagpole in front of the Lakeshore Amphitheater. For my troubles and to my surprise I find a bag full of gold coins and jewelry while surveying the contents of the satchel.

Desiree will never believe this….

Me: (Solemnly)

Desiree

I have officially abandoned her twice. Lost the bag and gained a few lumps, bumps and bruises before the clock strikes twelve for the second time. I have never been so thoroughly defeated! Without feeling any sad or mournful emotion — my glass is not empty. It could have all ended on that lake. If the ice cracked I wouldn’t have made it. But, the ice held and I’m up — the ball was the only thing destroyed on this day!

Yes, the two men got the bag but only after I earned it. Just then, my pointer finger slides into a Donut Hole which puts a second wind into my steps. I’m out of the park in a hurry and soon at my front steps I stand. The bedroom window is open and I police knock down the door.

She has no choice but to hear this, I’ll remove the option to ignore.

As she makes her way to the window I think, this adventure has taught too much to stop fighting.

Me:

Placing my hand towards the heavens and peering straight into her eyes:

For you. Desiree!

The ring strobe lights up the night sky.

The End.

(Or A New Beginning)

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Author Photo
Author: Donte’ A. Bundrent
Original Post: Jan. / Feb. 2014
Social Contact: @darimusbe