Dancing The Ghost

Delilah
Originally uploaded by Jerk Of All Trades.

We'd been talking for hours. Talking about school, friends, anything but how she'd caught him cheating on her. She was more pissed than sad. She had called me, and asked if I could come over. She always told me how funny I was, and right now she wanted to laugh. I cracked a few jokes, did a perfect impersonation of some guy we'd seen outside of the little "teen club" we hung out at on the weekends. She laughed. I'd always liked her laugh. We were sitting on her bed. It was innocent. I'd never really thought of her "that way". Mainly because I knew, just KNEW, that I didn't stand a snowballs chance in hell of ever being with her. She had been filed under "unattainable" months ago. We were just two friends talking and laughing when she suddenly moved over and kissed me.


I was too stunned to enjoy it. What had just happened? I came back to reality and she was there; her mouth hovering inches from mine, her eyes admiring my lips as she licked hers. She bit her lip and said "I don't want to talk anymore." and with that she kissed me again. My initial shock over with, I accepted her this time. I received her tongue into my mouth, her breasts against my chest. I put my arms around her the best I could with the awkward position I was seated in. I tried to pull her INTO me. Tried to surround her and make the moment last as long as possible. Oh my fucking GOD, that moment was amazing. The first intense rush of young lust that overtakes you. That euphoria that makes you slightly dizzy, making you forget where you are....and then it was over.
She pulled away and gasped for air. My heart pounded as if it would burst out of my chest. My breathing was hard and heavy, like I'd just bolted up several flights of stairs. She reached over, turned out the lamp she had on her nightstand, pulled her shirt up over her head and threw it on the floor. I remember being surprised that her bra was white. She, I and everyone we knew dressed head to toe in black everyday, all year 'round. It was very plain; and yet so sweetly pure as it cupped her young, firm breasts. She grabbed me and pulled me on top of her as she laid back. The Sisters Of Mercy played in the background as the moonlight coming in through the window made her skin glow as if she were porcelain lit from within. I paused and took her in. In that light, at that moment, she was transformed into some dark goddess. A raven haired gift from the universe for me to behold. I leaned down and kissed her between her breasts. Her skin was even softer than I could have imagined, and it had a faint sweet scent to it that I couldn't place. She sighed and quickly grasped my head in her hands. I felt her fingers tightly grip my scalp. I slowly, one kiss at a time, made my way up her chest to her neck. She tilted her head back as I gently sucked just below her earlobe. I shifted a bit so that I could better kiss her, and as I leaned in to do so, she started to cry. What had I done wrong? What did I do? Just as I was about to ask, she sobbed "That fucking asshole" into her hands, and went into an uncontrollable spasm of crying. I hadn't done anything wrong. He had. He'd hurt her more than he could ever know. He hadn't just hurt her, he'd hurt every relationship she was ever going to have. She would always hold back. She would never trust any man wholly again. There would always be some doubt. I realized that she didn't want ME, she wanted the pain to go away.

I got up. I didn't know what to do, or say. I don't think there was anything I COULD do or say really. I wanted to hold her; I wanted to do SOMETHING. In the end I grabbed my jacket and left. I hopped on my bike and rode around for hours after that, wishing that I could've done something. Too this day, I can close my eyes and see her laying there in the moonlight. Lucretia playing softly......it's strange and magical what we remember isn't it? Lifes little slide shows.


"I hear the roar of a big machine
Two worlds and in between
Hot metal and methedrine
I hear empire down
I hear empire down

I hear the roar of a big machine
Two worlds and in between
Love lost, fire at will
Dum-dum bullets and shoot to kill, I hear
Dive bombers, and
Empire down
Empire down

I hear the sons of the city and dispossessed
Get down, get undressed
Get pretty but you and me,
We got the kingdom, we got the key
We got the empire, now as then,
We don’t doubt, we don’t take direction,
Lucretia, my reflection, dance the ghost with me

We look hard
We look through
We look hard to see for real
Such things I hear, they don’t make sense
I don’t see much evidence
I don’t feel. I don’t feel. I don’t feel

A long train held up by page on page
A hard reign held up by rage
Once a railroad
Now it’s done...

I hear the roar of a big machine
Two worlds and in between
Hot metal and methedrine
I hear empire down...

We got the empire, now as then,
We don’t doubt, we don’t take reflection,
Lucretia, my direction, dance the ghost with me....."

- Lucretia by The Sisters of Mercy

"And now...." pt. 2

"...if you are among da vewy younnnnnnnnng at hearrrrrrrrrrrrrrt"

(applause)

"Thank you vewy much. I apwee-ciate it. Thank you."
(He takes a drag from a cigarette that appears to be eternally burned to the filter)
"You know....when peep-o wekognize me on the stweet they will sometimes ask me...'El....do you wilwee talk wike dat?' and I we-pwy 'Of Cose I talk wike dis, whyda phuc would I tawk wike this if I didn't have to?!"

(Laughter)

"Cwazy bastards....heh...I mean seerweuswee....do I talk wike this...."

(He takes another drag off the cigarette and slowly exhales out his nose and then nods at his band. A steady "tish tita tish tita tish tita tishhhh" comes from the drums as the bass lumbers through a descending scale. The piano player barely tickles the keys every once in awhile just to let you know he's there and could rip off a dazzling display of dexterity at any moment.)

"Peep-o ask me awl tha time, they ask "El......how do I find twu wuv?" and I say to them.......you don't find wuv......wuv.....wuv finds YOU...(He turns and picks a glass of amber liquid off of the stool he's been using as a table.)..yeah.....wuv finds you....(he takes a slow sip from the glass and licks his lips. He pauses, trying to decide if he wants another drink. He gets a far away look, smiles and gently sets the glass back down.)

"I've wuved many women in my wifetime.....too many in fact...some say I fawl in wuv too easy....and maybe I do...but I've ohnwee had one twu wuv...and dat was my first wife Verwonica.....(The far away look crosses his face again and then fades away. He notices a few sad looks from the audience.) NO, it's ok.....it wuz a WONG time agow.....(his back straightens and he talks to the back of the room) For those of you that don't know, my wuvwee wife Verwonica died in a pwane cwash back in 55. We were young, well young for toons......(The strength he had starts to drain away)...yeah....wuv....wuv finds YOU, and when it does...don't you ever wet it go. I'd wike to dedicate dis next won to Verwonica, it was her fav-o-wet song that I would sing for her. I think of it whenever I get down. Yeah....this wons foh Verwonica....hit it felwahs"

(The band that's been playing so softly you almost forgot they were there leaps to life and the room is filled with their spontaneous energy."

"For you my wuv......Bwue Skies shinin on me.....nuthin' but bwue skies do I see......bwue days awl of dem gone.....nuthin but bwue skies fwom now onnnnnnn..neverwah seen da sun shinin so bwight never seen tings goin so wite....counting awl da days hurwee-in by when yourwen wuv my how day fwy...bwue days awl of dem gone...."

(A man sits at the bar in the back of the room. He's been there the whole night, nursing a Jack and coke. The barkeep walks over and asks if he needs anything.)

"No, I'm good. Hey, let me ask you something. Why's a guy like that playing in some smoky dive like this?"

(The bartender, not insulted in the slightest by the crack about where he works leans on the bars and continues the conversation)
"I've wondered that myself. I finally asked him one time, and you know what he told me? He said "Kid....because I HAVE TO...it's what I do...it's all I've got...it's what I do." That's some deep shit man, I was blown away."

"Yeah but, with all the dough he's got to have from royalties....why HERE man, he could be in Vegas or...The Big Apple...somethin..."

"He says he loves the smaller crowds, it's more intimate. I'm tellin you man El, aint that the shit, he TOLD me to go ahead and call him "El" not MR.Fudd man "EL"...anyway, El is a classy dude man, Hollywood aint got shit like him anymore. He's old school man, like the Rat Pack.....Hey, did you know that Sinatra BEGGED him to join those guys, but El said that he thought nobody would take them seriously with a toon hanging out with 'em? El is all class man, he's got his small following, and that's all he needs. I feel honored just to have met him. I can tell my friggin grand-babies that I worked with Fudd man, how many people can say that?"

"Not many these days that's for sure. Hm.....I gotta tell you, he's not what I was expecting."

"I know, you thought it was going to be a bunch of "Fweeze you wascallwee wabbit Huh-uhuhuuhuh" crap right? No way man, that was an act, El isn't anything like that. HEY....You wanna meet him?"

"What? Are you kiddin? No man, I couldn't do that..I mean he's FUDD man, that guys a friggin cartoon legend. It would be like meeting some cat from phuc-n mythology, like shaking hands with Icarus or Odyseus or sumthin.."

No man, he's COOL, supercool man. He hangs out and bullshits with the staff after his shows, this is his 3rd year coming here. I'll let you stay after man, you GOTTA meet him."

(The man takes a drink of his Jack and coke and looks at Fudd as he nails the closing note of Blue Skies and holds it longer than Bobby Darin ever could."
"Yeah, that would be cool, that WOULD be cool."

"Not WOULD man, it will be, it WILL be."

"And now the man you've all been waiting for...."

(In a small smoke filled lounge a man in a tuxedo, bowtie undone and hanging limply around his neck, stands next to a piano. The piano player sits with hands in lap smiling and waiting for his cue. A small, intimate crowd, all in good humor, hangs on the mans every word. The sign just outside the door reads "FUDD: One Night Only", let's listen in....)

"...and that's when I towd him....Wook, I'm not weaving this twaiwer untiwl I get mower money.....and a bottow of scotch!"

(the crowd laughs)

"Thank you. You know, watts of tiwims peep-o ask me wat it was wike working with Bugs, and awl wi can say is dat Bugs was awl kwass. Seerweeuswee, peep-o think dat Bugs and I didn't get awong, but dat's not twu. The guy day have pwaying Bugs now is goowood, but he's no Bugs. I think it's Bug's nephew Cairwee Gwant Bunny, but it's hard to tewell all those wabbits apaht. I'm not a wacist or anything, but it's twu. Pwus, dem bunnies have sex AWL the damn time, they go at it wike animals. Bugs had widdle bunnies in his twaiwer awl the tiwem. I mean, I scowerd AWOT, but nuthing wike Bugs. He was into some fweeky stuff too. Peep-o think dat Bugs ohnwee dwessed wike a girl bunny on camerwah, but he was WAY into cwoss-dwessing, he wasn't gay, he just wiked wemans cwose. Dat guy cood party."

(laughter)

"I don't get dees cawa-toon kids these days....wike Spongebob...he's just not funny. Now, his Dad wuz a funny muddafugga. I worweked with him YEARS ago. Spongeron was good peep-o. He had pawert time job as dishwasher, I used to give him a hand"

(Laughter as a drummer in the background hits a rimshot)

"Thank you Kwis. Ha.....heh...Kwis Kwamer wadies and gentewmen...my dwummer Kwis Kwamer"

(applause as Kwis..I mean Kris shows his skills for a second)

"Wew, enough of my stowies fowah now..."

("Awwwws" from the crowd)

"Set-ew down..heh...I have PWENTY mo where dose came fwom....heh....I will tell you some stowies about Daffy. That wuz won cwazee phuc-er, dat duck coowood DWINK. I'll tell the won about howah he o-mowest coodent get through da "Not da WED won!" scene. Ha! Now, I'd wike to sing a widdle song for you made famous by my fwend Bette Midwer...and it goes a widdle something wike dis...pway it Wair-wee.."

(Larry, the piano player, smiles, nods and starts to play. You hear the soft plucking of a stand up bass from the darkness near the drummer)

*ahem*

"Some say wuuuuuuv....it is a wiver...dat dwowns tha tenda weeeeeed...some say WUV it is a WAYZAH....dat weaves...your sow to bwead..."

(A man in the back leans towards his date and whispers "This is nothing...you should hear his version of My Funny Vowentine...I almost cried.")

Eating The Fresh Underground

The silence was uncomfortable. Why was he taking so long to respond? She felt anxious. It shouldn't take this long. Had she done something wrong? She couldn't remember how many times she'd been through this with other men. They'd always given her a quick answer, but this time......this time it was different. She could see the hurt in his eyes. What was he thinking?

It was a simple question really; yet he couldn't figure out why it pained him to hear it. Why must this be so hard? Sure, he'd been hurt before, but that didn't mean that she was going to hurt him like all the others had. Once bitten and all that. "Just answer her!" he screamed in his own head. She was so sweet when she'd asked, so innocent, but he had been tricked before. The others hadn't meant to hurt him, or had they? She had done everything he'd asked of her so far, there was no reason to believe she wouldn't continue down that path. Why was this so damn hard? He took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. He could tell she was getting irritated by how long he was taking, but this wasn't an easy thing for him, letting someone else take control. He felt so.....helpless. If he told her, would she react like he wanted her to, or would she ignore him and do what she wanted, arrogantly disregarding him? Did she REALLY care, or was this all just lipservice? He was ready to be hurt, bracing himself for the disappointment. He could feel anger lurking too, just below the surface, a Mr. Hyde grinning in the shadows, waiting to be summoned if she betrayed his trust. He took another deep breath and finally gave in. He felt the words come out of his mouth on their own, almost like an out of body experience. He hardly recognized his own voice. "Everything but pickles..."


There were no pickles on his sandwich.

Jared gets to keep his kneecaps awhile longer.

REVOLVER

revolver
Originally uploaded by Jerk Of All Trades.

It had been so long ago he couldn't even remember when he bought it. It was simply part of his life, like putting on his shoes or brushing his teeth. A daily ritual that he had repeated every day for.....years? He could remember putting that one, dull silver bullet in the chamber and spinning the cylinder for the first time. Remember putting the barrel to his temple and gently squeezing the trigger.

*click*

Nothing. No bang, no pain and no end to his life. He had done this everynight for as long as he could remember. Remember; he used the word a lot. Too much really, especially for someone who couldn't remember WHY he did it. He remembered seeing a TV show about a man who'd tried to kill himself in the same manner, but had only succeeded in blowing his eyes out of his head. He was still alive, but blind and without half of his face. Oddly enough, he no longer wanted to die. He loved life, and was one of the happiest people you'd want to meet. He would visit schools and tell teenagers and their parents about the gift of life and not to waste it. All he learned from that guys story was to NOT put the gun against your temple. NOW, he placed it just above his ear. He wanted to make sure that when it happend, it was final.

He'd wake up, go to work and shuffle through his day like all the other zombies, and go home. He'd find something to eat for dinner and then he'd sit, alone in the dark. He'd listen to the world outside his window. He'd marvel at how it could be so quiet and yet so noisy at the same time. In all the cacophony of cars, sirens and the overpowering white noise of the city, you could hear birds singing, leaves rustling, and a mothers voice in the distance calling her child in for dinner. Life was all around him, but inside him...., yes, inside him, that was a different story. Every day he'd sit and think about his purpose. Why was he here? Every night for years, he sat and thought about it. What was his "Raison D'etre"? Every night he pondered his own existence, and every night he could not find the answer. There was no reason for him to be here, and yet there was no reason for him to kill himself. One day it came to him. Fate. Fate would decide for him. The great odds maker in the sky would at least let him know if he was to stick around awhile longer. That was what the gun was for. He'd place one bullet in, round and round she goes and then straight up to his head. *Click* One more day. Afterward he'd continue the ritual; unload the gun and then clean it. True, it hadn't really been used, but he wanted to make sure it was in perfect working order. Besides, he liked the smell of the cleaner.

One night, he'd stopped at a bar on the way home. He wasn't much of a drinker, and could never bring himself to by a 6 pack when all he wanted was a pint. He must have passed this bar a million times over the years and never stopped in, but today had been a hot one. A cold beer sure sounded good.

It was dark and smoky, like a dive out of some 30's flim noir. He fully expected the bartender to be played by William Bendix, and for a young Lana Turner or maybe Jean Teirney to be the hooker with a heart of gold sitting at the end of the bar. No; maybe Barbara Stanwyck as the sassy cigarette girl. Whatever. He sat down and waited for the bartender to come over. "What's your poison?" he asked. He was more of a Dana Andrews type, not Bendix at all. "Jack n' coke. Lots of ice." he replied. The fake Dana smiled and said "You got it." before walking to the far end to grab a glass and mix up his magic potion.
Soft jazz played in the background, and the only other customer was an old man who'd seen several empty bottles of whiskey over the years. He had that perpetually sour look, and a swollen red nose. He never looked up. He just sat there staring at the ashtray in front of him, as if waiting for a genie to appear out of the smoke and grant him 3 wishes. The fake Dana Andrews strolled back and set his drink in front of him. "Here ya go pal, three-fifty. You wanna start a tab?" First he looked at his drink and then the barkeep. "No thank you, this'll do." He dug into his pocket and laid a 5 on the bar. "Keep the change" he said as he lifted his glass to his lips. "Thanks. You need anything just yell" He just nodded and took a drink. It was only when the cold liquid touched his lips that he recalled he came in for a beer. Why had he ordered what he did? When was the last time he'd even had hard liquor? 5 yrs ago? 10? Who cares; it was cold and the sweetness of it was pleasant.

"You dont need a reason you know?" the voice startled him. It was the old man from the end of the bar. He still wasn't looking up from the ashtray. "Excuse me?" the old man didn't answer. He must have imagined it. He went back to his drink. Minutes, perhaps hours went by. There was no way to tell what time of day it was in here. He'd found himself staring at his glass. He had no idea how long he'd been spacing out. When he looked up, the old man was gone and the barkeep was sitting on his side of the bar reading the newspaper. It was time to leave, he was hungry and there was the gun. There was always the gun.

By the time he got home he didn't feel like cooking. Tonight, if the gun felt like talking, pizza would be his last meal. He ate quickly and after brushing his teeth he sat down with the gun. He took a deep breath and gently pushed the bullet home. He closed his eyes, spun the wheel 'round and with a flick of his wrist popped it into place. He smoothly, without fear, lifted the gun to his head and paused. Even though he'd eaten, and brushed his teeth, he could still taste the faint sweetness of the whiskey. Why had he ordered that drink? Did it really matter? Like the old man said, you don't really need a reason. He exhaled and gently squeezed the trigger.