A Defiance Of The American Dream
By Johnny Street
Copyright © 2010
All rights reserved – John Robertson
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission, in writing, from the publisher.
For Ron Smith, Alan Proctor, Boris Tyomkin, Amber Bray, and My Old Man
I.
I wake everyday to this. This place, this zoo, this planet, this modern life. The TV is left on from the night before always wakes me, probably because the commercials are intentionally louder. The next thing I notice is the awful taste in my mouth which is the after effect of puffing 5 cigarettes on top of enough marijuana to knock me out for the night. Its pasty, sticky, phlemy, but coffee does wonders to neutralize it. I can’t fall asleep unless I’m stoned. It not only makes everything neat and introspective for a little bit, but it also makes me complacent at all the disgusting aspects of the world, a world you helped become a horrible one that only favors the financially elite. If I try and fall asleep without getting stoned, I dwell on these things, and tend to find myself wanting to dispose of all of it- if I could. There, was that enigmatic enough for you? This ranting you are about to read is the story of a loser, written by me. So let’s get that part out of the way.
My name is Raymond Matthew Chambers. I was born to a working class family in St. Joseph, Missouri on Friday, January 6, 1978. My mother was an elementary school teacher, and my father, well, he didn’t do that much. He was a good man but just blew it somehow. One time he put in 20 hours of overtime and took his bloated paycheck to the casino, wanting to make Christmas better for all of us. He ended up losing the car as well. He was a good man with a good heart, but always blew it somehow. I always remember imagining a clown crying when I saw him. Wanted all to be happy and have everything we needed, but just couldn’t deliver. He never drank or used drugs if you’re thinking that, he just got ulcers from so much pent up shame and guilt. He took a bunch of my mother’s Premerin pills on top of Ibuprofen, Antihistamines, and whatever other vitamins he could find… and died. I was 22. Mom was never right in the head either, she loved two things… food and Jesus. She too was never happy a lot of the time either. She did nothing but taught, watched the news, and ate, and before bed prayed almost so annoyingly, I think even Jesus would have made it a thing to avoid her. But I don’t really talk with her much anymore. She was also a slut. She cheated on my Dad four times, and I don’t mean four singular times, I mean had four extra men in her life. Dad loved her regardless and is probably the last person ever to take the “… for better or worse…” part seriously. I do have a sister but she’s dead to me. She married a Wetback when she was just 19, he was 41. I haven’t spoken with her in years but I’m sure I’m an uncle to many ugly children. As for me, I grew up shy and sensitive. I cried a lot, I pouted a lot; I still would love to kill Jerry Gillan for pushing me off my bike in the first grade. I played sports but was never really any good at them. My parents loved it because it was an assurance that I wasn’t getting into trouble, which I was in a lot.
I never really liked school, or learning, or being around people. In fact I hated it. I never really fit in, but tried my best to be popular, which only made me look like a dork. At least bad attention is better than none. I got into a lot of fights, and the only one I ever won was against a kid a foot shorter than me, and didn’t really know how to fight in the first place. I kissed a few girls, but found myself growing sick of them quick. I never dated any pretty ones, just the ones with low self-esteem, which usually meant they were ugly or fat. Kids never really liked me all that much. I was a big downer, because I pretty much thought everything that people found to be fun was a waste of time. Just about every kind of stimuli presented to me in whatever way seemed so trivial and meaningless. Nothing really made me smile or be happy. I wasn’t alone in this. Almost every face I saw throughout a day was not a face of joy. Not too many people are happy in St. Joseph. So I could cave in and call myself a byproduct of society, but I need to tell my story before I do it. I need the world to understand why I did what I did before they kill me.
My plan is to kill the President and his entire family. I think the man is a moron, but that’s not why I want to kill him. I want to be remembered. If my one accomplishment in life is his death, then my job on earth is done. I want people to question my motives, analyze them, come up with absurd conspiracy theories, have misguided children memorize my name for their social studies tests. It wouldn’t be a sacrifice to humanity at all, he’s a beaurocratic murderer and I am one of the tally marks on St. Joseph’s population count. I want all who care to read this to know this is exactly how it happened. From my eyes, and the gloom that is my soul, this is how I defied your lie, your god, your society, and your rules. You’ll find at the end of reading this that a little bit of each one of you killed the President, but don’t worry- I’ll take the fall.
Getting back to waking up, the next thing I do is masturbate. It’s not really out of being horny, it’s pretty much to try and give myself some joy in life if only until I cum. I only think of ex girlfriends when I jerk off. I wish I could just open a mag and talk dirty to a centerfold, but two things don’t really do it for me about that. One, I don’t know her and two, if I did, she’d never fuck me even if I paid her. So I think back to certain times and how breasts were shaped, the way their vaginas looked, how their legs looked when bent, this is what got me off. I’ve been in love twice, and both times have been cheated on, so I too can carry my father’s legacy of being a sucker. I don’t masturbate to them, I only end up wanting to yell at them while I jerk it, only making me flaccid, angry and unfulfilled. After I use yesterday’s shirt, which is always a dark color, as a cum rag, I get out of bed and make coffee. Coffee is one of my few necessities in life. I love the taste and like that it wakes you up. It’s almost a placebo effect with me: I can take one sip and wake as if I’d had three cups. Just as long as coffee touches my lips, and kills that morning breath of mine, I’m fine for a few hours. But it’s never a sip, it’s usually 4 cups, followed by a very long shit. I shower about every other day and sometimes rub one out in there if I can come up with a good memory of an ex at some point. My typical outfit is jeans, sweatshirt and a jacket if it snows. Pretty boring and blending. My apartment is 10 blocks from my job; I deliver furniture for Jay’s Furniture World. It pays 9 dollars an hour, but all I do is lift shit and put it places, so it’s pretty basic. I also get to go into other people’s houses, which I like to see. I like to see how others live and what makes them tick. I’m considering this a sort of training for killing people, hunting people isn’t that much different from hunting a buck. I get there at 10 and leave at 6. My boss is an asshole. He always gets on my nerves, but I’ve worked too many other shit jobs to want to leave this one. This one pays a few dollars more and every job I’ve lost has been because I end up threatening the boss, so I bite my tongue. I would love to kill him too, but I’d be out of a job if I did. After work I get shitty fast food because that’s all I can afford, come home, eat, masturbate, smoke pot and go to bed. The only friends I have are basically the ones I work with, but I never really talk to them outside of the job. So I don’t really go out all that much either. The only things really to do in St. Joe are drink or go to the boat and gamble. Or you could become pregnant and have your whole day filled like a lot of people here do.
The only two things I watch on TV are the History Channel and ESPN. Everything else just pisses me off. Sitcoms which are nothing more than really bad theater, and reality shows. This is testament to how stupid people have become. Not to mention how complacent and simplified that this is what is being fed to us by the sponsors. People like it though, and every so often it becomes the next “hey did ya see that?” type phenomenon. Sports are purely entertainment to me, I could give a fuck who wins and how they did it. This is my escape from all the shitty things is to see people play kids games. History Channel is good, but it’s really pro-capitalism. I do enjoy it, though; PBS doesn’t come in too good out here anyway. But TV is crap. The world moves too fast to sit down and read anymore. So we need our information overload somehow.
Life for some reason is fucking ridiculous to me. So much about it just doesn’t make sense. I don’t know where to begin on such a broad topic, but this place and this way of life seem confusing. The only place that really makes any kind of sense is when I plant my skinny yet flabby body on my worn out sofa and stare at a box with moving pictures. I was just as curious as you were about September 11th, and so much of it has changed the way we act. We’re more afraid of things- anything: the super market; the post office; the Starbucks. Afraid of just being there and not wanting to be a part of the next imminent attack is why they are scared. All kinds of little bits of scare put onto the TV: The envelope with the white powder on it; the package lacking a return address that bomb dogs caught; how toothpaste is not allowed in airports- we really are scared of our own shadows, aren’t we? I guess I bought into it too. The sight of the random guy in a turban makes me uneasy too. Is he one of those guys who force his wives to wear black sheets despite it being 120 outside? Would he blow up a building with bombs strapped to him, and once dead be sent to have however many virgins fondle his cock? Probably not, but you wonder how much of him was for the attacks that day. This is just one thing about my day that always makes me never enjoy it fully. Militant Arabs aside, which have replaced the leery black guy, I fear white people more than any other sub sect of racial humanity. I think the white mentality is the reason why this country is so scared and elitist. They are the majority and whoever the man may be, we all know he’s white. The white man will always favor other whites. The white man makes more money than anyone other than white. The white man also collects more unemployment and federal aid than anyone else. They really are the fat of the land- the Kennedys, the Rockefellers, the Chases, and the Vanderbilts- all white and they aren’t going anywhere. But usually race doesn’t really matter. It only does when you’ve been wronged or righted by someone and your memory of them associates skin color. Life and race are just two things that ruin my day simply by just thinking about them.
I’m off today, and with absolutely nothing to do, that’s all I do. Nothing. Sure I get up, mope around and go into another room just for a change of scenery, but my place isn’t all that big. It’s basically a box. I don’t have anything on my walls. For some reason I like them blank, maybe it’s the illusion of me just passing through and not settling fully. Most of my shit is either boxed up at my mom’s house or here, and I’m a basic kind of guy. Couch, TV, DVD player that I got at Wal-Mart for about twenty bucks- it plays movies fine for about a half hour then decides to forget how to work… on top of a half busted nightstand I got from work… the sofa was a throwaway too. My bed in the room and clothes everywhere except in the drawers. The bathroom is gross but I’m the only one who uses it, so it’s kind of justified that I’m around MY filth, and no one else’s. It’s always ok to lick your own blood. Yep, this is home, at least for now. Maybe I’m just avoiding having my nose dirtied from the business of going about daily life. Even the kindest sweetest grandmother gets a parking ticket, or some other inconvenience and I don’t want anything more than I can already handle. Just me is way too much to handle, but I learned through trial and error that no one gives a shit about your problems. Like I said, I was kind of a bitch growing up, so this made me difficult to be around. I know this now so I don’t really associate with people. Pretty much everyone here in this town grew up together, so if you end up married, chances are you had the same teacher in first grade. Now that that’s over with, most have stayed here or moved to a Kansas City suburb. A few go to KU, and Lawrence is a pretty neat town so they tend to stay. The ones that go far away are the ones who join the military. These are mostly guys who have no idea what the hell they want to do in life, so the military is great for giving them something to do. It pays pretty good, all things considered, and since pulling out is for some reason hard here it’s a last resort for lucky surprised fathers.
There is also the issue of attitude. Starbucks caffeine addict idealists say things to the extent of “life is what you make it.” To me, life sucks. I don’t know if I made it that way, but it does. I am one of millions just here, using up air, consuming processed goods, and one day we all have the assurance that it will be over. With too much to think about I resort to smoking pot because at least these negative misanthropic ideas become a little fuzzier around the edges and somehow make me feel better about my pointless existence.
Time to load up the bong, and begin to relax out. We’ll pick this up in the morning.
II
This morning wasn’t like most I’ve had. I dreamt of my ex Megan. There were no ill feelings, just us holding each other and making love on a beach somewhere. It was nice. I’ve never been to California before, but that’s probably where life is its most free. It has to be great if gay people like it so much out there, much less anyone else wanting to be someplace that’s far away from all the dullness of everyday life, like here in St. Joe. But for some reason there we were, naked, on a beach and happy. This was one of those times where I didn’t want to wake up out of this. All the while the thought of her with another man circled in my head, but at the time I didn’t care. She was so beautiful and in my mind she was the one that got away. Despite me being someone she barely remembers, she has always been my favorite despite how bad she treated me. This made me sleep in a little and so I had to not only skip my shower but not rub one out.
Walking to work, I thought of her fondly. How piercing her eyes were, how perfect her breasts were, her strut that was like a runway model. She was so hot, and I didn’t resent her this day. Most days I think of how awful of a person she was, and how she simply treats people like paper cups… uses them until she’s done, and then reaches for another one when she needs it. She is a parasite, and can’t do anything on her own, so she latches onto semi-lame guys like myself and uses them until they are used up. Now I know why battered women still have feelings for asshole guys who beat them. She still lives here in town, but I heard she moved in with some guy who’s into Rockabilly and now dresses like a pin up girl from the 50s. I’ll probably see her around at some point; this is, after all, a small town.
Mondays are Mondays here at my job. Jay was in a good mood today because he and his red neck friends all went hunting over the weekend and each got a buck. I have no idea how walking in the woods and hunting a stupid defenseless animal is fun. Whenever I hear of him and his adventures hunting, I always root for the animal, or for dumb luck to happen: Him tripping over a rock and firing his rifle into his own mouth, the hunter falling off a cliff, one of his friends mistakes him for a deer and blows his head off… things like that. But today he was so excited, he showed me pictures of his awesome weekend. It was him and two other people I didn’t recognize all sitting around dead animals with can of beer in hand and “look tough for the camera” stoic faces. There was even one of his trophy wife straddling the deer and showing her surgeon bought cleavage. Fucking sick, if you ask me. I just gave him back the pictures and started to go through the delivery orders for the day. There was only one delivery and it was across town in two hours, so when that happens you basically pretend to work. I dusted, polished, windexed, vacuumed and swept. This killed two hours easily, so I loaded up the five piece dinette set to be delivered to a trailer park on the east end of town. I walked to the door and out comes a frail old woman smelling like cat litter. Her house stunk, as she was apparently dying of colon cancer so she shat uncontrollably. I set her table up and walked back to the van. As I got in and started the van up, out comes the very woman I have been obsessing silently about all morning. She looked like shit, all strung out and skinny and possibly was pregnant, her belly stuck out a little, but it wasn’t enough to tell. She walked out to grab the trash bins and looked over and instantly recognized the van. She wasted no time giving me the bird as she lit up a cigarette. So much for my awesome dream. I instantly went back into resentment mode and drove away. I cried a little but just enough to let a little bit out. Some wounds never completely heal, I guess.
To give you the scenario on why I hate and love this woman all at once here’s the skinny… we met while at a mutual friend’s party. She was drunk and for some reason found me appealing. I wasn’t really doing anything special, but in her drunken haze she found me interesting. She was in no condition to drive or walk home for that matter so we ended up at my place. She ended up passing out in the middle of sex, giving me my first impression what necrophilia is like. Since fucking is rare for me I wasn’t about to stop and be the kind caring man that you see in the movies… hell no. I pretty much used her as a blow up doll. Somehow when she woke up the next day, she wasn’t put off by it. In hindsight I’d assume that waking up next to strange dudes was par for the course for her. In fact she sort embodied a sort of savior mentality with me. She moved in with me soon after… three days later to be exact. She didn’t work, clean, or do much of anything. She basically knew how to open her legs, crack open a beer can, roll joints and complain about anything with no end- these were her only venerable qualities. Soon after I became more broke than I already am due to her insatiable appetite for pot, pills and booze. It wasn’t uncommon for me to get home and see her passed out. All the more, I loved her. She was the answer to everything I kept bottled inside, and somehow I envied her for making her faults public. I don’t have the look of a go getter or an over achiever but I don’t want to give the impression that I’m lame. A few months into me being her provider I started noticing men’s underwear around the house that wasn’t mine. Stories I got from her about it were anything from, “I like to wear boxers” to “they are my brothers and he left them here.” Being that I’m pretty much spineless and took the outlook of cheating pussy is better than no pussy, I let it go. She pretty much convinced me that I should be privileged to have her as my girlfriend. She was beautiful after it all, and despite how many party miles were apparent on her body- she still had the aura of knowing how to be the life of any situation- even while passed out on a couch. I envied her for this as well. Finally one day I walked home from work and as I was walking up the stairs to my front door, I saw some older guy who I had no idea who he was walking out of my place. He just nodded and went about his business. She was laying there naked under a sheet smoking a cigarette and knew she had been caught. She claimed she fucked him because I wasn’t satisfying her emotionally- whatever that means? I made her get all of her stuff which all fit nicely inside one small box, and took her key back. She was gone, and I didn’t really worry about her wellbeing all that much as I knew she probably had all kinds of backup plans. We never really connected on an emotional or loving level. She just treated it as her doing me a favor by being there, and I saw it as a shameful attempt at a normal American life. After the resentment part blew over, I found myself pining over her. Staring at my phone for hours hoping she would call, but she never did. I thought of the few venerable qualities of her each time I masturbated, but that usually sent me into a mental funk that would be deemed psychotic had a professional witnessed my mental lack of backbone. So that’s the story of the one that got away, thus giving you a better picture of my lack of prowess. The revengeful side of me did manifest itself at a crawls pace, and each day after that I thought how killing her would be the ultimate justice. To me, this is the worst lie you can do to someone.
I got back and the boss let me go home early. There wasn’t anything else to do, so in a “time is money” type business it’s stupid to keep me around and get paid to do nothing. I walked back home wondering how I was going to kill the rest of this day. But the rest of the day was spent looking at old pictures of myself and Megan. I then noticed I was almost out of weed, so I walked over to Wes’s house. He was the pot dealer of St. Joe. He never worked, all he did all day was get stoned and play video games, and he made a killing off of it. I bought a bag from him and walked home again. I don’t really drink that much, so the plan was to smoke and forget. My day was already bad at best, so it was probably best to smoke myself stupid and try and sleep, which I did after five good size pipe loads. I slowly fell asleep and was grateful that I didn’t have to deal with seeing my ex in a sober mood. The thought then raced through my head that maybe I should kill her. I’d be doing the bitch a favor more than anything else. Ya, that’s what I’ll do.
I woke up from my nap and decided to give killing a try. I now knew where she lived so this was a lot easier than one would think. The trailer park, wrongfully named Sunny Cove Mobile Estates, was situated amongst trees in every direction. So like Jay and his hunting pals I did the same thing. I wore all dark clothes, a black beanie, and my old “Rambo” knife. The plan was to wait for her to leave the trailer and then I’d pull her into the woods and kill her there, hopefully as quietly as possible. Night began to set in and still no Megan. I sat there thinking how this needs to happen despite it all. She wronged me and it was time to even the score. A door opened to the trailer and out she came to have a cigarette. She sat down and looked frustrated for some reason. I froze; all I wanted to do was sprint towards her, knife in the air, and burry it into her face. But I couldn’t. I felt bad for her. So the only way I talked myself out of it was thinking she was alive and that’s worse than her death. I waited for her to finish her smoke and go in before I walked back home. Once again, I failed.
III
Walking back, I noticed how people’s homes were all laid out and situated. Missouri is a “red state,” meaning we lover Republicans. To me red state simply means “stupid state.” If you tell people that Jesus was a woman enough times, they will believe it, and that’s what happened here. St. Joe is a very “not in my backyard” type place. We know of gays, and liberals, and non-white folk, but their place is not here, it’s somewhere else. Black people live in KC, because I guess they live in big cities because white people, unless they are cosmopolitan, don’t like big cities. White folk like neighborhoods, fences, community pools, open spaces to shoot. I remember my mom telling me one day that black people were of the devil because they came from a savage land and worshipped gods that looked like heathen animals. This made things a lot more confusing every time I passed a Baptist church with black people outside of it. Jesus must use voodoo dolls when he knows black people worship him. But people here are still rattled by September 11th. They are convinced that terrorists are lurking in the shadows at all times here in St. Joe. Thing is, they aren’t. In fact, I have yet to see one shred of concrete evidence that suggests that the ones they said did it actually did. But again, you tell people enough fucking times and they will believe it. Mass Appeal Hysteria was fervent here. This is how you make people complacent to things they have no power in, but knowing they are fucked up anyway. Most here think this is a sacrifice we all need to make to ensure our freedom. Our huge sacrifice is paying more at a gas pump, having our taxes raped, and then hearing about cuts for the wealthy. A “them and us” type mentality also exists. People for the most part are stupid. I don’t believe in God and guess what people? There is no God. There is no Jesus, and if there ever was, he does not have the powers to raise himself from the dead. There is no heaven and there is no hell. When we die, as much as we like hold our spirits in high regard, we are nothing more than decaying worm food, that will break down chemically and in-turn fertilize or contaminate whatever plants happen to be close by. If this generation will be known for anything, it will be that we are the complacent generation. We know that the President is full of shit. We know we are fighting a false war. We know this current era is one that will make the rich richer and force all others to fight over the scraps more so. But since we’re so diluted and manipulated by churches, Fox News, and any other “pro-America” view, we just sit and take it. All of us, even myself. I’m just a dope head stoner who works a shit job, and for now that’s fine by me. I have no plans of buying into our capitalistic system and feeding this elitist society in which we live. No, my plan is to disrupt it. You cannot bring down something that has millions of dollars of financial backing, and with politicians, lawyers, and public officials all in the man’s hand, how could I take it down? The castle wall does have its cracks though, and I want to make the crack a little more noticeable.
I have a neighbor who has the worst staring problem. His name is Manfred, and he wears those child molester style glasses which make his leering eyes magnify and look that much more perplexing. He is nice, and very fucking weird. He tries to engage conversation every time I walk to my apartment, but I just nod smile and avoid him. This makes him frustrated but he probably lives a more pointless life than I do. I don’t think he works, and probably collects disability due to his vision impediment. I hate how he seems connected to me just for the reason that we live close by. I’m not a friendly or outgoing person, but somehow I have the look of someone who is. I basically just want to be left alone, and I only get that only so often. Anyway, enough about that piece of shit. I’m sure he’ll come up a few more times as you read this. But I cannot believe how pathetic that--- whatever that was--- was. I literally set out to kill my ex girlfriend, and I couldn’t. I wonder how many others have attempted to do what I tried to do, only to have it just be something that never happens.
I was off the next morning, so I figured I’d take a walk after a few jerk off sessions. Going to some suburban style coffee shop to grab a cup, I walked out and noticed something so gross. This woman across the street looked like something that was eaten and dropped. She was also pregnant, so I wondered what person in their right mind would fuck such a mass. Her eyes weren’t squinty, but there was so much chub in her cheeks and forehead they made them that way. An airbladder for a chin, half gallon bags filled with wet sand for boobs, a belly and pale legs that looked like curds. It was disgusting and I felt ill looking at it.
“Hi Ray.”
I turned to notice Suzy walking by. She was a quazi-friend that I’ve known since 7th grade. I never had many friends but for some reason, she just could tolerate me. We never got close but she never seemed put off by me. We played spin the bottle in 10th grade and tried to go for it. I came before my pants were even off, so that kind of ruined things. It never got out and so I assume she just kept it to herself. I guess I should thank her, but that’s not something you just come out and say.
“Hey Suzy, long time.”
“Ya … so how’ve you been?”
“I’m ok, you?”
“Good. I was coming from a party at Chad Weinscot’s, and I saw Megan there.”
I nodded, masking it all.
“Well… you probably don’t want to hear that, so I’m gonna go. See ya round.”
“Sure I do.”
“Well, she was fucking drunk as hell, but all coked up too- and she was ranting about how you’ve been stalking her. And that her baby is yours and all this and that and all kinds of stuff. I didn’t say anything, but her boyfriend wants to beat your ass. No one really took her seriously though.”
“Why? I don’t even know what to say to that. I saw her on my route yesterday, but that was it. Fuck that bitch. That’s so not true.”
“Look I gotta go, I’ll see ya.”
This is what happens when you’ve been caught in a half-lie. How the fuck did she see me? Did she see me? Was she just full of shit and got lucky? Fuck her. Fuck that bitch. My baby? That fucking bitch. Fuck her pompadour looking prick. I’ll fuckin kill him. Little bitch… I was taking this rather well, as you can see. I walked home at a faster than normal pace and chain smoked the whole way and called Megan once I walked into the door of my place. I would be amazed if I got through because she never pays her bill on time and has it turned off ¾ of the month.
“This is Megan leave a message. Beeeeeeep”
“So I’m stalking you now? What the fuck? M-my baby?!?! Are you fucking serious? Fuck you, you’re so full of shit.” Click.
I proceeded to throw random things. Empty soda cans, shoes, socks, bills, and for a climax a glass just to see it break and hear the sound. It was on the tile so cleaning it up was easy. I found myself panting through the clench of my teeth and hating everything this world had to offer. After trying to get my mind off it I turned on ESPN. It was a slow day since all they could talk about was a 3 game losing streak for the Yankees. My phone rings. Number blocked.
“Hello?”
“Fuck you. Why were you in the bushes near my house last night?”
“I wasn’t…”
“Don’t give me that shit, I saw you and Derrick saw you. What were you doing? Jacking off? Planning to kill me? What? WHAT?”
“Fuck you, I was at Wes’s last night.”
“Wes was at Chad’s party. You fucking asshole, you’re gonna get your ass beat.”
I hung up knowing I had been caught. God Dammit! I started to panic. I immediately locked every lock I could. I was shaking like a leaf in a breeze and had no idea what to do. I have one window and it overlooks the entrance to the building. I found myself peeking out the corner very regularly. I felt like I had to piss, but was so clenched up I probably could only muster three drops. I was alone and felt that away acutely. I laid down and tried to smoke myself down, but it just made me think more philosophically about the situation.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
I sprang up and began to shudder, I tip toed to the door to look into the peep hole, walking softly so they couldn’t hear the steps on the other side of the door. I peered through and there were three guys, one of whom was probably Megan’s boyfriend. All were staring forcefully, with that rounded appearance that happens through a peep hole, so they didn’t exactly want to borrow a cup of sugar. It was hard to tell if they noticed the light change once the peep hole was being looked through. They just stood there, and then all walked away slowly. I went to my window to look out, and they walked away looking up at the window. I tried to hide in time but they saw me at the last second.
“You better leave Megan alone, you little bitch! If I see you anywhere, you’re dead,” said the voice outside the window. “And you better believe I know where you work.”
I should have killed them both. And I will tonight. I have to do this fast. And I have to do this right.
Getting ready, I thought of every procedure police do when they gather evidence. I am a sucker for those Unsolved Mysteries/ true crime shows. Things they look for, fingerprints, blood splatters, foot prints, points of exit and entry, handedness of the killer, the weapon, the motive, the corpus delecti…. I must leave nothing. Instead of the hunting knife, I brought four kitchen knives all varying in size and brand, gloves, and I cut the soles off my old boots, which happened to be two sizes too big for me. I was all ready to go and kill me some assholes. But since it’s already in motion, why not prepare for a lot more?
IV
I figure that since I am going to off my ex girlfriend, her sleazy man, whoever else is in the wrong place at the wrong time, and eventually our bastard of a President, then maybe myself if I don’t feel like being incarcerated, I need to get some things together. First, I need to gather things that will all fit in a backpack and bail this place. Leave everything my ID, social security card, birth certificate… better yet, burn them. They’ll know who I am from my name on the lease. I’ll be gone by then, though. I’m heading east after this. I pack all the things I need. Watch, trash bags, zip ties, first aid kit, water, vitamin packs, sewing kit, rope, blanket, pocket knife. I set my alarm for 1:30 and ready myself. I have to do this. I can’t go through life just being there. I’m sure that if I put my mind to it as they say, and maybe not smoke so much pot, I’d do something with my life. This means a job with a pension and benefits, and one that will eventually be the death of you. No way, I’m checking out early, and with a blast. I can’t wait to see if this savage impulse will maim me mentally, or if I’ll learn something along the way. I will be vilified for how I was wronged so many times. This country will see that power is, at times, powerless and that the ones in power bleed and die the same as the rest of us. This town will erupt in panic, finally getting some attention at how fucked up life is in this fucking town. We’re so proud of such plain, boring shit. After sleeping better than I have in years, the alarm sounds. Here we go.
My first immediate plan is to break into their trailer and off them both. How exactly, who knows, but it needs to be quiet. Then after figuring out what to do with the bodies, get money to get the hell out of town. My work is easy, and despite how much Jay is a prick, I like the guy. He did give me a job and this is me fucking him for his generosity. So head there, empty the safe, then take a bus to St. Louis. I walked about two miles to the outskirts of town, avoiding major streets and lighted parts. This meant at times going through patches of trees and hilly terrain at times, but her trailer park was situated just outside a small forest, so hiding is easy and I soon arrive. The lights were still on, and I felt like I couldn’t wait, but I had to. I snuck up the side of the trailer, the side opposite the door. I closer I got, the louder voices became. They were fighting, who knows about what, but it was a sound that was very familiar. The more I pay attention, the drunker they sounded.
“Why- the fuck can’t I go out and get drunk? Who cares? So what if I’m pregnant? It’s just gonna grow, be fucked up, and get drunk too.”
“Because you’re pregnant, and it’s not good for a baby to get drunk.”
“It’s my body, Derrick. It’s my body. I’M CARRRYING this kid, NOT YOU. Don’t fuckin tell me that shit. Don’t you.. fuckin tell me that. It’s not yours. OK, it’s not YOURS. It’s Ray’s. And you’re gonna kill him. I don’t even want this fuckin thing.” Starting to cry. “And you’re fucking some gross fuckin bitch, so fuck you, fuck all of you.”
“That was a long time ago, so what, I got drunk and fucked some hoochy, who cares. And how do you know its Ray’s?”
“It is, OK? It just is.”
I couldn’t stand what I was hearing. There is no way it’s mine, we stopped having sex way before we broke up. Giving her the benefit of the doubt, if it was mine, she was killing it. Oddly, I felt nothing for it. I only wanted to spring in and off them.
“I need a cigarette,” she said as she walked out the door.
The sound of sobbing and then her gagging as she was puking echoed in the trees. Must be a lot; she was throwing up heavily, judging by the intensity of the splashes. I snuck around slowly, knife in hand. I peered over to see the train wreck that was her. Hunched over, convulsing in that rhythmic way before expelling more vomit. It looked painful, but we’ve all been there. She leaned back against a chair and sat up. Tried to light a cigarette but failed, and proceeded to let puke dribble down her chin. She was still throwing up, and she periodically snored and burped as she was passing out. She passed out 5 minutes into it. I threw a couple of pebbles at her and got no reaction. I walked up to the door and opened it. Make it fast, make it quick, and make it quiet, was all I thought. First thing I saw was Derrick, and in one motion charged him and plunged the Ginsu into his throat. He made a sound like he was trying to cough. His body fell onto the couch and after a few twitches and “what the fuck” stares, he died. Holy shit, I killed him. I fuckin killed him. There was his lifeless limp body, motionless, and the look of surprise was on his face; he seemed at peace. I unburied the knife and went outside. I pulled Megan’s hair up, exposing her neck, then sliced her throat from both sides. Blood mixed with puke is quite a site. I looked around and not a light was on, no one heard a thing, and it was dark out. Do I leave the bodies? Do I take them? Do I dump them? Fuck- what was I going to do? I looked down at my freshly dead ex girlfriend. Her belly was the most noticeable thing, and the fetus might still be alive, but not for long. I lifted her shirt and started to feel her breast. Not wanting to stop there, I pulled her pants down. Her underwear was soaked with piss. I pulled those down to reveal a stubbly vagina. I remember this thing, and I remembered it well. I stuck two fingers inside of it, and began to work them around. Not the same with a gloved hand, but it would have to do. I hiked them back up. I figured it best to put the knife in her hand and get her prints on it so when this is discovered they would think murder/suicide. The booze and drugs in her system will surely implicate that scenario as well. I hope. So there we are. Two less bastards in this world. Well, it won’t be long until they obtain her cell phone and see who she was talking to before she died. I can’t worry about that now, onto my work.
I wish I could tell you exactly what was going through my head while in the act. But to make it simple, not only for me, but for you as well- my brain sort of shut off. I wasn’t thinking or contemplating anything. I just did it. I like to think that if I did second guess myself, I would have chickened out. I don’t feel anything yet, it’s as if I just threw a glass bottle and watched it shatter- get the thrill of it for a second and then divert attention to something else. I did know this was permanent, and in doing this my life and way of life will change until there is no life anymore. I don’t know, for right now in the present moment of seeing if blood got onto my clothes with nothing but random street lights and the moon to illuminate me, I know this will be a sleeper effect, and I know I will regret it later, but for now it’s as if I swatted a fly and nothing more.
Jay doesn’t usually get there until 10, so I had a lot of time, but wanted to avoid being seen. He was a cut corners kind of guy meaning he didn’t have an alarm, just a sticker that said he did. I unlocked the door, undid the gate and went right for the safe. I opened the safe and there was around six grand there staring at me. I swiped it all and locked up on my way out. At times like this, I can’t feel anything about it or I’ll go nuts. Maybe that’s why I’m such a pile. I dwell on shit, and up till now, was about two inches big compared to this shit. But maybe that’s it. Maybe I’ve just experienced a part of life so extreme, our mind goes into shock and does what it needs to do to forget about it. Fine by me, last thing I need is to become manic over this. But this is it. I’ll never be back to St. Joe again. I won’t miss it either. If I ever come back, it will be to burn it to the ground.
One thing I’ve noticed when I do watch these true crime shows is that criminals are, for the most part, stupid. They are sloppy, leave too much behind, panic. Not that I’m any sort of authority on it, but it sure feels that way now. Thing is, though, it was fucking easy. Just don’t think, and do one thing. It’s no different than playing with a dog. If Derrick was going to off me, then no one will ever know that now, but I did the right thing. Only immediate family and friends will miss them. Megan never had much of a family, just a lot of boyfriends. But I figure if I keep moving, then I’ll never be caught, or find someplace where I’ll blend so well, there’s no way. But the plan at the end of it all is to be caught. I’ll be known as a serial killer, no doubt, but I could give a fuck about Manson, Gein, Ramirez, all those kooks. They were just feeding an addiction. The bus station of 5th Street was where I was going. I wanted to get east, but figured the next bus out was the better bet. Denver was the next one out, so I paid for my ticket and was off. I disposed of anything bloody back at a hotel on the way. The dumpster was near the Hi Ho Bar, so I just made the bag blend. I should probably get at least five hours out of town, and then use less known freeways than I 70. I’ll find some dump of a hotel and figure what’s next.
After mentally planning my next move, I just stared at all the signs and stuff you pass as you drive in the night. The Kansas Turnpike was the only time I got nervous, but we just went right through and off past Lawrence, and then to nothing but farm land. I’ll head to Salina and see what happens there. I fell half asleep a few times, but just counted the signs and mileage to Salina.
The sun began to show. Not much to see, but it was still up. We arrived in Salina and I got off. I went into the shop at the station to get a coffee and glance at the paper. The Kansas City Star had all kinds of pictures of the President on it, but nothing about the murders. Suits me just fine, although I’m sure the investigation is well under way. Also won’t be long until Jay sees that his safe is cleaned out. This was the one footprint I left: the fact that he’d for sure know it was me once he figures out that I’m not only not showing up today, but once he files a report with the police, it will all point to me. Next question… what do I do now? Where the hell do I go? I need to keep moving. I head to the toilet to take a shit and see if that will create any new ideas.
I walk into a bathroom that was surprisingly clean, must not have been used that much since it was cleaned last. It had the ammonia smell to it with a hint of pine. I walked into the middle stall and unzipped my pants. Wow, the odor hit me bad. I must have some kind of crotch rot because I don’t think sweaty reproductive organs should smell that way. My damp sweaty ass sat upon the cool hard plastic and it felt nice. The shit ran without much strain at all, and had a plasma type consistency. I wiped myself clean checking the paper for anything other than white, and once there were only traces left after many attempts, I got up and didn’t come up with a thing in the way of an idea. Fuck it… next bus out as long as it’s not going east. May as well stay on this one, I did pay to get to Denver. I got back on after smoking a few cigarettes. Fear was starting to kick in but only in fragments. The sight of the security guard, just looking like a pig, made me always have to keep him in view.
“Mind if I sit here?”
What the hell? I looked over and there was wiry thin black man placing his duffel bag on the seat across from me.
“I like this one best, you don’t have the wheel well bendin yo legs.”
I didn’t reply, it was fine by me as long as he didn’t bug me. He wasn’t old, but weathered. Maybe just naturally skinny, possibly strung out, but he looked aged. His eyes were yellow instead of white. He was wearing a cross on his neck, so he must go those churches where black people have a dance party in the seats. Out of the corner of my eye as I was leering at the rent a cop, I saw him pull out a pocket knife and then reach into his pocket. An apple emerged and he began to slice it. After a few bites, he offered, “apple?”
Looking over, with eyes telling of no sleep, I replied, “No thank you.”
He just turned and went about his business. The bus took forever to get started but we were off. I was thinking of all the pluses and minuses I had going for me. I have no car, so no plate to track or keep an eye out for. I have no ID, and I pay in cash, so that’s good. My apartment is vacant with all my shit in it, and once rent is late then that will kick up some brows once Jay’s theft report connects the two. It was common knowledge that Megan said I was stalking her the night before, so once interviews happen, I’ll be a person of interest for sure. Even though I never saw anyone else when I did it, that doesn’t mean that anyone did. I’ll count on four, worst case scenario who can give a description. They will probably all nail the height and build aspect but that’s it. So, that with my name on record, my disappearance, Jays’ report and key witnesses… yep, they already know. I have to keep moving on, I have to complete this. Maybe the guy there can be of use. He seems starved for conversation, so I can be a pal for awhile. Maybe not so much. I should have joined the military, you get paid to kill and get all kinds of awards for it, too. They kill people that other people hate. What gets you into prison is killing people YOU hate. Fine line, I guess, but I’m sure that’s far from an original thought. It took a little while to zigzag through the towny part of Salina. We were back on I70 and more boring as hell corn fields zoomed by. I kept glancing over at the black guy, who was peering out the window as if very deep in thought. He’s fine, I’d better get some rest.
WELCOME TO COLORFUL COLORADO said the old wooden sign as we crossed the state line. Not too much farther to Denver, and I still have no idea what to do once I get there. OK, maybe I should at least see what this guy is up to. I look over at him and he’s already looking at me with a half grin.
“Rise and shine, heh heh.”
“Yeah, almost there.”
“You got family in Colorado?”
“No.”
“Friends?”
“No. I’m kind of just going. Want to get out there and see it.”
“Life journey, huh? That’s cool, man. My aunt lives in Arvada. I just done got laid off at the cannery back in Salina, and she helps run a church out there, so there’s some work for me. Should take care of me for a little bit. Name’s Paul,” he said, extending his hand
“Bill,” I said, shaking the guy’s hand. I’ve never shook hands with a black man before.
“Spring’s always nice out here, and the air is pretty good, too. Do you have a plan once you get there?”
“No, not really, don’t even know if I’m going to stay.”
“Well, if you want some work, albeit hard, I’m sure there’s plenty there for you if you want to make some extra bills.”
“What kind of work?”
“Oh, landscaping, maintenance. Thing is, with these old churches, they always got something needing fixing. So you got until Denver to make up your mind. So, you running away? Mid-life crisis? What’s up? You really don’t get on a bus and just go, usually there’s something to go to know what I’m sayin’?”
“Long story short, I broke up with my girlfriend and back home doesn’t have much for me there anymore (actually, I just murdered some guy and molested my ex after I slit her throat, oh yeah, did I mention burglary, too?).”
“Where’s home?”
“St. Louis.”
“Nothing for you in St. Louis… all kinds of work there, but working’s only so much of it- right, my brother? Amen.”
“Amen.”
We did the gratuitous hand slap low five thing. I think I’ll hang out, but once it gets either boring or bad, I’ll leave. I won’t let him know that I have thousands in cash on me, which would just be stupid.
“Mile High, ooo- wee,” he said as the bus pulled into the stop in Downtown. “You coming or not?”
“Why not?”
“I’m going to make a call so we can get picked up. I haven’t thought off hand where you’ll be staying, but we’ll figure something out. You don’t mind black people, do you?”
“…No.”
“I’ll be right back.”
I lit up a cigarette and started checking the area out. People seemed like they had more money here. Cars were newer and it was a lot cleaner than anywhere I’d ever seen.
“My sister’s going to pick us up here, she’ll be about an hour,” said Paul.
“Want to find a bar?”
“I’ll keep you company, but I don’t drink anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Well, long story short, the drinkin always made me get the violence. I’d be blackin out and beatin guys up all nasty. Well, one day my wife done didn’t want me drinkin that day, but I went and did anyway. I got home and she started sayin shit a drunk man don’t need to be hearing. SO- I knocked her around, and I guess I hit my son too. Next thing I know I’m in jail looking at domestic battery, the DA wanted to push for attempted manslaughter. I got 18 months and got out in 14 on good behavior. I was into Hip-Hop real good, everyone called me BONE DADDY, but them days is gone. I found God in prison and that’s been my way now. He’s keepin me off the drinkin, the druggin, and the thuggin. So it’s a little easier goin about your day with a clear head and the good word in your heart. I will take one of them cigarettes, though. “
I pulled one out and gave it to him. He took it and I held my lighter to it and lit it. He dragged like seasoned professional.
“Now don’t be letting the sob story tell you what to do. If you want to have that drink, please do.”