All posts by X Teri

Irreverent (A Story)

09/06/2023 X Teri Leave a comment

The September wind blew gently against Stan. He turned, cupping his hand in front of his cigarette as he lit it. The flame created shadows across his arm as it touched the cigarette’s tip. No one would be watching at 12:30 in the morning. The lone exception might see him, but whoever that potential person might be, it was likely their wakefulness stemmed from their own vices. “Nothing good happens after 9,” his grandfather told him at least a hundred times.

The nasty smoking habit allowed him to disappear from work more frequently than his coworkers. As well as to stand around watching without being noticed. Most of his coworkers needed a break more frequently than they enjoyed them. Some of them undoubtedly needed shock therapy. Their nerves were more frayed than a forgotten sailor’s rope. He knew that nicotine inflamed his nervous system. His IQ told him that much.

Stan stood at least ten yards from the back of the shopping center. The canopy of the trees still held its crest of leaves. Anyone exiting the rear door would need to stand for several seconds to even attempt to see a solitary figure standing under the trees against the property’s edge. Stan wore black pants and a grey T-shirt. The clothes blended in with the unmaintained wood fence behind the trees. At this hour, no vehicles park behind the shopping center.

Waiting didn’t bother him. Like most creative people, he could sit for hours, apparently bored. Nothing was further from the truth. Unimaginative people fail to observe the million interdependent moving parts of the people and world around them. Stan’s curse was that he learned human behavior by being raised by his grandfather Quinn. He’d spent a career as a detective and a follow-up career as a private investigator that carried him until the day he died.

At 12:45, the door opened. An average-size male stepped outside. He winced against the ridiculously bright security light bathing the door. It was Sebastian, the person Stan anticipated.

Sebastian froze as Stan spoke.

“Hey, don’t make any sudden moves. It’ll take you longer to swipe your access badge and open the door than it will for me to make you regret it. You can run if you want. I need the exercise.” Stan’s voice carried well in the quiet of the night.

Stan flicked his third cigarette away but didn’t move closer.

“Who are you? Surely you know who operates this business?” Sebastian attempted to make his voice sound confident. He failed.

“Yeah, I know. Big whoop. He’s not here. You’re by yourself.” Stan laughed. Laughing in such situations caused amateurs to become scared and legitimate players to understand when they didn’t have the upper hand.

“We’ll figure out who you are. No one messes around with us.” Sebastian sounded more assertive this time as he spoke.

“Maybe. But you must explain to your boss why you broke the rules and went out alone. And out the back unprotected, no less. I could take your badge and burn down the place.”

There was silence for ten seconds as Sebastian thought about his predicament. “Can I smoke at least?”

“Of course. Just get your cigarettes from your right pocket and avoid going to your left side where you keep your gun, and maybe we’ll both be okay.”

“Damn! Who ARE you?” Sebastian said in surprise. As he spoke, he moved to slowly extricate his pack of cigarettes. Sebastian pulled the lighter from inside the pack and lit one. Though Stan just finished smoking, he craved another one. That was the problem with smoking; the habit needed constant affirmation and practice. Even when recently begun, the habit had a way of taking control.

Sebastian pulled hard on the cigarette as he smoked, one giant gulp after another. “You’re not going to shoot me, that’s for certain, or you’d done it already. What’s your game?”

Stan laughed. “Believe it or not, I want a job, Sebastian. Just a job and nothing more. And I need you to help me get it.”

Sebastian snorted. “A job? You’re joking, right? You hold me up in the middle of the night and then want a job?”

“Yeah. I could rob you, but then you’d have to attempt to hunt me down. Your line of work doesn’t exactly advertise.” Stan grinned, although he knew Sebastian couldn’t see his face.

“You think I’m going to trust you after this?” Sebastian’s confidence grew with each question.

“Yeah, I do. Think of this as my interview. I got the drop on you because you got lazy. You all are convinced that no one knows what you’re doing in the back of the two storefronts you use to camouflage your real business.”

“You’re crazy. I don’t hire people. If you’ve been watching, you know who does.”

Stan laughed and stepped out from underneath the overhanging tree limbs. He continued to walk calmly toward Sebastian. Sebastian threw his cigarette on the ground and ground it out with his right foot.

“Well, now I recognize you. I’ve seen you around.”

Stan continued to grin. “Anonymity isn’t what I’m here for. I’m showing you my face to let you know that you could come for me easily. To give you an edge.”

“You’re definitely crazy. I don’t see a gun. That doesn’t mean you don’t have one. Or an accomplice watching from several vantage points.”

Stan nodded in agreement. He stopped less than ten feet from Sebastian.

“I’m intrigued by your craziness. If I agree to introduce you to my boss, what makes you think he won’t just close your mouth and be done with you.”

“That’s where you come in, Sebastian. Tell him you recruited me without divulging any of the business secrets. I’ll earn my keep.”

Sebastian laughed at the absurdity of being in a holdup-turned-job-application. He finally replied, “Tell you what. Either you’ll end up in a creek somewhere, or we’ll let you know. How’s that?”

“Agreed. You know I work at the rented office space on the opposite side of your storefronts. I’ll be outside smoking a few times a day. If I hear gunshots, I’ll take it as a “no” for my job application.” Stan laughed again.

Sebastian laughed. “You’re cold-blooded or stupid. We could use either one. But it’s not my decision. I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks, Sebastian.” Stan nodded.

“What’s your name? Creepy-AF-Guy won’t work well as a name if I bring you up.” Sebastian relaxed his arms, indicating that he’d decided no one would get shot tonight.

“Stan. Just Stan.”

“Okay, Stan. Please eff off for tonight, would you? I limit myself to one potentially fatal encounter per night.”

They both smiled.

Stan didn’t wait for further interaction. He turned and walked the length of the building. His instincts told me he didn’t need to fear a gunshot in the back. He had struck just the right nerve of surprise and curiosity. Work tomorrow might be another story. He walked to his Honda parked a few rows from where he worked. He drove a couple of miles before pulling into a McDonalds near the main highway. No one followed him.

Stan leaned over, opened the glove compartment, and pushed twice on the upper inside edge. A click sounded as the hidden section opened. He pulled out a modified cell phone and its battery. Clicking the battery into place, he powered the phone on and dialed the number.

“Section four. ID, please.” The voice carried all the enthusiasm of someone reading baseball statistics.

“Six, one, six, four, six. Pink cotton candy ice cream.” He laughed. He was told he could pick any passphrase he wanted.

“Confirmed. Nice password, by the way. Report, please.” Even less enthusiasm. Secret covert government organizations hired nothing but the most boring people to staff the operations that maintained them.

“Contact acquired. Expect secondary contact within twelve hours.”

There was a pause. “First contact already? It’s only been five days.”

“You’re paying me an exorbitant salary that could easily allow me to retire in ninety years. I saw no need to overthink the situation.” Stan smiled, knowing unseen functionaries would later review each word spoken during his call-in report.

“Report in by 1 p.m. Otherwise, the assumption of failure will occur.”

Stan thought those few words were an interesting way to express that he might be dead within those twelve hours.

“See you for supper, then. Out.” He didn’t wait for a response. He removed the battery from the cell phone and returned to its hidden compartment. Lucky for him, the McDonalds was open twenty-hours a day. He went through the drive-thru and ordered a basket of fries with thirty packets of ketchup. He amused himself by attempting to elicit the greatest number of condiments each time he ordered food.

Tomorrow would be a long day. He almost regretted the idea that he would soon leave his cover job, one way or another. If he got shot, at least his burnt-out coworkers would have something to brighten their day. Nothing invigorates office work like tragedy or drama.

To be continued…

Addiction, Ancestry, Behavior, Death, Family, Flick, Personal

Mixed Memories

09/05/2023 X Teri Leave a comment

I can’t control how such admissions paint me. I rarely memorialize my mom’s death like I do others. She died ten years ago today. I found a picture of her today, one I might have seen decades ago but haven’t since. I inexpertly sharpened it today. My favorite grandmother died on the 6th, while my wife died on the 4th; different years, different circumstances. I spent a year not talking to my mom. I’d spent decades attempting to bridge the gap of anger and alcoholism with her. Like so many children of such parents, I was convinced that I could talk and behave in a way that would earn me normalcy as if I were the one with the deficiency. Drinking didn’t kill her. But it infected so many parts of her life. The infection of it spread to other people. It wasn’t her intention. She learned the skill from others. Like all other close family members of mine who were alcoholics, she died with an insatiable urge to drink until anger consumed her. Recently, suspected truths of another member of my family blossomed. He’s gone now. No second chances, no new learned behavior, no sitting on the porch as the sunset approaches. The familial infection he acquired in his youth overpowered him, once again proving that addiction has nothing to do with intelligence. Addiction and anger stain the people around those who suffer from it. And he unfortunately passed the ball and burden of consequences to other innocents. I don’t have any superpowers which shield me from the tendency to drink or drown myself in a fog. If I did have them? I would hand them to the people who I recently discovered to be needing them.

When I write things such as this, I trigger people. For much of my life, my brother was the vanguard of family honor, demanding silence. It was a habit he absorbed from the paternal side of my family. I discovered very late in life that their cabal hid many secrets, even people, from me. I’ve yet to find an addict who can move freely in the sunlight; their behavior demands secrecy and closed lips. In most of these cases, some of those lips will be bloodied because addiction inevitably exacts the price of violence, one way or another. Either to oneself or to everyone in the bubble nearest them.

That is exactly the power of addiction, the whispering lover that only the addict or alcoholic hears, blossoms.

I shared a quote by Annie Lemott twice last week: “You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.” I don’t write to inflict further harm. On the other hand, silence is self-inflicted violence. If we are to judge people, it must include their shining moments, too. I have good memories, and I share some of those, too. It’s fascinating to watch people as they listen to my stories; some only selectively note when I say anything they perceive as an accusation or something best not discussed. None of the people who later suffered from the afflictions of addiction and anger were born with the intention to slide into the abyss while terrorizing their friends and family. The filtered truth I share in no way alters history or changes who they were. They had their moment on stage. As it will for all of us, the curtains will close, and our time will end. Your time to live your story fits narrowly inside that timespan.

Secrecy.
Silence.

Time is short.
Live your life under your own banner and within your own control.

Love, X

Allegory, Death, Personal, Psychology

A Dream, Another Reality, A Remembrance

09/04/2023 X Teri Leave a comment

I stood next to the extravagant nickel-cornered casket. A woman I vaguely recognized was attempting to say words that might reach me. “Everything is temporary. One morning you’ll wake up, and it will be different. You just need some time.” I nodded.

I turned to my left as someone cleared their throat. It was an older distinguished man wearing a dark suit. He was probably in his late sixties. A pair of forgotten reading glasses perched on top of his head. His face seemed familiar to me, but his voice was one I’d never heard before. It was a deep baritone.

“She’s right. Everything is temporary. This pain. The breakfast you ate. The tingle you feel when the right person touches you. Even your life. Temporary is a mindset.”

The woman I was talking to turned to him and asked who he was.

He just shook his head, dismissing her.

He nodded again and held his hand out. I didn’t even hesitate as my fingers reached his. He shook my hand briefly, and then his fingers circled my wrist. It didn’t surprise me. Déjà Vu doesn’t cover it. I was certain he’d done it before. When my eyes met his, I was struck by how much like blue skies they looked.

The surge of electricity that passed through him to me didn’t cause me to jerk. Instead, it caused paralysis. My eyes closed. For how long, I’m not certain. When I opened my eyes, the man no longer held my wrist. He now stood by the foot of the casket.

His voice resonated. “X, please help me with the viewing by lifting the other end?”

I moved to help without pausing to wonder about who the man was or why he asked me to help. Oddly, I couldn’t remember who lay inside the casket. The woman who had been talking to me no longer stood nearby.

We each lifted both ends of the coffin lid as the man nodded. Unlike most coffins, this one had no separation in the top. The coffin was empty.

The man watched my eyes. “He was cremated. The urn will come in a few minutes. For now, we’ll place his book here in the coffin. He said it was his only achievement. The man reached behind the coffin and retrieved a hardcover book from a small table behind the casket and held it up. “Time Is Short” was emblazoned on the cover as the title.

“Ironic title, don’t you think?” the man asked me, smiling.

“Yes. It sounds like something I’d say.” I laughed.

The man walked to the middle of the casket and placed the book face up inside the casket. I walked a few steps toward him and stood next to him, facing the room. It was a large, open room, filled with rows of pews and comfortable chairs. We were the only occupants.

“Let’s sit down for a moment so you can collect your thoughts.” The man wasn’t asking so I followed him to the front row pew, all the way to the right.

We sat on the cushioned pew. Oddly, my brain was absent of almost all thought.

“Do you have any questions, X? Ask me anything.”

“Whose funeral is this?”

He laughed. “Aren’t they all so similar? I don’t want to spoil it. Go up and turn the book over. The author’s picture is on the back.”

I stood up and walked over to the casket. While I know several writers, I was having difficulty remembering names and faces.

I looked at the picture behind the “Time Is Short” title running across the face of the book. It was a collage of colors, each coalescing across an auburn field and a solitary tree illuminated by a sunset. “Amen Tailor” was the author’s name. The name evoked an odd familiarity for me. Then I remembered that it was an anagram for “I am not real.” I smiled.

I turned the book over. My fingers went numb as I looked at the face on the back. It was me, but not quite a me that I recognized immediately. I realized it was the man seated behind me. I turned with the book held tightly in my hands. The man stood two feet away from me, staring intently at me with his piercing cloudy eyes.

“Interesting, isn’t it, that you, or we rather, had to use a pseudonym to get people to listen to us? It wasn’t enough to already have a new name.” He laughed, and I smiled.

“How much time is left? 10 years? 20?”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. This is one possible outcome. Obviously, though, you have enough time to do that.” He pointed to the book in my hands. “When I jolted you, I gave you just enough push to do one thing you’d love to accomplish in life. Now, you get to choose what that might be.”

I extended my left hand to shake his, a habit only left-handers would understand. As his fingers touched mine, I felt a slight shock again.

“You’ll have to leave the book here with me before you go. You can exit out the side door next to the chapel service area behind you.”

I handed him the book, took a long look at the casket, and walked outside. No more than any other day in my life, I didn’t know what the awaiting sunshine might hold.

Personal

Saturday Disclosure

09/02/2023 X Teri Leave a comment

“Wandering the world, armed with chalk.” This would probably be a great quote to be atop a police report for suspicious activity. Words and ideas are suspicious enough. Judging by the scarcity of anything other than impersonal superficial observations, it’s no wonder people are reluctant to disclose. We aren’t supposed to say that our souls are fatigued at times. That we might be painfully lonely. Or that when we look at people around us, we sometimes feel like opposing teams of aliens, both communicating via hieroglyphics. Each of us carries around a private world in our skull. We are certain that people will think our marbles might be scattered if we share the contents. It’s because thoughts are private and concealable. I’m sure that if mind reading were reality, after the initial shock and unfamiliarity of unavoidable honesty, we would all feel relief. We share a finite number of emotions. And we definitely like to look at other people like they are the weird ones. We can succeed at doing so only because we can curate what we express.

Some of us have poet’s hearts. Others, a practical chronometer that concerns itself only with getting things done. A few are hedonists, searching for the elusive bacchanalia that might allow them to forget themselves. Walking down Leverett, even before the sun dares to rise, the scent of recreational escape intermittently reaches my nose. It would be easy to judge those who choose it so early in their day. But many of us choose coffee or cigarettes, both of which are cleverly concealed stimulant delivery devices.

During my chalking expedition disguised as a recreational walk this morning, I was pleased to see that the front of the line at the convenience store was occupied by a patron wearing a long blue bathrobe. I made a catty comment and it broke the ice. Because you damn well know everyone in there was secretly thinking about the dude in the robe. Was he wearing it for comfort? Attention? Was it family spa day? The explanation didn’t matter to me. I was just glad to see some weirdness. He at least had the nerve to wear it openly instead of containing it in the camouflage of his thoughts.

I left a trail of chalk thoughts. If anyone retraces my steps, they will laugh. And a couple of them will make them think. Among those possible considerations is whether the author needs to be medicated. I have a theory about that. Most of the people who use drugs should stop. And a great number of people who don’t probably should start.

Though it’s not related, one of the stories I told the clerk this morning is that it’s amazing how many things we do today that are a result of unplanned echoes from history. Even the size of our railroad tracks is largely a result of the ruts in roads from Roman chariots. And that we as people do the same thing. We find ourselves using the grooves of our past routine to subconsciously control the day we’ll have. I know it’s not the normal fodder for convenience store conversation, but it’s a hell of a lot better than talking about the upcoming gladiatorial sports event that seems to have infected everyone.

If by some miracle you are still reading this post, take a moment and imagine that you had the power to say anything you want. To anyone. Take another moment to realize that you already do. The greater the disparity between what you would like to say and what you silence is a determinant in how happy you feel.

Love, X
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Fayetteville, Humor, Personal, Razorback Greenway, Safety, Security

Thanks, Gomez!

08/29/2023 X Teri Leave a comment

I saw him coming up the trail access. The shadows and lighting at 2 a.m. were murky at best. His approach seemed suspicious. I’m not generally concerned about the what-ifs of such people. Someone can just as easily jump onto me from the tree canopy if they’d like. (At times, I almost wish someone would. What a story that would be.) I can run fast, and my appearance tricks people into thinking I’m Gomer. While I am no Bruce Lee, I can snatch someone bald-headed faster than they can say “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.” I say “hello” or wave to everyone. I’d probably wave “howdy” to the Queen if she came sightseeing.

It had to be a man approaching me or perhaps the Beauty Queen of Madison County. I realize that I am repeating myself with that comparison. My apologies to the residents of Madison County, all of whom stopped reading after the first paragraph due to lip fatigue.

As he grew closer, the light from the streetlight illuminated him more. He had one hand in his pocket, and his pace seemed off.

As he came closer, my comedic instincts took over. “Have you seen my pet llama? He got out of the backyard a few minutes ago.”

“What’s that you said? A llama?” He pronounced it oddly, like he’d grown up learning phonetics from an inebriated bingo caller.

“A llama, yes. He got out.”

He stopped in his tracks, confused. “No. Not even a dog.”

“Dang. Thanks. I can’t own dogs, though. Not after Ohio.”

I could see that the gears weren’t clicking. It was too much odd conversation. He looked back and then at me two or three times.

“Well, have a good morning. I hope my llama is okay.”

“Yeah, me too,” he said, and kept walking, this time with a stable pace. I briefly wondered what he might do if I started running toward HIM. Imagine that police report.

“Gomez, where are you?” I half-shouted, even if the residents are the nearby apartment complex heard me.

My llama Gomez didn’t materialize.

You’re welcome to use the Gomez the Llama self-defense response if you’d like.

X
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Humor

Really Dumb Meme One-Off

08/29/2023 X Teri Leave a comment

I warned you!

Airbnb, Personal, Travel

Away

08/28/2023 X Teri Leave a comment

Waking up in a strange place, drinking a cup of bitter coffee, walking the unknown pre-sunrise streets, feeling the warm breeze blow across the small man-made lake, standing in a pool watching the sun feebly start its ascent, taking sips of a second cup waiting for me on the pool edge… sublime delights owed to my predilection for less sleep. Lemon moments stolen from the day. Sunday morning, I walked all the streets around the Bentonville airport. Several things reminded me of what James Cameron might include in the moments immediately before an approaching apocalypse. The effect was amplified because of diffused lights, some of which were unusual hues, especially so with violet and soft reds. There were no moving cars during the entirety of my circuits through those streets. The effect was amplified because I had watched an anomalous object in the sky for a few minutes. The flat topography provided an immense view of the sky. I looped around back to highway 71 and walked the middle of the lane. It’s fascinating walking it absent traffic. Monday morning, I walked a longer different route that ended immediately before the sunrise. I stood and watched the open sky, expansive above me, with the reflection of the lake glittering darkly. When the true sunrise started, I continued my custom of hanging a cup in a tree.

This place wasn’t as complicated or eccentric as most. But the simplicity was relaxing and beautiful. It’s hard to complain about life when there is a pool to submerge one’s toes and worries. It was amazing to get up early and instead of focusing all of my energy on work, I was able to just walk with no intentions.

Love, X

Behavior, Mental Health, Opinion, Personal, TV

Argument And Life

08/28/2023 X Teri Leave a comment

The original picture is from Six Feet Under, one of my favorite shows. Just the memory of it sharpens internal knives inside me. The series finale still resonates as the de facto best series finale ever produced.

A few years ago, I modified the picture with one additional line. It’s a reminder that if you’re invested in ‘winning’ an argument, you’re also watching your precious time race past you – along with all the other things you could be doing. Most of us don’t win arguments. Not because we’re wrong or right, but rather due to the fact that most arguments are either a matter of opinion or stubborn bias against facts or other perspectives. If people won’t listen to facts or evolving discoveries, you’re playing by a different set of rules subject to the other person’s whimsy. And if neither of you can recognize the futility of individual perspective, you might be living on another planet.

The people who intelligently challenge you are the very people you probably need the most in your life. But also the ones that you shun. Who wants to live a life of introspection and self-accountability? It would be a marathon just making it to breakfast to have a life filled with such people.

“You sit in such judgment of the world. How do you expect to ever be a part of it?” Olivier (who was one of the smartest and most irritating characters on the show).

Love, X
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Lemon Moment, Personal

He

08/24/2023 X Teri Leave a comment

It was 100°. I saw him walking a little erratically near the trail so I changed course to accidentally cross paths. It seemed like heat exhaustion. He surprised me by walking under the bridge on the trail so I went over it and made a loop. I asked him if he needed anything. He was quite polite. There was something off about his voice. He declined anything to drink, eat and said he didn’t need a ride anywhere. He went on to tell me that he works very early in the morning with a friend of his in Springdale. When he’s done, he walks back because his friend has to go immediately to another job. I told him that I didn’t mean to intrude but between the way he was walking and the unusual cadence of his speech, it concerned me a little more. He took a moment and then told me that when he was younger one of several stepfathers had beaten him severely enough to cause permanent damage. I wished him well as he took his shirt off and then his shoes. His plan was to step into the creek and cool off before walking the rest of the way back to wherever he lived. It struck me how different his reasons for getting into the stream are compared to mine. The man plugs along and does what he has to. My deck of cards looks a lot less stacked now.