The trouble with having a beautiful beard

The heat is unforgiving, vengeful even. Almost like i had been cheating on it with the winter and now its getting back at me by open flame grilling me to a fine crisp! And where in the world am i? And whats with all this desert sand? And why is the right side of my chest so... oh, yeah.

I can not believe that crazy bitch stabbed me.

"You had it coming, reverend," this Asian hippie who must have been too young for any of the revolutions just pops up besides me, stroking his gloriously long beard. How i envy that beard.

"Who the hell are you and why are you talking to me?" Damn him for having such a glorious beard.

"Walk with me, reverend, i have the answers."

"Why would you think i'm a reverend?" I laugh at the idiot with the majestic man hair. "I hardly believe in God."

"Ah hah! So you DO believe in God but just not all the time."

"No, i believe in God all the time, but just not a lot. And quit stroking your magnificent lion's mane of manliness!"

"Sorry, rev., force of habit." He moves his hand to his chest hair. "Come, sit with me. Let us enjoy this Pete Sampras tennis match together."

Pete Sam-.... what the hell is he talking about? We're in the middle of the desert being baked by the most paranoid sun and there's Pete Sampras playing the most unspectacular tennis game of his life!

"Wait, what the fuck is Pistol Pete...oh, i see.... this is a dream, isnt it?"

"A lucid dream, actually." Even his arms are hairy. "You're in a coma, reverend."

That bitch! That crazy bitch put me in a coma!! Stupid cherries! "So who are you supposed to be?"

"I am your Qi. I am the mental projection of your spiritual life force and this monotonous tennis match in the middle of the scorching desert is your nirvana."

"Right, right.... and all that means what exactly?"

He's back to stroking his marvellous face carpet. "I dont really know."

"You dont know? So when you told me to follow you claiming you had all the answers, really you had nothing at all and just wanted to sit down?"

"Precisely."

""Precisely.""

So we sit there in silence, watching Pete Sampras play Pete Sampras in the least eventful game of tennis ever played out in a coma induced delusion.

"Actually this doesnt count as a delusion, " the Asian hippie interjects, "its a lucid dream. Lucid... dream."

We sit there, stroking our beards... well he's stroking his and i'm drawing outlines of where mine should grow if i'm ever able to wake up from this coma. After a while, i barely feel the heat of the sun and it gets almost interesting to watch the world's best tennis player fail to beat himself. I'm starting to enjoy my own little Nirvana.

"You know you cant hide here forever."

"Shut up, Chewbacca."

"My name's Leonard."

"Really? My Qi is an Asian hippie named Leonard?"

"Right go ahead and focus on that like thats the wierdest thing going on here!"

He's so right i want to punch him. "Okay so what am i supposed to do?"

"I cant tell you what to do...wait, wait, wait... i cant tell you what to do but i can tell you why you got here."

"I'm here because a crazy bitch plunged a knife into my chest. Not exactly the biggest mystery there, Lenny."

"No, reverend, that is the how. But the why.... you see, even though your mind is convinced that the she-woman whose knife betrayed your ribs is the devil incarnate, the reality is you are here because your heart believes you are to blame and that you got what you deserved. These two ides of your psyche could not reconcile that fact."

I cant look at him. The beautifully bearded bastard is right and i cant bare to look upon him in his rightness. But he cant be right, can he? I mean SHE stabbed me, right? I'M THE VICTIM HERE!! This fool doesnt know what he's talking about!

"You know something, mr. fancy bea-...." But he's gone. Its just me, my nirvana and my two Samprases, biting the dust in the desert.

The trouble with cherry orchids

"You're a bastard!" she spits at me, the venom radiating from her eyes. This girl hates me right now... LOATHES the very breath of me. Somewhere within this volcanic rage, buried beneath the unforgivable hurt is she to whom i promised the world. How did i ruin my sweet Coraline?

I might have loved her; kinder than the red cross, as ambitious as a hollywood hooker and her breasts were amazingly firm. I mean, what was there not to like about her? She didnt nag me nearly as much as my mother and all 3 of my friends loved her. So why couldnt I?

"....swore it was the last time, you asshole!!!" She's screaming things. Important relationship stuff i should be listening to but every time i try, i just kind of zone out between the obligatory attacks on my anatomical inadequacies (all false, by the way) and try not to laugh at how cute her tiny little face looks when she gets mad.

I should have loved her. We didnt kiss the night we met. A friend of a friend's house warming party, lots of reggae music and boxed wine. An hour into the evening, i walk up to her and boldly ask why she's been staring at me all night. A sly grin forms in the corner of her mouth- sparkling red lip gloss- and without a word, she reaches up into my mini afro and pulls out the biro pen i had been searching for earlier that day! Stupid sudoku!

I didnt see anyone else the rest of that evening.

It's one of the things i could have loved about her, (Oh! Now she's throwing stuff at me. Not going well at all.) When i was in a room with her, thats the only place i wanted to be and she was the only woman i wanted with me. I was inexplicably drawn to what i later found out was cherry blossom lip gloss. Date no. 2. Her lips tasted like a wild cherry orchid in the spring time. But is that reason enough to stay with someone?

"Just tell me you dont love me and this is over." Oh no... when did she start crying? She's not supposed to start crying till after i leave. Thats how its supposed to go. She's ruining it! "Look me in the eyes and tell me none of this was real."

What does one say to that? Because she obviously doesnt want the truth at this point but she most certainly doesnt want to be lied to either.

"Of course there were parts of it that were real. You're the most lovable person i know, angel." My father, who often mixed up philandering and philanthropy, taught me the art of being dishonest without telling lies. Invaluable! And i dont want to lie to her. Not my springtime cherry orchid.

"Then why are you doing this? Why are you leaving me all alone?" She actually wants an answer, this one. Usually, they just get so mad that they kick you out and throw out whatever stuff your cheap ass has placated them with during the relationship. Then you ignore their increasingly desperate late night calls of potential reconciliation (time heals all wounds) and within a fortnight, you're absolutely free of her, granted you stay totally away from her or anyone or anyplace that had anything to do with your days together. Thats usually enough.

But Cherry blossom wants actual answers. Shes staring me down despite the ocean flooding her face. "What did i do to make you want to leave?"

"No, sweetie, its not you. Its me." When you're backed against a wall, no more rabbits in your hat and out of ammo, in desperation reach out for the classics. "I have stuff going on with me that i need to fix. You're wonderful, babe, really you are.... i'm the one with the problem."

Has it worked? She looks away from me. Is she buying it? She gets up and sort of drifts off to the window, just stares out on an unfriendly world thats more welcome a sight than i am right now. Cant tell if she's stopped crying. She's silent. My cue to leave.

As i grab my jacket and head for the door, i think of the best line to leave her with that'll make absolutely sure that she wont call me tonight. Clean break and all. Something originial; she was after all my cherry blossom. I feel a slight sting in my side which is un-characterisitic of such moments. Guilt? I'm not absolutely without feeling but this was never meant to last. It never is.

I reach for the door knob and there's blood dripping down my arm. Wait... blood?! I turn and woah! There she is, right next to me, the tears silently flowing down her cheek, passed her shiny bright red lips, down passed her outstretched arm that is wielding a kitchen kinfe. A knife that is currently lodged inches deep into my rib cage, blood soaking my vintage "John Mayer Trio September '04 Tour" t-shirt. Bright red blood, the colour of cherries.

"You said you would protect me," this is a tone of her voice i am completely unfamiliar with: Scorn. My body's slowly collapsing to the ground, i'm passing out. "You say you have a problem but i'm the one in pain. Me!!" Her face is tiny again and if i wasnt spilling so much cherry orchids, i would have laughed. "Well it's your pain now, you son of a bitch! You should have loved me. You should have... just... loved me...."

She's right. All the cherries in the world and i'm turning blue...