The Trouble With Seeing Things Clearly

I am barely 16 when I land on a photo of the New Zealand All Black’s Jonah Lomu, this great bulk of muscle and skill, a legend in the making, carrying tennis superstar Martina Hingis -my crush of the month- effortlessly in his huge tree trunk like arms.

She is so pretty. And I am nothing like Jonah Lomu.

Of course, Mr. Lomu will in 6 months be diagnosed with cancer from which he will thankfully recover but sadly from which his professional career will never, at least not fully. This is the peak of his career, his celebrity… his moment, and he has no idea. Right now he is the king of the world and as he thoughtlessly balances my Martina on his bicep, an awkward 16 year old Ugandan boy, a ball of confusion and insecurity, thousands of miles away in a deep insignificant hole of darkness… I lose my train of thought I’m so filled with envy.

But neither of us can see 6 months into the future.

I walk around carrying that photograph in my mind: her genuinely flirtatious smile, his natural charisma flowing through every inch of expertly toned muscle, she’s probably laughing at one of his jokes and he’s probably laughing too, a bear of a laugh as he swings her about like a paper weight… giggling suggestively… my crush… my secret dream…

My enemy.

Years later, I come across another photo of Martina Hingis and I barely recognize the dream I once cherished. It’s the same face, the same rosy cheeks, the same smile even… almost. It’s the eyes, there’s a certain glow missing. Her eyes were once an inferno but now they are a chimney place fire, steadier, more reliable, more realistic.

At some point romance goes from wine and roses to beer and pizza yet the sky stays ocean blue above so we can carry on.

This girl is on my brain. Not Miss Martina Hingis, no. She’s moved on and so have I. This girl is no dream; she is soft skin and salty tears. I cannot scrape her tender ways out of my mind or her offensive jokes out from my eardrums. Round and round she circulates through my system till my very core is tattooed with her existence and there is no escaping the reality of her or the pinch of her responsibility.

She is My Awakening.

Cherish. But her friends call her Cherry. I call her My Valentine and she gnashes her teeth together for we are in mid-August and she’ll be going back to school in a week. We crowd together in the dark on the furthest corner of my bed, staving off mosquitoes and timelines, feeding greedily off of each other’s warmth as if we can feel the end around the edges of the bed and as long as we stay on it, love will last forever. She runs a toy soldier across my back, calling for back up and shouting random orders into the moonlit room and I secretly thank the powers that be for cutting the electricity off this night.

Leave the world out of it and love can be a beautiful sanctuary.

She coughs lightly into my chest then sniffles. Is she crying?

“No… it’s just… all of this… next week… you get?”

“I get.” And then nothing-… Not a single word of comfort or gesture or famous quotation springs to mind. I am naked and alone in the darkness, unable to find some white lie that will stretch love over us like a childhood blanket. Things will always be this way because even if we close our eyes, the world around us carries on; bills must be paid, fridges must be filled and hearts must not be disappointed.

All hearts except our own.

Ours are expendable.

She feels the helplessness charting through my body and squeezes tighter with her eyes shut, fighting off scenes of our future spent struggling to find time to be together, time to be in love. Struggling in vain. I want to tell her it will all work out somehow, that we have the power to live the lives we’ve always dreamed of. I want to say-

But I don’t because the trouble with seeing things clearly is that there’s no going back to ignorance.

You can’t unlearn the often weighty truths about the ways of this world. That it will go on with or without you or that there are only a few dates between wine and beer. That dreams, no matter how lucid, are still just dreams and at some point you have to work harder at fighting off the things you don’t want like homelessness or disappointment than the things you claim to cherish like midnight scrabble or tiny marching hands in the moonlight.

But always the sky stays ocean blue above us so we can carry on…

The trouble with telling it on the mountain

I venture out at red dawn.

This little schoolboy determinedly shuffles his way to the future, gingerly hanging on to his big sister's hand. The sun has begun its slow ascent to the heavens in the horizon beyond them painting the illusion of their own emergence from the darkness. Schoolboy falls back, momentarily escaping the grasp of his nonchalant sibling, instinctively cautious of the attention seeking light. But big sister knows best; ignoring his hand now, she grabs hold of his schoolbag and drags poor schoolboy into the mirage of spectacular illumination.

What is light if the road astray be lit?

Weeks off my medication and it becomes clear to me that here is where i want to be. Wandering through this concrete-free jungle, waiting to be mauled by my own misadventures. Civil unrest abound, a city populated with poverty. And the dust... in mushroom clouds of dust and doubt. Yes, certainly where i want to be. Only -and this merely a light inconvenience- but not how i want to be.

Who was Sweet Coraline?

Will i ever know? An angel sent to piece me back together? Or the love of my life, divine but mortal? Sent to get me through and if through then for what and for whom?! I am confounded by this enigma, consumed by every dream and every delusion. Driven from immortality to insanity. All for what? But He does not answer for i should not ask. Who am i to question so loving a Father? Yet still why, why, WHY? My faith is at risk.

This hill is as steep as it seems endless. The mighty sun rests heartily in its berth now but has not yet punched in for the day so the morning air is still crisp and moist. I must rest; I crouch by the side of the road to catch my breath. The world around me has begun to come to life. A not so desperate housewife sweeps a pile of dust into a larger pile of dust in her front yard, hoping to find some fulfillment in her cloud of doubt.

We are kindred spirits.

Her broom stroke is wide and strong but there is no energy behind it. Her back gracelessly hunched over, her face more focused on the dirt ground than is necessary. Barren, i assume. Her sympathetic husband's reassuring kiss on the cheek as he leaves for work confirms it. "I love you regardless." I wonder if she hears this. And if she doesnt, why go on sweeping? Is it a leap of faith or a question of keeping up appearances? I need to understand it.

Cora, Cora, Cora! Was that even her real name? Will happiness without her ever be the same? Or even possible? After my "episode" a bunch of people came to see me. Mostly my family, well most of the ones that dont hate me, friends, some others that mistakenly presume to be friends.... everybody. Everyone except her. I'd stare at the bedroom door, hoping to telepathically woo her into coming to see me but apparently lacking the cosmic energy to do so. Waiting for a bus that was never coming.

At last i reach the summit. I make it a point not to to look over the edge of the cliff; not yet. I must savor this moment. this pre-climactic orgasm of anticipatory achievement. This is where i want to be; standing on the edge of the world, happiness and true accomplishment within my grasp. She should be here with me. You should be here for me.

I open my eyes.

Reality couldnt be any clearer. I look down on the rest of these mortals from the summits above and see ants in a liberated colony. Free with no idea of what to do with their freedom. The air has never been fresher, the warmth of the sun just starting to seep through. Do any of them know? We work, we push, we march, we seek.... but here at the summit, the answers dont even matter. The world is simply a bigger place than we will ever be able to comprehend. So the rules, the routines, the norms.... yes, they do apply in the real world. But in the scale of things, they are not what matters.

She once said to me, "forever and ever and ever and ever...."

I open my eyes.

The trouble with the aftertaste.

My dad drives me home from the hospital. Its pouring hell out here... of course. Not enough for my soul to bleed, it has to rain cats and dogs too!! Fine, big man in the sky. I can take it. Just keep dishing it out, my love for You is unshakable.

( Dear God, in case You read this, i wasnt challenging You or even testing Your limitless powers. Please dont unleash Your divinely inspired wrath on me. Your humble servant, John X... ok, i know You know its me... i was just messing with You... not in vain or anything, i would never do that. I heard Ray take Your name in vain last week and i cautioned him about it but i dont know if he took me seriously. You should look into that by the way. I love You, Rich.)

This should be the easiest part of the relationship, the post breakup stage. To be honest, i've gotten a kick out of how good i am at this in the past. But this time its different. I've been with Angels and Goddesses in the past but Cherries, I'm finding, are a flavour of their own. A flavour that no matter how hard you try to wipe out, just seems to leave a bitter taste. "They say you cant turn a bad girl good/ so once a good girl's gone bad,she's gone forever/ i mourn forever/ shit i gotta live with the fact i did you wrong forever..."

"You'll have to clear out the spare room, " daddy's calm voice stirs me out of my self-inflicted misery. "I'd filled it up with my newspaper collection. Stupid Sudoku!"

We can both laugh at that unpretentiously. He's all i have in this world, this gentle giant steering me clear of my angst. Perhaps the reason why my love for my father is so deep is that he never kicks me when i'm down. Oh you can be sure he knows how to dish out the tough love like the time i cut my arm on a low branch and he poured salt in my eye claiming it would distract me from the sting of the alcohol he was applying to the wound. It worked, regretfully. No my dad knows how to be A Dad, but because he's had to raise me on his own, he also knows how to be a shoulder to lean on.

"No, daddy, i'm not gonna impose my self on you."

"What? Are you too good for my crummy little house now?" He knows the game i'm playing. Just cos i'm wounded doesnt mean i should show it. No, he has to ask me to come stay with him. Thats how it works.

"No its not the size of the place, its the rats!"

"Oh, they're 'rats' now! They used to be your play buddies!" his laugh is a hearty one and it warms a place deep within my spirit. "I'm sure they've missed your company as much as you've missed leading them." Maybe i will survive this. I simply dont know anymore.

The first step is to delete her number from your phone. The very last thing you want to do after a breakup is find yourself tempted to call her or even worse.... sms her! It seems innocent and hurt-free but it never is. Many a terrible marriage have been temporarily resuscitated over the dreaded reconciliation sms and almost always ended with painful results. It is a tough first step but a necessary one. C-H-E-R-R.....Y. Delete. Are you sure? Yes or No?

Yes.

You keep wanting to have evolved beyond a certain point. The relationships grow more serious, last somewhat longer and you find yourself thinking, "wow, this might be it." As you grow older, that thought becomes more of a desperate hope, " this better be it!" So many people out there seem to live out fairytale romances with the lightest of ease and in the early stages, you begin to believe you might be one of these people. The ones that make love look effortless. But no one wants to be involved with a martyr simply because no one is willing to live up to the martyrdom. No one says anything. You bear it out and try to focus on the funny faces and lovemaking sounds. Until one day she stares you in the face, teary eyed and as beautiful as the first time you fell in love with her and asks, "Why cant i make you happy?" And you know what the worst part is? Its not that you dont know the answer to that question. No one does. The worst part is that she does make you happy. Happier than anyone you've known before her.

So why dont you tell her that? Why dont you hold onto her? Knowing what has come before and recognising that this taste is a completely unique one, why do you have to be you? Is it curiosity or some undiagnosed pathological condition? You tell her you dont love her and then she stabs you.

I have to remember to block her email address (same reason as the phone number deletion) and start to sort out which people i will be able to avoid because they belonged to our life as a couple. Have to get rid of all her stuff, throw it in a box and bury it in some hard to reach place. Not even a boxful , didnt even last a month. But enough in there to destroy me. I'd like to throw it out as i have done in the past but this time i just cant. The inexplicable taste of cherries invades my senses, momentarily overwhelming me. But no..... lets see, have to remember to get my place fumigated, to intoxicate it with a poison less deadly than the one she laced me with. Need to work her out of my system.

I should have loved her. Should have told her that i did love her. That i still do and fear that i always might. Even my hypotheticals are non-committal at this point. Perhaps it will never happen, not the way i had envisioned it would. Each time it happens, i reflect on how much harder this break up is than the last one. How do i find the words to express the empty, painfilled love sewer i now find myself suffocating in? I wish for misery... for pain, hurt, cold, warmth, ANYTHING!! But i am banished to this.... to THIS. Nothing and nowhere.

It was her. It still is. Stab-wound aside, she fills my heart with unbearable warmth even now. The worst thing i can do at this point is think about her but its all i want to do. Maybe if i think hard enough, some cosmic waves will be transmitted that will cut through the cynicism of this world and find their way to her to let her know that i was stupid and wrong. And STUPID. I just need to know what to do now. What do i do now???

"You man up, son, " my dad swoops in and rescues me again. My safety net, backseat driving me clear of my own troubled self. " You man up and do what any man with even an ounce of honour would do."

"I know... i know...." he's right, the lovable bastard.

"You take a deep breath, suck it up, get down on your knees and beg for her to look at you again."

What??? I mean, "What???"

"The time has come for you to ask yourself if you're gonna be able to live with the fact that you lost her. This one." We pull up to the comforting familiarity of my childhood home, the very foundation of who i am. "I've known you longer than you think and she loved you better than you deserved. But its never too late until you give up."

"So i just,,, just win her back, huh?"

"Well, get her to look at you first without wanting to plunge a kitchen knife into you. Lets start there."

"How did you know?"

My Support Rock steps out of the car and heads to the front door, grinning, "I loaned her the knife!" Heartless bastard! "Now get your ass in here and come say hi to your rodent buddies." He disappears into the house.

Get her to look at me.... Is there any chance that she might? Can i dare to hope? Because if she looked at me, talked to me then maybe... just maybe....who knows? "Thanks for helping me with my bags!" I yell after him. Maybe i will survive this. C-H-E-R-R-Y. Delete. Are you sure? Yes or no?

Am i?.... sure?

The trouble with going back to sleep

"Butterflies."

Her silky eyelids flutter to life but dont open, she purrs softly onto my chest, her cocoa skin melting into my pure chocolate. "Why are you awake at... what time is it?"

I ignore her drowsiness and cant be bothered to check; i'd have to move my wrist and right now, with this delicate damsel nestled safely between my arm and my ribs, humming her sweet harmony into the early morning light, the last thing i want to do is move. "Its early, cherry lips. Go back to sleep."

"But you're the one waking me up, " her luscious lips start to plant wet kisses on the cleft between my rib cage and then all over my chest. "Why...are you talking... about butterflies.... this early?"

I could lay here forever. This lady is out of this world. This moment.... how does one capture a moment like this? The freedom to let go and just be, to ingest her intoxicating post-coital aroma, wildness seeping through her honey flavoured hair. "You've got me thinking about butterflies."

Her kisses move up towards my neck and lower jaw, her hands moving south, pinching and teasing my lower abdomen muscles. "Let me into your world; i want to know what's on your mind."

"Well butterflies... you've- hey, woah there.... dont be starting what you cant finish." But her sensual hands wont listen; they have a secret mission of their own. "I was laying here, watching the sun stretch its way across the room and start to pour over your body...."

"My hungry body, " she's coming alive now and inevitably, so are parts of me.

"....watching it dance across the floor, crawl up the foot of the bed and inch its way up your leg..."

"Which leg? This leg?"

"Yes, this very long leg you've curled up over mine, inching its way up just like this, just like my hand, taking its time...."

"Take it.... take your time...."

"... getting to know every curve of your golden brown, every line of your sand coloured skin, stealing its way up passed your knee..."

"Thats right.... get passed it, go passed it... up..."

"... tenderly lighting its way up to your silky smoothness, gently carressing your cocoa brown, rising higher still towards your...."

"Dont tease me.... please!!...."

"Shyly at first as it hesitates around the fullness of your curvaceous roundness but then suddenly.... filtering its way through to your intimate glow.... and swallowing you up whole... drowning you in it glorious light...."

"Yes,... yes... yes... yes.... yes.... yesssssssssss......."

I dont know how much time passes. Maybe an eternity, maybe time stands still. There is no room, no bed, no world; there are only mirrors. A multitude of them, each one an art piece capturing us in the still motions of a passionate fusion. We are vampires feeding on each others' flesh, hungrily devouring the raw mixture of animal sounds and ebony sweat pouring out of ourselves, pushing the tempo to that uncharted territory of mutual ecstasy where we collapse in each other' arms, glowing with satisfaction, spent.

How does one savour a moment like this?

"Are you ever going to tell me?" our glistening bodies lay apart now, on the floor, both of us gasping for breath, " what was the whole thing about the butterflies?"

"Well i was looking at you, just like i'm watching you now, shiny, glowing, spectacular and i thought to myself: what do butterflies know of beauty?" I cant help but smile at my own corniness.

She lays silently staring at the ceiling, in some far off world where such sentiment can be absorbed without the slightest hint of irony or sarcasm. She lets herself enjoy that short moment when she can believe it is genuine. Then that naughty grin returns to her face, "Whats the point trying to woo me, sir, when we've already had the sex?"

I laugh because she's funny or just because she makes me happy. " Maybe i'm being genuine, ma'am, " i pull her hunger towards me and climb on top of her oily, voluptuous body. She looks absolutely edible. "Or maybe.... maybe i'm just thinking of repeat business."

We are lost before we can come up for air.

The trouble with not staring at the cleaveage.

She's got something wedged in her teeth. Hmmm... Now there's a lot of things a barely employed bachelor who's got a lifetime subscription to pubic transportation is willing to put up with to have some sex with a person who's not his right hand, but you gotta draw the line at some point. Really. Only, how do i tell her without being insensitive? Not cos i kind of like her unintended humour but more cos i've worn my palms raw with self-love and i cant afford a blow-up doll. Alright, focus: the sensitive approach. C'mon, think!

"Your teeth... yuck!" Wow, that sounded much less barbaric in my head. And i'm pointing... why am i pointing???

"What? Have i got something...? oh, this is really embarrassing!" She almost knocks over my drink dashing for the toothpicks and starts clawing away at her teeth like she's dueling with a sword.

"I think the bathroom's through the back there," I'm still pointing.

"Oh, no... what if someone sees it before i get there?" She claws away. What a selfish bitch! What about me who has to sit across from her and see it now?? Some people.... only thinking of themselves!

"Ah, dont worry..." shit!!! uh... name, name, name, "...beautiful. They'll all be staring at your ass anyways." I'm not sure why she laughs at that but i'm too busy high-fiving myself for that close save. "No, to the left... your other left.... thats right... wow, thats a pretty huge chunk of.... what part of the meal was that?"

"Oh, Rich! Will you stop being silly and help me out?" (Silly?) "There did i get it? I felt... Did i get... oh, you know what? You are no help at all!" Shielding her mouth like she's hiding weapons of mass destruction, she scurries off to the bathroom. I gotta give it to her, though. She sure knows how to shake what her momma gave-

"Is everything to your liking, sir?" Oh oh... boobs. See, this has been torturing me all night! These 2 bountiful bullies, these 2 divinely crafted , heavenly inspired, beach volleyball sized, raisin... yes, probably raisin nippled-

"Boobies." Uh oh.

"Pardon me, sir?"

"Huh? ...what?" In times of danger, deny everything and act dumb!

"I'm sorry i thought i heard you say... boobies." She's a minx this one, i can tell by her playful and almost suggestive grin that she knows exactly what i said and exactly why i said it.

"Well i didnt." I cant do this. I'm on a date with this lovely girl- for god's sake what is her name???- and i cant be flirting with the waitress no matter how appealing they are. I mean she. No matter how appealing she is. I gotta keep it together. "I said 'rubies'."

"Wow, now that's one more euphemism i need explained to me," she's clearing the table, bending further over, dramatically languishing about the harder to reach areas. She knows exactly what she's doing, this one. "Have you made your selection for desert or would you prefer...," bends forward, they're facing me dead in the eye, taunting me," something off the menu?"

"Aw c'mon, lady, thats not playing fair!!" I take a wild sip of my generic brand non-alcoholic wine like i'm an extra in a 50's diner-set melodrama. "Look, honey, this here is bigger than the both of us."

"What are you on about, mister?"

"When i walked into this joint and gazed over at you by the bar through the smoke filled crowd, heard the swell of the piano man's crescendo, well i realised nothing i knew before that moment counted for a damn."

"Well go on, tell it, " she's playing along now and the rest of the dinner room just fades into the night as i lost myself in the playfulness of her eyes and steady rise of her bosom. "Tell me how it ends."

I reach for her hand and feel what i have only seen simulated in some of the corniest movies ever made, heard belted out in the countriest of country songs: not love. No, you cant fall in love with someone you haven't known for more than an hour. But here in her hand, in her eyes, in those ginormous gigabytes of hers i feel the potential to be absolutely lovestoned by this vixen. What the cynics wont live up to is that even though it never happens as its sold in those cool Coca-cola advertisements, love does strike even though its usually at the most inconvenient-

"Oh, and your date returns, " she withdraws her angelic hand, holding eye contact for a second extra as the restaurant regrettably re-emerges. "Hey, at least we'll always have-"

"No! You cant leave yet!" If i let her go then everything i've been upto this point has been a front and worst of all, i'll be proving those damn cynics right. I cant let that happen. "I'm gonna call you tonight, just write your-"

"Are you crazy? You're on a date with another woman and you think-"

"Dont act like this was all in my head. Look, just give me your number and if you want you can go file for sexual harrassment afterwards." I sound almost desperate but i cant let this one get away. And it not just her awe inspiring rack. Sex is the farthest thing from my mind right now. 3rd farthest thing. Okay, 7th... but its not the number one thing on my mind.

She's thinking about it but in retrospect, i think she always knew she was going to jot that number down on her little pad. I might have thought i was in control of that situation but i've come to realise that we rarely are. Oh they'll let us act like we're steering things but we never stop to wonder how we always end up exactly where they want us.

"Hey honey, sorry i took ages." Oh, the other one's back. I'm through trying to recall her name. Yes, its a little cruel of me but some things are bigger than myself, i think." Is she taking our dessert orders?"

"No, apparently everything here sucks, "Gorgeous laughs as she struggles with her pen, wrestling to get it to work. And right then, the most incredible thing i have ever seen happens. She lifts her foot to her side- she's wearing black tennis shoes, slender delicate looking feet, no i dont have a fetish- anyways, she raises her foot to her side, lowers her insolent pen to the sole of her shoes and scribbles a bit, then lifts it back to her notepad and writes. It's working fine now.

I am awestruck by this creature. She is Xena, Warrior Princess, she is Jodie Foster in Silence of the Lambs, she is Lara Croft: Tomb Raider right now! She rips the sheet off and hands it to me, her smile radiating across the entire room and i wonder what other breathtaking magic tricks this goddess is capable of.

"Whats that?" asks the other one. Why am i here with her? I contemplate just telling her the truth to save us both the lies and unreturned calls to follow but Gorgeous steps in.

"It seems he really enjoyed our wine selection so i just wrote down a couple of good years for him to look up." She is too perfect to be real. "Well enjoy the rest of your evening and hope to see you again soon, " she means just me but adds, "back here in our lovely restaurant."

She walks off back to...well wherever they go when they're not taking our orders. Into that hidden dimension of waiters... well, waiting. The waitress who took the order of my heart. Yuck... i almost choke on my own vomit form that last line but the sentiment is real. Can it be real, that mysterious and oh so wonderful, pulsating-

"That was weird," the other one speaks. I cant wait to drop her off in her lair and be rid of her. "A big breasted waitress and you didnt even glance at her cleavage? Not once? I dont believe it!"

"You've still got some stuck in there, lady," Hey, its the only way i can think of to shut her up. That doesnt mean i'm all misogynist. She pulls out her portable reflective surface and examines her entire jawline for foreign objects as i pour over my little note from the magical fantastic beauty. I feel like a 12 year old kid reading an explicit note passed around illegally in class. Below her number it says:

"Expect a call from my lawyers on
that sexual harassment thing. And
stop staring at women's breasts,
Coraline.
p.s. my friends call me Cherry.
You can call me... whatever, just
call me tonight."

Then a smiley face.

I have a smile on my face, too. And thats how i met my sweet Coraline, the femme fatale i didnt realise i was in love with until after she stabbed me.

The trouble with being crazy

"You're such a bastard!" Uh oh.... deja vu. I stealthily draw my left eyelid open: okay, no one on the left side of my hospital room. Just a bunch of heart monitors and respiration machines. Then my right eye...-

"Holy banana skins!!!" Its her.

"Dont be so dramatic," she soothingly brushes my fuzz covered cheek. I involuntarily cringe at her touch; she withdraws, hurt. "Look, Rich, if i had come here to hurt you...."

"I know, i know. Its just the after effects of the coma." Please dont ask me to explain what that means, PLEASE.

"Oh," she buys it. The last thing i want is to upset her all over again with only the two of us in the room and my body still unresponsive. How would i defend myself against Jack the ripper here if she struck again? Oh no, gotta keep her calm until i have some back up.

"Listen, baby," she's back to the loving voice of my sweet Coraline, "I.... I dont know what to say or how to begin to apologise.... what you must think of me...I...."

"Hey, no... All that is water under the bridge, honey," I have to force that last bit out. Where the hell are the nurses when you need them??? Alert, alert, alert!!

"Cant you just be honest with me, Rich? Just this one time? Please," she's getting agitated. Not good. "I stuck a knife in your chest! A kitchen knife!"

"You just went a little cra-.... i mean, things got really heavy..." Alert, alert, ALERT!

"Crazy? You can go on and say it." The sweetness is gone; this doesnt bode well for me. "Say it, just be honest and say it. For once in our relationship, just say what you really think, you bastard!"

"Hey lets calm down, honey." Nurses, hospital security...anybody?

"You lying heartless bastard!!" Her eyes are blazing a marvellous red. "Just say it! Its on the tip of your breath so just go on and say it!!"

"Crazy, Okay! You went crazy!!! There. You were fine one minute and then the next thing i knew you're this raving lunatic!!!! This crying, knife wielding stark raving mad lunatic and i am terrified of you!!!"

She's silent again, staring down on the hosipital parking lot through the window. This feels so familiar and i think i'm having a heart attack. My heart rate monitor is beeping like a horny rabbit. Where are these damn nurses?? If i could just move my left arm to hit that button....

She turns towards me, all the emotion drained from her tearless face. She reaches into her purse as she walks over to my steel cold bed. This is it.

I always thought i wasnt afraid of death. I mean, if you look at how i live or more accurately how much i dont live, how empty and shallow my existance really is.... who would even miss me? They might come to my funeral, sure, might even wear black. Wont wanna talk about me for a few days, might even cry a little. But their lives will resume. They'll watch the IT Crowd without me and laugh, they'll pig out on terrific tuesday's 2 for 1 pizzas and enjoy it. They will make love to Maxwell's Urban Hang Suite and breed envy with their telecom job promotions, paint their nails flourescent green and flex their oiled 6 packs at a beach barbecue with old high school buddies.

They will live and i wont.

...She floats over to my bedside, this angel of death, and from out of her handbag-

"Please, not like this!"

- she retrieves a tape recorder.

Wait, a tape recorder?? "What the fuck?"

"Not guilty by reason of temporary insanity." Her voice is back to that of the cherry blossom i could have fallen in love with. "You said it yourself and now i have it on tape. So if you decide to press charges and take this whole thing to court... well, you wont win."

"Wait.... what the fuck are you...?"

"I know its a really bitchy thing for me to do. But we both know i dont deserve to go to jail. I loved you, Rich, and you used me. Hurt me. I realise now that my retaliation was quite posssibly an over reaction but.... Look, i am sorry i put you in a coma. But the hurt... we share the blame."

"So you're not gonna finish me off?"

She slides the tape recorder back in the handbag i bought her for christmas. "You're gonna be fine. I met your dad downstairs on my way in and he said he's spoken to the doctors. Clearly he didnt know i was the one who put you in here. Lets keep it that way. It hasnt hit you yet what all this means but when it does, remember: you stabbed me first." She kisses me on the forehead and her lips are surprisingly warm. "Goodbye, babe."

As she walks out of my hospital room, i stare at this creature that i forged out of the loveliest girl i'd ever known. Long gone is my sweet Coraline; this new beast is capable of such cunning and craftiness. She deals in my currency now and i'm responsible for that.

"Hey, Cora," she pauses at the doorway, her hand massaging the doorway as she had once massaged me, "you wont tell anyone about the "banana skins" thing, will you?"

She smiles that gorgeous cherry red smile of hers. " I think we can both keep a secret."

And then she's gone. Out of my dimly lit room and out of my life. And the funny thing about the way life works is that it occurs to me that in all the time i had contemplated loving her, maybe i had.

Maybe i do.

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.