CTK Carrico’s ” For Gwen”

                                             For Gwen
                  Thank you for helping me understand

I woke up shaking again. All I want to do is curl up and disappear into nothingness when that happens. The origin is long past, but, I can still feel his large hands causing the ache through my body when I sleep. Fragments of memories, laughter submerged in pain. How the past affects us is undeniably etched into every bit of our being. The circles always under my eyes, weighing them down, the contrast of light skin and eyes with the  darkness. I guess it’s a reflection of me.

 

 
I see her walk into the room, smile at me as her eyes light up a bit and she pulls me in for a hug. I melt  a bit and hug her a bit more gently than she me. Her Texas Cowgirl lips wrap themselves around my name in her greeting. All I can do is sigh and bashfully ask how she is as I feel my blood shoot its way though my body to my face. If my flush weren’t enough of a give away of how I feel, my eyes changing colors to a vibrant turquoise while my pupils dilate will definitely be an indication.

I can’t afford to have feelings for anyone, the possible pain behind it and my nature to protect others, even from me, keeps me at a distance. My joking and smiling all the time is to put others at ease.

 

 
We lower ourselves into our seats across from each other, I fold my legs under my chair to make sure she has enough leg room. I’m completely engrossed in her mundane, responding to her questions, in a bubble, our own little biosphere that the lanky waiter invades to take our beverage order. We each get Thai Iced tea and continue our conversation. Her playful laugh is out this evening. When I start to feel as though I’m looking too intensely at her, I cast my eyes down to the table between us.

It would be wrong to hold her hands or make any physical contact. She doesn’t see me as more than a friend. I’m just lucky to have the people I have in my life, her included. Her happiness here is what really matters.

 

 
She glances over my shoulder, her eyes smile, she looks back at me and softly says “please don’t be mad.” Confusion shrouds my face as she stands and her hands fly up, a huge smile planted in Texas Cowgirl red, as I turn to see what she’s seeing, her hands in the air pop the bubble that was surrounding us, I feel coolness speckling my skin as my blood chills a bit as if the bubble had splattered all over me from its imagined existence. I see two guys walking briskly towards her and understand, she’s setting me up, the flash from disappointment and sadness to a pleasant, greeting smile on my face transitions quick enough that I hope the former goes unnoticed. I turn back towards her and rise to my feet, she answers the question in my face with a wink.

Appearances, expectations, no one sees me as I am. The Mona Lisa’s smile took 12 years to paint on, I take mine off occasionally, but, can slap it back on in an instant.

 

 
She introduces me to the two guys, we smile, shake hands, one slides in next to me, the other next to her and I see the pick has been made. I take a deep breath and we converse. I’m good in social situations. I can feel myself burning as she flirts, giggles and touches the guy to her right. I play interested in the spewing coming from the guy to my left, Mike. Conversation like this has a formula, by one reaction you can tell what is going to be added in next. I’m a quarter listening to him to know how to respond, a quarter listening to her and her guy, Jeff, a quarter trying to figure out what Mike’s going to try for and my exit strategy, and the last quarter, how we’ll split the bill. Maybe this will be a free meal, that would be worth a kiss for him if he pays, but, I’m getting dessert if that’s the case.

When a man starts discussing sex, there usually is something behind it. What has our society come to where if a woman likes sex, she’s supposed to want it with every man? If a woman is bisexual, she’s supposed to want it with every woman AND every man, orgies galore.

 

 
Mike places his hand on my leg when making a joke that’s not extremely funny or clever. I smile politely and move my legs over a bit, he doesn’t take the hint. I look over, she’s laughing wholeheartedly with Jeff, glances over to make eye contact with me and lifts an eyebrow slightly. I give a little smile to put her at ease. She’s enjoying herself, I won’t ruin that for her.

Giving up happiness for others is something I do naturally. I will be left as little, possibly, but, her smile is real, deep, from the heart.

 

 
We finish our meal and got up to leave. She and I had already discussed going to the movies, so, it’s the four of us. Boy*Girl*Girl*Boy. I turn to her and whisper “you should have told me.” She softly asks “I  know you would have said no, he’s a good guy.” Mike’s hand is back on my leg, looking for my attention, we get back into a conversation, answering the trivia questions on the screen. Banter is easy, safe, it’s hard to get too close when you’re joking around. I keep from putting a hand on him when laughing, he doesn’t do the same, oh well.

The idea that “no” means “yes” has gotten out of hand. I hope that he understands the limits others haven’t. I’m not in the mood for a fight tonight. Not in the mood to have to degrade him, defend myself, physically or verbally.

 

 
The lights lower, the previews come up, I feel Mike to the left of me lean in,take a deep breath and whisper in my ear that I smell good, his breath licking my ear and throwing chills down to my toes and back up. I turn my head in shock, finding myself face to face with him. When I realize how close his face is to mine, I just mutter “thanks” and look away.

Being too close to people makes me uncomfortable, people I know, people I don’t. Physical contact is something I long for and push away. That goes for any kind of contact. I fear rejection and being alone almost as much as I fear being close to someone.

 

 
I feel him looking at me for a moment longer as I let myself get “deep” into the preview as if I’d really like to see the movie about aliens taking over the bodies of people in a ship. Mike’s hand slides over the arm of my seat, lands in my lap, linking his fingers in mine. I feel her on my right, tap my leg, I close my eyes as I feel the static from her touch running through my veins. I imagine her hand being in mine and squeeze it unconsciously, I feel Mike’s finger caressing my hand and shutter, he mistakes it for excitement.

False hope is worse than no hope at all. I don’t know how she sees me when she says she’s done dating men and wants to go back to women, yet, here we are. I keep closed off.

 

 
I hear her kissing Jeff to my right. Mike must have noticed as well because I feel him nuzzle in closer to me, he takes his hand out of mine and pulls it back over the armrest, whispers that his hand was falling asleep, I whisper back that it’s ok, he asks me what, so I turn towards him and repeat what I’d said, we’re face to face again, he folds the arm up from between us and leans in, kissing me, taking my hand again.

Public displays of affection should be kept to a minimum. They are a way to point out to the rest of the population that you don’t respect for anyone but yourself and your desires

 

 
I pull away gently, say I have to use the restroom, walk out as quick as I can. I get to the ladies’ room, go into a stall and start taking deep breaths. I can’t do this. He’s a nice enough guy, but, I can’t do this. The door creeks open and I hear my name, her voice, I sigh and respond, step out of the stall, her
standing in front of the mirror, reapplying her lipstick, looking at me in the reflection. I wash my hands to keep up the show. She asks me if everything is alright and turns to me. Face to face, I shudder, smile.

If you can’t accept what life gives you, ask for more. Fear can be considered taking care of others or letting yourself down.

 

 

CTK Carrico Update

CTK Carrico has confirmed that the work on a new project is on it’s way. CTK has been writing with the limited spare time that’s been given, and is working on bringing out a new short story. In the mean time, you’ll have to wait until I receive CTK next project via my inbox.

In the mean time you should check out Carrico’s past works, to keep your hunger at bay. If anything breaks I’ll let you know right away. CTK Carrioc has also answered on the CTK page about the progress of the newest stories, so go ahead and take a look on what CTK has to say.

 

The Beholder

Click
Carnage
Click
Birth
Click
Illness
Click
Tears
Click
Laughter

Looking through a camera shows more truth than anything else in the world. I flip my right thumb across the lever to prepare for the next photo I’m going to take. The pressure as I pull it back and the spring action as it moves back into position. Zoom. Puruse the people coming into the er. Sirens from time to time. A mother swaddling a baby with a fever. Click. The stench of urine and antiseptic fills my nostrils. There’s a homeless man standing under the tv that’s mounted on the wall, I don’t know how they always have soap operas on, how do they find them? The man’s torn clothes and beanie are worn and stretched. Click.

I feel a yawn coming on, bite it back, look at my watch. 3:27am with the blinking red colon. I could go home, but the best time to catch the world this raw and fresh is over night. Everyone else around is so tired, the whole place sounds like nothing but static, except the soap where someone is a jaded lover and someone is up to some scheming, possibly the same person. I look over the people that are remaining in the er. It’s starting to clear out a bit, but I’m sure there will be more action.

I started taking pictures here after I had been sitting in the park far too much, finding old men feeding birds, children learning to ride bikes, birds flying and chirping. The beauty of it was getting dull. The hardships that were there were so minuscule. I wanted to see real life, the gorier  parts as well as the small beauties. I want either dark or false light, the park doesn’t work for the look I’m working on. National Geographic would be ideal, however, financially, I can’t make it to any third world countries and take pictures of old women with sad expressions, bloated children with flies on their faces or anything that would be even remotely close to anything like that. I wanted something fresh, anyway. I started shooting cemeteries, too dead, excuse the pun, even though dark and beautiful. Cafes, interesting, motion, more serious.

I was sitting in Cafe Diem one day when I found what excited me, what my camera could grasp like nothing else when a man fell and cracked his head open. The beauty of the paramedics working, the vibrant red of the blood, especially against the white of the uniforms, the man’s wife in tears being held back by the manager of the restaurant. The struggle, the fear, the expressions, eyes all focused. The images from that day shot chills down my spine, I wanted to capture every inch, keep it, submerge myself in it. It seems morbid, but, it was so enthralling.

Every night after that, I’ve been spending my time at the emergency room. I get some looks, I try to stay out of the way, I’m merely an observer. What fits in my viewfinder is what my world consists of.

3:57am. That colon is going to drive me nuts, I need a new watch, but I love digital, less time to figure it out is nice. I hear the sirens pull up to the back door and stand up to see what’s on it’s way. I’m glad I’ve made friends with the doctors, nurses and security. If you schmooze enough people, you can make your way into almost anywhere.  I stay out of everyone’s way and do what I can to not be a bother. I know everyone’s looks that show them wanting me to stop, and I do.

The nurse, Drusara, who’s putting herself through med school working reception over nights, gives me a wink as some of her coworkers rush out for the ambulance. She’s one of those girls that likes to act like she hates having her picture taken, but has such a look to her, the camera is drawn to her, and I can tell she really loves it. She looks back down at her paperwork and nibbles on the end of her pen. Even though I can’t see it, I know she has a text book in her lap she’s paying more attention to than filling out reports.

There’s a rush of voices as the ambulance is being emptied in the back. Sounds like there may be two as I hear stats being read off. Oh, a fire, man and woman, both in mid to late 20’s, hope they’ll be alright. I know I can’t get into the back when there’s something so serious. Besides, I like to capture the waiting room from time to time as well. The expressions on the faces as they wait, and hear of the fate of their loved ones. I yawn and stretch, my arms up in the air, back arching over the back of the chair till the backs of my hands hit the wall. One thing I learned, the perfect place to sit where you can see all the action in the room is in the corner at the wall. The seat has perminant indents of my ass engraved into the hard cushion under the forest green vinyl, but that doesn’t make it any more comfortable.

A little cough comes from the baby being swaddled by the mother, who I can tell is getting more and more irritated, after all, they’ve been here for 20 minutes, look at my watch, 4:02am, 26 minutes. I twist my body each way in order to hopefully crack out the kink in my spine.

Thinking over the roll of pictures I took earlier from the bike accident where the kid broke his arm and the woman who “fell down the stairs” I start considering going home . I’ve gotten pictures of that woman who is enough of a “klutz” that she’s going to kill herself one day and that son of a bitch of a husband of hers will learn what it is to be a bitch. I’ve discussed her with some of the personnel, they’ve tried to get her to file reports, but, she sticks to the story, no matter how unrealistic. Burned hands spiraled down her palms in the appearance of an electric burner from trying to “clean the stove and not realizing it was still hot”. I sometimes think she’s trying to ask for my help by letting me take pictures of each and every injury.

The lights are making my sinuses ache, maybe I will get going home. I look around one more time, the people that have been waiting for someone starting to doze, a woman with a child lying with his head in her lap sleeping as she strokes his blonde hair with her hand, the baby sniffling as the mother holds it close and rocks, tears in her eyes.

In the harsh lighting, the image looks like such an interesting juxtaposition I pull my camera up to my face and look through the viewfinder, I’m focusing on the woman with the little boy, her head slumping, hear the er door open click. I look over to see what appears to be a woman in her 50’s followed by a man carrying a little girl about 2 years old, her blonde hair dusty, her face pushed into her grandfather’s chest with her plump arms wrapped as far as she can get them around his neck. The grandmother looks like she’s been crying, but is now on a mission, sees Drusara and doesn’t take her out of her site as she makes an A-line to the counter followed by her dwindling husband and the little one, a startled and confused look on his face.

The woman and Drusara talk for a bit, the little girl starts to squirm, the grandfather places her on the floor, grabbing her little hand. She has a round little face with transparent eyebrows and smudges all over, her grey eyes large and curious, wandering to see what’s around. I redirect my camera Click. Must be the burn victims kid.

I hear another ambulance sirin pulling up in the back. My ears perk as there’s another mad dash of doctors, nurses and everyone around for the back door. Sounds like one of the fire fighters, inhalation. I look to the door and at my watch. 4:27am, wait for it… wait for it… 4:28am, wait….  BOOM, the door flies open and in rushes 4 firefighters, still covered in soot and ash, one still wearing his boots, his yellow pants and suspenders, all wearing their standard issue t-shirts, the other three in jeans. Three rush up to Drusara’s desk which has been vacated. The grandmother is pacing, the grandfather is sitting next to the little girl who is standing in front of her chair. The last firefighter falls into a chair by the door of the waiting room, dropping his head in his hands, elbows on his knees, Click.

The grandfather stands up and hugs his wife, leaving the little girl standing, looking up at them. She looks around and sees the firefighter sitting by the door. Her head cocks to the side a bit, the look of true curiosity, where her eyebrows are too blonde to see, they furrow, possible recognition. I watch closely, it’s what I do. She turns and looks back at her grandparents hugging and talking, turns and walks to the firefighter, raises her pudgy hand and places it on his arm. He looks up at her, he’s so young, early 20’s at most, the tension in his face, dark eyes swimming, dark hair a mess, his eyes meet hers and he gives a little smile of recognition. His face relaxes a bit, and he starts to cry. The little hand moves from his arm to his cheek, she lifts her other arm and tries to hug him. He puts his large arms around her, I lift my camera, put it back down. This is the most beautiful moment I’ve ever seen, but it’s not mine to behold, not mine to keep.

I look for another moment, the grandmother noticing she’s gone, the grandfather’s bewilderment. I place my lens cap back on, place my camera in its bag, zip it up, stand, walk to the door, and leave.

 

False Security

The warm water down my face, down my body, I feel the grease and grime drizzling to my feet, mixing into the water, separating to the top. I should really stop this late shift, working until 4am is ridiculous. I open my mouth to bellow out a line from the last song that was on the radio on my drive home; “IF YOU WANT TO DESTROY MY SWEATER, WOHAOAOA…” Wendy is at Tom’s so I don’t have to worry about waking her. Another night, just the cats and I. My energy is still rampant. I just need to relax so I can get some sleep. I pull the latch to plug the tub and lie down with the shower still running over me in a sheet of warmth. There’s a scratch at the door followed by little white paws. I reach over the side of the tub and crack open the door. Malaki comes tumbling in with Levi on top of him gnawing at his fuzzy grey ear. I push Levi off Malaki and close the door behind the two.

I close my eyes and let my sore muscles melt in the warmth that embraces me. I hear a loud click that makes me jump a bit, listen for a second. I must have dosed a bit of just imagined it, or maybe the apartment’s just settling. I notice that the water level is getting a little too high, I sit up to turn off the water and perk up my ears.

Did I remember to lock the doors? What am I saying? The only reason I lock the door is for Wendy, anyway, and she’s not home. Tom gets so mad when we leave the doors unlocked. He starts his rant about two beautiful girls in an open apartment. He’s so sweet with how he’s not just protective over Wendy, but also me.

There’s a rustle followed by something hitting the floor coming from my room. Without raising my head I mutter something about those ‘darn cats’. There’s a hiss right next to me that makes me look over to see Levi attacking Malaki again. I sit upright and splash Levi to get him to stop so I can listen. All I hear is the sound of screeching silence for what seems like forever. I know I heard something, I was not imagining it.

Then proof that my sanity is not in question comes: a floorboard creaks right outside the door. I can’t lock myself in for security; the lock on the door doesn’t work. Should I say something? I’ll feel so stupid if it’s all just my imagination, talking to the door, allowing myself to get worked up.

I can’t think of who would be coming to my place at this hour. I stand up, dripping water from every pore. I step out of the tub and put on my pajamas without even drying off, I don’t want to risk the time. My clothing clings to me. I pull the door open quickly and am engulfed by a breeze that sends shivers  down my spine and through my whole body making me tense as my flesh erupts into goosebumps. I peer out the door to see nothing.

I step out into the hall, click on the light and look quickly through all the rooms in my sight. The cats run past me, brushing my ankles. I look into my room first and jump as someone walks into the doorway, facing me.

“Rich, what are you doing here? How did you know where I live?” I click on the lights without letting my eyes leave his blue eyes that seem to be glowing in a sea of red from being bloodshot. I feel another chill and wrap my arm over my breasts and pull my clinging pajamas from my body to loosen them from exposing me too much, especially in this cold.

His gaze makes me uncomfortable; I glance behind him to make sure everything is intact in my room.

“How did I know? It’s easy to find things out.” His eyes bore into me, apparently looking to see if my shock at seeing him is positive or negative, I laugh a little bit from nervousness. “I heard you say you were moving to Curtis Place, I hear you talk, I hear people talk about you. I listen. If you don’t want your co-workers knowing where you live, you shouldn’t talk
about it.”

“Most of my co-workers wouldn’t break into my house at 4:30 in the morning; actually none of them would. What are you doing here?” I try to soften my tone and be as light hearted about the situation as I possibly can, just in case there’s something wrong, but I feel invaded, and exposed, I can’t seem to fathom the right thing to do in this situation. He looks so sad. “What do you want?”

“Don’t you know? I thought it was obvious.” He takes a step towards me and touches my forearm, Out of impulse, I step back, a tango in a way. His mouth purses a bit and his eyes look as though they’ll flood over as they fill with tears.

“Rich, you don’t want me. Think about what you’re doing here. What are you doing here?” My body is tensing in preparation from adrenaline and I start to shake either from the cold or from the rush.

“I came for you. I came to show you… I thought maybe you felt the same. Why didn’t you ever bring up the message I left on the phone for you? You did get the message, right?” He begins to clutch his hands, digging his nails into his palms.

“Rich, I didn’t know what to say about the phone call. So I blocked it out. I try to watch myself with people so stuff like this doesn’t happen. You’re a nice guy, but, I don’t see anything romantic between us working out.”

“What do you mean? I would be so good to you. I would do anything for you.” His eye’s glare at me, with the look of despair.

I cough back a little startled laugh at the irony of his statements; “That’s nice, Rich. I just don’t know what to say, or do. I do know that I can’t date you or anything, even anything casual or shallow. I just don’t see you like that. It’s just…”

“Casual or shallow?” I’ve angered him, he’s too tense, I need to calm him. “Is that what you think I want from you? CASUAL OR SHALLOW. What am I to you? Is this how you think of me? I would come into someone’s house for something… is this a game to you?” A tear, grasping to his eyelash lets go and trails down his cheek.

“I didn’t say that… I didn’t mean it like that… You’re a nice guy and all, it’s just that you and I don’t belong together. I don’t want this to affect our work relationship or anything. And I am sorry. I think you should leave now. It’s late and…”

He grabs me hard by both my arms; I kick him in the shin as a reflex and start squirming, trying to think of  my self defense. Smiling a bit because my nerves are taking over and I’m getting into defense mode, I have to stop smiling, this isn’t funny, what’s he going to do? He holds tighter. I can feel blood vessels breaking under his grip, I know I’m bruising, but I don’t care. “What are you doing? Let go!” He doesn’t even loosen his grip. I don’t want to fight him. I just want to get him out of my apartment.

“It doesn’t have to be like this. I would do what I could to make you happy. I would do what I could to deserve you. I need you.”

“No, you don’t. Please, Rich, just stop now and make this easier on both of us. We can go back and act like nothing happened. Everything’s cool.” My mind is spinning and feels like the real has merged with the surreal. I want to say the right thing that will get him to leave and never bother me again.

“Everything isn’t cool. I can’t act like I don’t feel like this for you. I can’t hide my emotions and pretend for the rest of my life, or for as long as you’re around, that nothing happened and everything’s cool.”

“Rich, let go of me so we can just talk a bit. You’re hurting me.” I know I’m on the verge of crying from pain, which doesn’t often happen. I hate crying and will find myself laughing instead usually.

“What will you do if I let go?”

“Nothing, we’ll just talk.” He looks into my eyes to see if I’m telling him the truth or not. I don’t even know the truth, everything seems so obscure. I know screaming won’t do any good, no one lives close enough or would probably not respond anyway if they did hear screaming coming from a college apartment. His grip loosens a bit, but not enough to let me move. Theblood starts flowing down my arms again, I feel the tingling in my fingers as they start to gain circulation back. “Thank you, that’s a little better.”

“What do you want to say?” His face softens into a more hopeful look, I can’t help but feel guilt overcome me for leading him on unintentionally.

I try to choose my words as carefully as possible; “I’m in no place for a romance right now, especially with someone from work. It wouldn’t be smart. The timing is off and we, well, it would be the biggest mistake of both our lives. We don’t belong together” His grip grows stronger again and I realize I didn’t do too good of a job, I said something wrong.

“We’re meant to be together. I’ve told you you’re the most amazing person I know. I’m crazy about you. It wouldn’t be a mistake. You have to believe me.” The desperation is so evident, so overwhelming.

I let out another nervous laugh. This infuriates him. He grabs my hands tightly into one of his hands and pulls back. I see what’s coming but I can’t stop laughing. I wish I could, but it’s not happening. He starts hitting me to make me stop. I can’t stop myself, I’m so nervous that this is how my body’s reacting, I can’t show weakness. I’m so scared, but, I can’t stop myself. I try to hit him back but he has both m hands together and I can’t get free no matter how much I squirm. He hits me hard on the head once…twice… I can’t count… he’s still hitting me… everything turns to tunnel vision, I feel moisture down my face, am I crying… all I see is white.

“ Richard stop this.” the words barely escape my mouth, hoping he would hear my  plead, and let me go. But it falls on deaf ears.

Suddenly I feel warm all over… as if I’m almost in a dream, but not, this can’t be happening… my ears are ringing… nausea starts to set in… I’m wobbling… weak on my feet… but everything’s so light. Everything’s so light and airy… nothing can be wrong…