A Holy Place

         Sarah walked into work as she usually did, a form of a drill, which had been instilled in her since childhood.  People go to work because they have to because everyone does, so it made sense as a command.  She wore her tight apron, which she despised because she felt as though it made her look fat and ugly. She worried a lot about what others thought of her, not that it mattered in a negative light, she figured.  She didn’t think much of herself either.  

    Life hadn’t been kind to her.  Her mother died when she was a small child, leaving behind a legacy of a drunken father and his abuses.  

“I hate you, you little bitch,” he yelled one night. He threw a punch, and it landed right on her nose. Blood rolled out like a cliched river.  This night was one of many, one of the foolish games life forced her to play.  She knew better than to be the winner.  

He threw a bottle of beer at her next.  She cried out as the glass shattered and reflected the dim lights in the living room.

She ran to her room that night, crying.  The tears wept down her face by themselves, not listening to reason, not listening to the wind.  

Outside, a storm began to brew in the hollow evening.  The stars hidden, the moon cloaked; there was no light.  

Sarah gazed into the mirror at her features.  They blurred to nothing, a faceless fiend.  She didn’t recognize her mother in her face.  She didn’t want to see her father.  

“Sarah,” the manager, Mark, said.  

“Yes, Mark,” she replied, pulling herself back from the mirror, not wanting to appear vain or like she was distracted from her job.  

“I would like to have a word with you in private.”  

Sarah passed the ice cream cartons, cold and dead but delicious to so many.  

“You know, I find you to be an interesting gal.”  

Sarah studied his face, looking for signs of meaning, and a fear began to form in her heart.  

“Do you find me interesting?”

“I guess,” she replied back.  

“Can I ask you to step closer? I’d like to see what is in your eyes.”  

Sarah didn’t move.  

“Come on, I think you have pretty eyes.”  

Sarah didn’t move.  

“Please come here.” Mark put his hand out, and he grabbed her arm.  Sarah didn’t budge.  Terror overcame her.  She searched for words, for a sentence.  It came.  

“Your wife is pregnant,” she said.  

“My wife is none of your business.  She is nothing to me anyway.  I have needs, and I am a man.”  

Sarah’s lips quivered as he pulled her into him and began to trace their faint outline.  

Suddenly, the door opened with a loud crashing noise, or perhaps that was Sarah’s perception.  

“Sarah! Mark!” Stacy bellowed, an older employee with a lot of experience in the business of saints and sinners, at least she thought so.  

“It was Sarah!” Mark yelled. “I can’t help but be charmed. My wife is pregnant, and I am lonely. She came in here and tried to seduce me.”  

Stacy stabbed Sarah with her glare, turning into a Holy warrior.  

“Sarah, you are a filthy whore!”

Sarah ran out of the building and into the parking lot.  She didn’t bother to cry.  Her keys shook in her hands, and she turned the ignition with a fiery force.  The road bellowed out in front of her.  She couldn’t feel the wind behind the glass, but it roared.  

After an hour of driving, she decided to stop at a small diner.  The neon lights invited her in to a 1950s sort of vibe.  She took a seat at the bar, watching a chippy waitress pour coffee into an old man’s cup.  He looked at her.  

“Girly, what are you in here for?”  

“Is this prison?” Sarah asked.

“Close enough,” he replied.

“I guess we’re in the Hotel California,” the waitress said, grabbing a cup of coffee for Sarah, even though she hadn’t asked for it.  

“So much wit,” the man replied.

“Oh, Bob, stop being such a boy.” 

“I’m not man enough for you?”

“Sweetie, I got a man.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Bob said, taking a sip of joe.  

The three of them sat for a moment.  An old lady came into the diner. She smelled like funeral roses to Sarah, time’s leftover aroma.  

“And God said…” she started, looking at Bob. 

“Not tonight, Rosemary.”

“Yes, tonight, for the Lord is with me. He rewards the faithful!”  She sunk into a booth, unable to climb up into a barstool.  

“God loves the pious,” Bob commented, turning his attention to the newspaper.  He didn’t like the way she phrased her words.  

Rosemary rolled her eyes, and she asked for some mashed potatoes and gravy, seeing as her teeth were all gone, left to dust in the carnage of life.  The wind hit the glass of the place, and Rosemary chatted away about Hell and damnation.  

A man in a suit walked into the diner, distracting everyone yet again.  

“May I please have a cup of coffee.”

“Sure thing, sir,” and the waitress poured coffee into a cup.  

The man examined Sarah like a text.  Sarah’s face became hot with annoyance.  

“You know, I run a business,” he said. Sarah thought it to be a form of teasing.  She remained silent.  “I could help you out.  I have a nice house.”

“And a wife…” Sarah commented, defending herself.

“Don’t jump to conclusions.”

“You move too fast to not have a quick motor down there,” the waitress said.  

“Excuse me, ma’am.” 

“I don’t like men picking on girls,” the waitress said.  She stared him right in the eye.  

“I’m not picking on anyone.”

“He’s totally bankrupt,” Rosemary said.  “Just trying to get his mores in your pants.”

“Now, people, I’ve had enough of this treatment.  Do you know who I am?”  

“No,” Bob said.  He returned to reading the paper.  

“Now I’m a businessman, Jeff Bently, a CEO of a big company, of “Great Ideas.”  Who are you?  You should fear me because I matter.  I could sue this place and bring it down to Hell!” He commanded.  

“God is more worthy of your fear, if you truly believe,” Bob said, he returned to the paper, ignoring the others for a moment, focused on the meaning of words, of the craft of diction.  

“Fear the Lord, for He is with me!” Rosemary said.  Suddenly, she grabbed her heart and fell to the floor.  She landed like a sack of old potatoes. 

In a rush, the waitress and Bob made the first move.  Sarah held back, observing.  Jeff Bently jumped back in fear.  

Sarah found her courage and dialed 911.  The ambulance came. The medics declared Rosemary dead on the scene and left with her body, a vessel once so filled with faith. 

The three remaining mortals looked at each other.  

“I think it’s time to go,” Sarah said.  

“You don’t want to check out early,” the waitress said.  

“I don’t want to check out at all,” Jeff Bently replied.  

Outside, the night threatened the light of the diner, but it glowed on with the individuals standing together as a fateful group. 

The High Society, Anthocyanie

  The High Society 

Mary’s cup became full as the waiter poured the substance.  The wine smelled of grapes and memories, strong, intoxicating, yet a substance that would soon disappear.  Across the table sat her boyfriend, a cool man.  She couldn’t exactly call him cold, but cool.  His short black hair shined from a slight greasing, his green eyes hidden by the dim lights of the restaurant.  His eyes traced her face for a reason she didn’t fully understand.  He wanted her mouth, slightly aroused, she sensed.

Around them, people chatted politely, minding their manners.  The noise echoed in a unison, one and yet apart.  The wood beneath her feet vibrated to the motion of others.  Servers came to the beck and call of their guests.  People wore designer clothing of all colors, not gaudy, suited for the evening in the respectable atmosphere.  

Perhaps they demanded respect, Mary thought to herself.  She pulled a long strand of blonde hair rudely behind her ear.  

“So, Alex?  Are you going to be coming to dinner on Thursday night with my parents?”

“I have prior engagements,” he replied.  The tone of his voice stood aloft, distant with his mind distracted by work, by rituals.  The white shirt he wore reflected the light and neglected the stains.  

“It would mean a lot to me if you could cancel those plans,” Mary said.  

Alex ignored her. 

Mary hated Alex sometimes.  He was always about himself, never caring about her needs and wants.  Her gown annoyed her, and she shifted in the seat, not sure of how to respond.  

“May I ask, are you ready for the check?” The waiter asked, a tall man much like a tree in a hidden forest.  

“Yes, please.”  

Annoyed, frustrated, and angry Mary marched into the parking lot with the will of a private ready for battle.  The slick black car came to life as Alex hit the button.  The rain saturated outside smelled seductively of flowers and paradise. Somewhere, Mary couldn’t find.  

“I’m sick of it, Alex!”

“You’re sick of what, Mary? You’re so emotional.”  He opened her car door.

“I can do that myself.”

“I’m sure you could,” Alex replied.  His eyes traced her legs and projected an air of forgiveness.  

A flower is designed by nature to look beautiful.

“It’s always all about you!” 

“Not again, Mary.”  His tone became hostile and dominating.  

“What? You don’t want to listen to me?”

“I can hear you as clear as day,” Alex responded.  The moon peeked out of the clouds.  

Mary turned her attention the homeless man on the street.

The world is so cruel, she thought.  

A few weeks passed, and Mary’s depression grew into a monster consuming her.  The nights rattled with words she didn’t want to hear, the light rose and fell from the sky, not caring about taking its time, and the cat wouldn’t stop meowing.  

That damn cat, Mary thought.  I fed him already.  

The droll drum of life pulled at her.  She tried to open a book but lacked the appetite to read it.  Some romance. Something she didn’t have. Something more.

Love needs to be nurtured, she told herself.  Love needs to be whole.  I need love in my life.

She left her house and went outside to her car.  The green paint reflected the strong glare of the sun.  By that time, it was almost noon.  A breeze blew through the area, a few misfits left their high trees destined to dry up and little wherever they went.  

Mary stopped at a little diner on the outskirts of the city, the area humble and modest, boasting only about the fried chicken on the menu.  

“What can I get you?” The server asked.

“I’d like a salad with extra tomatoes,” she replied.  

“Comin’ right up!”

The crisp lettuce and crunchy croutons rolled around her mouth, satisfying her hunger.  Around her sat the regulars.  She knew them well, as she stopped in this small place often.  

Bob, an old man with a white beard eyed her from across the room.  He turned away, and Mary couldn’t see the expression on his face but could smell the musk of his body a mile away.  It interested her senses, not repulsing them.  

Mark came out of the kitchen.

“Hey, Mary,” Mark said in an enthusiastic tone.  “What’s in the head?”  

“The usual, boring life, boyfriend problems, and school.”

“Problems are easy to solve when one wants a solution.”

“Not for me.”

“Sometimes, the simplest solution is the best. Ever heard of Occam’s razor?” he returned.  “Then again, “Eyes can only see what he [or she] is seeking.”

“What?”

“Oh, ignore me. I’m a philosophy junkie, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I love knowledge.  The end justifies the means.”

“If you say so.”  

“Well, I have to get back to work.  We all know only fools get philosophy degrees.  Socrates died just the same.”  His red hair shifted as he pushed the plastic door open and went back to frying that good old chicken.  

I don’t understand him, Mary said to herself.

Mary drove to the park.  The nice afternoon inspired her feelings, and she let her mind wander in fantasy.  The words made no sense to her, the feelings did.

A homeless man woke up from the adjacent park bench and came over to her.  

“Do you got change?” The asked.  

Pulled from her thoughts, Mary was slightly surprised.  

“Um, yeah, sure.”  

The man moaned in pain. 

“Are you okay, sir?” Mary asked.

“I’ve got them years on me.  They tattle on old bones.  You don’t happen to have a cigarette, do you?”

“No, no, I don’t smoke.”

“You’ll live longer.” 

Mary didn’t know what to say.  She felt so much sympathy for this man.  He seemed so kind and gentle.  What had he done to deserve such a fate?

“I’ll tell how I feel,” the man said.  He grunted a little more.  “I grew up in there Mississippi.  My mom did the best she could in rags, and my dad had a love of them women, the kind who like shiny things.

One night, we went to the casino for a good meal, as dad had promised my mother.  We ate it up good then couldn’t pay.  So we got ourselves banned from the place.  

I’ve rambled around the gutters ever since cause my momma left pa, and I’ve seen all sorts of fools and wise men.  When they’re in that environment, you can’t tell them apart.

I’m trying to get me, my woman back. She has a habit and had been on the streets again.  I tell her it over and over, it ain’t gonna heal nothing.  Stones are graves, too”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“What did you ever do?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, then, I best be on my way.  Thanks for the cash.  It’s not enough for a woman, but I can get some of that fine whiskey.”  

A duck followed by spring’s ducklings made their way to the small lake.  

What a cute sight, she told herself.  They know just what to do.  

Mary walked across the park to the zin garden.  Many of the blossoms reached toward the sun, full of the light’s radiance.  The plants were strong and green. The dirt stayed humble. 

Some people have rotten luck.   They try and try but don’t get anywhere.  What a wicked world.  

“Do you know what time it is?”  A man asked her.  She turned around and saw him dressed in comfortable attire, a jogging suit with a coffee stain.  The sight relaxed her.

“It’s two.”

“Thanks, my name is Roger. What is yours?” 

“I’m Mary,” she replied.

“Would you like to walk around the pond with me?  I know they call it a lake, but it isn’t.”  He smelled like a man’s sweat, inspiring.

“Sure.”

“So, what’s your story?” He asked.

“I don’t have a story,” she replied.  

‘Everyone has a story…”

“I guess.  I had a normal childhood, lots of friends and parties, but I felt and still feel empty somehow like I’m missing something.”  

“Love.”

“Yes, love.”  Mary’s cheeks flushed at the thought.  The emotion possessed her.

“It’s definitely a strong emotion.  I like strong emotions.” 

“Why?”

“Because they’re wild and free, but they don’t beat the grave.”

“Ah, yes, we have but a short time on Earth,” Mary replied.  She knew Roger could see her flush.  For some reason, she liked that.  

They went around the lake and then parted ways.  He slipped her a piece of paper with his number on it. She shoved it into her pocket quickly.  When she arrived to her car, she sighed.

Later that night, she toyed with the phone.  She didn’t want to call him too quickly, didn’t want to appear too desperate.

Her cat annoyed her again.  

“Buttercup, shut up!” She yelled.  The cat turned around and showed Mary her butt.  

Love is an emotion! Love is a great thing!  What is the purpose of life but to love?

A few days passed, and she became bold enough to dial Roger’s number.  

“Hello,” he responded.

“Yes, hi, I had a great time with you at the park.”

“I had a great time with you, too.  I don’t want to be too quick, but would you like to come over to my apartment?  I’ll text you the address. I have a few friends over.”

“I’d love to!”

Mary grabbed the expensive purse that Alex bought for her from Italy.  The leather still appeared brand new, like desire.  

The apartment’s crumbled exterior fell beyond humble, but Mary didn’t care.  An urge drove her, compelled her to move forward.   

“It’s great to see you.  This is John, Randy, and Bill.” The men wore greasy t-shirts.  They held glasses of whiskey and Bill had a joint.  

So different, Mary thought. 

The five sat down on the smelly sofa.  

“Would you like a blunt?” Roger asked Mary.  

“Um, I don’t do drugs.”

“You have to try them if you’ve never done them.  We have to broaden our experience, man.  I’ll get you something to drink, too, to loosen you up.”  

“Thanks,” Mary said.  

The liquor burned as it went down her throat.  The weed relaxed her muscles and her mind.  She felt open to the world and it closed on hers.  

Her mind became fuzzy like fizz.  

Soon, she felt hands on her.  In a surprise, she pulled away, but her body lacked strength.  

Roger went inside her.  His face kept pulsing and lights changed colors around his body.

She laughed and felt a rush of sensation.  

“I’m so stoned. This is so cool,” she told him.  He carried on, happier than ever.

They both were.    

There. Together.  

        Forever.