Taxi-dermy

"So this is my life now," he thought.  "Shuttling insignificant people to and from inconsequential errands."  He used to be worth something to people, his life had more...purpose.  People used to respect him.

He still carted the dregs of society about, but instead of depositing them in county jail cells, he took them to their studio apartments and 3 bedroom homes in suburbia.  He still had to deal with vomit on his rubber mats and body odor seeping into his upholstery.  But when he was on the Force, these felt like minor inconveniences and were small sacrifices for the good of the public.  What was once a nuisance had become an unbearable burden without the power of a higher purpose.

He was forced out after only 6 years of service, forced to work for the City Taxi Company.  He was unwanted by the City Police once the new recruits came in.  He hated them.  He was just as capable as they were.  Sure, they had more "options", but didn't he also have a V-8 engine.  With nitrous, he could out run any criminal.  He had only been in one chase, but they caught the guy, and it was partially due to his maneuverability.  He was experienced, reliable...and now discarded because the new Fords came in.  So this is his life now, relegated to this life of foreign music blaring on his radio and trawling the streets outside of bars for drunks.

Heartache and Heartburn

She lay with her head on his chest, her chin tilted up, staring at him, watching him.  He's deep in thought with his brow furrowed, wrinkles dancing across his forehead.  He's so smart, she thought, as he began to pensively chew his bottom lip.  I wonder what goes through his mind.  He's probably pondering the eternities.  I just completely opened up to him, I probably gave him a lot to think about.

His arm was falling asleep.  Why did she always lay right on his arm?  Why couldn't she lay in the crook of his arm?  That's why it's there, right?  Laying on his chest with his arm pinned under her wasn't comfortable for either of them.  He really loved cuddling with her, but after 30 minutes, he got tired...and hungry.  It's 12:30.  Where can I get a milkshake at this hour?  There's always McDonald's, but he wanted nachos, too.  7-11?  No milkshake, but they have Slurpees.  Yeah, I can compromise and get Slurpees instead of a milkshake.  The nachos are worth it.

"What are you thinking about?"  Her voice stirred him from his reverie.  "You."  He answered.  She looked up and smiled at him.  And Nachos.  He smiled back.

Optimism without Sarcasm is Hard

This morning, when I woke up, I vividly recalled every instance of the most amazing dream I’ve ever had.  I was in the woods, alone and lost, calling to my friends, but no one answered.  As I rounded the corner of a particularly large tree, I saw all of my friends in a clearing, waiting for me.  As I entered the clearing, a shout of acknowledgment rose from the crowd.  Their love was palpable and they radiated with so much friendship and joy that I was blinded. 

            As I woke up, I could barely contain my joy.  I woke refreshed, ready to take on the new day and the challenges it held.  That’s the power of love, of feeling and of being loved.  Even platonic love can change attitudes and drive through life’s obstacles that are strewn about our path.  I had the best day and it was because I was loved.

"Mountains" aren't just a euphemism for boobs

I felt like we had a real connection, the kind of connection man has with nature when he is alone in the woods.  A man can feel a sense of completeness, oneness as he is wrapped up in Mother Nature’s warm embrace.  But there is danger there, hostility.  Wolves, bears, avalanches…cliffs.  When in the wild, one must always be on his guard, be alert.  It was my fault really.  I should have been more wary, more guarded.  But I let her in.  As we hiked the trail, I let go of my handrail to take her hand.  Why did I let go of the safety of the rail? 

She watched as I fell, head over heels.  She pushed me and watched, standing on the edge of the cliff, looking down as I tumbled through the air until I hit rock bottom, as if to make sure I would hit rock bottom.  Then she left, holding his hand.  I lay on the canyon floor, bruised, beaten, broken.

How long have I been here?  Hours? Days?  Weeks?  Time has lost all meaning.  I’ve got to stand; I’ve got to move on.  It hurts, but I stir my mangled form into a sort of hunched standing position.  I’ve got to get out of here.  I could try to climb out.   No, the assent would be impossible.  The cliff face is slippery with my tears and even if I were to make it to the top, she may be waiting to betray my trust again.  I want to hate her, as much as I want her to love me.  But I cannot bring myself to detest her, just as a hunter can’t be mad at wolf for attacking him.  He understands her motivation, it’s in her nature, but that doesn’t make his death any less painful.

All I can do is move along the canyon floor and hope for a trail that will lead me out.  But how long will that take?  It could be years and I wonder if I will ever really be able to get out.  My friends line the canyon rim, telling me that there are other trails, better trails, roads that will allow me to ascend to greater heights ahead.  But how do they know?  Can they see these trails or are they just guessing because the region is so mountainous?  I hope they are right, I need to get out.  Until then, I limp along this canyon floor.