Dogs Were Barking

It Takes Guts

                                                chat noir

                                   

His eyes are aflutter in REM sleep. His lungs, synchronized with the resting heartbeat. Inside his lids lies a different world; Dark, ethereal, mysterious. Deep inside his temporal lobe he can faintly hear the drone of a television set, his thoughts now a ship on a sea of white noise. He reaches up to touch a cloud. His lips meet with those of an angel, fresh and inviting, then…darkness. No longer is he in the realm of the ethereal but of the very tangible. His lids open and she is there, the angel made flesh, in winter regalia and flushed cheeks. They smile a knowing smile at each other. She signals the room with a tilt of her head, he takes her hand as she leads the way.

Paolette’s hair, still wet, smells of a tropical paradise. I wonder out loud if Tahitian shampoo smells of dark, grungy cities. She laughs. Luna escapes from under the covers and goes to scratch the door. I oblige and open it for her.

“So what else did you do tonight?” she asks, trapping her hair’s wet scent into a ponytail.

 “Nothing…” I respond sitting on the bed. “…just watched an old movie and fell asleep”

“What was it about?” she continues, now changing her shirt.

“It was about a boxer, who visits his ex-wife after he tosses a fight. She kicks him out, but he returns the next day only to find her dead body. Police thinks it’s him, he goes on the run.” Her body is warm and inviting, so I rest my head on her lap.

“How did it end?” she asks.

“I don’t know. I fell asleep before the ending.” We both lie back down on our pillows, our eyes growing heavier by the second.

“Do you remember the name?” she manages to ask.

“’Past and Pending’ I think”

“We should rent it and watch it on Sunday.” I nod in semi-conscious agreement.

“I’m sorry Marcel; you just don’t meet our qualifications” Says the overweight man behind a desk with pompous conviction. He hands back a folder with “Marcel Rodriguez” written on it.

“Thank you for your time” says Marcel; shaven, professionally dressed, and with a disillusioned look in his eye. He gets up and walks out the murky building.

 “Damn” Marcel says to himself. His phone rings, it’s his Paolette.
“Hey” says Marcel with a tinge of surprise
“Hey…are you busy?” she asks.
“No…no, I’m just taking a cigarette break.”
“But you don’t smoke” she points out.
“Of course, I know, but my boss doesn’t know that.”
“Ah I see, well, our little secret then. I have another one for you” She continues
“Great, so do I actually. Let’s hear it” Marcel says with genuine curiosity.
“Ok, well, I’ve never told you of the many times, when I was a kid, that I used to practice kissing with my dolls. I had this huge bear that I would hug and go to town with. He was my favorite.” 

“…Really?” Marcel responds “I think I did that once when I was a kid as well…”

They share a brief laugh followed by an intimate silence as they block out their surroundings and try to make the voice on the other line materialize in their head
 “Ok, your turn” she finally says, breaking the stillness.
“Well mine isn’t as dark and twisted as yours, but I was thinking about that movie from the other night and it actually reminded me of something. When I was little, I used to imagine God and the Devil looking at my life as if it were a movie. And I thought that if they got bored at any point, they could just switch it off.”
“Wow, that’s pretty existential for a kid to think about…” She says laughing “…Hey, I got to go now; I’ll just talk to you at home, ok?”
“All right…” Marcel says “…Paolette?” he continues
“Huh?” The angel’s voice says softly on the other line
“We should talk about last night”
“We’ll talk tonight at home” she responds
“Ok” they both hang up.

Marcel crosses the street towards Le Chat Noir; A tiny, rustic restaurant hidden in a cacophony of urban expansion. He shields his eyes against the tinted window to see inside, it is full. He dials a number into his cell phone, a man answers on the other line. “Hello?” says the voice. 

“Chavo, Marcel. Que tal?”
“Marcel, what’s going on man, I’m good, y tu?” Chavo responds.
”I’m OK. Listen, can I come over tonight, we need to talk.”  Marcel walks over to a video store, Help Wanted sign planted out front.
“Sure. What’s it about?”
“We’ll talk tonight.” Marcel responds. They say goodbye and hang up. Marcel walks into the video store.

It is darker outside. Chavo and Marcel sit on a black leather sofa, drinking. Chavo shakes his head in uncertainty. “That’s not a good idea. Not at all…” he says, taking long pensive sips from his drink “…I mean, it’s a totally different world Marcel”
”Well I’m running out of options Chavo. That interview was bust…I would never resort to this unless I was desperate, you know me…I would only do it for some quick cash, only until this weekend.”
“Marcel, if you start selling drugs, you’ll enter a world that’s hard to get out of. You’ll go completely down the rabbit hole…You still have options...I didn’t when I started, and now I can’t get out…I can lend you some money maybe...”
”Please, you know you can’t do that. You have to send Sasha to school this year. Even if you could, I wouldn’t take it…I just need your help in this. Some guidance…”
”Ok…ok. But you do as I say, ok?”
            Chavo gives me the lowdown on all he knows…He tells me that the quickest way to get money was with weed. The risk was too high though for the little money I would be getting at one time. Any of the harder drugs were also too risky. He tells me that the biggest profit and lowest risk would be a hallucinogenic he simply calls “the truth pills”. It is powerful, it is not habit forming, and it won’t damage your brain. It has the convenient advantage of being known mostly to the people who can afford it, who also happen to be the people less likely to get caught with it.

 “They’re not your normal drug…” he says half laughing”…I got mine when I went to Tijuana, remember. Anyways, you need it more than I.”

I ask him whether he has ever taken one, and what it felt like.

“Yeah…” he says “…though, um, I don’t remember what it feels like”

He finally tells me to come back later, when Paolette gets out from work. He’ll have the drugs ready by then…
            Several hours later, I return to Chavo’s house with Paolette. She hasn’t seen Chavo in a long time, so they are happy to see each other. While Paolette excuses herself to the bathroom, he gives me the tiny prescription bottle.

“A hundred per pill, 29 pills in the bottle…well, 28 actually”

I look at him confused “…I still owe you a birthday gift” he says handing me a tiny pill

“So you’re giving me a hallucinogenic drug?” I ask incredulously.

“You have to try it” Chavo says.

“No, I think not.”

“Marce, there’s nothing to be scared of. It’s just a temporary mental transformation. Chemical reactions in the brain” He says.

“I know that Chavo, it’s just that I don’t do that kind of stuff. Paolette would kill me. I wouldn’t even be selling it if I had another choice” I say examining the pill closely.

“But you don’t…” Chavo responds “…You’re entering this world, temporarily yes, but still. I’m not trying to be an enabler or anything; I just think you should know first hand what you’re dealing with”

Remarkably, Chavo makes sense to me, I hate him for it. So with my trust in him and his guidance and maybe the influence of several beers, I put the pill in my pocket and cheer with him. Paolette comes back from the bathroom, we all take a couple of drinks then go home.

Once home, I tell Paolette that I’ll meet her upstairs. “I’m going to check the mail…” I say. She makes her way up the stairs, and when she is out of sight I analyze the little green pills. On its tiny service, an “XS” is carved out. Nice little touch I think…after just staring at it for a while, I put the pill in my mouth and swallow. It goes down rough, scratching and almost getting stuck in my throat…
As I walk into the bedroom, Paolette is already fast asleep. “I guess we’ll talk tomorrow” I undress, turn off the lights and join her in bed, putting my arm around her waist…slipping away into unconsciousness….

Why do we laugh sometimes in our dreams and hear ourselves doing it, half awake & half asleep; nocturnal limbo. Or remember the words to a long lost song, only to draw a blank as soon as we wake. I find myself at that place now, and I refuse to concede to an explanation of chemical reactions in the brain. It cannot be that simple, that tangible. I hear the faint shattering of glass, and for a second I even feel its sharp edges vividly as if I were awake…I would have fallen deeper into this purgatory of the senses if the alarm had not gone off…3 am. I don’t remember setting it at that time. The room is cold and the bed empty. Where is she? I ask myself. Is she in the bathroom?

Marcel walks over to the bathroom but there is no one. His heartbeats grow louder, breaking all silence around him, the drugs still in his system. Faster go the heartbeats as he goes towards the living room, the light is on, “Baby?” he calls out, no answer. Thudump…Thudump now goes his heart, slowing down to 8 second intervals. He is walking on broken glass now, staining the shag carpet with the blood between his toes. He cannot feel it nor can he process the moment, the broken balcony door, the night wind gushing violently in, the man dressed in black outside, staring him down, with a look of guilty fear. “Hey…” Marcel whispers “…Hey!” louder now. The man jumps over the ledge and disappears into the night wind. Marcel runs out to the balcony, peering down to the street below where a crowd of people are gathered around something…

As Marcel makes his way to the crowd, he is blindsided by the familiar aroma of a tropical paradise. He makes his way through the bystanders, the melting pot of low brow voyeurs, pushing harder now, out of the mass of midnight prowlers and finds, in the warm spotlight of the flickering streetlight, Paolette’s body on the blood soaked pavement. He kneels to her…grabbing her hand…She is weightless, there is no life left in her.

           

I would have figured that cops had a more discriminate taste for coffee by now, instead they hand me something bitter and burnt. Maybe they only serve this stuff to the murder suspects and save the premium brew for the self righteous informers. Cop #1 must have killed his wife too then; he winces after each sip….I tell them everything I know, which is very little. They’re not happy with that. Cop #2, short and strong, your regular Charles Bronson type, starts asking more personal questions about me and Paolette. I answer only as much as he needs to know.

. “We found no prints of yours kid” they finally say. Nor any signs of wrongdoing. They start conjuring up theories on why she might have jumped. I stop listening.

“There was a man…” I say “…On my balcony”. They ask me why I didn’t mention it before. I honestly didn’t know. Shock maybe? Maybe with the junk still in my system, I didn’t know what I could or couldn’t trust; but now I just want some answers. 

“None of the witnesses mentioned seeing a man other than you on that balcony” says Charles Bronson. He tells me that it’s probably stress and that this case is far from closed, that they’re going to look at every possible angle. They confine me to the apartment while they sort shit out. 

“So can I go home now, I have to feed my wife’s cat.” I didn’t expect my voice to break the way it did. I finish my coffee, the taste more bearable now, they let me go.                          

As I leave the station, the pitch-black coal darkness blankets the concrete dystopia. Only the street lamps serve as guiding lights, like ominous candles on the river Styx. Even the sign to Salvatore’s Spirit’s flickers away into submission; conceding to the overwhelming presence of night.

Not a creature in sight, only a bum on the corner, singing his drunken woes to the nocturnal winds. Winter has still not left this town. As my hands seek warmth inside my pockets, I feel the little bottle of truth. I take a pill in my hand and find myself swallowing it without a seconds hesitation. I feel its effects faster than before. The lines of reality blurred. I look back at the hapless homeless man and see now another man behind him. No distinguishing features, a shadow almost if it wasn’t for the blinding aura of light that he emitted, spotlighting the bum.

The homeless man dances with reckless abandon into the middle of the street, unaware of the speeding taxi coming his way. The events unfold like a waltz in suspended time. I see the taxi suck the homeless man under and spit him out; his body tossed around with terrifying grace. The taxi, never stopping and disappearing into the darkness, leaves the bum twisted and splayed out in the road, his life dripping away covering the lane markers.

I see the man, still on the corner, that shadow of light, looking coldly lethargic. As he begins to walk away, I run towards the bum, yelling at the man for help; he ignores my call. As I touch the bum’s hand, I feel the same disturbing emptiness that I felt as I held Paolette’s hand for the last time. Stuck in the bum’s ragged shirt pocket there is a long black feather. I look for the man, but he is gone. I hear the faint flapping of wings in the distance. The sensory overload is too much, I must make my way back home, down the river. I must leave this place…                                     

I run the dark empty streets. I feel the city. I feel her emptiness; her blood pulsing beneath my feet. It is not long before I reach Chavo’s house; I pass it. Keep going straight towards the apartment, where there is still some yellow police tape outside, clinging to the street lamp…

Flights of stairs in the blink of an eye, two eyes, I am home. Luna is waiting for me…I grab some belongings...She wants to play…some cash from the nightstand. She makes her way to my shoulder, so I grab her and put her inside my jacket, where she fits perfect, content. I consider calling Chavo, something I should’ve done hours before, but what's the use. I cannot drag him into this…

Time passes violently fast in front of my dilated eyes. Nothing is clear and I don’t know where I am. I am on autopilot. Not even the whistle of what I believe to be a train breaks the trance. My body collapses on a cushioned seat. I rest my forehead on a window, its chill clashing with the heat of a developing fever…We begin to move, and I disappear into the dark….

            

            The stingy aroma of whiskey floats down to the street below. Marcel and Chavo are on a balcony several shot glasses deep into conversation. The night wind bites at any exposed skin they have to offer. But their drinking has brought them to the point where the elements have no effect on them.

“I hesitated to answer her…” says Marcel “…she kept pressing me so I told her…that maybe now wasn’t the best time to raise a kid. When she asked why, I didn’t know what to say without telling her that I got laid off…Things got way more complicated than they should have. It was a stupid fight”    Marcel pours himself another shot…down the hatch.                                            

“I don’t understand why you just can’t tell her. She would understand wouldn’t she?” says Chavo trying to catch up to Marcel’s drinking.                                                                                 

 “Yeah. But I didn’t want her to have to think about those kinds of things on our anniversary. I’ll tell her after Sunday.” Says Marcel halfheartedly as he stares at the abrasive neon and gray cityscape.

“Well now she’s gonna be thinking about you not wanting kids on her anniversary.” adds Chavo. 

“Gracias hermano…” Marcel says bitterly. “…I actually have an interview at the bank tomorrow. So maybe this will all work itself out…if not, I’ll have to resort to more drastic measures”                                                                                                                                      

“Please don’t whore yourself out Marcel” says Chavo, sharing a laugh with Marcel for the first time tonight quickly followed by an extended silence

“How was your trip to Tijuana by the way” Marcel asks breaking the stillness.

“That trip was a trip man….” Chavo responds laughing then quickly silent taking a swig of beer.

“…eye-opening.” He adds.

“You sure? It doesn’t seem like it was” asks Marcel laughing nervously.

“It was just this drug I took man, it gave me bad dreams…I dreamt I killed someone. It was so real…anyways, forget about it, it was cool. Great food…So what are you guys doing for Sunday?” Chavo asks hastily.                                                                                                                                    

“I made reservations at Le Chat Noir downtown…I also wanted to take her to the beach. She’s never seen the ocean and I’ve always promised her that we would go.”                               

 "…You still have thoughts of leaving her?” Chavo asks drunkenly.                                                                              

“I don't know...I’m not sure if I want to anymore…” Marcel responds “…She’s become such an integral part of me and my life that if we were to part ways, I wouldn’t know where to go next. She’s made me who I am. For better or for worse…I don’t think I want to go through with it anymore”

Chavo pours them both a shot “Well I didn’t want you to go through with it either…Down the hatch, hermano.”

           

As I wake up, I am in a house, laying on a beat up sofa. No clue as to how I got here. The smell of swamp envelops this place. The house is dark and cluttered...in that darkness I hear it...
                        he took it away, the light to my day...
...the bluesy aching of a baritone soul...
                        ...Stumbling in the dark, for something to say...
...Each word punctuated by the strumming of a mournful guitar.
                        ...Oh my lord,  C'est L'Amour, C'est L'Amour. C'est la Mort...

I walk into the next room and find a man sitting at the table, guitar in hand. I sit in the chair opposite him.
“You finally came to, did ya boy...?” He puts down the guitar next to him. “...I thought you went off and died on my couch. I was getting ready to throw you in the swamp.”
“How did I get here?” I ask him.
“I was hoping you would tell me that” he says throwing scraps of food under the table where I see Luna sleeping. “...You just appeared at my door and collapsed in my arms” Luna jumps onto the table and greets me with loud purrs. “...There you are! I thought you had left, kitty...is this your cat?”
“It's my wife's” I tell him. I realize the man is blind as he takes off his glasses.
“Married huh? I was married once too. Mon Bebe. She was my angel, in life and now in death”
“So you believe in angels?” I ask studying his face. The hard lines that appear around his mouth when he smiles.
“ I believe in love” he says, the lines slowly disappearing. “...You see when you have nothing to believe in this world, you always end up finding love…Love ends up acting as its own guardian angel…After losing my whole family, I rejected God, I didn’t want anything he had to offer. So when I met my Nina, she became my new guardian angel…She was taken from me though as well…after that, I couldn’t bear to see a world without something to believe in, so I put needles in my eyes…I placed myself in the dark, with my memories…memories that are fading from me now…now I just wish I could see her again…”
The stench of madness was all over him. I couldn’t imagine how long it’s been since someone talked to him….
”Thank you sir for taking me in…” I tell him. “…But I have to leave now.”
”If you must…but could you do me a favor first son?” he says.
”What is it?” I ask.
”Hand me my pills. They’re on the counter behind you. I got a bum heart, you see.”
I hand him the bottle but he struggles to open it. I offer to help him out. It opens and he tells me to give him two…I hesitate for a minute, and then close the bottle again. I take out two of the truth pill from my pocket and hand them to him. I grab Luna and leave as fast as I can…

I make it to a city and realize just how close I am to New Orleans. I buy a bus ticket at the station…The farthest it will go is New Mexico…I climb aboard and try to rest, my head is spinning so I decide to sleep it off…

The ride is eternal. The bus stops every now and then by road side motels, where you have the option to rent out a room, or sleep in the bus; I stay in the bus.
On the third day’s noon pit-stop, I decide to go outside. The food that I had stocked up on is now gone, shared between Luna and me, though mostly Luna. This trip has been hard on her, yet she takes it in stride. Relishing the opportunity to explore any new surroundings… She has become quite adept at forgetting her litter training, quite comfortable with going in the bushes or under parked cars. Luna is playing outside while I grab some food from the tiny market. I place the food in my bag and then I see her; the girl with the golden hair; she is playing with Luna. She spots me and brings her my way “Is she yours?” she asks me. The brutal honesty of her light blue eyes, like a trap set to ensnare me and my soul, my heart…My animal desires lead me towards her. Those eyes are terrifying in their unabashed beauty, I feel I should look away but cannot force myself to. Like a child looking towards the sun for the first time…
“It’s my wife’s” I tell her. She smiles and then is gone.
I rush back on the bus and can’t help but to take 3 pills together…

I feel my pupils stretch in anticipation as the tiny pill snakes its way down my throat, into the void that is inside me. The first to go are the limbs: Right arm, left arm, left leg, right. They disappear into an overwhelming numbness. Completely forgetting they are there, I scare myself when my hand brushes against my face and I don’ know it. Then the lights, displaying such a vagrant disregard for physics that would make Sir Isaac Newton blush. Light bulbs explode like supernovas. Galactic rainfall making its way to the floor, only to materialize into figures: A glass man, glass woman, embraced, cutting one another, soaked in each others blood yet embracing harder still, until…they shatter, turn to light again and dance around the bus, head straight towards my retinas then vanish…darkness, the loud click of a spotlight, in it, two wings, torn off. Bloody footprints leading towards the edge of light, into the blackness where I dare not venture… The sensation is too much to handle, and I black out….

…I awake a minute later, at least that’s how long it felt like I was away. The bus is moving now, but it is night and outside, there is desert…My watch says Sunday, I have been asleep for 2 days.

The bus keeps droning, constant in its pace aboard the asphalt ocean. Never-ending purples and blues paint the desert sky; everyone asleep but me and the driver. We pass a dead animal on the side of the road; featureless, Road kill. My fingers brush through Luna’s silky black coat. She is warm and fragile. I can’t help but think of the stark comparison between a live body and a dead one. She stirs in her sleep, dreaming her cat dreams, unaware of the ruthless reality just outside the window…

The calm in the bus is interrupted by a loud popping sound. The bus stops and we all go outside. A flat tire, no spare I presume… The sign on the road says that Olvido, the last stop for this bus, is a couple of miles away. I begin walking into the night…

            Shortly after I started my walk, it starts to rain. It comes down harder every minute, pounding on my back, slowing me down. The stars and the blackness between them; condescending, looking down at me. A truck whizzes by, filling the dead night air with sound waves. A song; The same song that was playing in our car one night, 3 years ago. A fight; Over what, I don't recall. We are in a shouting match, but I counterpoint her argument with distracted bravado, making her even madder. My right to stay in the car and not walk home in the rain is at stake, yet my attention is drawn to the song; the tempo changes, the minor chords. But mostly my attention is drawn to Paolette. Her hair, wet. Skin, glowing under the street lamp's light. I can't help but notice how gorgeous she looks when she's angry. The dark of her hazel eyes, attack me with their beautiful mystery and depth. Her lips, sensually embracing each word before she lets it go. Assholes and Bastards rolling off her tongue as passionately as any Amor or Mi Vida she's spoken before. I become self aware as the song ends, and she turns off the radio. Feeling guilty of the surprise felt and the wrong timing of my sudden realization of her beauty, I acknowledge my wrongdoing and get to stay in the car, driving home in silence.

Time passes, we arrive home and park. Paolette unbuckles her seatbelt and climbs over to the driver seat, positioning herself on top of me, kissing my forehead, my neck. She sounds the car horn with her back. It doesn't take long for the windows to fog up and the silence that we were in to be broken...

...But there is silence now...

The truck is long gone as dawn is approaching. I have reached the horizon it seems. A town, isolated from all. Olvido? I head towards it...

The town is small and simple. A few private buses linger by the side of the road, buses with Phoenix and San Diego as their destination. The biggest building in the town is the church, though it is far from being the most visually pleasing. Dilapidated and crumbling, the old mission seems empty until a young priest walks out. “Good morning” the priest says to Marcel looking almost surprised, scared even to see him. “You seem tired my son. Would you like to come in and rest your feet”
“Sure” says Marcel. The priest escorts Marcel inside…
“Oh…” he says, noticing Luna in Marcel’s arms. “…Would you mind maybe leaving the animal out here?”
“Yes, I mind…” says Marcel, “Wherever she goes, I go.”
“Very well…” says the priest.”…just keep her in your arms.”
The inside of the church is bare bones. There are barely enough pews to fill half the space, only one confessional and no altar. “Not much of a religious town, Padre?” says Marcel.
“Not anymore…this town is dying, and it’s taking all the believers with it.”
“Shame” says Marcel.
“It is a shame…” The Padre says, picking up Marcel’s sarcasm “…when it is the only thing you have to believe in”
“Well I have nothing left to believe in ok. So don’t start with that.” Responds Marcel growing more aggressive the more he talks with the Padre.
“Marcel…I’m sorry about your wife, but…”
“What? What do you know about me?” Marcel asks demandingly
“That’s not important ok…Dreams…voices…look, point is that I know Marcel, ok. Just know that I know. The things that happen in the world, in the seedy, holy underbelly of God are known to us. But we are his servants. Slaves to his will. He works in mysterious ways. We know that it is for the greater good.” The young but weathered priest has a look of fear deeply ingrained into his pupils. A paranoia, as if someone was watching.
“So what, there’s some sort of a catch-22 with your god? He gives us free will only because he knows it’s useless in the end. There’s no escaping our fate?!” The priest reaches into his pocket and takes out an old .45.
“A week ago, someone killed themselves in the confessional” Says the Padre pointing at the gun. “…It’s yours now…” he concludes.
“What? Why?” asks Marcel.
”Look, this is for you, it has to be…Nobody has ever killed themselves in this town.”
“Well, there always has to be a first…Besides, what am I going to do with this?” asks Marcel. The priest just looks at him, an epiphany hits Marcel…”What? No, wait…How do you even kill an angel?” The Padre paces around the pews, avoiding the question. “…Well?” he asks again.
“The divine rule of thumb is: ‘if you can see an angel, you can kill an angel’” confesses the priest. The Padre puts the gun into Marcel’s hand and starts escorting him outside.
“Why do you want me to do this?” asks Marcel as he is being led out
“I am just a messenger damn it! I’ll only tell you this. Before, divine intervention only used to occur to help people. Now it seems like the opposite…You’re being taking in that yellow car over there” He points to a small, beat up sedan next to the buses. The priest continues. “…You are going to tiny town on the Mexican border called Mil Piedras. You will find what you need there. It’s a long drive, you leave now.” He slams the doors to the church leaving Marcel in the kicked up dust. He walks over to the small car; the driver avoids eye contact at all times. As soon as Marcel sits down, the driver speeds off into the rising sun…

                                                       

The air is heavy with the scent of wet grass, it mixes with the unmistakable aroma of pork being fried for the school’s lunch tomorrow. At 2:30pm, the Instituto Catolico de Nuestro Señor has the same sleepy ambience as any other South American locale after lunch: lethargic and desolate. Desolate except for the lone echoing footsteps of a 14 year old Marcel walking down the school’s corridors, passing classrooms where the voices spill out into the hallway, voices unmercifully lecturing students with about as much personality as the schools all-grey uniforms.

Marcel takes his time getting to his destination, stopping in front of every other classroom, listening to the teachers try to tie religion into their respective subjects, like a divine “Six degrees of separation” Undoubtedly falling on deaf ears. He figures he is the only student in the whole school smiling right now, let alone the only student ever to be in a good mood while on his way to the school directors’ office, but he can’t help it. His mind keeps racing back to his memory of a day ago: Him and Roxanna, half undressed in the teacher’s lounge at night, embraced and deeply lost in a kiss when the schools night watchman found them. The school director had been away at the time only to return today, giving the entire school the sufficient enough period of a day to spread the news around. Rumor had it that Roxanna had already been transferred to another school by her father.

Marcel finally reaches the ornately engraved oak doors of the director’s office. He knocks and is told to come in. Marcel sits in an empty wooden chair in front of the director’s oak desk. He doesn’t look at Marcel but continues to write something for several more minutes. He puts down his pen and looks up at the boy.

“Had an interesting weekend, have you not Marcel?” The director asks.

“Depends on what you consider interesting.”  Marcel responds, looking around the heavily catholicized room.

“Tell me; is it not your ambition anymore in becoming a priest, to serve our lord?”

The director gazes at Marcel expressionless, calm yet alert, seemingly unaffected by the 2:30 sickness. Marcel simply shrugs his shoulders.

“I see…” the director continues. “…you are young Marcel, still growing up with a storm of emotions brewing inside you. I understand you, many a future priest have gone through these emotions. It’s part of being human. Though…” The director pauses, taking off his glasses to clean them with a cloth “… That does not mean that your actions were not sinful and wrong. Tell me, what were you thinking Marcel?”

“I was just being human, like the lord made me.” Marcel says with a barely concealed smirk.

“You are one of the brightest students in the school…” the director continues, ignoring Marcel’s comment. “…you seem to have a deep understanding of theology for someone your age, you…”

“Just because I understand it does not mean I like it…” Marcel interrupts. “…and if it was so wrong what I did, why didn’t my guardian angel step in and do something? You know like they used to do way back when?”

“Marcel…” the director says rubbing his eyes, the first signs of tiredness showing. “…You’re young, and as bright as you might be, I don’t expect you to completely understand the lord. He works in mysterious ways”

“A little too mysteriously for my taste.” Says Marcel with a sigh, standing up to leave.

“Marcel…” the director calls out “…Don’t let women poison your heart.”

“Señor Director, they’re not the poison but the antidote. Good day sir”

With that, Marcel walks out the room.

The driver leaves me at the entrance of town. The streets are non-existent and the air is heavy with the unfiltered fumes of the passing trucks. Mil Piedras. This is a border town; lawless, dangerous and perfect for anyone looking to disappear. Like a fallen angel. There are a few locals selling trinkets and food. “Quien es Xavier Santos?” I ask an old woman. Gravely she looks at me before walking away, muttering under her breath. The sun is high and my vision blurs. My jacket off, I carry Luna in my arms. She is too weak to walk, as am I.

I pass by an old cinema; Playing, a Film Noir festival. Headlining the bill is “Past and Pending”

It seems that word has spread that I am looking for Santos. Still, no one helps me; they just pay attention to my every move.

At some point during this sun drenched walk of mine, the sudden smell of sulfur overpowers everything around me. I'm not truly aware of it though until I am standing in front of its source: A small adobe hacienda, painted a foreboding black, radiating heat. There is no door. I find my legs moving in the direction my mind does not want me to go. But I am inside now...

             The wooden tables inside are littered with clamps, wire, wood and hundreds of tiny crosses. It is dark inside despite the sun's persistence to storm through the opening where the door is supposed to be. There is no one yet I feel a presence. My suspicions are confirmed when I hear a disembodied voice ask “May I help you?” As I turn around, I see him. Emerging from the shadowy corner of the room, a man, very old, but not weak looking. I cannot look into his eyes, they are obscured by shadows.                                                                                                 

 “I don't know” I respond. The old man moves closer towards me. I see better now the heavy weight of age he carries on his skin, yet his eyes are still a void; A nothing, blending in with the surrounding darkness. He smiles at me.                                                                                         

 “I suppose you are not here to buy one of my crosses are you?” he says.                                        

“I am not here to buy anything” I tell him.                                                                                

 “Oh, but you are...” He continues “...You just don't know what I'm selling” He goes into another room, I follow. The room, twice as big as the first, is thick with the odor of sulfur from before as well as other chemicals. The man opens a small refrigerator; he takes out a small bowl of milk and places it on the table between us. Luna, regaining her energy, leaps from my arms and attacks the bowl with gusto.                                                                                                                 

 “So what are you expecting to gain from all this?” The man asks me.                                              

  “...I don't know...Truth, some perspective perhaps” I answer him with loads of self doubt. I answer as if expecting him to shun my answer and give me the correct one.

“Truth...” he scoffs. “...truth, perspective. What are they but figments of your imagination. Truth is what you make it. Making it unreliable. How about something more tangible, like resolution...” He drops a couple of bullets on the table. “...I believe they fit the old .45 the priest gave you.”                                                                                                                          

  “How did you...”                                                                                                                      

   “You think I don't know? Are you still hanging on to those fragile threads of reality, after all that's happened?” He says, reading my mind. “...I know OK, just like the priest knew you were coming. He thinks it's all divine providence though. I happen to think that we are capable of choosing our own path.”                                                                                                       

   “I wasn't planning on using it” I tell him.                                                                                           

“Are you sure about that? Then why do you still have it with you?”
I felt like throwing the gun into the trashcan back at the mission, but I couldn’t force myself to do it. I convinced myself that maybe I could pawn in for some bus money home. In the back of my mind, I knew it wasn’t going to happen.
”Listen, if you already know what’s going to happen, why not spare me the trouble and tell me what I’m supposed to do…”
”Make your own decision for once! It’s not up to me…” he says, loading the bullets into the chamber. “…it’s entirely up to you…That is the reason I made the drug: To open your eyes to the cosmic injustices of the world. To wake you from your complacent mental coma and see the seedy underbelly of all things…that seems to be the only way you humans can come about change…You are the propagators of change, not the external powers that be.”
Luna finishes her milk and thanks the man with no windows to his soul. “She’s a fine feline. Yours?” he asks.
”Yes…” The church bell rings the hour, noon. The man hands me the gun. “You go up the Ensenada coastline several miles north. You’ll find what you need there…” he grabs a box full of tiny crosses and heads for the door “…If you’ll excuse me, I have to go to mass.”

The bus is late, so is the hour; 10 pm. The terminal is empty except for 2 people; a boy, a girl. He is waiting for the G1, and she, the T15.                                                                                                      The girl is lost in the music she is listening to; So much so that she doesn’t notice the boy waving at her, calling to her, walking towards her. The girl looks up and locks eyes with the boy; his heart skips a beat; Thudump. She takes off her headphones.                                                                               

“Hey” says the boy, his warm breath materializing in the cold air.                                            

“Uh…Hi” She says, surprised, somewhat suspicious.                                                            
“Um, you just missed the last T15”                                                                                             

“What?” she says, her breath now dancing with his.                                                                                

“The T15 bus…You’re waiting for the T15 right? You missed the last one of the night 20 minutes ago”                                                                                                                                                  “Shit” she says looking at her watch.                                                                                                               

“Yeah, just thought you’d like to know…”
”Thanks. I don’t take the bus often…” The boy smiles at her. Damn it, say either something to her or go back to your stop. The boy starts walking away.
“…Sooo is there another bus I could take, maybe?” the girl calls out to the boy. He turns around.
”Uh…Well, where are you headed?”
“Downtown” she says.
“Oh. Well, my bus, the G1…it goes that way. You could take that. It should be coming any minute now...”
“Great” she says, sitting down on the bench behind them. Don't you want to come and sit with me? Keep me company? The girl stares at the boy while he looks at his shoes. He looks up, their eyes locking again, his heart skips another beat; Thudump. He returns to his shoe-gazing. Why aren't you over there with her? He goes to the bench and takes a seat next to her.
“What are you listening to?” he says pointing to the headphones.
“What, this? It's just a friend's band demo. It's pretty bad actually” she says laughing.
“It can't be that bad”
“Here, take a listen.” She hands him the headphones and he listens to 30 seconds before giving them back.
“Wow, that actually was pretty bad...” They both laugh now. The boy marvels at the grace with which her tongue glide across her lips. She bites her lower lip as she look at him; Thudump.“...I'm Marcel, by the way.” He says extending his hand. The girl grabs it, shakes. Her hand is warm and attractive.
“Hello Marcel. I'm Paolette. And your hand is freezing”
“Sorry” He says, laughing nervously and pulls it away. She grabs his hand back and begins to rub them in between her hands. I can warm you up.
“There you go” she says, returning his warmer hands. His heart skips more beats than he can count. Thank you....

The hours passed and so have two G1 buses…they are still on the bench, a little closer together now.
”You’ve never seen the Ocean?” Marcel says surprised.
”Nope…”
”OK, I’m definitely taking you one day. I want to be the first…” I’ll hold you to that Mr. Marcel. “…So, my turn huh?” He asks. She nods. “Well, umm…when I was younger, I was on the fast track towards becoming a priest…I was in a seminary until I was 13 years old.”
”Really? Wow. What brought you over to the dark side?”
”…Personal qualms about organized religion…that, and I fell in love with a girl”
love? Does your heart belong to someone now? “Wow, that’s pretty scandalous. Are you still with this temptress?” she asks coyly.
”No, it was a long time ago. It wasn’t really love I guess…Not that I didn’t want it to be, you know…I’m not like a one night stand kind of guy…just so you know...” She laughs.
Just so I know huh? “It’s ok Marcel; I never took you for one.”
The air brakes pierce the silence as the G1 pulls up to the stop, the doors opens “Are you kids getting on or what, this is the last bus” says the surly bus driver…
”Shall we” asks Marcel, escorting Paolette up the steps.
”Gracias” she says…

            The bus roams the empty streets, never stopping. Marcel and Paolette are in the very back, her head on his shoulder, sleeping. He takes in as much as he can while she is asleep, her autumn brown hair, her delicate velvet lashes, and her seductive, inviting lips. Even the tiny, faint whistle from her asthmatic lungs entrances him into a state of deep longing. They reach downtown, Marcel wakes her up. She looks up at him still half asleep. “Let’s go” He tells her.
They exit the warmth of the bus and into the street, walking and talking. The many blocks they walk don’t seem like enough time for him to absorb her…
“This is me” says Paolette, pointing at the red brick building before them.
”oh, ok.”
”…Would you like to come up for the proverbial cup of coffee?” God, did I really just say that.He laughs with her as she begins to blush a bit.
”I would love some proverbial coffee” says he…

            Her hands reach for the clouds of pillows as his lips meet hers. The soft cotton sheets wrapped around her torso drips off her skin like rain, exposing her warm, graceful body. He explores every inch of it. The nape of her neck, he licks then bites. Kissing his way down, between and around, her breasts, her stomach. He marvels at the infinite fathoms of her navel…She shivers slightly as his kisses go lower until it reaches an impasse; left, right or down the middle. His kisses take the middle road as his tongue searches for the warmth of her shore. The tide comes in and his tongue disappears beneath the waves, into a deeper trench. She pulls him up to her, kissing and biting his lips, letting his heat meet hers. As he shifts into her, they form a perfect piece. A single unified form, moving together in perfect synchronization. Her fast and heavy breathing against his ear sends shivers done his spine.
”Oh god…” he hears her mutter as she claws his back. Her feline nails digging deeper, the pain feeding his ecstasy…
The well oiled, organic machine slows to a stop as the results of its labor come to fruition. They remain unified, even as the heat dies down and their eyes grow heavy.

Together they are. Two pieces forever one. Sharing one same heart…

I am close to the coast. The more I walk, the more my lungs fill with the salty ocean air. Mil Piedras is a million miles behind me. I climb a small hill and as I am reaching the top, I see the Pacific Ocean below. Calm yet turbulent. Full of life, desolate.
Luna and I walk on the shore. She delights in the strange newness of it all, chasing any critter she finds. Hours pass and the light of day grows weaker. Luna has grown tired and is resting in my arms. I make my way back to land; there are houses in the far distance, before that, caves. I pay no mind to them. At least I try not to. I end up making my way towards one of them, its enigmatic allure calling me. I have to brave a tiny sea of rocks and boulders, made visible by the low tide. I reach a man sized boulder when...I freeze in place. He is there, before me. Naked. Scarred, with one of his wings, torn in half.
I hide behind the boulder and my hand instinctively reaches for the .45 in my pocket. I pause, not knowing why exactly. My grip on the handle loosens when Luna bolts up suddenly, dashing out my arms and running towards the houses in the distance. I look back at the creature, that man near the cave. I drop the gun and run after Luna.
She crosses the sea of stones elegantly, hopping on each one like a checkerboard. I try my best to follow suit, slipping several times. She goes up the hill, into the tall grass, until she stops. I finally catch up with her and see what made her run this far. Hiding in the grass, invisible if it wasn't for their crying, a litter of kittens. Huddled together. Luna goes to them, licking their fur, caressing them. I look around, expecting to see the mother. I find her a few feet away; bloodied, motionless, dead. Luna looks at me, almost pleading. I reach down and pick up one of the kittens, she whimpers slightly. They can't be more than a few hours old.
I realize that of the four kittens, only three are actually alive. I take off my shirt and wrap the kittens in it. I search around the tall grass and find a sharp rock. I begin digging. Once it is deep enough, I grab the kitten and its mother and place them in the hole. I cover them up and set the stone as a marker. I hear the low, soothing purr of Luna behind me as I carry the litter towards civilization ahead.
Purrs turns to white noise. As the night returns once more. Pain inside is gone.
                                                                        fin